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Witch's Heart Inktober 2023
Day 7 - Favorite Human
"My name is Ashe Bradley. I'm but a humble traveler."
#im torn between sirius and ashe#they both my favs#i fricking love ashe sm#witchs heart#whnoc#whtober 2023#ashe bradley#fanart#drawings#anime#digital art#digital fanart#digital drawings#inktober#ibis paint x
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hands like barbed wire
John Price x Reader
18+ | dubcon that flirts heavily with noncon. fingering (in public). manipulation. slight corruption kink. sheltered reader forced into a wife-grooming speed run. lotsssssa good girl/sweet girl/baby abound. implied kidnapping.
You meet him in a bar.
He's sitting alone in the corner, body angled towards all the exits. There's a glass of scotch on the table that drip, drip, drips these big, teardrop-sized droplets of condensation down the glass, kept cradled between a thick, grizzled hand. The scabs on his knuckles remind you of ripe, sour cherries when they flex under the coarse dusting of hair.
There's something about his hands that catches your attention first. Keeps it.
Your daddy used to say there was a lot to learn about a man by the shape of his hands. And his, this magnetic stranger's, are rough. Worn. Dangerous. Blistered and torn up. Caution tape in pale peach. Dirt under his nails. Ash on his forefinger. Stay away, it says. Run.
But the flicker of orange sparking up in the gloom draws you in like a moth to a flame. Stupid girlâ
(just like daddy always said)
He doesnât look up when you step closer. Little moth drawn to that orange light, the shift of those fingers wet with condensation. But you catch the slightest shift of his chin from your periphery. A silent acknowledgement, but itâs all you get. He keeps his eyes glued to the newspaper he has spread out on the table. Disregarding you entirely. Ignoring you.Â
(and you keep yours fixed on the clench of his handsâ)
"Not supposed to smoke in here," you murmur, voice a little slip of a thing when it shudders out of your throat.Â
You donât mean to say it. Youâre not sure why you do. The words roll to the tip of your tongue and drip down your chin when your mouth shifts on a small, soundless gasp. Beneath the scabs on his fingers, his skin is all scar tissueâ
In an almost laughable contrast, he growls, purring like a tiger, a diesel engine, when he speaks.Â
"m'not supposed to do a lot of thingsâ" When you finally, finally, drag your eyes away from his hands (the flex of his fingers, wondering how they'd even fit insideâ), you catch a flat, uneven line buried under untameable brown. But he still doesnât look at you. "But who is gonna tell me that?"
You don't get it. Sheltered girlâlittle girl, he adds, all ugly and cruel; cold in his mockery because that's what you are to him: littleâgrowing up buried in the mountains, left to rot on the fecund plains where your daddy sowed seeds and mama pickled the wares for the market. Barely scraping by on a farm doomed to fail. Some poor man's burial ground, the locals say. Cursed. But hindsightâthe gold band on his ring finger, one half of a matching set belonging to a woman who isn't you; and the patch on his leather jacket, faded yellow and bold, 141 with a twisted skullâbring you to a neat conclusion:
he's a bad man. Stupid girl, daddy would bark. Ain't you know nothin'? Stay away from them folk. Bad news. Nothin' but trouble.
(Mama would laugh. And oh, honey, did trouble find youâ)
Between the heavy thud of your heart, the words slip out. âWell, I just did.â
More gall. Cheek. You don't know where it comes from.
Mama would have washed your mouth with soap. Dragged you to the washroom, spitting about respect as she twisted her gnarled fingers into your lips, and tugged.Â
You expect the same from him. Maybe worse. Much worse. But he just looksâ
His eyes peel away from the article (train robbery down south, it says in bold, ugly letters), finally darting to take you in. There's shock, you think. Stupefied by your audacity. The disrespect. But when he rests his eyes on youâcold blue, like a glinting gem, a lagoonâthe slow climb of his brows, drawn up high until three deep lines stretch across his skin, comes to a stop.Â
He seems to pause for a beat. Just long enough for an exhale of smoke, twin funnels of dragon's breath, to pour out of his nose. They draw together, but it's not in anger. Scorn. It's a rough sort of contemplation. Eyes narrowing into slits as he stares at you.Â
And the weight of his gaze is a palpable thing. Heavy. You try to fight the urge to fidget as he sizes you up, rolling your eyes down the length of his body above the table to skirt around intense, dizzying blue.Â
But your avoidance makes him huff, and he leans back, sucking in another breath.Â
"C'mere," he demands. Doesn't say, doesn't ask. Just growls the words out between the clench of his teeth buried in that cigar you tried to nitpick him about. "Come sit."
And you do. of course, you do (stupid girl).
But when you reach for the chair next to his, he scoffs. "Didn't tell you to sit beside me."
"Then whereâ"
He's pushing back in his seat before the words are out, thick thighs open wide (impolite mama would say), stretched tight over a pair of jeans. But even with the wide spread, you can't even see the cheap red plastic in the open v of his legs. When you don't move quick enoughâhead all thick, syrupyâhe grunts. Reaches down mockingly and pats his thigh.
"Come sit, little girlâ"
It's demeaning. Embarrassing. But there's something about him that seems to negate choice the closer he gets. Renders it into dust between his fingers. Head syrupy. Empty. No thoughts needed when he'll just think for youâ
And oh.Â
Oh. That thought does something to you. Static in your veins. An electric shock. Mind reeling, spinning around that single, wayward idea.
Your head is hot. Feverish. Everything inside is melted, liquified, and drips out of your ears to pool between your thighs.Â
(Under the white cotton of your modest summer dress, they squeeze together, sliding in the gathering slickâ)
When you don't move fast enough for his liking, he grunts. "Ain't gonna tell you againâ"
And you listen. Obey. Because that's what you are: a good girl. You do what you're told, don't you?
So you slip onto his lap, letting those big, gnarled hands wrap around your waist. Holding you steady (keeping you trapped) as his thick, warm thigh splits yours apart. Wrenching you open for one of his rough, dirty hands to slide between.
His forearm anchors you to the broad, dizzying spill of his chest, head dipping to nuzzle against the shell of your ear. Shushing you softly as you squirm around the hard, thick press of his thigh against your coreâcunt, he bites out, teeth nipping along the skin of your ear; can feel your hot little cunt, sweetheartâand grapple with the strange, dirty-wrong, sensation of sitting in a stranger's lap as he slowly pulls up the dress you wore to church this morning, fingers hot on your inner thigh. Chasing that sticky-slick dampness that makes him groan low in his throat when he first touches it. Softly still, a hoarse good girlâ
But this isn't what good girls do.
Mama says no man is allowed to touch this hot, slick little place between your thighs until you're married. A sin, she called it. Wrong. The pastor, too. Only when you're married. Only as a wife.
You don't think he has any intention of marrying you, but he touches you like a man would a wife. Knuckle hard, firm against the thin, worn cotton of your panties. Grazing. Rubbing. All soft and slow. Not even much of a touchâjust the whisper, the idea, of one.
The rasp of his smoke-scorched, whiskey-scented voice in your ear, peppering filth, sin, out as he tells you he can feel how wet your little pussy is. Feels it against his finger. And can you feel that, sweetheart? when he pushes a little harder, digging the peak of a bent knuckle into the seam of you. Can you feel him through your pretty little panties?
"Mm," he grunts, pushing harder. Arm tightening around your waist when you squirm, and squirm. "Can you?"
Yes, you think around a long breath. A little stretch. Your legs kick out under the table when he grazes over a spot that blooms a vicious, intense pleasure through your belly. Something that feels so good, that it makes you a little sick. Makes you want to run. Maybe that's why your legs kick and kick, andâ
"Be good." It's a snarl. A warning. "Or I'll take you over my kneeâ"
Be good, he adds again when you whimper, softening the grit in his voice from granite to soot. The same tone Daddy uses when they bring him a broken horse. "Jus' wanna make you feel good, sweet girl, mm. Want that, don't you?"
"We're n-not supposed to do this if we're notânot married."
Shivering it out into the balmy, smoke-dense air of the bar feels almost like a release. Baptismal. Like maybe now you've said it, whatever spell has fallen over the two of you will be broken. He'll blink awake and right the wrong you've committed with a quick, decisive shake of his head. You'll go back to being a good girl, a simple girl from a simple family, and he'll be the stranger in a bar you think about sometimes, like the real man mama loved but her daddy wouldn't let her marry.
(A sweet little fever dream, she'd said fondly. Sadly. And then, scared, tense: don't tell daddy, though, okay?)
He hums around it, but it sounds accommodating. Placid. Like an adult entertaining the whims of a child.
"Want that, mm?" He digs the question in with a slip of his finger over the cheap lace lining the hem of your panties. "Want me to marry you?"
You're not sure. You don't know him, but he's touching you in public. Has you satâspreadâon his lap with his hand under your dress, touching you the way a husband would. There's a ring on his finger already. The suggestion of a wife. A life outside of this hovel where nothing grows, and you're just expected to roll over and grow old with whatever man daddy approves of.
"No," you stammer out because he's married already, and that's what daddy will say. "Noâ"
"Shame," he grunts, and his nail catches on the edge of coifed lace. Scraping it over slick, damp skin. "Jus' lost mine, you know. Been thinkin' 'bout takin' another."
A good little girl to warm my bed is said as his nail drags your panties over your swollen, slick folds.
It's instinctual to want to snap them shut. Keep him out. But his knee lifts like he's expecting that, keeping you spread. Open. His hand is hot on your skin. Burning. His thumb wedges into the hem of your panties, stretching the fabric to tuck the edges together, exposing your cunt to his wandering, blistering fingers.
There's no quarter. No choice. He doesn't let you think. Doesn't give you a minute to breathe. It's justâ
Skin on skin.
His knuckle slides between the seam of your swollen folds, parting them as he touches that slick, hot space cradled inside. Groaning, too, when he does; like he touched fire. Like you burned him. Hurt him even though you know you never could.
The noise balms the panic and clots thick tufts of cotton inside your ears. The low, rolling brass trembles in your belly. A small quake. You feel it in your cunt; a strange, throbbing little hum that makes you clench down twice on nothing but the idea of that sound. The echo.
He tells you he feels it. Feels how desperate you are for him.
Needy little thing, he rasps, and it isn't kind. It isn't nice. There's a reprimand needling in against the grain of his praise. An unspoken good girl said in the tone of a man who thinks you're anything but.
"Been thinkin' about takin' a wife," he says again, dragging the rough, scabbed tip of his knuckle across the powder-soft flesh of your folds. It's ticklish. Weird. Something that makes you want to giggle and cry. Pull your blankets over your head. Lean into it more. Spread your legs wider until he touches that spot that made you shake. "But the mistake I made the last time was not testin' 'er out before I married 'er. Turns outâ" the tip digs in between your swollen folds, touching where you're hot and sticky and far too sensitive for such rough hands. "She wasn't as sweet as I thought she was."
And it's electric. The rough, calloused scrape of his finger stroking up and down your split seam (your clit, he mumbles into the hollow space behind your ear, giving it a little swirl that makes your toes curl; to your hole, nice and tight and so fuckin' wet f'him, mm?) is a jolt of that dizzying, too much-not enough pleasure. A shock. Mouth open, toes clenched tight. Legs kicking. Muscles seizing as he works you over with just the tip of a finger. Barely even a touch.
"But you're sweet, aren't you?"
It sounds like he's chiding you all over again, but the cotton puffing up against your eardrums, the pleasure buzzing in your belly, between your thighs, makes everything sound so sweet. Enticing. So you agree. Nod feverishly on a gasp when his finger trails down to where you clench tight around nothing, circling your opening with the tip of his finger, nail skimming over swollen, slick flesh.
You're not sure what this is. Don't even know where to begin to articulate what you want, need, but each pass makes you feel every bit of the needy little thing he called you earlier. An admonishment drenched in fondness. Wrapped up so tight in a soft, velvet cloth of amusement that you could barely feel the pricks of barbed wire nestled inside when it rubbed against your skin.
Sweet enough that it makes you turn your head into his bicep, nuzzling against the fabric of his jacket as he works his fingers between your wet, slick thighs. Thumb against your clit. A brand. Pressing down, down, and then softening when your legs kick out, too much. That dirty, awful kind of pleasure that makes you feel like a balloon being pumped too full, ready to burst. His finger slips inside. Just a tease. As gentle as a kiss. Only up to his cuticle. Barely even a knuckle.
He tells you all of his with his beard scraping against the flushed, damp skin of your cheek. Murmuring the words into the pool of blood throbbing against your cheekbones. Reinforces them with a sharp nip of his teeth when the shame trickles inâwhen the easy pump of his finger, not even a knuckle, makes a wet, sticky noise as it pushes into that pool of heat inside of you.
And it's all good girl, sweet girl against the sticky-slick shine of your raw cheek when your needy little cunt sucks him in deeper. Beggin' for it, and sweet little pussy wants it so bad, mm, needy girl? and don't worry, baby, m'gonna make you feel so good.
Baby. It catches, loops. Makes it easier to ignore the noise spilling out under the thick spread of his palm, finger digging in deeper (the first knuckle is a soft good girl, the second is a rough a doin' so good, sweetheart; and the third, slipped right up to last is a low, rumbling that's it, baby, takin' it so well, ain't you?), and the clatter around you. A semi-crowded bar.
You forgot, you think, squirming suddenly. Stiffening around him, on him, as the world sharpens into a whistle. Glass on worn wood. Thud, thud. Legs squealing against herringbone as a heavy chair is dragged back. Low murmurs. Laughter. Noise spilling out from the front of the room, calls for more beer. Another shot. Hey, bartender, gimme another Jack on the rocksâ
"Shush-shush, baby," he coos, finger dragging out a lewd squelch when slides back inside of you, as deep as it'll go. The slap of his bent index and ring finger hitting your puffy, drenched folds when he thrusts. "They can't see you. Can't hear you. Jus' be good for me, mm? My sweet girl."
Nothin' matters except me, he adds, curling that finger inside of you until it hooks on a spot that makes you whimper into his arm, teeth sinking into leather. I own this bar, he promises, lifting his arm up as you cling to him with your teeth. A block against the world. Nothing but faded, aged leather and stale smoke. Gunpowder. The slick glide of his finger inside of you, the sting of the stretch dissolving into a wet, sticky pleasure.
His own teeth dig into the curve of your neck. A pinch. Sucking in a mouthful of skin as his ring finger extends, drags over your messy cunt until it's pushed up against your stuffed hole, nudging inside. A shallow dip. Lemme in, it says as he bites through blood vessels with the hard suck of his mouth. Lemme in becauseâ
"I own this town. This bar. Jus' like I own this sweet little cunt."
A shove and he's in. All the way. To the last knuckle. Quick and sudden, the sting is an afterthought; the burn is a hazy, ephemeral throb in the back of your head. Balmed by the drag of his thumb over your pebbled clit.
It feels like a seesaw. Up and down. Bending your knees, feet planted into the ground, and then kicking up, up. Weightless. Over and over again. An ebb and flow. Higher and higher until you slowly fall downâ
(âinto his lap. the cup of his palm.)
You tell him as much. Mewled out into spit-drenched leather as he rumbles against your spine, his voice so deep, so full, you can feel it humming in your chest when he speaks.
(feel it drip down your spine like hot wax where it pools between your thighsâ)
"Good girl," he says, and you feel like anything but. Less like the girl who sat in the pew this morning, humming along to hymns in a modest, cotton dress and more like gum spat out onto the pavement. Squished down under his heel. Dragged along beneath his boot. Pretty, dizzy pinked up remora. "Bein' so good, mm? Maybe you deserve a reward."
It comes on the crook of his fingers twisting inside your slicked up cunt; blunt nails pressing against soft walls until it stings like the nip of his teeth over your cheek. You're not even sure if it feels good. It's justâ
Pressure. A burning stretch. The foreign sensation of something detached from your body squirming inside of you, touching places you've never been able to reach before. Too deep and too full. His index finger is nearly double the width of your own.
It makes you mewl like a child. Twisting on his lap, trying to pull away from the place that parts for him so easily, opens up with just the crook of his finger. Leaks slick down his palm, drenching his pants. Makin' a mess, he growls, and pulls you back down on his lap. Feel it, sweet girl? Mm? Feel the mess you're makin'.
And you hate that you can. That each thrust of his hand between your thighs sounds wetter and wetter than it did before. That it pulls it out of you until it drips down your inner thighs and pools against the back of your dress. Stains his thighs. The hard thingâhis cock, he tells you, dragging your ass over it with a gruntâunder you that jerks and throbs and flattens up to a size that makes you want to curl into a ball and weep.
(that makes your knees twitch, wanting to spread widerâ)
It's a lot. It's too much. You're not even sure you like it ("ain't nice to tell lies, little girl;") but he doesn't stop. Won't. Not even when tears drip down from the corners of your eyes, and you hide whimpers into the damp, sticky leather of his sleeve. It doesn't really matter becauseâ
"mm, you look so pretty when you cry."
You feel drenched. Liquid. No longer a person but a puddle. Melted, leaking. Dripping down his lap and pooling onto the dirty barroom floor. A slippery little thing held together by the cup of his palm, the hook of his fingers sinking into you over and over again.
"Are you watchin'?" The arm wrapped around your waist shifts until his dry, rough hand is cupped under your wet, sticky chin, curling over your throat. "Look at us."
Between the spread of your thighs, white cotton dress rumpled and rucked up around your hips, the sight of his handâmasculine: dangerous; knuckles bruised and scarred, cherry red; big and rough and hairyâis obscene. Ugly. Wrong.
(a grunt: too tight. his fingers flex, spreading open inside of you, scissoring apart. loosen up, love, before you break 'em, mm.)
So, so wrong.
You feel small with that big, grizzled hand between your legs. Insignificant. A toy to play with. A thing to be used. And that's just what he does.
Shows you how he can play with your body when he peels his fingers out of you nice and slow until just the tips keep you open, skin shiny and wet. Glistening in the flushed, low light of the bar. And then slides them back inside, just as slow. The first knuckle. The second. The third. Wiggles them around. Scissors them apart.
Pulls them out faster now, and thrusts them back inside hard.
This cunt belongs to him, he grunts, words nestled beneath the slick, sticky-wet sound of him taking what he owns. Over and over again. That big, bearish hand works at your messy cunt until your thighs tremble, and your head throbs.
The hand on your throat is firm. Tight. And when it pulls away to slip inside your cotton dress, you realise you've forgotten how to breathe without him controlling every breath.
"Come on," he rasps, fingers working harder. Faster. His thumb catches your clit, rubbing small, tight circles; each pass brings a new, terrible pleasure rippling through you. A crescendo that builds and builds. Higher on the seesawâup, upâ
His hand is scorching as it cups your breast, index and middle finger scissoring over your nipple until it's caught between the two. A pluck. A pinch. It buzzes down your chest, sinks like a stone into the wet, muddled mess between your hips.
And that's all you are. Nothing but a soaked, hot mess of a thing in his lap. Putty. Messy girl. Silly girl. Sweet. Stupid. His.
(his low, growling voice in your ear: mine, mine, mine;) "aren't you, little girl?"
The leather between your teeth tastes like ash. Smells of gunpowder. Fresh hide in the summer's sun. Smoke. Tobacco. Potent. Masculine. Grizzled, like his hand between your thighs. The other cupped around your breast, pinching and pulling and kneading flesh you hadn't realised could feel so good when it was touched like thisâ
By his hands, palms hot enough to scorch, to brand. To melt you from the outside in until you leak all over his lap where you're cradled like a child. Obedient and docile.
Especially when he makes you come on his fingers. Tells you that's what you'll do before it happensâa grunt, a command, in your ear. Do it, sweetheart. I ain't askin' againâ
And you do. Pulsing like a heartbeat around the thick stretch of two fingers digging deep inside of you, stabbing into that spot that makes you pant like an animal. Blooms more heat, more pleasure, that thickens inside your navelâmolten. Spilling out from between your hips. Up, up, up on the seesawâ
"Good girl. Good fuckin' girlâ"
He doesn't even sound like a man anymore. The rough, feverish grit of his voice pitches low into his throat, hums in his chest. Rattles like bones in the wind. Howls. Sharpens in the pit of your belly, another liquid pulse around his fingers. It sounds animal. Primal. Bearish as he claims you as his, as he curls his fingers around the heart of you, and tugs. Leaving you spun around those thick, grizzled fingers like fresh cotton candy, sticky and sweet. His to keep.
And that's what you are,
"aren't you?"
Good girl, he coos when you nod, sniffling into creased leather that smells of cade and motor oil. Too dizzy to make sense of what he's asking for, too incomplete.
Your neck feels cold without his touch, but you don't know how to ask for something you don't even think you really want. Shouldn't want.
You feel feverish, too, and it's an all-over thing. From the space between each toe, to the backs of your earsâeverything is too hot, too cold. You're shivering, but you want to sink down into a pool of ice, a blanket of heat and warmth. Wrap yourself around the hot, oozing insides of a chestâlike the hunter who slept inside his beloved horseâand bathe in the waters around the polynya. Icy and dark.
Mostly, though, you just feel raw. Wrong. Scraped out and hollowed. Broken into pieces and put back together with mismatched parts.
And it's worse, you think, when he pulls his fingers out of you, and you're reminded of what it feels like to be empty all over again.
"Shush, baby," he's cooing when you whimper. Chiding. "Let's have a taste, mm? Find out if you're really sweet."
His hand is drenched when he pulls it from between your thighs. Thick, clear strands make a bridge between his fingers when he splits them apart, rumbling low and brassy in his chest at the sight. Spits like a burning log, crackling sap in a dry fire, when he says, look, baby, got me all fuckin' wetâ
But you can't. Not when he drags his hand up, up, over your shoulder, above your head, and sinks his fingers into his mouth with a groan that raffles through you, all the way down to your toes. Slurps on his hand, on the slick you left behind, like a man half-starved. Grunting at the taste. Cock throbbing beneath you like a heartbeat. Pulsing and angry. Enough that you cower a bit, flinching back into the broad expanse of his chest as his thick, fat cock twitches under you, eager for something you only really know about as an abstract concept. Knowledge gleaned through rummaging around in cupboards when no one was looking. Playground tales; cupped palms against the side of an ear. Stage whispers.
Husband and wife.
And oh, babyâ
"you're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted," he rasps into your cheek, lips shiny and wet. Smearing spit and slick across your raw skin. "Looks like I found my new wife."
It doesn't make sense. Another abstract concept. Fragmented pieces. You want to say we can't get married, but all that comes out is a squeak. A whimper. Some shallow warble in the back of your throat that sounds like daddy, please.
But he's pulling his hand away from your breast, and clasping it tight around your neck before the words can make it through the panic clogging your throat. A firm squeeze snuffs those flames as quickly as they formed, and you swallow down the ash in the back of your throat before it can choke you.
Good girl, he says with a paper soft kiss to the bruised, burning apple of your cheek. Sweet girl, baby girl, and when he smoothes his damp hand across the rumpled fabric of your cotton dress, pulling it back over your thighs, you realise you forgot your own name.
(It doesn't matter, you suppose. You'll have his soon enough.)
When it's back in its proper spot, unblemished and pristine despite the ache between your thighs and the way your panties stick, uncomfortably, to swollen skin, he drags his hand back up your leg until his palm swallows your thigh. The warmth of his skin bleeds through the cotton, and his rough, calloused fingers catch on loose threads when he splays them wide, touch firm, possessiveâas if he has the right to hold you like you're his.
But his skin is still wet, and when it catches in the light, you feel a sinking weight in your belly. An echo in the back of your head that says you already are.
His thumb strokes over cotton, and it's almost obscene, really: soft, virginal white against marled, cherry red and scarred peach; from his knuckles to the hem of his leather jacket, he's covered in a dense swath of hair. Veins bulge when he flexes, thick lines running down the back of his hand like little rivers of blue beneath raw peach flesh. He's just soâ
Different.
Masculine. Big. Dangerous, you think again, and hear that muffled echo in the back of your head that said run, stay away.
(except now it sounds like stupid girl, you're much too lateâ)
Trapped like a fawn under his paw. One on your thigh, the other on your throat. The phantom burn, the hollow echo, of his fingers tearing through the too-tight space inside of you, making room for the heavy, fat length under you.
Soon, it seems to say, still as angry as it was when he feasted on your sweet taste.
His hand leaves your thigh, reaching up towards the half-drunk glass on the table beneath a puddle of condensation. It, too, is swallowed up under his bearish hand when he curls his fingers around it, tugging it closer, over your shoulder.
You smell whiskey as he takes the last swig, grunting at the burn, the sting. When he's finished, he leans forward, warm chest glueing to your spine, and places the empty glass back in the puddle.
The hollow thud of glass on wood seems to shake loose the cobwebs that spooled around your head. It feels like blinking to life. Waking up from a deep sleep.
The bar is still buzzing with noise, but you can hear it clearly now. A constant, endless press of voices and low hums, words you can't make sense of. You're too far back in the bar for anyone to have seen youâthe bulk of his arm is a wall between you and the worldâbut you wonder just how much your whimpers carried under the static chatter. The wet, messy squelchâ
"You're fine, sweetheart." A squeeze and the panic welling in your throat is choked under his palm. Snuffed out. "No one heard a thing."
You're not sure you believe him, but it keeps the embarrassment from eating you alive, and so you let it go with a slow, sleepy nod. A sniffle. Wet, weepy: I want to go home.
"S'right, sweetheart," he soothes, pressing another brittle kiss to your temple, one that feels the sting of a scraped knee. "We'll get you home."
(Chiding. Look at what you've done to yourself. Pitying. Patronising. Poor thing.)
His home isn't the same as the one cradled in the maw of a mountain, where the land is always barren, and your mother weeps when your father isn't around, but you relent when he tugs, pulling you into his arms. Holding you like a small child as he bites down on his cigar, and moves through the blanket of silence in the once rowdy bar. Hands firm, tight like shackles when they close around you.
Your father used to say you could tell a lot about a man by the look of his hands, and when he slips his fingers between the soft brackets of yours, filling the spaces you hadn't realised were empty, you know one thing:
these are not the sort to ever let go.
(bassbround. apodictic.)
and when he slips his ring on your finger and tells you to wear that little white cotton dress for him, you suppose you have no one else to blame but yourself.
#daddy is not said in reference to price even once in this but honestly it should have been#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#price x reader
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Prince Regent
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader
Word Count: 8.6k
Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rookâs Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.
Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemondâs & readerâs), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking
Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones
Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby
Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Playlist | Ao3
Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated â€ïž
Enjoy the read!
[gif @aemondstark ]
AEMOND
Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.
It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.
A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battleâs end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.
My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.
I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.
From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.
The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.
The impact of my brotherâs fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.
âQubemagon, Vhagar.â (Descend)
I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.
Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasnât fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering.Â
But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter.Â
As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragonâs golden body.
Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.
I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.
âAemond!â Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.
I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut.Â
A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conquerorâs Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegonâs. It was mine now.Â
Ser Cristonâs rustling armor announced his approach. âWhere is His Grace?â he asked, voice quivering.
I didnât respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.
Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet.Â
A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition.Â
There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind.Â
The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagarâs powerful wings propelled us skyward.Â
A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency.Â
_
Upon returning to Kingâs Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.
âMy Lords,â I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. âMother,â I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicentâs chair.
âAemond,â she demanded, steel in her voice. âWhere is Aegon?â
A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.
âAegon has fallen,â I said.Â
The council erupted in uproar.Â
Cries of outrage and accusations.
Obscenities.
Scandal.
âHow could this be allowed to happen?â
âWhat is the meaning of this?â
âWe are doomed!â
The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace. Â
âThe King is dead!â
âThe King is not dead,â I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. âHe has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.â I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. âThe King fought bravely,â I continued. âLanding mortal injuries to the Pretenderâs cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.â
My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved.Â
It was palpable.Â
It was mine for the taking.Â
I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.
âAnd in the coils of torment,â I spoke. âMy brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.â
A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs.Â
âIf anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,â voiced Alicent.Â
I cast my gaze on her.Â
âAemond is next in line,â came voices from the small council.
âYes, but the King still lives!â Alicent implored.
âWho am I to contest the wishes of the King?â I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.
Alicentâs eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?
âAemondâŠâ she started, her voice a gentle tremble. âCould we at least discuss this?â
âAs prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.â
My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The Kingâs marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicentâs eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the Kingâs chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest.Â
âAll hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,â Lord Tyland Lannisterâs voice came, and the words echoed across the table.Â
A smirk played on my lips. âMy Lords,â I began, splaying my hands atop the table. âLet us commence.â
YOU
Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.
The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.
One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain.Â
It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.
Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.
The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.
The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified.Â
A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.
My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty.Â
A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the Kingâs Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach.Â
My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rookâs Rest, prompting Aemondâs hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rookâs Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned. Â
None of it mattered.Â
My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septaâs cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince Iâd always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place Iâd find.Â
Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut.Â
Unanswered questions swirled in my mind.Â
Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, âI address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!â
A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.
Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, âRhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.â
Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegonâs absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead?Â
My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicentâs name drifted around me like a persistent echo.
Ser Cristonâs voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, âI present to youâŠâ The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.
My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs.Â
It wasnât Alicent.Â
A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conquerorâs crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch.Â
âPrince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,â Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. âRider of Vhagar.â
Aemond descended the steps.
âSlayer of the queen who never was.â
Aemondâs footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predatorâs approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two Kingâs Guard flanked him with stoic expressions.Â
âAnd Protector of the Realm.â
He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.
âMy Lords and Ladies,â he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. âHis Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rookâs Rest, and will be incapable to rule.â
There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence.Â
âTherefore,â he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, âI, will act as your sovereign.â
Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemondâs demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me.Â
Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rookâs Rest?Â
My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger Iâd last seen clutched in the hand of his brother.Â
As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut.Â
âThe tide has turned,â he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. âRhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.â A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. âThe largest serving the Pretenderâs cause.â He said it like it was a jest. âRookâs Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.â His fingers tapped across the blades. âThis is a victory for us.â
Scattered heads nodded in agreement.Â
Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense.Â
âItâs all going according to plan,â he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear.Â
It felt like he was about to eat me alive.
A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee.Â
_
Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape.Â
Aemondâs chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances werenât optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.
My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasnât just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning. Â
The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maidâs hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider.Â
Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. âLeave us,â he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current.Â
My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her.Â
An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs.Â
Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread.Â
âYou sent for me, wife?â Aemondâs voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us.Â
Confusion slammed into me. I hadnât summoned him. This was, by far, the most heâd spoken to me since our loveless union.Â
âYou are mistaken,â I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.
He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips.Â
âTravelling somewhere?â His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive.Â
Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile.Â
âI wish to visit my family,â I said. âWith war looming, I wish for us to be together.â
Aemond took another measured step closer. âAo issi aerÄbas mirriot daor,â (Youâre not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat.Â
A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasnât an option he entertained.
âI am of no use to you, Aemond,â I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. âMe staying serves no purpose.â
âOn the contrary,â he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye.Â
âWe barely exist to each other,â I continued. âWhat difference would it make if I was half a world away?â
âIt would make all the difference.â The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. âThereâs the matter of heirs.â
Seven Hells.Â
Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids â Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash.Â
Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the Kingâs lethal end?
The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic.Â
I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemondâs ambition stretched far beyond my naĂŻve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown.Â
And the crown needed heirs.Â
He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head.Â
âWhat have you done?â My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach.Â
A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, weâd never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea.Â
âSkoros iksin bÄvilagon.â (What was necessary)
I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue.Â
Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, âI would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,â I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.
A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. âBe that as it may,â he said mellowly. âBut even a bad wife must obey her king.â
A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. âYou are no king,â I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. âYou are not even a man.â
His reaction was swift and brutal.
One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.
âSpeak such treason again, and Iâll show you what I really am.â
âWhat will you do?â I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. âCripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?â
âDonât tempt me,â he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.
A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.
My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. Heâd orchestrated his brotherâs downfall on purpose.Â
âHave you no honor?â I whispered, the words a ragged plea.Â
The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths.Â
âYou cannot stop me, Aemond,â I said, my voice shrinking. âI will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.â
âKesan arghugon ao naejot se mĆris hen tegon.â (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)
âSpeak plainly,â I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.
A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us.Â
âYou may go,â he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips.Â
Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldnât relinquish control so easily. Heâd allow me to make my âescapeâ, only to have me snatched back by the Kingâs Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.
Maegorâs tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a foolâs errand.Â
My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it.Â
The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette.Â
Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all.Â
Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges.Â
âIâd take you for many things, wife,â he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. âBut weak was not one of them.â His words landed like a body blow. âIf Iâd known youâd crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.âÂ
I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. âYou did not have much of a say in the matter,â I countered.
A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. âNo,â he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. âAnd neither do you.â
He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.
I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike.Â
âSo, what is your scheme, Aemond?â I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. âDo you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?â
A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. âSuppose I have not yet decided.â His voice was like liquid.Â
Defiance flickered within me. âThe court will never agree to this once they find out what youâve done.â
Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. âDragons donât concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.â He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. âI am next in line to the throne,â he drawled. âNone is better suited than I.â
I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. âWith a legitimate heir,â I said carefully. âYour claim would be uncontested.â
He smirked, as though Iâd read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight.Â
âA womanâs pleasure is,â he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. âOf as much importance as the seed itself.â
A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.
âWhich is why submission must be a willing act,â he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.
I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former.Â
âAnd if I refuse?â I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands.Â
A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. âThen youâll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,â he drawled.
Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.
âConsider me sheep then.â With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.
It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemondâs fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemondâs lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace.Â
âJaelÄ naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ÄbrazÈłrys?â (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.
The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure.Â
âI canât understand you,â I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin.Â
âYou won't need to,â he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.
My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.
His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me.Â
But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate.Â
Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.
A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldnât fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire.Â
His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.
Panic clawed at my throat.Â
Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears.Â
AEMOND
The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and⊠arousal.Â
Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse Iâd wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard.Â
A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me.Â
A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me.Â
âJaelÄÂ naejot tymagon?â (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. âKesi tymagon.â (Letâs play.)
I started into the storm-ridden castle.Â
YOU
Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath.Â
To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.
My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keepâs slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a foolâs errand.
None dared defy the one-eyed prince.Â
Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room.Â
The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightningâs fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air.Â
If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldnât be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches.Â
Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.
âWaiting to make your peace with the gods?â came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.
Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead.Â
âNo,â I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. âWaiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,â I said, descending the steps.Â
âOnce more, so quick to admit defeat,â he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.
I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. âThere is no escaping you,â I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze.Â
His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. âYour perception waxes,â he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder.Â
The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.
A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain.Â
âThe more you struggle,â he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, âthe worse it will be.â
A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might.Â
He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. âIlÄ«bĆños,â (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.
The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him.Â
Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb â I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease.Â
Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt.Â
Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace.Â
âLykirÄ«,â he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear.Â
âFuck you,â I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.
Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?
My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me.Â
This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger.Â
âHave you had your fill of my company?â he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.
Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear â they all conspired to trap me.
Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other.Â
He hummed deeply. âSay it.â
Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood.Â
âI haven't.â
âYou haven't what?â
Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily heâd manipulated me.Â
âI haven't had enough,â I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender.Â
A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue.Â
His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.
âGaomagon vÄ«lÄ«bagon nyke daor,â (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. âKesÄ botagon daor.â (You would not survive)
I didnât understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control.Â
I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone.Â
âKelÄ«tÄ«s,â (Stop) he growled.
The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.
With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip.Â
He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.
Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.
He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.
Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.
I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release.Â
He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.
âSkoros gaomagon jaelÄ?â (What do you crave?), he rumbled.
Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. âPlease,â I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. âMore,â I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings.Â
When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing.Â
âIs this what you desire?â he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure.Â
I nodded desperately. âYes,â I gasped.
He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls.Â
Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest.Â
His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.
âSholÄ«ze,â (Youâre so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap.Â
âShkelagon zhÄdys,â (Youâre making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries.Â
A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm.Â
The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didnât withdraw until heâd coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body.Â
A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything Iâd ever known, bloomed within me.
Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips.Â
âGevie,â he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.
I knew that word.
Beautiful.Â
AEMOND
I never thought the act of making an heir would be this⊠riveting.Â
So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers.Â
But this was not going to make an heir, after all. Â
She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire.Â
She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips.Â
This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.
Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm.Â
Untamed, fierce, fuckable.
She was molded just for me.
Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.
âTake it off,â she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame.Â
âDo not attempt any strikes this time,â I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.
âYou have my word,â she said softly.Â
The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick.Â
I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest.Â
I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. âIâll fill you with my seed, wife,â I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession â all rolled into one. Â
Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. âAs long as youâll leave me alone once youâre done,â she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance.Â
Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me.Â
I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy.Â
âYouâre bound to me now,â I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. âYouâre not going anywhere.â
A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, âĂuhon.â (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss.Â
When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me.Â
I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself.Â
I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian.Â
âVÄ«rÈłn (take it), youâre so fucking wet, gĆ«rogon mirre yno (take all of me).â
Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.
Seven Hells.Â
The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her.Â
Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust.Â
âIksis ao bisa ijiĆrtan?â (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what Iâd been saying half the time.Â
Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire.Â
Thunder rolled overhead.Â
I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.
She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.
âTo whom do you belong?â I growled in her ear.
She didnât resist any of my advances this time. âYou,â she breathed.Â
âSay my name.â
âAemond.â
âAnd who is your King?â
âAemond.â
My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.
âSay it.â
âYouâre the King, Your Grace,â she whined. âThe first of your name.â
It set me on fire.
I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.
My muscles shook from the aftershock.
I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down.Â
When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.
âDragonseed is precious,â I rumbled into her ear. âWould not want it to go to waste.â I kissed her temple.
âTepagon aĆha dÄrys iÄ dÄrilaros, dĆna ÄbrazÈłrys.â (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)
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Mine, Utterly [Loki x Reader]
A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After making Prince Loki a little jealous, he lays down the law on the eve of an important occasion. (w/c 2.1k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Minors DNI. Dirty talk, language.

Your hands hit the mattress and grasped at the silken sheets, as if that would save you.
âMy Prince,â you gasped, breaths scorching against your lungs as he ripped the chiffon around your thighs.
All youâd done was smile at the guard. Okay, maybe flirt a littleâŠjust enough to rouse the jealousy Loki had suggested with a mischievous shine in his eyes before taking his place on the Royal banqueting dais.
A palm landed on your exposed ass cheek. Crying out, you shot a glance over your shoulder. Prince Loki stood, storms in his darkened eyes, the leather belt that had been slung across his chest now dangling from a fist. "You dare to make a god jealous?"
Your stomach dropped. What if it was a test; what if he was joking? But for all his antics, the Prince wasnât known for his humour when it came to matters of the heartâor the flesh. He didnât share, and as that thought sank in, the knuckles on the fist whitened. You inhaled sharply, grip tightening on the sheets.
Something struck your ass again, but this time it gripped. Lokiâs back was pressed to yours. The emeralds studded into the intricately constructed doublet pinched through the thin fabric of your bodice as he whispered, âPerhaps I wasnât clear that when you are mine, you are mine; utterly.â
His knuckles trailed down your bicep, those fingers that had been wet with your cum too many times to count in palace corridors and dark corners dancing across your skin. Those digits had fastened around your wrist and torn you away from the feasting hall, his obligations forgotten, and whisked you in an explosion of green light to the candlelit expanse of your own bedroom.
Now, Lokiâs cock pressed through the layers of leather and velvet covering it right into the swell of your ass. It was a familiar feelingâbut heâd always resisted. Only his fingers, his tongue, his wordsâthat was the only relief he gave you over past months since your arrival at court. Never his pleasureânever his cock.
Norns, how you wanted to fuck him; wanted to ride him until his own name scattered on the wind like ash, feel him slam into your cunt until his brilliant mind was a blur of lines like wine spilled on parchment. You wondered how your name sounded on his lips when he came: staggered, gasping, choking for mercy.
His nose drew a line up your neck, inhaling at the pulse point like a hound. âYou are mine, arenât you?â he murmured.
In answer, your hand slid up his temple and knotted into Lokiâs hair. A growl built in his throat, swelling your confidence in time with the heat throbbing between your legs. âNo more, and no less, than you are mine, Loki Odinson.â
His teeth sank into your shoulder, just enough to make you squirm against his cock. He spun you around, tipping your over the edge of the mattress while he towered in a silhouette of black and forest green pulsating in amber flickers.
His fingers made quick work of the laces at his groin and then, his legendary, iron cock was in his hand. It was even more perfect that youâd dreamed. A well of saliva rose indelicately beneath your tongue. Loki stroked it, back and forth, as you watched: hypnotised.
âTonight, I will show you what it is to be mine,â he said, low and thicker than molasses on a winterâs eve. âAfter that, Iâm afraid you will be ruined for all othersâŠâ A devilish smirk lit at the corners of his mouth. Your heart pounded as you sat up on the bed, trying frantically to untangle the dress sprawled around your hips. Lokiâs knees hit the mattress.
"Allow me," he said, before ripping the dress from your body in one, swift movement.
Your eyes widened as it fluttered to the floor. Only the corset remained. "My PrinceâŠI," you said, attempting to keep the game fluid; but Loki pressed a finger to your lips with a hush. It was still warm from the friction of his cock.
"We have talked long enough, you and I. I would very much like to fuck youâŠ" His eyebrows rose. "I will, fuck you. I will have you; utterly."
As the final syllable melted, so did his clothes. The emerald encrusted doublet was first, then the sigils of his station, then the boots andâoh, godsâthe leather trousers.
Your chest tightened at the sight of him: carved like marble, the tremor of his muscle beneath taut skin as he rested back on his heels, thighs spread, enough to make you howl. Lokiâs chin dipped to his chest, unbound hair falling around his milky shoulders like hot tar over battlements. His cheekbones flashed in pulsing candlelight as he said with a touch of malice, "I will not be kept waiting. Not anymore," but his eyes glinted.
You crawled the space between you and hoisted onto his lap. With your arms around his neck, your bare cunt pressed against the throb of his flesh, you couldnât imagine it ever not being thus. And then, you kissed him; one sliding into the next like spring into summer, like night into day.
Lokiâs kisses were a medley of ravenous restraint; morphing like his magic between complete desperation and tenderness. His hands cupped your ass, scooting you further up his lap. The tip of his cock rubbed against your slit.
"I want to consume you," he whispered, lips wet from your kisses. "And you will never be anothers."
"Never." A ragged moan ripped the air as you sank onto his length. Lokiâs groan of pleasure was everything youâd dreamt ofâa primal flash beneath the regal façade you wanted to tear at with your bare hands. His chin tipped back, nailing you with his dilated stare as his hips pushed up.
"Loki," you gasped, clutching at his back muscle. He was huge. The Prince bottomed out, teeth clenching.Â
"Youâve no idea how much I craved this little cunt," he panted as your hands fisted in his hair. "How many times Iâve wanted to pin you against the wall and fuck you until all thoughts of other men were shaken from your mind forever."
The squelch of your pussy jammed with his cock punctuated every word. "How youâve teased me, played with me; ruined meâall for the want of the Valhalla I knew would be between your legs."
Lokiâs head fell back with broken cry of anguish as you clench around the root of his cock, dragging up before slamming down onto the meat of his thighs.
âFuck, kvinneâŠnow I find myself trickedâŠâ he said, breathless. The godâs head rose, strands of sex damp hair plastered across his brow. "I want you more than ever."
His eyes narrowed, and then his lips collided to yours, tongue demanding entry with the sureness of a tide on the shore. His nails dug into the curve of your waist, guiding your hips. Every gyration made new sparks burst to life, sizzling from your clit to the deepest parts of your body and mind that had never been so alive.
âI will never be sated,â Loki growled, thrusting faster, âNeverâŠnever.â With a rumble, he flipped you onto your back. Lokiâs lips worked down the hard sinews of your neck, sucking against supple skin, palming your breasts upward. He was possessed. Lokiâs name was a chant in your throat, the absence of his cock inside you becoming unbearable.
"Fuck me," you whined, and Loki looked up from where heâd been distracted with your nipple between his teeth.
âRuined for all others,â confirmed Loki, smirking. He crawled over your body, settling his legs on either side and drawing the leaking head of himself through your sopping folds. âBeg for it.â
You raised an eyebrow.
âBegâŠmy pretty, pretty whore.â Lokiâs lips grazed across your cheek like wind through barley; a short, trembling sigh flooding your ear.
âMaybe youâre my whore, Odinson. Did you consider that?â
His thick cock twitched against your heat as he stared down at you with your perfectly styled hair mussed, your thighs spread, your lips bitten and stinging, before he whispered, âI consider everything.â Dark curls hung down either side of his jaw, framing the angle of his jawline as he licked his lips and settled into a cage around your head. The muscles of his forearms twitched with the effort of not fucking you into the mattress. The words bubbled in your throat, spilling forth before you could second guess them. âWell, if youâre my whore, then satisfy me.â
âTell me youâre mine.â Those words shaped his tongue like summer storms. âAnd you will have everything you desire; always.â
You scraped hair back from his face, the beat of his heat thumping through his skin. His hips dragged against your clit, making your knees tighten around his ribs. âIâm yours,â you whispered, âUtterly.â Lokiâs cock squeezed inside, and his face twisted in relief absolute. One of his hands flew to the ornate headboard; whacks of ancient wood against stone sounding with every thrust. His pubic hair dragged against your swollen clit, moans mingling with the fragrance of sweat and sex that clung to your bodies and rose like steam.
The god knew your body like you thought only you did, and every grip of his hands, shift of his hips, work of his mouthâyou couldnât catch your breath. His lust was the chop of waves, drowning you on the undertow of his strength, and scent and the hair brushing your lips as he fucked you. You never had a chance. Need scorched up your skin as climax broke. It flooded through your body, Lokiâs name a rattle in your throat as his exhales of pleasure pounded in your ear. He hissed as fingernails dragged down the wide expanse of his back, the slide of his cock primal and wet, balls smacking against cum-slick skin.
The princeâs thrusts slowed, rocking you through the final threads of orgasm stringing you together. You gaped at him, heavy eyed and open mouthed as his torso rose between your legs, his palms splayed on your thighs, his abdomen flexing with every glacial, devastating thrust.
Lokiâs head fell back, his black curls a sheet down the faint flush of pale skin.
The veins in his neck hardened, jaw clenched to the ceiling as deep lines settled on his brow. Your breath hitched.
Every glide of his cock was met by the gluttonous squelch of your cum. Loki rocked on his heels, guiding himself over the edge inside your perfect cunt.
âGods,â he choked to the murals above the bed. And then, he came.
His face screwed up as the wave hit was the most beautiful thing youâd ever seen. Lokiâs groan trembled through your skin, beneath your flesh and vibrating your bones. His fingers tightened, and you knew that tomorrow your gown would hide the evidence of obsession marked in blue and purple shadows of devotion.
Devotion, you thought lazily as he gasped out the syllabled of your name and collapsed on your chest; meeting your lips with open mouthed enthusiasm.
Somewhere, a bell tolled. Loki sighed, slipping himself out of you with a mutter of irritation. He clicked his fingers, and the elaborate garb assembled on him like a blossom of ink. His lip curled. âThe next time I see you, it will be in white.â
âMmmâŠâ âAnd yet they will have no clue what a fantastically depraved wretch for me that my intended is.â âI think they might know that already if the maids who caught you pleasuring me in the kitchens last week werenât muteâand besides, perhaps theyâll just think my intended is a bad influence.â
âGods, I hope so,â Loki murmured against your skin before biting your cheek softly, melting into a kiss. âUntil tomorrow, then.â Loki drew away, his eyes serious but a small smile playing at his lips. âWhen youâre my wife, you shall never be rid of me.â âGods, I hope so,â you echoed, and in the space of a heartbeat, Loki vanished.
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I WOULD GIVE UP HEAVEN IF I HAVE TO
SYNOPSIS: Jungwon, a celestial angel bound by the laws of Heaven, finds himself torn between his divine duty and the pull of an earthly feeling, he faces a choice that could shatter the heavens. Yet in the end, what is God in the face of a womanâs love and the lure of forbidden lust?
PAIRINGS: angel!jungwon x angel!reader
GENRE: celestial beings au, forbidden love, smut, angst, fluff (?)
A/N: word count is at 6k, vv sacrilege uve been warned ;P + mean n seducing won <3
The day you first met Jungwon was a whisper of eternity, a moment so brief yet so significant, it rippled through your existence like a stone dropping into a still lake. As a guardian angel, you were accustomed to the constancy of time, the serene repetition of your duties.
Angels were never meant to interfere with humans, never to step beyond the gates of Heaven unless a grand divine intervention was called for. But humanity has grown complacent, content in their free will, leaving angels to guard them solely from afar. No interaction, just silent watchfulnessâangels touch forbidden in a world we can never truly know.
You observed, you guided, you protected humanity from a distance, never too close, never too involved. Emotions, especially those that plagued the mortal world, were foreign to you, nothing more than fleeting curiosity. They were indulgences you were never meant to understand.
But then there was him.
Jungwon.
From the moment your eyes met, something about him was different. The air around him seemed to hum with a quiet defiance, as though the very essence of him was a challenge to the order you had always known. It was said that he embodied what the most beautiful angel had, or perhaps now a fallen one. His every glance seemed to carry a depth that tugged at the core of your being, stirring something within you that shouldnât exist between angels.
You werenât supposed to feel this way.
The first time you exchanged words wasnât in the usual manner angels would communicate- through thoughts, intentions, and divine understanding. No, it was in the silence between breaths, in the space between one shared breath and the next. You had taken a brief rest from your duties, your wings fluttering gently in the golden light of Heavenâs plain, when Jungwon appeared beside you. His wings, light and sleek, casting long shadows across the celestial space.
His voice was soft, but it carried a weight that unsettled you. âalluringly strange, arenât they?â he murmured, his tone contemplative, his eyes locked onto the human world below. âTo watch them so closely⊠yet feel so distant.â
You blinked, startled by the unexpected conversation. For a moment, you hesitated. It was rare for angels to speak so plainly, so openly about their thoughts. Nodding slowly, keeping your gaze fixed on the mortals below, oblivious to the divine beings who watched over them. âItâs how itâs meant to beâ you replied, your voice quieter than usual, as if afraid to acknowledge the crack in your own conviction. Terrified the heavens would hear.
Jungwonâs laugh was soft, almost mocking, finding amusement in your response. âAnd you believe that? that weâre meant to remain detached, distant from them, from everything?â
You glanced at him, frowning slightly. There was something dangerous about the way he spoke, something that made your wings twitch in discomfort. âThat is what we are toldâ you stated, though the words tasted like ash in your mouth. It was what you were told, what you had believed for so long. Yet now, standing beside him, you felt the certainty slipping away, crumbling under the weight of his questions. What was the logic in this rule? Humans can have their free will but to the ones closer to God are bound by strictest constraints, as if divinity itself demands the suppression of choice.
He stepped closer, his presence suddenly more tangible, more magnetic than it had any right to be. The warmth of him radiated through the air, a stark contrast to the cold and distant perfection of Heaven. âWhat if..â he said, his voice a low murmur âwe werenât meant to be distant at all? What if weâre just⊠afraid? Afraid of what happens when we get too close?â
Your breath hitched, wings trembling at his wordsâwords that challenged the very core of your existence. Alarms rang in your mind at the defiance he spoke, yet deep within, something stirredâsomething that ached, something unmistakably human.Your heart, a thing you hadnât even realized could race, seemed to beat louder in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears. You swallowed thickly, trying to suppress the unfamiliar sensation. âJungwon...â His name left your lips, a warning, a plea.
His lips curled into a dangerous smile, the kind that made your pulse quicken against your will. âTell me,â he said, his voice dropping even lower, âyouâve never wondered what it feels like to love, to feel, to desireâ
His words lingered in the air, forbidden words that sent a shiver down your spine. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died on your tongue. Of course, you had wondered. How could you not? Every moment spent watching the humans, observing their connections, their emotions, their pain, and their pleasure. How could you not be curious? But that was all it was supposed to beâcuriosity, as guardian angels are supposed to be. Nothing more.
âI⊠Iâve wondered,â you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, as if confessing to a sin that had yet to be committed. âBut it doesnât matter. Weâre angels. Weâre not supposed toââ
âSupposed to?â Jungwon interrupted, his gaze piercing through you. âWeâre not supposed to feel? Not supposed to want?â His wings unfurled slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, and for a brief moment, they brushed against yours just barely. The contact was electric, a jolt of energy that sent heat coursing through you, making your breath catch in your throat.
âWanting is greed, Jungwon. You know this.â you pleaded, your wings growing anxious as you held his intense gaze.
âYou canât tell me you donât feel itâ he whispered, his face now inches from yours. His eyes, deep and dark, seemed to search your soul, as if he could see every thought, every doubt, every desire you had tried to bury from the face of many Angels and God. âYou canât tell me you donât want it.â
He glanced down from the clouds, his gaze shifting to a small apartment below, where a couple lay intertwined, their limbs tangled together in the intimate closeness only lovers knew. The warmth between them was noticeable, a soft glow of contentment that radiated from their shared breaths, their whispered words. They werenât bound by divine law, but by something deeper, something that defied heavenâs cold perfection. "Look at them" he murmured, tone somewhat yearning "What they have is real. You can feel it too, if you let yourself."
You couldnât speak. The words were there, but they refused to come out, tangled up in the storm of emotions that raged inside you. His nearness, the warmth of his body, the soft whisper of his wings. It was overwhelming, intoxicating.
âI... donât...â you started, your voice trembling. But even as you tried to deny it, the truth lingered in the space between you.
He closed the distance between you, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his touch soft but firm, like he was grounding you to him. âYou doâ he said quietly, his breath brushing against your skin. âI can see it in your eyes. You want to feel it. what do you feel when youâre with me?â
Your heart pounded in your chest, your body betraying you in the way your wings fluttered, the way your breath quickened. This was wrong. You knew it was wrong. But the way his touch set your skin alight, the way his voice made your whole being tremble, it was unlike anything you had ever known. Unlike anything you were ever supposed to know.
You exhaled, a shuddering breath escaping your lips as you leaned into his touch, your forehead resting against his. âWhat are we doing?â you whispered, your voice heavy with uncertainty, fear, and most of all desire.
Jungwonâs smile softened, and for the first time, it wasnât dangerous. It was tender. âWe are choosingâ he murmured. âChoosing something beyond Heaven, beyond what we were told, something that can be ours.â
His words hung in the air like a temptation you could no longer resist.
And for the first time in your existence, you allowed yourself to fall.
For the next few days, you had overused and beaten up your wings, desperately trying to fly anywhere but where Jungwon might be. Every time you felt his presence near, a wave of panic surged through you, pushing you to ascend higher, further, anything to avoid him. But the harder you tried to distance yourself, the more it felt like he was following, swarming up to you persistently, as if he was testing your resolve.
Your heart thudded painfully each time you thought of him. His defiant words echoed in your mind, growing louder despite your attempts to drown them out.
âWhat do you feel when youâre with me?â
âChoosing something beyond Heavenâ
The boldness of his voice. The way he had dared to utter such dangerous thoughts, to let them linger in your head as if they belonged there. It terrified you how much power his words held over you. The tremors of his defiance crept under your skin, crawling their way into your heart, a place where only obedience and light should reside.
How dare he?
Your jaw clenched as you flew through the night sky, trying to clear your head. He was reckless. You were reckless. This was forbidden, after all. There would be consequences. All the angels would know. God would know. Surely, Jungwon wasnât oblivious to this.
Was he not afraid?
Your thoughts raced faster than your wings could carry you. Was this all a trick? Perhaps the celestials were testing your faith, your devotion to the supreme being, that was the only explanation for how wrong this felt. Yet, no matter how much you wanted to hate Jungwon for planting these doubts, you couldnât shake the pull he had over you.
You stopped abruptly mid-air, hovering in the thick clouds. It was cold and silent up here, your sanctuary from his presence. But the silence didnât last.
âY/Nâ a voice messed up the stillness, low and soft, with the same warmth that always managed to break through your defences.
You turned sharply to see him, his glowing figure descending through the mist, his expression calm but filled with determination. Both of you glowed in the clouds as your wings fluttered in agitation, but your body betrayed you. You couldnât move.
âYou need to stop running from meâ Jungwon said, his tone firm but not unkind. He landed gently, his wings folding behind him as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours.
You scoffed, looking away, trying to suppress the shiver his voice sent through you. âIâm not running.â But even you didnât believe your own words.
âReally?â He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing. âBecause from where Iâm standing, it sure looks like youâve been avoiding me.â
You crossed your arms over your chest, your wings twitching. âWhat would you like to happen, Jungwon?â You kept your voice steady, trying to mask the turmoil broiling inside you. âDo you want to drag me down with you? Make me lose my faith?â
Jungwonâs expression softened, and for the first time, you saw the hint of vulnerability in his eyes. âThatâs not what I want.â He took another step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. âI just⊠I want you to understand. I need you to listen to me.â
You clenched your fists, glaring at him. âUnderstand you? That youâre willing to throw everything away? For what, Jungwon? Some fleeting desire? You know the consequences of defying Him.â
He flinched at your words, but didnât back down. Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering near yours, his fingers trembling slightly. âIâm not defying Him, Y/N. Iâm just questioning things. Iâve seen so much, felt so much, and Iââ He stopped, searching for the right words. âI need you to tell me Iâm wrong, that this is just in my head.â
Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. This was what terrified you the most because deep down, you couldnât tell him he was wrong. You felt it too, that undeniable connection, that forbidden pull.
âJungwonâŠwe cannot question, this is not something we are supposed to do..â you whispered, finally meeting his gaze, your resolve wavering. âThis canât happen. We cannot happen.â
He took a deep breath, closing the space between you, his wings brushing against yours. âI know what weâre supposed to believe. I know whatâs expected of us. But when Iâm with you⊠it feels different. Doesnât it feel different to you?â
Your heart hammered in your chest, your wings trembling as you struggled to find your voice. He was too close, too intense, and you couldnât think straight. But the truth was already written in the air between you.
Ultimately your eyes gave way to confession, teary doe orbs looking up at him in defeat.Â
His eyes softened at your confession, a small, almost hopeful smile tugging at his lips. âThen why are you running? Why donât you want to feel?â
You swallowed hard, tearing your gaze away from his. âBecause⊠because Iâm afraid.â
He reached out and gently cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes again. âIâm afraid too, Y/N. But I donât want to keep ignoring this. For us.â
You stared at him, the weight of his words settling in your chest. For the first time, you allowed yourself to truly see himânot as the defiant angel who had threatened to upend your world, but as someone who was just as lost and confused as you were.
But the fear was still there, gnawing at the back of your mind like the devil. âWhat if we fall like him?â you whispered.
Jungwonâs thumb brushed softly against your cheek, thoughts containing nothing but the way you glow under his touch as he answered, âThen we fall together.â
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It wasnât long after that when the two of you finally crossed the line between curiosity and indulgence. What began as short glances became something far more dangerous. The way Jungwonâs eyes lingered on you felt different. It was heavy, charged with an unspoken yearning. Each stolen glance became longer, every shared moment too intimate, too deliberate to be mistaken for an accident.
At first, it was subtle. A brush of wings as you passed by each other in Heavenâs expanse, fingers grazing ever so slightly, a touch that sent a jolt of something forbidden coursing through you. You convinced yourself it was nothing. But when his hand lingered longer on your skin, when your breaths began to sync in spaces that felt too small, too electric, you both knew there was no denying it anymore.
You still knew it was wrongâevery stolen touch, every stolen moment. Heavenâs laws were absolute. Angels were never meant to feel love, never meant to desire in ways so primal, so human. Love, passion, and lust, these were things of the mortal world, indulgences you were forbidden from experiencing. And yet, with every passing day, your connection with Jungwon grew deeper, more consuming. What had once been a flicker of curiosity between you became a fire that burned brighter, hotter, threatening to consume you both.
It was under a sky painted with stars that the line between the divine and the forbidden finally shattered. You stood with him, high above the mortal realm, the glow of Heaven's light just out of reach. Jungwon turned to you, his eyes filled with something dangerous, something neither of you could ignore anymore. The air between you was thick with tension, with desire that had been kept on a tight leash for too long.
He reached for you then, slowly, as if giving you a chance to pull away. But you didnât. His fingers brushed against your jaw, his thumb tracing your lower lip with agonizing softness. You inhaled sharply, feeling the heat of his touch sink into your skin. The moment hung between you, the anticipation crackling like lightning in the air.
When his lips finally met yours, it was like falling. Soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters of something you both knew you had no right to claim. But the moment his mouth touched yours, something inside you broke. A barrier that had kept you tethered to Heavenâs laws shattered under the weight of your desire for him. Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that surprised even you.
His wings unfurled, brushing against yours, the sensation of feather against feather sending sparks down your spine. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you against him until your bodies were flush, his breath mingling with yours, hot and erratic. You pressed yourself closer, needing to feel more, to take more, as if the space between you was suffocating. Every touch was a silent rebellion, a cry against the laws you had followed your entire existence.
âAre you scared?â you whispered against his lips, your voice breathless as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. Your forehead rested against his, the question lingering in the air like the last remnants of doubt.
His eyes, dark and full of something unholy, something that mirrored the desire burning in your own, met yours. His breath was shallow, his grip on your waist tightening as he spoke, âIâve never been more certain of anything in my existence.â
Your heart raced at his words, at the certainty in his voice. His hands slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, down to your thighs, lifting you just enough so that your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The moment you did, a growl escaped his throat, low and primal, sending a shiver through your entire body. His lips returned to yours, this time more demanding, more urgent, as if he couldnât stand to be apart from you for even a second.
He carried you backward, your back pressing against the soft clouds beneath you, though it felt as solid as any earthly bed. His wings flared wide, casting shadows over you as his hands explored your body, every touch igniting sparks along your skin. His fingers grazed the hem of your robe, pulling the fabric away inch by inch, exposing the bare skin beneath to the cool night air.
Your breath hitched as Jungwonâs lips trailed down your neck, leaving a scorching path in their wake. His teeth grazed your skin, just enough to make you gasp, your body arching beneath him. One of his hands slipped beneath your robe, fingers brushing over your inner thigh, teasing, testing, before slipping higher.
A sharp gasp escaped you as his fingers found the heat between your legs, pressing with deliberate slowness. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan building in your throat, but it was useless. The sound slipped past your lips, soft and needy, spurring him on.
Jungwonâs lips returned to yours, devouring your moans as his fingers moved in slow, agonizing circles. You felt yourself unravelling beneath him, every nerve touched with pleasure, every thought consumed by the sensation of his touch. His wings enveloped you, cocooning the two of you in darknessâshielding you from Heavenâs gaze.
âTell meâ he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with desire, âtell me you want this.â
Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling beneath his touch. âI⊠I want you,â you confessed, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. âI want you, Jungwon.â
His eyes darkened, something feral flickering in them as he claimed your lips in a bruising kiss. His fingers pressed harder, moving faster, and you could feel yourself teetering on the brink of something dangerous, something forbidden. But just as you neared the edge, everything changed.
In a heartbeat, you were bound. Silken ropes wrapped tightly around your wrists, pinning your arms above your head, your back pressed against a smooth, heavenly pillar. The restraints dug into your skin, not painful, but tight enough to remind you who held the power.
âYou look pathetic like thisâ Jungwon sneered, his voice low and dripping with condescension. He stood over you, his gaze dark and unrelenting, roaming over your vulnerable form. âNo celestial being or human could never amount to your beautyâ
Yet, in this moment of power, he revelled in your submission, a twisted satisfaction lighting up his features. The tension between you crackled like electricity, and you could feel his breath against your skin, warm and taunting. âItâs almost tragicâ he continued as he leaned closer, âhow such beauty can be so easily bound and helpless.â
His fingers ghosted down your body, featherlight and taunting. You squirmed, testing the ropes, but they held firm. A sharp tug at your wrists elicited a gasp from your lips, and the helpless, needy sound only made Jungwonâs smirk widen.
âJust think of what I could do with you, all this beauty restrained,â he murmured, the promise of his intentions hanging heavy in the air. âLook at you,â he muttered, his voice laced with cruel amusement. âSo desperate. So needy. What a disgrace for an angel.â
Without warning, his hand shot to your throat, gripping tightly enough to make your pulse race beneath his palm. He tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes were filled with something dark, primal, something that made your stomach churn with both fear and desire.
âYou think you deserve my touch?â he whispered, his grip tightening just slightly. âYou think Iâd be gentle after all your disobedience?â
You tried to shake your head, tried to speak, but the pressure on your throat choked off your words. Jungwonâs grip loosened just enough for you to gasp for air, and then his lips were on yours. Going rough, demanding, leaving no room for tenderness. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before biting down hard enough to draw a whimper from you.
âThatâs more like it,â he growled against your mouth. âI want to hear you beg.â
He pulled away, his hand trailing down your body, curling around your thighs before forcing them apart. The cool air hit your bare skin, heightening your awareness of every inch of yourself, exposed for his pleasure. His gaze never left your face as his hand slid between your thighs, fingers hovering, teasing, never quite touching where you needed him most.
âBeg for itâ he ordered, his voice low and dangerous. âTell me how much you want this.â
You squirmed beneath him, your wrists tugging at the restraints as you tried to press closer. âPlease, Jungwon,â you whispered, your voice shaky, âplease⊠touch me.â
Jungwonâs laugh was cold and mocking. His fingers brushed against you, just enough to make you gasp, before pulling away entirely. âIs that the best you can do?â he taunted. âPathetic. Youâll have to beg harder than that.â
A flush of heat crept up your face, your body burning with need. âPleaseâ you whimpered, your voice breaking with desperation. âI need you⊠Iâll do anything.â
A cruel smile curved his lips as he finally pressed his fingers against your clit, slow and teasing, sending waves of pleasure through your trembling body. You arched against the pillar, a soft moan escaping your lips, but Jungwonâs other hand gripped your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his.
âKeep your eyes on meâ he commanded, his voice a low growl. âI want to see every second of your surrender.â
His fingers moved faster, slipping inside you with a practiced, ruthless precision. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to keep you on the edge of release, but never quite letting you tip over. You writhed beneath him, your body aching for release, but the cruel gleam in Jungwonâs eyes told you he wasnât going to give it easily.
âLook at you, pretty angel~ falling apart with just my fingers. Do you even realize how weak you are right now? How easily I could break you?â
His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body trembling with need. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, desperate for more, but Jungwon wasnât done playing with you yet.
âBeg me to let you comeâ he commanded, his voice rough and unforgiving.
âPleaseâ you gasped, your voice trembling. âPlease, Jungwon⊠I need it. Please let me come.â
Jungwonâs smirk deepened as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, âYou donât get to come until I say so.â
With that, his fingers slowed, keeping you teetering on the brink of release, but never granting you the satisfaction. He watched you squirm, his cruel laughter filling your ears as you struggled against the golden ropes, your body shaking with the overwhelming need for more.
âYouâll come when I decideâ he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. âUntil then, youâre mine to toy with.â
Jungwonâs smirk softened as he looked down at you, your body trembling beneath him, bound and helpless in the ropes heâd tied with such care. His thumb grazed your cheek, and for a moment, the cruel glint in his eyes faded, replaced by something deeper, something more intimate.
"You look so perfect like this," he whispered, loosening the bonds around your wrists. His fingers lingered where the silk had dug into your skin, rubbing the marks softly. "But Iâm not done with you yet."
Your wrists fell free, and as you collapsed into him, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest. He was still so firm, so in control, yet his touch was different, now gentler, but no less commanding. His lips brushed your forehead, soft and reverent, like a promise.
âIâm going to take care of you,â he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. âBut only because youâve been so good for me.â
You shuddered as his hands slid down your body, no longer teasing, but steady and sure. He lowered you back down to the soft clouds beneath you, his eyes locked on yours, dark with desire but softened by something warmer now. His fingers trailed along your thighs, and when he positioned himself between them, the world seemed to slow, the air thick with anticipation.
âYou still want this?â His voice was low, almost vulnerable, as though he needed to hear you say it again.
âI want youâ you breathed, your hands reaching up to touch his face, pulling him closer. âIâve always wanted you.â
Jungwonâs lips found yours in a kiss that was slow and deep, a kiss that spoke of everything unsaid between you. Desire, defiance, and something more dangerous. His body pressed against yours, and you could feel every inch of him, hard and ready, but holding back just enough to make you ache with longing.
He broke the kiss, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, âYou have no idea how long Iâve waited for this.â
Slowly, carefully, he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, there was no dominance, no power play, just the raw connection between you two, something that defied the very laws you had once sworn to uphold.
And then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside you. The sensation was overwhelming. He filled you completely, stretching you in ways that made you gasp, your body arching against him. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as he settled into a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body.
âGodâ you moaned, your fingers digging into his arms as he moved, your body melting beneath him.
Jungwon chuckled softly, his lips brushing your jaw. âNot quiteâ he teased, his voice low and husky. âBut Iâll make you feel like it.â
His pace quickened, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic, his body moving with an effortless grace that made it impossible to think of anything but the pleasure building inside you. His wings, usually tucked away, spread out around you both, creating a cocoon of feathers and warmth, shielding you from the world, from Heavenâs judging eyes.
âLook at meâ he commanded softly, and when you did, the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. "I want to see you when you fall apart."
You whimpered, your hands clinging to his shoulders as his thrusts became deeper, more urgent, driving you closer and closer to the edge. His fingers curled around your thighs, pulling them up to wrap around his waist, and the new angle sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making you gasp.
âJungwonâ you moaned, your voice trembling, âI... I canâtââ
âYes, you canâ he growled, his lips brushing your ear as he thrust harder, his body pressing down against yours, his pace relentless. âYouâre going to come for me, and Iâm going to watch you break.â
You were so close, nearing on the edge of release, every nerve in your body alight with the sensation of him, filling you, consuming you. Your breaths came in uneven, shaky gasps, your body quivering beneath him. Yet, he kept you pinned in place, his fingers pressing into your skin, anchoring you to him.
"Say my name" he commanded, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Say it when you come."
His thumb brushed against the sensitive spot between your legs, rubbing slow, deliberate circles in time with his thrusts, and that was all it took. You came undone beneath him, your body arching off the clouds as the pleasure crashed over you, your hands gripping his arms as you cried out his name.
âJungwon!â The word spilled from your lips, raw and breathless, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you. He watched you the entire time, his eyes dark with satisfaction as you fell apart beneath him.
And then with a final thrust, he followed you over the edge. His body shuddered as he came inside you, filling you completely. His grip on your hips tightened, his breath ragged against your neck as he buried himself deep within you, his release leaving him trembling in your arms.
For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you lost in the aftermath, your bodies tangled together in the warmth of each otherâs embrace. Slowly, Jungwon pulled out, his hands gentle as he lowered you back onto the clouds, his body still hovering over yours, protective and possessive.
His fingers brushed your cheek, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were softer than you had ever seen them before.
âYouâre mineâ he whispered, his lips pressing softly against your forehead, a promise in every word. âAlways mine.â
Your heart pounded in your chest, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to breathe, but you couldnât look away. The ropes were gone, but the invisible link between you and Jungwon felt stronger than ever.
âIâm yoursâ you whispered, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.
Jungwon smiled, a real, soft smile that sent warmth flooding through you. He leaned down, kissing you again, this time with tenderness, the ferocity of his earlier dominance replaced by something deeper, something that felt almost like love.
And as he held you close, the weight of your defiance hung in the air, but it no longer felt like a burden. With Jungwon beside you, it felt like freedom.
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Heaven was quick to notice. The divine realm was not blind to such transgressions, and the whispers of your defiance reached the ears of the highest angels. You and Jungwon were summoned, the sacred halls echoing with the weight of your sin, warned to sever the bond that had ignited between you before it was too late. But the love you shared had already become your heavenâmore sacred, more intoxicating than any celestial paradise could ever offer.
The Council of Seraphim loomed before you, their eyes cold and condemning, wings aglow with the pure, searing light of Heaven. Their gazes felt like knives against your skin, their judgement tearing at the very fabric of your existence. They told you that if you didnât end it, this forbidden love, you would be cast out. Fallen from grace. Stripped of your wings, your immortality, your divinity. Everything.
And still, you hesitated. Because how could eternity in Heaven ever compare to a single moment in Jungwonâs arms?
Luciferâs name was invoked, a warning etched in whispers that spread like wildfire through the ethereal clouds. Gasps echoed through the heavens, the horror of it rippling like a wave, a reminder of what happens to angels who want more. More than servitude. More than blind obedience. More than the perfection of paradise.
âLucifer chose greed over duty, and now he reigns in hellâ one of the Seraphim hissed, their wings flaring in anger. âIs this the path you choose as well?â
Jungwon, standing beside you, his jaw set and eyes burning with quiet defiance, reached for your hand. His fingers slid into yours, warm, trembling but unshakable in their conviction. That single touch⊠so human, so raw, that it grounded you, even as the weight of the Seraphimâs words threatened to crush you.
"Let them take everything from us" he whispered, his voice steady despite the judgement raining down upon him like fire. "They can have their paradise. As long as I have you, I already have heaven."
Tears stung your eyes, your heart breaking under the truth of his words. The reality of what you were about to lose weighed down on you like an anchor, dragging you into the depths of your sorrow. You tried to imagine it, tried to picture life without the wings that had carried you through eternity. The light of Heaven fading from your soul. The cold, eternal exile. Your body shook, not just with fear but with the knowledge that this choice would ruin you.
âI canâtâŠâ Your voice cracked, barely a whisper, your tears finally falling. âI canât lose everything.â
Jungwonâs grip tightened around your hand, his eyes softening for just a moment. âYouâre not losing everything,â he murmured. âYouâre choosing everything that matters. Iâll be with you. Wherever we go, no matter what happens.â
The Seraphimâs voices thundered, condemning you both. The words "fallen," "disgrace," and "damnation" crashed around you, suffocating your last ties to the divine. Yet amid the chaos, all you could hear was Jungwon. His presence, his love, was the only thing keeping you from breaking apart completely.
You closed your eyes, the weight of Heaven's judgement pressing down on you like an avalanche. You could feel your wings begin to tremble, the shimmering light that once radiated from them dimming, fading away. Your immortality, your celestial powerâit was all slipping through your fingers. And still, all you could think of was him.
âAre you scared?â you asked, your voice a fragile whisper, barely able to meet his gaze.
Jungwon smiled, soft and full of that quiet, defiant strength. Everything that he was reassured you, âIâve never been more certain of anything in my existence.â
His words were a bandaid to your soul, a tether pulling you back from the edge of despair. You knew then, in that moment, that there was no other choice. No amount of divine glory, no promise of eternal light, could rival the love you shared. The bond that had been forged between you was too strong, too real. More real than anything Heaven could offer.
With trembling hands, you reached for your wings, feeling the divine energy pulse beneath your fingertips one last time before you let it go. The glow dimmed, the feathers withered, and then, they fell. One by one, your wings disintegrated, leaving you exposed, fragileâhuman.
The Seraphim watched in silence as your fall from grace became complete. But there was no turning back now. You had made your choice.
As the last of your wings faded into nothingness, you looked at Jungwon, his wings still intact but now dark, tarnished by your shared sin. He pulled you into his arms, holding you so close you could feel the beat of his heart against your chest.
"Together, my love" he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "Weâll face this together."
And as the gates of Heaven closed behind you, casting you into the abyss of exile, you realized that the real paradise wasnât in the clouds or the light of Heaven. It was here, in his arms, in the love you had chosen over everything.
And even though you had fallen, with Jungwon by your side, you had never felt so free.
#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen smut#enhypen scenarios#enhypen imagines#jungwon hard thoughts#jungwon scenarios#jungwon hard hours#jungwon smut#jungwon x reader#enhypen au#jungwon#jungwon angst
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Street Mouse
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader
Summary:
Warnings: Language, Violence, Minor Angst, Hinted attempted assault, fluff, military inaccuracies (teehee)
Word Count: 2.3K
A/n: i've got a whole bunch written for this pairing, and i might make some hc explanations. I've never played COD, sue me. I hope y'all enjoy and I'm gonna probably keep pumping out more parts of this cause i love love love it.
~*~
The distant sound of gunshots is akin to a lullaby now.
You're curled up in a rundown building, a tattered blanket draped over your legs as you try to get some rest.
The sound of more gunshots, these ones much closer, jolt you upright.
Risking a glance out the broken window, you peer down at the street below you, eyes widening as you see two men fighting intensely.
Your heart jumps into your throat at the display, and you can't tear your eyes away.
Eventually, the larger of the two plunges a knife into the smaller man, watching as his body crumples to the ground in a heap.
A shiver races down Simon's back, and he straightens, eyes carefully scanning the area for danger.
He turns around, glancing into each window before finally resting on the eyes he could feel piercing through his gear. His hand twitches toward one of the many weapons strapped to his body, but something about the wild curiosity in her eyes has him pausing.
You hold his gaze, unblinking and absolutely entranced.
He's a huge man, with a skull mask covering his face. Only his eyes are visible, and they all but gaze through your soul. He holds the staring contest, turning to face you fully until there's a soft grunt from behind him.
He glances over his shoulder as his comrade comes into view, and when he glances back at the building, you're gone.
He turns back to Soap slowly, risking one more glance over his shoulder, but it's as if you were never there in the first place.
"What is it? Ya see somethin', Lt?"
Ghost says nothing, only starts heading back the way he came, pausing to rid the corpse on the street of the weapons he was carrying.
You slowly peek out the window again, watching as the two disappear into the darkness of the night.
For weeks, maybe months, the country you now call home has been war-torn.
Schools have long since shut down, and the majority of the population has fled to find refuge elsewhere.
Which makes it a perfect place to hide.
And even though you know you should be keeping a low profile, you can't help but be intrigued by the skull-faced man.
And so you begin to follow him.
The streets are familiar now, as are the schedules of the soldiers and the hostiles.
Which is how you find yourself here.
You're not dumb enough to follow him onto the base or anywhere near it, but in the city when he's on patrol, those hours are all yours to observe.
Your curiosity does have you venturing farther outside of your comfort zone than you normally would, but it pays off every time your eyes meet.
And he's not oblivious to the new eyes that seem to be following him whenever he's in the city. Sure, he's gotten used to the locals staring whenever any of them walk through the streets, but these eyes aren't afraid or hostile. No, these ones are curious. Excited.
The next time he feels the gaze on him, he's outside at just past one in the morning, puffing on a cigarette in one of the few safer areas of the city. Goosebumps rise on his skin and he flicks the end of his cigarette, watching as the ash floats to the ground.
"As much as you try, you're not going to sneak up on me," He says softly, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it with the steel toe of his boot.
You say nothing, only watch curiously from the second floor of the house he's leaning against.
He turns around, backing up a few paces as his eyes dart from window to window, searching for your face until finally, they land on you.
"Show yourself."
You cock your head to the side, eyes shining in the moonlight.
"Come on, I won't hurt you, but I won't ask again," he warns.
A little grin pulls at your lips and you lean forward in the moonlight, not enough to fully show yourself, but enough for him to see the outline of your face.
You shake your head at him and bring your hand up to the side of your head. With your pointer and middle finger extended, you curl your ring and pinky finger in, pointing the faux gun at your head.
'Bang,' you mouth, knocking your head to the side dramatically.
Ghost lets out a breathy chuckle at your theatrics, his hands resting on his tactical belt.
"Why have you been following me?" He finally asks.
He's not one to second guess himself, not after all he's seen, all that he's endured. But he has to give you credit - you made him question his sanity for a day or two there.
Knowing that you're real, that someone has, in fact, been following him, puts his mind at ease.
You give him a soft smile then lean forward and press your lips to the glass.
He stares at the kiss mark left on the window, traces the soft pink mark with his eyes and then looks back up to where your eyes were, only to find that you've disappeared once again.
Simon Riley is a man who prides himself on his attention to detail, his situational awareness. But he cannot, for the life of him, understand how you manage to disappear into thin air like that.
This starts happening more and more frequently. Little run-ins, kisses left on windows, your twinkling eyes in the pale moonlight.
It's gotten to the point where he volunteers to go out on patrol if only for the possibility of catching a glimpse of your pretty eyes hidden between shadows.
And soon enough, the drawings start to appear.
The first one is drawn on a window, and he doesn't even notice it. Soap is the one who points it out.
"Look, Lt, looks like you've got a fan," he says, pointing to the window across the ally.
He glances over, following Soap's finger, and his brows raise.
On the window, drawn in what looks like marker, is a skull that matches the hard-plated mask on his face.
He scoffs, but deep down, he knows exactly who put that there. His suspicions are confirmed when he catches a lightning-quick glimpse of your eyes peeking through the curtains.
He starts seeing them more often. It surprises him how you manage to get into some of the most dangerous parts of the city and leave nothing but a skull drawing behind.
What really gets him, however, is one particular day, when they're tasked with a particular assignment.
Hostage rescue.
But the exact location of the hostages is unknown.
That is, until he notices little skulls drawn on the windows of one building. More skulls than he's ever seen you draw before.
Trusting his gut, he nods toward the building, signalling for his team to follow him as he approaches.
Sure enough, the skulls lead them better than breadcrumbs exactly to the hostages, and the hostiles are taken out quickly.
"How did you know it was this one?" Gaz asks once the building is secure, leaning outside with his Lieutenant as he lights up a cigarette.
He takes a long drag from it the blows out a cloud of smoke, his eyes flickering around in search of his helper.
"A little mouse told me," is his reply.
Never one to question his Lt, Gaz only nods and heads back inside to meet up with Soap.
As he smokes, Ghost notices a small piece of paper fluttering in the wind, half hidden beneath a rock on the ground.
Crouching down, he picks it up and unfolds it, scoffing out a chuckle.
On it is none other than one of your signature skulls. His little Banksy.
With his cigarette tucked between his lips, he grabs a pen from his breast pocket and scribbles down a half-assed picture on the paper, then tucks it beneath the rock one more time.
Though he can't see you, he knows you're nearby. He can feel your ever-present gaze.
"Ghost! Let's go!" Price calls from inside.
Tossing his cigarette onto the ground, Ghost turns on his heel and heads back inside to meet up with his team.
His back is turned for what feels like only seconds, but when he glances over his shoulder to check on the paper it's already gone.
~*~
You don't see the man with the skull face for a while after that, but you keep his drawing on you at all times.
It serves as a pleasant little reminder that life isn't so bad. Not all the time.
Your thoughts are shattered when you bump into a hard chest, tumbling to the ground with a grunt.
The night may be dark, but the moon shines brightly enough above you to illuminate the back alley you were sneaking through.
"Well, well, boys. Look what we've got here," the man says, a sick grin on his face.
He wears a similar uniform that your skull-faced soldier does, but this man's eyes are sick and snake-like. They send a shudder racing down your spine as you scramble back, scraping your hands on the ground until your back hits a wall.
"It's a long time past curfew, sweet cheeks. What're you doing out so late?" The ringleader asks, stepping closer to tower over you while his comrades circle around you, leaving you with no escape.
One of them grabs your arms and yanks you to your feet in front of them, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest.
The leader drags a dirty finger down your cheek, his brows drawing together when you yank your head back.
"I asked you a question, bitch," he snarls, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to keep your head where he wants it.
You glare up at him, then spit directly in his face, watching with satisfaction as he flinches back.
He chuckles after a moment, squeezing your face harder and glancing at his friends.
"Looks like we've got a fighter. That's okay, we know what to do with those, don't we, boys?" He asks.
This elicits chuckles from the men around you, and you feel your stomach drop.
"Do we?"
The voice is like the crack of a whip in a still room, and the laughter stops immediately.
The men beside you straighten up, hands coming up in salute.
Like water dousing a flame, you feel some of your fear ease at the newcomer.
"Tell me, Corporal, just what might we do with those?" Ghost asks, stepping out of the shadows.
"Lieutenant! We were just... this street rat was out past curfew," the man holding your chin tries to reason, quickly dropping your face.
Ghost nods, looking between the men, his eyes scanning over their names before finally resting on your eyes.
"This is what you lot spend your nights doing? Terrorizing the locals? The people we're supposed to be helping?" He asks, stepping even closer.
The tension grows thick, and you watch as the man in front of you turns around to face his superior.
Ghost chuckles dryly, the sound lacking any humour.
"You know bloody well what we do to terrorists, Corporal," he whispers, his voice deadly, dangerous.
"Now, would you care to explain to me what exactly you were doing to this nice young lady?" He asks again.
You stare up at his icy blue eyes as he makes the man cower, absolutely bewildered and warm inside.
"She's out past curfew," the Corporal tries again, his voice whiny and afraid.
Ghost nods, "and if I remember correctly, we give the citizens a warning and escort them home, we don't corner them against a wall and try to have our way with them. Or did you miss that day of training?"
The soldier's mouth opens and closes several times, but Ghost stays stoically staring at him, gaze sharp enough to kill.
"I asked you a question, Corporal, and I expect an answer!" He snarls, stepping into the man's personal space.
"There's a place for scum like you, and it's not on my team. You're removed, go back to base." His eyes find the other men, "if I ever catch you lot in the city pulling a stunt like this again, I won't be so forgiving. Dismissed."
With that final word, the three men all but sprint away, leaving you alone with the man who's consumed your every thought for the past several weeks.
He watches the men leave, and you're tempted to make your escape.
As if reading your mind, his gaze snaps back to you and his head cocks to the side.
"Even you can't go everywhere unseen, can you, mouse?" He asks.
You blink up at him, your heart racing in your chest.
He watches you for a moment longer, his brows drawing together.
"You speak English?"
You blink up at him again and he sighs, "Christ."
Slowly, you reach into the pocket of your sweater and pull out a piece of paper, opening it up and showing it to him.
His lips twitch upward when he sees his scribbled mouse next to the skull you've drawn.
"Mouse," you whisper, touching the paper.
He nods, pointing to the little drawing.
"Mouse. S'what you are. Quick, hard to catch."
You cock your head to the side and he takes that moment to take you in.
Since that first day, he's imagined what you look like, what you really look like, and he has to admit, he's not disappointed.
You're pretty, lovely even. If circumstances were different... if he were to see you in a bar, he might buy you a drink, ask for your number.
But you're a local, a street mouse, and he's here on business.
He gently pushes the paper back into your grasp and takes a small step back.
"You keep yourself safe. Try to stay out of the streets after curfew." He turns his back to you and takes a step away, then pauses.
"Or at least don't get caught."
#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon 'ghost' riley x reader#simon x reader#simon riley#simon 'ghost' riley#COD fanfic#simon riley x y/n#simon riley/reader#ghost/reader#ghost x y/n#cod fluff#cod angst#COD mw2#cod mwii#cod mw2 x reader#cod mw fanfic#ghost x reader angst#ghost x reader series#ghost x reader smut#ghost x reader fluff
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Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny IV
Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny IV - Eris x Archeron!Reader
Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.
Warnings: a lil bit of angst, a lil bit of fluff, a lil bit of suggestion
â»â„ Part I â»â„ Part II â»â„ Part III
· · âââââââ ·âĄÂ· âââââââ · ·
To say he was panicking would be an understatement.Â
No, Eris had felt panicked when he had opened the door to his chambers and realized his mate was not there. But that panic turned to full-fledged terror when he had finally tracked down the two handmaidens he'd assigned her this morning and they both said they had no idea where his mate was.Â
He stalked through the Forest Home---trying to appear calm and nonchalant despite what he felt. He didn't want anyone to catch wind of something being amiss. Not before he was able to find his mate and safely get her back to his chambers. Lucky for him, he'd been forced to wear a mask his whole life and this was no different.Â
A bark from behind caused him to whirl around. Ashera came running from around the corner, ears flapping and tail wagging. That had to be a good sign. She yipped again when she caught up to him and gripped the edge of his cuff in her sharp teeth.
"Did you find her, Ash?" Eris asked, quietly.Â
He was answered with a pull of her teeth. His shoulders loosened with relief and he let Ashera guide him to wherever it was that she had found his mate. He had given Ashera the order to find her the minute he realized she was missing and had gone the opposite way of her to cover more ground.Â
A few moments later, he found himself in front of the doors to the library. Ashera let go of him and started to paw at the doors with a whine. He could hear two voices from behind the doors. His mate's and....
He grabbed both handles and yanked open the double doors, stalking inside.Â
"And do you want to know what I saidâ" His brother, Finnegan, abruptly cut off his sentence when the sound of the doors slamming shut behind Eris and Ashera caught his attention. He looked up, smirking when he caught sight of his frazzled brother.Â
Seated in front of his brother, a chessboard on the table between them, was his mate. She turned in her chair, eyes wide as she looked over with surprise until she recognized who was there. A soft smile bloomed on her beautiful face, her doe eyes lighting up.Â
No one had ever looked at him like that when he entered rooms. Not even his own mother. No, he was usually met with either fear or disdain. But not from his mate... She should've been staring at him with disgust or contempt, especially after how he had treated her yesterday and especially after their argument this morning when he forbade her from leaving his room. Instead, she seemed happy to see him.Â
Was she putting on a front for his brother?
"Eris!" she exclaimed, rising from her seat. "You're back. Oh, you won't believe the day I've had! Finn found me wandering around andâ"
"Come here," Eris ordered, cutting her off. He held out his hand towards her. His brother's smirk grew as Eris glowered at him. His mateâs eyebrows rose in question but she thankfully listened to him, walking to his side and grasping his hand in her much smaller, much softer one.Â
Ashera let out an excited yip and brushed up against her legs, causing his mate to smile down at her. Honestly, he should've known she was his mate the minute his hounds hadn't torn into her when she first appeared in Autumn that day. Should've known the second Ashera had pranced forward and tried to comfort her, for Gods' sake. His dogs were prime hunters, yet around her, they were reduced to nothing more than fluffy house pets it seemed.Â
He remembered seeing her for the first time, her leg stuck in that bear trap. Despite the tears running down her face and her hair tangled with leaves and twigs, she was the most beautiful female he had ever laid eyes on. So soft and delicate. The opposite of everything he was.Â
But the mating bond hadnât truly snapped until the shadowsinger had shown up in the clearing that day and whisked her into his arms. She had looked straight at him and a golden thread had unwoven in his chest, causing him to stagger back just as they disappeared in a swirl of shadows. It had taken all of his will power not to immediately storm the Night Court if only to see her for a second more.
âCan I not have her for a few more minutes, brother?â Finn asked, tossing his arms behind his head and resting his head against them with a smug grin. âWeâre nearly finished with our game.â
Eris sneered at his brother. âIf I see you sniffing around her again, Iâll rip out your throat.â
âEris!â His mate exclaimed, looking up at him with wide eyes. He ignored her, still glaring daggers at his brother who didnât even flinch at the threat.Â
âYouâre lucky I stumbled upon her before father did,â Finn crooned. âIâd say you owe me one for allowing her the pleasure of my company.âÂ
âWell, consider me not ending you where you stand your one and only favor,â Eris retorted. His mate went to pull her hand from his but he gripped her tighter, finally looking down at her. âCome on, weâre leaving.âÂ
He stalked towards the library door, pulling her with him despite her soft protests. He didnât say a word to her as he led her back to his chambers, not wanting any servants milling about to gossip if they heard anything. He only released her hand once they were safely in the living area of his quarters and behind the heavy wards set up.Â
âAre you out of your mind?â She hissed at him, holding her hand to her chest.Â
âAre you?â He bit back, flicking his hair out of his face. âI gave your strict orders to stay here while I was gone or with your handmaidens!â
âI am not something you can just keep under lock and key!â
âYouâre not in the Night Court anymore, bunny,â Eris argued. âMy father is nothing like Rhysand. The males outside these doors are nothing like those two wretched Illyrians. I can have you chained to my bed and no one would bat an eye, do you understand?â
âAnd is that what youâll do if I donât listen to you?â She retorted, crossing her arms. âPut me in chains?â
âNo,â he snapped. âBut I will lock you in here if I must. Iâd rather you hate me than let anything happen to you.âÂ
âThen take me out with you,â she protested. âDonât leave me here!âÂ
Eris let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking down at his irritating, foolish, and completely and utterly bewitching mate. Her large eyes were hopeful, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth. The mating bond was driving him absolutely wild. He wanted to shove her against the wall and rip that lip out of her teeth with his own.Â
âPlease,â she whispered.Â
âFine,â he growled. âBut if I agree to take you out tomorrow afternoon, you will agree to stay inside my chambers unless otherwise instructed. Do you understand?â
Those sweet, alluring eyes turned callous in a matter of seconds.
âSo, you intend to treat me like a dog? Like a pet?â she snapped, crossing her arms. âActually, I take that back. You even treat your dogs better than that!âÂ
As if proving her point, Ashera jumped up on the couch, laid down and covered her face with her paw, as if she felt his mateâs exasperation.Â
âHave you any idea what is at stake here?â he bit back. âI do not intend to treat you like a pet. I intend to keep you safe!â
âAnd you think by keeping me locked away, Iâll be safe? They all know where your chambers are, Eris. Iâm no safer here than I am anywhere else in this manor!âÂ
âAt least, Iâll know where you are! Do you have any idea how worried I was when I went to find you earlier and you werenât here?â
Her eyes widened and her arms fell limp at her sides. âYou⊠you were worried?â
Eris tossed his arms in the air, letting out a noise of frustration. âOf course, I was worried. Do you know how many enemies I have in this court? Do you know how many people would wish to harm you if they had the chance just to hurt me?â
âI thoughtâŠâ She paused, rubbing her arm.
Eris glared down at her. âYou thought what? Go on, bunny, tell me what that little mind of yours thought?âÂ
âI thought you were mad! And can you blame me?â she huffed up at him. âYou treat me like a nuisance, insult me any chance you get! Why the hell would I ever think you were worried about me? Iâm sure youâd just be so over the moon if someone did get rid of me! Since Iâm such a burden.âÂ
There were a lot of things in life Eris regretted but calling his mate a burden this morning was now on the top of that list. He hadnât meant it. Of course, he hadnât. She just didnât understand the severity of the situation. He didnât want to be mean to her or to have her hate him⊠but if it kept her safe, then so be it. At least, that had been his train of thought. But seeing the hurt on her face when those words had come out of his mouth had nearly killed him.Â
âIâm sorry, okay,â Eris groaned. âIâm sorry I called you that. Itâs not true. It was never true but bunnyâŠyou really donât understandâŠâ
âNo, Eris, I do,â she snarled. âIâm not as stupid or naive as everyone likes to think I am!â
âNot naive?â Eris mocked. âThen what do you call galavanting around the Forest House with one of my own brothers?â
âYour brother was fine,â his mate replied. âHe was perfectly polite. All he did was show me around a bit and then take me to the library as I requested.â
Eris scoffed. âYou donât know him like I do.âÂ
âYou know whatâs funny? That is the exact thing my sisters would say about me and yet they have no idea who I am. Theyâve never let me be anything other than the girl they think I am. Have you thought that perhaps this competition your father has you all so convinced of between you guys doesnât even exist? Have you ever even tried talking to one another without your fatherâs influence?âÂ
She wasnât wrong but Eris knew how deep his father had his claws in his brothers. It would take a lot to shake them from his grasp. Time and effort he wasnât afforded with at the moment. Not when he constantly had to look over his shoulder and now had to keep his mate safe at all times. This court was corrupt and dangerousâeveryone here was in survival mode.Â
These hypotheticals might be worth a discussion and if it were up to him, he wouldâve taken his mother and younger brothers far away from his father a long time ago. But alas, he did not have such powerâŠyet. But perhaps things could change. Though, nothing would so long as his father still sat on the Autumn throne. Until then, these sorts of conversations were not worth the time.Â
âYou speak on things you have no knowledge about and I see little point in having this conversation with you,â Eris said, straightening out his lapels. âI have a meeting I must attend with my father. Stay here.â
And then he left swiftly, before his mate could see just how much her words affected him, before he grabbed her and winnowed as far from this court as he couldâconsequences be damned. She drove him absolutely mad but Gods, did he find her so enticing. She was wild and impulsive and had a lot to learn, but the sort of honesty and hopeful outlook she hadâŠWell he could only hope he could protect that, hoped he could keep her sweet and kind and soft and all the things no one had ever allowed him to be.Â
· · âââââââ ·âĄÂ· âââââââ · ·
You had just woken up when your two handmaidens, Willow and Ivy, entered the room, pestering you to get up. Bleary eyed, you let them drag you into the bath before they sat you in front of the vanity. Ivy braided your hair while Willow dusted some light makeup on your face.Â
âCan I ask what you are prepping me for?â
âLord Eris has requested that we get you ready for an afternoon trek on horseback,â Ivy answered, with a slight smile on her face.Â
Your eyes widened, taken aback. You hadnât spoken to Eris since your fight yesterday. In fact, he had never even returned to his chambers last night. You didnât try to leave, in fear that you would find the door locked and all your worries of the kind of male you were mated to would be proven true. Instead, you had pretended that a night in was just what you wanted, begrudgingly following his command.Â
They dressed you in an off the shoulder linen chemise and flowy skirt that fell to your shins before lacing you into a burnt orange corset that had your lungs screaming for air. They slipped a pair of brown leather boots onto your feet.
âSurely trousers would be more appropriate?â you asked, spinning around so your skirt swished around the tops of your boots. Ivy and Willow gasped at your words, placing a hand over their hearts.
âA lady should never be seen in trousers,â Ivy declared, aghast.
Their shock was humorous to you, so you bit your lip to keep from laughing. Gods, the Autumn Court was so backwards sometimes. You were getting better at choosing your battles, so you said nothing else as they led you out of Erisâs chambers to the horse stables.Â
Eris stood there next to another male who was preparing two horses. Your mouth dried a bit at the sight of him. He was wearing a loosely tied tunic, tucked into brown breeches and a pair of riding boots. His red hair glimmered in the sun like a ruby gem, his pale skin nearly glowing. He looked as if the Autumn forest made him itself. Â
You hadnât realized you had paused in your steps until your two handmaidens giggled next to you.Â
âYou are a very lucky female, Lady Y/n,â Ivy whispered to you with another giggle, causing your cheeks to turn pink.Â
âLord Eris is a very lucky male to have someone as lovely as Lady Y/n as his mate,â Willow countered, which only made your blush deepen.Â
Eris noticed you as you drew closer and his eyes trailed over your form, heat swirling in them. You felt goosebumps rise on your skin under his gaze. His fox-like face was so beautiful, so enchanting, it was hard to look away. You kept eye contact with him as your handmaidens presented you.Â
âLady Archeron, as you requested, my Lord,â Willow said as she curtsied. Â
âThank you, ladies, you may continue on with the rest of your duties,â he said to them, though he didnât stop looking at you which caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach. The two girls sauntered off, their giggles heard until they rounded the corner.Â
You wanted to be mad at him still, but this seemed like a sort of peace offering or apology for yesterday. One that you decided to accept. You walked forward until you were at his side, glancing at the large horses.Â
âThis is Marigold. She is our most well-mannered horse,â Eris said. âGo on, you can pet her. She wonât bite.âÂ
âIâve never ridden a horse, my Lord,â you said, shyly, reaching out a hand to pet the one in front of you.Â
Eris seemed surprised but made no comment on it. He simply turned to the stableboy and waved a hand at him. âOne horse will do today, Landon.âÂ
âOh, are you going to teachââ
You squeaked as Eris grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you onto the horse as if you weighed nothing, your cheeks turning bright red. A moment later, he lifted himself onto the horse, right behind you. The butterflies in your stomach were worked into a frenzy as his long legs encompassed you and your back was pressed against his firm chest.Â
âYes, bunny, Iâm going to teach you,â Eris whispered, his breath dancing along the edge of your pointed ear. You could hear the smirk in his voice, as if he knew exactly the kind of reaction he was causing inside of you.Â
âIs this not improper?â you asked. âArenât ladies supposed to sit with both their legs on one side?â
It had been a hard transition for youâto go from living in poverty in that tiny cottage to living in high society. You werenât like your other sisters who had spent their childhood years being trained to be ladies. You could hardly remember any part of your life before your mother died.Â
It was, perhaps, why you felt the closet to Feyre of all your sisters. Because she, too, was wild in a way that Elain and Nesta werenât.Â
âSomething tells me you have no concern over how ladylike you are, bunny,â Eris chuckled, his hard chest rumbling against your back. Your cheeks flared up again and you tossed him a glare over your shoulder.Â
âEveryone else seems so concerned about my virtue and image,â you hissed.Â
âWell, Iâm not,â Eris retorted. âGo on, grab the reins.âÂ
You hesitantly wrapped your fingers around the leather straps and nearly jolted in surprise as Erisâs placed his calloused hands on top of yours. He started to maneuver your fingers. âYou want to keep your thumbs on top and your fingers closed around them.âÂ
Once he seemed satisfied, he tapped the horse on the side and she began her trot. You bit your lip as his hands slid off the reins and on to your thighs. âRelax your legs, bunny. Donât worry, I wonât let you fall off.âÂ
You hadnât realized how much you were squeezing the poor horse until he lightly stroked your thighs, getting them to loosen before his hands slid to your waist instead.
"What do I do with these?â You asked, nodding towards the reins in your hands. Â
âNothing for now,â Eris answered. âYou use them to steer or to get her to stop.â
His proximity to you and the tiny circles he absentmindedly rubbed on your waist with his thumbs caused your body to hyperfocus on all the places you were touching. You could hardly pay attention to his instructions and the more the two of you continued on, the more you found yourself relaxing into his chestâsoaking in the heat that seemed to exude off his body.Â
Once you seemed to get the hang on the basics, a soft silence fell between the two of you. The sounds of the forest came alive the deeper you traveled into the trees. It was truly beautiful out here. The red and orange leaves on the trees reminded you of the painting Feyre had done on your drawer on the dresser back when you were living in the cottage.Â
âIâm sorry,â Eris whispered into your ear, breaking the silence and surprising you. âFor yesterday.âÂ
You softened at his words. âItâs okay.â
âNo,â he said, his grip on your waist tightening. âIt wasnât okay. It pained me to hear you say I think of you as a nuisance, as something to get rid of. It is simply not true, bunny and Iâm sorry for ever making you believe I think that.â
Eris didnât seem like the type of male to apologize for his actions, so it meant more to hear it from him.Â
âI just wish you would stop trying to push me away. Iâm tired of everyone always deciding what's best for me instead of trusting me to know it myself,â you sighed.
âI know and Iâm sorry. I know how unseen you feel.âÂ
He seemed to see right through you. Was it the mating bond that allowed such a thing? Or was it just something you had in common? No one had ever looked closely at you. You were the baby of the family, never allowed to be involved in decisions or important things. You lived in your own world most of the time.Â
Although Eris was brought up in a far different environment than you, you couldnât help but think he felt the same way. That he was constricted and forced to play a role he had no wish to. That he was written off as arrogant and cruel simply because he was born under a male who was.Â
But he was nothing like his father.Â
âI know you do because I know you feel the same way, Eris,â you whispered, glancing back at him. âBut I see you.âÂ
âPerhaps that scares me.â His amber eyes were still guarded as he looked down at you. âNo one has ever looked before. No one has ever wanted to.âÂ
âI do,â you said, holding his gaze. âI want to.âÂ
It was silent for a moment and you twisted back around, staring at the forest ahead.
âYou shouldnât,â Eris said, so quietly, that you were certain he was talking to himself. But despite his words, a tension had been lifted between the two of you.
· · âââââââ ·âĄÂ· âââââââ · ·
A little while later and after several whines about her legs starting to hurt, Eris let his mate have a break. He helped her off Marigold and found a tree to tie the horse to so the two of them could walk for a bit.Â
He kept a step behind her, watching as she spun in a circle, the leaves crunching beneath her boots, as she took in the forest. The wonder and excitement in her eyes caused a spark in his chest. Those things had long since been beaten out of him so it was nice to see them in someone he already cared so deeply about.Â
Eris enjoyed being out here with her, away from the Forest House and everyone else. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he kept his guard up to protect his wonderfully oblivious mate from any harm that might come her way.Â
âItâs so beautiful here,â his mate whispered.
The sunlight casted gold rays of light through the leaves, illuminating her beautiful face. She looked made for this kind of place, for Autumn. His chest ached at the sightâat what could be if his father wasnât such a conniving bastard.Â
âIt is,â Eris said softly, his amber eyes still trained on his mate. She peeked over her shoulder at him, blushing as she met his gaze. Gods, if he were a lesser male, heâd have shoved her up against a tree and claimed her as his already.Â
âHey, I have an idea!â
âIâm sure you do,â he chuckled and she whirled around, placing her hands on her hips as she glared at him.
âWhat is that supposed to mean?âÂ
He shook his head, biting back a smile. âNothing. What is your idea, bunny?âÂ
âWe should play a game,â she said. âLike hide and seek.âÂ
Eris snorted. âHide and seek? What are we, children? Iâm over five hundred years old, bunny, Iâm not going to play games with you.âÂ
âFine, suit yourself,â she shrugged. âBut I guess that means youâll have to return to the Forest House without me unless of courseâŠyou find me.â
And then she darted off into the trees, weaving her way out of his view. He expected to find himself irritated, but it was the opposite. He couldnât help the small laugh that escaped from his mouth at how ridiculous his mate was. Ridiculous and brashâbut so endearing.Â
âYou canât hide from me, bunny,â he shouted into the trees.
Silence met his ears and thenâŠa twig snapped in the distance. He sauntered off in the direction of the noise. He would entertain her absurd game but he would not be running off like some wild beast through the forest. He followed her enticing scent of harvest apples and forest pine, twisting through the tall trees and leaf-covered ground.Â
He saw a flash of her hair from the corner of his eye and spun in place, listening for her footsteps. He continued following after her, getting small glimpses of her here and there, hearing the tiny giggles that seemed to echo in the silent forest and he realized that a small smile had grown on his face as the game went on.Â
Until things went so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. He froze, sniffing the air. He could still smell her but where had she gone? He spun in place, looking for footprints and listening for any sounds butâŠnothing. His heart started to beat faster in his chest, suddenly worried she had run off too far.Â
âBunny,â he shouted. âYou can come out now!âÂ
Nothing.
The smile on his face dropped and he continued his search. Had she ran into some creature that took her? Had his guard fallen so low that he hadnât realized that someone else was out here?Â
âHey, bunnyâfuck!â
Something ran straight into his back and wrapped their arms around his neck, making him stagger forward. He turned around and pinned them against the tree with a snarl so quickly he hadnât even realized what exactly had knocked into him until he heard the familiar giggles and his mateâs scent washed over him.Â
âGot you!â
She was staring up at him with wide, excited eyesâher face flushed from her exertion. He stared at her in disbelief, uncertain how she was able to sneak up and ambush him like that. The hand that had wrapped itself around her throat moved to rest on the tree next to her head.  Â
âAnd so the sly bunny ensnares the dumb fox,â she sang between her pants, her arms still around his neck, her back still pressed against the tree.
He let out a breath, staring down at her with a small glare. âThat is not funny. I couldâve hurt you!âÂ
âBut you didnât,â she countered, not seeming concerned about it at all. âIâm surprised I was able to sneak behind you. I thought for sure you saw me at one point. You looked right at me!âÂ
His brows furrowed in confusion. âWhat do you mean?â
âI was standing right there,â she laughed, pointing at a spot to their left. âAnd you looked right at me! I thought I was busted but I donât know, Eris, you might be going blind with age.âÂ
Her eyes held amusement as she looked up at him but he was confused. He had no idea what she was talking aboutâhe hadnât seen her at all. She had not been standing there. She mustâve been mistaking those trees for another.Â
âVery funny,â he said, deadpanned.Â
âOh, donât be a sore loser,â she teased, her fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck, absentmindedly. Her touch sent shivers down his spine. Her body pressed against his fought against the control he had.Â
He wanted to knock the smug smile right off her face. He stepped closer, placing his free hand on her sternum and trapping her against the tree. He felt her breath hitch and grinned.Â
âIâm not the loser,â he purred, before leaning down to whisper in her ear, âYouâre still ensnared by me, bunny. Not the other way around.âÂ
Being this close to her again reminded him of all the ways he would take her and he let out a heavy breath, trying to keep from getting hard and scaring her away. Her head was tilted back so she could stare at him, her smile slipping as her heart pounded loudly enough that he could hear it through her chest. It seemed to beat in rhythm was his.Â
He was certain she was going to cave first. His other hand still rested against the tree next to her head, allowing her the chance to dip away if she wanted. Her cheeks turned pink and he was sure she was about to start stuttering like a girlish maiden as she usually did when she said something that absolutely surprised him.
âMaybe I want to be ensnared by you, Eris,â she whispered.
Heat spread through his body like a wildfire and he knew it exuded off of him by the way she melted into his touch, her eyes flickering down to his lips as she shuddered. She bit her lip and he growled, his hand moving up her sternum until it rested against her cheek. He plucked her lip free with his thumb and she met his gaze againâher eyes wide and innocent yet full of desire. He could feel her anticipation down the mating bond, which glowed like firelight between them, and he knew she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.Â
The mating bond sang in his chest.
MineâŠ.MineâŠ.MineâŠ
She glanced down at his lips again and the look she gave him was enough to snap the last string holding his composure.Â
So he surged forward and passionately kissed her.Â
· · âââââââ ·âĄÂ· âââââââ · ·
One second you were thinking of how much you wished Eris would kiss you and the next second he was. His lips were soft, softer than you imagined, and so warm. Your eyes fluttered shut and you kissed him back with the same fire and eagerness that had Eris groaning against your lips. The hand that was resting on your cheek moved to your neck and angled your head back farther so he could deepen the kiss.
One of your own hands slipped into his hair, tangling some red strands between your fingers as the butterflies in your stomach began their frenzy again. All thoughts seemed to cease at that moment. All you could feel was Erisâs body pressed against yours, his kiss so full of hunger that your knees almost buckled under the weight of it.Â
Your other hand slipped down to grab onto the collar of his tunic and yank him closer. He growled and bit down on your bottom lip; you gasped at the slight pain. He used that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth and his kiss turned crazed.Â
Fire sparked under your skin, so hot it threatened to consume you.Â
His hand slipped down to your thigh, yanking your leg up around his hip so he could press in closer to youânailing you to the tree. The rough bark rubbed against your back, serving as a contrast to the softness of his lips on yours.Â
He devoured you, kissed you in a way no one ever had before. You didnât fight for dominance. Not when it felt this good to surrender yourself to him. Heat and wetness pooled in your coreâthe evidence of his own arousal pressed firmly against your stomach as his tongue continued to explore every crevice in your mouth, claiming it as his.Â
Every inch of your skin was tingling as he pulled away and began to trail feverish kisses down your jaw and neckâgiving you the chance to breathe for a moment. You whimpered as his canines nipped at the sensitive skin on your throat, marking you.Â
âDo you know how much I think of this?â Eris groaned against your skin, his nose trailing up the column of your throat. âOf ravishing you like this.âÂ
âY-you do?â You stuttered as his canines grazed your neck againâreminding you again that Eris was no human man. No, he was much more than that of a man. He wasnât even a full High Lord yet and still, you could feel his power crackling around you like burning embers.Â
âOh, bunny,â Eris purred, pulling back to look at you with that fox-like grin that had your knees weak again. âI think of you like thisâat my mercyâall the damn time.âÂ
He leaned down and kissed you again until your face was flushed, your lips swollen and your neck was full of love bites. The both of you were panting as he rested his forehead against yours, his amber eyes staring down at you with flame licking his irises, full of hunger and lust and longing.Â
You knew at that moment that you belonged to Eris because there was no way anyone else on this earth would make you feel as you did now. And you didnât want there to be anyone else. No, your heart and mind sang for him and him only. No matter how things turned out, you knew they always would. It was scary and thrilling and daunting but it was true.Â
And by the way he stared down at you, you knew he felt it too.Â
· · âââââââ ·âĄÂ· âââââââ · ·
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Part Three of Where We Part (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

At first, you could only blink, the cigarette dangling from your lips as his words settled over you like a slow, creeping dusk.
Simon Riley.
After all these years, standing in front of you, bigger, harder, and somehow even more distant than the boy you once thought you knew. It was like some cruel trick of fate, a cosmic joke that you werenât sure you were ready to face.
You let out a surprised, awkward chuckle, but it caught somewhere between a giggle and a whimper. It sounded so awkward, so pitiful. Gosh, you acted ridiculous, like a bloody schoolgirl, but the alcohol had numbed the embarrassment.
You really wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Simon Riley, standing outside a pub in Manchester like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like his entire life hadnât been torn apart. Like he hadnât disappeared from your life without so much as a word all those years ago. The laugh died in your throat, because there was something about the way he carried himself that told you he wasnât here for a casual pint with old friends. Simon would never be here for something so trivial, so simple.
âYouâreâŠâ you started, but the words got stuck in your throat.
You wanted to ask where heâd been, why he was here, why he looked so different yet so familiar at the same time. But nothing coherent came out, just a jumble of thoughts, words and emotions that refused to form into sentences.
The last time youâd seen him, he was just a skinny boy.
Now, he was all sharp edges and quiet intensity. He was hard. Rough. Weathered. His face, a canvas of scars and hardship, told you that the years hadnât been kind to him, but God, theyâd made him heartbreakingly handsome. His body, once lanky and hunched, was now huge and muscular, the kind of frame that spoke of power, discipline, and control. His scars, the faint lines etched around his eyes, the ruggedness of his faceâthey only added to the dark appeal that cloaked him like a shadow. And with those intense hazel eyes that seemed to hold a thousand secrets, he was the kind of man who turned heads, who commanded attention, and somehow, that was making your head spin more than the beer had.
You shook your head quickly, like a cat trying to shake off water, hoping to rid yourself of the thoughts creeping into your mind.
âSâbeen a while.â
He didnât smile. He didnât offer any pleasantries. It was as though the years that had passed between you were an afterthought, insignificant compared to the weight of the heavy silence that lingered in the air now. You tried to find your footing in the forming conversation, your mind still struggling to keep up with the reality of him standing there, right in front of you.
âIâsorry, I just... didnât recognise you,â you stammered, your voice a bit too loud, too high-pitched in the quiet night. You took a nervous drag from your cigarette, stealing a glance at his face. âBloody hell, seems like you only pop up when Iâm tipsy.â
You attempted a joke, your voice trembling slightly. It was weak, you knew that, but it was the only thing you could manage in the sudden tension of the moment. You flicked the cigarette nervously, watching the ashes scatter to the ground. Anything to stop yourself from looking directly at Simon, anything to break the intensity that had settled between you.
âNot intentional,â he said simply.
âGosh, you look so⊠different,â you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It wasnât a question, but a statement, an observation that felt far too obvious.
Simon tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze flicking over you, sizing you up with that same old intensity that made you feel like he could see straight through you.
âYou donât,â he said flatly, his voice rough, like gravel underfoot.
You snorted, rolling your eyes. âLiar.â
Simonâs lips twitched, but it wasnât quite a smile, more like a faint acknowledgment that heâd heard you. It was painfully obvious that he wasnât going to indulge in any sort of nostalgia or humour. He was as closed off as ever. And yet, despite it all, despite the time and the layers of this strange silence between you, the weight of history between you was undeniable.
The warmth of the alcohol in your blood made it easier to stand there without fidgeting, but deep down, you were brimming with questions, confusion, a strange mix of anger and relief.
You couldnât decide whether to yell at him for disappearing or thank him for being here.
Here with you.
âWhereâve you been?â you finally asked, trying to sound casual, though the question felt like it was hanging heavy between you both, too loaded with unspoken things.
Simon let out a soft huff as if the answer was far too complicated to explain in the back alley of a pub. He didnât want to talk about it, that much was clear. You desperately wanted to keep him there, to say something, anything, that might ease this strange reunion.
âYou just⊠vanished,â you pushed. âAfter everythin'.â
His hazel eyes flicked to yours, and for a second, there was something thereâsomething raw and fragile beneath the stone mask he always wore. But it was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by that cold, guarded look you had always known him for, even as a kid.
âHad to,â he said, his voice dry as sand.
âThatâs it? You just⊠had to?â
He glanced away, the flickering light from a distant streetlamp casting long shadows across his scarred face. âDoes it matter?â
His words hit you like a punch in the gut.
Did it matter? Was he mad? Of course it mattered.
How could it not? Youâd grown up together, after all. Youâd shared so much, more than either of you ever said aloud. His family buried, his house empty, no one knew where heâd gone. You had carried that silent burden with you for years, the burden of not knowing, letting it weigh down on your heart like a lead weight. But maybe that was the root of the problem. Maybe you had been holding on to something he had long since let go of. Maybe you were clinging to the memory of a boy who didnât exist anymore.
You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to press him further.
This wasnât the time or the place to dig into the past. Maybe not ever. Simon wasnât the type to dwell on old wounds, and you knew that no matter how much you wanted answers, they werenât going to come easily. Instead, you took a long drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs and dull the ache in your chest, watching the pale plume rise and disappear into the cold night air.
âSuppose it doesnât,â you muttered, more to yourself than to him.
Simon didnât respond. As usual.
You both just stood there, cigarettes burning down to their stubs, and you couldnât shake the feeling that the silence between you wasnât just awkwardâit was something more. It was the echo of all the years that had slipped by without either of you being part of each otherâs lives. Fifteen years. You were different people now, shaped by other worlds, and yet⊠here you were, standing in the same place, in the same city that had once been your entire universe.
Much to your surprise, Simon was the one to speak again.
âHowâve you been?â he asked, the question almost noncommittal, but there was an edge to itâlike he wasnât sure if he wanted to know the answer.
You hummed, looking down at the scuffed toe of your polished shoes, suddenly finding the concrete more interesting than his piercing gaze. A frown formed on your lips as you mulled over his question, not sure how to respond. There was something so absurd about it, but at the same time, something so normal about him asking how youâd been. Something that almost felt... wrong. As if you were supposed to have a neat little answer, a perfect summary of everything youâd done, achieved, or failed at since heâd vanished.
But you didnât know what to say.
How could you compress the years, the loneliness, the small victories and large failures into one simple response? How could you even begin to explain everything youâd gone through, all while he was somewhere you couldnât reach?
âUhm, dunno,â you muttered, your voice full of bitterness you hadnât meant to let slip. It sounded insignificant, just like how you felt in that momentâsmall compared to the towering presence of Simon Riley and whatever hell heâd walked through to get here. âWhat am I supposed to say to that?â You laughed, but it was hollow, like you were trying to convince yourself that you found it funny.
Simon crossed his arms over his broad chest, deep in thought.
His cig hung loosely between his fingers, the glowing tip flickering like a beacon in the dark. His brow furrowed as if he were calculating something important, something far beyond the alleyway of a dingy Manchester pub.
And then, out of the blue, he asked something ridiculous.
âYou married? Got kids?â
For a moment, you thought you misheard him.
It was such a normal question, one you might expect from an old friend or a distant relative. But coming from Simon it was jarring. Almost laughable. It didnât match his rugged, military exterior at all.
You snorted, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
âNah,â you said, shaking your head slightly. âNot even close. My fiancĂ© cheated on me with my roommate from uni, if you can fuckin' believe that. But that was years ago now. I havenât really had anythin' serious since then.â The chuckle that followed your statement was missing humour. You said it as casually as you could, but the old wound reopened just a little.Â
Simon didnât respond immediately.
He didnât flinch, didnât offer pity or sympathy, but you saw something flicker in his eyesâan acknowledgement, perhaps. Maybe even some empathy, though it was hard to tell with him. He was never one to show his emotions easily, not even when you were kids.
âBastard,â he hummed after a beat, the word falling from his lips with the same cold weight that had always been in his tone.
It wasnât much, but somehow, it felt perfectly enough. Like in that single word, he had offered all the understanding you needed.
âAn understatement.â
He took another long drag, exhaling slowly, smoke curling up into the air and disappearing into the night. The question had seemed so out of place, but maybe it wasnât. Maybe it was his way of trying to understand what heâd missedâwhat had happened to you in all those fifteen years he was gone.
âWhat about you? Wife, kids?â you asked, your voice softer now.
Somehow, you were afraid of what his answer might be.
âNo,â his voice was flat, almost mechanical.
There was no trace of emotion, no elaboration.
Just a simple, cold statement of fact.
His gaze flicked briefly to you before settling somewhere off in the distance, like he couldnât quite bear to look at you for too long. Then, the quiet between you stretched on again, thick, unyielding and undeniably familiar. The sounds of the city filtered in, the distant hum of traffic, the occasional shout from the pub, but here, in this small bubble of time, it felt like the world had fallen away. Like it was just the two of you, suspended in the remnants of a shared past that neither of you knew how to navigate anymore.
âI thought about you,â you admitted quietly, surprising even yourself with the confession. âA lot, actually. I wondered where you were. If you were alright. If you were even alive.â
Simon shifted, his gaze fixed on the ground.
âSorry.â
It was more than youâd expected from him. So you just nodded, unsure of what else to tell him. You stood there for a moment, your heart thudding in your chest at the weight of Simon's quiet apology. You werenât sure what to say in return. It hung in the air between you, fragile and tentative, like a bridge over a chasm that neither of you were ready to cross. His eyes, once sharp and piercing, softened in the dim light, but he kept his gaze away from yours, as if looking directly at you would acknowledge the gravity of what youâd said. That you had thought about him. His broad shoulders shifted, his jacket rustling slightly, but he didnât move away.
You felt a sudden tension in the pit of your stomach.
The kind that comes when youâve said something too vulnerable, too real, something that canât be taken back. Therefore, you took a deep breath and decided to shift the conversation, hoping to relieve some of the tension that had settled thickly between you both.
âSo, youâre still in the military?â
You flicked the last of your cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with your shoe. He nodded, but didnât elaborate, his face unreadable in the shadowy light of the pubâs back alley.
âOn leave?â you hoped to get something, anything, from him.
âYeah.â
He ignored the question that still hung in the air.
Why here?
You licked your lips nervously, wondering if you should keep going or let the conversation fizzle out. But there was something in the air tonight, something that made you feel like you had to at least try. This wasnât just some coincidence, was it? Seeing Simon again after all these years felt too significant to let it slip away without trying to make sense of it.
âWhere do you live now?â
For a second, he hesitated, tapping his lips with his cigarette, clearly weighing whether or not to answer you. His gaze flickered to the side, his brow furrowed in thought, and then, finally, in a voice so low you almost missed it, he said, âGot a flat in London.â
London. The city you both now called home.
Your heart skipped a beat at the revelation. The vast city suddenly felt much smaller. He was so close, yet heâd been so far from your life for all these years.
âWell,â you scratched your neck, unsure how to approach the next part. âYou could visit me sometime. You know, when youâre on leave. Iâm not far, really. We could⊠catch up.â
It was a clumsy invitation, but it was genuine.
Despite the awkwardness between you, you wanted him to know that he wasnât alone. That even after all this time, you were still here.
Simon didnât react at first. He stood there, arms crossed, his still frame making it seem like he was wrestling with something deep inside. You werenât sure if heâd refuse, brush off the offer like it meant nothing, but he didnât. The silence stretched on, but then he shifted again, flicking the ash from his cigarette.
âMaybe,â he muttered, his tone giving nothing away.
It wasnât a yes. But it wasnât a no either.Â
His next question, though, caught you off guard.
âHowâs your parents?â
You hadnât expected him to ask about your family. Your parents were never nice to him. But something in the way he asked, in the way his voice softened ever so slightly, as though asking about something more human softened the edges of his tough exterior, and that made you realise that maybe he hadnât forgotten everything from your childhood. Maybe, just maybe, he still cared, in his own distant way.
You smiled faintly.
âTheyâre good, well, as good as can be, I suppose. They moved to London a few years back, actually. After my dad was diagnosed with cancer.â
The words felt heavy, even though youâd gotten used to saying them. It had been years since the diagnosis, but the weight of it never really faded. It was always there, lingering in the background, a reminder of time slipping away. His expression didnât change much, but there was a shift in his postureâa slight drop of the shoulders, a softening of the jaw. It was subtle, but you saw it. He dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot with a sharp scoff, a sound that was more resigned than dismissive.
You pushed yourself away from the wall, the sudden anxiety making your pulse quicken.
âLeavinâ?â
The question spilled out before you could stop it. The fear of him slipping away again, without any warning, without a trace, gnawed at you.
You immediately felt heat creeping up your neck, embarrassment flashing across your face. Why did you care so much? Why did you sound so desperate? You pursed your lips, trying to gather the frayed edges of your dignity, feeling a bit foolish for asking.
Simon looked at you, raising an eyebrow as if youâd just asked something utterly daft. His expression didnât change much, but there was a glimmer of something, amusement, perhaps, in his eyes. âNo,â he muttered, resting his now free hands in his pockets. âNot yet.â
The relief you felt was almost palpable.
You bit your lip, feeling foolish for jumping to conclusions, for thinking heâd just disappear again without a word. You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heart, grateful that he wasnât about to walk away just yet. There was still time. Time to say whatever it was that needed saying, even if you didnât quite know what that was yet. You watched him carefully, still half expecting him to turn and leave despite his assurance.
The years had taught you not to rely too much on anything.
The autumn wind picked up, sending a sudden chill through the alleyway, but neither of you moved. This whole charade, the whole small talk felt like a delicate danceâone wrong step and it could all come crashing down, leaving the silence too much to bear.
âThought youâd be married by now,â Simon said, his gravelly voice cutting through the quiet.
You blinked, startled by the sudden statement.
Pouting a bit, you looked up at him, feigning offence. âCanât tell if thatâs an insult or a compliment, mate.â
He shrugged, tilting his head to the side, and for a moment, the faint shadow of a smirk played on his lips, barely noticeable. He looked at you, not just a glance, but a slow, measured observation, like he was trying to piece together who you had become after all these years.
You found yourself doing the same.
When you first saw him that night, standing in the dark, your reaction had been immediate. You were drawn to him. Not just because of the memories you shared or the ghost of the boy you once knew, but because of him, the man he had become. The raw, rugged power he exuded. It stirred something deep in you, something that made you feel small and breathless in his presence.
What did he see when he looked at you? Did he think youâd aged poorly? Did he think you looked tired, worn out by the years? Or did he see the remnants of the girl you used to be, the one who had laughed too loudly and dreamt too big?
âWhy did you say that?â
âFigured youâd have that all sorted by now. You always talked about it.â
You blinked, momentarily thrown by his response.
Of course, he remembered. He always had a knack for remembering the things that mattered most to you, even when you hadnât realised how much they mattered to yourself. You had talked about marriage that much, hadnât you? About the picture perfect life you imagined for yourself. A house, a garden, a familyâsimple dreams that felt so far away now.
âYeah, true. At one point, all I could dream about was that,â you confessed, your voice quiet, almost lost to the night. âPerfect house, perfect family... maybe a couple of dogs runninâ around in my perfect bloody garden. I thought I had it all mapped out when I left, like⊠you know, everythinâ would just fall into place once I started my life in London.â You smiled faintly, but there was no happiness in it, only a soft, sad acceptance. âBut it didnât. None of it did.â
The confession felt surreal, especially with Simon standing there, his presence almost too big, too solid for such vulnerable words. But at the same time, there was something comforting about it, knowing that he wouldnât judge. Simon had never been one for meaningless platitudes or false reassurances. If anything, his silence, his mere presence, felt like the only kind of understanding you needed.
You could feel his hazel eyes on you, heavy and contemplative, as though he was waiting for you to continue. And suddenly, you wanted to. The words spilled out, unfiltered, like they had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for far too long.
âNow? I dunno. Now Iâm just happy if my parents are healthy. If Iâm healthy. Iâm not really thinkinâ about love anymore. Not like I used to, at least. When youâre young, you think youâve got all the time in the world. You think everythinâs just gonna... work out. But then life happens. Things change. People leave.â
Simon's jaw tightened just a fraction, as if the truth of what youâd said had hit closer to home than heâd care to admit. You wondered if he thought about those years like the way you didâif he ever looked back and felt the same sense of loss that gnawed at you every time you remembered the way things used to be.
âYou can still have that,â he muttered, his voice low, almost gruff. The words felt heavy, like they carried the weight of more than just an offhand comment. âIf that's what you truly want.â
A sharp pang hit your chest, not from the words themselves but from the rawness of them. It was the sort of thing people say when they donât know what else to offerâwhen theyâre too afraid to dig deeper, but they can see the cracks in your carefully maintained façade.
You werenât sure if he meant it to be comforting, but it didnât land that way. Instead, it just scraped against the edges of something you didnât want to acknowledge.
Without thinking, you reached into the pocket of your jacket and fished out your cigarettes, suddenly needing something to do with your hands, something to break the intensity of the moment. You tapped the pack against your palm before offering it to him. He looked at it, hesitating for a moment before shaking his head.
âMaybe once,â you mumbled, trying to play it off like the subject didnât sting as much as it did. âBut not really anymore. Iâm too old for that shit. That shipâs sailed, Si.â
Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on, the small flame illuminating his roughened features in the dim light as he leaned toward you. You cupped your hand around the flame, lighting your cigarette. He watched you closely as you took a drag, his eyes following the trail of smoke as it curled upwards into the cold night air.
âYouâre not old,â the tone in his voice was oddly serious, almost reprimanding, as if he was annoyed at your self-deprecation.
You snorted, a dry laugh escaping your lips, smoke swirling around your face. âYou should tell that to my back,â you joked, shaking your head. âSome mornings, I feel ancient.â
Simon didnât pick up on your sarcasm. He fixed you with a look, his brow furrowed, as if he was thinking back to something. âMaybe you didnât take my advice last time we talked.â
You stilled at his words, as his reference hit home.
You knew what he was talking about.
That summer night, eighteen years ago, when youâd left him standing under the rose bush in your parentsâ garden. Heâd told you to live your life, to move on. And you had, for the most part. But now, standing here with him again, you wondered if you had truly moved on, or if some part of you had been stuck in that moment ever since.
You felt a sudden ache, a strange emptiness you hadnât realised was still there, like a flower wilting under the weight of its own bloom. You looked down at the ground, avoiding his gaze, feeling the years press down on you like the world had shifted beneath your feet.
You let out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling small in his presence. âYeah, maybe I didnât.â
You hadnât taken his advice. Youâd spent too long waiting, too long caught up in the idea of what could have been, of what should have been. And now, here you were, standing in the same city, still trying to figure out what your life was supposed to look like.
Simon pushed himself off the wall, straightening up, his large frame suddenly seeming even taller, more imposing. His movements were deliberate, but not rushed, as though he had made up his mind about something. Your cigarette hung loosely between your fingers, long forgotten, as you watched him, your heart sinking as you realised he was preparing to leave.
âFind the happiness you deserve.â
It wasnât a command, but it wasnât a casual suggestion either.
This time, you didnât mock him. You didnât roll your eyes or laugh it off, like you had a lifetime years ago. Instead, you bit the inside of your cheek, lowering your gaze to the ground. You werenât sure if you could say anything to that. What was there to say?
Before you could fully gather your thoughts, Simon stepped forward, and suddenly, he was standing much closer to you than before, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath hitching in your throat as you instinctively looked up at him. His presence was overwhelming and it made your pulse quicken in a way you hadnât expected. The air seemed to freeze around you both, suspended in that moment.
He didnât say anything, he just watched you, his hazel eyes studying your face like he was trying to commit it to memory. His gaze roamed over your features, and for the first time that night, you felt truly exposed under the weight of his attention.
Then, without warning, Simonâs hand came up, and his fingers gently grasped your chin. The touch was firm, but not harsh, guiding your face up toward him, tilting your head so that your eyes met his. You felt the cigarette slip from your fingers as you stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the sudden closeness, the unexpected touch. What was he doing? What was he thinking? The warmth of his hand on your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Simonâs gaze remained fixed on yours, his calloused fingers still holding your chin in place, as though he wanted to see you clearly, perhaps for the first time in years. You didnât dare move, didnât dare breathe, afraid of breaking whatever fragile moment this was. The world around you faded into the backgroundâthe pub, the noise, the cold. None of it mattered. Only him, only this moment, suspended between the past and the present.
Then, just as quickly as it had started, it ended.
Simon released you, his hand falling back to his side, and he stepped away.
âIâll visit,â he promised, his voice calm, almost casual, as if nothing had happened at all. The distance between you felt sudden, leaving you dumbfounded and your cheeks burning hot red. He turned away from you this time, his broad back blocking out the rest of the alley as he moved to leave. âIf Iâm in London again.â
You blinked, still trying to process everything that had just happened.
The impact of his intoxicating presence, the way his warm touch lingered on your blushed skin, the way his words seemed to hang in the air long after heâd spoken them, like a secret. The whole situation, the proximity, the way he had touched you, the idea that Simon Riley might actually show up again, left you reeling.
Maybe this wasnât just a fleeting reunion. Maybe it wasnât just a chance encounter. There was something more to this, something unspoken but undeniably real.
âYeah,â you breathed, not sure if he heard you. âIâd like that.â
And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.

Originally, I planned to end this story after the first chapter, but the kindness and encouragement in the comments have inspired me to keep going. Now, the story feels incomplete, like there's more left to explore. Iâm considering turning this into a short series, with one or two more parts to make it feel whole. Thank you for your comments and supportâI really enjoy talking with all of you!
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#ghost cod#ghost x you#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley headcanons#simon ghost riley comfort#simon riley comfort#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost fluff#ghost x reader#simon riley fluff#ghost call of duty#cod ghost#cod x you#cod x reader#betweenstorms#stormy writes#call of duty x reader#cod fanfic#childhood friend!simon#childhood friend!ghost#where we part
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Scales and Arpeggios

pairing | aemond x wife!reader word count | 4.3k words summary | aemond and his wife share tender moments with their children, engaging in music lessons that bring warmth and joy to their family amidst the shadows of the dance of dragons.
note | slight angst, hotd au (greens win), KING AEMOND, toothrotting fluffff, children, no description of reader, fluffy Aemond, soft aemond, pregnant!reader a/n | aristocats inspired (duchess and her kittens), I thought of this this morning. I really needed this fluff after all my negative thoughts and feelings. also don't worry, I have all my requests in the making, and in my draft's - prepare for the angst and feels.
likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated âš
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Aemond was tired.
Day upon day, his life was mired in endless council meetings, audiences with quarrelsome lords, and grievances of the peasantry, all in the name of healing a realm ravaged by war.
It had been two years since the Dance of the Dragons had torn through the land, yet the scars remained, as fresh as the charred ruins left in the dragonsâ wake.
And here he was, King of the Seven Kingdomsâbut at what bitter cost. He had bested Daemon in the fierce clash over the Godâs Eye, and his half-sister, the self-styled Queen, had been devoured by her own madness.
She met her end as Sunfyre tore her asunder upon Aegonâs command. Not long after, Aegon himself succumbed to his wounds, leaving the crown a hollow prize.
Aemond had defeated the Blacks. The traitors were vanquished, their cause snuffed out. But his family had been taken in the fires of war. Jaehaerys murdered; young Maelor torn apart; Daeron slain.
Helaena, dear Helaena, had taken her own life. And AegonâAegon had burned away with his dragon, his defiance crumbling under the agony of his wounds.
All that remained of his bloodline were fleeting shadows of memory and ashes of kin. Only his wife, the woman bound to him since he was but fourteen, remained steadfast.
Through the dark days of the war, you had been his only constant, his sole source of solace. In the end, that was all he had left: his bride, his son Aeron, his niece Jaehaera, and his mother, Queen Alicent, who clung to life with a frail resilience.
It was his wife, too, who had stayed his hand when he considered the fates of Daemonâs daughters. You had urged him to spare the lives of Baela and Rhaena, allowing them sanctuary with their sole surviving brother, Aegon the Younger, now far away in Driftmark.
And yet, his mother had been torn asunder by grief, the madness that followed the loss of three of her children consuming her like a wildfire. Just months ago, Alicent had succumbed to the cruel grip of Winter Fever, and with her passing, the warmth of their family had dimmed further.
He blamed himself, for in his fervor to protect his ownâthe children he adored and his beloved wifeâhe had allowed himself to be blind to his motherâs decline. Each day, he devoted himself to the care and nurturing of Aeron and Daenys, ensuring Jaehaera felt the presence of family, while the ever-looming responsibilities of the crown overshadowed his duties as a son.
Now, he barely caught glimpses of the life that remained. He would rise in the early hours, the dawn light casting a soft glow upon his wifeâs sleeping form, a fleeting moment of peace before he was swept away by the relentless tide of royal obligations.
In the fleeting minutes before he departed for court, he could only admire the serene lines of your face, knowing that the day would steal him from your side again.
The children were no better; brief encounters in the corridors felt like whispers of a past he could hardly grasp. Aeron would be playing with his toys, and Daenys might be crawling after the palace cats, laughter echoing softly in the halls, but those joyful sounds seemed distant, muffled by the duties that consumed him.
But on this day, a flicker of fortune shone upon him; he had managed to complete his duties earlier than usual. Typically, he toiled long into the night, only to return to the warmth of their chambers when all were asleep. Though it was after supper, a glimmer of hope sparked within him that perhaps he could still find them, to grasp those precious moments he had so dearly missed.
Through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, the young Prince Aeron and Princess Jaehaera raced, their laughter echoing against the cold stone walls as they hurried toward the music lesson that awaited them. The air was filled with the thrill of their spirited competition, each eager to claim the title of first to arrive.
As they rounded a corner, Jaehaera noticed Aeron pulling ahead, determination etched across his small face. In a quick, daring move, she reached out and tugged at his tunic, managing to pull him back just enough to dart ahead. âMe first!â she shouted, her voice ringing with triumph.
Not to be outdone, Aeron swiftly grabbed hold of her arm, attempting to halt her advance. âAnd why should you be first?â he challenged.
Jaehaera strained against his grip, lifting her chin defiantly as she met his gaze. âBecause I am the future queen, thatâs why!â she declared, her voice bold and unwavering.
With that, she broke free, dashing down the corridor, but Aeron was quick on her heels, bumping her to the side in a playful shove that almost sent her sprawling against the wall. âYouâre not a queen! Youâre nothing but my cousin!â he yelled.
Jaehaera shot him a fierce glare, her brows knitting together. âIâll show you if Iâm a queen or not,â she murmured under her breath, determination simmering in her tone as they neared the door to the music room.
In a last-ditch effort to claim victory, Jaehaera pushed Aeron aside just as they reached the threshold. He stumbled slightly but quickly regained his footing, throwing a frown her way. âFight fair, Jae!â
Without missing a beat, she rolled her eyes and slipped into the room, only to be met with an unexpected shove from Aeron as he followed closely behind. He hadnât meant to, but the force sent Jaehaera tumbling to the ground with a hard thud that echoed in the hall.
She shot him a fierce glare, her lips forming a pout as she rubbed her side. âNow that hurt!â she exclaimed, the hint of a whine creeping into her voice.
âAunty! Aunty!â she called out, her tone shifting to one of urgency.
Moments later, you entered the room, carrying Daenys on your hip. A mixture of sternness and affection danced on your face as you regarded the two children. âJaehaera, my darling, Jaehaera,â you said, your voice firm but softening with a smile. âYou must stop that; it is really not ladylike.â
Your gaze shifted to Aeron, your tone turning slightly admonishing. âAnd you, Aeron, such behavior is most unbecoming of a lovely gentleman.â
Aeronâs cheeks flushed, and he scowled at Jaehaera, ready to defend himself. âWell, she started it,â he retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.
Jaehaera, unfazed, lifted her chin in a gesture of regal disdain, pointedly turning her gaze away from him. âQueens do not start fights,â she declared, her voice dripping with authority. Then, with a scrunch of her nose, she added, âBut they can finish them.â
Aeron rolled his eyes dramatically at Jaehaera, sticking out his tongue in mockery, but the jest was short-lived as he heard his motherâs voice call out from across the room. âNow, Aeron, donât be rude,â you scolded, your tone firm but laced with affection.
He turned to you, flashing an innocent smile, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. âWe were just practicing fighting and pushing,â he replied, his words punctuated by an exaggerated shrug that only added to the mischief of the moment.
You felt a jolt of discomfort at his words, a wave of haunting memories crashing over you. The echoes of past conflicts flickered in your mindâbattles fought and lives lost, the heavy price of such lessons. âTargaryens do not practice fighting and pushing and things like that,â you replied, your voice low, the irony of your own words hanging heavily in the air. âIt is just horrible.â
With a determined effort, you sought to redirect the conversation and lighten the mood. âNow,â you began, your expression softening as you turned your gaze to Daenys, nestled in your arms, her tiny form clearly on the brink of sleep.
You smiled adoringly at her, a sense of calm washing over you as you looked back at Jaehaera and Aeron. âWhy donât you two head over to the piano, and letâs begin our lesson?â
âYes, Aunty!â Jaehaera chirped, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she practically danced toward the instrument, subtly shouldering Aeron aside.
Aeron glared at Jaehaera, his indignation flaring up momentarily, but he quickly turned to you with a soft nod. âYes, Mama,â he replied.
âItâs time to practice your scales and your arpeggios,â you encouraged, as you moved toward the piano. You settled onto the chaise beside it, Daenys resting her head comfortably against your shoulder, her eyes half-closed as she watched her brother and cousin with a sleepy fascination.
Jaehaera stood poised beside the grand piano, her back straight and shoulders squared, a picture of determination. She cleared her throat, the sound echoing softly in the air, and waited expectantly for Aeron to begin.
However, she cast him a pointed glare as he took his sweet time, leisurely warming up his hands as if the lesson were no pressing matter.
Finally, after an impatient moment, Jaehaera announced, âIâm ready, Maestro,â her voice ringing with a blend of authority and hautiness.
Aeron shot her a sideways glance, his mischievous grin returning as he subtly shifted his foot and stomped down hard onto Jaehaeraâs, eliciting a sharp squeak from her.
âAunty, he did it again!â she exclaimed, turning her wide eyes toward you, indignation clear in her voice.
Aeron, unfazed, looked away, propping his chin on his hand with an exaggerated air of nonchalance. âTattletale,â he whispered in response.
You carefully rubbed Daenys' back, the gentle motion soothing your daughter. Your patience was unwavering, as you said, âNow, Aeron, please, darling, settle down and play me your pretty little song.â Your voice was calm, and your tone both firm and nurturing.
With a resigned sigh, Aeron nodded, his playful demeanor shifting as he positioned himself at the piano. âYes, Mama,â he murmured, fingers poised above the keys. As he began to play, the room filled with the soft, melodic strains of his music.
Aemond was at a loss, frustration tightening his chest as he searched the sprawling halls of the Red Keep for you. He had scoured your shared chambers, his personal solar, and the childrenâs bedrooms, but you were nowhere to be found.
The sinking feeling in his gut only grew as he realized he needed assistance, and at last, he sought out one of the guards stationed nearby.
The guard cleared his throat and straightened slightly, sensing the princeâs impatience. âAt Her Grace's music lessons, sire,â he replied, his tone respectful.
âMusic lessons?â Aemond murmured to himself, brow furrowing in confusion. He had not realized such an event was taking place, nor had he been informed of it.
Without another moment's hesitation, he rushed in the direction indicated, making his way down a seldom-used wing of the castle, its walls lined with faded tapestries and the whispers of history.
As he drew closer, he heard the unmistakable sound of a piano, its notes cascading through the air like a gentle stream, drawing him forward.
Coming closer to the door, he opened it quietly before he peeked his head inside, his heart melting at the sight as he heard Jaehaera's voice.
"Do mi sol do do sol mi do," the girl of six summers sang, her voice young and somewhat pitchy as she sang confidently, "Every truly cultured music student knows. You must learn your scales and your arpeggios Finger music ringing from your chest And not your nose. While you sing your scales and your arpeggios"
Aemond stood just beyond the doorway, a swell of pride filling his chest as he watched his five-year-old son, Aeron, seated at the piano. The boyâs fingers danced across the keys with a mixture of enthusiasm and concentration, his small face lit with determination.
To Aemondâs surprise, Aeron broke into song as well, his voice sweet yet tinged with the tremor of youth. âIf youâre faithful to your daily practicing, you will find your progress is encouraging,â he sang, each note imbued with his budding confidence.
Beside him, Jaehaera stood, arms crossed and a hint of exasperation in her eyes as she rolled them subtly at Aeronâs exuberance. Aeron continued, his voice growing bolder yet still wavering, âDo mi sol me do, mi sol me fa la sol, it goes. When you do your scales and your arpeggios.â
Jaehaera lifted her voice to sing her part again, âDo mi so do,â but she was abruptly cut off by Aeron, who had become overly enthusiastic at the piano, his fingers now racing across the keys with fervor.
âDo mi sol do, do sol mi do,â you chimed in, your voice ethereal and melodic, casting a gentle spell over the room. Aemond found his gaze drawn to you, the light catching your features as you sang alongside the children.
Jaehaera quickly fell in with you, her voice harmonizing beautifully, âDo mi sol do, do sol mi do. Though at first it seems as though it doesnât show, like a tree, ability will bloom and grow.â
In your arms, Daenys, who had previously been drifting off to sleep, now sat wide awake, her bright eyes filled with wonder as she attempted to mimic the words you and Jaehaera sang. Her babbling intermingled with the melody.
The three of you continued in unison, your voices intertwining, âIf youâre smart, youâll learn by heart what every artist knows. You must sing your scales.....and your arpeggios.â
Aemond leaned against the doorframe, a small smile gracing his lips as he took in the delightful scene unfolding before him. The flickering light of the candles cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the joy radiating from his children.
Aeron beamed at you, his face aglow with pride as the final notes of the song faded into the air. âHow was that, Mama?â he asked, his bright eyes shining with eager anticipation.
You turned to him, your heart swelling with affection. âAbsolutely wonderful, my love,â you replied, your voice laced with warmth and encouragement. Just as you opened your mouth to add more praise, a small, excited voice broke through the moment.
âKÄpa! KÄpa!â Daenys cried out, her tiny hands clapping together in delight, her wide lilac eyes fixed on the door where Aemond stood.
All three of you turned your attention toward the threshold, and Aemond couldnât help but feel a slight flush of warmth at the sight of his little girlâs enthusiasm. He stood there, somewhat awkwardly.
âDo you wish to join us, my king?â you teased gently, a playful amusement dancing in your tone as you gestured for him to enter.
Aemond gave you a small smile before striding into the room, the familiar weight of his crown momentarily forgotten in the presence of his family.
Daenys, her cherubic face lighting up with excitement, eagerly raised her arms toward him, and he scooped her up effortlessly from your embrace, her giggles filling the air. âI was not aware there were music lessons in the first place,â he remarked, an amused glimmer in his eye.
âMerely for the childrenâs entertainment, I assure you,â you replied softly, your heart warmed by the sight of your husband.
Aemond shot you a skeptical glance, an eyebrow arching slightly as he nodded. âOh, I am sure,â he replied, a hint of teasing lacing his tone.
âFather, did you see how I played?â Aeron asked eagerly, his small hands still resting on the piano keys, a bright grin spreading across his face.
âYes, I did,â Aemond said, his expression softening as he smiled down at his son. âMuch better than any bard Iâve heard.â The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and Aeron beamed at the praise.
âAnd did you see how I sang, uncle?â Jaehaera chimed in, her voice a melodic chime that danced through the air like the notes of the piano.
âYes, of course,â Aemond replied, nodding with genuine admiration. âOne day, you might even come to rival the Queenâs voice.â The compliment brought a bright flush to Jaehaera's cheeks, her eyes sparkling with delight.
âSheâll be even better than me,â you murmured, a soft smile gracing your lips as you watched the exchange unfold.
As the children chattered excitedly, desperate for their King's attention, your gaze drifted to the doorway, where you spotted your maid, Emery, standing patiently, signaling that it was time for bed.
You cleared your throat gently, drawing the children's attention back to you. âChildren, itâs time to go to bed,â you announced softly, your voice laced with warmth yet firm.
Aeron turned to you, his wide eyes shimmering with innocence as he clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. âDo we have to, Mama? Father just got here,â he implored, his lower lip jutting out in a way that made your heart ache.
You sighed, feeling your resolve weaken under the weight of his pleas. However, Aemond came to your rescue, his hand affectionately ruffling Aeronâs fluffy silver hair. âAnd Iâll come say goodnight once you are in bed, little king,â he promised, his voice soothing and reassuring.
You tilted your head toward the door, giving a gentle nudge. âEmery is waiting for you,â you murmured, the soft authority in your tone guiding them toward the inevitable.
Disappointment flickered in both Jaehaeraâs and Aeronâs eyes, yet they nodded reluctantly. Jaehaera approached your side and planted a tender kiss on your cheek, her small frame radiating warmth as she bid you goodnight.
Following her lead, Aeron hurried to do the same, his kiss lingering a moment longer before he bent down to press his lips against your swelling stomach, his sweet gesture eliciting a smile from you.
Aemond, observing the tender moment, passed baby Daenys into your arms. She giggled excitedly, her laughter a delightful sound as you smothered her with kisses, before you handed Daenys to Emery, who was prepared to lead the children out.
As the soft patter of little feet faded down the corridor, the lively laughter and chatter of the children ebbed away, leaving you and Aemond cocooned in the warm embrace of the cozy chamber.
A serene silence enveloped the two of you, a precious moment amidst the storm of duties and the remnants of grief that lingered in the air.
âHello, husband,â you greeted softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to shatter the comfortable stillness that settled between you.
âHello, wife,â Aemond murmured in return, his tone low and warm as he lowered himself onto the piano bench beside you.
With a gentle grace, he let his hand drift over the piano keys, pausing just short of touching them. It was a silent acknowledgment of his lack of skill, yet he seemed fascinated by the instrument nonetheless.
You watched him, the lines of his face illuminated by the soft glow of the chamber, and felt a pang of affection.
âI apologize for not informing you about the lessons,â you said, your voice steady yet filled with sincerity.
âTis alright,â he replied, though his gaze remained fixed away from you, a flicker of concern shadowing his features. âWhen did it begin?â
âThe day of your motherâs funeral,â you replied gently, choosing your words with care. âYour duties had taken you away, and Aeron and Jaehaera were feeling very down. I thought music might lift their spirits, and it has. Jaehaera even asked me to teach her to sing and play.â
At the mention of that day, Aemondâs expression shifted. Guilt washed over him, and memories flooded backâhis motherâs service at the Sept, the heavy atmosphere of sorrow, and how he had been swept away in the currents of his responsibilities, never given a moment to truly mourn.
He nodded thoughtfully, his voice barely above a whisper. âAeron seems particularly skilled.â
âHe is a very intelligent little boy,â you agreed, your eyes not leaving his as he continued to stare at the piano, lost in thought. âHe has an eagerness to learn that reminds me of you.â
Aemond chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the solemnity that hung in the air. âI fear he has far more talent than I ever did,â he said, a hint of pride seeping into his words. âBut Iâm glad to see them find joy in something so beautiful.â
âMusic has a way of healing,â you remarked, a wistful smile playing on your lips. âEspecially in times like these.â
He turned to face you fully, his piercing violet eye searching yours. âAnd what of you? How do you fare amidst the shadows of loss?â
You hesitated, feeling the weight of his concern. âI carry the grief, as we all do. But I find solace in our children. Their laughter reminds me of the light we can still find in our lives.â
Aemondâs gaze softened, and he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours with an intimacy that sent warmth coursing through you. âYou are stronger than I,â he said earnestly. âI often wonder how you manage to bear the burdens we both carry.â
With a gentle squeeze of his hand, you replied, âWe bear them together, my king. That is what family is for.â
Aemond's brow furrowed slightly, and he murmured, âAeron... he shall be a better king than I.â His voice held a weight of expectation and uncertainty, a reflection of his own doubts.
You turned your gaze toward him, a hint of sadness flickering in your eyes as you stood and swiftly settled beside him on the bench.
Reaching out, you cupped his face in your hands, grounding him with your touch. âOnly because he shall learn from your mistakes. Every king should be better than the former.â
Aemond stared into your eyes, his heart swelling with gratitude. In truth, he had often wondered what he had done to deserve your steadfast presence. Memories washed over himâof the day he first met you when he was merely fourteen, a boy angry and hateful at the world.
He leaned his forehead against yours, finding solace in your warmth. âYou are very wise, my queen. You never lead me astray.â
âDestiny has its designs,â you replied softly, a small smile gracing your lips. âAnd I am merely fulfilling mine. To guide you, to stand by your side.â
He chuckled lightly, the sound a blend of affection and admiration. âEven when I do not deserve it?â
âEspecially then,â you countered, your tone playful yet sincere. âEvery king needs a queen to keep him grounded, to remind him of what truly matters.â
Aemond took a deep breath, the weight of the realm and his responsibilities momentarily lifted. âAnd what is that, my love?â
You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. âIt is love, loyalty, and the hope for a better tomorrow. The kind of future we want for our children.â
Aemond leaned back, a rare lightness settling in his chest for the first time in what felt like an age. He placed his hand over your round belly, feeling the warmth radiate from within. You tilted your head, an amused smile blossoming on your lips as you caught his gaze.
âAeron has taken to kissing my stomach,â you said, your tone playful. âHe believes that if he shows enough affection, it might persuade my body to grant him a brother. He claims it would make his chances of having a fair fight against the girls much better.â
Aemond chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. Then, nodding toward the piano, he added, âTeach me. I may never reach the heights of Aeronâs talent, but perhaps I could aspire to match little Daenysâ skill.â
Your laughter chimed like music in the air, a sound that warmed his spirit. Aemond grinned at the absurdity of comparing his potential to that of his infant daughter. âVery well,â you said, your eyes sparkling with delight. âFirst, let us see what you can do.â
You guided him closer to the piano, instructing him to place his large, slender hands over yours on the keys. âFeel the movement,â you encouraged, your voice soft and patient. âItâs not merely about the notes; itâs about the rhythm and the heart behind them.â
Unbeknownst to you and Aemond, enveloped in your own intimate world, three pairs of curious eyes peered in from the slightly ajar door of the chamber. Jaehaera, Aeron, and little Daenys had quietly slipped away from their caretakers.
Jaehaera, though only six years of age, sighed wistfully as she watched her uncle and aunt. âHow romantic,â she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a sense of longing.
She cradled baby Daenys in her arms, the infant unusually calm, her wide eyes reflecting the gentle glow of the room as she took in the scene of her mother and father together.
Aeron, standing beside Jaehaera, observed his parents intently, a thoughtful frown furrowing his brow. âDo you think our marriage will be like that?â he asked, glancing over at Jaehaera to gauge her reaction.
Jaehaera turned to him, her gaze sharp and serious, her little brows furrowing in determination. âIt has to, Aeron. It has to.â
âDo you think weâll be that happy?â he pressed, his youthful innocence shining through, even as the shadows of doubt crept into his mind.
She nodded vigorously, her long silver hair bouncing with the motion. âOf course! The king and queen love each other. If we love each other like they do, it will be just as wonderful.â
Aeron pondered her words, his gaze drifting back to the sight of you and Aemond, lost in your shared moment. âAnd what ifâŠâ he hesitated, searching for the right words. âWhat if things become difficult, like they do in the stories?â
Jaehaera frowned slightly, her youthful optimism momentarily faltering. âThen we fight for each other, just like they do,â she declared with conviction.
Aeron nodded, a small smile creeping onto his face. âI like that idea,â he said softly, his gaze drifting back to the happy scene of his mother and his father.
âWeâll make it the best story ever.â

[Jaehaera, Aeron, Daenys]
headcannonsss:
â aemond and reader end up having six children in total: aeron (18), daenys (15), mikael (13), jaemes (10), elaena (7) and aelora (4) + jaehaera (19)
â aeron and jaehaera marry
â daenys falls in love with aegon (rhaenyra's son)
â mikael comes out as gay
â jaemes and elaena marry
â aelora refuses to marry and part with her mother (sophie/donna relationship)
HOPE YOU ENJOYED!
#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#hotd fanfic#hotd#hotd aemond#aemond one eye#aemond x you#aemond targaryen imagine#prince aemond
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. . . l'oeuf
Ëââź summary. just another evening at henry's.
pairing. henry winter x f!reader warnings. smoking, swearing, mentioned drug use, bad aspirin use specifically, use of alcohol, +18 (p n v sex, no condom henry DOES NOT care, very minimal dirty talk), pretentiousness, an inkling of classicism, bunnyâą wc. 6.9k â§Ë°.
author's note. happy october everyone ! i always wanted to write smth for the loml henry winter but i never had the patience to sit down and do it. well, now i did. this was written with prompt 1. thick, acrid smoke. feel free to rqs more for the prompty thingies! x . . . side note! the fic is named by this song since i listened to it while writing. you can draw a metaphor from it if willing
creds. hd., div.
mlist | buy me coffee âĄàŸ
it was at the start of october on that fateful senior year that you had found yourself in henry winter's illustrious townhouse. from the lacquered brazillian hardwood floorboards to the ivory plasterwork on the ceilings â every corner pertained a certain degree of finery that reflected poorly on the rest of its objects: a well-worn armchair perpetually stuck in henryâs physique and fraying at the edges, the trampled rug that snaked upstairs and held all of your secrets, the coffee table with too many wine stains. in the dim light, the dried rorschach looked like blood.
the present company consisted of six and was slowly dwindling. your dear friend francis, the only boy who had never cared to peek up your skirt in childhood tennis practice, was a moment from collapsing into himself like a weary, old star. holding a champagne coupe from which he exclusively drunk only campari, he had thrown himself over henryâs couch not unlike a discontent lead from a penny dreadful novel. his face kept twisting according to the sounds: bunnyâs voice was met with pursed lips and a tightly shut eye (only one, closest to bunnyâs person sat by the aforementioned coffee table), charlesâ â with a look of defeated boredom, and in the odd bouts of silence and music, bliss.
you offered him a cigarette, and he barely managed to crane his neck to kiss the knuckles of a helping hand before he snatched it away and searched his pockets for a lighter.
sweet camilla sat by the fire, with her knees drawn to her chest. one black stocking was torn on the side, rippling up her calf and sneaking into her inner knee, an action bunny had noted and all had taken particular interest in. there had been a metaphor about literature resembling her glossy stockings â all that language and reference weaved into a fabric that stretched till it could no more, thus marking the end of innovation and intertextuality. a book can only fit so much, and as all of them cared for ancient greek only â a language that no one spoke, and so, could never refine past its perfect state â the topic soon waned in favor of more brandy.
bunny cowed a story about richard papen, the outsider that had joined their coterie, who was not present, as he had not been invited. he was a fine orator, had a specific sense of humor that, while not always understood, could charm an audience when fidgeted with enough. only bunny was too drunk, and his glass of whiskey kept spilling on his trousers till it left an undignified blotch crowned by cigarette ashes, which only painted him a blubbering buffoon. âthe fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,â came to mind as you admired the embers dancing in the halo of his blond hair.
then, there was charles, drunk as always, who had opted to lay by camillaâs feet, the place where bunnyâs drunken attempts of metaphor had landed him.
lastly, there was henry, your own personal virgil, who had not wanted you to come, but allowed it still. he looked tired from across the room, an arm thrown over the cushions of the armchair in which he sat. in his left hand he held a book, a cover and a title too out of frame for your eyes to see; amber reflected in his wiry glasses, the color of his brandy bottle (half empty) before the orange glow of the fire burned it copper. a plume of cigarette smoke curled into the ceiling from his two fingers. only he could have full concentration among the chaotic symphony in the living room.
the record spun to silence, and you quickly abated your seat on the windowsill to pad to the cabinet and change the vinyl. the collection of classics had not increased since your last visit, which was roughly a week ago, and it had not changed since henry moved out the dorms during the winter of your junior year. there were chopinâs nocturnes and etudes, beethovenâs piano sonatas, and wagnerâs tristan and isolda, just to name a few. something lulling, quiet. you picked debussy and placed the needle. lilting, soft and steady, like you supposed love would feel.
instantly, you were met with bunnyâs ire.
âno, no,â a wave and a body too weak to stop you. you ensured he was gifted your most sly smile, âno, woman, put on somethinâ, somethinâ grand,â a larger wave, like a poorly coordinated conductor, he smacked his hand too close to francisâ head. a groan from charles, as if he had grown nauseous from watching the motions, âsomethinâ for me and charlie here,â
charles tried to turn away in his discontent, yet did not manage. camilla, concerned, laid a hand on his shoulder, âshould we go? i think we should head home.â
âsee?â bunnyâs accusing tone found you once more, âyouâre scaring the guests. put on some real music. like the... the...â he trailed off, lighting another cigarette. for good luck, one could imagine, âlike goddamnâ listen to led zeppelin, man! the rolling stones!â
you glanced to henry and found yourself surprised. a shared look.
âno such things in our humble repertoire,â you stated.
âmile davis, at least?â
âno,â
âi donât believe you,â
âyouâre free to check for yourself.â
amidst this small argument, which was much too common when dealing with bunny, camilla had somehow managed to wrestle charles into standing on his own two feet. unstable, he leaned onto his sister, the added weight making her stagger.
âgoodness, take care of charles,â bunny whined, though his complaints never amounted to more than simple sulking. you chose not to pay them much mind.
it was henry that helped, carefully balancing his book on the armrest and coming to take charles from camillaâs embrace.
âshould i drive you home?â he asked.
camilla shook her head, en route to retrieve her red scarf and new coat, âno, no, weâll call a taxi.â
it was always mildly fascinating watching the two interact. camilla, never able to meet his gaze directly and for too long, and henry, who only ever extended wordless aid without prompt or reason to her only. what had she done to earn such favor was beyond you â beyond everyone, perhaps â but you were certain you werenât the only one that saw this careful act of piety and kindness.
you observed them shuffle out after moments on the telephone, camillaâs hand ghosting henryâs arm, or grazing the bend of his elbow, and only when they disappeared past the large door to wait for the taxi did you look away.
loving henry winter was a sisyphean task, unworthy of the effort which it required. you thought yourself too smart for it, and thus, never cared to entertain the notion, not even when he kissed you.
you caught bunny staring at you: not scrutinizing, not calculating â simply staring. a curious leer that often fell on you after some semblance of mirth had worn down. almost shy, somewhat longing.
âthis richard of yours,â you began, helping yourself to henryâs lucky strike. out of all the brands that you had smoked, this was the most bitter and always left a tart taste in the back of your throat. you craved it, âpapen, was it?â
âyup,â bunny mumbled into his glass.
âand how is he?â your gaze jumped from him to francis.
âpoor,â bunny said.
âcalifornian,â francis tacked on.
âbut he pretends he isnât,â bunny continued.
âcalifornian?â your brows rose. the smell, the taste â too powerful, almost choking.
âno, no,â bunny shook his head, disoriented for a moment, ârich. pretends to be rich. see, i didnât tell you this, but,â and he reached for henryâs cigarettes, too, even if his own pack laid abandoned, two-three left untouched. he did this, at times, this odd mimicry: you smoked, he smoked what you did, you drank, he drank what you did, you decided a getaway to italy was your dream destination for a week and later learned he had haggled henry into buying tickets for the two of them, âbut i, you know me: never judge a book by its cover, i say. invited him to dinner. the usual place, the one on-â
âgod,â francis winced, and if he could move, surely heâd flee, âstop talking.â
âthe lady asked, am i to deny her now? i thought he wouldnât show, but he does, doesnât he? with a goddamned tweed jacket, like i wouldnât notice,â he hiccupped mid-explanation, the liquor long congealed into his system, âand, you know, me, i know people. i know people. i see them for what they are, and i knew he was a no good cheat from a mile away, but hey,â a straight spine, a bit proud, âi think to myself, you know what, old man, iâm gonna give this guy a chance. popâs always-â
âaspirin,â francis interjected, this time directed at you, âbring me some, would you, juliet?â
you snorted, âa moment,â
âthank you, desdemona. youâre a midsummer nightâs dream,â
âsheâs from othello,â
âmy point stands.â
you sauntered off into henryâs kitchen and scoured his cupboards for painkillers. the layout of this place you knew too well â perhaps, even, if you closed your eyes, you could discern each obstacle and map it in front of your eyes with the grace and certainty of a guidebook. you did just that.
behind you, a sudden coldness pierced through the humidity and a door shut harshly. the influx of fresh air was a brief slap to the face.
itâs been silent for a while now.
âwhat are you doing?â henryâs voice, not close, yet not too far. always observing at a distance, since closeness was never his intention. henry winter. what a fitting name.
âlooking for aspirin.â
the tick of an unseen clock.
âtop drawer,â there was no urgency; something you didnât understand was what made him hurry to answer, âi hid them there. bunny keeps stealing my entire cabinet.â
your eyes fluttered open, âmy, my. what a snitch,â
âdonât give him the aspirin,â
âitâs for francis,â
âvery well.â
an impasse. you closed the cabinet and thought against bringing water with you, knowing itâs unneeded.
âmay i?â henry asked, and when you turned to look at him, he was as always â unbreakable, unmovable. expectant, perhaps, his heavy gaze a familiar pressure upon your cheekbones, the curve of your jaw, your swollen mouth (from biting, not being kissed).
âtheyâre yours,â you said easily, turning the cap and spilling a few into the bed of your palm as he approached, âhere.â
to make matters harder, thereâs but a foot of space between the two of you. the smallest separation, every part of him and every part of you entangled into one odd constellation. an immensity of motion before him and an immensity of energy after.
âwater?â
âwhiskey.â
âis it also hidden?â
âno.â
so you retrieved him a glass, and then the bottle, and lastly you poured the amount enough to swallow in one gulp. when he took and drank, and you watched his adamâs apple bob, you wondered, briefly and hazily, was your act in any way similar to camillaâs. a star that constantly drew him into her orbit.
âyou didnât leave,â he uttered quietly, tired eyes flicking to the maw of the kitchen opening. down the foyer, the firelight danced. bunnyâs voice rose in a toast, no doubt to shake francis out of his stupor.
âi did,â you said, a slow smile curling, âwhat you see before you is a specter. the delirious imaginings of an impoverished mind.â
âridiculous,â the quirk of his eyebrows: mock-offended.
âamusing,â the narrow of your eyes: contagious, âwas everything my spirit foretold the same as you saw it unfold?â
weariness. you looked for it and found it easy enough. his fingers flexed, his tongue went behind his teeth. the cogs turned. for all his genius, henry was too susceptible to fable and entirely too superstitious. he could ward himself off it well, yet when his inhibitions were down, there was a hint of something else, a spark of pious faith in the impossible, what not might come next. he kept looking at you for an extended moment, until the corner of his mouth, minutely, drew up into a not-quite-smile.
âhermia!â came francisâ voice from the other room, âiâm dying.â
henry said nothing.
you expected bunny drunkenly swinging an almost empty bottle around to try and cheer up francis (it rarely worked, unless it was wine), and yet, he wasnât there. the living room felt very big, somehow, devoid of him and the makings of his gullible heart.
âand where is bun?â you questioned, almost scolding.
âbathroom,â francis succeeded sitting up, yet only just.
you heard henry curse under his breath. he disappeared, and soon you heard the continents of a stomach emptying down the hall and henryâs monotone behind a closed door.
âtime to end this sabbath, me thinks,â you said. francis took the pills with a fresh glass of campari, nose scrunching from the taste.
âdâyou think henry could drive me home?â francis asked.
âdo you trust him with your life?â
âdo you think heâd let me die?â
âdepends,â
âno. iâll cab it,â
âwise decision.â
henry returned, seemingly exhausted from his small adventure. no one followed after.
âbun?â you asked again, which seemed to displease him. he only shook his head. passed out, then. unfortunate, yet expected. if bunny could somehow gain authority over all of henryâs things â even the minute ones, the ones that donât matter and exist in the peripherals without henryâs notice â he would. it was the same reason francis once insisted that bunny had been in love with you.
the incident occurred during your first year of college in early november. a rather somber and chilly day with leaves sticking to wet asphalt and stone walls amidst the rainy season. a monday. bunny had broken his ankle and complained terribly about it, and henry, who had become his caretaker, was sick of it and instead abhorred him. by accident and complete mischance, the handling of bunny corcoran had fallen onto your graceful shoulders, and in a single day â full of obsolete complaints and impulsive questions â the theorized affection was born.
if there was a way in which bunnyâs countenance had changed in your presence, it was lost on you, for your attention, at the time, was solely pilfered by charles. he was, back then, the most handsome of the greek class, and oddly enough, the only one pleasant, thus you sought his favor. but charles never returned your fondness, no matter how minuscule it could be, and he never gave the impression of fleeting interest. only sometimes, when he thought you would not catch him, he would stare at you for a bit too long. you never got to figure out what he had thought in those moments.
instead, you figured yourself an actor â a pretty one at that â and decided to ignore this indelicate sort of charm and pursue a new mark. there were many, of course, plenty of faces to consider, yet the outcome was always the same. as it were, they were all terribly boring and reminded you greatly of the peers youâve encountered in private schools, the self-proclaimed intellectuals of the new age that had too much time and too much heartbreak on their hands. good looks aside, not the slightest hint of culture nor comprehension, just money and nothing to show for it.
and then there was henry, of course, so quintessentially different that his existence, still, was hard to define. something outside the realm of you. something above or beyond, or perhaps below â always somewhere you could not reach. there was an irrecoverable arrogance to him and in his aloof demeanor. an inviolable space that never invited others.
yes, there had to be some appeal to the strangeness of him, yet never could you put your finger on what exactly it was. at least, not immediately. at first sight, though, there were more poetic reasons to it â of the tragic and of the divine kind, yet that was no truth but some novel-born whim, a pointless obsession, some meager infatuation. an involuntary fetish. he had not wanted you, which only made it so that you wanted him in turn. it wasnât an ugly thing â it simply was.
he mustâve known. henry always seemed to possess the knowledge of things you had never dared to question or to think twice of. or, perhaps, maybe not: but, despite your inability to identify the cause of it, there was a certain change to your disposition upon entering his shared room. one, maybe, akin to the sudden fear brought by dark enclosed spaces, though a bit more subtle and complex.
it was, ironically, a winterâs night.
when you phoned the same taxi and requested itâs return, francis spoke in a hazy murmur, sluggishly trying to shrug on the coat you brought him, âgod, i really need a cigarette.â
âhm?â
âdo you see mine anywhere?â
a rueful search, hands grabbing the scattered glass and hardbound that littered the surface of the coffee table. a valiant attempt to move the couch cushions and dip fingers into the cracks.
âno,â
âwell, fuck me,â
henry offered his, but francis refused. the living room lit up in that thick, acrid smoke anyway.
the foyer echoed with your footsteps. outside the townhouse, rain had started again. a few drops at first, tapping the windows, before quickly it grew and gained weight. soon, it was battering against the glass.
with your scarf in your hands you suddenly found yourself unsure what to do with it. the taxi was coming and it was time to go home and plead to a higher power for reprieve from the headache you knew would cripple you in the morning. perhaps, an afternoon tomorrow to mull around, dazed. yet there was no respite in any of that. you realized, then, with this abrupt trepidation, that the cause of your discomfort, or the cause that exacerbated it, was within this confided space. a chasm-deep disquiet, like an open mouth of a ravine, dark and shadowy, or the pull of a tide at sea, which was, as they say, irresistible to even the most levelheaded.
somewhat uneasily, you lingered by the coat hanger, and when francis ambled over, tripping over his own two feet, he downed the rest of his campari and shoved the glass into your useless hands. then, he kissed your cheek, quick and wet, before ripping the door open and shoving it closed behind you, hence halting your escape.
the house was deafened, and your palms itched. the overwhelming urge to twiddle with your scarf became unbearable, or it was because a pair of eyes bore into you from the depths of the room. the closest thing youâve ever considered to a tangible aura: the smell of ozone and rain water and tobacco.
âdonât suppose heâs waiting in the rain, is he?â you said.
âno, i donât think he is.â
it didnât make sense, none of what happened afterward â the decision to face him instead of making off into the chilling night. your arms crossed in a quiet and peculiar motion, clutching the coupe a bit too tight.
âwhiskey?â henry offered, and you felt like the silly ingĂ©nue in some high-brow noir thriller donning all that cashmere by the door, âor bourbon.â
âfine.â
a crease of his eyebrow â the sole indication of surprise. your jacket found its rightful place on the rack along with that dreaded scarf. hesitance was unfamiliar to you, as you had not known it growing up â neither a sense of propriety nor a loss of footing. the dandy act had been adopted and perfected to such a degree that to relinquish the mask itself was oddly relieving, the discomfort born merely by knowing that francis was aware of your unusual situation and the upcoming events that would take place once the theater was done. there was a brief thought to how henry mightâve perceived you then. perhaps the removal of a layer of pretense mightâve intrigued him, if anything.
you remained at a slight distance and watched him traverse his domain, stepping around the askew items left behind by bunny and a bottle of gin haphazardly upended by charles, warm by the fire. there was an anomalous sort of patience to him. the silence was an abrasion. so often, you found yourself chattering to fill the void, even with other men who took the shape of strangers.
âthereâs quite a storm brewing,â you said, only to be met with more silence. when your words simpered, the feeling they left was inexplicably ominous. âall that is transitory is but a symbol,â yet only a bad poet would dare to draw a soliloquy from henryâs figure by the flames.
thus, you sat down on the couch, still warm from francis, and held up the beloved champagne coupe. henryâs hand did not tremble as it poured, but your fingers quivered when his attention fell onto you.
âis it good?â
you never felt the alcohol, only the burning in the back of your throat.
âvery,â
he found himself beside you, not too close. the distance was not unlike orpheusâ journey, or so it appeared in the dim firelight â the familiar pangs of the unwilling, the sudden, selfish urge of wanting to see him in his entirety, his visage unhindered
âmay i?â you asked, meaning, of course, his cigarette. he acquiesced easily. the only telltale of his everlasting unbothered mien: his focus had, and always seemed to be, too acute. it was enough to unnerve anyone. flattering, perhaps, if only you could tell what he was thinking, but you never could.
in your lap, the half-empty coupe. you left a smudge of your lipstick on the cigarette butt. henry inhaled. it was not unlike a kiss.
âfrancis mentioned you didnât want to see me,â you said.
âi didnât,â he responded.
âa lie, was it then?â
âyou assume to know?â
âyes.â
another drag. smoke parted his mouth, slow as molasses and heavy as clouds.
âyouâve changed,â you said.
conversation with henry had always been difficult, before and after your frequent follies in the dark. if you did speak, it was never about one another, or anything that resided past skin and bone, nestled somewhere in the marrow, only felt. in instances where you did find common ground it was only ever art â literature, specifically, and when he was in a good mood, painting. henry only had one fascination and refused to entertain others; here lied his fatal flaw. thus, in a crowd of three and more, you could exchange remarks that would seem and sound important but held no real meaning.
âwhat sort of change have you noticed?â henry murmured. the lighting cast shadows. his hands twitched.
you were not sure, as you remembered him in much more detail and color. here, ashen-faced and obscured, all you saw was the ghost of his image, as though he had grown morose in a way that a single season could not alter. the greek class had often suffered for the aesthetic â self-imposed punishments of grandeur and excess that to everyone outside their circle seemed quite ridiculous, along with their dark clothes and mysterious miens and enigmatic jokes. some said they were haunted or blessed, but none envied them. alas.
troubled is the closest you could find, though if you were to voice it, he might take you for a child. it was never good to seek out his vulnerability. he would say you could never find it, and, inevitably, it would end up being the truth. henry wasnât good at love. no one of were.
you shrugged, âyouâve become quiet.â
âam i, now?â
âmore so than youâve been,â
âperhaps youâve just gotten better at listening,â
âunlikely,â
henry cocked his head. his hand, once again, twitched and there was an urge to reach out and grasp his fingers â some sort of absolution or at least a consolation for something neither one of you mightâve cared to mention. never did the man in front of you appear unsure, yet somehow, despite his best effort to the contrary, you felt a similar trepidation of an undefined thing.
henry was impossible to read. not just a mystery, but undeciphered in ways so beyond the mundane. over the years, you had collected enough clues to form a humble dictionary, yet much of what was missing could only be determined through his own misfortune and complacency â things which would, then, by nature and by fate, stray into your arms.
it did not matter, not entirely, at least. you did not love henry, but you thought that camilla did, and he, in turn, her. once you exhausted your inspection, perhaps you would pass that glossary to her, though you doubted that she would ever find any use for it.
âwell,â henry said, âi suppose thatâs to be expected. anything else?â
âwould you enjoy a dissection?â
henry hummed, perhaps in agreement or curiosity, but it was very possible that he thought you foolish.
âno need,â he said, âyours is transparent.â
âreally?â you countered, âthey never are. people, i mean.â
âwho are you thinking of?â
your mind drifted to bunny, likely curled on the cold tiles of the bathroom. with the first few buttons of his shirt popped and tie loosened, there was the picture of one not withering away but merely on the incline of a steep and lonely hill. all quiet in the dark of a windowless room from which he couldnât even turn his head and see the stars.
it felt as though he would wake soon and interrupt. his presence always breached spaces he did not occupy, and the anticipation of his arrival always lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable. perhaps bunny would always exist in the shadowy corner-room between you and henry, because, if what francis said was true, henry was the first to know of it and had you, still.
you wondered if he regretted it, if he felt like brutus sticking the first knife into caesarâs rib, closest to the heart. you considered asking: in that moment, the urge felt insurmountable. instead, you said, âa little bit of everyone.â
inclined, you caught his gaze. an abysmal color and a disorienting shade, as deep and gloomy as the woods surrounding mount cataract.
âand me?â
âof course,â you smiled and slid a bit closer, âitâs not like you to ask. have you become sentimental?â
ânot exactly,â his eyes moved to his hands. then, the flecks in the fireplace, the piles on the floor, âiâve been thinking.â
âcare to elaborate?â
âno,â he said. you understood his need for privacy, and a small part of you could appreciate his effort, or maybe, rather, that you got something of an answer at all. he did, occasionally, tend to disappear in thought. he remained, despite his reluctance, sitting with you. this, in a way, spoke more to you than the words that could never leave his mouth.
âthis weather makes a body wistful,â you told him, âand the greek have always liked their tragedies.â
he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth before lighting another cigarette, âwhat do you know of greek?â
always the same argument. always the same contradiction. your attraction was tempestuous, and so, it should have surprised you neither the sudden bite or the wicked sense of amusement.
âall that any student would, naturally,â
âso, nothing,â
âi suppose,â you would not admit, for he would win, âhenry,â
something in his posture betrayed him, but it was not his eyes, nor his tone, âyes?â
you were close then, much closer than you were moments ago. his lips thinned in a brittle, noncommittal line and his eyes drooped â more of a warning than anything.
âare you going to kiss me?â you asked.
he wanted to, he mustâve, for it had been the only sensible action â you always pressed for what would hurt least. to drown and swallow poison. it was a favorite, and, for some reason, one he allowed, like an agreement reached. to your knowledge, he only ever let himself indulge in you.
henry only leaned in, which was enough for you. his mouth, a second, not any less tantalizing than the first. and you had kissed him with a brazen softness, enough that his hands snaked to grasp the back of your neck. another hit. the smoke and ash settled deep in your lungs. you had pushed it out in a groan when he dropped his hands to your thighs, pressing hard and confident as he had on those nights when you found each other too lonely. the ache he created was wonderful.
you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled it until it untucked. he swallowed and whispered in a language you were familiar with but couldnât speak, and lifted your skirt.
you kept the cigarette between your teeth as he mouthed down your jaw and neck. his finger traced the skin at the back of your knee and that tickling spot right below your ribs. goosebumps rose and followed his touch. he nipped at the crook of your neck and dragged you onto his lap.
âyou are dressed far too heavily, and terribly,â you heard him say, and when his lips found the shell of your ear, you could not stifle the shiver. the whole room felt claustrophobic, hot and steamy, like the aftermath of a scalding bath. your breaths grew labored. you closed your eyes against it and clawed into his arm.
henry said, again, this time more slowly and with a dull emphasis, âterribly.â
âhow dare you insult my taste,â
âwould you allow for a remediation of my sins?â
âluckily, iâm in an agreeable mood.â
henryâs own sigh was long and somewhat labored, as though a great pressure had been taken off him. and his hands flexed, moving up and down your back. a rare instance, to find him restless. you could admire this in private.
the press of lips to your neck. the collarbone, jutting sharp in the firelight.
there was the urge, sudden and quite novel, to caress his face, cup his cheek, graze the edge of the scar of the eye thatâs colder than its twin, that shrouds you in a mist. such an act was outlawed, naturally, thus, the opportunity came and went, carried away on a drafting wind of smoke. an irredeemable misfortune, and you flicked the cigarette into your abandoned coupe.
âare you comfortable?â the gentle cadence of his voice sent a wave through the warmest depths of your abdomen.
âyes.â
henry, having brushed away your stockings, stroked at the insides of your thighs. there was a light feeling in your head, an almost dizzying sway. a subtle rocking, like boats at port, from where the two of you were perched. his digits dug into the firm meat. beneath his hands, a stretch of burning skin and sinew. muscle clenched and quivered, âterribly inconvenient, by the way.â
âhow do you mean?â
âall the layers,â he muttered.
âgood,â
ânever good,â
and then, suddenly: âare you wet?â
âif you touched me properly, you could tell,â
henry ignored your response. his hand climbed upward, and found a place between the gusset and the middle seam, rubbing, testing.
ârecently,â you said, âiâve become fascinated with joseph cornell.â
âyouâre stalling,â henry informed you without inflection, slipping a finger through the damp center. a harsh noise of pleasure left you when his tongue slid between your lips. one, then two, circling and sinking with the utmost delicacy.
âwhy? are you not curious to hear what i think of his boxes?â you managed, halfway.
another stroke. his thumb rubbing, slow and considerate, in the spot that makes your toes curl, tight and demanding. when his eyes opened and found yours, it was almost comical â his fingers in you, mouth and mind on a completely different path, yet the connection was there all the same. even more so, while trying to be detached, fumbling over buttons and laces.
âno,â
âyou might learn something,â
he quirked a brow, âyou truly wish to waste time talking?â
âarenât you?â
âi am taking an assessment of your willingness to submit,â
âare you certain itâs not the other way around?â
henry rarely responded with malice; each action was carefully devised and, in conjunction, quite merciless. in this case, he dropped his hand from the vee of your legs and tugged at his shirt collar. the emptiness was startling, as was the feeling of tension that coiled tightly in your gut. then, he grabbed his drink and sipped from the sparkling glass. petty revenge, something he always assured was beneath him.
sensing defeat, you decided to placate him. after a dramatic roll of your eyes, you slipped onto the ground and knelt.
âhenry,â you began, and reached for the fly of his pants. the outline of his cock was obvious beneath the smooth fabric, thick and promising, âhome ruler,â in one instance of drunken curiosity, the lot of you agonized the meaning of your names, that perhaps they, somehow, unknowingly dictated your fate, âunwilling to shed his crown. is the head not heavy? most kings lost theirs, you know.â
âflattery doesnât suit you.â
âfolly, then,â you replied, dragging the flat of your palm across his groin and taking pleasure in the strained hiss, âare you going to let me do as i please?â
âi think that is,â at the peak of his inhale, you reached into his trousers and curled your fingers around his stiff cock, âquite apparent.â
you grinned, lazy but triumphant, thumbing the blunt ridge. smudging the dribble of white at the leaking head and reveling in his restrained reactions: the minute tremors, the twitch of his jaw, a gasp caught in his throat. you would have kissed him, again. his face mightâve twitched, something uncontrollable that wouldâve given away his longing, if only he hadnât pushed it down.
with a slow pump, your hand traveled. the size was admirable, familiar, nearly to the point of nostalgia. henry had touched more parts of your body than some of the lovers you took as an earnest attempt for passion. you had begged him once, half-gone, half-wild with what you thought was need and impatience, to only fuck you â without his clever mouth and his careful hands, but he hadnât said yes, no, had only grabbed your jaw and pressed a sucking kiss to the soft and sensitive skin beneath your ear. a promise, almost. and in a way, it had been.
âyou remember?â
henryâs voice snapped you to attention, and when you looked up, his expression matched his darkened eyes, intense. something flared hot and needy in you, and with it, the desire to be open and dripping for him. he curled a hand in the small hairs on the back of your neck, stroking the skin there and, even briefly, allowed himself an indulgence in the pleasure he could get from a single touch, and rocked his hips.
âvividly,â you told him.
the flames, behind you, cast him entirely in silhouette, and his shadow projected forward and rose tall, stretched. a ruler, indeed.
his chest moved slow and purposefully, and when he released your hair, the lack of contact felt like a shock to the system. his hand closed around your forearm, âcome here.â
the tone, hoarse and hushed and so quietly demanding, startled you, and you stood up so quickly that your head spun. henry placed his hands on your hips, steadying, ushering you back to where you belonged.
âjust there.â
legs, parted, framing his waist. fabric, bunched between your thighs. breathing, slowed. a firm, calming weight, pinning you down. the firelight glinted in his eyes.
âhenry,â you called. and the only thing to signal his movement was a bob of his adamâs apple. the cufflinks of his sleeves swayed and flickered. he hummed, neither affirmation nor disagreement and entered you with a grunt.
more. skin flushed. eyes crinkled and tightened. more. nails curled and scrabbled for purchase.
there, your name on his lips. it was disorienting â not so much a cry, or a whisper, but something between the two. henry always spoke carefully, as though each word should carry the most weight, so each syllable, in turn, he would construct and cut, meticulous and mathematical. but here, breathless and wanting, they rolled out in a steady litany, never faltering.
all fire and scorching, the pitch of it high and needy. to thrust and bruise, the idea fizzed bright and brilliant at the apex of your spine. with each snap of his hips, a part of him carved a piece of you out, and each ragged noise shook loose a piece of your skin. it would fit him perfectly. then he would slide right into those hollow spaces that swelled and throbbed, expanding beyond tolerance. in moments like these, you loved him â his body, his touch, his face, everything that could not be articulated.
âplease,â you begged him, trying to curl around the ache, âi want-â
âi know, i know,â he murmured, with a tilt of his head. his hair, you noticed, had lost its immaculate shape, wild and frazzled by your fingers. your heart swelled and contracted: you wanted to do it again, over and over until his whole countenance resembled nothing more than that of a ravaged man. your power, the only thing you had over him. henry closed his eyes.
âspread your legs a little wider,â
a moan slipped when his tongue flicked and curled against the side of your neck, wet and sloppy. the sweet roll of his hips, his fingers pulling at the buttons of your attire and squeezing the fleshy swell of your buttocks. it was always too much.
you licked your lip, shaking when his teeth gently pinched. and, for a moment, the smell of pine permeated the room. as though it were his own sweat and the heady musk of his natural scent, and not a waning bottle of cologne.
âhold onto me,â henry whispered and allowed for nothing more, driving the movement out of your hands. the tempo spiraled upward. at the center, the tension was building. there was a moment of vertigo.
and it was easy enough, as things had always been between the two of you, to ignore the disjointed voices in the back of your mind. how when you two first kissed, itâd been without grace. how the rain fell, trickled, all around you, drowning the dryness in your throat. how the next day, he asked if you would regret what youâd done. and here, now, a different but striking feeling: the warm haze brought on by alcohol, his palms were hot, slick with sweat, his belt digging into you.
henry grunted and swore to a god neither of you had put much faith in. the flush on his cheeks was impossible not to reach out and touch, his eyebrow scarred with the same sort of smooth texture and fading red, his lashes, long and fine, flickering against the high edge of his cheekbones. i love you, you wanted to tell him, but the high struck you ruthlessly, turning you to liquid.
in the aftermath of this brief paradise, you shared a look.
âi still despise this weather,â you said.
henryâs mouth quirked. and what had been the impulsive dalliances of two desperate people became, once more, two lonely creatures with enough distance between to fill one of henryâs beloved epics. the quiet, in the wake of catharsis, was rather terrifying, and the clatter outside â the rain, the wind, and the cold â almost accusatory. he offered you a cigarette.
you took it without thank you and let him light it.
âshould i drive you home?â he offered, voice raspy. his shirt had wrinkles and his collar sat funny. the skin beneath was pink, and there was the barest mark where you had sunk your teeth or dug a nail too hard. you bit the end of the filter, watching the flame waver before rising into ash.
âyouâre drunk,â it felt necessary to remind him, though it never stopped him.
âdo you want me to drive you home?â he asked again. a long pull and a thin veil of smoke.
âyes,â you said, âiâll go wake bunny.â
âno,â
âno?â
âstop it.â
âstop what?â
âspeaking of him,â
âhas he done something?â
silence.
âhenry?â
âleave it,â he said, but his tone was tight.
âalright. iâll get my coat, then,â
âof course,â he murmured, standing slowly. you shouldnât have seen him put his hand against the wall to steady himself, as though any drunken spell had fled, and with it, his equilibrium. the movement was both conscious and contrived, a fact of necessity, and not like the rest of him, braced by his surroundings and firm in stature. a self-constructed illusion, designed to project a set of attributes meant to create the atmosphere of authority. he embodied it well, but he was still, stripped of the mythos, simply human.
you watched him settle and raise his head with a gentle exhale. a mere lift of his shoulders, and he resembled a man in control, content, satisfied â everything henry was, and yet, within the façade, you could see the truth of his discomfort, recently, and without fault, brought upon by an uttered name.
in the upcoming months, you would understand and wonder if there was something you could have done or said to warn him of a future that was inevitable. no matter how many nights you had spent distressing over this question, the answer would always make itself obvious.
there was nothing you could have ever done.
thank you for reading !
#dark academia#the secret history#tsh#henry winter#henry winter x reader#henry x reader#henry winter smut#imagine#imagines#one shot#i always wanted to write smth for henry my beloved always and forever he did nothing wrong#đ october#happy dark academia season everyone!#da
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Can I request a fic for Kinich x fem reader please? during the archons quest IV (spoilerâŒïž for people who didnt do the archons quest) reader almost died in one of the bases but traveler and Paimon (doesn't matter who tbh I love the twins) was able to save them just in time and Kinich hugged her not letting her go until he knew she was real and safe in his arms
Not a huge fan of angst but I'm okay with angst with comfort (happy ending)
From the Edge of Darkness

The Abyss Order had been relentless in its attack on Natlan, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. With the nation in ruins, every base became a battlefield, and the resistance fighters were pushed to their breaking point. The Traveler and Paimon, desperate to help in whatever way they could, had been moving from one war-torn base to another, always hoping to arrive in time to save someoneâanyoneâfrom the onslaught.
This upcoming base felt different, though. As they neared the next base, an eerie silence filled the air. No sounds of clashing weapons, no cries for help. Just silence.
Paimonâs voice quivered as she spoke, âTraveler⊠something feels wrong about this place.â The suffocating tension in the air made it hard to breathe.
When they finally reached the base, the scene that greeted them was nothing short of horrifying. Destruction had torn through the camp like a hurricane. Blood stained the ground, mingling with the ashes of burned tents and scattered debris. Bodies lay strewn across the battlefield, broken and still. Each life extinguished in a brutal fight to protect their homeland.
The Traveler moved quickly, scanning the area, their heart sinking with each step. Please, let there be someone left alive. They silently begged the universe, their steps quickening with each heartbeat.
And then they saw you.
Amidst the carnage, there you wereâbarely alive. Your body was crumpled against the remains of a wall, blood trickling from a wound on your side. Your skin was pale, your breath shallow. You were hanging on, but only just.
âThere!â the Traveler gasped, rushing toward you. They dropped to their knees by your side, frantically checking your pulse, their hand trembling as they felt the faint, uneven beat beneath your skin. âSheâs alive, but not for long!â
Paimonâs eyes widened in horror. âWe need to get her out of here! Now!â
The Traveler didnât hesitate. With great care, they lifted your fragile, unconscious body into their arms. They could feel how weak you were, how close you were to slipping away. Every second counted. âWeâre taking her to the stadium!â the Traveler barked. âThatâs where the medics are.â
Paimon nodded furiously, her tiny body flying ahead, guiding the way. âHurry! We donât have much time!â
The journey back to the stadium felt excruciatingly long, each second a battle against time. But the thought of losing youâof arriving too lateâdrove them forward.
The stadium came into view, its towering walls offering a brief sense of relief. Inside, it was the last haven for those who had survived the Abyss Orderâs attacks. It was bustling with medics, warriors, and refugees, each one desperate to protect what little was left of their world.
The Traveler barely made it through the gates before shouting for help. âMedic! We need a medic!â
The closest group of medics rushed over, their eyes widening when they saw your condition. Without wasting a moment, they took you from the Travelerâs arms and laid you on a stretcher.
The Traveler stood back, their chest heaving with exertion, watching helplessly as the medics tried to save you. Paimon hovered close by, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. âTraveler⊠do you think sheâs going to make it?â
The Traveler swallowed hard, unable to answer. âI donât know, Paimon⊠I donât know.â
---
Not long after, the stadium doors burst open, and Kinich, the man you loved, stormed in. His usually calm and stoic demeanor had crumbled, replaced by pure, unfiltered panic. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for you, the woman who meant more to him than anything in the world.
When he finally spotted the Traveler, his heart lurched. He saw the exhaustion in their eyes, the grim set of their jaw. He knew something was wrong. âWhere is she?â he demanded, his voice shaking.
The Travelerâs expression softened with sorrow as they pointed toward the medic tent. âSheâs there. Itâs⊠not good, Kinich. Iâm sorry.â
Kinichâs breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the tent. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat filled with dread as he rushed toward you. When he reached your side, his worst fears were confirmed. You were pale and still, your chest barely rising with each shallow breath. Bandages covered the wound on your side, but you looked so fragile, so close to death.
âNoâŠâ The word came out as a broken whisper. He fell to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they reached for yours. He grasped your hand in his, holding it tightly, as though if he just held on hard enough, he could pull you back from the brink.
Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision as he bowed his head over your hand. âPlease,â he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. âPlease donât leave me. I canâtâI canât lose you.â
His body shook with the force of his grief, the tears falling freely now as he pressed your hand to his lips, praying for some miracle, some sign that you would wake up and tell him everything would be okay.
Hours passed, but Kinich never left your side. He couldnât. The world outside the stadium continued to burn, but nothing mattered to him except you. He sat by your side, holding your hand, watching for any sign that you would wake. Every breath you took felt like a lifeline, fragile but present.
The medics came and went, their magic stabilizing your condition, but Kinichâs heart remained heavy with fear. He whispered to you the whole time, his words soft and broken. âI love you⊠please come back to meâŠâ
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you stirred.
Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you saw was Kinichâs tear-streaked face hovering above you, his hand tightly gripping yours. You blinked slowly, your body heavy with pain and exhaustion, but you were alive. You were still here.
âKinichâŠâ Your voice was a soft, rasping whisper, but it was enough to break through the haze of Kinichâs grief.
His eyes widened, a sob of relief escaping him as he surged forward, pulling you into his arms. His grip was tight, almost desperate, as though he feared that if he let go, you would disappear again. His body trembled with emotion as he held you, his face buried in your hair.
âYouâre awake,â he breathed, his voice shaking with disbelief. âYouâre really awakeâŠâ
You nodded weakly, your arms coming up to wrap around him, though the movement was slow and painful. âIâm okay,â you murmured, your voice soft but reassuring. âIâm going to be okay.â
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with love and relief. âDonât ever scare me like that again,â he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
You smiled, though it was weak and tired. âIâll try not to.â
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Kinich simply held you, his heart finally beginning to calm as he felt the steady rise and fall of your chest against his. You were safe. You were alive.
And as long as you had each other, nothing else mattered.
âI love you,â he whispered again, his voice softer this time, but no less sincere.
âI love you too,â you replied, your words filled with warmth and gratitude.
The world outside was still in chaos, but in this moment, as you lay in Kinichâs arms, you knew that everything would be okay. You had survived, and you had each other. And that was enough.
.
.
.
Masterlist
#kinich genshin#genshin impact kinich#genshin kinich#kinich#kinich x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact#genshin
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Hi! I just read your story Grief, on how the LnDs guys would react to us disappearing from their lives. It was so good, I was just wondering if youâd be willing to make a second part to it. Like how the boys would react to finding us, or something?
Found
ÊáŽáŽ
s ÊáŽÊs x ÊáŽáŽáŽ
áŽÊ
áŻâ
â synopsisâ : How does the LADS boys react if they found you?
áŻâ
â tagsâ : prompt, soft, fluff, comfort & possible OOC
ââââââââââââââââ ËËË â
ïœĄË âïž ËïœĄâïœĄË✠ËËË ââââââââââââââââ
đđđŻđąđđ«
You were more than just his Queenâyou were his beacon, his anchor in a world that had nearly torn him apart. The moment he saw you again, the overwhelming relief nearly brought him to his knees. He had lost you once, a wound he carried with him every day, and he couldnât bear the thought of facing that agony again. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, seeped into him after searching for you for so long. All of his strength seemed to drain away, but not before he pulled you close, wrapping you in a fierce embrace, his knees hitting the ground as you struggled to hold up the weight of your bodies. He pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in, your scent embedding itself in his memory. He held you like you were the only thing tethering him to this world, refusing to let go, afraid that if he did, you would vanish again.
. . ââââââââââââââ â
âș.
đđđČđ§đ
You had never seen Zayne like this before, his icy, composed demeanor crumbling right before your eyes. His lips trembled; his brows furrowed in uncharacteristic vulnerability when he finally saw you. You barely had the chance to explain before he pulled you into his arms, holding you with a desperation you had never felt from him. His chest heaved against yours, each breath heavy and ragged as if he were on the verge of breaking down. The walls he had carefully built to shield himself from the world, from his pain, had melted away. His apology was barely a whisper, raw and aching, full of guilt for not being there, for failing to protect you. He had carried the weight of your disappearance alone, hiding his grief behind a mask of stoicism, but now that you were back, he didnât need to pretend anymore. With you, he could let his guard down, the burden finally lifted.
. . ââââââââââââââ â
âș.
đđđđđČđđ„
At first, he thought he was hallucinatingâhe had been haunted by your memory for so long that seeing you now felt like another cruel trick. Your disappearance had shattered him, leaving his heart fractured, half of it missing wherever you had gone. But when you softly whispered his name, that familiar voice pulling him out of the darkness, he didnât care about anything else. He collapsed against you, his arms locking around your waist, pressing his face into your chest as if trying to merge with you, to make sure you were real. Even if this was just another illusion, he wouldnât careâhe would gladly live in this dream if it meant keeping you close. When you wrapped your arms around him in return, his whole body seemed to melt. You could feel the wetness soaking into your shirt, and though he made no sound, you knew he was crying. You were his lifeline, the only thing that had kept him going, and now that you were back, he wasnât sure if he could ever let go.
. . ââââââââââââââ â
âș.
đđČđ„đźđŹ
The fire of rage that had consumed Sylus, that made him lash out at everything and everyone around him, flickered and died the moment he saw you. You were the calm to his storm, the one force that could soothe the fury burning inside him. The rage that couldâve razed the world to ashes was extinguished in an instant. He didnât care if his subordinates saw him like thisâhis vulnerability exposed for all to witness. All that mattered was you, here, in his arms again. His embrace was fierce, almost desperate, like he was afraid that if he let go, the storm would rage once more. Now that you were back, there was no way heâd let you out of his sight again. His protectiveness might even turn into possessiveness, and he wouldnât mind one bit, as long as it meant keeping you safe from harm. You were the only thing grounding him, the only thing that mattered, and he would fight the entire world to protect you.
ââââââââââââââââ ËËË â
ïœĄË âïž ËïœĄâïœĄË✠ËËË ââââââââââââââââ
â°ïœĄ Author's Note: Preliminaries has finished last week, I'm quite free this week so I decided ahead and made another one of the requested fictions. Technically you don't need to read Grief to have a grasp in this one but nevertheless, thank you for requesting it! I hope you enjoy it as well~
#âșËâ
: Writings#love and deepspace#love & deepspace#oracleofstars#lads prompt#zayne#zayne love and deepspace#zayne lnds#zayne l&ds#zayne x reader#rafayel#rafayel x reader#rafayel love and deepspace#rafayel lnds#rafayel l&ds#xavier#xavier x reader#xavier love and deepspace#xavier lnds#xavier l&ds#lnds#lads#l&ds#li shen#qi yu#shen xinghui#Qin Che#l&ds sylus#sylus x reader#sylus love and deepspace
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ă đđ đđđ đđđ đđ ă
· Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Reader
· Summary: Life has decided to lead you to him or lead him to you, knowing that you two are destined together despite your differences. This told story is just a glimpse of a few memories between you and him, one that he remembers dearly.
· CW: 8.6k // Mostly fluff. True Form!Sukuna. Heian Era. Overprotective + Possessive Sukuna. Very subtle sex scenes. Slight violence.
Late post because the app screwed me over a divider. As you see... itâs thicker like him than usual.

The infamous King of Curses had only one weaknessâyou.
Ryomen Sukuna, the most fearsome sorcerer (or used to be one) alive, would melt in your presence. His usual cold and cruel demeanor vanished when he was with you, replaced by a gentle sweetness he showed to no other.
From the very first moment your paths crossed, he was utterly enthralled, something he would never expect to feel in his life. Youâre someone he doesnât even know or heard of and he doesnât find the appeal from you, but thereâs just something about you that makes him enchanted at first sight.
Your luminous soul called to him like a song. He knew you were destined to be his. And so he courted you as tenderly as his blackened heart would allow, coaxing you to return his affections.
Slowly, gently, he broke down your defenses. His smoldering gazes made your heart flutter. His feather-light touches from his big, strong hands and fingers sent shivers down your spine. Before long, you realized you were falling for this demon who looked at you with such longing in his crimson eyes.
He could shower you with all the passion and devotion he had been holding back. He cherishes you, catering to your every desire. Just being near you was euphoric for him.
When apart, he counted the seconds until he could see you again. And when reunited, he was unable to keep his hands off you, showering you with passionate kisses and whispers of sweet words.
âYou are mine. Remember that,â he would murmur against your skin as he held you close. âAlways.â
You had tamed the beast. Or so you thought.
While Sukuna was nearly defenseless against your love, it also ignited something far more sinisterâhis jealousy.
The mere idea of losing you made his blood burn with rage. Other men were not even permitted to look at you, lest they get torn limb from limb.
Though deeply in love, Sukunaâs possessive nature remained. And woe befall any who dared threaten what was his.
The first time it happened was weeks after youâd become his. A young lord from a clan sent you gifts and flowers, seeking your affection. When Sukuna discovered this, the fury in his eyes turned them molten gold.
âHe dares think he can steal you away from me?â Sukuna seethed. In an instant, he vanished to hunt down the offending lord.
He returned hours later drenched in blood that was not his own. You shuddered to imagine what cruel fate had befallen the misguided young man. Sukuna said nothing of it, simply pulled you into a bruising kiss and swore youâd never leave his side again.
After that, the corpses started piling up.
A guard who eyed you lasciviously, eviscerated.
A peasant whose longing stare lingered too long, executed.
Anyone who so much as looked at you with desire was signing their own death warrant.
You begged Sukuna to show mercy, but your pleas fell on deaf ears. âThey try to take what is mine,â he would snarl. âThey deserve no less than agony and death.â
His demonic nature had fully resurfaced, and you realized just what you had unleashed. Sukuna would slaughter legions and burn the world to ashes if it meant keeping you.
You were terrified of what he had become. Yet some traitorous part of you thrilled at being so coveted, so passionately loved, even if it came at a bloody cost.
He was an obsession incarnate, and you, his obsession.
No matter where you turned, his shadow loomed.
There would be no escaping the King of Cursesâ dark desires.
You were his.

How did it all start? Itâs been too long since it went past your head already.
But you do remember vividly when you were walking that one night when your gut told you not to, you did.
You should have listened to your instincts. But there was something about the forest at night that called to you, beckoning you to explore its moon-bathed paths and whispering trees.
Curiosity won out over caution, and you decided one quick walk couldnât hurt.
You set out just after sunset, relishing the kiss of cool night air on your skin. The woods were serene and lovely in the deep blue hush just before true darkness fell. Night blooms perfumed the air as you wandered along aimlessly, simply savoring this secret world.
Until you realized you had lost your way. Suddenly the trees seemed more ominous, the shadows deeper. You paused, peering anxiously through the gloom.
How long have you been walking?
Which way was home?
As you turned around in circles trying to get your bearings, a blow of wind appeared behind you. You froze, heartbeat thudding in your ears.
âWell, what do we have here?â
You whipped around with a gasp. Emerging from the trees was a tall, powerfully built man. But what drew your wide-eyed stare were the four arms crossed onto his bare, toned chest.
You stumbled back in terror, but he moved unnaturally fast, appearing before you in an instant. Up close, details that had escaped you at a distance were now frighteningly clear. Tattoos are carved on his face and body. His eyes burned crimson.
You were face to face with the King of Curses himself.
âPleaseâŠâ you whimpered, trembling. âI mean no trespass...â
Sukuna tilted his head, considering you with evident amusement. He reached out an arm towards you, his fingers gliding along your jaw, tipping your chin up. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for death.
But instead of tearing you apart, he simply chuckled. âOpen your eyes. I will not harm you.â
You cracked them open hesitantly. Sukuna was observing you closely now, intrigued.
âFear not. I merely wondered who was wandering my woods at this late hour,â he purred. âBut I see now⊠you are no threat at all.â
His touch was surprisingly gentle as he traced the line of your throat. You shivered but did not dare pull away. The heat of his skin felt feverish against yours.
âWhat brings you here to me, I wonder?â he murmured, his piercing gaze seeming to lay your soul bare.
He tutted, circling you slowly. âThese woods are dangerous at night, especially for tempting morsels like yourself. Do you have any idea what lurks in the shadows?â He paused expectantly, but you were too petrified to respond.
You licked your dry lips nervously. âI⊠I was simply exploring. I did not mean to disturbââ
âQuiet.â A finger pressed lightly over your mouth. âHow shall I punish this trespass? I do hate uninvited guests.â
You finally found your voice, though it trembled pitifully. âP-please, I meant no intrusion. If you let me go, I swear I will neverââ
âLet you go?â Sukuna tilted his head, looking almost offended. âNow, why would I do that? No, you will not be leaving.â
Your heart hammered at those enigmatic words. Just what did this dangerous being want with you? Surely not anything good.
As if reading your mind, Sukuna laughed once more. âWorry not, little one. I only wish for some company.â In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between you, caging you with his body. This close, the heat pouring off him was incredible, the coils of his tattoos seeming to slither and shift before your eyes with your heart hammering wildly.
A violent shudder went through you, though not entirely from fear now. Being clasped in his strong embrace had stirred something unexpected within you. A strange exhilaration at having caught the eye of this exotic and terrible being.
He leaned down, inhaling deeply near the crook of your neck. âMm, such fear. I can taste it rolling off your skin⊠intoxicating.â His lips grazed your fluttering pulse, making you shudder. âYou are afraid, yet also thrilled to see me, arenât you?â
Heat rushed to your cheeks. Was it that obvious, the traitorous excitement you felt being so close to this dangerous demon? You just couldnât tear your eyes away from his unusual beauty.
âI thought so,â he purred, looking utterly satisfied. He brushed a finger lightly down your cheek. âIt seems fate has brought you to me for a reason.â
Sukuna sensed your reaction and made a small pleased noise. In one smooth motion, he swept you up into his arms and started carrying you deeper into the woods.
You gasped, hands braced against the solid muscles of his shoulder. âWhere are you taking me? Please, I never meant to intrude! I am sorry! justââ
âShut it.â His grip tightened. âDo not fight me. Submit, and it will go easier for you.â
Tears of panic spilled down your cheeks. But despite your fear, you felt your body responding to his proximity, pulsing with alarming warmth. Your thoughts scattered as Sukuna claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, tasting your helpless whimper.
âWhat are youâŠâ you gasped, too speechless to find a word to fight back.
As if reading your mind again, Sukuna adjusts the way heâs carrying you to brush his lips against your own in a feather-light caress. âI hope you are not too afraid, little one. I have been alone for so long, you will keep me company. And I have no intention of letting you go.â
Some part of you recognized the truth in his words. No matter how your mind recoiled, your body was betraying you, longing for more of his addictive caresses. He sensed your crumbling resistance, his smile triumphant.
âYou are mine now. Do not fight it.â

You stared around in awe at the sprawling shinden-zukuri as Sukuna placed you down and led you inside. Paper screens glowed warmly with lantern light, illuminating opulent tatami rooms decorated with priceless scrolls and vases, and through meticulously tended gardens dotted with tranquil ponds. Everything about this place spoke of immense power and wealth.
It was a far cry from your own humble village dwelling. You could scarcely fathom how a demon lord had come to possess such a magnificent noble estate out here in the remote forest.
As Sukuna guided you deeper into the manse, you passed several elegantly dressed women in simple yet elegant kimonos, all keeping their gazes demurely lowered.
âServants,â you realized. But where had they come from? Were they taken like how you are now? Were you about to become another of his servants?
When you reached the main manor, Sukuna slid open the screen to reveal a grand receiving chamber. Priceless ink scrolls and painted silk screens adorned the walls. The opulence was staggering.
âDo you like it?â he asked, noting your awe. âI claimed this estate long ago from its previous owners.â
You shivered at the implication behind those words but said nothing as he guided you deeper inside.
Your bemused wondering was interrupted when Sukuna slid open a screen door, ushering you into a lavish bed chamber. A large futon covered in silks took up most of the space.
âYou must be weary, little one,â he stroked your hair. âRest now. I will have my servants draw you a bath.â
He pressed his lips to your forehead before gliding from the room. Still stunned by your opulent surroundings, you wandered over to the open window. Beyond the manicured gardens and koi ponds you could see nothing but dense forest stretching endlessly. Just how far had Sukuna brought you?
You had little time to ponder before two servant women appeared, bowing deeply. They poured hot water into a carved wooden tub and then added cherry blossom-scented oils.
You let them help you disrobe and sink into the fragrant bath, the tension in your muscles unwinding. The demonâs domain was still terrifying and foreign, but you couldnât deny the comforts he lavished upon you. His possession had a gentleness to it that left you conflicted.
This place treated you better in less than two hours than your whole life in the village.
After your bath, the servants dressed you in silken robes layered in rich hues of wisteria and spring leaves. Darkened your lips with crushed berries. They arranged your hair with jade combs and dabbed perfume at your wrists in a courtly fashion.
Examining their work in a bronze mirror, you barely recognized yourself. The simple village girl staring back from the bronze mirror was gone, replaced by someone who looked like a noblewoman.
Sukuna was waiting when you emerged, hungry eyes sweeping over you appreciatively. âBeautiful,â he pulls you close to him. His lips grazed your wrist, inhaling the perfume there. âYou will come to appreciate the comforts of being mine.â His words sent an illicit tingle through you.
âThank you,â was all you could say as you felt your body sway toward him, eyelashes fluttering downward demurely. His attentions were clouding your caution, making you forget the circumstances that had brought you here.
Sukuna seemed pleased by your response. He took your hand and led you to a candlelit room where a feast awaited. You kneeled on plush cushions across from him. There, your eyes widen at the sightâdishes you could only dream of tasting.
âUraume is my best cook. They know how to make delicious food,â he brags, pointing at the person with white bob hair with his eyes. Uraume bowed respectfully before excusing themselves.
As the night deepened, Sukuna kept your cup full, his burning gaze holding yours in the romantic glow. Here in this place of luxury, it was easy to forget he was someone who had stolen you away.
âCome.â He held out one of his hands. âIt is time you rested.â
Back in the bed chamber, he guided you down onto silken sheets while your pulse quickened. His eyes roamed your body hungrily before he leaned down to claim your lips in a deep kiss. You knew you should resist, but his touch ignited a dangerous fire inside.
His fingers trailed delicately along your skin as he peeled away each layer of your robes until you were laid bare before him. âYou are so lovely, little one,â he rasped. He pressed you down into the silken futon, his eyes focused on you. âI will teach you pleasures fit for an empress,â he growled.
âAnd you will learn to crave my body above all else.â
His words sent a spike of fear through you, even as your traitorous body responded hungrily to his. His burning caress left no doubt of his intentions. You trembled, but didnât refuse him.
Here in this beautiful prison, you were his to do with as he pleased. And some traitorous part of you craved to experience the passions he promised.
As Sukunaâs body covered yours, you surrendered completely to him. Within these walls, you now belonged utterly to him.

You had been living as Sukunaâs pampered pet in his lavish manor for several days now. He gifted you an ornate silk kimono, adorned your hair with jeweled combs, and ensured you lacked nothing. At night, he would lay you across silken futons and set your body aflame with new realms of pleasure.
But each morning after, as he caressed your skin and murmured endearments, doubts crept in. Were there others that he touched this way? The thought filled you with unease.
You wanted his passion reserved only for you.
When Sukuna appeared in your room this evening, he found you quiet and distant, your smile restrained. Brow furrowing, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.
âWhat troubles you, little one? Have I not provided for you well?â
You gathered your courage. âI⊠I have a request, My LordâŠâ
He raised one brow, âOh? Speak.â
âIf we are to share such intimacy, I wish it to be only between us. No other lover, in any way.â You held his gaze evenly. âWill you vow this, please?â
For a moment Sukuna only stared, stunned by your bold demand. Then a sly smile curved his lips.
âMy little one wishes to tame me, is that it?â He trailed a finger lightly down your cheek. âYou seek to bind me to yourself alone?â
Heart pounding, you gave one short nod.
Sukuna threw back his head with a delighted laugh. âYou fascinate me endlessly. No mortal has ever dared make demands of me.â His expression softened by looking at your innocent face. âBut for you, I will agree.â
He leans down, face to face with you, âFrom now on, I am yours alone.â
Relief washed through you at his oath. As Sukuna drew you into a passionate kiss, you yielded completely for the first time, holding nothing back.
âMy sweet, little loveâŠâ He lifted you in his arms. âI will make you forget any existed before this night.â
And he did. Laying you down, hands and lips he worshiped you, wringing gasps and cries from your lips as you arched desperately, mindless and pleading beneath him.
At the height of ecstasy, his burning gaze held yours. His heated gaze seared into yours at the pinnacle, fierce and possessive. âNo other shall ever know you as I do.â
The feeling when your body joined, the sensation was beyond words, it felt like coming home. Like a missing piece of your soul had been restored. Wave after wave of bliss crested over you both, leaving you entwined in breathless ecstasy.
As lantern light faded to silvery moonbeams, Sukuna held you close, your heartbeats synchronizing. You now belonged only to each other in body, heart, and soul.
âMine,â Sukuna rasped against your skin, his canine digging into your neck, marking you as his. âJust as I am yours. This, I vow to you, little one, from now until the end of days.â
His words echoed long in your mind, even as spent passion gave way to sleep in his enveloping embrace. The King of Curses himself was now bound to you irrevocably. And you to him.
The vow had been spoken, the ritual complete.

The days had settled into a predictable routine in Sukunaâs residence. He would vanish for hours or even full days to attend to mysterious âbusinessâ, leaving you to wander the chambers and gardens alone. You never ask where he went or what occupied him. Some fears were best left unspoken.
But your heart would lift eagerly whenever Sukuna returned, no matter how late the hour. Just knowing he had come back to you was enough. You took to waiting anxiously by the engawa, ready to greet him.
At first, he returned spotless and composed. But soon the blood became noticeable.
It would decorate his arms, spatter his chest and face in drying rust-colored patterns. The life essence of whatever poor souls had crossed him in the nearby villages. You didnât need to ask how it got there.
The first time, you gasped and shrank back in horror. But Sukuna just smiled and opened his arms to you. âCome, let us get cleansed of the dayâs exertions.â
You forced yourself to look past the gore, seeing only your demonic lord who needed tending. Taking his hand, you led him to the bath chamber.
There you gently sponged away the carnage, breathing relief when his skin emerged clean again. Sukuna watched you intently, eyes glowing with unspoken emotions. You didnât dare examine it too closely.
When you were done, he would pull you into his lap, nuzzling against your throat almost tenderly. As if your ministries had tamed the beast lurking within.
âMy little one,â he would rumble. And your heart would swell under his praises.
Before long, you began living for his returns. The hours apart stretched endlessly, your thoughts consumed with concern for his well-being. Your chest would tighten with loneliness in his absence. Maybe you craved him because you have no one to come home to, thatâs why you are willing to be with him.
Surely he must share your needs, right?
The moment his shadow appeared down the corridor, you flew to him, embracing him heedless of any lingering blood. Sukuna laughed indulgently, hands gentling your desperation.
âSuch passion, little one. Did you miss me so terribly?â
You nodded, not caring how you exposed your dependence on him. He tipped your chin up, his sharp eyes looking at you softly. âAs I missed you. The time apart is agony.â
His admission made you smile in relief. After bathing him, you would prepare tea and draw him into quiet conversation, savoring this domestic intimacy. Here with you, he almost seemed content.
At late night, his lovemaking took on new urgency, as if reaffirming your bond. You matched his intensity, wanting to erase any distance the day had built between you.
âYou are all I need,â he whispered afterward, cradling you close. And you knew then you were hopelessly lost to this dangerous creature. He had become your entire world.
When Sukuna departed each morning, part of you went with him. Until he returned to make you whole once more. There was no denying the truthâyou were his, mind, body, and soul.
You see, life with Sukuna provided came at a terrible priceâthe waiting.
And so you hatched a plan.
You requested the finest silks from the seamstress and described the revealing garment you wished to craft. An elegant yet alluring yukata, hinting at the beauty beneath.
On the night of his homecoming, you adorned yourself carefully, arranging your hair over your bare shoulders, sketching your lips crimson. The ensemble left you feeling exposed, but also powerful.
When Sukuna entered the bed chamber, the sight of you made him halt in his tracks. Eyes widened as they traced over you hungrily, taking in every contour the diaphanous fabric outlined.
âLittle one,â he rasped. âYou look like divinity itself. What is all this for?â
You steeled your nerves and went to him, guiding his fingers to untie your sash with hands that trembled.
âI wish to ease your burdens tonight, My Lord. Will you permit me?â
A growl escapes his throat as your robes slip to the floor. The intensity of his gaze seared into your skin everywhere it touched. Strong arms pulled you fiercely against him.
âYou test my restraint, beloved. Are you certain?â
At your whispered yes, his control shattered. With infinite care he bore you down onto silken sheets, praising every inch of newly bared flesh until you were dizzy and pleading.
Even at its peak, he kept the pace languidâlong, delirious strokes of passion. The pleasure was sweet agony. You arched and moved as one, minds entwining as deeply as your bodies.
When it ended, you were changed. Sukuna held you tenderly as languor claimed you both, as if you were the most precious treasure in the world.
Perhaps you should have been afraid of this obsessive devotion. But you could not imagine life without him now.

As nice as it is living comfortably with everything provided for you, sometimes his residence becomes a gilded cage. You yearned to walk beyond the gardens, to visit the nearby villages you glimpsed from afar.
After much pleading, Sukuna finally relented. âIf it will make you happy, we shall go. But you must stay close to me.â His eyes held an unspoken warning.
The day came at last. Taking his arm, you ventured out onto the winding forest paths, buzzing with excitement. Sukuna watched you closely, as if to imprint each delighted reaction.
When the first simple thatched dwellings came into view, you gasped. âOh, look! Real village life, just as I remembered.â
âThen let us explore it,â he said indulgently, strolling by your side.
You moved through stalls selling woven reed baskets, hand-dyed yukata, and carved jade amulets. The smells of grilling fish and blossom-scented steam from tea houses mingled in the air. Your smile was radiant.
Most villagers averted their eyes and scrambled away at the sight of his presence. But their fearful deference only seemed to amuse Sukuna as he guided you along.
Pausing by a fountain, you turned joyfully to him. âThank you for this, My Lord. I havenât felt this happy inâŠâ Your voice trailed off as you noticed a young man staring from across the village square. His gaze was fixed on you, his handsome face breaking into a flirtatious grin, looking at you with his eyes signaling interest.
Before you could react, Sukuna had crossed the distance between them in two swift strides. You watched in horror as he seized the insolent youth by the throat and slammed him against a wall, baring razor fangs.
âYou dare look at her that way?â he thundered. The young man choked out pleas for mercy as Sukunaâs grip tightened relentlessly.
âMy Lord! Stop!â You rushed over, clutching his arm. âI beg you, let him go!â
With obvious reluctance, Sukuna released his hold and stepped back. The terrified man crumpled to the ground, wheezing with his face pale. You tugged Sukuna (he didnât resist) away quickly as onlookers gaped.
Once you were back within the secluded forest path, he rounded on you. âWhy did you stop me?â he demanded, eyes still burning with fury. âThat whelp was openly desiring what is mine.â
You trembled. âHe meant no true offense, My Lord.â
Sukuna exhaled harshly, drawing you against him. âYou are too forgiving, little one. Next time I may not be so lenient.â The promise in his voice chilled you.
Nonetheless, in the days that followed, you persuaded him to let you visit the village markets again. Sukuna acquiesced, but his mood turned brooding whenever you went out together.
It was not long before a repeat incident occurred. A passing nobleâs gaze lingered on you a moment too long. Sukuna's reaction was swift and merciless. Before you could intervene, the shrieking lord was engulfed in infernal flames, his ashes scattering to the wind.
This time, Sukuna was deaf to your pleas for restraint. âThey continue testing me, presuming they can admire my possession with impunity,â he snarled. âI will suffer this insult no more.â
Numb with horror, you could say nothing as he took your arm and led you from that place of death.
Sukuna would never change his nature. His jealousy and possessiveness were as innate as the demonic power coursing through his veins. And you were helpless to curb them.
Trying to tame such a savage spirit had been foolish. Where his claim over you was concerned, no mercy would ever sway him.
The journey back to the estate was made in tense silence. You could feel the rage rolling off Sukuna in scorching waves as he strode ahead. His jaw was granite, fists clenched and shaking.
Only once you were behind the privacy of the chamber walls did he finally unleash it.
âHow can you defend him?â he roared, making you flinch. âThose pathetic mortals who dared to covet what is not theirs. It is unacceptable!â
You stood your ground. âI make no defense, only ask that you temper reactions. This endless jealousy causes nothing but suffering.â
Sukunaâs eyes blazed, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. âYou ask me to watch passively as they dishonor my claim on you? To permit their vulgar ogling?â He swept a hand savagely across a lacquered table, sending the vase crashing.
You jumped at the destruction but forced yourself to meet his volcanic glare. âI am not possession or prize to be claimed, My Lord. You cannot punish all for one foolish manâs gaze. I have told you this before, but I am not harmed.â
âNot harmed?â Sukuna bellowed, slamming his fists into the bloodwood pillar with a crack. âNot yet! But their desire will grow brazen if I do not act decisively now.â
He stormed toward you, making you back away instinctively. âYou are mine. No other shall covet or touch what belongs to me. I would see this whole wretched village burn first.â
As his tirade raged on, you felt tears rising, spilling silently down your cheeks. The possessive diatribes, the limitless furyâyou were exposing the folly of trying to gentle the devilâs heart.
Sukuna abruptly halted his pacing at the sight, chest heaving. His blazing eyes took in your hunched, trembling form. For an instant, something like shock flickered across his face. He blinked rapidly, swaying slightly.
âNo⊠My little loveâŠâ All at once, the frenzied anger seemed to drain from him. He reached for you hesitantly, as if expecting you to recoil. When you stayed rooted, he enfolded you in his shaking arms.
âForgive me,â Sukuna whispered. âI should not have raised my voice. But the thought of losing youâŠâ One hand stroked your hair, then gently tipped your chin up. His thumb brushed away the tear tracks on your skin.
âYou are everything to me in this wretched world,â he murmured. âI could not bear it if harm befell you.â His eyes were molten and his voice raw. âTell me you know I would never let anything hurt you, not even myself in the madness of my rage.â
You searched his face and saw the sincerity burning there. With a fragile nod, you laid your head against his chest. His exhale was ragged with relief.
âI will try to be more merciful. For you, at least,â he sighs. âBut you must understand it rages in my blood when I see them desire my most precious treasure.â
You stayed silent in his embrace. Perhaps this was the most he could concedeâferocity tempered with remorse. You could not change his possessive heart, only help him master what flowed within it.
And for now, it would have to be enough. His jealousy was a storm that would never fully be calmed. But like the stormâs eye, at the center there was still tenderness he reserved only for you.

Once more, the days dragged endlessly when Sukuna was away. You had explored every corner of the estate a dozen times over. The loneliness gnawed at you.
So when he left at dawn one morning, you made an impulsive decision. Donning a cloak, you slipped outside the manor walls while the servants slept. Your steps quickened as you neared the hill path leading down to the village.
You had only meant to take a brief, harmless walk to lift your spirits. But the smells of grilled squid and sweet adzuki buns drew you like a magnet. Your stomach rumbled, reminding you it had been ages since you tasted simple street food.
Checking over your shoulder, you darted to the nearest food stall when no one was looking. The elderly vendor smiled in delight as you pointed to the snacks that tempted you most. It felt deliciously naughty, this minor rebellion.
You were waiting for the bamboo skewer of piping hot squid when someone jostled you from behind. Whirling around angrily, you found yourself staring up at a rugged, unkempt man looming over you. His bloodshot eyes raked down your body in a way that made your skin crawl.
âWell now, what do we have here?â His words slurred drunkenly. âYouâre that demonâs little toy, ainât ya? His pretty pet.â
When you shrank away, the brute caught your wrist in a painful grip. Revulsion rose in you. âLet go of me!â
The man just sneered. âWhere is your master now, hmm? Bet he doesnât like you sneakinâ off alone.â He swayed closer, sour breath hot on your face. âMaybe I oughta teach you some manners, whore.â
Outraged tears stung your eyes. You opened your mouth to scream for help when suddenly the manâs hand was wrenched away from you with a sickening crack. His shriek split the air.
Whirling around, you saw Sukuna standing there, eyes blazing infernos. The man who had seized you was now suspended off the ground, clutching his mangled, dangling arm.
âPlease, mercy!â he whimpered piteously. But Sukunaâs face was a merciless stone.
With a snarl, he slammed the offender down, pinning him by the throat. âYou dare speak to her that way?â His voice was deathly quiet. âDare lay your filthy hands upon her?â
The man gurgled pleas, legs kicking uselessly. Sukuna tightened his grip. âNo. There will be no mercy for you.â
And before your eyes, he ripped the manâs head from his body in one savage motion. Blood sprayed hot across your face and cloak. The headless corpse slumped with a wet thud that echoed horribly in your ears.
You stood there, frozen. Youâre sick to the stomachâitâs nauseatingâlooking at the brutal sight that your lover could do.
Rooted in shock, you barely registered Sukuna turning to you. He grasped your shoulders firmly. âDid he hurt you?â At your numb shake of the head, fiery rage flooded back into his eyes.
âGood. Because I would have drawn out his torment for years if he had.â With that, Sukuna flung the lifeless body contemptuously through the door of a nearby hut.
Screams arose from within as you stared at the gore coating Sukunaâs hands. The brutality finally jolted you from horrified paralysis. Voice trembling, you begged him to take you home.
The journey back was made in silence. Once behind the walls, Sukuna rounded on you like the last time.
âHow could you go without my permission?â He paced like a caged beast. âSee what nearly befell you? The filth who could do anything to you?â
You flinched beneath the verbal onslaught, too numb to defend yourself as he kept raging.
âYou are forbidden from leaving again! Do you understand?â He seized your shoulders roughly. âIt is too dangerous for you.â
You nodded, mute and hollow. With a harsh exhale, Sukuna pulls you against him as four of his arms envelop you in a warm embrace, some of the frantic anger leaving him.
âForgive my harsh words, my little love. But I do not like you being treated like that.â His voice broke on the last word. He clutched you tighter, as if to reassure himself you were real.
After that day, whispers followed you through the residence like ghosts, for no clear reason. Servants offering polite smiles that never reached their eyes, only to resume their hushed gossip once youâd passed.
At first, you tried ignoring the sidelong glances and murmurs. But still, the cruel words leaked through.
âShe is just a plaything to him.â
âOnce the master is bored, she will be discarded.â
âHe is only using her on the bed.â
âOnce he tires of those pleasures, her time here will end.â
Their cruel words haunted you, sinking claws into vulnerabilities youâd buried deep. Did they speak the truth? Was your whole purpose here just to entertain Sukunaâs baser appetites? The thought you might be expendable shook you to your core.
You managed to conceal your anguish and distress at first. But the doubts festered, stealing your appetite and sleep. When Sukuna finally noticed the toll on your health, alarm flared in his eyes.
Gently taking your hands, he scoops you onto his lap, facing him. âWhat is bothering your pretty little head, hm? You know you can tell me anything.â
You shook your head, âIt is nothing, My Lord. Not a big problem.â
âI do not like you lying to me, little one,â he shakes his head, not buying your secrecy.
âI am okay. Please, no need to be concerned about me.â
âHow can I not? What is it? Tell me,â he holds your chin still to make you look at him.
Both of your stubborn banter goes back and forth until youâre both getting impatient.
You wavered, then spilled out the vile gossip youâd endured in silence. Sukuna listened gravely, thumb idly stroking your wrist. When you finished, he let out a long breath, gazing at you earnestly
âYou believe their hateful lies? That you are some plaything to me? You know in your heart these claims are untrue.â He grasped your shoulders, staring intently into your eyes. âYou are everything. Your faith in me is worth more than a million mortal lifetimes.â
He brought your hand to his chest, holding it over his steadily beating heart. âDo not let petty jealousies make you doubt what we share.â
Overwhelmed, you buried your face against him. âForgive my doubts, My Lord,â you whispered.
âThere is nothing to forgive. The fault is theirs, not yours.â Stroking your hair, he pressed a fierce kiss to your head. Then his tone turned cold. âAs for these spiteful women, I will make them regret ever speaking such lies.â
You quickly squeezed his hands. âPlease, do not harm them. I only wished to explain my melancholy, not see others punished.â
Sukuna frowned. âYou ask me to ignore those who hurt you so? Who makes you doubt my devotion?â His grip on you tightened. âI cannot be so forgiving.â
âI know it comes from care,â you soothed. âBut replying to anger with more anger will only breed misery.â
He paused, then exhaled harshly, pulling you close. Resting his forehead to yours, he went on. âI swear to you, my feelings run deeper than they comprehend.â
âLeave this to me now, little one. Just rest easy.â
True to his word, the gossip ceased quickly. You didnât ask what Sukuna said or did to silence loose tongues. But the servants now bent over backward to please you, their once spiteful eyes now carefully respectful.
Their newfound reverence somehow bothered you more. But Sukuna seemed satisfied. âLet the wretches make amends for causing you pain,â he said nonchalantly.
Some part of you recoiled at his methods. Yet it warmed your heart to know he would avenge any slight against you without hesitation. Perhaps it was wrong to take comfort from his possessiveness.
But you needed to feel cherished after so much doubt. And Sukuna left no room for uncertainty in how deeply he treasured you. Each tender glance and touch slowly healed the wounds until you were whole again.
When he came to you beneath the silken sheets now, the passion held new meaning. A reaffirming of what you were to each other.
You were his sanctuary. Just as he was yours.
The gossip no longer stung when you knew his heart with such certainty.

Sukuna had told you he was taking a few days off to spend with you. With him home beside you for a blessed few days, the gloom cast over the estate seemed to lift. His four muscular arms caged you securely against his broad chest as you sank comfortably into his embrace.
He was attentive in ways youâd never seen before, constantly drawing you into his arms, asking questions about your childhood, your dreams, anything to get to know you better.
At first, you were shy, unused to being the object of such focused interest. But Sukunaâs patient gentleness soon had the words spilling freely from your lips.
You happily opened up to him in turn, chatting lightly about your days spent tending the garden, studying scripture with the monks, or watching the koi fish circle lazily in their pond. No detail was too small or mundaneâhe drank in every insight into your character with eyes that never once glazed in boredom.
He listened intently, his crimson eyes focused solely on you. As frightening as he could be, you knew this powerful being cherished you in his own way. You were likely the only person in the world he cared for.
When you finally worked up the courage to ask about his early life in turn, his gaze darkened briefly. âThere is little of worth to tell,â he muttered.
He went on tonelessly to describe his parents casting him out as an infant, cursing his existence. Forced to eke out a living on the streets, he learned quickly that mercy was for the weak.
âI was not always like this,â he rumbled. âOnce I was a human, born to parents who did not want me.â His fingers tensed where they rested on your back. âAs an infant, they discarded me on the streets to die. But I survived, growing up feral and alone.â
You looked up at him sadly, heart aching at the thought of him helpless and abandoned with no one to care for him. You raised a hand to gently stroke his cheek.
Sukuna closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. âI do not tell you this for pity,â he said firmly. âMy past made me strong.â
His eyes opened again. âWhen my cursed technique manifested, I used them without mercy, cutting down any who dared stand in my way. I reveled in my growing strength, the thrill of battle and blood... they satisfied me. I honed my skills until I became unmatched.â
You nodded solemnly. His description matched the legends told of the terrifying Ryomen Sukuna.
Now you know why he lacked mercy.
You take his hands in yours, kissing his palms. âThe past is behind you now,â you told him. âWhat matters is who you choose to be from this day forth. My love for you is unconditional.â You smiled up at him warmly. âBut I promise to teach you the ways of empathy and love, even if you protest.â
Sukuna huffed in amusement, the corners of his mouth quirking up. âLittle one, you may try, but do not expect miracles. I am what I am.â But his embrace around you was gentle, belying his words.
You poked his chest teasingly. âI will make it my mission to show you how wonderful love can be, the joys it brings to our lives.â Laughing, you added, âJust you wait, I will have you reciting poetry and picking wildflowers before long!â
âHmph, do not get carried away,â he grumbled, but you could tell he was secretly pleased by your playful vow.
You cuddled against his chest, determined to shower this damaged soul with all the love and tenderness he had missed in his tragic early years.

The next morning, as soft sunlight filtered into the bedroom, you lay wrapped in Sukunaâs strong embrace. Your head rested on his muscular chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. His breathing was slow and even, still asleep.
You traced idle patterns on his bare skin, your fingertips grazing over the tattoos adorning his body. Your mind drifted back to the conversation from the night before when Sukuna had told you a bit of his past.
Abandoned and unloved, forced to survive on his own from infancy. Your heart ached for the small, helpless babe he had been. The thought of him growing up without affection or care weighed heavily on you.
You understood now why love and empathy were so foreign to him. But you were determined to show Sukuna what he had missed, to fill his long existence with the warmth and joy he deserved.
Your short mortal life worried you, however. Sukuna had lived for centuries, he would go on existing long after you passed on. Would he find someone new to love? How would losing you affect him? Immortal beings were not meant to give their hearts to fleeting humans.
You must have tensed in concern, because Sukuna began stirring, his four arms instinctively tightening around you. âWhat troubles you so early, little one?â his deep voice rasped, still groggy with sleep.
You tilted your head up to peer at him. âI was thinking about what you told me last night, about your past. My heart breaks imagining you alone as a child.â
He regarded you seriously. âIt was long ago. Dwelling on what cannot be changed is pointless.â
âI know,â you murmured. âI only wish I could have cared for you then. But now I worry⊠what will happen when I am gone? My life is so short compared to yours. Will you find someone new to love?â Your voice caught on the last word as you averted your gaze. You werenât sure you even wanted to hear the answer.
He was silent. When you worked up the courage to look at him again, his crimson eyes were looking at you intensely. With a swift, motion he flipped you beneath him, bracing his weight above you and capturing your face between his big hands.
âYou think I could simply replace you when death takes you from me?â His thumb brushed your cheek tenderly. âNo other has touched my soul as you have. Long was my existence before you, yet I was empty.â Leaning down, he touched his forehead to yours.
âYour fragile mortality may one day steal you from my side, but what we have cannot be replicated or replaced.â He lifted his head to gaze deeply into your eyes.
âWhen you are gone, I will be lost again. I accept that your life must end as mine continues.â His jaw clenched. âBut I will find no peace with another. What we have is beyond replacement.â
Tears blurred your vision at his heartfelt words. You had not realized the depth of his attachment, that the absence of your love would leave him emotionally desolate.
You threw your arms around his broad shoulders. âThen we must make the most of the time we have,â you declared. âFill our days with so much joy that you will carry the warmth of our love for eternity.â
Sukuna wrapped you tightly in his embrace. âYes,â he agreed, nuzzling your neck. âI will cherish every precious moment with you, little one.â
His words made your heart clench, but you understood, he would never love another as he had you. Your lives were tragically misaligned, yet the love you shared transcended such limits.
You spent the day wrapped up in Sukuna, exchanging tender caresses, murmuring sweet nothings, strolling the grounds hand-in-hand. Every shared laugh, every affectionate glance was savored, imprinting your bond ever deeper.
As the sun sets in glorious color, you lay entwined together beneath the cover of a wisteria tree. Your head rested over Sukunaâs heart as he gently stroked your hair. His steady heartbeat and the rhythmic rise of his chest were deeply comforting.
âI wish we could stay like this forever,â you whispered.
âAs do I, little one,â he replied, his voice tinged with melancholy. âBut we cannot halt the merciless passage of time.â
You leaned up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. âNo matter how short my life, I am grateful every moment of it is spent with you.â
Sukuna cradled you close, distress evident in his eyes. âWhen I am alone again, I will find comfort in the memories we have.â
His grip on you tightened, as if he could hold you to this world through will alone. You tilted your head back to peer up at him. âAnd when I am gone, will you be okay?â
âI will endure it. As I have endured all hardship in my long life.â He traced his thumb lightly down your cheek. âIt will not feel the same, my little love. But do not worry about me, I will be fine.â
Your heart clenched at the raw honesty in his normally stoic demeanor. On impulse, you stretched up to press a soft kiss to his lips. Sukuna went still for a heartbeat before responding in kind, lips moving gently against yours.
âThen do not dwell on the inevitable end,â you cup his face in your hands. âThink only of how much we mean to each other now. If my love can sustain you even a little while after I am gone, that will be enough.â
Sukuna pressed his forehead to yours. âI will brace it when the time comes. But for now, my world is only you.â
You kissed him tenderly, then settled against his chest once more. Bittersweet joy swelled your heart, knowing you had brought some warmth into Sukunaâs grim existence. Though fleeting and painfully finite, your mortal love was a balm to his ancient, scarred soul.

The years passed swiftly. Sukuna remained your steadfast companion as you grew from a young woman into old age. He was always there to hold you close, whisper endearments, make you laugh with his wit.
In the blink of an eye, your hair became streaked with silver. Your smooth skin wrinkled and your energy waned. But your love never faded.
Sukuna stayed by your side as you grew frail, cradling you tenderly through restless nights, patiently spoon-feeding you broth when eating became difficult. His eyes reflected centuries of sadness knowing your time grew short.
Finally, you lay weakly upon your futon as he stayed close by your side. Your breathing turned ragged and a violent cough wracked your body. He gathered you gently into his arms.
âThe end is near, my little one,â he murmured, smoothing back your thin hair.
You gave him a quivering smile. âI am ready. Just stay with me, please.â
He pressed his lips to your wrinkled forehead. âAlways.â
You spent your final moments gazing up at his face, etched into your mind after so many years together. His image would be the last you saw in this life. With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes for the final time.
Sukuna let out a broken noise, pulling you tightly to his chest as your body went limp. Rocking your still form, he wept for the first time in his long existence. Anguished sobs wracked his powerful frame.
He had known this moment would come, yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer devastation of losing you. It felt as though part of his soul had been ripped away.
Sukuna had guarded your mortal form night and day in those final years. Now you slipped away before his eyes, leaving him utterly alone. The crushing pain made him understand the human concept of a âbroken heartâ.
But he took comfort knowing you had passed peacefully in his embrace. The only mercy was that you were spared a drawn-out decline. He had filled your short life with as much love as one man could give. He has known you for a short time compared to how youâve known him for most of your life.
Wiping his eyes, Sukuna pressed final kisses to your cooled skin. He would honor you with a funeral befitting royalty. Then he must decide where to wander next. This place held too many haunting memories now.
Sukuna laid you gently on the futon and stood. He cast one last anguished look at your still face.
âMy belovedâŠâ he whispered. âNo other shall ever take your place.â
Then he turned and strode from the room, jaw clenched against a fresh onslaught of grief. His steps were heavy with the unbearable burden of immortality and loss.
No, he doesnât cremate you despite having the ability to do so. He doesnât even want to think of burning you to ashes, or he might as well lose it and burn the world with it for taking you away too soon.
He buried you beneath the cherry tree where youâd spent so many blissful hours in his arms. He marked the site with a stone monument etched with his promise:
âIn this life or the next, you are mine. None will ever love you as I have, little one.â
His task complete, Sukuna wandered for many years after. Though the sharp pain dulled to a persistent ache, the emptiness inside him never abated. He fulfilled his promise and took no other lovers, knowing they could only ever be hollow substitutes.
He will wait until his time comes no matter how long it takes to see you again in the afterlife.
He will wait long enough to see you reborn and claim you one more as his.
But the thing he knows for sure, you will always belong to no one but him.

I got emotional and carried away, Iâm sorry đđ

#àłáŠâç©èȘ.#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x y/n#sukuna#ryomen sukuna#jujustu kaisen#jjk sukuna#jjk ryomen sukuna#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#sukuna scenario#sukuna imagine#sukuna fanfiction#sukuna fic#ryomen sukuna x female reader
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Iron
YANDERE BARBARIAN BAKUGO X READER
The king of the most violent and powerful tribe in the eastern world is captured during battle by a small farmers village. What does a violent man like katsuki bakugo do upon meeting a kind servant girl like you?
WARNINGS: reader gets hurt by villagers (bakugo saves her)
He couldn't remember how long he had been here, he just knew it was cold, dark, unsanitary, and painful. He remembered the battle that put him here, getting shot with a poison-laced arrow, feinting on the field. Heh. imagine it, the great barbarian Bakugo, the children's slayer, the village burner, the soldier slaughterer falling because of one puny arrow from one puny kingdom. When he first had woken up he could feel the slick of his blood under him mixed with the dirt and grime of the cell, he had giant iron cuffs wrapping his wrists and legs, binding him to the floor. He couldn't blame these people, truly, they knew that once he woke up if he were to get out they were all as good as slaughtered.
It was a small stone dungeon, with only a couple of stalls, he occupying one of them. There was a small barred window, along with a wall of iron bars serving as protection from him and the rest of the world. Iron, he hated the stuff, and banned it from his country, it burned him, burned his people. There was a thick, damp smell of blood and rust, a musty smell he could easily recognize as death. He would carve every person in this building up, then burn every building in the village, and he would let the fire spread to their fields and watch as their lives work shrivels up into ash. But for now, He would wait for the perfect time to strike, all he could do was wait really, watch the guard rotation, see which ones were talkative, and which ones were cruel.
Many of the guards would beat him, carve his skin, and watch him bleed, they know of all the gruesome things he has done to so very many people, and supposedly the bastards feel some kind of idiotic vengeance or justice for those people. They would pay in the long run, who exactly do they think they are? he is a king, royalty, the highest of the highest, the strongest too. If he doesn't kill them his people will, they'll see. All the king could do was watch, wait, and plot the splattering of this village.
That was, until you came along.
Little you, in your flowy little skirt that was all torn up, with no shoes and a dirt-covered face. Little you with your oh-so-innocent smile, and your callused hands. Little you with your malnourished body, frail and sickly. Little you, who had no idea who he was. Little you who snuck in when no guard was on duty, a small bowl of soup in your hands, and a cup of water.
âI-im sorry that this is all I have, I know you haven't eaten in a long time I just- Iâll have more tomorrowâ you whispered, and he swore he fell in love right then and there, you were too frail, too weak to be giving out food that you surely needed. Yet here you were, shakily handing him the bowl and the cup. He stared at you for a solid second, not even his own mother was this selfless, and you don't even know him. Who were you? You did not seem like aristocracy, too kind, maybe a farmer? Maybe a maid, a servant even.
He hadn't realized how hungry he was, not until the entire bowl and cup were gone, and he was left to stare at you. You were ethereal, dirt-covered and all, your eyes, your hair, your hands, everything, absolutely stunning. You had a look in your eyes. Something hungry and fearful told him that you were not happy, not safe and sound, not as you should be.
âI don't have anything to treat your wound, but- I'm sorry. Nobody should be treated this way, not even prisoners. I'll be back tomorrow, please don't tell the guards that I've done this. They will kill me.â you whispered, cautiously reaching to grab the glassware from his grip, waiting to see if he would snap at you. He didn't, only stared, grunting in response to your plea. You stared back with those sympathetic globes of yours, as if you could see the anger in his soul. Before turning on your heel, and quietly sneaking out of the dungeon room, you gave him one last glance before disappearing.
He was left in the quiet, in the cold, falling head over heels in love with you, a mere human. A peasant at that. Strange. You were too sweet, too kind, you clearly needed the food, clearly were starving and malnourished, yet you still stood here and offered your only food to him, a prisoner of war, you were so sweet. So kind. His people were not like you, they were not soft or sweet, he loved them for it, but you, oh you. You were soft and supple and sweet andso sickeningly kind. He would protect you, he has too.
The next couple of nights went similarly, you sneaking in during the dead hours following midnight with varying foods, sometimes a stale loaf of bread with milk, sometimes some leafy soup and water. He was grateful every time, thankful that he wasn't starving, still burning with absolute rage towards the mere peasants who believed that they could contain him. But you, in the very few days that he had known you, had wormed your way into his heart with your soft hands and pretty smile.
He can just imagine you adorned in stolen jewels and furs, dressed in the finest silk, or better, the clothes of his people. something soft like you, something pretty and supple and shiny and light. Something that reflects you, he would take you out of those rags, clean you up, teach you what luxury truly is. and you wouldnt have to lift a finger. he dreamed about your future everyday that you would visit, asking your favorite color or season or jewel.
That was, until you stopped showing up. No more quiet hours gazing at each other, no more shared food and drink, no more listening to you quietly talk about your life, no more sympathetic glances, no more questions about him from you, no more answers from him. It was like you had disappeared entirely, and back to his old routine of watching and observing the guards had begun once more. He had to admit it kind of hurt, having the only good thing here disappear entirely, he resented this place more, resented you.
He hated you, how could you leave him? You, a servant girl abandoning a king. Funny, hilarious, he sat in a pool of blood and hatred thinking about you, about this town, about the people who put him here, who chained him to the floor and watched him bleed out, this city will burn. And burn and burn and burn and burn and burn, his people would tear it apart until it was nothing but ash and blood-
What tore him out of his internal monologue was a pained scream, but not just anybody, he didn't know anybody in the town, it was yours. With that whispery rasp that you had from overexertion, and that neverending fear that dripped from your tone. He stood up to stare through the small window, only to see you on the ground, surrounded by many people, all bigger and stronger than you, yelling and screaming.
âIt's her, the traitor!â
âShe has been feeding the enemy, treason, treason I say!â
âShe should be beheaded, the traitor.â
You let another scream ring out through the town center as one of the men brought their boot down on your bare foot, he could hear the crunch followed by another scream. The first kick sparked more from other men as they brought their feet down on frail little ou, you slowly reverted into a fetal position, lying in the dirt as they beat you relentlessly. He saw red, crimson blinding him and overflowing all of his senses. How could they? You did nothing, you knew nothing. You were just a sweet, innocent little human who knew no better, who were they to punish you, to beat you so cruelly? You were thin and frail and he could hear each one of your bones cracking and breaking into pieces.
He saw bright ruby red, anger wasnât the word, absolute rage is a better way to put it.
Red red red red red red red red red
He didn't even realize he had broken from his chains till his legs were moving,
Red
He didnât even feel the burn of the iron till the bars holding him were bent out of shape and twisted
Red
He didnât realize they were all dead till his hands were stained with that bright crimson color he loved so much- you guessed it, red
He killed them all, so painfully, knuckles crunching skulls and tearing off limbs, pulling people apart faster than any wolf or bear could even try to. The thrill of freedom mixed with rage and pure anger let him revert to the ways of his homeland, back to the thrilling violence and electrifying feeling of tearing another apart. He enjoyed it, enjoyed tearing them limb from limb and watching them bleed as they had done to him. He cackled as they screamed in terror, relishing in their fear.
You watched deliriously, you had lost too much blood in too short of a time, and you were positive that you had many many broken bones, pain overcame you as you watched the bloodshed in front of you, your vision was blurry and shaking but you could tell that somebody was strong, and enjoying violence. Fear budded in the back of your brain, he was enjoying this, enjoying their pain, he would hurt you just the same, kill you, and relish in it.
You hadnât known who he was, you swore to the village leaders, swore that you just felt bad for the poor starving man in the dungeons who seemed to gentle and sweet, they hadnât cared. You were to be burned or drowned or noosed they said. But a death like this, at the hand of a man you had been fooled to be sweet? That was worse. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god you were going to die
Your breath became shallow, both because of what was surely a punctured lung, but also because of the slowly approaching footsteps crunching on the dirt. A small whimper escaped you as the figure towered over you, and your hands came up to shield your face from the blow that was surely to come.
But Instead of a painful ending blow, arms wrapped under you and hoisted you up, you never realized how tall this man was. Naturally, you curled into his warmth and tried not to think about how sticky his hands were with blood. your breath hitched as he squeezed you closer with calloused rough hands. Tears washed down your face, you were quivering, shaking in fear.
âP-please-â you quivered out. Hand moving up to push him away, your statement had many meanings, to beg for your life, to beg him to put you down, to beg him to leave you and your village alone, to beg him to forgive you. He stared down at you with crimson eyes, a sudden softness overcoming them, more than he thought he could have.
âDonât you worry baby,
Iâll take good care of yaâ
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
Cute
Anyway enjoy, I noticed a lack of barbarian bakugo content on here so I figured I would add some fuel to the fire.
Love you all, make sure to have a great day!
#soft yandere#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere my hero academia#fem reader#soft yandere bakugo#yandere bakugo#romantic yandere#yandere romantic#platonic yandere#yandere barbarian bakugo#yandere barbarian#platonic yandere katsuki#yandere katsuki bakugo#yandere dragon king#yandere dragon king bakugo#dragon king bakugou#barbarian bakugo x reader#platonic obsession
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Hi! I was wondering if you write for Muzan in his kid form? If you do, could you write platonic Child from! Muzan x Father uppermoon! reader?? Like after Muzan leaves his human adoptive family he throws a tantrum and reader calms him down?
Title: parent figures
Fandom: demon Slayer
Warnings: male reader, fluff, reader is a dad
Notes: I'm taking creative liberties I apologize not really
âïžđ©·âïžđ©·âïžđ©·âïžđ©·âïžđ©·âïžđ©·âïžđ©·âïžđ©·âïžđ©·âïž
(Name) held the sleeping boy close, the fire burned behind them as Muzans cover family burned in the ashes "let's go home now" he whispered as they were transported to the infinity castle, the boy snuggling into his dad's shoulder and clinging to his clothes "you can't have these tantrums little one" (name) gently chastied the sleeping boy "you don't even like cooked meat" he joked as he walked through the endless maze to the boys room, a child's bed with soft bedding and toys everywhere as the boy didn't clean up his mess.
"Papa..." Muzans little voice grumbled as he was settled into bed "what is it my little moonbeam" (name) said tucking him into bed, tickling him slightly causing the boy to giggle sleepily "you won't leave right?"
"Never little one"
Demons normally didn't hold strong bonds to others but (name) was extremely protective of his son, the boy clung to him and appointed him one of his upper moons, "papa moon" he would dub him as (name) mainly accompanied him and kept him out of trouble.
As Muzan slept (name) read a book, something to pass the time.
This tantrum was something else, (name) noted to himself as he thought about the fire.
"NO!" Muzan little voice screeched as he threw a candle on the ground, his adoptive family scrambling to stop it as the boy clawed and bit them, tearing open flesh.
"Muzan, that's not how polite boys act is it?" Through the screaming and bloodshed Muzan heard the voice of his papa and turned around with angry little tears "they won't do what I say!" He stomped his foot, breaking the wood and (name) sighed "humans never listen, now let's go home yes? Maybe I can get you a nice meal" (name) compromised and Muzan raised his little arms to be held as the house burned around them, the adoptive family torn to shreds.
'parenting is not easy' (name) noted though he wouldn't change his chaos spawn for anything really.
#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer x male reader#muzan x male reader#muzan x reader#anime x male reader#anime x reader#x male reader#male reader
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Longing for him
Mydei x Trailblazer! Reader
Previous part

The warm water of the bathhouse swayed lazily, reflecting the sun's rays on the snow-white walls. The air was filled with a damp, slightly spicy aroma of herbal oils, but the girl did not feel it. She sat on the edge of the pool, dangling one hand into the water, watching the thin drops flow down her skin. The coolness of the stone under her feet and the gentle warmth of the water should have brought peace, but a feeling of something irreversible still pulsated in her chest.
Her fingers involuntarily touched her lips. Where he had recently been. Mydei.
She squeezed her fingers, as if trying to hold on to this feeling. Everything happened too quickly, too swiftly to comprehend, but her body did not want to forget. He was gentle - no, not like that. Domineering, demanding, assertive. The kiss burned stronger than the core that burned him from the inside. There was no request in this, only an assertion. A right. The very thing he himself had refused.
She closed her eyes. A flash of memory cut through the darkness.
---
The fire of battle. The clang of metal. The air saturated with ash and blood.
She didn't have time to react then. Pain pierced her side with a sharp, pulsating flash, and her legs gave way, but before her body touched the ground, strong arms intercepted her. The smell of blood, metal and heat enveloped her, but behind all this cacophony there was another smell - subtle, peculiar only to him.
He was silent. Always silent. But he acted quickly. A tug - and the fabric of his clothes was torn off. Another moment - and he was already wrapping her side, tightening the knot with confident, sharp movements. Without unnecessary words, without unnecessary glances. He knew how to save, he knew how to stop the bleeding.
She didn't thank him then. Not because she didn't want to. She just knew: he didn't need words. He was waiting for action.
---
A deep breath. Returning to the present. The girl opened her eyes and slowly rose.
The room was shrouded in semi-darkness, but she knew exactly where the thing she had been avoiding for so long was. In the corner, among the things that had long since been sorted out, at the very bottom of the pile lay a piece of dark fabric. Torn, dirty, but still retaining his scent.
She carefully picked it up, feeling the roughness of the coarse material. Her fingers involuntarily clenched. Throw it away. It would be logical. It would be right. But her hand did not rise.
She slowly brought the fabric to her chest, pressing it to her heart, closed her eyes... and at that very moment she felt his presence. The air became thicker. The space around her changed, curved.
Mydei stood in front of her.
The same as then: a tall figure, a bold grin, a heavy, piercing gaze. He looked straight into her, through and through, seeing everything she tried to hide. He did not move. His hands did not touch her. But she felt them.
Like a ghostly trace of heat on her skin. Like a memory that could not be erased. A dream? An illusion? Or something more?
She stepped forward, instinctively, driven by this inexplicable sensation, but before she could touch him, the world shook. The vision crumbled into thin air. Only the wind swayed the curtains. Only her heart continued to pound, as if waiting for a new fight.
She ran her fingers over her lips, feeling the ghostly heat of his touch. He thought this kiss was a farewell, but how wrong he was.
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