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aemondsbabe · 4 months

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Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2

summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong

pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 here!

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“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers.

“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied.

It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it.

If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels.

“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side.

“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”

Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head.

“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now.

You had.

But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.

“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand.

“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.”

“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”

“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil.

Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise.

“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely.

“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest.

You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her.

Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you.

“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you.

“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible.

He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”

“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”

“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”

“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”

“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot.

“Can… can I see it?”

Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning.

Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?

Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back.

Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room.

“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”

“I… Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”

“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”

“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat.

Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror.

“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”

“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”

He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck.

Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans.

He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin.

“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”

Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other.

He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”

Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.

A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”

“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”

“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets.

Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark.

But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm.

Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty.

“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”

He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.

“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust.

“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time.

“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”

You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine.

“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end.

“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”

His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright.

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching.

You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down.

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”

“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –”

He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.”

Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before.

Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined.

Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side.

By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders.

They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.

Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat.

“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh.

Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw.

The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”

The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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cressidagrey · 1 month

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Looked to the Sky - Chapter 3

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, Cassian is being annoying, Azriel's scars and his thoughts about them, Chronic Pain and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was quite certain that his shadows were out to kill him.

They were acting like a couple of obsessed, lovesick teenagers around Eira, unable to keep away from her for even a second, constantly wrapping around her hands, winding through her hair, curling around her fingers, as if eager to remain in contact with her 24/7.

And they also kept...dressing her.

He knew they did that because the dress she wore that evening was nothing he had ever seen her in before.

It wasn't like it was particularly revealing. It had long sleeves that covered her wrists and the skirt fell to the floor as well. It wasn't even the fact that the neckline bared her shoulders, elegant, flawless ivory skin on display for him. It wasn't even that it bared the arch of her neck with the way they had swept her hair up into an elegant knot high on her head...or the silver pins they scattered through the updo...It was the rich cobalt blue of that dress that matched his siphons perfectly.

The sight of her in that gown had nearly stolen his breath away, his heart nearly having stopped altogether at the way the rich blue fabric looked against her ivory skin. It made her skin glow and accentuated each and every contour of her body…showing him the soft swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, her hips…

She was the most breathtakingly beautiful sight, the very picture of grace and loveliness and perfection.

And the most infuriating thing was that Eira didn't even seem to realise it.

She ducked her head shyly…like she expecting him to say something…negative about how she looked, instead of seeing how he nearly fell all over himself as he saw her descend the stairs in the River House...and the fact that he kept clutching that bouquet of flowers like an absolute idiot.

The books had told him to give her flowers. And then they had also supplied him with a whole list of flower meanings when they were already at it.

He had chosen snowdrops. They weren't even in season, which meant his shadows had gone so far as to go to the Winter Court to find them for him, but they clearly thought it to be worthwhile, if the look on Eira’s face when he had offered her the bouquet had been any indication.

There were two reasons for this choice: Her scent had always been a perfect match to them for him...and their meaning: Hope and new beginnings.

Part of him had wanted to tell her the reasons for his choice. Had wanted to tell her the meaning of the snowdrops, to tell her that more than anything, he hoped that the bond between them would continue to grow…But he had bitten his tongue and simply handed them over, silently praying that she would like them.

For a moment, her eyes had widened, her lips slightly parted in surprise, a look of wonder on her face. "They’re gorgeous," Eira had whispered, carefully taking the bouquet from him. “Thank you so much.”

Her words had made his heart flutter. But nothing had quite hit him quite so hard as when she had leaned slightly forward to bury her nose in the blooms, inhaling the delicate scent with a blissful little smile on her face.

And then the shadows had whisked them away and Eira had smiled at him, grey eyes wide and happy. "Do you often attend the symphony?" she had asked him quietly.

He had needed a moment to remember how to form words in his head, too focused on the smile on her face, the soft scent of snowdrops still clinging to her, making his instincts go berserk. Azriel had to force himself to focus, to remember that she had asked him a question. A question he actually had to answer.

"More often than one would think," he admitted. "I...enjoy music," he told her quietly. The soft confession left his lips before he had consciously realised it.

It was the truth, of course. He hadn’t lied. He did enjoy music, though it wasn’t something that people tended to associate with him much at all. Most people tended to think that he spent his time stewing in the darkness and brooding. (Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t do that…but he did have…hobbies of sorts. Music was one of them.)

But he did enjoy the concert halls in Velaris immensely. The symphony in particular.

Eira’s smile softened at his answers. "Do the shadows like the music too?" she wondered. His shadows practically vibrated with excitement at her words, preening at the fact that she had thought to ask them.

Very much so, they answered brightly.

He looked down at the way they twirled around her hands, the way they twisted around each other like dancing ribbons, as if they were showing off their enjoyment, unable to deny her a single word. Azriel suppressed a smile at the sight.

"They love it," he confirmed quietly.

"So are you going to winnow us one of these days, Az?" Cassian broke into the conversation, his patience clearly ending.

Azriel shot him a glare, though Nesta was there before him. His brother wasn’t even subtle enough to have hidden the smirk on his face. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

Azriel wanted nothing more than to throttle him.

He held out his hands for Cassian, who in turn had his arm around Nesta, who had watched the whole interaction with sparkling grey eyes...and then he held out his arm for Eira. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, giving him one of these shy but dazzling smiles.

The minute her hand slipped into the crook of his elbow, his shadows purred in satisfaction, their voices sounding oddly smug as they twirled around their fingers.

One moment they had been in the Foyer of the River House...the next they were in the private Box the High Lord kept at the Symphony in Velaris. courtesy of Rhys. It made security much less of a hassle and the private box would also ensure some quiet. Which meant he could give Eira his undivided attention. Something he very much intended to do.

Eira stared around wide-eyed, her hand tightening around his arm and he allowed himself to pat it with his other...feel the perfect, flawless skin underneath his own scarred hands. It was hit or miss on a good day how much he could even feel with his hands at all, but that day he could swear he could feel every freckle.

Her skin under his fingertips was so smooth, so flawless, completely unblemished. The thought that his hands, his hands rough and calloused, marked with scars, were touching her soft skin seemed almost like blasphemy. As if he shouldn’t be allowed to touch her, as if his hands weren’t good enough to even be near her.

"Oh," she breathed out, still wide-eyed. "It's beautiful."

Azriel followed her gaze, taking in the sight of the great hall, of its black and gold, the sheer size of it, the great stage, the hundreds of seats. He had to admit that it was pretty, but in that moment he hardly noticed the beauty of the hall. His eyes were on Eira, the look of wonder on her face as she took in the symphony.

"Did you never go before?" he wondered, but she shook her head.

"I haven't really seen much of Velaris," she admitted quietly. "I found the alterations tailor shop where I take commissions from and...sometimes I go in a shop that piques my interest but I have never gone to the symphony."

Azriel had to fight down a wince at that confession.

He knew that she mostly spent her time in the River House but the thought that she hadn’t even seen the city...it bothered something deep down inside of him. How could she have been here for over two years and still not have seen everything Velaris had to offer?

But it also gave him...it gave him options what he could show her next...what they could do. If humans did carriage rides, could he get away with offering to take her out on a midday flight?

The thought of her flying with him tugged on something deep inside of him. A primitive part that he usually wrestled into submission easily. But this time it didn’t want to be silent, insisting that he could show her far more of the city, could show her himself while doing so. That part of him practically preened at the thought of having her hold onto him tightly as they flew through the air...

"Do you play any instruments?" Eira asked suddenly as he escorted her to her seat, letting her gracefully slide into it.

Azriel’s brows shot up in slight surprise.

For a moment, he just stared at her blankly, blinking, his brain needing a moment to get back on track after the thought of a flight.

Then the question registered and he just about managed not to flinch. He shook his head, mutely. "I...I can't," he said, his voice hoarse. "I tried the piano but my hands..."

He trailed off and gestured vaguely towards his scarred fingers.

He gestured to his hands, the scars, to the crooked little finger on his left hand. The scars were one thing, but the fact that he could barely feel anything in his hands...he usually managed the tremors, but his hands never cooperated enough to allow him to properly play the piano. Sometimes, on the worst of days, he could hardly hold a pen and actually write something legible.

He had enough pure grip strength to hold a sword, a dagger, and a knife… sometimes the fact that he didn’t actually have much feeling in his hands was a good thing in a fight.

He had learned to mask it, of course...learned to use the right amount of pressure in a myriad of situations...learned to be gentle enough not to hurt anybody accidentally. But even with that...playing the piano had been a try once and never again.

He had made his peace with the fact that he simply wasn’t meant to play the piano. Had long since accepted that he was simply not good enough. But the part of him that still burned, that still ached when he thought about what he had lost, ached at the thought that he would never be good enough to play the piano, to play anything, really…it never stopped.

His half-brothers hadn’t just given him unspeakable constant pain…but they had also taken so much from him.

Eira stared down at his fingers in surprise, as if she was only now noticing the scars in them. His fingers itched at the way she stared at the scars on them, his instincts suddenly screaming at him to hide them from her, to not let her see. But he couldn’t do that. So he let her stare, letting her see even the scars.

There was a strange intensity on her face as her eyes roamed over the scars, almost as if...

Almost as if she was memorising every single one of them.

And then she reached out, taking one of his hands into both of hers, carefully touching the thick scars that covered the back of his hand completely.

Azriel nearly startled when she took his hand, only just managing to keep his instincts in check. His entire attention honed in on the touch of her hands, the soft way her fingertips traced the scars on the back of his hand, almost as if she was treating his skin like something very, very fragile.

The moment the lights went out and darkness engulfed them, his shadows twirled through his hair with soft, almost mischievous voices in his mind

He had to stop himself from closing his eyes, from focusing on the feeling of her fingertips tracing his scars, from focusing on the fact that she was holding his hand.

Instead, he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to actually look towards the stage, to pretend that he was not focused on every single point of contact between their skin.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. Wasn't sure if he had expected her pity or anything else...

He had never talked about the scars much. Hadn’t really talked about…how they appeared on her skin. Didn’t talk about what they meant for him…how they still hurt him, to this day, centuries later and how they would still hurt him decades from now.

And he certainly had never had anyone actually look at them so intently, so gently...let alone touch them like she was now.

He never allowed anyone to touch his hands, if he could help it, except for the people he trusted with his life.

And now here Eira was, holding his hand and tracing every single one of his scars so softly...like she wanted to memorise every single one of them.

She didn't let go. Not once. Not during the whole three hours.

Eira didn’t let go. She didn’t flinch back in disgust or shame or embarrassment…she did nothing. She held onto his hand during the entire performance, gently tracing the scars on his skin, as if she was memorising each and every single one of these markings.

She didn’t flinch back like they were disgusting. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t…

Azriel didn’t know what to do. Didn’t quite know what to do with the way his head was racing, the way his shadows were practically purring in his mind.

So he didn’t do anything.

He just sat there, silent, still, and let her hold his hand.

He couldn’t recall a single piece that had been played, not a single instrument that the symphony had played, not a single second.

His entire focus had remained on the feeling of her touching his hands, tracing his scars, holding him delicately like he would disappear if she let go.

Even as the last performance ended, the final violin notes echoing off the walls of the great hall and the lights came up again, her hand remained in his, her fingertips gently tracing the same scars that she had been tracing for the past three hours.

He wasn’t sure if she was even aware she was doing it, still tracing his scars as if they were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen as if she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Part of him wanted to shake her out of it, to tell her that his scars were not something that she should be admiring. A far bigger part of him relished the feeling of her stroking his hand, almost as if it was the most delicate, fragile thing she had ever touched.

But then she seemed to realise what she was doing, her fingers pausing in their movement. Her head whipped around and her eyes met his, wide and nearly panicked.

She looked as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t have, as if she somehow expected him to be angry at her for holding his hand, for tracing the scars.

He could practically read the words on her lips, could practically see the question on her tongue as she looked at him, her eyes still wide, her hand still holding his tight.

Could practically hear her ask if it was alright that she had touched the scars, if he was alright with her holding his hand for so long, if she had gone too far.

He wrapped his ruined fingers around hers, squeezing just tight enough to move her fingers.

Her fingers were small between his, so tiny and slender, but for once the difference in size didn’t make him feel monstrous.

He felt...he felt as if her fingers had been made to fit into his as if they belonged there. He felt the urge to bring her hands up to his lips, to kiss each and every one of her slender little fingers…

"So, are we gonna get some food?" Cassian said brightly, looking bored out of his mind. Azriel was quite sure that his brother wanted him to snap his neck. Or maybe they should all just be happy that he hadn’t actually fallen asleep and started snoring halfway through the performance.

Azriel had to fight down a low, rumbling growl at the interruption, shooting a glare at his brother before his eyes snapped back to Eira’s, to the way her slender fingers had tangled with his.

"I could eat," Nesta agreed with her mate, giving him a look.

Which left Azriel to look at Eira, to hold her stare.

"What about you?" he asked quietly, his voice strangely hoarse. "Are you hungry?"

Eira looked at him with those beautiful grey eyes, taking a moment to think.

He couldn’t stop staring at her as she bit her lip in thought, the sight of her teeth worrying the plump skin sending another shudder down his spine.

And then she nodded once, a shy, hesitant move. “Yes, I am hungry,” she admitted quietly.

"Sevinda's?" Cassian suggested immediately.

Azriel had to resist the urge to sigh at Cassian’s enthusiasm.

While he didn’t particularly mind eating at Sevinda’s, he would have rather stayed somewhere more private. But it wasn’t going to happen. So he merely nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Sevinda’s sounds good.”

Another bout of winnowing later...they found themselves at Sevinda's, tucked into one of the tables outside. Eira was still holding his hand. He had checked in with her twice if she wanted to rather sit inside, but she had waved him off. He could feel her uncomfortableness...but it seemed to ease.

Azriel did notice the way she tensed the moment they appeared out of the shadows at Sevinda’s, the way her eyes darted around her as she looked over the restaurant they were now sitting in.

He could see her clenching her jaw, could see the way her hand tightened around his, could see the way the other hand clenched around the fork.

She wasn’t comfortable here, that much he could see.

But it did get a little better as the evening went on.

They ordered. Azriel tried not to notice the way she shifted in her chair, eyes darting around her like she was expecting a battle to break out any moment.

He gently squeezed her hand under the table, pulling her attention away from the people around them.

“Are you alright?” he mumbled to her, low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

She started at his question, her grey eyes wide as she looked at him, clearly surprised that he could tell that she wasn’t at ease in the restaurant.

“I...I’m fine,” she muttered, her own voice low. “Just expecting...the worst.”

Azriel could see the truth in her eyes, and could practically feel the tension radiating off her.

He gently squeezed her hand again, drawing her attention fully to him. “We’re at Sevinda’s,” he told her quietly. “This is one of the safest places in Velaris. If only because everybody is terrified of what Cassian will do if Sevinda isn't there to feed him," he quipped.

Azriel heard Cassian snort across the table. “Damn right,” he said.

He could see the corners of Eira’s mouth twitch at Cassian’s comment, a slight smile pulling at her lips

It was such a tiny smile, but for Azriel, it felt like the most precious thing in the world.

*****

Eira had never really ventured deep into Velaris.

She had the alteration tailor shop where she took commissions from…and then she sometimes saw a shop that piqued her interest and she went in there…but she had never…never really gone exploring.

Never actually trusted herself to do that, in this strange place. Because as long as she had been High Fae…it was still a strange place for her. Never had been…quite home.

But the Symphony with Azriel? That had been…utterly beautiful. Utterly perfect.

The symphony with Azriel had been something close to magical. She had spent hours with him, holding his hand, tracing the scars, feeling his rough fingers under her own. Her entire focus had been on him during the performance, the only thing on her mind was the feeling of his skin against her own. His scars underneath her fingertips.

It had been a little terrifying, the realisation that she hadn’t looked at a single instrument, hadn’t heard a single melody...only him.

But that was nothing against the...pure rage she felt when he had told her that he couldn't play an instrument. He had stared at her as if he had never had anyone actually...console him for the fact that he had never been able to learn how to play.

How to learn this art that he clearly had a deep affinity for.

She could feel the scars on his hand, the ruined skin underneath her fingers. But she refused to be revolted by it. The scars on his hands were just that…scars. Just part of him. And she wasn’t revolted by him. The thought of being revolted by Azriel...it didn’t even cross her mind.

She traced over the scars on the back of his hand, gently touching the rough skin.

She wanted to be near him desperately. Wanted to be wrapped in his arms, as close as she could possibly be.

And still, she had wondered...if this one thin line on her chest still ached weeks later...how did these hands feel to him? How much pain was he in on a daily basis?

She had seen him writing, the trembling hands… She had seen him clench and unclench his hands as if struggling with the shaking. And that was just the fact that they were shaking. She didn’t even dare to think about the pain he had to feel, how he still managed to use them while fighting….

She knew, instinctively, that the pain in his hands was still there, and had never truly left after he had been… tortured. Because that was what had happened. Regardless of what anybody else thought. And now the pain in his hands served as a constant reminder of that, how close he had nearly come to being absolutely broken.

She knew that every tremble, every shake, every clenching of his fingers was just a reminder of what had happened.

And she hated it. She hated those scars on his hands, hated that they caused him so much pain.

She wished he had never gone through it.

But then she wished that about so many things.

So Eira did what Eira always did when she needed some peace and quiet: She went to hide in the kitchen.

Not even Elain was there these days. Which was something that…Eira didn’t want to think about it either. She wanted…she didn’t even know where to start with that…still didn’t know how to feel about…any of this.

How she was supposed to feel about her twin sister trying to take away her…daughter. Her daughter.

Trying to take away her mate and her baby.

The more she thought about it…the more angry she became.

Elain was her sister, her twin. But that didn’t change the fact that she had tried to steal her daughter.

Eira clenched her teeth, leaning back on the kitchen counter, arms crossing in front of her chest.

She wasn’t sure how she was ever supposed to forgive Elain for that.

Nyx took that moment to bang the bowl onto the counter where he was sitting. Eira couldn’t help but laugh at her nephew.

Nyx, as sweet and adorable as he was, had a temper. And he wasn’t the most patient child. Eira had learnt that the hard way. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t love him.

“Are you trying to make a mess, you little rascal?” she teased him. “How about we make some cookies?”

"kies! kies! Ra Ra!"

“What, little monster? You want cookies?” Nyx babbled incoherently, grinning wide at her.

Eira chuckled, ruffling his hair affectionately before moving to gather the necessary ingredients. Or she would have if the shadows hadn't been quicker.

“Come on…” she grumbled, watching the shadows creep over the ingredients, gathering everything necessary. She gave a small huff. “I was gonna do that.”

You aren't supposed to do anything strenuous, they said softly.

Eira rolled her eyes at that, the motion just a little fond.

“It’s cookies,” she protested. “That’s hardly ‘strenuous’.”

The shadows just glided around her, gathering all the necessary ingredients on the countertop, just within arm’s reach of her. They seemed to almost be…arguing with her if she interpreted their movements correctly.

“Fine, I won’t pick anything up,” she said with a huff. “You happy, you meddling shadows?”

For their part, the shadows just swirled around her with a low, almost smug-sounding whisper.

Eira grumbled under her breath but couldn’t quite help but smile.

She didn’t mind the shadows. They seemed to always be around her, as if they were…watching out for her, in some way. She had stopped trying to question it a while back.

“Let's go make some cookies," she said with a sigh.

Nyx gave an excited, loud babble, clearly excited at the idea of baking.

Eira chuckled softly. “Alright, alright,” she mumbled. “Maybe if we make them good enough, your parents will give you a treat after.”

And maybe she could steal some for herself as well.

Nyx babbled and giggled.

Eira chuckled and ruffled his hair again before looking at the ingredients the shadows had gathered for her, a smile pulling at her lips.

“I think the first thing we have to make is the dough,” she mumbled quietly to Nyx as she started measuring out the sugar. “Do you wanna help me with the bowl?”

Nyx babbled happily, watching with round, wide eyes as she gathered the ingredients and started mixing them into the bowl.

He seemed a little too excited at the sight of her mixing everything together, little giggles tumbling out of him as the liquid in the bowl churned around.

Eira chuckled when she saw he leaned forward almost as if he wanted to stick his fingers in it.

No," she said, gently pushing his arms back. "Do not stick your fingers in the cookie dough."

Nyx only made a huffy sound, as if he didn't like that she was stopping him.

Eira chuckled. "You'll get to lick the spoon once I'm done," she told him. "If you wait nicely, that’s it.”

Nyx looked at her with wide, round eyes, a little pout on his face. He babbled at her as if trying to convince her to let him dip his fingers in the dough at that very moment. She laughed at the betrayed look on his face when he realised that she wasn't gonna let him eat the dough right away.

Instead, she started humming, Nyx happily clapping along.

She continued humming while she finished mixing the dough, still fighting to keep Nyx from sticking his fingers in the bowl.

The boy was determined, she would give him that. As soon as she was satisfied with the dough, she pulled the bowl away, looking down at him.

"We gotta let it rest for a bit, alright?" she said with a chuckle.

He yawned.

Eira chuckled at that, gently poking his cheek. "Are you getting tired, little rascal?" she teased him. "Did all that baking exhaust you, hm?"

Nyx just yawned again, blinking sleepily.

She chuckled again and shook her head.

"We'll let the dough rest for a bit," she said quietly to him. "And I think a little rascal needs a little nap."

He babbled something in protest as if offended at the very idea of a nap. Eira only laughed and shook her head.

She picked him up, resting him on her hip. "No napping is not an option," she told him in a quiet, mock-stern voice.

Nyx was already looking slightly sleepy, his little head dropping against her shoulder.

Her chest twinged at carrying him, but she didn't try to get up the stairs. Instead, she brought him into the living room downstairs, sitting next to him as she laid him down on one of the couches, curling up next to him.

"Sing, Ra Rar?" he requested softly.

Eira was only too happy to oblige.

She gently settled down on the couch, shifting so she was resting next to him. Nyx curled into her side and she gently wrapped an arm around him, holding him close.

Then she started singing, humming a soft tune under her breath.

Soft, soothing lullabies.

A human lullaby. One that she had used to humm to Feyre when she had just been a child.

The boy's eyes started drooping as she sang, and his breath started to even out. He nuzzled against her as if seeking out the comfort of her embrace.

Eira smiled and shifted a little, wrapping her other arm around him and pulling him closer.

He yawned and curled against her, letting out a little sleepy babble. She chuckled at how he curled against her, like a cat seeking out warmth. Her nephew was more than a little affectionate, a constant need for cuddles and hugs and affection. But he was sweet.

Eira continued singing, holding him close as he started drooping more and more against her, clearly struggling to keep his eyes open.

It didn’t take long for Nyx to fall asleep, his breaths evening out and his body going heavy and pliant against her. And still, she kept singing, her voice quiet.

She wasn’t really focused on the song, on the words…her entire focus was on Nyx, on the fact that her nephew lay in her arms, in her embrace, completely and utterly relaxed.

Safe. Safe and sound and not a single scratch on him. She hadn’t failed to protect him. She hadn’t…Nothing had happened to him.

Eira was so focused on the little boy in her arms that she didn’t even realise that the shadows were gone. She continued singing, gently running one hand over her nephew’s back.

She wasn't sure what it had been that suddenly made her look up...her singing ceased as soon as she realised that Azriel stood in the doorway, watching her.

His gaze was fixed on her and on Nyx, lying in her arms. She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was a look on his face…a look in his eyes. Something soft, something almost…. tender.

She didn’t dare to breathe.

"I am sorry," she apologised softly. "Did I bother your meeting? I'll stop." She hadn’t even known that he was at the River House that day, hadn’t known that Rhys would be busy with meetings. Otherwise, she would have been quieter.

Azriel just shook his head, taking a couple of steps closer until he was hovering next to the couch.

“You aren’t bothering anything,” he said softly, voice rough. “You can keep singing if you’d like.”

Eira’s breath hitched a little as Azriel took a few more steps, moving until he could slide into one of the armchairs. She swallowed.

“Amren said I should stop my screeching, “ she blurted out suddenly. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Azriel blinked. Once. then twice.

“You could never bother me,” he said, his voice fierce. “And your singing is anything but a screech.”

Eira felt her breath hitch in her throat, her eyes wide. She could feel that her cheeks were warm, embarrassment coursing through her.

And yet…there was still that look on his face, that softness in his eyes as he looked at her, holding their nephew against her chest.

She swallowed a little before speaking. “…you don’t think it’s terrible? You don’t think I sound like a dying crow?”

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he said softly, voice low enough so that he wouldn’t wake Nyx up.

His gaze was still fixed on her, on the picture they made, on how she was curled around the tiny little boy, still that soft look in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place.

For just one single second Eira allowed herself to think about…the future. Think about that little girl that she had seen. Would she one day sing her own daughter to sleep?

“You want me to keep singing?” she whispered quietly, shifting a little so she was sitting up straighter.

Azriel met her gaze, as he nodded.

He nodded. “Please,” he mumbled, his voice low and hoarse, rough even. “Please, keep singing.”

So she did.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight.

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life."

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other.

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you.

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs?

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist.

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too.

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you.

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh.

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke.

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves.

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books.

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat.

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand.

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain.

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over…

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh.

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure.

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle. "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine.

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs.

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?"

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips.

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't.

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good.

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you.

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks…

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to…

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck…

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time.

“Desperate for it?”

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?"

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership.

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…?

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body.

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled.

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench.

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees.

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you.

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet."

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want...

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined.

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him.

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes."

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is.

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat.

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic.

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves.

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable.

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch.

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong.

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two…

You never even kissed.

............................................

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alicentofhightower · 2 months

Text

the dragon and the crab

pairing: aegon targaryen x fem!celtigar!reader

synopsis: boys seem to catch your eye more, as of late. you wonder if that’s the reason why you’re helping this drunken fool of a prince.

includes: drunk aegon, he’s actually not that bad here. so sorry if this is ooc this is my first time writing a oneshot for him!

WC: 1.5k

a/n: this was written with ty tennant’s aegon in mind because it’s set during laena velaryon’s funeral, but you can envision tgc’s aegon too i don’t really care. i did not proofread this so im sorry for any mistakes, i literally just wrote this on my phone in bed because i miss aegon and im bored. i might write a part 2 idk

The first time Aegon sees you, he cannot help but wonder why you take such a liking to Helaena.

Laena Velaryon’s funeral had been an uneventful one. A bore, to be honest, but his mother would smack him if he’d ever voiced that thought aloud. He’d never known the noblewoman well. Honestly, his mind was more preoccupied with the looming thought of his upcoming wedding.

It was tradition for Targaryens to be married to relative. They’d practiced it for hundreds of years, long before the doom of Old Valyria. His mother had always seemed so intent on practicing the customs of her Andal forbears, and Aegon wished she’d been the same for his marriage.

Deep down, he knew why Helaena would be his wife. It was to keep her close to Alicent. If she’d been wed to some fat lord in the Riverlands, or a foolish one from the Reach, it would make no difference; there was no real confirmation that she’d ever be kept safe. His mother would not have another Aemma be made of her only daughter.

“We have nothing in common,” Aegon complained, constantly having to brush his silver waves away from his face. The wind from the beach was relentless.

He stood off to the side next to Aemond, away from where you yourself sat next to the Princess. She seemed to speak in riddles, with the way she mumbled of ‘spools of green and black’, but you did not mind. You could tell she was of a sweet nature.

Helaena handed you another shell to hold, her fingertips tracing the texture of it. “She’s our sister,” interjected Aemond.

Everything about Aegon was improper. The way he could not seem to let go of his cup of wine for even a minute, the way his eyes wandered towards the skittish maids, even down to his posture; hunched and lazy. “You marry her, then,” The elder prince said, his fingers loose around his chalice. If he wasn’t careful, he’d probably drop it, make a fool of himself as he always had.

“I would perform my duty. If mother had only betrothed us.” Aemond did not speak out of genuine desire for his sister, only his yearning to be the firstborn son. To be given the duties of his unwilling brother.

“If only,” He scoffed.

His blue eyes traveled to where you were, listening closely to every word of his weird soon-to-be wife. Aegon did not pay much attention to his Old Valyrian lessons, much less his history, but even he could recognize which house you were from by the dress you wore; ivory and scarlet, the colors of House Celtigar.

Your house was a Valyrian one itself, though far less proud than the one of his own or the Velaryons. You wore a veil of mourning to honor the late Lady Laena, but he could see the earrings you adorned beneath it; crabs, closely resembling your sigil.

You could not hear what the young princes spoke of, but your eyes had averted over to them occasionally, though most of your attention was paid to Aegon. His face was scrunched together as he studied you, trying to figure out why you’d ever willingly be in the company of Helaena. Mayhaps you were just as off-putting as she was.

Blooming into womanhood, you could not help but take notice of boys your age; Aegon himself was quite handsome, though lustful and foolish, and your mother had personally warned you to stay away from him on the way to Driftmark. It only made you want to talk to him more.

Soon enough, Aegon made his way over to another servant, grabbing the pitcher on the platter she held and pouring himself more Arbor gold… away from where you were. You wondered if that’d be the last you saw of him.

It wasn’t.

Sleep had escaped you. Taking a stroll outside was far more appealing than tossing and turning in your bed, so you’d wrapped your robe around your nightgown and snuck out of your chambers.

You almost gasped when you saw him. There he was, at the end of the stairs, drunk and hiccuping with his eyes closed. He sat against the stone of the railing, head drooping and hands still grasping his goblet tightly.

“My Prince?”

No response.

Descending down the steps, you poked his hunched shoulder. He did not even start. It took a harsh shake of his forearm to wake him, and Aegon threw his head back when he did, smacking it against the marble behind him.

Aegon’s pale hand flew to cradle the back of his skull. He hissed, features squeezing together as he let out a sharp breath. It reeked of wine, and he appeared to be startled that he hadn’t been smacked yet. “Grandsire?” He asked, eyes still scrunched shut.

“No,” You said softly. “It’s just me, my Prince.”

His eyelids shot open. It took a moment for him to recognize you. “Why are you out here? Shouldn’t you be abed?”

Gods, maybe your lady mother was right about avoiding him. He’d already begun to irritate you, and you’d been speaking to him for less than a minute. “Shouldn’t you?”

His head lolled to the side, falling to rest on his shoulder. “What will you do? Tattle on me to my mother? I’ve already been scolded today,” He grumbled, his words slightly slurred.

Really, you should just leave this fool of a prince alone, act like this never happened, and climb back into bed. You won’t. It’s normal for men of his age to indulge in their vices, but some part of you tells you that this is wrong; that he shouldn’t be out here in the cold night, slumped into a mess of his own limbs. You feel bad.

Boldly, you reach forward again, grasping his wrist. “Come on,” You say to Aegon, your tone softer. “I’ll help you back to your chambers.”

“I’m too tired.”

He yelps when you yank him up, stumbling forward, his hands scrambling to grab your shoulders to keep him upright. “You should not treat a Prince so roughly.” Despite his words, Aegon allows you to wrap an arm about his shoulders, guiding him forward.

His eyes are wide as he looks down at you, seemingly trying to figure out why you’d pour this much time into someone you don’t even know. There’s a flush becoming all the more apparent on his face, and unbeknownst to you, it’s not because of the wine.

You’re sure there will be a scandal made out of this. An unmarried young noble-lady taking King Viserys’s firstborn son, drunk, back to his chambers during the hour of the owl? Certainly the maids will begin to whisper false tales of your relationship with the Prince, and your father will reprimand you on the ship back to Claw Isle. He might have you married even sooner to dispel them. You cannot find it in yourself to care.

“This way,” You whisper, walking towards where the innermost hall is, where the royal chambers are. Aegon’s steps are uneven and irregular. If you’d not been holding him, he’d probably have fallen twice already.

He’s even more beautiful under the torchlight. Soft cheekbones and plush lips, he’s the very image of his mother, though he certainly does not act like it. Your lips almost part at the feeling of his nose nudging against your cheek, though you attempt to ignore it.

He’s drunk, you tell yourself. Pay no mind to him.

The knights on patrol raise their brows at the sight of you when you make your way past them. An awkward position you’re in. Both his and your arm are wrapped around the other’s shoulders, and his knees are bent so he can be at the level of your face. He’s not even looking forward to where you’re trying to go, his eyes analyzing the look on your face.

He was so talkative when you woke him. You wonder why he’s gone quiet, but reason it to be that he’s exhausted. “What’s your name, again?” He sputters.

He nods rapidly when you tell him it, as if he’ll remember it on the morrow.

Finally, you make it to his room; even the doors to it are grand and tall, befitting one of his status. Yours are farther away from his, in the corridors practically across the keep. It’ll be a long walk back.

You find you don’t know what to say. “…Well, good night, my Prince,” You say softly, letting go of him to let him stand by himself. He wobbles.

Aegon turns to leave, but whips his head around before his pale hand can grasp the handle of the door, his eyes darting around the features of your face. He wants to remember you, it seems.

“You won’t stay?” He can barely pronounce the words correctly, let alone stand up, choosing to lean on the door behind him to keep his balance. Somehow, it’s both endearing and pathetic.

Your cheeks flush at the mere idea of following him into his bedchamber. What was he thinking?

“No, my Prince. It’s best I leave you be.”

Aegon nods solemnly at that, tongue running over his slightly chapped lips. He bows his head in thought, then raises it again, a peculiar glint in his eye that you cannot decipher.

“….’s Aegon. Just Aegon,” He says, quiet, like it’s a secret only the two of you know.

“Good night, Aegon.”

#hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #team green x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon the usurper x reader #aegon the elder x reader #hotd fluff #aegon ii targaryen fluff #house of the dragon fluff #the greens x reader

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sanjoongie · 2 months

Text

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑳𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒅

🍄Pairing: Fae Prince! San x Mushroom Guard! Reader

🍄Au: royal au, fantasy au, fae au

🍄Trope: prince/guard, power dynamic

🍄Genre: smut

🍄Rating: 18+, MDNI

🍄Warnings: descriptors of reader because you are a mushroom fae, dom! reader, sub! san, fear play, begging, making out, rutting/wet humping, degradation, verbal instruction, penetrative sex with no barrier, psychedelic sex (san got high from fucking a mushroom girl), consent before said high sex, pussy-drunk san, oral (f), hair tugging (m)

🍄Word Count: 4,259

🍄Summary: you were created for one sole purpose: to guard the nephew of the Unseelie King. Choi San was arrogantly confident that you would keep him from Death's Door; for if he died, so ended your life as well. But what you did not expect from your Fae Princeling was that he was just as dedicated to your body as you were his.

🍄Author's Note: happy birthday to the man that never fails to make me smile. your hard work and dedication to your craft and to make others around you happy never ceases to amaze me. Here's to your large heart (and even bigger tits)

San entered the ballroom with all the impudence of an arrogant Fae Prince. Nephew to the current King of the Unseelie, San was one of the most important Fae in the room. But he was also very much in danger.

That’s how you came to be created. No allegiance could be sure, in the Fae realm, and even an oath binding could be wiggled out of with a few loophole words. So, life was breathed into you, as a mushroom. You were created in a woman’s image and your bond to San was that unlike any sworn servant. You see, your life was in San’s hand. You were created to be his loyal guard, and if he so happened to die, then your life would be taken from you as well.

The whispers ran through the crowd like a wave retreating from the coast. Your deep russet hair, with random white spots and dull ivory skin had not been seen before. The simple rush of being the attention flushed through your body.

“Where did you dig up this beauty, San?” A bored voice drawled.

San ducked his head in greeting to multiple people but smirked towards the one asking this particular question. “From the dark, musky part of the forest.”

You scratched the back of your neck and turned your head to hide your flush.

“Does she guard your body well?” Another asked.

Your sword whipped from its sheath by your side and wavered at the chest of the Fae who dared demand you did not complete your life's duty to the best of your ability.

San pushed your sword down with two fingers, chuckling. It drew your sword down the body of the male fae, who looked a little turned on by it, if you were being honest. “Careful now, Wooyoung, that sword is poisonous.”

“Is your uncle really that worried about you?”

San shrugged like he hadn't a care in the world.

A spring dryad walked with an extra sway in her hip to your charge. You intercepted her immediately. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I was bid to entertain the prince,” The dryad responded, sending a gratuitous wink towards San.

You smiled but it was full of bitter recognition. “No one is allowed to come near the prince, dryad. Go find someone else to weakly hump.”

The dryad let out a loud ‘humph’, clearly insulted, and found a more receiving Fae Lady.

San leaned into you from behind to whisper into your ear. “Jealous?”

“No one is touching you,” You insisted, keeping your face blank.

San mingled during the ball but he did not ask for anyone’s hand to dance. He conversed and drank, spilling out anything that wasn’t approved by you. You ate and drank anything he consumed first, to make sure it wasn’t poisonous. You, of anyone, were the best at discovering if something was poisonous or not.

But soon, your Fae Prince tired of socializing and was ready to leave the ball. It was truly sad that he was unable to attend the final waltz of the evening. He danced so well. You shook your head. This was no time to get your head full of images of San.

The quiet roar of the crowd fell behind the both of you as you left the ball. San’s smart shoes clicked rhythmically against the wood floor polished with age and use. You kept your ears and eyes open for any threats that thought they could take advantage of the early morning hours.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many eyes more interested in someone other than myself,” San said.

You scoffed at his statement. “Oh, you had plenty of eyes on you, My Lord.”

San cocked his head curiously, turning on his heel to look at you. “Did you want to squish those offending eyes with your fingers, Red?”

Your hand tightened on the grip of your sword. “My Lord,” you growled in warning.

San smiled impishly, playing with the black opal bracelet on his wrist. “But it's so fun to tease you!”

You jerked your chin in the direction of San’s rooms. “Shall we get to where it’s safe first and you can tease me all you want?”

San sighed wearily. “Fine, have it your way.”

A tiny bit of stress left your shoulders the minute you closed the door to the suite of rooms that were due to the Unseelie Fae King’s nephew. San did not move to his bedchambers nor did he begin to disrobe, like you had hoped. He was looking to wriggle under your skin with his words like a worm in a rotting apple.

“I should have insisted you wear a more revealing dress,” San teased, his eyes alit with malicious merriment. “Perhaps that would have lured Yunho to caress that perk little bottom you were created with.”

“My Lord--”

“San, please, Red. We are in my rooms and you shall address me as I prefer. I am your lord, as you say.”

“San, your self destruction is almost an art.” You rolled your eyes.

“Is it self destruction to--”

You gracefully swung your sword from its sheath and had the tip delicately touching San’s neck, just below his Adam's apple, in mere seconds. “--yes, it is.”

San held himself still, glancing down at the sword and then back to meet your eyes. “You can’t harm me.”

“Wrong,” You corrected him. “I cannot kill you.”

You leaned in slightly and a small cut bled immediately from San’s neck. You gasped when you felt a nick of pain on your neck. You reached up with your free hand to check and came back with black ooze.

“See.” San smiled crookedly, revealing his canine teeth. “I told you, you can’t harm me.”

You twisted your lips in a grimace. Even your poison would have no effect; San consumed an antidote for your poison every day, for the sake of you simply being unable to harm him. You should have guessed that along with your lives being intertwined, you would be harmed when he was harmed as well.

In a small fit of rage and rebellion, you whipped your sword in the air and then twirled it to sheath it. San opened his mouth as if to question the sudden embellishment of swordsmanship and then gasped when his decorative armor fell from his body.

“It is time for you to go to sleep, little lordling,” You commanded.

San slipped both his hands into the deep pockets of his satin pants. “Put me to sleep?”

You rubbed your face tiredly. “That, most definitely is not a part of my job.”

San stood there, topless, folding one arm behind his head while scratching the back of his neck. “I would like it to be.”

“I am supposed to be guarding you,” You growled. “I can’t do that if you’re inside of me.”

San sent you a boyish grin. “What better way to guard my body than to be as close as you can be?”

You searched what you assumed was your heart, to see if this was the right choice in your path of your new life. You could feel your heartbeat but was it for the Fae Prince because if his heart withered, yours would go with it? Or was it because the roguishly handsome Lord really had grown on you enough to bed him?

San took a step forward, cautious of your abilities with your sword. He ran a finger along your bare shoulder. “You’re not even a little bit curious?”

“I didn’t have time to be curious,” You spat.

This wasn’t the first time San had propositioned you. Nor would it be the last if you declined. He was adamantly vying for your body. Something about tonight was pushing you towards finally folding for him.

“You’ve got time now,” San said. He walked around you, still trailing that finger along your skin. He was behind you now. “So how about it?”

He was temptation, with his muscles gleaming and the satin clinging to his legs. San knew that, you knew that. And of course you were curious. But was the risk worth it?

“If you ask me, I think it’ll only bind us even more,” San whispered, now on your other side. “You will have known me in my most intimate moment and will always be able to protect me.”

“I think someone had a little too much Fairy Wine, my lord,” you mused.

“Nay.” San shook his head. “You would know me as a giggly fool if I had drunk truly. I am sober and looking to finally bring down your barriers, Red.”

“Want me desperate for you when typically I am reserved?” You mocked him.

San stood in front of you once again. His face was a combination of seriousness and lust. He put his hands on your shoulders and pulled you against him. You didn’t resist him. Your chest was pressed against his when he murmured, “Don’t our hearts beat as one? Shouldn’t we be connected in this final way?”

You tipped your head and kissed your sworn liege lord. His lips were soft and wet and when he sighed into your mouth, your tongue sought to tangle with his. San cupped the back of your head, tilting his head, and deepening the kiss. You allowed him to back you up to his bed and tumbled onto it with him. San managed, with his strength and grace as a Fae, to turn you around so that he hit the bed and didn’t even break the kiss.

You ate at his mouth like he was honey and you couldn't get enough of the sweet, sticky substance. You could feel your body tingling from the kisses but San was fairing much worse. When you broke the kiss, his tongue came out, chasing yours. He lied there, his pupils blown, looking like a panting dog.

“San, are you quite alright?” You wondered.

“You are like the sweetest, strongest brandy I have ever drunk.” San smiled lazily.

You sat back. San appeared… he could not lie so he wasn’t drunk before you began to kiss. The situation was odd.

Now that you sat back, however, you could not deny what was waiting for you under San’s satin pants. The Fae prince moaned lowly as your ass put pressure against his straining hard-on. His hands found your hips, and he held you in place, so he could grind up into you. “What will it take for you to let me slip inside of you?”

You frowned delicately. You petted your braid in thought. There was something off about this but you could not put your finger on it for the life of you. “Have you been taking your antidote potion regularly?”

“ ‘course I do. Don’t be silly.” He groaned as he pushed his cock between your lips, with only his satin pants as a barrier. He was ruining the garment but it didn’t seem like he cared at the present.

“Very well,” You shrugged.

You grounded your lower half against San and his back arched off the bed. “Please,” he whimpered.

“What do you want, San?” You said coolly. “Tell me and I may be able to fulfill your demand.”

San’s eyes widened, as if in an attempt to push off whatever stupor was pulling him in. Was he simply the type of man who became a slave to a cunt until he was satisfied. “Take me, take all of me, deep inside of you. I need to feel encompassed by you.”

“My sweet Fae prince,” You cooed mockingly. “All high and mighty because of his mushroom guard but the minute he gets behind closed doors, he’s a whining mess, rutting up into a pussy that’s always been denied to him.”

San pouted. “You’ll let me have it, right? You won’t let me lie here, begging, will you? Please, I’ll be good.”

You clucked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, moving your hips against San again. “Be good? You don’t know the meaning.”

San raised his hands from your hips and laid them on either side of his head, in abeyance to you. He even kept his eyes lowered but his Adam's apple was bobbing again. “I can try.”

You lifted your lower half up so that you could reach underneath you and yank San’s pants down. San gasped as the cool air suddenly hit his raging hard-on. You grasped his phallus immediately and began to run the head of him along your wet folds under your short copper dress.

It was a test and San was struggling. His hands made tight fists and he bit hard on his lower lip. “Don’t you want to be inside of me, Sannie? What’s stopping you from…” You angled his cock to be flush with your hole. “...simply penetrating me with one sharp movement, San?”

San whined in the back of his throat. “I can be a good little Fae Prince for you.”

You let go of San’s cock, watching it slap his stomach satisfactorily. You rutted along the length, coating it in your slickness. You didn’t know which god or goddess San was praying to, but his lips moved fervently in silence. As if that would help him.

You supposed he was taking his oath seriously. He was being good and hadn't attempted to take control since he said he would relinquish his power to you. Perhaps you could reward him.

You leaned down against San’s chest. He was sweating profusely, withholding back was taking a lot out of him. You ran a finger around the areola of his nipple. “Shall you show me what a good boy you can be?”

San nodded very quickly. “What do you need from me?”

“Flip us over and you may penetrate me. But!” You stopped your new lover. “You must go slowly. I want you to watch as every inch enters me.”

San licked his lips, wetting them once again. “And then?”

You chuckled. “Let’s see if you can do it first, Sannie.”

San had you flipped just as quickly as before, albeit slightly more clumsy. “You are the most beautiful mushroom lady I have ever had the pleasure of fucking.”

You snorted. “I am the only one of my kind, Choi San.”

“Still.” San grasped his dick with a soft gasp and then angled it between your open thighs. “You put the majority of the Fae Court to shame.”

You both groaned lowly as he finally pushed the head of his cock into your wet entrance. He pushed and pushed, and to be honest, it was a struggle for both of you. He was thick and seemed to fill you up perfectly.

“So! Wet!” San panted. “I--” he whined in the back of his throat. “Are we in the middle of a fairy ring?!”

Alarmed you had accidentally caused a growth of mushrooms, you looked wildly around but the room simply had San's minimal but expensive decorations; no mushroom in sight.

“San, are you sure--?!”

San completed sinking into you. He held himself aloft, his arm muscles moving as he shifted. He closed his eyes, perhaps in an attempt to focus on not jackhammering inside of you.

“Please? Queen of my desires? Let me plunge in your depths. I need to--I will die, surely, holding myself inside of you like this!” San pleaded.

You traced a finger along San’s collarbones. “You are so dangerously handsome.”

San swallowed loudly. “Dangerously handsome enough to fuck you so hard that you'll see stars?”

This fae princeling, this arrogant, untouchable man, was a puddle between your legs and you were becoming quite charmed by it.

San blinked hard, clenching his eyes and shook his hair out of his face. The lines of his nose and jaw balanced out the soft curves of his lips. He really was gorgeous.

“San,” You hummed softly.

San opened his eyes and they were glossy with lust. “Red. I'm all yours. I've always been all yours. You're dedicated to keeping my body safe and I'm dedicated to yours.”

You pulled San closer, wrapping your arms behind his neck, and bringing him chest to chest to you. “Fuck me so hard I'll see stars,” You whispered into his ear.

A shudder went through San's body and then he tensed up so that he could pull back. “Better hold onto my arms,” he suggested.

The first thrust punched the air in your lungs out in a lusty cry. Your shoulders moved up the bed a full inch with the strength that San had thrusted into you. You immediately wrapped your hands around San's bicep to hold yourself in place.

The cries didn't end as San fucked you hard. His thrusts were punctuated by a noise from you being thoroughly fucked, just as you had requested. You could hear the obscene slapping of skin against skin and the squishing of San’s cock against your wet entrance. It was debauchery at its finest and you couldn't find an ounce of you regretting it at this moment.

San was a drooling mess in the crook of your neck even though his hips worked relentlessly between your legs. He whimpered and whined, pussy drunk inside of you. “So good, feels so good being inside of you, so wet, so tight, so good,” he babbled.

“San,” You said in a strained tone. “Remember, you are fucking me until I see stars, not the other way around.”

“I can… I can… I can be good…” San panted through his lust-filled mind.

“Can you?” You groaned after a particularly hard thrust. “Can you put my needs before your own, you greedy princeling?”

“Can, can, can,” San chanted, even though he sounded like he was getting closer to his climax.

You couldn't help but to sow a little chaos, considering how much chaos San had thrown your way this evening. “Are you going to come inside of me, Sannie?”

San cried out and stilled his hips against you. “Nooooooo,” he lamented. “Why did you do that?”

“To see if I had that kind of power,” You admitted. You petted the back of his head in comfort. “But you were not a good little princeling, Sannie. You came before me.”

“It was so good,” San whined. “You can’t blame me!”

“I guess you’ll have to start over again,” You said flippantly.

San raised himself up so that he could look at you. He had the right amount of suspicion in his eyes as he said, “Start over again, how?”

Your fingers brushed some of his hair from his face that had stuck to his hairline from the sweat that was pouring off him. “Why, Sannie, you’ll have to clean up the mess you made inside of me and fuck me again.”

San’s eyes widened and you watched as he visibly slipped back into his subby headspace. “You want me to lick my cum from your pussy and then fuck you again?”

“Mmm,” You hummed. “Can you do that for me? Be a good little princeling and fix the mess you made? Do you want to be a good boy for me, Sannie?”

“Yes, please,” San murmured.

He immediately slid down your body and pressed his plush lips to your core that was aching for a release. You could feel his cum leaking from you and that’s how San began, licking your cunt diligently. And when he couldn't find any more cum to lick, he slowly stuck his tongue inside of you, looking for leftovers.

“Yes, San,” You moaned. “Such a good boy for me. Put your tiny little tongue inside of me and make me feel something.”

San groaned against your cunt, and the richness of his baritone voice washed over you. You would have let him make you come with his tongue plowing inside of you but you were firm in teaching San that you were the one in charge and he needed to follow your directions.

You pulled San’s head up by gripping his hair and tugging upwards. “Time’s up. Did you clean me up well?”

San’s appearance, with your slickness and remnants of his own cum all over his bronze face, was one for the record. He smiled lazily, looking like a cat caught drinking the cream. “You taste so good. Like a mushroom pastry. I could eat you up all day.”

You brushed some of the fluids from his pink lips with the pad of your thumb. “Shall I tell the other courtiers why you’re so busy? Can’t be bothered with any of the Fae politics or affairs, because you’d simply rather be between a mushroom guard’s thighs?”

San’s face flushed with pleasure and embarrassment. “If it pleases you.”

“Lie down, Little Princeling,” You commanded softly.

San did so, his body now horizontal to the bed. You finished pulling off his pants and discarded the soft copper-worked dress you had donned that evening. This moment of total dominance, of a bared soul, deserved flesh against flesh, heart against heart.

“I will ride you, my fair lord,” You declared. You set a knee on either side of San’s narrow hips. “I will take you within my cunt, dripping of my own desire and yours spent, and I will take exactly what I want from you. And you will lie there and give me everything, won’t you?”

San’s irises were round like saucers. He seemed unable to completely focus but he did respond. “I would pull the stars from the sky and string them along a chain for you, Red. Is that what you want? To show that the Fae Prince you guard is owned by his mushroom lover? I will do it. I would prostrate myself before my uncle and declare myself unfit to be next in line because I am simply a puppet to your--”

You put a finger to San’s lips and he quieted. “Do not speak of such a thing while you are between my legs, San. All your wits have gone out with your cum.”

San smiled dopily. “You make me this way, Heart.”

“Do not call to me fondly either,” You scolded him gently. “This should not cross from lust to love.”

“Then I will simply have to work harder for your love,” San sighed dreamily.

You laughed under your breath. There really was no stopping this man once he got something in his head. “Let us start with this,” You said as you angled his cockhead to your entrance.

San began to babble once again while your body struggled to adjust to his girth. “Why must you squeeze me so tightly? It is as if you would eat me whole with your cunt!”

You laughed in amusement, voice tight with your own withheld struggles. “If you were a mortal and I, a simple mushroom, it would be so, would it not?”

San groaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head with pleasure as you took him full-hilt inside of you. “You make me come undone, Red.”

You moved your hips, watching San intake sharply at the sudden movement. “I quite like it this way.”

San part moaned and part laughed. “You’ll drive me mad with lust. Can I touch you?”

“You may,” You allowed with a small dip of your head.

San’s hands smoothed up your thighs, over your hips, and then they encompassed your waist, thumbs skimming your rib bones. Finally they rested just below your breasts, looking to cup them both. “I wish to sink into you every morning and every evening, sometimes in between.”

You bounced slightly, enjoying the way San’s eyes were eating you up. His hands held your breasts in place as you slowly began to build some pleasure between the two of you. “Perhaps I’ll allow it, Sannie. But only if you’re good.”

San licked his lips slowly. “I can be real good to you, Red.”

“So far you’ve only been a spoiled princeling, taking what he wanted and giving nothing back,” You reminded him.

San pursed his lips in thought. “Only--!” He paused to gasp at the pleasure luring his mind away from reality. “--only you do this to me. I am a skilled lover. I have made others weep. Please, I can prove myself a second time. You are--there is something about you that drives all the edges of my brain to soft, unending, blurred lines.”

“But you know enough that it is me you are inside,” You joked.

San sat up suddenly, more serious than you had seen him all night. His eyes traveled over the planes of your face. “Nothing could make me forget you.”

And so you rode San like this, chest to chest, heart to heart, eye to eye. You drank in every gasp and whine that left his pretty lips. San ran his fingers up and down your bare back. And finally when your orgasm overwhelmed you, breaking over you like a wave over a cliff, he kissed you with his mouth slanted over yours, determined to feed from your noises.

You were both spent but you realized that regardless of the energy, neither of you were looking to be separated from each other, even when San’s cock softened and your wetness leaked out. He continued to keep you in his arms and you found yourself tracing the sharp planes of his face. There was something new between you; but you didn’t have a name for it yet. It was pleasant and that would suffice for now.

#pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #ateez smut #choi san smut #ateez san smut #atz smut #choi san x reader #topaz's work #ღatz #recent #teezer birthday fics 24

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trendywaifus · 6 months

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when you get injured during the dreamscape/memory zone quest with firefly and stelle. a lil something while i finish other works. cw: none. established relationship, poly, gn! reader.

air forcefully rushes out your lungs as you get thrown against a wall by an unexpected attack from one of the enemies. dizzy, you struggle to breathe, holding your aching back in extreme pain. you taste a strange liquid in your mouth that didn’t taste anything like blood.

“ (name)! “

“ no, (name)! “

stelle and firefly both screamed, staring at your hunched form in utter horror. they desperately want to come to your aid but they have to get rid of the enemies first. the taller girl angrily returns her attention back to the robots, gripping her baseball bat harshly until her knuckles turn ivory. “ you’re annoying, all of you! get out of our way! “

with blurred vision, you helplessly watch as the two girls fight the enemies before them. you were hoping to recover while they battle but the terrible pain doesn’t ease during your attempt to lift yourself off the floor. to think you can still feel pain even in the land of dreams. the irony. after they’ve dealt with the robots, stelle and firefly ran straight to you. firefly cradles your face with her soft, warm hands while she observes you for any visible injuries. the poor girl looked like she was about to burst into tears.

“ are you okay? are you able to stand? “ she asks in a shaky voice, rubbing your cheek with her thumb in a soothing manner. you attempt to stand up with the help of stelle but you were so wobbly and lightheaded that you immediately crumbled to your knees. “ i-i don’t think i can sweetheart. i didn’t expect that metal piece of junk to catch me off guard like that. i’m sorry for being careless, girls. “

“ don’t apologize, please. “ firefly says, intertwining your hand with hers, squeezing it. “ we just have to assist you until you’re able to walk on your own again.”

stelle nods, “ i can carry you until we can find a way out. “ she tosses her bat to the side to try and carry you but you swat her away with your free arm. stelle looks at you with a baffled look on her face.“ no, don’t. stelle, you need to be ready to fight, it won’t help if you have your hands full with me. “

“ then. .i’ll carry you, (name)! “ firefly insists, sending you a desperate look. you emit a strained giggle. “ that’s funny, sweetie. but no—“

“ then are you suggesting that we leave you behind? because i refuse to do that! “ firefly chimes, tears welling in her pretty eyes. you bring her hand to your lips and kissed it softly. “ don’t worry, i’ll just rest here for a bit then i’ll get up and find the two of you somehow. no biggie. “

stelle shakes her head, “ don’t give us that no biggie crap, you silly dingus. i’ve already decided that i’m going to carry you and you basically can’t do nothing about it anyways. “ she quickly snatches you up in her arms with surprising strength. you weakly tried to wiggle out of her arms but she only gripped you harder. “ you crazy girl, let me go! i told you that i’ll only wear you and firefly down like this! “

your protests fall on deaf ears. stelle adjusts you in her arms and kisses your forehead, you grow silent. “ i’m not letting go, don’t underestimate the power of love! we’ll find a way even if i have to fight with you in my arms, isn’t that right, my pretty lady? “ stelle glances over at firefly who nods with a determined smile on her face. “ y-yeah, i’ll do my best to cover you two so don’t you worry about a thing, (name)! “

ignoring the warm feeling blooming in your chest, you just sighed.

what are you going to do with these two girls?

#trendy #firefly x reader hsr #stelle x reader #honkai star rail women x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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alwritey-aphrodite · 10 months

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SHDNDJ IVE BEEN CALLED FOR YPU DONT KNOW HOW SPECIAL THAT MAKES ME FEEL OMG🤭 LOVE YOUU!!

ok so these are kind of just half-ideas that I’ve thought of that aren’t fully formed but I’m sure you’ll be able to think of something with your giant amazing brain😍 feel free to disregard these tho they’re kinda trash

- sejanus being really flirty with reader at the club place while he’s in district 12 (idk if that really fits his character but I feel like he could get bold at times🙏) and she’s just not really connecting the dots. her friend Lucy gray has to flat out tell her and reader has a giant revelation

- reader catches snow recording sejanus’ conversation about the rebellion and calls him out for it, stands up for her mans

-ok so this is kind of a song prompt— “Dear Arkansas Daughter” by Lady Lamb specifically the line “you with the dark curls, you with the water color eyes” not really sure what you could do with that, but maybe something with capital!sejanus w/ his curly hair

hope these give you some inspo pookie!!

love,

pooksters 💖

Your ideas are not trash!! Please feel free to send more or just to hop into my ask box to chat <3 I went with the first idea because it’s adorable but I might come back and write the other ones at some point

If the day that Lucy Gray was reaped was the worst day of your life, then the day that she miraculously returned to District Twelve as victor of the Hunger Games was the best. Ever since then, you spend most of your nights at the Hob with the rest of the Covey, sometimes taking the stage yourself but most of the time dancing and clapping from the audience.

Peacekeepers off duty are a normal sight in the Hob, but there are two in particular that seem to have a connection with Lucy Gray, two Capital boys that she knew during her time in the Games. You’re not sure how they came to be peacekeepers stuck in District 12, but you know better than to ask. They’re nice boys, and the blond one, Coriolanus, is absolutely smitten with Lucy Gray, you’re sure he’d do anything she asked. The other one, Sejanus, seems to have less of a connection to Lucy Gray but he’s kind all the same, and most nights he spends at the Hob are spent talking with you at a back table, away from the stage and the dance floor.

Tonight, Lucy Gray is taking a night off from performing and has joined you and Sejanus as you watch the rest of the Covey, Coriolanus never far from her side.

“I like your dress,” Sejanus says over the music, leaning over to speak into your ear so you can hear him clearer.

“Thank you, I made the one Maude Ivory’s wearing too,” you gesture towards the stage where the younger girl is busy singing.

“You’re very talented,” Sejanus turns to face you, giving you his undivided attention despite everything that goes on in the Hob.

“Oh, it’s not as hard as it looks,” you respond with a smile before pushing off the wall and heading to the bar, leaving a giggling Lucy Gray to deal with a despondent Sejanus.

“You’d think a girl as pretty as her is used to all the compliments and the flirting, but you’ve gotta be more obvious than that,” Lucy Gray tells him with a mischievous smile, as if you’d rather have the floor swallow you whole than have her share this information. Before Sejanus can respond, you’re returning with a tray of drinks for everyone in your little group, and he just about melts with the smile you give him as you slide the glass into his hand.

“Maybe, if you’re not busy, you could show me around some time? I’d really like to learn more about twelve,” he asks, and you’re quick to nod in agreement.

“Oh sure, I can show you all the best spots,” you reply kindly, but Lucy Gray knows you’re still not getting the message.

“He means you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen,” she whispers into your ear, loud enough for Sejanus to hear, “and the sweetest and the funniest and the most talented.” You look to Sejanus with wide eyes, as if Lucy Gray would be lying, but he’s nodding at you, despite the blush that’s taken over most of his face.

“Well, I’d still love to go,” you tell him, rewarding with the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. The two of you spend the rest of the night talking, the chaos of the Hob fading into nothing while Lucy Gray silently watches with a smile.

#sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth x you #sejanus plinth fanfiction #sejanus x reader #sejanus x you #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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caitlynmeow · 7 months

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The Dimitrescu sisters are well versed in music. Alcina made sure that her daughters know their way around instruments and she took it upon herself to see where each daughter excelled and focused on amplifying that.

Although they have different skills, the lady of the castle didn't let it bother her. She decided to focus on their strengths and take it from there.

Both Bela and Cassandra can sing. Although, Cassandra's range and vocals are unmatched. Even Alcina admits that her middle daughter's voice is not something that comes across very often.

Daniela can sing, but she is average compared to her sisters, because not even Bela is as good as Cassandra when it comes to that sort of thing.

All three daughters are adept at playing the piano. It’s the first thing they were taught since they could actually sit and tap on the black and ivory keys.

The violin is also a mandatory instrument that Alcina insisted her daughter learn how to use from early on in their lives.

While imposing, aside from the basics, Alcina allows her daughters to experiment and find something they enjoy playing. It’s just that there are basic instruments and skills they need to learn before they can branch out on their own.

On the plus side, the three daughters do love music, so they’re actually enjoying these activities and they’re not just forced down on them.

#house dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil village #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #bela dimitrescu #re8 #alcina dimitrescu #headcanon #just alcina passing down her love for music #it's a big deal in house dimitrescu #if u don't like music then they don't like u

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agathaandbrienneslesbian · 1 year

Text

Love-Letters

Jane Murdstone x Fem!Maid!Reader

Hiyaaaa I've finally finished my Jane murdstone fic and it's the first fic I'll upload on Tumblr so...

Big thank you to my freinds for proof reading this mess :3

Disclaimer: English is not my first language!

Warnings: SMUT 18+, minors DNI

Authors note: Just because we love our red flag on legs. Smutty fanfic of Female Reader Maid and Jane Murdstone. Secrets, Love confessions, (kinda) soft Jane, top! Jane, bottom! Reader.

Words: 4’000+

Ao3 Link

Taglist

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The second you saw her in the maid's quarters, holding a stack of notes in her hand and glaring at you, you knew you were royally fucked. There she stood. The object of your (very questionable) affection, Jane Murdstone. You knew you shouldn’t like her, but you couldn’t help yourself. There was just something enchanting about the way she carried herself.

Jane Murdstone, who has been terrorising you for so many months, ever since she set foot in your Lady's manor and made you her personal maid.

THE Miss Murdstone who, as soon as you laid eyes on her, burned her beautiful image in your mind and heart, making it impossible to forget her icy blue eyes, the pale ivory skin, or her soft long black tresses you so gladly brushed out each morning and evening. And even though everyone else feared the Iron Lady, you saw a gentler, more vulnerable side of her, you saw behind the facade, and that's what made you fall for that woman.

However, this Jane Murdstone was now marching up to you at a dangerous pace, her eyes narrow and unreadable. A shiver went down your spine, as soon as she stood towering in front of you in all her stoic beauty, looking down at your small and weak form.

“What is this?” She asked through gritted teeth, wiggling the loose notes in front of your face. Confused, you focused on the pages in her hand, and your heart dropped. She was holding the poems and love letters you’d written about her in secret. The only way to confront your feelings towards her and the biggest secret you’ve harboured in your boring little life as a maid. Have you forgotten to put them away? You are usually so careful, but this time it must have slipped your mind. Fear rose in you and you swallowed dryly.

“I- I don’t know my Lady.” You answer, trying to sound as clueless as you possibly could with the amount of panic and fear rushing through your veins. Miss Murdstone, of course, picked up on the slight quiver in your voice. She was like a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out fear and lies. You didn’t dare look at her, as you were sure disgust and discontent would colour Jane’s ivory features.

“Lies,” She hissed and gripped your chin painfully, moving your head so you had no other choice but to make eye contact with her. The second your eyes met hers, your fear mixed with confusion. She looked… Hurt? Afraid? Angry? The stoic Iron Lady was portraying emotions you have never seen on her face, or at least emotions she would never dare show anyone.

“I know you wrote those letters and poems. What were you hoping to achieve with that? Have you planned for me to find them? To mock me? To get under my skin? What is it?” She barked at you, anger rising in her throat. How could you? Your eyes softened as you recognised what she felt. Pain. But… Why would your poems and letters, which describe her otherworldly beauty and confess your true and raw feelings for her cause pain?

“My Lady I-”

“Save it,” She grunted and shoved you to the side, leaving you stumbling to the ground.

“I do not need to remind you of your place in this household, do I? If you should ever as much as THINK of trying to get under my skin again with such childish mockery, I WILL have you thrown out. And that is a promise!” She stormed off towards the direction of her study and you followed suit, unsure of what to do or say but you wanted to tell her, tell her that you were not mocking her but that every word you wrote is true. Tell her that you, indeed, have lost yourself in her sparkling blue orbs, that you longed to run your fingers through her raven black locks, that you desired to feel what her soft and pink lips feel on your own. How endearing her little quirks and laughs were when she was relaxed, reading a book whilst you helped her get ready for the day. You wanted to tell her all of this and so much more, but you knew it wasn’t right.

The moment she entered her study, you could hear the sizzling of the flames in the fireplace grow louder. Was she… no… You rushed in only to freeze in place, watching with horror and dismay as she had thrown your notes, the declaration of your undying devotion and love for her, into the blazing flames.

“And you…” She turned to look at you, an enraged expression etched into her face, obscuring her usually so beautiful features, causing the little faint scar on her upper lip to become very noticeable.

“I do not wish to have you anywhere near me ever again! You clearly have gotten way too comfortable, thinking I wouldn’t notice your disrespect towards me. Now get out… Get. OUT!” Jane was fuming with anger. She thought you might have been different, kinder, but you were just like everyone else.

You didn’t know what to say, simply looking at the dancing flames consuming your thoughts and feelings. You didn’t dare look at her anymore and simply turned around to leave the study, feeling numb and empty. The walk to your chamber felt long and treacherous with a million thoughts running through your head, yet it was blank at the same time. You were sure, that night was the worst night of your entire existence. You felt heartbroken and worried about what was going to happen now that she knew you craved the fairer sex. Not once were you able to close your eyes, as the haunting image of her face lined with hurt and betrayal presented itself to you as soon as you did.

Of course, you were hoping for this to be a bad dream, but the next morning, Mr. Murdstone, her brother, informed you of your new position as a kitchen maid. And that’s where you were to remain, not once being able to see Jane’s face or hear her voice. No matter how much pain it caused you to see her that night, it hurt even more not being able to see her at all. You even caught yourself sneaking out of the kitchen and through the manor just to, hopefully, accidentally bump into her but luck wasn’t on your side. The other maids kept complaining about Miss Murdstones temper. Every maid who was assigned to her hasn’t lasted for more than a day. Each and every one of them has come back to the maids quarters either furious, spitting vile comments about your beloved Lady, or sobbing but not once were you asked to return to your original position as Jane’s personal maid. You had almost given up on ever being able to see her again, that was until one morning Mr. Murdstone entered the kitchen, looking for you.

“Y/n?” He called out for you, causing all the other maids working in the kitchen to turn around and face you with curiosity. Some have already started whispering and gossiping as soon as you were released from your role as Miss Murdstone’s personal maid. But this… This must have been even worse. You felt helpless.

“Yes, Sir?” You set the soap aside and dried your hands on your apron as you turned around, bowing lightly. The feeling of so many eyes on you was uncomfortable. You only wanted one pair of eyes on you but the person whose icy blue diamonds belonged to didn’t want you around anymore.

“My sister is in need of assistance and none of the other maids are currently at disposal. Now I know for some reason she has asked me to remove you as her personal maid. However, I do not know why nor do I care to find out. I trust you have enough time to spare?” He looked at you, waiting for a reply. Was this really happening? Have you heard correctly? Anxiety rose in your chest, you took a deep breath nodding lightly.

“Of course, Sir.” Your answer was quiet. This seemed to suffice as he just turned around without another word and left. Miss Murdstone might be known for her iron status but it was her brother you feared more than anyone in this household. Nervously you took your kitchen apron off and put your regular apron on, making your way down the hall and up the stairs to Jane’s chambers. You tucked a strand of hair, which had fallen out of your braid when changing the apron, behind your ear and knocked, waiting for her to call you in.

Once you heard her calling you in, you opened the door and entered. Closing the door again behind you, you saw her sitting at her vanity still in her nightgown. She hadn’t noticed you yet and was focused on unbraiding her hair - that beautiful silky raven hair. With careful steps, you walked towards her, standing behind her and grabbing the brush on the table to start brushing through her locks. Jane was too busy rummaging through her vanity drawer to look up at you but she did notice a change of maid.

“Finally someone who knows how to use a hairbrush correctly. All the other maids were klutzes.” She murmured, more to herself than to you, then she looked up and froze.

“What are you doing here? I thought I was clear enough with my demands to have you out of my face.” She spat and moved to grip your wrist, stopping you from brushing out her hair. You jumped at her reaction. Her grip was tight and it was starting to hurt.

“None of the other maids are available, my Lady, so Sir Murdstone has asked me to come and assist you” You replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible to avoid any further irritation. She huffed and let go of your hand, glaring at you poisonously through the mirror. After a few seconds and a deep breath later, you continued with your ministrations, not wanting to look at her. It felt weird, really. You were with your Lady again but it did not feel right…

“So you’re back to disrespecting me? Were the letters and poems not enough of a mockery for you?” She averted her eyes but you could see that the expression of hurt was back. Your heart clenched with pain seeing her in such emotional distress.

“It was never my intention to mock you, my Lady.” You state quietly, watching her reaction carefully. There was a soft flicker of something unfamiliar on her face. Only for a split second, then it was gone again.

“Then what was your intention?” Jane looked at you again with a dangerous stare. Would you dare tell her? Before you could answer she continued, “I do not know how or when you discovered my affection for the fairer sex but by god, I know you were planning on using it against me. So what was your intention?”

Wait.. what? You stopped your movements and looked at her in disbelief. She just rolled her eyes at your reaction and huffed impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away. It took a second or two for you to collect your thoughts again before you spoke, carefully.

“My Lady… My intentions were nothing but pure.” You start carefully, watching her as her icy blue orbs shoot to look at you. There it was again. That flicker you’ve seen before.

“I can assure you that all of the things I have written are true. I know it is frowned upon but who am I to deny my heart the freedom to feel, to long for.” You gently put the brush down and move to Jane’s side, kneeling on the ground in front of her and looking up at her. Jane’s body has visibly relaxed but her facial expression was unreadable.

“It might not be right, not only because we are women but because I am just a simple maid and you are my Lady… but I simply cannot deny the feelings I have developed for you…”

“You’re… Are you true, y/n?” Jane asked quietly, almost in a whisper. It was obvious to you that she tried to look unbothered but yet she has never seemed so small and fragile as she has in this very moment and you wanted nothing more but to hold her hands, reassuring her of your feelings. Still, you decided to keep your distance, giving her only a curt nod as an answer.

“But… I have been nothing but vicious to you… how,” she looked down into your eyes, hers shining with uncertainty and guilt.

“So you have… But I have also seen you at your most relaxed state, right here braiding your hair, and I felt you were not as cruel as you portray yourself to be. My Lady… It was never my intention to cause you pain or disrespect you, I simply didn’t know where to go with my feelings. I wrote them down because I couldn’t tell you. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same and-” Soft lips suddenly pressed against yours, stopping you in the middle of your sentence. A hand gently placed on your cheek pulled you closer and instinctively your eyes closed shut. To say that she took you by surprise was an understatement. You carefully moved your hand to find her other and squeezed it lightly. An affirmation for the both of you. This caused Jane to deepen the kiss, her lips moving against yours in a heated frenzy of desire which you reciprocated gladly. You knelt there, basking in the affection she was willing to give to you and taking everything in before she evidently changed her mind.

When air became necessary you pulled away, looking up at Jane with a longing gleam in your eyes and heated red cheeks. She looked down at you, her face just as drunk with desire as yours. Chewing on her lower lip, she thought for a second then pulled you up with her. You followed her to her bed like a lovesick puppy, holding her hand tightly in yours, not willing to let go. The desire has spread south and you could feel the well-known warm sensation in your abdomen growing more and more. Jane turned around and looked at you, her eyes searching yours for any sign of regret or disgust but all she saw was you smiling up at her with the sweetest expression she has ever seen. Pure adoration. So there was actually someone who could adore her?

“Is this alright?” She asked as she pulled you closer, still a bit uncertain. Your heart almost burst out of your chest at the gentle nature of the Iron Lady.

“More than alright my La-”

“Jane. Please call me Jane.” She interrupted and your smile grew even more. She couldn't believe how you could look at her like that when she has never said a kind word to you in all the months you have worked for her. Jane wanted to make it right, treat you right and give you the affection she knew you deserved and craved and she was more than willing to give it to you.

“Okay… Jane.” Her name has never sounded so good before and Jane wanted to know in how many other ways her name could leave your lips. She sat down at the edge of the bed and pulled you in, to sit on her lap. You did so without hesitation and moved to cup her cheeks, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. A reassuring tenderness she has never received from anyone before. Jane inhaled deeply at the gentle gesture and moved to hold onto your waist, pulling you into her. She needed you impossibly close. The first few kisses were soft and timid but they soon turned heated. Jane squeezed your waist which caused you to open your mouth in a silent inhale, allowing her to explore your mouth with her tongue. You battled with her for dominance but evidently gave up and let her take control, the thing she does best. Her hands started roaming your body, moving from your waist to your hips and your thighs. Your head was swimming in pure bliss.

A quiet noise escaped your lips as Jane moved her lips to your neck, attacking it with hot open-mouthed kisses and nips. Your hands instinctively shot into her hair, holding close onto her as she assaulted your soft skin with her delicate lips. You couldn’t take it anymore. The aching between your legs has gotten uncomfortably strong and you squirmed against her lap. Jane noticed and gently slid her hands under your dress, running her fingertips over your warm skin, whilst her kisses moved to your ear, gently nibbling on your earlobe.

“Jane… please,” You whimpered out pathetically for the stoic woman beneath you.

“What do you want me to do, my dove?” Jane husked in your ear and smirked as you responded with a strangled groan. She loved how you reacted to her touch, how you reacted to her words. Never would she have thought that she could have precious little you on her lap like this, pudding in her hands.

“N-need you… please,” You breathed out frustratedly, moving your hips towards hers instinctively. You needed her hands on you, all over you, needed her to relieve that ache between your legs. Jane chuckled and removed her hands from your legs, causing you to pout.

“Don’t get impatient, darling.” She smirked and moved to remove your apron and then started unbuttoning your uniform. You took this as a sign to unlace her nightgown, pushing it down her shoulders. Although you have seen Jane's bare chest before when you had helped her dress for the day or undress for bed, this was something completely different. Your eyes were trained on her soft ivory breasts as she finished unbuttoning your garments. She expertly pulled your uniform over your head and tossed it to the side, leaving you in your undergarments. Being way too impatient, you pull the fabric off of your head yourself. Jane smirked at how desperate you were and instantly started roaming your figure again with her hands. Her soft fingertips discover every dip and curve of your body, sending goosebumps over your skin.

“You are so beautiful.” Jane said with bated breath, immediately attaching her lips to one of your nipples. You inhaled sharply as she ran her tongue over the hardened bundle and then sucked it into her mouth again, releasing it with a plop. Without wasting a second, she gave the same attention to the other breast before sitting up straight again.

“Lie down.” She ordered, moving you off her lap. She stood up and watched you lie on her bed, her nightgown now pooling around her ankles, she stepped out of it and climbed in bed with you. Jane lay close to you and pulled you in for a kiss as her hands started roaming your body again, your own hands finding purpose in exploring hers.

You broke the kiss, gasping as you felt Jane run her finger through your soaked folds.

“My, my. Is all of this for me, darling?” She husked and watched your reaction closely, spreading the wetness around, focusing tiny circles on your very sensitive clit. You closed your eyes and inhaled sharply then let out a desperate whimper. Jane was mesmerised by the way your body reacted to her and it aroused her greatly. She teased your clit for a little while longer, watching you writhe and squirm under her. The little noises and pleas coming from your lips and the way you called out her name filled her with pride. It was addicting how she had barely touched you and you were already reacting so much to her.

“J- Jane please… please I need you- ah,” You bucked your hips against her in hopes of more friction. You were so desperate for relief and just wanted her to claim you as hers and who was Jane to refuse? She leaned in, capturing your lips with hers to silence your moan as she slowly pushed a digit into your aching hole. She managed to slip her finger in with ease and started moving it slowly. The feeling of her finger in you was enough to send your head spiralling. You moaned into her mouth and wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her closer, causing her nude body to almost fully lay on top of you. The sensation of skin on skin had both of you shivering with arousal. She sped up her movements, as soon as she felt that you were ready and pulled away from the kiss, looking down at you lovingly.

“Darling I need you to be as quiet as you possibly can now… Do you think you can manage?” She asked, panting lightly. Her own arousal had started trickling down her thighs. You nodded and opened your mouth in a silent moan as she curled her finger into your sweet spot. Jane smiled and moved to kiss and suckle on your breasts again. The sensation of her finger moving in and out of you and her lips and tongue exploring your chest and stomach made you feel dizzy. She moved her kisses and kitten licks all the way down your body, never halting her movement with her hand until she was positioned between your legs.

Looking up at you, she placed a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on your thigh, right next to your hot and wet core. Your back arched off the bed and you gripped the sheets, holding your breath before exhaling strongly. Jane moved her kisses closer to your centre, removing her finger and before you could protest she ran her tongue over the length of your folds, collecting the wetness which seeped from you.

She enclosed your clit with her lips and sucked lightly, having you bite your hand gently and groan so you wouldn’t make too much noise. She continued giving attention to your clit with her mouth, slipping two digits into your hole again to curl them upwards. Jane sped up her movements and you felt a knot build in your core. Staying quiet was getting more and more difficult as the tension grew stronger. Jane noticed your struggle to stay quiet. She felt your walls clench around her fingers and knew you were close. Her movements didn't stop, but she pulled away from your clit, reattaching her lips with yours to swallow the sweet noises you made for her.

“That’s it, my girl. You’re doing so well for me! Let go!” She panted against your lips, her praise sending you over the edge with her name on your lips. Jane helped you ride out your orgasm before pulling her fingers out and holding them to your lips. You understood immediately and licked her fingers clean, groaning at your taste on them. Jane watched you intently, pulling her fingers away when the aching between her legs got too much, she couldn’t hold back anymore. She needed you. Jane straddled you, enclosing your head with her toned and strong legs, holding onto the headboard for support. Your mouth watered, seeing her glistening core in front of you. As the scent of her arousal filled your nose, you couldn’t help but whimper in anticipation.

“Be a good girl and make me feel good too, will you?” She said breathlessly, and gently lowered herself to your mouth. You wasted no time, running your tongue through her folds, collecting her desire. Her taste was addicting, and you wrapped your arms around her thighs, pulling her down more. Immediately you went to work on her clit, giving it kitten licks and sucking it gently, causing Jane to throw her head back and let out a guttural groan.

Your hands moved upwards, feeling her warm skin, massaging her soft breasts, and teasing her nipples. Meanwhile, your ministrations on her clit never wavered, causing Jane to roll her hips down onto your tongue. You groaned into her core, letting her ride herself on your tongue however she desired. The sounds coming from her were a mix of obscenities and praises of your name, which sent your head reeling. Shortly, Jane’s legs started shaking, and you moved your hands to support her, holding her in place for you to continue your feasting on her. She was close, and you could hear it. You collected all of your remaining energy to focus on her clit, licking and nibbling. Sucking on it hard one last time caused Jane to come undone on top of you, clasping her thighs around your head, trapping you momentarily as you helped her ride out her orgasm on your face. She released you from her grip and collapsed next to you on the bed, panting heavily.

“You’re aethereal when you come undone like that.” You pant gently and smile brightly when you catch her blush. Jane moved her head to look at you, an affectionate smile spread on her lips as she extended her arms for you. Gratefully you snuggled into her embrace and held her close, resting your head on her chest and listening to her heartbeat, gradually calming down. The two of you stayed like this for a few minutes before you turned your head to look up at her.

“We should probably get dressed again before anyone notices.” She looked down at you, playing with a few loose strands of your hair. You didn’t want to get up, but you knew it was dangerous to stay here for too long.

“We should… but I don't want to.” She smiled and pressed a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“Let's just stay like this for a little longer. I don’t want to let go of you just yet.” Jane smiled and nuzzled her nose into the crown of your head. You were more than content with that decision.

You wanted to tell her you loved her, and let her know how much she meant to you but… this could wait. Most important was that you could enjoy the closeness and calm with Jane, bask in each other's presence, exchange kisses, and whisper sweet nothings to each other until the two of you fell asleep eventually.

-----

Tags: @weemssapphic @pro-weems-places @winterfireblond

#ao3 #reader insert #jane murdstone #gwendoline christie #jane murdstone x fem!reader #fanfic #gwendoline christie fanfics #wlw #queer #sapphic

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pixiecactus · 6 months

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i'm going to take this as stansas indirectly admiting that they see sansa stark as flawless, that's why they hate book canon so bad, CHILDREN ARE NOT FLAWLESS, children can be cruel and mean, just like sansa is, sansa is the biggest bully to arya, sansa bullied arya with adults present and enabling her and when they were the two of them alone, they are multiple chapters were this is exactly shown. there is no way that's an actual good sibling dynamic. even we are shown that arya is trying to amend the bad blood between them:

”It won't be so bad, Sansa," Arya said. "We're going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we'll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest." She touched her on the arm.

”Hodor!" Sansa yelled. ”You ought to marry Hodor, you're just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!"

arya being the younger sibling was even trying to console her big sister... and what does sansa do? yeah the answer is, being sansa.

"You have juice on your face, Your Grace," Arya said.

It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again. "You're horrible," she screamed at her sister. "They should have killed you instead of Lady!"

arya throws a fruit at sansa in rage, that's actually normal sibling behavior and WHAT IS NOT NORMAL SIBLING BEHAVIOR is wishing your little sister was dead because of it. but that's sansa stark being sansa stark, whether you want to accept canon or continuing being delusional how stansas always do

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house stark #arya stark #sansa stark #anti sansa stans

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themotherofblood · 11 months

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chapter 5 | RIVER OF FIRE | blood runs thick | d.t x reader x r.t

masterlist | series masterlist | previous chapter

synopsis: the aftermath of Alicent being wed to Viserys.

~ “Did you think it all true, all these things will catch up to you now.” ~

It truly wasn’t much of a bother, was it. Here you were, threading together a bouquet with gold silk threads and next to you paced Rhaenyra, cursing practically anyone that would dare interrupt her maniacal pacing. Five steps she would walk forward, mutter curses under her breath and then she would turn, walk five more. The antechamber almost grew hot, burning along with Nyra’s ire, the dragon flames within her burnt so bright, you feared for the Queen’s life.

She was just next door, being readied for her wedding by her Hightower cousins, you could hear the rambling and muffled giggling and jangles of gold bangles and necklaces. Her wedding to Viserys - by the gods - even now brought bile to the back of your mouth coating it with bitter thickness. It wasn't unheard of but perhaps when the bride bleeds from so close to home, one might truly weep for her virtue. Even if she were to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a girl and a grieving King. What bore far more pain was that she hid it, for months she hid her ongoing relationship with the King, from you, from Rhaenyra. Being unable to aid Rhaenyra through her grief to which Alicent sewed parts of Rhaenyra back together with such ease. She is wise, truly wise, yet she hid this. Rhaenyra believes her a traitor now, for weeks she voiced the fear of Aemma’s memory fading if Viserys were to remarry, Alicent listened and yet said nothing.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the doors to Alicent’s bed chambers opened, ladies poured out one by one, bowing to you and Rhaenyra before heading for the Grand Sept, the bells had begun to ring, marking the King’s arrival to the Sept.

A girl of six and ten turned into a woman, Alicent stood at the door with a stunning ivory gown, her cape sleeves curving around her figure and intricate gold metal work placed on her shoulders to mimic dragon wings, her beautiful brown hair pulled up. She was radiant as always, you couldn't help but smile at her, it was her wedding day after all.

Alicent’s eyes flicker to Rhaeyra, expecting to find some warmth within the purple of her eyes, Nyra gives Alicent a once over, taking in what had seemed like a nightmare come true.

“You look lovely, your grace” the hint of sarcasm coated thick in Rhaenyra’s voice as she bowed to Alicent before taking her leave.

You pitied her, the smile you gave her after screamed so, the Queen loved by all but the one closest to her. You walked her, reaching out to fix an untucked ribbon and then handing her the bouquet.

“Is there no way that I might mend this?” she sighed, sorrowful and guilty.

“Not today.”

She looked defeated as you fussed with pinnings of her wedding dress.

“Not today, because today is about you, our petty problems will be with us tomorrow too, my lady.” you give her a once over before once more smiling at her “today you become Queen.”

This time she matches your smile, a long breath shaking away the sorrow weighing upon her shoulders. You walked behind her, lifting her long train with both arms as she proceeded to walk.

There was this joy, your friend was being wed, a momentous event but you couldn’t breathe past how terrified Alicent looked, and torn over how perturbed Nyra appeared to mask her strong need to sob. Your lover and your companion, both bleeding from the wounds of court and you could help but one, a side that you had to choose. She had ripped through two dolls, sobbing over the one gown she managed to steal from her mother’s chests. She didn’t want a stepmother but most of all she didn't want to have to lose a friend so cruelly. No matter how tightly you held Nyra through the nights and gave her comforting touches, the dark shadow of doom that seemed to follow never left her, it loved her more than you could. More than the sunshine could cast a shadow, it persisted. At supper and at tea, it pained you to watch her so.

So much so, she wrote to Daemon, begging him to return, to stop this madness, speak some sense into his brother but what was done couldn’t be undone by a banished prince, now could it?

You reached for Nyra’s hand as you stood amongst the people, watching the Targaryen cloak draped over Alicent taunt her. All would be well, all must be well, you prayed. A marriage for the stability of the Realm, even with an heir, the lords never truly seemed satiated.

As Alicent and Viserys turned with their heads held high, the crowds cheered, roared in an out pour of joy. A new Queen had blessed the Realm, soon she would bless the Realm with a son.

A son, you looked to Rhaenyra. The whites of her eyes had gone red, moist.

“She is no Queen of mine.” she angrily whispered to you.

In the vast toll of things, one thing you had expected less. Rhaenyra had charged her ladies to be so frigid to the Queen. You sat with her and her ladies, leisurely pushing your needle through the fabric and then back out, every now and then glancing at Alicent and the growing mound of her belly hidden behind the plush blanket she sat under.

A rabid dog with a mustard collar, that’s what you were to her. Shielding her from the bitch-like behaviour many of these courtly ladies had directed towards her. Loud mouthed wenches, snickering behind her back, most of them had expected to be Queen– now they lick their wounds, playing those half cooked political games to gain Alicent’s favour. Most of all, you shielded her from Rhaenyra’s wrath, raging just as hot as Syrax’s fire, burning all those who might to diminish it, though you– immune to the brunt of it all, both figuratively and literally. The Targaryen in you kept you Valyrian-clad, and Rhaenyra’s lover in you kept you protected.

You looked out the window this time, you were sure she was up there– somewhere so high where if she was to let out rageful screams, she would be the only one to hear. Well– her, Syrax and perhaps a vulture or two. You and her had talked about it at length, while Viserys saw the possibility of a spare, all Rhaenyra saw was an heir, to overshadow her, to depose her before her father sold her hand in marriage to the highest bidder. A castle? Gold? Armies or perhaps a foreign political connection, casting her away. Just as Jaehaerys’s daughters suffered, so would she.

Your mother Daenereys was probably the most fortunate of the lot, along with her sister Alyssa. Both women married the men their hearts desired, Alyssa and Baelon producing the purest of Targaryen children and your mother bringing Dorne into the fold by marrying your father Allyrion Martell. You however bleed Martell through and through, unlike your brother that possessed purple eyes, the ravenous features of a true Dornish woman embraced you as you grew, full lips, sun kissed glow, a distinct head of loose curls, leaving but a few streaks of white, just like Princess Rhaenys.

That was besides the point that even with the macabre tradition of the Dornish and the contumacy of Targaryen traditions, you couldn’t fathom admitting that you indeed wanted Alicent’s child to be a boy, for that little child to be heir so you and Rhaenyra could fly east, just like you always dreamed of, marry and live in a quaint little hold with servants purchased from sold jewellery and a farm of your own. Yet once a prey tastes blood, it can only want for more, Rhaenyra’s purpose was this, to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she found power within the title bestowed upon her and just as demanded flaunted his oddities with immunity so would she, you could do naught but follow her, obey her commands and prepare for the day that she would sit the Iron Throne– with a husband on her back instead of you.

You couldn’t give her heirs of her blood, no blood magic nor prayer could change that you too were born a girl, and the unnatural pairing of the two of you would lead to carnage.

“Princess?” the voice of Enorah standing by the doorway tore your attention, you looked at her, momentarily stunned– returning to the world of the living “The Princess Rhaenyra has demanded your presence in the Godswood.”

Demanded

Rhaenyra knew at the cusp at which she played at, your afternoons were Alicent’s by the King’s “suit,” you turn to Alicent apologetically.

“My Queen if I may…”

“Go on, I have my other ladies to keep me company, perhaps I might return to my chambers for some respite.”

You looked around the ladies scattered across the chamber floors before neatly putting away your embroidery ring, you stood, back straight and shrouded in formality. You bowed to your friend before taking your leave.

You knew how you find Rhaenyra in the Godswood, hair mussed— stinking of dragon on the rage of the fourteen flames in her eyes.

“Why must you be with her?”

Something so sacred but irreparable, such a bind of sisterhood never found again. Squandered yet again by what you knew to be the ugly politics of lords in their ivory towers. What irked you the most was the price paid was you— your companions barely old enough to bleed let alone be pawns to whatever bargains were being struck in the Great Halls of the Red Keep.

You remembered the fight they had so vividly, almost envisioning it as you entered the Godswood.

“Rhaenyra, slow down!” You huffed, hiking your skirts to chase behind her.

Viserys had just announced his proclaimation, you stood there. Among the choices he had, along with Laena. Alicent too was— oddly among the lot. It wasn’t a surety until he said her name.

You were sure Rhaenyra felt it harder than you did, right in your gut. A dagger wound, you should have seen this coming. She looked torn, regrettably so, but why? She would be Queen.

Thus you chased out Rhaenyra, down the stairs and to the Godswood where she wiped at her angry tears.

Dear gods

When the realization set it, your closest friend had lied to you, through her teeth. Under the disguise of consolement and wise words of religion and perhaps comfort. She hid her “affairs” with Viserys.

For her sake you wished that she would steer clear of Rhaenyra but such fate was beyond her for she too followed.

“You!” She whipped her head furiously towards Alicent.

“Why? I wept to you, afraid for my mother’s memory and you betrayed me!”

“Rhaenyra truly—“

“You do not speak! You do not breathe near me.”

“Ever again…”

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader x rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #desiblr #daemon targaryen #got x reader #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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ninetailedfoxmanchi · 2 years

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Aemond Targaryen x Reader: He takes off his eyepatch

Warnings: mentions of violence, scars

Summary: Y/N and Aemond are betrothed in an arranged marriage and barely know each other but there is definitely an attraction. However, Aemond lost his left eye in a fight with his nephews as a child after he claimed his cousin's dragon, Vhagar. He feels insecure about his appearance yet he shows his face to his future wife.

A/N: The style of writing is a little bit different than usual because I try to use vocabulary similar to one George R R Martin uses in his books. Of course, it's a completely different setting, time and universe from the things I've written of before, but still, I hope you like it.

HOTD AND GOT MASTERLIST

* * *

“How have you been, my Lady?” asked Prince Aemond, stirring Y/N from her thought. She looked up from the book in her lap and closed it. She stood up and bowed to her future husband. His eye shone as bright as the Northern Star as he waited eagerly for her reply.

“I’m…” began Y/N and contemplated whether she should tell him the truth or whether this was just a courtesy. “I’m alright, thank you. How about yourself, my Prince?”

“You do not sound quite as well as you claim. Has something happened?” asked Prince Aemond and took a step closer, turning his whole body towards his betrothed. His lips pursed into a thin line. Y/N stared up into his eyes neither focused on his eyepatch nor his healthy eye.

“No,” said Y/N and looked away. “Everything… Everything’s fine, thank you.”

Prince Aemond measured her, not convinced by her words, much less by the tension in her shoulders and her neck. She avoided his gaze unlike this morning when they broke fast together when joy glistened in her eyes, when she embraced him with the warmth of her voice.

“Will you walk with me, Lady Y/N?” suggested Aemond and offered her his arm. Y/N smiled and took his elbow. He smelled of blood oranges and sandalwood and his body felt secure by her side for which she was grateful.

“What book have I disturbed you reading?” he smiled lightly.

“Oh, you haven’t… It’s quite dull, really, I wasn’t going to finish it but have a look if you like,” stuttered Y/N and showed Prince Aemond the leather-bound book.

“The Conquest of Dorne as witnessed by Maester Harryn,” read Aemond.

“It is not the subject that is dull but the writer, I’m afraid,” said Y/N almost as an apology to her Prince. The Conquest of Dorne was one of the greatest Targaryen achievements after all. “He speaks highly of Lady Visenya. She was Vhagar’s first rider, was she not?”

“She was,” confirmed Aemond and seemed to recall something. Light disappeared from his eye and his gaze hardened. Y/N’s heart gave an uncomfortable squeeze.

“If I have given offence, please forgive me, Prince Aemond,” she spoke carefully as she stopped on her tracks. Her hand untwined from his elbow before she bowed gracefully. The ivory silks of her dress whispered in the seaside breeze as she remained bowed. A gush of wind pushed her hair off her bare shoulders where the plain gold necklace with her house’s sigil now rested in solitude.

“You have not given offence, my Lady Y/N, nor could you even if you tried, I am sure,” said Prince Aemond and rose her chin to meet her eyes. His thumb caressed her cheek as he glanced at her lips. Y/N blushed and averted her gaze but her heart beat faster. Prince Aemond took her hand instead and kissed her knuckles. He gestured her to sit with him on a nearby marble bench overlooking the summer garden. Peaches and oranges were so ripe they kept raining onto the bright green grass, the birds were singing late in the evenings and as they turned to sleep, crickets and waves took their song.

“I was reminded of a memory,” began Aemond although he had never meant to share this story with his future wife. But there was something about Y/N’s presence, a warmth, a gentleness, an understanding that one could say anything and be met with a compassionate heart. “When I was a boy, my brother Aegon, my nephews Jace and Luke, they all had dragons. All of their eggs had hatched except my own that was given to be as a babe. It is a Targaryen tradition.

“When we have children,” paused Aemond, “they will also receive a dragon egg in their crib.” Y/N nodded as she tried not to react at the prince’s mentioning of them having children. She understood it was her duty to bare him children, to any man that would be her husband, but the thought always made her uneasy.

“They were training their dragons in the Dragon Pit and I was there too. Mother always said I could still claim a dragon when I would be older should an opportunity present itself,” continued Prince Aemond. “One day, my brother and my nephews told me they had found me a dragon. It wasn’t a dragon though… It was a pig and they strapped parchment wings on its back.”

Y/N felt Aemond’s pain and humiliation as if it were her own when she listened to the story. She was the second child herself and a woman at that which did not sit well with her family.

“I am sorry they were cruel to you,” said Y/N and took Prince Aemond’s hand instinctively. She squeezed it but had not noticed she had done so until Aemond caressed her knuckles with his thumb. His hands were large and strong enough to wield a longsword with one arm alone. They swallowed Y/N’s small, gentle hands like a sea-storm swallows a boat.

“Is that when you lost your eye?” whispered Y/N softly. Prince Aemond’s thumb stopped caressing her palm in an instant as he froze in place.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I understand,” she reassured quickly and took back her hand.

“I lost my eye when I claimed Vhagar,” said Aemond out of the sudden. His hands reached to his head and unbuckled the eyepatch around his silver-gold hair. “I told my mother it was a small price to pay. I lost an eye but I gained a dragon. The biggest dragon in the world,” said Aemond and pulled the leather patch off his face. Slowly, almost fearfully, he turned to Y/N and showed the scar that marked his face. Y/N struggled to supress a gasp at the sight of a big round sapphire that gleamed in the eye’s stead. The setting sun lit a thousand glimmering stars within the crystal.

Y/N reached slowly for her betrothed’s face. Aemond turned away and Y/N stopped her hand. She licked her lips and tried again, this time caressing Aemond’s cheek. She turned his face to look at her but his gaze was still avoiding Y/N until it whipped at her eyes and faced the devil. He did not find it though. The disgust, the despise he expected to see was not there. Instead, Y/N traced her fingers gently across the scar and leaned in ever so carefully. She kissed Aemond’s brow where the scar had split it so many years ago.

#game of thrones #got #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #imagine

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

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sting, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader — mentions of husband!seokjin x reader

summary: “Please let me borrow your husband.” “You can if I can borrow Seokjin.” And so Min Yoongi was here, sitting on a ivory-colored leather sofa, surveying Kim Seokjin's wife with a critical eye. He hadn't expected to be in this position, but it was his wife's request and he never disappointed his lovely (devious) wife.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; the other side of the wife swap in honey, m (ksj) and Yoongi is about to fuck his hyung's wife, yup; D/s smut (fem reader, he is borderline mean, manhandling tbh, choking kink, hair pulling, nipple play, he spits on her tits, m-receiving oral / face fucking, ass + pussy slapping, m-masturbation, fingering, standing doggy, overstimulation / multiple orgasms); non-idol!BTS - dom!Yoongi x not-his-wife, sub!reader; Yoongi's POV

his outfit is inspired by the 'D-Day' Agust D ver PC photos, leather moto jacket and ripped jeans, and ofc his long black hair ;)

“It’s fun sometimes, to do the wrong thing and get away with no consequence.”

“Please stop giving me tangerines.”

“Ahahaha…”

If anyone was not afraid of falling in love with Kim Seokjin’s wife, it was definitely Min Yoongi. He set the fourth… actually, fifth tangerine onto the stack in front of him on the coffee table. This attempt at offering delicious fruits to lessen the obvious awkwardness was not working. It wasn’t that Yoongi did not like tangerines. He loved them. Refreshing snacks that came in their own compostable packaging? Truly nature’s finest work.

“If you want my fingers stuffed in your holes, it would be rude of me to cover them in tangerine juice,” he explained calmly, pushing back his long dark hair and raising an eyebrow at Kim Seokjin’s wife.

She turned pink and started sputtering.

He remained calm and expressionless, recalling the conversation that made it come to this.

“She’s interested in you,” his wife had said with a small smile.

“In me?”

“As she should be, because my husband is handsome, talented, and a sex god.”

Yoongi hadn’t married his wife because she was humble; she was simply honest.

Obviously.

He had been called to action and he intended to fulfill his promise. Interested in him, hm? Yoongi wasn’t one to boast about his sexual prowess himself and, anyway, he was infinitely better now than before his wife. Took a god to create another, right? He half-smiled, knowing his wife would enjoy such a comment. But he had to put those thoughts away at the moment and not be disingenuous to the lovely lady in front of him. His hyung had taste in women, all right. She was pretty in the way that was easily approachable. Kind eyes and a soft demeanor. He knew Seokjin’s wife well enough to know she was usually had a more casual, clean style, but today she wore a black slip dress with a matching black lace bolero. The seams of the dress framed those juicy tits perfectly. No bra either. Such easy access. The dress was within her realm but fancier and sexier. He suspected that the outfit was his wife’s encouragement to get him in the mood. Heh. She was really enjoying orchestrating all this, wasn’t she? She knew what made him tick and how to frame this moment to make him want it within his grasp.

A challenge.

Yoongi couldn’t refuse to back down from a challenge to himself.

In contrast, he had arrived in his worn, black leather moto jacket, faded white-and-grey t-shirt, and distressed acid-wash slate jeans. Again, his wife’s doing. He had asked her what to wear. She had suggested for him to dress comfortably – probably to create this juxtaposition on purpose. Most times, he tended to dress up when visiting Seokjin’s home. The, uh, neighborhood seemed to call for it. But not this time. He hadn’t even tied up his hair, just left it shaggy and unkempt, leaving him looking more roguish than usual.

He heard his wife’s growling whisper in his ear.

Stop fucking around.

He let out a slow breath and flicked his eyes up.

Raised an eyebrow.

Seokjin’s wife was attempting to say something to him, red-faced and wringing her hands adorably, but Yoongi raised his hand and placed a single finger on those soft, glimmering pink lips. No matter what, he had to remind himself of her position. Therefore, he was going to avoid using her name directly unless it was absolutely necessary. He also preferred less talking. He needed to be in his head to pull this off.

He stared into those wide, expectant eyes.

Spoke slowly, using the lower octave of his vocal range.

“The safe word is tangerine.”

These self-imposed boundaries were not because Yoongi didn’t like her as a person. He did, but Seokjin’s wife was not his wife, so the emotional turn-on was missing. And, unlike his wife, his domspace was in a deeper place. He had been spoiled by his love and her energy. She always coaxed out his darker desires with ease, but this time he had to bring out his primal side by himself to lead properly.

“You will not speak unless I ask you a direct question.”

He raised his chin, volume barely above a whisper.

“Do you understand?”

She nodded quickly.

A small spark raced down his spine and Yoongi licked his lips, removing his index finger from her lips.

In complete silence, he hooked two fingers around the hair elastic on his left wrist and pulled up, raising his arms in a creak of leather to tie back the top half of his hair. Partly to get it our of his eyes. He secured his ponytail and lowered his arms, trailing his gaze up the sheer thigh-high stockings to lush hips flush against the sofa cushions to small hands clasped tightly in front of her chest and then finally to shaking irises that were taking in his half-tied back hair.

Heh.

Her lips parted, simply staring at him.

The corner of his lips ticked upward.

Then he shot his arm out and grabbed her by the throat.

She yelped, hands flying up and gripping his wrist and edge of his palm, but Yoongi had done this many times. He immediately locked his hold but did not press inward. Instead, he pushed his shoulder forward, forcing her body to tip backwards slightly, suspending her upper body in the air.

“Ah, Yoongi-oppa–”

He closed his other hand over her mouth, gripping her cheeks tightly.

“What did I just say?” he warned.

Stern, with an edge of danger. She nodded very quickly even though technically this was not a question to agree to. He let it slide. He tilted his head, still covering her lips.

“Scared?”

The terror in those eyes was not as honest as it could be.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

He removed his hand and traced a line from temple to chin, keeping his touch feather-light and gentle.

“I’m only going to push the line of pleasure and pain,” he murmured.

Yoongi only had a vague idea of what was expected of him. He knew she wanted to be truly dominated as this was not usually part of her sex life. He didn’t really want to know specifics anyway. He only wanted to know what he could do that was different. The issue was that apparently his hyung couldn’t be detached and impartial. In short, Seokjin worried too much because he was too sweet. Sometimes he sacrificed acting so it didn’t affect his performance. He had strength and he could be overbearing, but not exactly in a rough take-what-you-want way.

Yoongi tucked a spare strand of hair behind that delicate ear.

“It might sting though.”

He noted the small gold hoops covered in diamonds. Hm. Pretty. Maybe he would ask for the brand later.

Then he smiled.

Calmly.

And choked her.

The sensation of power seeped into him. Thick, heavy, coating his senses, dripping like hot honey, drawing all of his focus into her surprised eyes, those petting fingertips stroking the exposed veins and tendons along the back of his larger hand, soft mewl calling for him, and Yoongi felt his lips curve into a knowing smirk, honing his attention on the submissive wordless plea falling from those lips.

He raised his body with one knee on the sofa, half-standing, hovering over her, adding pressure to the sides of her neck, slowing down the blood flow. A beautiful flower trapped in his clutches. He leaned in, tracing the edge of his teeth with his tongue.

He could almost taste the nectar.

“Hah…”

Let his breath warm those open lips, running his fingers through her hair.

“I would say, let’s play nice, but.”

His wickedness unfurled.

“I have no intention of playing nice.”

Yoongi tangled his fingers into her hair and yanked hard, relishing in the pained whine before taking it away by the throat, choking her into silence. Closed the distance, lips hovering over shaking lips, but he denied that too, dragging his tongue over her cheek, tasting flesh and anticipation.

“Did you really think I would kiss you?” he purred, letting the words stir and curl in the depths of his chest. “Let’s see if you can earn that gift, hm?”

He didn’t bother to be gentle. That wasn’t the point and, besides, that consideration was reserved for his love. He let go, simply releasing all the pressure instantly, and settled back onto the sofa, not even giving the grace of a glance in her direction. He heard her reel from the sudden punch of oxygen and freedom, collapsing slightly in wheezing coughs, and Yoongi immediately placed his hand onto her shoulder and shoved her to the floor, hooking his leg around her body and dragging her in front of him, on her knees.

She gasped, gripping his thighs, looking up with pained eyes.

He dragged himself forward, on the edge, and looked down with a grin.

“Pretty in pain.”

He let go of her shoulder and hooked his fingers over the edges of the bolero and the straps of the slinky slip dress, lifting and sliding them down her arms in one smooth motion. She squeaked, suddenly self-conscious but he knocked her hands away, tucking the upper half of the dress under her breasts, chuckling darkly. Nipples already hard, plush tits pushed up by the dress. He cupped his hand under her chin again, gripping tight. Lifted her up to set her back straight so her tits were pushed out, her exposed body between his open knees.

He made his voice was cold and as deep as possible.

“Show me how you play with your tits for your husband.”

Not choking yet, but her breathing was already short, whimpering. Slowly moving her hands from his legs and flattening her palms against her breasts, kneading them lightly, unsure how to proceed. He let it be humiliating. Not reacting, ticking his head and lifting his eyebrow. Did not remove his hand though, tipping her head back more in warning. She gasped, moaning softly as she pinched her nipples, pulling them out and toying with them more.

“Harder,” Yoongi growled.

Shaking whines as he watched her obey, pinching harder, squeezing her breasts so they spilled out against her fingers, her eyelids fluttering as he subtly applied pressure. He lowered his face, staring into her glazed-over eyes.

“What is the safe word?” he asked directly.

“T… T-Tangerine.”

Yoongi nodded. “Hm. Good girl.”

Her face lit up from the praise until he spat on her tits.

She yelped and her whole body jerked, glossy saliva dripping down the curves and sticking to her skin, but he ignored it, choking her hard as he raised his hips and unbuttoned his jeans with his free hand, speaking calmly and slowly.

“You said I reminded you of tangerines,” he mused, recalling the earlier conversation. “Soft on the inside, tough peel on the outside. Mmmm, but I don’t know about that.”

He abruptly let go again, sending her into a spiral of sensations. Rushing blood, tension broken, air flooding into her lungs, and he took the moment to lower his jeans and his underwear. He thought about removing more but honestly he enjoyed this power play more. He reached behind her and wound the lace bolero down, trapping her squirming arms. She was utterly confused and then suddenly frozen, staring at his hand around his hard cock. He ran his thumb against the side, locking her head in place with his other hand, spreading his fingers over the crown of her skull, bringing his hips forward without a word.

He licked his teeth, open-mouthed smirk dripping sin.

“Now, I know hyung wouldn’t marry a woman with a subpar mouth, so let’s see what you’ve got.”

He pushed her head down and thrust roughly into her throat.

He settled his other hand behind him before fucking her face, not fast but deep, enjoying the little jolt of her shoulders as he did so. Tight and soft, just as he liked. Not nearly enough tongue, but he didn’t fault her for the lack of technique. Probably not every day she got face-fucked in such an uncomfortable position. Therefore, he didn’t put the pressure on her to get him off but rather used her like a toy, back and forth, smacking his balls into her chin, tucking his tongue into his cheek as he looked down and watched her breasts bounce with his force. Her whimpers added vibration to pleasure, and he curled his fingers into her hair, imprisoning the position of her head so her mouth could serve his cock, each snap of the hips anchored by his torso and thighs, letting him put real force behind his action.

He remained silent and amused.

Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her hands were pinned down to her thighs. He saw her fingers twist into the hem of her dress, lifting it up. He kept the pace consistent, building his orgasm, feeling it to his core, wet, hot, tight, muffled cries stuffed back into her throat over and over again. He tilted his hips down, running the head of his cock along her tongue for more stimulation. The hardware of his moto jacket clicked with his repeated thrusts, the leather hot and stuffy, the kind of discomfort that only added to the mood. The whole situation reminded him slightly of how he had been back in the day, barely an adult thinking he could do whatever and whoever he wanted.

Feeling good by doing the wrong thing and getting away with no consequence.

He exhaled hard.

Small tears gathered against her lashes, the strain and desperation of being good blatantly evident.

“I see what your husband enjoys so much now.”

Her eyes opened a little.

Glassy.

Used.

Delicious.

He came down her throat, raising his hips to stuff it down.

Her eyes rolled back, whimpering and almost sobbing, hurriedly swallowing to breathe. He bit back his wince, oversensitivity crawling up his back, and pressed deeper, groaning as he felt his cock jerk in her tight throat, squishing more cum into her tongue. He pinned her head there, sucking in a hissing inhale to get his bearings, her breath warming his lower belly.

Good job, my darling.

Yoongi snarled deep in his chest. He knew his wife too well. Could nearly imagine her here, watching carefully and with that small smile that meant she believed he could do more. Be more. Push the limit. Fuck. He let go, throwing off his jacket as the woman between his legs gasped and moaned, spent from being used. But it wasn’t those hazy, lust-drunk eyes that were in his head.

However, you’re better than that, aren’t you?

He knew he was being stared at. He was a spectacle right now. His falling jeans, the tangle of chain and leather bracelets clinking on his wrists, the way the large t-shirt clung off his torso, his half-tied up long black hair, the faint sheen of sweat along his flushed cheekbones, and, finally, his furrowed brow and sharpened gaze, looking down at the pretty thing between his open legs.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

He didn’t waste time going to the bedroom.

He pulled the condom from his jacket pocket and yanked her up by the arm, bending her over the side of the ivory leather sofa. An unceremonious position for Kim Seokjin’s beautiful wife, but Yoongi didn’t give a shit. He peeled the lace bolero from her arms and tossed it onto the floor, shoving his hand down on her upper back. She squeaked, falling forward onto the cushions and his leather jacket, grabbing it tightly as he caught her waist, steadying her body just before harsh contact.

“Spread your legs,” he said coolly, borderline bored.

“B-But–”

Smack!

The flat of his palm instantly stuck her ass. She yelped and squirmed, stifling her cry by burying her face in his jacket, and he made no move to comfort, pushing down on her lower back so her round, inviting ass popped up more.

“You do not speak unless I ask you a direct question,” he sternly reminded.

She made a choked noise of agreement.

“Good girl.”

He couldn’t help but smile when she mewled softly at his words. So easy. He fanned his fingers over her ass, tapping lightly. Watched her fingers curl into his jacket, covering herself with his scent. He ghosted his touch over his half-hard cock and hummed, gently drumming his fingertips down, closer, leisurely.

Then he slapped her pussy.

Already wet, creating a loud squelching sound. She cried out, back arching, throwing her head back, and he continued, hard slap after slap, using the full expanse of his hand to amplify the sting to skin. She tried to close her legs and he forced them apart with his knee, casually stroking himself as he did so, unexpectedly interspersing hits between her ass and soaked pussy. No rhyme or rhythm, just deadly calm and his own soft sighs of satisfaction completely contrasting the force behind his hand. It was all too easy to slide his fingers down her slick slit.

Yoongi bent down, rubbing her clit firmly as he whispered above shaking shoulders.

“You want this cock inside you, don’t you?”

He only now noticed that he had slipped into his satoori, forgetting to speak properly. It didn’t seem to matter through, because she was clawing at his jacket and whining, yes, please, y-yes, a fresh wave of shuddering moans when he shoved two fingers into that tightness, viciously pumping them in and out. He kept her waiting, just for seconds longer, jacking himself off as he felt her walls suck him in, clinging and pulsating around his fingers, hot skin radiating against his.

Enough is enough, Yoongi told himself.

He debated on removing his shirt but decided he didn’t care. Reached back to his falling pants' pocket and pulled out the condom, pulling his fingers out to rip it open. Sweet honey clung to his knuckles but it didn’t hinder him. Seokjin’s wife gasping into the sofa, ass flushed pink, trembling legs struggling to hold herself up.

He rolled the condom down.

“Go ahead and scream.”

It was necessarily a scream per se, but it was a very loud feral cry that suddenly echoed about the living room the moment he shoved his full hardness deep inside, adding a snap of his hips to bottom out. He exhaled hard, gripping her ass and lifting it roughly to adjust the angle. Easy when she was melting against him, clawing at the sofa for some kind of hold. No need, but he didn’t say so, enjoying her euphoric agony. He could feel her ass grind into his crotch, inner walls gripping him tightly, and he secured his hold on her hips, locking his fingers, and began to fuck her right against her own sofa.

He hoped she remembered picking out the furniture.

Hoped she remembered discussing it with her husband and laughing as their butts tested various contestants before selecting this very particular one, only to be bent over it and taken like an animal, face against the cushions, the metal zipper of his leather jacket cutting into her breasts as she bunched it up under her chest, gasping and moaning from his powerful, deliberate thrusts. Yoongi made it last, choosing power over speed. He tensed his pelvis and leaned forward to get that depth, panting, pressing his fingertips into her waist hard enough to leave bruises.

“You wanted me to choke you, wasn’t that it?” he breathed out, heavy and raspy. “Where did you get the audacity to ask for something like that?”

“A-Aah, p-please… she–!”

He smacked his palm against the side of her hip and she cried out, throwing her head back, hands slipping against the leather. The answer didn’t really matter.

“And what make you think that you wouldn’t face the consequences?”

Yoongi was just in the mood to taunt.

He was nearing the edge so he gripped one of her shoulders, bending over her smaller body and slamming his hips into her ass, violent pleasure snaking into his veins. He looked down to see her face turned, cheek pressed into his jacket and the sofa, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut, whining pathetically as he buried his cock deep inside and hissed, feeling her pussy pulsate and clench around his jerking length.

No time to breathe.

He spread his fingers over her upper thigh and held tightly onto her shoulder, lifting her upper body up. Reflexively, her hands planted onto the sofa to support her, quivering arms and all, and that was exactly what he wanted.

With some effort, Yoongi twisted his right wrist and choked her.

His left hand slid down and he rubbed fast, tight circles over her swollen clit.

“Your boldness needs to be punished.”

Moaning, crying, whining, her whole body becoming rigid and then ransacked by shivers. Strangled whimpers of his name but Yoongi didn’t stop, pushing for another orgasm that he could still feel even around his softening length. He was large enough that he hadn’t slipped out. She no longer had any control over her body, second orgasm incoming, the overwhelming pleasure eating up all common sense and the highs blending into one another, extending his own pleasure as her pussy convulsed, thick, honey-like cum sticking between their joined thighs. Her arms went limp, collapsing, and he had less than ten seconds to hold her up before gravity would knock them down.

He clenched his jaw and pulled back.

Standing was a loose term for what was happening. Yoongi had to grip the side of the couch so he didn’t stumble, keeping his grasp on her collarbones to press her hot body against his, still shaking from the intensity. The room reeked of sex. His cock was sliding out. He should have gotten rid of his jeans. They were a hinderance around his calves now.

Sigh.

Seokjin’s wife was fully leaning on his chest, gasping lungfuls of precious air.

His own wife was probably having her own way with Kim Seokjin right now, but she was a better planner and not this messy.

Right?

“Hey.”

He grabbed one of her tits and sank his fingers into it, kneading roughly to get her attention, but the eyes that greeted him were completely unfocused. Nice.

“Let’s take a break.”

She tried to rut into his crotch but his hand shot up, grabbing her chin and yanking it to his face, forcing her into an uncomfortable twist of her exhausted body.

“I will rephrase. Stop.”

She whimpered, unable to fight him. He softened. She was very pretty. Too innocent-looking and airheaded for him, but that didn’t matter. It was very clear that she enjoyed it, but now Yoongi could see there was hesitancy in asking if he did. Probably had something to do with the unapproachable air of his demeanor right now. He toned it down a little, closing in the distance. He wasn’t much of a talker, which didn’t suit everyone. He relied too much on his wife to infer from his actions but it wasn’t fair to apply that line of thinking to everybody. He had to do his best to be communicative even if he wasn’t saying something directly.

“Don’t give me those puppy eyes,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “You’ve earned one kiss.”

He tilted his head and kissed her deeply. Strands of his hair fell forward, loosened from his ponytail, drifting onto her temples. Gentle, delicate, sliding his tongue lightly against hers. He let it last. He could taste desperation. It made him smile into the kiss.

There was no rush.

He had a lot of time left.

His hand slid down, his long fingers decorating that neck.

“And more to do,” Yoongi whispered to trembling lips.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

250 notes · View notes

onlymingyus · 2 years

Text

Bed of Roses (sax, settlements, and speakeasies collab)

pairing; lee seokmin (dk/dokyeom) x afab reader

genre; smut (minor dni), fluff, romance, angst

warnings; unprotected sex, marking, scratching, use of a rose as foreplay (rubbed against pussy), mentions the readers hair being pinned up and longer, cigarettes/smoking, alcohol, fighting, use of 1920's slang (probably poorly)

w/c; 6.7k and some change

sax, settlements, and speakeasies masterlist

a/n; this was a fun fic to write, i tried to do as much research as i could but as with any period fic there will be inconsienctancies and lack of knowledge. thank you to @hyucks-rose for hosting this collab! thank you to @junkissed-replies and @wonwussy for reading and proofreading! please be sure to read all the fics in the collab as some will overlap -- mine will overlap some with @lipglossjun especially as she is writing for jihoon

Seokmin’s fingers run along the microphone, a smile crossing his lips that makes your stomach tighten even before he looks in your direction. A rose in his left hand, his signature prop every performance. Seokmin’s voice feels like silk against your skin as it reaches your ears.

He grins into his song, his voice melting every person’s heart as he makes eye contact with a choice few before settling on you. You press your lips together, crossing your legs from one direction to the other and drawing his eyes down to them before he looks away. He knew better than to linger too long with all the eyes on him, especially Lee Jihoon’s, his boss and your brother.

Your teeth catch your lip as he sings, making the women next to you swoon as if they get to go home with him at the end of the night. He had that effect on people. He could look at them, sing or talk to them, and make them feel like they were the only person in the entire world. When in reality you were the only person he wanted in his world and in his bed every night.

Moving around the bar, Jihoon pauses to lean on the end, watching Seokmin with careful eyes. He was proud of the man, not only as an employee but as a friend. He had watched him grow into his voice over the past few years and over the past few months it had seemed his confidence had gotten even stronger.

Jihoon’s eyes fell on you sitting at a front table, your finger running around the rim of a Jack Rose, a recent favorite of yours. You spent most of your nights here, though he urged you to find something better to do with your time. There were much better places for a woman who looked as nice as you to be, but you insisted on coming to The Diamond Glass night after night.

“God, he’s a real cake-eater.” You narrow your eyes slightly to the conversation to your right, two girls swooning over Seokmin as he makes his way down the steps finishing his set. The rose dangling from his fingers. Each night he would hand off that rose to a lucky lady and most nights, just like tonight it ended up between your fingers. “Miss Lee.”

You laugh, feeling your cheeks burning at his attention and everyone else’s in the room. The girls at your side scoff, “He only gives it to her because she’s the owner’s kid sister. Sucking up to his boss, pretty smart of him. He’s using his head, can’t fault him for being smart.”

Seokmin sighed softly, his back turned to the women. He had heard their conversation as well but he was a smart man who knew which battles to choose…even if they included you. Walking back up the stairs, Seokmin takes a bow then gestures to his band taking extra care to give more attention to the piano player, Junhui. The man grins, his fingers running across the ivory like he was born on that stool and to be in front of an audience.

“Thank you ladies and gents. Refill your drinks and give another round of applause for Mr. Lee Jihoon for making any of this possible.” The patrons gasp in awe, many of them turning towards where Seokmin gestures at the bar to look at Jihoon. The man clearly not wanting the attention, simply lifts a hand and presses his lips together. His eyes scan over the crowd for you but in the excitement he had lost track of you, the only thing left on your table is a half finished Jack Rose and a long stem red rose.

You smile against Seokmin’s lips, his fingers pressing against your sides to hold you against the wall of the dressing room. He couldn’t help but to return the smile having watched you as much as he could during his performance. You had fueled him and also frustrated him. “God, doll…you drive me crazy. You know that?”

Nipping at his lips causes a small groan to slip from Seokmin’s lips. He knew that you were a minx and that you knew exactly what you were doing. “I don’t know nothin’, Seokmin. I’m just some girl who’s fallen head over heels for some singer.”

Shaking his head, Seokmin’s smile pulls at the corner of his eyes. Your fingers clinging to his suit jacket feels like the only thing keeping him grounded to Earth. “Is that what you are?” Lifting his hand, Seokmin runs his thumb along your cheek, his index finger folded under your chin to lift your gaze to meet his own.

“I think you are so much more than that. I’d give it all up for you, but you know that. Couldn’t stand hearing those girls running their traps off about something they don’t know anything about. Wanted to tell them you are my girl and to mind their business…”

When you laugh, lowering your eyes, leaning your head to press your lips to Seokmin’s palm he feels like he is melting on the spot. You didn’t have to do anything special to get him wound up. “You know you can’t.”

Yeah, Seokmin knew but that didn’t mean it made it any easier. It wasn’t like this was just some crush, this was the real thing. He wanted to tell the world, most of all he wanted to tell Jihoon so the two of you could just stop hiding but even the thought of it made his stomach twist up in knots.

Jihoon sighed heavily, pushing through the crowd trying to make his way towards the back hall. He wanted to figure out where you had slipped off to but after Seokmin’s gracious words the patrons had flooded him with talk. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for them but he had a feeling and he wanted to follow up on it.

Jun watched Jihoon carefully, managing to step in front of him before he reached the corner that would lead to the dressing rooms and bathrooms. His voice boisterous and cheerful as he leaned to pat his boss on the arm with a huge grin on his face. “The place is packed tonight Jihoon. What are you doing back here? You had people falling on their faces for a look at you.”

Furrowing his brows Jihoon looked up at the piano player who was speaking far too loud for such a confined space. Junhui was a bit odd but this was strange even for him. “I’m doing something. What are you doin’? Nothing? Shouldn’t you be going back up on the piano soon?”

He was right, Jun had taken his break so he was expected to be back on stage and getting people on their feet dancing. “Ah, yeah. I’ll head back out there. You know me boss. I’m just taking my time. So many people were up during it, I’m giving their dogs a chance to rest. Don’t need ‘em barkin while Seokmin is trying to sing, if you know what I’m saying.”

You and Seokmin had already caught on to what Jun was doing for you two. He was one of the few people who knew about your relationship and also one who would help you hide it from Jihoon. With one final kiss that lingers longer than it should, you slip out the door and towards the bathroom as Jihoon groans at Jun’s words.

“I get it. Have you seen my sister?” Jun swallows hard at the direct question, his elbow leaning awkwardly against the wall to block Jihoon when you open the door, slipping out only to open the bathroom door causing your brother to raise a brow.

“Nah…why? She ain’t out there?” Raising his brow again, Jihoon scoffs, reaching up to pull Jun’s arm from the wall so he can push past him. It was all a little too suspicious at this point. You were up to something and this knucklehead knew more than he was saying.

“No, obviously not so buzz off.” His shoulder hitting Jun on the way past him Jihoon starts to push open the dressing room causing Seokmin to take a sharp breath in when you open the bathroom door letting out a small sigh.

“Jihoon?” His attention moving to you, hand dropping from the door, your brother scoffs glancing around before considering seeing who was in the dressing room again when you speak up. “What are you doing, following me?”

“Question is, Y/N, what’re you doin?”

You gesture back to the bathroom as if it should answer his question. Jihoon’s eyes look over your outfit then up to your face to your lips seeing your lipstick slightly smeared. “Yeah, sure and I’m a chump. If I’ve told you once, I've told you a hundred times not to be fooling around with these guys.”

Narrowing your eyes, you push past your brother in a similar fashion he had pushed past Jun, only for Jihoon to put his hand around your arm pulling you back gently. “Y/N…I say it cause I care about you. I want you taken care of when you find someone to settle down with. Especially depending on who you were locking lips with…you ain’t gonna find that here.”

Seokmin could hear the conversation moving away from the dressing room. His heart in his throat, he knew that Jihoon wasn’t wrong. He couldn't give you the life that you were already living, much less something better. All he could give you was what he had and his heart, and that you already had.

Jihoon had walked you back to your seat, his hand moving from your arm so you could sit down. Gesturing to Joshua then your glass he got a nod knowing your drink would be refilled quickly. “Ya mad at me?”

Your fingers ran over the stem of the flower in front of you as you shook your head no. Your heart is telling you something much different. You wanted to be upset with your brother but you knew he was trying to look out for you. You just wished he could see the same potential in Seokmin that you did. If he only knew it was Seokmin you were seeing and not just one of the randoms he had coming in for a week only to leave a couple of days later after making a couple of bucks.

“No, Hoon…I’m not mad. Just wanna drink alone for a bit.” That told Jihoon all he needed to know. Leaning down he places a kiss to the top of your head and mutters a short ‘alright’ before he is taking his spot back near the bar, his watchful eyes never leaving you.

Seokmin was trying to put away the overhead conversation from the club. You were standing in front of him in his apartment, no interruptions, no need to worry about anyone sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. It was just you and him.

You smile when Seokmin moves behind you, his nose brushing against your neck next to your ear. A soft sound of pleasure slipping from his lips when he takes in a breath of you. You smelled sweet, a bit like apples and cinnamon. It was such a nice break from all that scent of booze and smoke earlier in the night.

Your fingers slide over Seokmin’s forearm when he pushes his fingers along your lower stomach to pull you back against him. You could feel he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. Leaning your head back on his shoulder, you tilt your head to the side and just like you had hoped, Seokmin’s lips brush over yours gently.

“Everything about you is too good for me. You know that?” Seokmin was finding it hard not to let his mind wander even with you in his arms, even with your lips so sweetly pressing against his own. When your nails gently scratch over his skin, Seokmin sighs against your kiss, his brows furrowing deep in thought.

Turning in his arms, you drape your own around Seokmin’s neck looking up at him with curious eyes. “Why do you get to say so?” He couldn’t help but to let out a short, quiet laugh at your words. You were so headstrong, your entire family was like that. He had seen it with Jihoon and clearly when you wanted something you were going to get it.

“I’m just sayin’, doll. I can only give you my heart…my voice, you know what I make.” His fingers slide along the back of your dress, undoing the buttons of your garment slowly. Each brush of his fingers caused you to take in a breath to steady yourself though you wanted to argue with his words.

“I can’t buy a nicer place than this…you see what I got. This is probably all I ever have.” Lifting his hands, Seokmin runs the back of his fingers along your throat before dropping them to your shoulders to push your dress down your arms as he speaks. “I can’t give you the life you are living, much less a better one. I can’t put ice and marbles around your neck, as much as I’d like to.”

The weight of your dress causes it to pool around your feet leaving you in your undergarments in front of a fully clothed Seokmin. He had only bothered to take off his suit jacket and shoes once the two of you had gotten to his place, but even as you stood in front of him feeling so bare you never felt uncomfortable.

“If you think I care about all that mess, maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought you did Lee Seokmin.” Your words cause the man in front of you to scoff into a smile, one that pulls at his eyes and draws his cheeks a bit higher on his face. Moving your hands back up you start to undo Seokmin’s belt only for him to put his hands over yours and for him to walk you backwards towards his bed.

Feeling the mattress behind your knees, you sit. your eyes lift to meet his loving gaze as Seokmin reaches one of his hands up to brush over your cheek, thumb tracing your lips slowly. “I know you, just like you know me. I was just saying what’s on my mind.”

You knew why it was on his mind, mentally cursing your brother and his big mouth while also trying to just enjoy the fact that you were alone with Seokmin. In this apartment you usually didn’t have to worry about your family, about who you were, nothing but Seokmin.

Moving his hand from yours to his pants, Seokmin lets you finish what you had started, his Adam’s apple moving dramatically as he swallows hard watching you closely. “And I’m just sayin’...why don’t you just make love to me and stop fussing over a bunch of bunk?”

How could Seokmin say no to that? A grin forms on his lips, his pants falling to the floor at his feet. Seokmin takes another breath lifting his own hands to his shirt to make quick work of it while his eyes follow you moving back on to his bed.

You were like a dream, some painting that had become real and Seokmin had to shake his head to keep himself moving. “Jesus, you make it hard not to just lose my mind. Ya know that?” Seokmin watches you smile, that pretty grin that drives him mad. You had a pull on him like no other person had in his entire life.

Dropping his underwear to the floor, Seokmin puts one knee on the bed, reaching a hand out to run it over your leg. His nails scratch lightly over your thigh-highs causing you to bite at your lip until he reaches the end of your chemise.

His fingers scratch back down your leg to unsnap the top of your stockings from the garter keeping them attached to your chemise. Seokmin’s eyes never leave yours, a warm look of intensity trapped behind them as you feel his fingers run over your leg where your stocking once was.

“Unwrapping you might be my favorite part of the day…” Your cheeks burn at Seokmin’s words, he was bold with you in this room once the two of you felt comfortable. You enjoyed this side of him, how he would lean to kiss your thigh while his hands worked your other stocking from your leg only for him to move his lips to your now bare leg.

“I just think you like teasing me Seokmin.” He smiles against your skin, his fingers running back up to your hips where he runs over the silk of your chemise on the way up to your shoulders to pull down the straps almost desperately. “Oh, God…careful. Don’t rip it, baby.”

You say those words but Seokmin wonders if you mean it. He didn’t know how much your undergarments cost but though he had just said he didn’t have money to spare, he’d figure out a way to buy you more if it meant he could tear them off of you the way he wanted to. “Mm I’m not.” His lips brush over the top of your breast, his hands working the silk down your body as you arch your back then lift your hips allowing him to remove it from you completely.

When Seokmin drops the final piece of clothing onto the floor he lets his eyes wander over your naked form. From your legs to your face, back down to your breasts, and finally between your legs. “Prettiest dame in the entire city…”

Your eyes narrow, lifting your leg you push your foot against Seokmin’s chest. A laugh rises in his throat, his hands move to run over your calf to your ankle and back down as he stands in front of you, his cock standing hard and at attention for you. He only breaks eye contact with you long enough to lean and take a single rose from out of a vase next to his bed causing you to lift your brow and bite at your lip.

“You do this almost every time.”

“And every time…you like it.” You couldn’t argue with Seokmin when you feel the soft petals brush over your skin when he lightly drags the flower against your inner thigh up to your knee. A quiet moan falls from your lips, your hips lifting towards Seokmin and the flower only for him to pull it away running the rose along your shin, a smirk on his lips.

“And you thought I didn’t know you. You got some moxie sayin that…” There was amusement in Seokmin’s voice that seemed to trail out into something more sensual when he heard you moan once again. Your own fingers were pressed against your breasts, Seokmin couldn’t take his eyes off of them even as he teased you with the flower letting it brush over your folds only to be taken away.

You wanted him, you wanted more than the rose. As much as you loved the rose and his teasing you wanted him even more. “Seokmin…please. I love you baby, make love to me like I said.”

That was his favorite thing to hear you say, that you loved him. It meant more than anything in the world to Seokmin. No amount of money could match the feeling of those words. The rose falls to the bed beside your head and Seokmin lays between your thighs, his lips finally finding yours once again. “Tell me again, just one more time, doll.”

You try to speak but Seokmin’s hand runs along your outer thigh to your knee, his cock brushing against your needy pussy causing you to moan his name instead. “Babe, you sound like a dream come true. Say it again…”

Moving his hands between your legs, Seokmin slides his fingers between your folds relishing in how wet you were for him. The desperate whimpers falling off your lips were like the best song he had ever heard. Wrapping his hand around his length, Seokmin presses his tip against you and breathes softly against your lips muttering out a soft ‘please’ waiting for you to speak.

“I love you Seokmin. I love you so much.” As soon as words leave your lips Seokmin slowly pushes into you, taking your breath away. A groan escapes his lips, feeling you clench around him instantly as he works kisses from your lips to your ear where he mutters “I love you too, more than anything in this life” against it.

He was yours and you were his. That was all that mattered to either of you. At that moment no one’s approval was needed. If he had asked you to run away with him and elope you would have without question.

Seokmin’s mouth pressed to your jaw, his hand sliding along the other side of your neck up into your hair. His fingers tugging some of the pins loose, letting it fall into his grasp. Seokmin smiled against your skin, his cock buried so deeply inside of you when you let out a low moan of his name feeling overwhelmed.

Between your soft walls clenching around him, and the drag of his nails against the back of your scalp as he tugged at your hair, Seokmin was overloading your senses. He knew how to make you fall apart for him, every little button to push, every piece of skin to kiss in order to make you his all over again.

Your nails scratch across his shoulder and Seokmin groans into the crook of your neck. His warm lips pause in their search for more skin so that he can whisper your name. The feeling of his own climax building causing his brows to furrow when he lifts his head to meet your eyes full of love and need.

Leaning back, Seokmin wraps his arm around your waist pulling you up into his lap. The way he is reaching you so deeply now causes a breathy whine to slip from your lips before Seokmin claims them with his own muttering against them. “You’re my heart and my life, ya know that, doll?”

Smiling on his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck, you roll down over Seokmin as he thrusts up into you granting yourself a deep groan from his chest. You were seeing stars, your orgasm so close you felt like you were going to burst. “You’re mine, Lee Seokmin.”

The words seem to push Seokmin over the edge, his brows knitting together as if your words were the most profound speech he had ever heard. His thumbs press against your hips, fingers splay out along your lower back when Seokmin holds you in place before rolling over to his back letting you sit over him.

He could feel the rose under his back, many flowers had met their end like this. Their petals soon covered the sheet under your bodies but neither of you seemed to care. You were too lost in one another to worry about the bed of roses you had always seemed to create.

Seokmin’s head falls back, his throat exposed to you while your hands slide along his chest up to his shoulders. Your knees planted on the bed next to his hips you use what strength you have along with his hands lifting you to push yourself over the edge.

You gasp out Seokmin’s name when your thighs begin to shake, your walls clenched tightly around him as you cum. His head lifts to the sounds of your pretty moans, Seokmin’s eyes never leave you, his hands holding you secure even as his hips meet yours hard and fast. “Oh, baby…so damn pretty. Shit…shit.”

The words become breathy groans, your eyes open to fall on him getting your turn to watch him fall apart for you. There weren’t many things in the world as beautiful to you as watching Seokmin experience bliss.

His hands hold your hips to the point it's almost painful but you know he would kiss each mark later. Seokmin’s eyes close tightly, a smile forms on his parted lips before his hips stutter hard against yours and you feel his warm release begin to fill you. The feeling is almost enough to send you back over the edge to follow him again causing you to clench and for Seokmin to groan your name.

“You’re gonna kill me…” Falling onto his chest and into his arms, you relish in the feeling of his long fingers running along your back up to your neck only to continue that path for several minutes. Neither of you are in any rush to move from one another even as he softens completely inside of you, the mixture of his and your cum dripping from you onto his thighs.

“I’ll just kiss you back to life.” Seokmin laughs against your hair, his breath warm causing a shiver to run through you. You finally whine when he moves your leg and then his sliding from you causing you to feel empty.

If he could be inside you for the rest of his life he would. He wished that those fancy scientists could figure that one out. Stop wasting their time on other bullshit and figure out the important things like how he could never have to be separated from you and out of this bed.

“Don’t whine, doll. Gotta get cleaned up and get some food in you. You’ll fall asleep and wake up be sore at me if I don’t. Can’t stand when you are anything but happy.” Seokmin leans back to look at your face, running his finger along the bridge of your nose, a smile crossing his face when you can’t help but to smile at the gesture and his words.

“Mm, fine but I want a Jack Rose.” You roll from Seokmin letting him slip from the bed, your eyes following him before they fall to the petals now covering the bed. A smirk forming on your lips you gather a few of them rubbing them between your fingers glancing back up to your boyfriend to find him watching you.

You were a minx and a handful but Seokmin couldn’t help but know that he wanted you for the rest of his life. Watching you play with those rose petals melted Seokmin and made him want to fuck you all over again. Shaking his head, Seokmin grins, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck at your request as his cock ached slightly just at the sight of you. “One Jack Rose for the dame comin’ right up.”

Seokmin could never sleep very late into the day. It didn’t matter how long his nights were, even if they were longer with you. He had to have a little daylight in his life. Sitting on his small balcony, the doors open to let in the breeze and so that he could watch you sleeping, Seokmin let the cigarette rest between his fingers as he let the smoke out of his lungs on a slow breath.

It was a beautiful evening, the sun was even with the horizon but as much as Seokmin wanted to admire that he couldn’t help but sneak peeks of you in his bed. You had started to stir, your fingers reaching out for him like you had so many times when you woke up at his apartment. He watched a frown form on your lips and felt bad instantly, but instead of going to you he decided to watch you for a bit longer, bringing his cigarette back to his lips.

You knew Seokmin couldn’t be far, your frown didn’t last long when you realized where you were. Arching your back you smile, the sheet sliding down your body to your stomach, a happy sigh escaping your lips as you look around for any sign of him instead landing on the vase of roses.

Wrapping the sheet around your chest you reach up to take one from its place. Bringing it to your nose takes in the sweet scent that makes you think of Seokmin and how much you love him. Seokmin leans on his elbow watching you run the rose along your shoulder and down your arm much like he had many times before.

Swallowing hard, he brings the cigarette to his lips one last time to take a draw from it before tossing it away letting the smoke slip from his lips. Your lips were caught between your teeth, your face so bright, cheeks full. You looked so happy. Seokmin’s heart was pounding so hard as he thought to himself that ‘this is what love songs look like.’

Glancing up hearing the floor squeak, you can’t help but to smile seeing Seokmin standing in the balcony doorway, the curtains blowing in the wind, his hand in his pocket. He was still shirtless, pants unbuttoned, his hair only tamed by his fingers. Dropping the rose, you extend your hand for him and he wastes no time taking it, leaning down to press his lips to yours tenderly.

Both of you knew you wouldn’t have long. Not as long as either of you would prefer before he would have to go to the club, but that wouldn’t stop you from melting into his kiss. That wouldn’t stop Seokmin’s hands from sliding into your hair holding you to him desperately as if you would fly away from him like a bird.

Smiling on his lips, you finally do pull away shaking your head when you hear him sigh. “I love you so much.” You feel his lips pull up, a small kiss brushing against your cheek as Seokmin nods, his hand sliding along the sheet to pull it open. He wanted to touch your skin and you weren’t going to deny him.

“I love you too. Never wanna leave this bed, doll. Wanna be your husband.” He had said things like that before but it had been in moments of weakness and passion. Both of you had laughed it off knowing you would probably only ever be this.

“Ask me then.”

Seokmin’s lips were on your neck, his hand holding your side, his thumb gliding along your soft skin just under your breast when you spoke causing him to freeze. He had to have heard you wrong. Almost afraid to look up, Seokmin kisses your neck again before finally lifting his eyes to yours nervously. “What’d ya say?”

Your fingers rake through his hair, a smile on your lips though you were clearly nervous. “I said to ask me. You wanna be my husband, you gotta ask.” You weren’t the only one he’d have to ask or deal with when it came to this but god if he didn’t want this.

“I–Y/N? Ya serious?” Seokmin watches you nod, no signs of this being a joke on your face. “What about Jihoon? You know I gotta ask him too. You heard him yesterday, no one in that club…me included is good enough for you. I don’t much disagree with him, you know what I said yesterday. As much as I love you, doll…I can’t give you anymore than what I got.”

Your fingers tighten in Seokmin’s hair making him sigh out a slow breath. His eyes locked with yours. “I didn’t ask for excuses of why you don’t wanna marry me, Lee Seokmin. So if that’s all you’re gonna give me–”

Seokmin doesn’t let you finish your sentence, panic rips through him at the idea of you denying him because of his own fear. His lips press to yours, his brow furrowed tightly, you feel how his hand clings at your skin as he mutters against your lips. “God no, I’m sorry. Marry me? Will ya? I’ll figure it out. I’ll rebuild the damn world to make it better if I gotta…just want you to marry me.”

Your small laugh followed by a gentle kiss to his lips allows Seokmin to calm down. His heart is still beating so hard you can feel it against your body. Lifting your leg, you run your thigh along his hip, a smile on your lips as you nod leaning your head back so you can look at him once again. “You ain’t gotta rebuild nothin’. I love the man I got, just give me that and you got me. ‘Course I’ll marry you.”

You knew he was right, soon he would have to talk to Jihoon, you both would. He would be furious, not only at Seokmin but mostly with you. Family didn’t lie, at least your family but you had been keeping a lot from him for a very long time, but that could wait.

Seokmin sighs happily, his head lowering to rest against your breasts. You smile to the feeling of his warm breath against your skin as you close your eyes allowing yourself to push away any thoughts of Jihoon for now. That was a problem for later, this was now and you had your future husband in your arms.

“I’m just sayin’ I gotta figure out a ring. Something that will look good enough to be on your finger.”

You can’t help but smile, Seokmin lifting your hand to his lips to press them to the back of your knuckles. His eyes pull slightly at the corners when he meets your gaze, finding you giving him ‘that look’.

“Somethin’ we can worry about later, babe. I got plenty of rings for now, ‘sides…we still gotta talk to Hoon.” Seokmin sighs beginning to speak, his head nodding as the two of you stand in his dressing room when the door closes causing you both to jump.

“Yeah, you should’a talked to Hoon a while ago, it seems.” Seokmin’s eyes close to the sound of Jihoon’s voice. There was no way to know how long he had been outside of the door but that didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Letting go of your hand, Seokmin clears his throat slowly turning to face your brother. “Jihoon, I –” He is cut short by Jihoon’s knuckles meeting his jaw with a loud crack causing you to let out a gasp.

Seokmin’s first instinct was to fight back, his arms lifting to push Jihoon back, his own fist pulled back ready to make contact with someone he considered not only his boss but his friend. Tears were already on your cheeks as you pushed between them watching Seokmin lower his fist on his own accord.

“I’m not going to fight you, damn it Jihoon!” Lifting his hand, Seokmin rubs his jaw wincing at the pain that radiates into his neck, turning away from both of you to curse under his breath before speaking louder. “I love her, and I ain’t sorry ‘bout that. So, if that means you gotta throw your fists at me some more, so be it. I’ll take it, I know I went about this all wrong.”

You weren’t sure who to even give your attention to but when Seokmin groaned in pain, his hand moving over his jaw you couldn’t help but to move to him sliding his hand out of the way so you could look at his face. The skin was already red and you could tell there was some swelling, your brother had always been strong and wasn’t afraid to use his fists when it was needed. Glancing over to him, you watched Jihoon stand stoic, his eyes never leaving you or Seokmin even as your fingers tenderly tried to soothe the man.

“I should have told you. I know that, alright? You didn’t have to punch him.” Jihoon doesn’t speak, instead he continues to watch as your attention is drawn back to the man in front of you. He watches how you look at him, how Seokmin’s fingers hold your wrist so carefully for a man so much bigger than you. He can see how much you two care about each other but that still didn’t make this okay.

“Yeah I did. You know I did, and you should’a. We talked about this, Y/N…you know how I feel.” You start to speak but Jihoon lifts his hand moving closer to you and Seokmin, his eyes narrowed. “I think I get the chance to talk a bit, don’t you? I got a lotta catchin’ up to do.”

Your cheeks were burning, you were angry and embarrassed but you knew he was right. You had hid so much from him. You owed him the chance to speak. Nodding you simply lean against Seokmin, his hand in yours while he also pays close attention to Jihoon trying to to piss him off anymore than he already has.

“This thing, I dunno how long it’s been goin’ on, but if I had’ta guess it’s been a while.” Scoffing, Jihoon reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, the memories of all the times in the past year he had caught you in different scenarios beginning to make complete sense. “All under my damn nose. Maybe I’m the chump, huh?”

You knew that was rhetorical but you still shrug making Jihoon suck in a breath and reach out his hand to push his index finger into the middle of your forehead playfully. “Don’t push it. You really love this sap?”

Jihoon watches a smile spread across your lips that even he can’t help but to feel a bit warmer because of. Your eyes lifting to meet Seokmin’s gaze, who presses his lips together trying to hide his own smile. “Yeah, I love him. I wanna marry him, Hoon. He’s mine…don’t want him with nobody else.”

Wrinkling his nose, Jihoon didn’t know if he liked the sound of all of that. You were better than this, all of this, but of course you had fallen right into the lap of this world. “And you always get what you want, kid.” Sighing loudly, Jihoon looks at Seokmin before narrowing his eyes almost angrily, his hands lifting expectedly.

Seokmin glanced at you a bit confused before Jihoon sighed, reaching to smack the man’s head as if to knock some sense into him. “You gonna at least ask? Or I could just knock your head off, your choice Seokmin.”

You couldn’t help but be slightly amused, your brother using similar words that you had when you had brought up Seokmin asking you to marry you earlier in the day. A pained laugh leaves Seokmin’s mouth lifting his head, his mouth opening and closing to stretch his swollen jaw. Nodding he finally meets Jihoon’s eyes, “Yeah, I’mma ask. I really wanna marry your sister, can I please get your blessing to go ahead with that? ‘Cause I may not have much Jihoon but I still plan on making her a very happy woman.”

Jihoon could see you were already happy, and to him that was already a pretty big step. He had half a mind to say no, to put you both in your place but watching the way you looked at him with your big puppy dog eyes even he had to melt, an annoyed sigh slipping out of his mouth. “You got my blessing. Don’t keep things from me ever again.”

Moving from Seokmin you cause your brother to groan out another annoyed sound when you wrap your arms around him hugging him tightly. Only Seokmin sees the smile pull at the other man’s lips when he puts an arm around you holding you closely. “Yeah, yeah. Like I said, you always get what you want, kid.”

Seokmin grins at the scene leaning his head back against the wall, a wave of relief falling over him when you finally move away from Jihoon and back to him, sitting on his leg. He shakes his head feeling a bit shy knowing your brother is still in the room as your lips brush against yours but he doesn’t pull from the kiss, instead he laughs against your lips hearing Jihoon groan once more then the sound of the door shutting.

“Told you that you were mine, Lee Seokmin.”

You smirk on his lips, Seokmin’s fingers pushing against your side as he holds you to him. “That you did, and you’re mine, doll.”

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