#dream of the endless x daughter reader

[thepaintedlady00]

I've got another Morpheus and Daughter!Reader request that can be a prequel or sequel to the previous one. I hope it's good: Morpheus struggles to give his daughter the birds and bees talk. Desire offers to help but Morpheus is reluctant to let them until his daughter says something along the lines of "Please let my aunt-uncle help and put aside your issues with them for a few minutes for my sake!". Desire actually winds up explaining it well seeing as they have a lot of experience when it comes to sexual things.

Okay this concept has me LAUGHING! Dream having to turn to Desire for this is just golden!

"Father," you called out as you exited the library with the book in your hand.

"Yes, dear one?" He answered from the throne room. "Do you need something?"

"I have a question." You held the book out to him and pointed. "What is sex?"

Dream practically choked on his words as he looked at the book and quietly asked, "Why are you reading this?"

You shrugged. "It looked interesting. I enjoy the story, but parts of it are confusing."

"What parts?"

"Well the ones with these words: sex, penetration, co-"

"That is enough reading for the day!" He answered quickly. "Why don't you go for a walk?"

You sighed but did as he suggested while the great king sought out Lucienne to demand to know why you'd been allowed access to such books. The librarian calmly reminded him that you were of age and that she could not possibly bar you from reading what you wished. And so the endless being of greater power than any could know, sought out out late in the evening with a gentle knock on your door.

"Dear one?" He called out.

"Come in," you answered.

He quietly sat down beside you with a heavy breath. "I apologize for my curt response earlier. Your questions are normal, and I would like to answer them for you." You waited patiently for him to continue. But the longer he sat there looking at you... at his precious little girl, he found himself unable to find the right way to go about it.

Instead, he offered to answer your questions the following day, which led him to his gallery, holding his sibling's sigil and grumbling the words. Desire smiled through the glass. "What a surprise! Do tell me what I can help you with, big brother."

"My daughter has some questions," Dream said.

"Answer them then."

"Questions about..." He sighed. "About intimacy."

Their laughter echoed in his ears. "Ohhh I see, our little flower is getting ready to have her petals plucked."

He growled. "That is not what is happening!"

"Send her to me tomorrow and I'll handle it."

"Desire-"

"Fret not, big brother, I'll be as boring as I can be."

He hated this idea, but he feared he'd only confuse you more. So, first thing in the morning you joined Desire in their realm and listened to them as they spoke on what they called "the birds and the bees". You left with the knowledge you wished and surprisingly enough you assured Dream that you'd had fun.

"You had fun?"

You nodded. "Yes, Desire made learning very easy! They should teach more."

Dream's brows furrowed. "So you have no more questions?"

"Not at the moment," you answered. "Is something the matter?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "I suppose there isn't."

You hugged him for a quick moment. "Thank you for helping me, Father."

He kissed your head. "Always, my dear one."

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Love and Loss Extra Content (2)

Based on the characters from Love and Loss

Summary: Your and Morpheus' daughter returns to the Dreaming with new knowledge of the Waking World. And she must let her father know about it. A few bows, a raven, and the King of Nightmares.

Notes: ~1k words, you don't have to read the original one shot to enjoy, reach the end for a surprise?

Warnings/Tags: fluff and family fun time

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

“And this one is pink,” Delphyne explains aloud as she fastens the ribbon to her father’s hair. 

“Mhm,” Morpheus hums as he bows his head to let the child reach his hair. 

Delphyne had just come back from the waking world, using her shape shifting abilities to sneak off as she often does. She goes every few years or so to see what the mortals are up to. Currently, bows are in fashion, according to her��bows and fake gems that have adhesive stuck to the back of them. 

Morpheus never understood why she needed to visit the drab, logical world of the waking. Everything his daughter needed was right here in the Dreaming. He could conjure up anything she could ever imagine. Mythical creatures, playmates, locations… if she names it, the King of Dreams would be at her mercy. 

“This one is pink and covered in glitter.” She continues, sitting on his lap as she clamps it onto his bangs. “And this—um, daddy, more hair,” Delphyne asks, tugging on his robe sleeve. 

“More hair?” Morpheus repeats, looking down at her. 

She pouts, squishing her nose in annoyance as her father doesn’t understand her right away. Obviously, she’s running out of room to do her impromptu art. “More hair, grow more hair!” 

“When did you get so demanding, little love?” Morpheus asks with a frown. 

“Learned it from Mama,” She sighed exasperated as if stating the obvious. “Please?”

Weak to her pleas, Morpheus changes the length of hair, allowing the strands to grow longer just as his daughter asked. She claps happily as they reach his shoulder blades, standing excitedly and balancing on his lap. The ridges of her shoes dig into Morpheus’ thighs but he finds that he doesn’t mind the pain at all. 

“The human girls taught me how to braid hair, too,” She continued her rambles, having forgotten her bows and fake jewels in her father’s lap. 

With inexperienced hands, Delphyne grabs her father’s hair, separating them into strands before she begins to braid them, too. She ties them off with more ribbons before deeming that she needed more practice and began to braid another strand. 

Morpheus grows limp under her experiments, only moving to ensure she doesn’t fall from his lap. He listens to her as she talks about her adventure to the waking world all the while she clamps and ties ribbons and bedazzles his face. There’s a new bakery down one street, the cobbler’s boy just married the printer’s daughter, and how could she forget that someone’s kitty cat was found stuck in a tree. She likes how loud the music is this time around, but she hates how dirty the river water has recently gotten. 

“Okay, I done.” She dusts her hands off, puffing out her chest in pride as she takes a once over look at her masterpiece. After nodding her approval, she slides off Morpheus’ lap, already skipping off to some new adventure to behold. “Bye, daddy. Thanks for playing with me!” 

The palace seems to suddenly lose all of its color as Delphye leaves. Morpheus returns to his normal scenery, the atmosphere suddenly too quiet for his liking—and he liked quiet. 

“Wow… you look… colorful,” Matthew lets out slowly, trying his best not to laugh. The raven has learned that it’s much harder to laugh as a bird and instead he just caw’s obnoxiously loud now. It’s nothing he can control even though he wishes he could. 

Morpheus doesn’t bother with a response, only removing one of the smaller bows by the metal clamp in the back. He clips it to the top of Matthew's head with a poorly hidden smirk. 

“Hey!” Matthew flails as he tries to look at the neon pink bow, but now he learns that birds can’t look up with just their eyeballs. His head twitches as he tries to get the foreign object out of his feathers, his wings flapping around and he’s reminded that he doesn’t have hands anymore.

Matthew gives up, now a panting slump on the cold stone floor of the palace. He looks around to find that Morpheus had already left him and he stands back on his feet with a sad expression. 

“He’s so mean sometimes,” the bird complains to himself. He turns one way and the other, the nails on his claws clack against the floor before he thinks to seek out Lucienne with some help. 

‎ 

Morpheus finds you within your own realm, your shepherd's crook in hand as you stand amongst your flock of sheep. The garden nymphs are hard at work, planting seeds for the next harvest and you’re busy scolding the fluffy mammals. 

“Patricia, stop trying to bite Albie’s ears, he hates it.” You speak to one of the animals. 

Baaa!

“I don’t care if you think you’re flirting with him, he doesn’t like it,” You scold. “And you, Terry, will you please stop eating the alfalfa, it is toxic to your little body.” 

Baaa?

“Yes, I am aware you are all technically dead, sacrificed and all. But in my care, stop eating the alfalfa,” You grit out, your grip on your shepherd's crook growing tighter in frustration. 

You’re about to scold your third victim of the night when the sheep begin to grow unsettled. They back away from you and start belting out warning calls before completely leaving your side. Your head is tilted in confusion, your mouth still open in preparation of another lesson for your sheep. 

What in the world?

You turn around to see what your sheep had grown so afraid of, only to let out a surprised yelp yourself. You drop your shepherd's crook in surprise, your hand’s going over your heart as if it could stop it from beating so hard. 

“You scared me! What in the Meadows’ green fields happened to you,” You cry out, finally taking a deep breath as you realize it was just your husband. 

Morpheus stands before you, his shoulder slumped and arms defeated at his side. 

“Your daughter,” He explains. 

Your shocked expression turns to laughter as you take a closer look at him. From his neck downward is nothing but his typical dark attire, fitting for the King of Nightmares. But everything else, covered in bows and glitter and gems was what little girl’s dreams are made of. 

“Our daughter,” You correct between chortles, delicately grabbing one of the braids in his hair. “How did you agree to this?”

“She said please,” he counters and that was the end of the conversation. 

Here you go, reward for reading it all:

Bedazzled and ready for battle

♡ Yours, Layla

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

[incognit0slut]

Angel

PART 5 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Single Dad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader Spencer likes having you around to look after his daughter, in fact, he likes you a bit too much.

content: (18+) 5.4k, breeding kink, fingering, fem oral, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, d/s dynamic but he still tries to be a gentleman although reader doesn’t want him to, mutual pining, body worship with slight religious metaphors bc he’s down so bad, and of course sweet aftercare a/n: 1) i know the gif isn’t spencer but i just had to; 2) i changed the title from the original plan bc i was listening to angel baby while writing this; 3) if i have the chance to describe his happy trail and tummy i will in a heartbeat; 4) this fic is basically the epitome of D-I-L-F!

“I want you to understand,” he mutters against your skin, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear, “that I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

A hand creeps up the back of his neck. “What if I want you to?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am serious. I’m not the one hesitating.”

His hand glides slowly up your side, fingertips barely ghosting over your skin, and a soft, shaky breath escapes his lips. “I’m trying to be responsible."

“I think we’re past being responsible,” you counter as his fingers trace your waist. “What are you so worried about, anyway? You’re not forcing me into anything.”

“I want to make sure you don’t feel like—” his fingers twitch, lingering over your bare skin, “—like I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

“I’m literally naked under you,” you remind him. “If anyone’s taking advantage here, it’s me.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he exhales. “You’re making this really hard, you know that?”

“That’s kind of the point.”

And it’s true, Spencer realizes with a rush of heat, because he’s incredibly hard, the heavy length of his cock pressed against your stomach while he braces his weight above you. His lungs tighten, squeezing around breaths that feel too thick to swallow as his teeth graze his lower lip. It takes everything in him to keep from losing himself when his mind is already slipping.

How could he have ever imagined it would go this far?

Spencer can’t quite make sense of how this quiet, unassuming crush that crept in the first time he saw you with his daughter has led to this. It wasn’t anything grand or sudden, just this slow bloom that unfurled every time he caught you reading to Violet or laughing with her over some little joke in the living room. There was just something about the way you slipped so easily into his life, fitting into the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty until you filled them.

He’d never let himself imagine it would go beyond that. He’d convinced himself those feelings for you were just something he’d have to live with quietly, a small ache that would fade with time. But somehow, despite his best efforts to keep it hidden, you’d found your way to him. And against all his expectations, you liked him back. You like him enough that you’re now wearing nothing but a smile.

Flushed skin kissed by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Innocent eyes touched with a hint temptation.

It all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

The moment that led to this replays in his mind, clear as daylight even if it happened well past midnight. He’d gotten home somewhere between too late and way too late, running on nothing but caffeine and sugar, and there you were, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You started talking about your day with Violet, recounting how you’d taken her to the park, read her favorite book before bed, and how she’d peppered you with endless questions about why the sky changes colors when the day changes into night. But something was different in your voice, a softness to the way you said his name, and your gaze lingered on him just a beat longer than usual. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing he could point to and say that’s it, but he felt it. An almost imperceptible shift in the air.

Before he knew it, he had crossed the room and kissed you. He should’ve thought it through or paused to consider the consequences, but the way you responded made it clear you’d been waiting just as long for his attention.

His shoulders fall with a quiet exhale.

“This could get complicated,” he continues, as if reminding you (and maybe himself) that there’s a line between employee and employer that he’s about to cross. A line that could change everything between you both once it’s blurred. “We should think about what this means.”

“We’ve had plenty of time to think. If you wanted to stop, you would’ve done it already.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Then please enlighten me.”

Instead of answering right away, he leans in, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and then he’s gently pulling the tender flesh between his lips that draws a sudden moan from your throat. The sound seems to fuel him, and before you can even register what’s happening, his fingers are already slipping lower, exploring the soft space between your thighs.

“What if I want more than this?” His fingers inch closer, teasingly brushing against your heat with a slowness that borders on torment. “What if I want everything?”

Your hips buck against his hand. “Everything?”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Not just tonight.”

The words send a ripple of electricity that blooms deep in your core. When his fingers finally slip between your folds, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

“You… you mean you want… more than this? More than just us… here?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice catching like gravel in his throat as his fingers trace over the slickness he’s found. “Does that scare you?”

For a moment, words fail you. The slow, coaxing rhythm of his fingers pulls you deeper into a haze where coherent thoughts are hard to grasp. There’s a pause, a heartbeat where he stops. Waiting.

“No,” you confess, the truth slipping out more easily than you expected. “It doesn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “It doesn’t?”

Your lungs expand, filling with a rush of oxygen and a nervous flutter that lands somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “I think this is the right time to tell you I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

Spencer stays motionless for a beat. Then something shifts—his gaze softens, and a small, almost incredulous smile curves his lips. “You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah.”

“As in… you have feelings for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you’re not just… turned on right now?”

“Well, that too,” you admit with a grin, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “But it’s more than that. I really like you.”

His smile widens, and his fingers begin to move again, circling your clit with just the right pressure to pull a sharp intake of breath from you. It’s as though your confession is a final green light he’d been waiting for. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Your teeth catch your lip, struggling to hold back fragments of breath. “I thought it was obvious,” you manage between heavy exhales. “Why do you think I always stay late?"

"To avoid traffic?"

You huff. "I tried to be around you as much as possible, Spencer."

His fingers toy at the edge of your entrance, tracing the slick, warm wetness that clings to his skin as a quiet hum rumbles in his chest. “You know I’m not always the best at picking up social cues.”

“You’re a profiler.” Your breath catches halfway between a gasp and a sigh when he slides a finger in. “You're supposed to notice everything."

He lets your words settle, eyes narrowing slightly as he turns them over in his mind.

“I guess I was too focused on trying not to cross any lines to see the ones you were trying to draw."

A soft moan escapes your lips as another finger slides in.

“I'm… glad you finally caught on."

"I'm catching on now.”

His eyes drop to the way your body greedily takes his fingers. The sight alone sends a rush of heat straight to his gut like a line of fire winding up through his chest and spreading into his limbs. You’re dripping, the slick sound of your arousal nearly derails him as he continues to watch the wetness coat his fingers with every slow thrust.

“Since when have you had this crush?” He asks curiously.

There’s a beat of silence, only punctuated by the soft, breathy noises escaping you. When he finally looks up, he catches the way your face scrunches in pleasure, brows furrowed and eyes barely open, and he can’t help but find it almost unbearably adorable. The corners of his lips twitch with a quiet laugh before he leans in, pressing the softest it’s okay, you can tell me kiss against your lips.

“Since when?”

You blink your eyes open at his question, and there’s a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Since—” you start, but your voice catches when he curls his fingers slightly, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a barely-contained grin.

“Since?” he prompts again.

You swallow the lump tightening in your throat. “Since you interviewed me for the job."

He absorbs your words. "That’s… more than a while."

"It was innocent at the time," you confess, trying to regain some control over your thoughts. "Just a silly little crush."

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, and whatever sense of composure you had left is slipping away piece by piece. “What changed?”

Desperation claws at you with every passing second, your hips moving against his hand as you scramble to gather your thoughts. But the way his fingers are mapping every sensitive spot makes it nearly impossible to articulate anything coherent. He doesn’t miss the way your breath stutters, or how your words break apart into fragmented attempts to answer.

“I-I—” you stammer, wincing as the words catch in your throat before you finally manage to continue, “I probably shouldn’t say…”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing."

He lets out a soft laugh. “Tell me anyway,” he urges. “I want to hear it.”

You fall quiet again, and the only sounds that fill the space between you is the ragged pull of your breaths and the slick rhythm of his fingers pumping lazily inside you. The words sit heavy on your tongue, threatening to disappear if you don’t say them quickly enough.

"Remember when… you taught Violet how to… ride her bike?”

He tilts his head slightly. There’s a furrow in his brow as he searches your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, there were a lot of lessons.”

“The very first time.”

“Ah,” he muses. “Around June, then.”

You nod. “When I… saw you with her that day, I-I… I got curious.”

His fingers falter, just slightly, the subtle pause enough to show that you’ve grabbed his attention. “Curious?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You were so adorable with her… and I started thinking about what it would be like… to have your kids.”

If there was ever a moment to leave him utterly speechless, this was it. His brain seems to stall, the gears grinding to a halt as the reality of what you’ve said settles in. He’s spent so much time trying to be the one holding it all together, but now? Now all he could picture was you holding a baby—his baby—and the thought sent his mind reeling, knocking him off balance in a way he didn’t expect.

“You… thought about that?”

Your fingers trails his shoulder before slipping up into his hair, curling gently at the nape of his neck. “It crossed my mind more than once.”

“That’s—” wow. He leans his forehead against yours. “Not embarrassing. At all.”

“Really?”

“That’s probably the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

You let out a soft chuckle, gently pulling on his curls before drawing his bottom lip into a gentle suck. “It’s never been innocent since then.”

Goosebumps rises along his skin, and the heat pooling low in his stomach tightens as he grows impossibly harder. “Yeah?”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time.”

His jaw clenches.

He’s so close to completely losing it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he mutters, pressing his fingers deeper inside you.

“Why.. why not?”

“Because I might give you exactly what you want.” When he feels you clench around him, he huffs in amusement. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a tender spot he finds deep inside, one that feels achingly sensitive, and your mouth falls open, a soundless gasp escaping before you can catch it.

“You really mean it,” he says, more a realization than a question, as he watches your body go pliant beneath his touch.

“I do,” you manage to say.

“You want me that way?”

You nod frantically. “Want your cum in me.”

The second those words leave your lips, his groan rumbles through his chest, and you swallow it down as his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in a chaotic rhythm that’s both desperate and needy. When he finally pulls away, you’re left panting, your lips swollen, his forehead resting against yours.

“Never would’ve guessed you had such a dirty mouth."

"There's a lot of thing you don't know about me."

His breath brushes against your lips as he whispers, “I’m starting to figure that out.”

When he slowly withdraws his fingers, you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your throat. Your eyes follow his every move as he sits up and settles between your thighs. You’ve always thought Spencer was an attractive man, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t admired the way his shirts fit just snug enough to hint at what was underneath. But seeing him naked like this? That was a whole new level of breathtaking.

Your gaze trails down his frame, landing on the soft curve of his stomach, something you'd secretly adored every time it pressed against his dress shirts. It was even more captivating without anything hiding it now, especially with the trail of dark hair leading down. Soft, scattered strands, drawing your eyes right to the place where you can’t help but stare.

He gives himself a slow pump. Once. Twice. And then, finally, you feel the firm pressure of his tip pressing between your folds.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the head of his cock sliding over your sensitive skin. “There's a condom in my drawer."

Your body tenses at the thought of him pulling back, and without thinking, your hand reaches between the two of you, wrapping around his cock before he can pull away. “When was the last time you got tested?”

He exhales sharply. “A few months ago,” he mutters, hips twitching against your grip despite himself. “If there was any risk, I wouldn’t even consider this without telling you.”

“I got tested last month,” you assure him quickly. “We’re both safe.”

He nods absentmindedly. “We can… still grab the condom if you want…”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, gently brushing the bead of precum that had formed at his tip. “I thought I made it clear I want you to cum inside me.”

He can only stare as your delicate finger trails along the thick vein. It feels like all the oxygen he’s desperately clinging to has been sucked from his lungs.

“I know you said you don’t want to take advantage of me…” you continue, guiding him right to your entrance. “But I really want you to.”

He finally lets out a low, gruff sound, something between a growl and a sigh as he slowly pushes himself in. His eyes are locked on the sight of your walls stretching to accommodate his size, watching as your body struggles to take him.

"You should stop talking like that," he rasps through gritted teeth. "I’m barely holding it together."

"Here's another thing you should know about me.”

He ruts gently into you. A push. A pull.

A heartbeat in between.

“I really like it rough."

That’s all it takes.

He slams his hips into yours.

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels. It’s more like a surge, a rush of heat and desperation that floods every inch of him the same time you cry out. His throat tightens, constricting around breaths he can’t seem to catch as he resorts to inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Jesus… you feel so—” His words falter, his voice rough and breathless as his fingers figs into your skin. His chest rises and falls with each labored breaths, and his eyes squeezes shut for a moment.

Tight. Warm. Wet. That’s exactly how you feel.

"Perfect." His large hands grips your waist. “You’re perfect.”

You mewl at his words, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it, and the soft, needy noise is enough to make his eyes flicker open. He begins to pull back, just enough to make you whimper from the sudden loss of contact, but before you can catch your breath, he snaps his hips forward with a rough, powerful thrust.

Your hands fly to his arms, holding onto him tightly. "Spencer… Please…”

He lets out a sigh.

No man is immune to that tone of desperation, least of all Spencer. Not when you’re offering yourself to him like something out of a dream. Not when your eyes lock onto his with a look that belongs more to an angel—if angels could be so helpless and desperate. Because what angel pleads with every breath for more?

What angel cries out as he holds your hips firmly in place and thrusts with a force that drives you to the brink of sanity?

He’s mesmerized. His eyes track the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips. There’s something almost greedy in the way his gaze roams over you, but it’s when he locks onto where your bodies meet that he really loses himself. A glossy ring coats his cock each time he pulls out, and when he pushes back in, the friction between your bodies creates a lewd, wet sound that fills the room.

He laughs. Not out of mockery, but out of sheer delight.

You’re an angel wrapped in sin.

“I can’t—oh god, right there—” Your nails leave little crescents moon on his skin. “You’re so… so deep.”

You’re really testing his limits, and Spencer knows he’s very far from a violent man, but right now, the temptation to cover your mouth with his hand is becoming dangerously real. Although with the way you’re writhing beneath him, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, he’s sure you’d probably enjoy it.

“Spencer…”

His balls slaps your ass as he slams into you.

“O-Oh—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He squeezes your waist tightly. “Already?”

“Ngh.”

Your grip loosens on his arm, and before he can fully process what’s happening, your fingers dance along your clit. It takes all his willpower not to spill into you right then and there when he feels you tighten around him in response. But he holds on, because he needs you to cum first. He needs to feel your velvety walls flutter along the rigid veins of his cock, needs to watch the way your body tenses with pleasure.

He needs to feel it more than once.

He lets you have your first orgasm. Although letting seems like the wrong word. There’s nothing passive about it. He’s making you cum, driving you to it with each calculated thrust. You’re toying with your clit, rubbing in frantic circles just like you do whenever you touch yourself with the thought of him, but this time, it’s even more intense. This time, he’s inside you. And this time, it takes only a few moments for the tension to snap.

You clamp down on him. Hard. So hard that his movement falters for a second, but he quickly recovers, thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm. Just as you start to catch your breath, he pulls out, and you’re left in that delicious, dizzy haze, but your mind is even more disoriented when his face suddenly lowers between your thighs.

“Oh, you’re gonna—” you moan as his shoulders nudge your legs apart, opening you wider for him. “Spencer, you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, before you even take another breath, the tip of his tongue flicks out.

“I want to.”

And he means it. He dives in with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt. His tongue starts firm and flat, pressing against you before dragging slowly upward, gathering your slickness in one deliberate sweep. Then he changes rhythm, the broad strokes shifting into something more focused, alternating between gentle flicks and deep, hungry pulls, and it’s doing things to you that no amount of late-night fantasies could have prepared you for.

Your head is all over the place that you reach out blindly, trying to find something solid, but the air merely glides over your skin. You stretch for the edge of the bed, fingertips just skimming the surface before your arms flail helplessly in the empty space. He notices your struggle almost immediately, and without missing a beat, he pulls back, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Here,” he says, reaching out his arms toward you. “Give me your hands.”

Gladly. The second your fingers lock with his, a sense of grounding floods you, though it does nothing to ease the intensity of what he’s doing. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders flex under your thighs as he positions himself. And sure, your legs somehow feel weightless, like they’re floating in the air, but the rest of you?

You’re a mess of nerve endings on fire.

It’s impossible to think clearly when every cell in your body is buzzing. Your thoughts scatter the second his mouth moves in that devastating way, driving you out of your mind. You try to hold on to some semblance of control, but who are you kidding? He has officially turned you into a puddle of desperate, needy nerves, and you don’t even care.

It doesn’t take long before that coil snaps, and when it does, your entire body trembles. It’s always the second orgasm. The first is a tease, a little warm-up. The second one is the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. It doesn’t just tug at your edges, it tears right through, leaving you gasping and shaking and completely undone like every part of you has been pulled apart and put back together very wrong.

His mouth is glazed with your slick when he finally pulls away. “Good?”

You can barely feel your legs.

“Speechless,” is your answer.

His nose twitches in amusement as his hand leaves yours only for them to slide down your body, gently coaxing your legs to wrap around his waist. “Continue?”

“Please.”

A palm slips down your thigh. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as he hovers above you. “About what?”

“About taking advantage of you.”

You huff out a sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Say it again,” he urges, guiding his cock smoothly along your folds before your whines travel into his ears. Ah, there it is. This is the sound that would greet him in heaven, if such a place existed for someone like him. Men who’ve taken lives to save others. Men who carry too many regrets to count. Spencer knows he’s not the kind of person heaven was built for, but if it were, he’s certain it would sound exactly like the breathy moan that escapes your lips.

And he’s tasted the afterlife, once, when he was younger—drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion with a ghost of a needle stuck in his arm. But nothing about that brush with death was like this. This feels like he’s been pulled back into something he didn’t believe he deserved.

“Say it again.”

He’s pleading now. It sounds awfully like a prayer.

“I want you to take advantage of me,” you say, the words spilling from your lips like a soft, sinful confession, music to his ears. An angel. “I want all of it.”

He takes your hands again. “So you won’t be mad if I get a little rough?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

That’s all he needs. He gently pushes your hands above your head, pinning them to the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours as his weight presses you into the bed. There’s a sudden rush—like a switch has flipped that it knocks the breath out of you. Your heart skips a beat, but not from nerves. No, this is anticipation, excitement.

You test his hold on you, just to see what happens, but his grip stays firm, almost daring you to resist.

“You asked for this,” he warns as he shifts his hips, aligning himself right to your entrance.

You shake your head. “I begged for this.”

He laughs, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “Yeah,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he presses deeper, “you did.”

A breathless whine escapes your lips as he fills you.

Angel, angel, angel.

He looks at you with a kind of reverence that borders on worship, though his movements are anything but saintly. There’s nothing gentle or innocent about the way he’s taking you, and there’s a quiet madness in the way you respond. Making love would be too tame, too soft for what this is. But fucking seems too crude, too disconnected for the way your eyes meet his, for the way you say his name like a prayer and a demand all at once.

The moment your voice breaks, breathless and needy, something inside him snaps. He feels the tightness coiling in his gut, and once it starts, there’s no stopping it. The pressure is mounting, and with every hard thrust it becomes harder to hold back. He knows he should slow down, give you a moment to catch your breath, but he can’t—his body won’t let him.

His fingers tighten around yours. He’s moving with a single-minded intensity now, pushing you flat against the mattress, your body pliant beneath him. The bed creaks every time he moves and your legs wrap tighter around his hips as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer leans down, brushing his lips against yours, so close but never quite closing the distance, like even the simplest kiss would shatter him too soon. Instead, he rests his forehead on top of yours and whispers, “l’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, like he’s stuck on some endless loop. It’s not a real apology, not for anything he’s done, but for how much he needs you and how he’s afraid of breaking you with how much he can’t hold back.

He’s so close and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m—” He groans as he feels the tension in his body snap, the wave building up in his spine and crashing down with brutal intensity. “I—fuck—I can’t hold it—”

You’re barely coherent yourself, but your voice comes out strong. A little breathless.

“Inside,” you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it inside.”

Your words push him over the edge. He shudders, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can the moment the last thread of his restraint snaps. He can feel it, the way he pulses inside you, filling you completely. Every thrust is accompanied by a harsh groan as his release paints your walls, and the sound of your soft, desperate whines only pushes him deeper into the overwhelming pleasure.

When it finally becomes too much, he carefully pulls out. But the intensity is still coursing through his veins, and he’s too addicted to the sound of your sound, too drawn to the way your body trembles beneath him.

His hand drifts from your wrist almost on instinct, tracing its way down between your legs. He doesn’t need to see the mess he’s made—he can feel it. There’s a fleeting moment where he pauses, almost in awe, before his fingers brush over your clit, and your hips jerk in response. He’s not even sure if he’s teasing you or himself at this point, but he’s too far gone to care.

He slides two fingers inside you.

Your back arches instantly, your nipples brushing against his chest, and you gasp, fully aware of what he’s trying to do. “Oh… I—I can’t…”

He shakes his head. “You can,” he reassures you, watching in fascination as he pushes the white liquid of his release deeper into you. His gaze snaps back to yours. “I think you can give me one more.”

Your body trembles, and you can’t hold back the soft, broken cry that escapes your lips.

“Spencer…”

He loosens his grip on your hand, guiding it gently to rest around his neck. “Please,” he begs, his lips brushing your skin, “for me?”

The way he says it makes it impossible for you to deny him. And he knows it. He feels it in the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the tension inside you builds again. His fingers work faster, more desperate now, curling inside you just the way you like.

He’s watching, waiting, and when you finally cum again, it’s like witnessing something so divine. Your body shakes beneath him, a violent, beautiful quake that feels like it’s pulling him into its orbit. He’s unable to tear his eyes away as your head tilts back, lips parting with a choked moan that’s as delicate as it is devastating like an angel’s breath caught on the edge of rapture.

If angels looked this breathtaking in heaven, no wonder people were willing to risk damnation.

Spencer smiles wryly to himself.

Since when did he become so religious?

Another strangled moan escapes your lips. When your orgasm finally subsides, your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, and with what little strength you have left, you reach up and yank weakly at his mop of brown curls.

“…no more.”

He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “No more,” he agrees, pulling his fingers from you carefully.

Without saying a word, he slips off the bed and disappears from the room, only to come back with a damp towel in his hand. You expect him to hand it over to you, but you’re surprised when he kneels at the edge of the bed, gently spreading your legs apart.

Your skin tingles under his gaze as he stares at the mess between your thighs.

“That was…” he starts as he begins to wipe the towel over you. “…very reckless of us.”

With a small, tired smile, you mutter, “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

He glances up at you. “I’m not,” he admits, finishing his cleanup and setting the towel aside. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least pretend to be responsible.”

You reach for him as he climbs back into bed. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m on birth control?”

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his body visibly relaxing as he lets out a quiet laugh. “It definitely helps,” he says, tucking you under his chin, “but I’m still going to try to be more careful next time.”

Your grin is as wide as the warmth spreading through your chest. “Next time?”

He smiles softly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part? You said a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean,” he insists.

“I know. But I want to hear it again.”

The tip of his nose brushes yours. “I want everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single part of you.”

You take a deep breath. A whiff of his sweat and the faintest trace of soap clings around your senses until you release a happy sigh. “Do you think Violet will be okay with this? With us?”

His hand slips to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head to look at you. “She already loves you,” he reassures you. “She’s more adaptable than you think. And she trusts you.”

“But... what if it changes things for her?”

“It will change things,” he admits. “But all the changes will be good ones."

You mull over his words. “You think so?”

“I know so, because you make her happy. You make both of us happy, an—”

He stops, his lips just barely parted as he catches himself.

He almost said it. He almost called you angel.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly, a faint embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m just really happy,” he explains, his fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. There’s a curious look in your eyes, but instead of pressing him, you bury yourself into his neck, which he’s quietly grateful for because he’s not sure he could have explained himself without sounding like a total sap.

And maybe he is a sap, but even he’s aware that words like that shouldn’t be thrown around too soon, especially after just one night. Not before things settle in, before everything feels a little less like a dream and more like reality.

But he thinks about it. Oh, he thinks about it. The word stubbornly lingers at the edge of his mind he’s keeping for another time. He imagines letting it slip on some quiet morning, when you’re half-asleep and bundled in his shirt, golden sunlight filtering through the window to cast a warm glow across your skin. Or maybe when you meet him at the door after a long day, and Violet runs up, chattering away while you smile at him with that look that feels like coming home.

He can picture it falling easily from his lips someday, maybe even in a future where you’re holding the baby you had wondered about having with him and he’s standing there, watching you like someone who can’t quite believe his luck.

He’ll say it with a kind of certainty then. Not as a prayer, not as some lofty declaration of divine grace.

And when that moment comes, without hesitation, he’ll finally call you his angel.

[chubby-bun-bun]

heavy is the crown

As princess, you are bound by duty to marry the notorious and elusive Onichynus general, in exchange for his protection of your kingdom from an impending war. On the night of your wedding, tradition demands that you undergo the consummation rites, sealing the fate of your marriage—and your future.

tags: sylus x reader, NSFW, MDNI, royalty!au, general-of-powerful-nation!sylus x princess-of-kingdom-in-trouble!reader, first time sex (mc is a virgin), unprotected sex, afab!reader, fem!reader, slight voyeurism & somno & cockwarming at the end, lowkey breeding kink, gender-based stereotypes against women due to the time period, writing this has been a fever dream, word count: 2.7k~ worldbuilding and 5.5k~ smut lmfao

read on ao3

You dared to dream once upon a time.

You dreamt of crossing oceans beyond your shores, sailing aboard majestic galleons you’d only seen in textbooks. In the quiet solitude of your bedchambers, you imagined laughing with the townsfolk of distant cities, dancing in cobblestone streets to the melodies of traveling minstrels, and finding love in a modest man who'd want nothing more than to offer you freshly picked blooms every morning.

In the sanctuary of sleep, your dreams would lull you with visions of a simple life. A stone-walled kitchen warmed by the glow of a crackling hearth, a garden vibrant with blossoms and fresh produce, and a cozy reading nook nestled in an arched window. A loyal companion would sometimes join you—a slothful cat, a melodious songbird, a high-spirited pup, or a darling mare to carry you through grassy plains and wildflower fields.

"Do you take this man to be your wedded husband, to share in life's trials and joys, to love and honor, till death do you part?"

But such dreams have no place in the heart of a woman whose shoulders bear her kingdom's fate.

And so, as you take in the muted glow of the setting sun through delicate ivory lace, you finally put those girlhood fantasies to rest.

“I do.”

—

Being the youngest and only princess came with its fair share of trials and triumphs.

Unlike the elder princes, whose lives revolved around grueling expectations and fierce competition for the throne, your position spared you such burdens. Born to a queen who had long believed her childbearing years were behind her, you were nothing short of a miracle, arriving over a decade after your last sibling. This had earned you the undivided affection of the entire castle, leaving you thoroughly indulged and doted upon.

However, growing up without siblings near your age, you often grappled with bouts of loneliness. While you had fostered polite acquaintances among the daughters of many nobles, you found their company wearisome. The endless succession of balls and garden parties always seemed to revolve around the same gossip: politics, fashion, whispers about some baron’s sixteen-year-old daughter betrothed to a forty-year-old viscount, and, of course, the inevitable question: had anyone received a marriage proposal yet?

You naturally had many—to your dismay.

The idea of marriage filled you with profound dread. As a girl tagging along in your mother’s tea parties, you had often overheard the confessions and lamentations of the noblewomen. Stories of infidelity, neglect, and abuse spilled from their lips—duchesses, marchionesses, and countesses; women who stood at the very summit of high society. To you, marriage seemed less a sacred bond and more a cruel sentence—one far grimmer than the gallows.

At least the gallows granted the mercy of a quick death.

But as a princess, you were bound to uphold the ideal image of a young lady. One who radiated beauty, yet with grace and poise. Intelligent, but subservient to your intended husband’s authority. And, most important of all, fertile—to bear him strong sons who would carry on his legacy.

It sickened you. You would rather succumb to the plague than endure such a miserable life. But given your title, you could only try to delay the inevitable.

And so, life continued as it was—a never-ending cycle of social gatherings, fending off suitors, reading through your library, mastering languages, and nurturing a growing collection of hobbies. It was a life of privilege and routine—one that, despite its predictability, offered you a quiet sense of fulfillment.

Alas, nothing holds constant in the world, and change arrived in the form of a looming war from enemies across the sea.

Though small in size, your kingdom of Noir was a veritable treasure trove. With its abundant mountains and rivers, the island was never in short supply of precious metals, gems, and rare minerals. It was renowned for producing the finest artisans, who crafted the most exquisite jewelry, armor, and weapons. While modest in territory, it more than compensated with a thriving and prosperous economy.

The ultimate conquest for any conqueror.

Through the town streets worn smooth by centuries of footfalls, the bustling plazas lined with charming merchant stalls, the outskirt villages tucked among lush woodlands, and even the weathered stone walls of the towering castle, whispers had always flowed like an unrelenting tide—the most persistent being rumors of the neighboring kingdoms readying to seize Noir at any moment. But your father never addressed such hearsays, and life within the island always seemed as jovial and peaceful as it always did.

Until one night, as you sat engrossed in some book about Noir folklore, a series of sharp knocks on your chamber doors shattered the stillness, echoing sharply through the room.

It was your father, the king. Dropped to his knees, grasping your untainted hands in his rough, weathered ones, head bowed down at your mercy.

“Forgive me, my daughter,” he said in grief. “For the sake of the people—please, forgive me.”

For months, naval scouts had reported sightings of warships at the docks of two neighboring kingdoms, suspected of plotting to raid Noir and usurp the throne. Only a few weeks ago, those suspicions were confirmed when spies returned with dire news. The enemy militaries, vast and far stronger than your own, were preparing for a siege. Noir's true power had always been in the arts and commerce, not in its military might. Should your shores be attacked by an enemy nation—let alone two—the island would fall.

So on the very day the confirmation arrived, your father and the high court conspired to seek assistance from a nation on the mainland: Onichynus.

Conversations about the state were always hushed, spoken in whispers and laden with caution. It was rumored to be an immensely powerful dominion, even surpassing that of the hostile forces looming beyond your shores. Drunk sailors boasted of its staggering wealth, built on the spoils of their wars and ceaseless conquest. With an unmatched army of hardened warriors and mercenaries, it stood as a force to be reckoned with, its presence both feared and revered across the seas.

At its pinnacle stood their elusive general, a shadow whose name and true face remained unknown. Tales from sailors, traveling merchants, and tavern songs painted him as a ruthless figure, demon-like, who laid waste to rotten cities and beheaded corrupt kings. Some claimed he was a hero, purging the realm of wicked men in power, while others saw him as the embodiment of evil, leaving destruction and death in his wake.

Negotiations with Onichynus were a success. In return for their protection during the impending siege, Noir pledged to deliver three ships laden with its most prized metals, minerals, and gems—every year for the next century.

But to ensure Noir upheld its end of the bargain, their beloved princess would be bound in marriage to the general.

You could only keep your gaze steady, chin held high, as the king knelt before you, weeping, begging for your forgiveness.

You had your time to relish the pleasures of living as a princess. Now, it was time to fulfill your duties as one.

—

The night before the long-anticipated siege had arrived. After weeks of frantic planning and tense negotiations between Noir’s high court and the Onichynus war council, warriors and mercenaries had taken their positions across the island. Some blended seamlessly with the civilians, while the majority remained hidden in plain sight, their numbers concentrated along the docks.

In the king’s throne room, select members from both factions gathered for final preparations. Clad in his battle regalia, your father seemed a shadow of his former self—skin ashened, eyes hollow with exhaustion—yet his voice remained firm as he issued his commands to all present.

The Noir court members could hardly conceal their unease under the watchful eyes of the Onichynus war council. Towering and broad-shouldered, they seemed almost otherworldly. Their dark, burnished steel armor bore engravings of monstrous creatures, and many donned cloaks of crimson or black, their edges deliberately singed to resemble fire's touch. Helmets, adorned with jagged horns, cast grotesque shadows, while those who forwent them revealed faces with jagged streaks of war paint, as if to mimic claw marks.

Then, the heavy doors groaned open, spilling thick tendrils of black-red mist into the chamber. A hush fell as all eyes turned toward the towering figure that emerged from the haze.

The general.

For all the whispered tales of his demonic appearance—horns as tall as claymores, wings that spanned the heavens, and a tail that stretched like a river—you were stunned to find a face not of a monster, but of an angel.

Against the backdrop of his dark cloak, his striking silver hair stood out in sharp contrast. His features were sculpted with precision—high, defined cheekbones, a strong jawline, a straight nose, all framed by an expression that revealed little, save for full lips drawn into a tight line. The people of Noir gawked openly, stunned to finally see the man from the tales in the flesh. His gait was languid yet exuded confidence as he strode toward the throne where you sat beside your father.

His gaze found yours, and you stilled.

The deep scarlet of his eyes was piercing. You almost felt naked under it. Instantly, you straightened in your seat, fingers twitching to smooth the fabric of your dress.

“Expect the warships to be visible in six hours,” he said, his voice cutting through the room. The low timbre of it sent a chill racing up your spine.

“General, are you certain our forces are enough to handle their fleet?” your mother asked, voice quivering as she addressed him from your father’s other side.

The general's lips curved faintly, a low, rumbling chuckle escaping him.

“Rest easy, Your Majesty. By dawn, their remains will have joined their forefathers’ ghosts beneath the sea."

—

You had come to realize that Onichynus truly deserved the fear and respect it commanded. Just before daybreak, the gut-wrenching blare of Noir’s watchtower horns finally shattered the unnerving stillness of the island.

The enemies had fallen.

You had been locked away in one of the castle’s tower chambers, away from harm’s reach. As the kingdom’s key to securing this alliance, it was critical that no harm befell the general's betrothed.

After the second wave of victory horns, your door creaked open, revealing your maidservant—frantic, breathless from the long climb up the spiral staircase.

“Your Highness,” she gasped, voice trembling. “We’ve won.”

You could see the restraint in the way her nails dug into her apron, her blown pupils amidst her ragged breaths. She was restraining herself, her elation held in check, out of deference to you.

After all, Noir’s freedom had come at the cost of yours.

With a wistful smile, you turned toward the window, watching the flickering torchlights snake through the streets below. The chorus of jubilant cries and chants carried through the valleys, their voices rising to the heavens and echoing back from the mountain’s deepest crevices.

“It seems we have,” you murmured, voice barely audible over the chorus of celebration below.

You heard her hesitant shuffle behind you. "Several of the servants have been briefed already. They shall be ready tomorrow morning to begin preparations for the wedding."

You spun toward her, pulse pounding in your ears. "So soon?"

She lowered her gaze, unable to meet your eyes. "Onichynus wanted to complete the rites as quickly as possible, so they could sail for the mainland the following day."

You let out a slow exhale. "I see."

Your maidservant hesitated, her eyes flicking toward you, before she spoke again.

"If it offers you any comfort, ma'am," she said softly, head bowed, "you saved all of us."

You swallowed hard, forcing back the sting of tears threatening to spill.

—

Like your mother, grandmother, and all the royal women before you, you had always envisioned your wedding as a day of grandeur. You pictured riding through the town streets in the royal carriage, flanked by guards, waving to the cheering crowds. You imagined wearing a bespoke gown that sparkled in the light, a train so long it would sweep behind you like a royal procession.

You imagined trumpets announcing your arrival, their triumphant notes echoing through a hall packed with dignitaries and nobility from across the realm. And at the altar, a man of honor and equal standing would wait for you, his gaze warm with affection as you joined in a union built on love, not duty.

But now—the sun has nearly set, painting the grand temple in muted amber light. Inside, the space feels hollow, adorned only by a few hurriedly arranged flowers, their disarray a testament to the servants' exhaustion from cleaning up the siege’s destruction. Your gown, though lovely, is no custom-made masterpiece—just a window display piece hastily altered by the royal dressmaker. The pews stand mostly empty, save for your crestfallen family, a handful of somber faces from the Noir high court, and the ever-stoic Onichynus war council.

Your husband-to-be, still clad in his dark battle regalia, stands steadfast at your side, his expression an impenetrable mask as the archbishop intones the ceremonial rites. You had imagined him to be someone hard to look at—perhaps as old as a grandfather, his years as a general etched into every line of his face, and his figure weighed down by indulgent vices. Yet, to your quiet relief, he is nothing of the sort. Even if he proves unsavory as a husband or father to your future children, at least he’s pleasing to look at.

“By the will of fate, you are now bound in union,” the High Priest finally says, raising his palms toward you both. “May your allegiance to one another be as steadfast as the duties you carry, and may this union bring the future of your realms to prosperity.”

—

You wince as an elderly maidservant struggles to loosen a particularly stubborn knot in your hair, the pull jerking your head painfully. She pauses, her hand gently patting the spot in apology.

Your gaze stays fixed on the cold, flatstone floor, and you hardly notice the other maidservants bustling around you. One smooths out the faint creases in your satin nightdress, while another tugs at the neckline, pulling it lower to expose more of your cleavage and collarbone. Beneath the thin fabric, your undergarments have been removed, leaving you vulnerable to the biting chill of the room. You’ve been scrubbed clean, coated in the silkiest lotions, each scent more intoxicating than the last—all for your first night with your new husband.

“Are you nervous, Your Highness?” the elderly maidservant asks, her hands gentle as she brushes through your hair.

You pause, the question settling in your chest as you ponder how to answer.

“I can’t say I’m confident,” you say, twisting your fingers together. “I’ve never been with a man before.”

In the mirror, you catch the discreet glances exchanged behind you, their pity and concern barely hidden. You force yourself to look away, but the weight of their silent judgment lingers.

“The Onichynus general… he seemed like such a massive man,” a younger maidservant whispers, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I do hope he treats Her Highness with kindness.”

Another maidservant scoffs, her tone sharp with bitterness. “All men are beasts, driven only by their lust for control—and for anything with a pair of breasts.”

There’s a collective hiss of disapproval from the others, but the harsh words still echo in your mind. You fight to keep your face composed, though your heart aches with fear.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” the elderly maidservant says, her voice light. “The men from that state may be known for their ruthlessness, but with your likeness, the general will surely find himself a changed man.”

You can only hope the same.

Soon after, you begin your walk to the matrimonial room. The maidservants fall in step around you, their presence a quiet shield.  The lively chatter from your earlier preparations has faded, replaced by a tense, almost somber silence. Despite the considerable distance between rooms, the walk feels too short, each step too swift. Before you can fully gather your bearings, you now find yourself alone, sitting on the bed, the weight of the night settling in around you.

You shouldn’t feel this nervous. Women across the realm are bound to face this, especially those of royal blood. Consummation on the wedding night is an expectation, a duty. No matter how much you’ve dreaded or tried to avoid it, you’ve always known it was inevitable. All that’s left now is to steel yourself, strive to please your husband, and to embrace your role as a future mother—for Noir’s sake.

The doors swing open, and you flinch. The general steps inside, his damp hair clinging to his face, a clear sign of a recent bath. His attire for the evening is simple: loose trousers and a tunic that, despite its modesty, does little to hide the breadth of his shoulders or the strong lines of his chest. Your gaze betrays you, lingering longer than it should, tracing the way the fabric shifts with his movements. His towering height seems to diminish even the vast expanse of the room, making the high ceilings feel incredibly small.

His ember-like eyes catch yours and you suddenly feel too exposed.

“Good evening, princess.” 

“General,” you greet, wincing at how weak it sounds as it leaves your lips.

His gaze sweeps over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders beneath the delicate straps of your ivory nightdress, the soft swell of your breasts pressing gently against the neckline. The fabric cinches at your waist before flaring out around your hips, emphasized by the way you sit at the edge of the mattress. Your posture is rigid, hands clasped in your lap—a result of all the etiquette drilled into you from childhood.

He notices the tension in your form and lets out a sigh, turning toward the couch at the far end of the room.

You blink.

“Where are you going?” you blurt out, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Your Highness,” he drawls, settling into the couch with a lazy grace. “We don’t have to do this. You look like a kitten with her hackles raised. We could ruffle the bedding, spill some oil on the sheets, and pretend we had a night worthy of the chamberlain’s inspection.”

A flash of panic rises within you. You stand, words tumbling out in a rush. “Nonsense! Marriage is not recognized before the temple unless consummated on the night of the ceremony.”

He tilts his head, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Such peculiar customs you have here on Noir.”

You had imagined a thousand ways this night could go, a thousand versions of the man you’d just married. Not one of them prepared you for this.

You flush, frustration building in your chest. “General, I would appreciate it if you respect the customs of Noir. We are a proud people, and we honor the traditions passed down to us by our forefathers.”

He rolls his eyes. Then, with a slow, deliberate pace, he stands and makes his way toward you. For every step he takes, you fight the instinct to hunch your shoulders, to shrink away. Next thing you know, he’s standing before you, his imposing size forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain your gaze.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, gently cupping your face. The heat of his touch burns through your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You finally avert your eyes. “I’ve never been with a man before,” you manage to say with as much indifference as you can muster, nails digging into your palms.

“Really? Not even a stolen kiss in your youth?”

You clench your teeth. “There are far more pressing matters to focus on than indulging in childish flirtations.”

He laughs, a rich, deep sound that resonates through the air, stirring an unexpected warmth low in your belly.

“Alright,” he concedes, his finger tracing a slow path along your cheek. Without warning, he grips your jaw, the touch both commanding and tender, pulling your gaze back to meet his. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. None of those absurd rules from your royal handbook.”

You pull back slightly, brows knitting in confusion. “The act is the same, is it not?”

“Do you agree, Your Highness?” he presses, lips grazing your ear ever so slightly. The warmth of his breath against your skin is unfamiliar, and the rush of heat that sweeps up your neck sends electrifying pulses deep within your core.

“Yes,” you grit out.

After studying your expression one last time, he lowers himself slightly, then grips the back of your thighs and lifts you with ease. You gasp, scrambling to find your balance. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, fingers digging into the firm, broad muscles of his shoulders. With a smooth shift, he adjusts your position, the inside of your thighs pressing against his hips, before carrying you to the vanity desk at the center of the room.

You struggle to speak, words caught in your throat as the sensation of being so high up in the air makes you dizzy. He finally sets you down on the desk, his large palms slowly dragging down your legs, gently pushing your knees apart.

“G—General,” you stammer, eyes wide as he pulls his tunic over his head, revealing a tanned expanse of skin and the hard, defined muscles beneath. “The bed is over there—why are we here?”

A flicker of a smile plays at his lips as he tosses the fabric carelessly to the floor. “Trust me, princess. Now close your eyes.”

You want to argue, remind him that asking you to trust the most notorious figure in the realm—whom you’ve barely known for a day—is no small request. But the gravity in his scarlet gaze quiets any protest. With a reluctant breath, you close your eyes.

There’s no movement at first. Then, his calloused palms find your knees, the rough calluses a stark contrast against the smooth stretch of your skin. Heat blossoms under his touch, searing its way upward as his hands glide along the curve of your hips, the taper of your waist. You fail to suppress the shudder coursing through you when his touch pauses just below the swell of your breasts, lingering for a heartbeat before sliding to your sides, his broad palms more than spanning the width of your back.

Then, you feel the faint brush of his breath against your mouth, a fleeting warmth before his lips capture yours in a tender kiss. The hot, wet sensation has your back arching instinctively, your hardened nipples pressing through the thin fabric of your nightgown against his hard chest. A deep, throbbing ache pulses at your core, and you clamp your thighs together in a futile effort to suppress the damp heat pooling between them.

The overwhelming rush of sensations draws a whimper from your lips, your trembling hands clutching at his shoulders for stability. His response is immediate—a low, guttural groan before he deepens the kiss, his mouth returning to yours with even more fervor.

You’ve read about kissing in your sparse collection of romance novels, tried to envision the mechanics behind the act. But the mental images always fell short, awkward and unappealing, leaving you unconvinced of its charm. You’d dismissed it as unnecessary, even pointless—especially when it came to something as pragmatic and straightforward as sex.

But now the general is sneaking in the hot, wet glide of his tongue between your lips and you panic, not sure what it is he’s doing and what you’re supposed to do. He must sense your uncertainty, because his large hand moves to steady your jaw and nape, holding you in place. When he feels the accidental brush of your tongue, he wastes no time and sucks at it, the lewd sound echoing in your ears, forcing soft, strangled sounds from your throat.

You no longer feel the seeping chill from outside the castle walls, body now feeling like it’s on fire, the wetness dripping from your entrance sliding down your inner thighs. You feel like you’re drunk and about to pass out, so you push his chest back with a gentle palm.

“General,” you say, heaving through swollen lips. “What… what are we doing? The bed…”

He takes a moment to steady his breath, eyes squeezed shut, palms pressing firmly at your waist. Then, a low, rough chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“You’re infuriatingly naive,” he mutters, his sweat-damp forehead resting against your shoulder. “You must be the only woman of all arranged marriages eager to crawl into bed with a man she barely knows.”

You flush, indignant at the implication behind his words. “What are you trying to say?” you demand, mouth unconsciously forming into a pout.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip. “What I’m saying, princess, is let me take care of you. I don’t know what your upbringing has taught you, but there’s more to this than just... getting it over with.”

You’re not used to being told what to do and deviating from the rules, so you force out a sharp “fine”—an unintended display of bratty defiance, considering the man before you. But he only laughs, and to your dismay, the sound makes him even more handsome than he already is.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, lifting you by your bottom this time, pressing you flush against his chest. His hands on your backside—so close to where you’re throbbing and wet—has you flinching forward. You suddenly feel the brush of something firm against the sensitive nub above your slit, and you jerk again in surprise.

He chuckles, before gently lowering you onto the soft expanse of the mattress. His lips find your collarbone first, then trail down to your nipples, where he suckles through the fabric. A soft whimper escapes you, your fingers curling into the sheets. You can feel his smile against your skin as his tongue sweeps over one of your sensitive buds, before continuing its journey down toward your abdomen.

But then he hovers his face above your groin that’s barely concealed by the bunched-up hem of your nightgown. Alarm jolts through you, and you prop yourself up on your elbows, torso rising instinctively. You attempt to close your legs, but his hands hold them firmly apart. 

“General—”

“Sylus,” he interrupts, lips brushing along the inside of your knee. “We’re married now, sweetheart. Use my name.”

A twisted sense of pride coils within you, knowing you hold both the name and face of the most infamous man in the realm.

You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat before continuing. “Sylus,” you echo, the name oddly satisfying on your lips. “Not that I’m… doubting your expertise, but is all of this really necessary?”

He exhales heavily, saying nothing at first. Then, he takes your hand—its size utterly lost in his grip—and guides it down your body. His movements are deliberate, stopping only when your palm meets the undeniable hardness of his cock, straining against his trousers.

You struggle to contain the jumbled stutters tumbling from your lips. “What are you—”

“I’m a big man,” he states matter-of-factly, his gaze unwavering. “And this is your first time. As you are now—you won’t be able to handle me.”

You don’t fully understand what he means, but the statement silences you nonetheless.

He chuckles, letting go of your hand, and you immediately pull it back to your chest. “May I?” he asks, his voice low as he hovers below you once again.

You flash a glare, before nodding reluctantly.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans back, his gaze shifting downward to the space between your legs. Slowly, he lifts the hem of your dress, inch by inch, until the cool air brushes against your exposed skin. You watch, eyes heavy, fighting the tremors rushing through you, as his hand moves along the inside of your thigh. When his fingers brush against your folds, a sharp exhale escapes you, and your head falls back onto the mattress.

“You’re so sensitive, princess,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his words.

“Shut up and get on with it,” you snap, covering your eyes with your forearm.

You hear a quiet laugh escape him before two fingers press against the sensitive nub above your folds, sending a shock of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively as he slides his fingers up and down against your entrance. The motion, slick and sinful, leaves you gasping, and you struggle to keep your legs open, body trembling from the unfamiliar pleasure.

Sylus’ eyes darken, flicking between the way his fingers tease your slick folds and the way your breasts strain against your dress. His breathing grows heavier as he reaches up, pulling the neckline down to expose your chest. A soft whine escapes you when his hand cups one swell, firm yet gentle, while the other continues its relentless ministrations below.

“I’m pressing one in, alright?” he murmurs.

You barely register the words before he pushes a thick finger past your folds.

“Wait—it feels—ngh—it’s strange,” you stammer, voice hitching on a whine.

He stills immediately, digit only halfway in. “Does it hurt?”

“I… kind of? I don’t know…”

You’re panting. The pressure is peculiar, and quite unpleasant. Your body tenses at the newness of it, the unfamiliar stretch bordering on discomfort.

He remains patient, finger unmoving. Then, you feel his thumb press on your nub, drawing gentle circles against the sensitive lower hood of it. The obscene sound of slickness fills the space and you’re mortified, toes curling at the wave of arousal soaking his hand.

“This better?” he whispers, drinking in every detail—your heaving chest, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the tremor in your thighs, and the glistening mess pooling between them.

You can’t respond, overwhelmed by the spiraling pleasure.

A chuckle rumbles from him, low and pleased, as he presses the rest of his finger inside. This time, it slides in smoothly, and the high-pitched moan that escapes you is muffled by your trembling palm. Now knuckle-deep, he gently strokes upward, pressing on a rough spot that makes you jerk in his hold.

“I’m going to try something, alright?” he says softly, breath brushing against your knee as he plants a tender kiss.

“Okay,” you croak, struggling to process the pulsing sensations building deep inside you.

The circles on your nub stop, and you almost whimper at the loss. But before you can voice your complaints, something warm, wet, and utterly foreign replaces his thumb. Your head snaps back, a raw, choked cry tearing from your lips.

“General—hah—Sylus… What are you—?”

He doesn’t answer. Dazed, you prop yourself up and the sight before you is almost too much: the most powerful man in the realm, kneeling between your legs, his mouth worshiping you with unrelenting fervor. His tongue laps at your folds, drags it languidly up to your engorged nub before closing his lips around it, sucking in a way that sends sharp, electric pulses straight through your core.

Panicked by the unbearable pressure building inside, you try to push his head away. “Stop—it’s strange, I feel like I’m going to—”

Before you can finish, he slides another finger inside, stretching you further. His fingers curl, stroking that spongy spot with unrelenting precision. His mouth works in tandem, alternating between suckling and lapping at your overstimulated nub.

Tears blur your vision as the intensity peaks. You scream into your palms, hips bucking against his mouth and hand as you feel yourself tip over the high he brought you to.

Sylus watches, entranced, as your legs open wider, cries muffled as your body convulses under his ministrations. Even as you shatter under him, he doesn’t let up, prolonging your fall at his mercy. And when you’re finally sent over the edge, your release flooding his eager mouth, he drinks in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, and utterly spent.

He presses his cheek against your inner thigh, feeling the delicate tremors rippling through your body as you struggle to steady your breathing. His eyes trail over your folds, soft and swollen, slightly parted as your essence continues to glisten and drip. Unable to hold back, he dips his head and presses a slow, deliberate kiss, groaning as your intoxicating taste lingers on his lips.

Your cry pierces the air, hands flying to his hair as you tug with desperation. “W—Wait…! I can’t… it’s too much… please…”

He only chuckles, low and teasing, before placing a final kiss on the sensitive nub above your folds. Then, he moves upward, settling his weight against you. His chin rests between your breasts, arms locking yours in place as his eyes meet yours, heat and satisfaction dancing in his gaze.

As clarity slowly returns, the enormity of what just happened hits you. He—the Onichynus general, a man who strikes fear in nations across the realm—had just laved at your most intimate area with his tongue. Such an act is nowhere to be found in the guides you’ve read on sex, not even as a distant suggestion. And yet, you enjoyed it. Far more than you care to admit.

An embarrassed huff escapes you as heat blooms across your face. You throw your hands up to cover it, unwilling to meet the insufferable smugness you can practically feel radiating from him below.

Suddenly, you feel the neckline of your dress being tugged down again, catching beneath your breasts. Then, you feel the flat of his tongue gently press on a nipple, circling it with the tip before pulling it into his mouth to suckle. His hand slides up to your other bud, palm brushing over it in slow, deliberate motions. Breasts are meant to nourish, to sustain future generations—mere vessels for the creation of life. Yet the hairs at the back of your neck raise on end as you feel the return of the persistent pulsing deep within you. You bite your lip, stifling the sounds threatening to escape, back arching as you desperately chase the sensation of his mouth on you.

“We can stop now if you wish, Your Highness,” he murmurs against your skin.

Fighting the heaviness taking over your body, you grab his jaw, forcing him to meet the fire in your gaze. “Do you have a problem with consummating with me, general?”

He responds with a particularly sharp suck at your nipple.

“Ngh—! Sylus! I meant Sylus!” you cry out, correcting yourself with a gasp.

He smiles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before moving to the soft curve of your breast. His mouth alternates between harsh sucking and teasing bites, leaving a trail of bruised blooms in his wake.

“While intercourse may be a mere formality to you Noir people, in Onichynus, it’s an act of passion and love,” he says, voice low as he shifts to giving attention to your other bud. “I wish to ensure that Her Highness, my wife, has a memorable first experience. So, if you feel spent for the night, we can always stop. At any time.”

His words settle deep inside you and you feel warmth spread in your chest. Perhaps Onichynus is more than the tales of its ruthless reputation, after all. Hesitantly, you caress his cheek, heart aching at the way he closes his eyes and nuzzles into your palm. He almost seems like a clingy pet feline.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I want to finish the rites,” you say softly. Then, you flush, struggling to find the right words. “And, um, I didn’t expect things to be this… good. I don’t mind experiencing more, if it’s alright with you.”

It takes a moment for your words to register, and when they do, Sylus smirks—a slow, predatory curl of his lips that sends heat coursing through your body. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue brushes your bottom lip, and this time, you grant him easy access. You mimic what he did to you earlier, tentatively wrapping your lips around his tongue and sucking gently.

Immediately, a low, visceral groan escapes him as his hips press forward, grinding his restrained arousal against your soaked folds. The rough fabric of his trousers drags against your sensitive nub, sending jolts of pleasure rippling through you. You whine into his mouth, arms winding around his neck as you pull him impossibly closer.

Sylus seems barely in control now, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he adjusts his movements, angling his hips so that the ridge where his shaft meets the head rubs directly against your overstimulated nub.

Without warning, he breaks the kiss, leaving you on the verge of a whine as a string of spit bridges the space between you. He steps back, tugging his trousers down in one swift motion. Your gaze drops instinctively, and your breath catches at the sight of him.

Broad shoulders taper into a lean waist, and every inch of his sculpted body radiates strength. But it’s the thick, throbbing length between his legs that holds your attention. He notices the starstruck look on your gaze and he chuckles, walking closer to you until you're face level with it. Taking your hand, he gently wraps it around his girth. The sheer thickness overwhelms your grip, and your breath catches at the realization.

“Feel free to take a look,” he rasps.

You’ve never seen a cock before, but instinctively, you know this one is massive. The shaft is thick,  with prominent veins that seem to throb faintly, and the soft, rounded shapes below it look heavy and full. The bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip is flushed, beads of some kind of white, translucent fluid glistening at the slit. For some reason, you feel the urge to lean in and taste it.

Sylus takes your hand, shaping it into a loose 'O.' “This is you,” he murmurs, guiding your fingers to glide along his length, spreading the slick fluid. “And this…” He pushes through the circle you’ve made, the thick head sliding in and out. “…is how it’ll feel when I’m inside you.”

Slowly, he begins to move, sliding his shaft through your grip. The sensation is intoxicating, and you’re mesmerized by the sight of him—his cock pumping in and out of your hand, each stroke leaving it sticky with his arousal. You don’t even realize your lips are parting until you lean forward, your tongue darting out to flick against the leaking tip.

Sylus lets out a guttural moan, one hand tangling in your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. His taste—salty and slightly bitter—is heady, and the heat of him against your tongue heightens your arousal. He bucks into your mouth, and though you gag slightly, you fight to take more of him, desperate for the connection.

You feel too empty.

“Princess—fuck—this is torture,” he groans, his deep voice rough with restraint.

You can only moan in response, lips stretched around his cock as he begins thrusting into your mouth. His large hands steady your head, guiding your movements. You peek up at him through fluttering lashes, and you feel your folds quiver at the sinful sight of the Onichynus general panting, eyes shut, sweat-covered muscles taut as he pistons in and out of you.

You are Noir’s beloved princess—revered and envied for your beauty, grace, and intellect—yet now you’re barely coherent, delirious over the addictive taste of your husband as he fucks your mouth over and over.

One particularly deep thrust hits the back of your throat and you gag, tears springing to your eyes. Sylus curses under his breath and withdraws immediately.

“Princess, I’m sorry,” he pants, taking in the sight of you—tears streaking your cheeks, saliva glistening on your lips, thighs pressed together in a futile attempt to relieve your ache.

“It’s okay,” you croak, voice hoarse and small.

Sylus pauses, taking a moment to steady himself and pull back from the frenzy consuming him, before climbing onto the bed, positioning himself against the headboard. His hands grip your waist, lifting you effortlessly to straddle his lap. Movements frantic and barely restrained, he aligns your slick folds against the length of his shaft. His lips find yours again, urgent and demanding, while his hands grip your hips, guiding you to rock against him. The friction against your sensitive nub draws a cry from you, and he groans into your mouth.

“Let me have you, princess,” he practically begs against your lips between heavy breaths.

You barely have time to process his words before he lifts you slightly, the broad head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. Then, you feel an immediate, sharp stretch as he breaches your folds, pushing deeper until the full length of him fills you to the hilt.

A strangled cry escapes you and you collapse against his chest, burying your face in his neck with stilted sobs. Sylus remains still, large hands massaging your rear soothingly, coaxing your body to adjust.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple. “Just breathe. Let me in.”

“It hurts,” you gasp. He shifts slightly, and a sharp sensation makes you wince, like he’s hitting a spot that feels too far, too much. “T—Too big…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, breath hot and uneven against your ear. His hands move carefully, gently parting the delicate skin of your folds in an attempt to ease the stretch and make it more bearable.

Keeping his hips as still as possible, he reaches for the hem of your now sweat-soaked nightgown, lifting it with as much gentleness as he can muster. His eyes trace the path of the fabric as it reveals the slick mess of fluids dripping from where you're joined, the soft curve of your belly, the delicate bounce of your breasts freed from constraint, and finally, your tear-streaked face—beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly his. Guilt flickers through him as he feels himself twitch and grow even harder inside you, despite your pained whimpers.

After tossing the fabric aside, his lips find your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to the spots that make your walls flutter around him, drawing soft, helpless sounds from your lips. 

“Once you’re settled in our home on the mainland, you’ll have everything you could ever desire,” he murmurs, hands gliding up to rub gentle circles over your hardened nipples.

“You’ll have servants at your beck and call, and you’ll be free to do whatever you please. No one will dare defy you—no one will even think to.”

The vivid imagery of his words wraps around your mind like a spell, pulling you deeper into him. The sharp discomfort of being stretched begins to ebb, replaced by a dull ache that shifts to faint blooms of pleasure.

“And when you finally swell with my child,” he breathes, tone thick with promise, “I’ll find endless delight in claiming you over and over, until the first light of dawn touches us.”

You flush at the picture of him taking you like this, with your belly round and full with his heir.

He chuckles low against your ear, the sound dark and rich. “Oh? You like that idea, don’t you?”

You huff, landing a light smack on his chest. “Do not tease me,” you protest, voice carrying a hint of authority despite your half-lidded gaze. The sight of you perched on his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, while you fix him with a stern, regal expression befitting a princess is enough to have his hips bucking up to you.

With a strained groan, he crashes his lips against your neck, his cock throbbing almost painfully within your tight walls. “I need you, princess,” he rasps against your skin, barely holding back the urge to thrust up into you.

The pressure of the stretch still lingers, but the sharp pain has melted into pulses of pleasure. You place your hips back, grinding your sensitive nub against his groin, desperate for more. “Please do something,” you plead, hips moving in frantic, clumsy circles, chasing a bliss you don’t know you’re craving.

Sylus doesn’t hesitate. He lowers you back onto the mattress while still buried deep inside you. Propping himself up on his elbows, his gaze locks onto yours as he slowly draws his hips back, leaving only the tip nestled at your entrance. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he sinks back in to the hilt, filling you completely in one long, unrelenting stroke.

You cry out, this time in response to the delicious friction of his cock dragging against your walls. Driven wild by your reaction, he pulls back again, then thrusts deeply into you with another slow, deliberate plunge. A hiss escapes him as the head of his cock presses against your deepest depths.

“You’re doing so good,” he groans, lips brushing over the bruises left by his earlier kisses on your neck. “You’ve been such a darling for me, haven’t you?”

To his twisted delight, you remain incomprehensible, helpless sounds pouring from your kiss-bitten lips as you scramble to steady yourself by gripping his shoulders, nails digging painfully into his skin. He’s almost feral at the way your flesh ripples from the impact of each thrust. The princess of Noir, coveted by men all over the realm, now lies beneath him, sweat-slicked, legs spread, and taking his cock so wonderfully.  But beyond that, he sees the most perfect queen—one whose unparalleled intellect and sharp wit can stand beside him in his pursuit for power.

Suddenly, he pulls out, and you whine, tears staining your cheeks at the dizzying emptiness. He merely shushes you soothingly before gently turning you over onto your stomach. Before you can garble out a question on what he’s doing, he plunges into you once more, hitting a spot against your front that has you curling your toes and screaming into the sheets.

“I—It feels s—strange again—!” you manage between broken whimpers, each word punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his movements against your sore walls.

“Wanna feel good again, princess?” he murmurs against your ear.

Your answering sob is all the reply you can muster.

Suddenly, you’re hoisted up on your knees, his strong arm wrapping around your waist as his other hand grips your jaw, holding your face up. His thrusts quicken, erratic and desperate, and you gasp as his tongue traces the outer shell of your ear. Then, his hand slides lower, fingers finding the swollen nub above your abused folds. The sudden burst of pleasure at the rubbing motion has you crying out, body tightening as a familiar heat coils low in your belly.

You begin to thrash in his hold at the overwhelming sensations. “Sy—I think—I think I’m—”

“Let it happen, princess, I got you.”

With those words, your hands tangle in his sweat-damp hair as a violent shudder wracks your body, exhausted sobs escaping your lips. His relentless pace doesn’t falter, eyes locked on the harsh bounce of your breasts as he pounds into you from behind, chasing his release. The tight grip of your walls and the slick heat enveloping his cock finally push him over the edge, his thrusts turning shallow and frantic before burying himself deep with a final, forceful motion, spilling his seed inside you.

Sylus takes a moment to catch his breath, pressing soft, chaste kisses along your shoulders.

“You alright, princess?”

You don’t respond.

Confused, he gently tilts your head back, only to find your peaceful, sleeping face, soft snores escaping your lips. He huffs a small laugh. How adorable.

Carefully, he shifts against the headboard, settling you onto him with his half-hard cock still nestled inside, twitching faintly. Draping your legs over his knees, he starts massaging your inner thighs, soothing the soreness he knows must be there.

A series of sharp knocks echoes through the room.

“This is the chamberlain. I must confirm that the consummation rites have been fulfilled for your marriage to be deemed legitimate by the Grand Temple.”

Sylus scowls, eyes scanning over your sleeping form. “Can’t this wait in the morning?”

“This is necessary to eliminate any possibility of deceit in performing the rites.”

“Damn uptights,” he mutters. Then, a smirk plays at the corner of his lips. “Well, come in then.”

The door swings open, revealing the old chamberlain in his faded temple robes, his attention fixed on his ledger. He mumbles the schedule for the following day as he approaches the bed. When he finally looks up, expecting to see the usual ruffled, soaked sheets, he freezes, almost stumbling backward in shock.

You—the cherished Noir princess, known for your beauty and headstrong grace—lie exhausted, nestled against the imposing form of the feared Onichynus general behind you. His scarlet eyes glint as he sucks a mark onto the side of your neck, and beneath you, his impressive girth disappears into your swollen, intimate folds, generous amounts of your combined essences coating his base.

“This is evidence enough, no?” Sylus taunts, sneaking in a shallow thrust up to you, drawing a soft, breathless whine from your throat.

The chamberlain stammers, his words fumbling as he backs toward the door.

“Y—Yes, the rites are confirmed. Good night,” he rushes out in a single breath before slamming the door behind him.

Chuckling, Sylus pulls his sleeping wife closer, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You’ll need the rest for the long journey ahead, and for whatever adjustments await you back on the mainland.

But, in the end, none of that matters.

He’s just grateful to have found his beloved kitten again.

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ೃ⁀➷ white mustang ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x single!mother!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you were a single mother raising a four-year-old daughter in the bustling, unforgiving city of seoul. life had not unfolded as you once fantasized it might, instead, it had cornered you into a relentless cycle of poverty and struggle. you had married young, filled with hope and naivety, but those dreams were shattered when your husband abandoned you shortly after you announced your pregnancy. unable to bear the duties of fatherhood, he not only left but also cast you out of the home you once shared, leaving you to fend for yourself and your unborn child.

˚ ༘♡ your own family, steeped in tradition and pride, turned their backs on you as well. they viewed your divorce as a mark of shame, a stain on their honor. the fact that you would raise a child without a father was, in their eyes, an unforgivable disgrace. they refused to take you in, forcing you to seek refuge in whatever options you could find. eventually, you found work as a sales assistant at a small boutique, where the pay was barely enough to scrape by. minimum wage stretched thin over endless expense, formula, rent, utilities, and it quickly became apparent that even the bare necessities were a luxury. in a moment of sheer desperation, you began taking out loans amounting in tens of thousands of won, well aware you could never repay them. the interest piled up as fast as the bills, but the loans kept your daughter fed and clothed, albeit barely. you hated yourself for it, but there were no other choices that didn’t feel impossible.

˚ ༘♡ your home, if it could be called that, was on the less fortunate side of a narrow street lined with aging apartments and cracked sidewalks. the peeling paint and broken railings were a daily reminder of your circumstances. yet, even amidst your despair, you couldn’t help but notice the contrast a few blocks over, a wealthier stretch of the same neighborhood, where sleek cars parked outside magnificent homes and prosperity seemed to flourish. it was during one of your daily walks to the bus stop, your daughter’s tiny hand clutching yours, that you first noticed him.

˚ ༘♡ cho sang-woo. a man who seemed completely out of place in your reality but belonged so effortlessly to the better half of the neighborhood. his polished suits, sharp gaze, and air of quiet confidence spoke of success and power. you didn’t know much about him, only the whispered details you overheard at the local convenience store. he was a former student of seoul university, where he graduated at the top of his class, and he now worked at joy investments, one of the most prestigious firms in the city. he lived in the nicer part of the street, a place that might as well have been a world apart from yours.

˚ ༘♡ for weeks, your paths crossed without words. you would see him on the way to work, his brisk stride purposeful and somehow detached. you’d clutch your daughter’s hand tightly as she skipped beside you, her laughter a rare mirthful mark in your otherwise gray days. sometimes, you wondered if he noticed you at all, or if to him, you were just another melancholic face in the crowd. but there was something in the way his eyes briefly wandered to yours, a swift, barely noticeable moment of acknowledgment, almost imperceptible but not absent.

˚ ༘♡ a month passed without much change. you worked long hours at the boutique, came home to your daughter’s laughter echoing in the small apartment, and fell asleep each night with exhaustion pressing against your chest. spring had arrived, softening the chill in the air and filling the streets with blossoms and a sense of renewal you couldn’t quite feel for yourself. still, you tried to give your daughter a taste of joy, taking her for walks when time allowed, letting her skip along the sidewalks as if the world weren’t so cynical.

˚ ༘♡ one bright afternoon, the kind that made the city’s grime seem almost picturesque, you saw him again. cho sang-woo stood ahead, unmistakable in his dark business suit. the clean lines of his attire and the polished leather of his shoes seemed to set him apart from the bustling, chaotic world around him. his square-rimmed glasses caught the sunlight, and his expression, though composed, held a trace of warmth when he noticed you approaching. he lifted a hand in a brief wave and nodded. “good morning,” he greeted, his tone polite but personable.

˚ ༘♡ you returned his nod with a soft smile, your daughter tugging lightly at your hand. “good morning to you as well, sir,” you replied, your voice calm, though you felt a twinge of surprise that he’d acknowledged you.

˚ ༘♡ your daughter, far less reserved, beamed up at him, her youthful cheer impossible to contain. “hello, sir!” she exclaimed with a giggle, her small voice cutting through the hum of the city.

˚ ༘♡ he stopped in his tracks, the corners of his mouth lifting in a genuine grin. “how old is she?” he asked, his gaze shifting to your daughter, who looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.

˚ ༘♡ “four years old as of last month,” you replied, brushing a hand over her dark hair with a hint of pride you didn’t bother hiding.

˚ ༘♡ he adjusted his glasses, the gesture quick and practiced, before replying, “she’s a clever child. you’re blessed to have her.”

˚ ༘♡ his words, spoken so simply yet with unmistakable sincerity, stirred something in you. “i tell myself that every day,” you said quietly, your fingers tightening gently around your daughter’s small hand.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t seem rushed to leave, lingering as though the conversation mattered more than wherever he was headed. his questions were unintrusive, small talk about the weather, the flowers blooming along the street, and whether you’d been in the neighborhood long. you answered politely, aware of the contrast between his world and yours yet struck by how easily he spoke to you.

˚ ༘♡ after a few minutes, he glanced at his watch, a subtle flare of responsibility returning to his expression. “i’d better get going,” he said, though there was no impatience in his tone. “it was nice talking to you.”

˚ ༘♡ “and to you,” you replied, dipping your head slightly.

˚ ༘♡ he offered your daughter one last smile before walking away, his pace measured, his presence lingering even as he disappeared down the street. you watched him for a moment, then turned back to your daughter, who was already pulling you toward the park.

˚ ༘♡ from that day on, whenever your paths crossed, he made a point to stop and speak with you. at first, the exchanges were brief, a polite inquiry about your day or a comment on how quickly your daughter was growing. but as the weeks passed, the conversations stretched longer, even when his crisp attire and leather briefcase suggested a packed schedule. he would pause, leaning slightly toward you as he spoke, his words carrying a kind of attentiveness you hadn’t encountered in a long time. those encounters, swift as they were, began to carve a small space of solace into the otherwise monotonous routine of your days.

˚ ༘♡ one quiet afternoon, as you were tidying up after a long day, the phone rang. you glanced at the screen and saw sang-woo’s name flashing. you hesitated for a moment, unsure why he was calling, but you picked up. his voice on the other end was casual yet warm. “would you like to grab dinner tonight? nothing fancy, something simple,” he said, his tone friendly enough to put you at ease.

˚ ༘♡ you smiled softly, though he couldn’t see it. “i’d like to, but i can’t leave my daughter home alone,” you replied, your words tinged with regret. her well-being was always your priority, and you weren’t in a position to make exceptions.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t hesitate to reply. “then bring her along,” he insisted without hesitation. “it’ll be fun for all of us, and i couldn’t think of leaving her out.”

˚ ༘♡ his sincerity made it hard to say no. after a brief pause, you agreed, telling him you’d meet him shortly. your daughter, wide-eyed and excited, picked the dinner, a feast of fried chicken and tteokbokki. it wasn’t what you considered a balanced meal, but sang-woo laughed softly when you voiced your concerns. “an occasional indulgence won’t hurt,” he reassured you, his tone effortlessly convincing. “besides, it’s my treat tonight.”

˚ ༘♡ when you arrived at the small, bustling eatery, your daughter clung to your hand while her gaze darted around, taking in the brightly colored menus and the sizzling platters on nearby tables. sang-woo was already seated, waving you over with a welcoming smile that made you feel momentarily lighter. he pulled out a chair for you before settling back into his own seat, engaging your daughter with playful questions about her favorite foods and games. her laughter filled the air as he entertained her, his natural charm putting her completely at ease.

˚ ༘♡ as the meal went on, you found yourself relaxing, enjoying the rare treat of good food and pleasant company. when your daughter noticed the arcade machines near the back of the restaurant, her face lit up with excitement. before you could say a word, sang-woo reached into his pocket and handed her a coin, encouraging her to go play while the two of you stayed behind. it was then, as you sat alone with him, that the evening took a turn you hadn’t anticipated.

˚ ༘♡ leaning in slightly, his expression grew more thoughtful. “can i ask you something personal?” he began, his voice measured and quiet. you nodded, unsure where he was going with this. “are you seeing anyone right now?”

˚ ༘♡ the question caught you off guard. you hesitated, but there was no point in pretending. with a quiet sigh, you opened up about your past, your brief, ill-fated marriage, your ex-husband’s abandonment, and the struggles that had followed. sang-woo listened intently, his gaze steady, never betraying judgment or discomfort. when you finished, he offered a small, empathetic smile and reached across the table, his hand brushing yours lightly. “you’ve been through so much, but you’re doing a wonderful job as a mother,” he said, his words sincere. before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, quick and discreet, ensuring your daughter didn’t see.

˚ ༘♡ the gesture left you momentarily speechless, your heart racing in a way it hadn’t in years. cho sang-woo was everything society valued, handsome, intelligent, and successful. yet, you couldn’t ignore the gap between your worlds. a single mother scraping by on meager wages didn’t belong in the same orbit as a man like him, no matter how kind he was. you told yourself he was simply a good friend, someone who offered comfort in a lonely existence. but the truth was harder to dismiss, and the growing fondness you felt for him remained long after that night.

˚ ༘♡ weeks later, the strain of your financial troubles bore down on you more heavily than ever. the debt had spiraled out of control, and every day felt like a losing battle to stay afloat. you were walking home one evening when a sharply dressed man approached you, his presence almost unsettling in its precision. he introduced himself with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and held out two small folded squares of paper. “care for a game of ddakji?” he asked, his tone cheerful but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. “if you win, you’ll get one hundred thousand won. if you lose, i get to slap you.”

˚ ༘♡ desperation clouded your judgment, and against your better instincts, you agreed. the first few rounds ended in failure, each slap stinging more than the last. but you persisted, driven by the thought of what that money could mean for your daughter. finally, with trembling hands and a burst of determination, you flipped the paper correctly. the man handed you the cash with an unsettling smile and then extended a business card. “call this number if you want to win more,” he said, his words lingering in your mind as you walked away clutching the money.

˚ ༘♡ that night, after tucking your daughter into bed, you stared at the card for what felt like hours. the temptation was overwhelming, and in the end, it won. you called the number, your voice shaking as you gave your name and address. within minutes, a sleek black limousine pulled up in front of your building, its windows tinted so dark you couldn’t see inside. stepping in, you barely had time to settle before a strange chemical filled the air, and the world went dark.

˚ ༘♡ when you awoke, the surroundings were unfamiliar and unnerving. rows of bunk beds stretched endlessly across a vast room, the walls painted a distasteful shade of green. you looked down and saw the plain jumpsuit you now wore, the number 017 stitched onto the fabric. confusion and fear gripped you, but one thought rose above the chaos, your daughter was at home, and you had to survive this for her, to give the life she deserved.

˚ ༘♡ the goal of winning was your aspiration when the first game began. at first glance, it seemed absurd, red light, green light, a relic from childhood memories long buried beneath the weight of adulthood. the vibrant, oversized doll at the far end of the field seemed almost laughable in its stillness, its painted smile eerie but harmless. but that illusion shattered when the first player was eliminated. the sound of the gunshot echoed through the air, followed by the horrifying sight of their lifeless body collapsing onto the dirt. the cheerful voice announcing the rules continued without pause, as though nothing had happened.

˚ ༘♡ panic erupted among the players. shouts of disbelief and terror filled the air as dozens bolted toward the exits, frantic and desperate to escape. one by one, they were struck down, their bodies littering the field as if caught in an invisible storm. the realization hit you like a physical blow, this was no game. this was life and death, and you were standing in its grasp. your knees trembled under the weight of fear, and your breaths came shallow and quick. every instinct screamed at you to run, to flee the nightmare unfolding around you.

˚ ༘♡ “the doll’s eyes are motion sensors. don’t move.”

˚ ༘♡ the voice came from behind, quiet but firm, cutting through the chaos. you turned your head slightly, careful to avoid triggering the sensors. it was cho sang-woo, his expression as composed as ever, though his voice carried an edge you had never heard before. his presence shocked you, why was he here? he had a prestigious job, a beautiful home, a life far removed from the misery that had led you to this place. what could have driven him to join this horrifying spectacle? but there was no time for answers. survival demanded your complete attention.

˚ ༘♡ you fixed your gaze on the doll, its head swiveling unnervingly to scan the players. the melody began again, and with it, the rules of survival. move forward, stop immediately, stay frozen. you forced yourself to take small, deliberate steps, resisting the overwhelming urge to sprint. each time the doll’s head turned, you froze, your body taut with fear, your heart pounding so loudly it seemed deafening. every second stretched into eternity, every step forward a test of willpower.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo crossed the finish line seconds before you, his figure stoic as he turned his back to the field. you pushed onward, your focus unyielding, until you finally crossed the line with seconds to spare. the tension in your body snapped, leaving your legs weak beneath you, but you remained upright, clinging to the knowledge that you had survived, for now. you glanced toward sang-woo, hoping for some acknowledgment, but he avoided your gaze entirely, turning away as if you were a stranger.

˚ ༘♡ once the last player stumbled through, the harsh blare of a horn signaled the end of the game, and the survivors were ushered back into the dormitory. the atmosphere was suffocating, the air thick with tension and fear as the reality of what they had just endured began to sink in. the sight of so many bodies lying lifeless on the field haunted you, but there was no time to grieve, no space to process. the masked guards stood silent and menacing, a constant reminder that you were trapped under their watchful gaze.

˚ ༘♡ as the players murmured among themselves, questions and disbelief rippling through the crowd, one of the masked guards stepped forward. his voice was distorted through the microphone, chilling in its detachment. “to remind you why you are here, we will reveal the amount of debt each of you owes.”

˚ ༘♡ the room fell silent, a collective tension building as a screen lit up on one of the walls. one by one, the players’ faces appeared, alongside staggering amounts of debt. gasps and whispers spread as the numbers grew larger and larger, each amount more crippling than the last. when your face appeared, the sum displayed made your stomach churn, a figure so vast it felt insurmountable, nearly half a billion won, a reflection of every foolish decision you had made to keep your daughter fed and housed.

˚ ༘♡ but the room truly stilled when cho sang-woo’s face appeared on the screen. his debt was six billion won. the air seemed to grow heavier as the number glowed on the screen, an incomprehensible weight tied to the man who had always seemed so polished, so composed, so untouchable. a few players exchanged shocked glances, but sang-woo’s expression didn’t waver. his face remained unreadable, a mask of calm that betrayed none of the turmoil he might have felt.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t stop staring at him. six billion won? how could someone with his education, his prestigious career, have ended up in such a dire position? questions swirled in your mind, but the icy tone of the guard’s voice broke through your thoughts. “this is what brought you here. this is what you must fight to overcome.”

˚ ༘♡ as the screen darkened, the room buzzed with subdued murmurs. the revelation had shifted the atmosphere, exposing the cracks in the carefully guarded facades of those around you. it was a stark reminder that no one here was truly secure, no matter how confident or composed they appeared.

˚ ༘♡ murmurs of confusion and disbelief filled the air. then, to your astonishment, sang-woo stepped forward and initiated a vote to end the game. the announcement caused a ripple of hope, and soon the vote began. by the narrowest margin, the majority chose to leave. the thought of returning to your daughter filled you with relief, even as unease lingered in your mind.

˚ ༘♡ back in the outside world, you clung to the brief sense of normalcy that returning home provided. your daughter’s laughter was a salve to your frayed nerves, but the relief was fleeting. the reality of your situation hit like a tidal wave when you opened the door to find loan sharks waiting, their demands sharper and more insistent than before. a stack of bills sat ominously on your table, a chilling reminder that leaving the game hadn’t erased your debts. it had only delayed the inevitable.

˚ ༘♡ when the sleek black limousine returned, you didn’t hesitate. you kissed your daughter’s forehead, returned her to the care of your elderly neighbor, and climbed into the car, your resolve hardening. the gas filled the air once again, and the world faded into unconsciousness. when you awoke, you were back in the same vast dormitory, the green jumpsuit hanging from your frame like a prison uniform.

˚ ༘♡ to your surprise, and perhaps dismay, sang-woo had returned as well. he stood apart from the crowd, his expression carefully neutral, as though he had already resigned himself to whatever horrors lay ahead. you couldn’t help but feel a pang of curiosity and frustration. what could have brought him back to this nightmare? but his presence, as unsettling as it was, also brought a sliver of comfort. at least one person here wasn’t a complete stranger. whether he acknowledged you or not, the fact that he was there, breathing the same air, enduring the same fate, made the unbearable feel slightly less isolating.

˚ ༘♡ as you climbed through the maze of brightly colored block structures on your way to the second game, the oppressive silence among the players was broken only by the occasional scrape of shoes against the smooth surfaces. the atmosphere was suffocating, each person wrapped in their own thoughts of survival. as you reached the next passageway, you caught sight of sang-woo walking a few steps ahead, his broad shoulders unmistakable even in the dull green jumpsuit. you quickened your pace, weaving around other players until you came up beside him.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo?” you called out hesitantly, unsure if he even wanted to be acknowledged. “it’s good to see you.”

˚ ༘♡ he turned to face you, his expression weary, his sharp features softened by exhaustion. his glasses were gone, leaving his face bare in a way that felt unfamiliar. the hollowness in his eyes made your heart ache, a stark contrast to the composed man you once knew. “it’s good to see you as well,” he said quietly, though his tone carried an undercurrent of shame. his gaze drifted downward, as though he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes for long.

˚ ༘♡ you hesitated, unsure whether to press him further, but the words poured out before you could stop them. “sang-woo, i had no idea you were in so much debt. i thought…” you faltered, the unfinished sentence hanging heavily in the air. you couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud, the claims you’d heard about client embezzlement and loans swirling in your mind. surely, he wouldn’t have stolen money from his workplace? the man you thought you knew wouldn’t sink to such levels, or so you hoped.

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, his expression tightening. “we can talk later, alright?” his voice was calm, but the subtle edge warned you not to push further. he looked away, focusing on the corridor ahead, his discomfort palpable.

˚ ༘♡ before you could respond, the masked guards appeared, their presence commanding immediate attention. one of them stepped forward, his voice cold and distorted as he barked instructions. “players, form a line in front of the four doors, triangle, circle, star, and umbrella.” the straightforward simplicity of the directive only heightened your unease. no explanation was given, and the purpose of the shapes remained a mystery.

˚ ༘♡ you watched as sang-woo leaned toward the group of players he had been speaking with, his voice low but audible. “we should split up,” he suggested. “i’ll take the triangle.” his tone was measured, but there was something deliberate in the way he spoke, as though he knew more than he was letting on.

˚ ༘♡ you stepped closer, offering him a faint smile. “i’ll take the star,” you said, trying to inject a bit of optimism into the tension-filled space.

˚ ༘♡ his jaw tightened visibly, and he shook his head, the motion slow and deliberate. “no,” he said, his voice firm. his friends had already dispersed, blending into the lines forming at the other doors, but he didn’t move. his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching.

˚ ༘♡ “why not?” you asked, confused by his sudden insistence.

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated, the pause stretching long enough to feel significant. “i think you should stick with me,” he said finally. “for a woman, the next game could be dangerous, and you might need protection. choose triangle with me.”

˚ ༘♡ there was something in his tone, persuasive as it could be, that made it impossible to refuse. though his reasoning unsettled you, you nodded, falling into line behind him as the players shuffled forward. your eyes scanned the room anxiously, searching for any clue as to what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ when the game was finally revealed, your stomach sank. the guards handed each player a thin tin containing a piece of dalgona candy. the shape on the door you had chosen corresponded to the delicate imprint in the sugar, triangle for you and sang-woo. the instructions were chillingly simple, extract the shape from the brittle candy without breaking it. failure meant elimination.

˚ ༘♡ as you stared down at the candy in your hands, your breath hitched. the triangle, though angular and sharp, was mercifully the easiest of the shapes. your fingers trembled as you picked up the needle provided, its point glinting under the harsh overhead lights. you glanced at sang-woo, who was already at work on his candy, his face an unreadable mask. you offered him a small, grateful smile, relieved that his advice had spared you a more complicated shape. he acknowledged it with a weak nod but didn’t look up from his task.

˚ ༘♡ the room was filled with the sound of quiet scraping, interspersed with the occasional crack of breaking candy and the deafening gunshots that followed. each failure sent a ripple of fear through the players, the stakes of the game becoming all too real. your hands shook uncontrollably as you traced the edges of the triangle, the needle’s tip scraping against the delicate surface. beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

˚ ༘♡ finally, with painstaking caution, you lifted the triangle free from the candy, the edges intact. relief flooded through you, though your hands continued to tremble as you approached one of the masked guards. holding up the completed shape, you waited for his acknowledgment. “player 218, player 017, pass,” the voice from the speaker announced, devoid of emotion.

˚ ༘♡ as you and sang-woo stepped into the expansive player quarters, the dim lighting and echo of murmured conversations created an atmosphere that felt dreadful yet oddly subdued. the space was filled with rows of bunks stacked high, each one occupied by players whose expressions ranged from numb exhaustion to quiet fear. you glanced around briefly before turning your attention to him, your gratitude bubbling to the surface.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo, you saved my life,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. the words carried a weight you couldn’t ignore. “i wouldn’t have had the precision or patience to cut out the star. thank you for convincing me to choose triangle.”

˚ ༘♡ he paused mid-step, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly as he turned to look at you. his expression was calm, but there was something unreadable in his gaze, a flicker of thought he didn’t voice. you tilted your head, your curiosity piqued as a question formed in your mind. “did you know it was going to be dalgona?” your voice held both curiosity and suspicion. he was intelligent, brilliant, in fact. it wouldn’t have surprised you if he had pieced together clues that no one else had noticed. but then again, if he had known, wouldn’t he have told his friends?

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he looked almost reluctant to answer. “i didn’t,” he said finally, his tone measured and deliberate. “it was a lucky guess, i suppose.” but there was something about the way he said it that left you unconvinced. his words felt too crafted, too careful, as if he were guarding a truth he wasn’t ready to share.

˚ ༘♡ before you could probe further, he shifted the conversation, his gaze tender as he looked at you. “come on,” he said, his voice quieter now. “you look like you’re about to collapse, and i can hardly stay upright myself after how draining that game was. let’s try and relax our nerves.”

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, the tension in your body loosening slightly as his words pulled you away from your thoughts. together, you made your way to an unoccupied bunk in one of the quieter corners of the dormitory. as you sat down, the fatigue of the day hit you like a wave, the adrenaline that had kept you going during the game now fully drained from your system.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo leaned against the metal frame of the bunk, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. his face was pale under the fluorescent lights, and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed how much the game had taken out of him. for a moment, the silence between you felt almost comfortable, a reprieve from the chaos that had defined the day.

˚ ༘♡ “you know,” you said after a while, your voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t know how you stayed so calm out there. i felt like i was going to fall apart the entire time.”

˚ ༘♡ he let out a low breath, not quite a sigh, as his eyes shifted to the floor. “i wasn’t calm,” he admitted. “i was terrified, but fear doesn’t help you survive. you have to focus, no matter what.” his words were matter-of-fact, but there was an edge to them, a glimpse of the pressure he carried that he rarely allowed others to see.

˚ ༘♡ you studied him for a moment, your gratitude mingling with a growing sense of unease. there was so much about him that remained a mystery, layers of calculation and restraint that made it impossible to fully understand what he was thinking. but for now, you were too tired to dwell on it.

˚ ༘♡ “thank you, sang-woo,” you said again, your voice softer this time. you meant it, not simply for his advice during the game, but for the quiet sense of stability he brought in a world that felt increasingly unmoored.

˚ ༘♡ he gave a faint nod, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. “get some rest,” he said, his tone gentle but steadfast. “tomorrow will probably be worse.”

a/n: can you all tell my favorite character is cho sang-woo? don’t worry, part two of the hwang in-ho x wife series will be out soon! let me know your thoughts! 🤍

[vividxpages]

✩˚౨ৎ˚✩‧The Great War PART 1 ✩₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧

PART 2 + PART 3

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 1700

summary: Jace and you are lovers, but stand on opposite sides of the war, not allowed to see each other anymore. But love always finds a way. (inspired by “The Great War” by Taylor Swift)

warnings: angst, reader is Alicents's daughter, the Greens being a bad family, hurt/comfort!, kissing

a/n: help, I'm obsessed with this boy and every song starts to sound like a possible fic idea for him!!!

𓆩♡𓆪

All that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, sweet dream was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War

Sometimes, you could only breathe above the clouds.

Up here on your dragon’s back, the trouble you left behind underneath you did not matter anymore. You thought of the castle that slowly poisoned you from the inside, the dark nights where you thought you were completely alone in the world with no comfort in reach but the memories you carried with yourself.

Once there had been laughter at the dinner table, the halls filled with the family you had not seen in months. Now, you only saw your brothers and your mother together in one room during council. You shuddered at the memory of today’s meeting, snuggling deeper into the saddle and closer to the dragon who kept you safe in the sky.

(“Maybe we should send our dear sister.” Your brother Aegon had proposed at some frustrating point of an endless council, taking a deep swig from the wine glass in front of him.

You had simply stared at him, silent. No one was really listening to you anyway and you were past the point of turning to your mother pleadingly. She was just as silent, always frowning, always doing nothing. “What do you mean, Aegon?”

“We can weaken them from the inside.” He had spoken to the others then, who at least looked so confused as you had felt. “Send them my little precious sister who a certain bastard son always had a weak spot for. I don’t see the problem if you kill him while you’re fuck-“

Your chair had screeched over the floor and fell down with a loud thud on the stone floor. You had clenched your hands into fists as you stood, fury in your eyes.

“Aegon, stop with such nonsense.” Alicent had said quietly, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. You fled.)

You welcomed the tears on your cheeks like an old friend, letting them cool your skin as you stirred your dragon through the sky, opting to just turn right and never come back to Westeros.

But oh, how your heart still clung to them.

The family up north in the realm, the family you had lost forever in the middle of his conflict.

Suddenly, you felt your dragon tense and directed your attention to the west, where a shape of a big shadow flickered through the clouds. Your mind began to race with what you’d do if Aemond had followed you, always being damned to bring you back when you had strayed too far away from Kings Landing.

But this shadow was not big enough to be Vhagar.

And those dark curls did not belong to your brother.

You gasped as your dragon let out a recognizing screech, lunging forwards through the clouds until you and the other rider could almost touch at how close your beasts were.

Time seemed to slow down as they flew past each other, teasingly snapping at each other’s necks with the joy of being reunited, but there was no doubt. As you raced through the skies, you looked into your Jace’s eyes.

You let out a broken gasp and quickly looked over your shoulder, but he and Vermax were already out of reach, descending down beneath the clouds. And suddenly, you knew where he was going. You spurned your dragon on, the wind cutting into your skin as you raced after them, faster and faster until you let your dragon spread its wings for a quick landing by the beach Jacaerys had chosen.

Only the silver moonlight illuminated the shore by the cliffs, void of any other soul who could witness the forbidden reunion between the two of you. If you had been in company, Jacaerys would’ve already been dead or held captive.

But you were alone, for the first time in months.

You slid down your dragon’s back, nearly blind by the need to reach him, to throw yourself into his arms like you had dreamed so often.

When you had seen each other for the last time, there had not been a war yet.

And Luke had been still alive.

(You had cried for hours when Aemond had returned, blood still drying on Vhagar’s massive teeth. You had begged your mother to write a letter, just a simple letter to Jace, but everything at court had still been too fragile to do anything but be in shock over what had happened up there. It had nearly driven you mad, to know that somewhere Jace was suffering the loss of his little brother and there was nothing you could do to comfort him.)

Now, he was right there in front of you, leaving Vermax behind him and running towards you on the wet sand by the water. You broke out into a sprint as well, a disbelieving laugh that was anything but amused leaving your tight throat as his features became more and more clear to you.

You crashed together like two waves.

The embrace was nearly violent as his arms slung themselves around you, lifting you up and pressing you into him. There was no strength in your bones anymore and if Jace wouldn’t have held you so tightly, you would’ve crashed onto the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

Only Jace was holding you together right now.

He was everything you had been missing in those terrible weeks. He smelled like sea and wind and smoke and your hands shook as you combed through his wet curls, your tear-streaked face securely hidden in his neck.

You never wanted to let go of him and it seemed like the feeling was mutual.

“Gods- my love…” He mumbled into your ear and you let out a choked sob as you held each other. It was like he could not decide where he wanted to touch you first. His hands drifted over you restlessly, up and down your spine, holding onto you as if you could disappear again at any moment.

“How did you find me?” You asked breathlessly, your bottom lip still trembling dangerously as you caressed his cheeks, needing to refamiliarize yourself with the feel of his skin on yours.

He swallowed thickly, unshed tears glistening in his beautiful years. “I remembered the route you liked to take when you needed to stop thinking. And it’s cloudy today. No one saw me coming. I’ve been waiting for a cloudy night like this for weeks-“

His voice broke and you pulled him closer again, shudders of pain and longing and relief to be with him going through you in an endless loop. How much had changed since the last time you had seen eye to eye: Your father had always said you’d make a good match back then and now Jace had one brother less and you were a captive in your own home.

“I missed you so much.” You whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as you both looked out on the ocean. “I- oh Jace, I tried to write, I wanted to send you a letter, but- I wasn’t allowed. I couldn’t help you and-“

“It’s okay.” He said, but it sounded lifeless, void. “It’s not your fault. I wished I could’ve been there for you too. I know how much you loved Luke.”

Gods, you wanted to cry and never stop again. Even now, Jace was trying to be strong for you, as he had always been.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” He told you and cupped your cheek, looking deeply and longingly into your eyes. “I missed you every second we’ve been apart. Have you been treated well? Have Aegon and Aemond-“

“I love you too. I want to come with you.” You interrupted him fiery and he shuddered at the insane idea of it, the consequences unimaginable and likely deadly for one of you. “Please, please, let me come with you, I can’t stay a single day there, my mother is not the same anymore and- my brothers have been horrible with the things they want to do to Rhaenyra and you.”

He shushed you gently, drawing his arms tighter around you and swaying you back and forth. “I’ll find a way. I’m not letting you stay there alone for much longer, my love. It makes me sick to think about you being alone in Kings Landing, believe me, but…mother says it’s not safe, not yet-“

“I won’t cause your family any trouble, I promise-“

“It’s not us we’re fearing for.” He smiled sadly at you. “It’s you. I won’t summon your brother’s anger on you. I’d rather take it on myself, but- we need to be a little more patient, okay?”

You could see how much effort those words cost him and you had no doubt if it was his choice to make, he’d take you with him to Dragonstone and never look back. You watched his throat bump with tension, his jaw set, his lips pressed together tightly.

A sudden small smile danced over your face. “So you only came to me tonight because you wanted to see me?”

His eyes were dark with longing, with wanton he could not give in to, not tonight. “My love...I needed to see you.” His thumb lovingly brushed over your cheek, the pad of it briefly touching your lips.

There was so much you wanted to say, so many things you needed to tell him and hear from him, but in this short moment you were only a girl and he was a boy. Your boy.

 He met you right in the middle, delicately holding your face between his hands as your lips met, desperately kissing you as his taste exploded in your mouth once again. He kissed you drunk, enveloping all your senses until all you felt was him. His lips were dry and salty from the long flight over the clouds and along the coast, your runny noses sliding against each other, but it was perfect.

Your heart was mended with every little sigh into your mouth, his long lashes brushing over your cheeks, your hands tangling in his hair…

You thought that maybe, in another lifetime, the two of you could’ve been able to stop the war.

Another part of you knew that you always had been damned, cursed.

You blinked into the starless grey sky above you as Jace began to ravish your neck with wet kisses and you thought of the old saying passed on from generation to generation.

Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.

On which side would yours land if you ever lost him?

On which would his land when it finally sank in that he could never have you?

[misstycloud]

Yandere arranged fiancé x reader

You’re the sole daughter of the famous (l/n) family; big corporations, monopolisation and seemingly endless wealth are all words associated with your family. You have lived well your entire life and will for the rest of it, too. You have never been denied of anything, whether it be new clothes, makeup or whatever new hobby had caught your interest at the moment- except for the chance to take over the business after your father.

Unfortunately, despite how loving your family could be, they still held on to old traditions and ideas. One of which was that the large portion of the inheritance should go to the son. No matter how hard you try or how much you plead, you will never inherit the companies.

Your family doesn’t understand. They believe you should be content with your position- of course you know you’re incredibly privileged, but you hoped do be able to contribute to something instead of just sitting around forever. It made things meaningless. Did you only exist to become someone’s wife?

You barely remembered the first time you met him. You were around seven and he was ten. Despite your foggy recollection of what you two did that day, you did recall the expression on his face; emptiness and indifference. It was the day before that you heard the word fiancé for the first time. You didn’t know what it really meant, but thanks to your parents guidance, you understood it meant you two are going to be together for the rest of your lives.

Your parents had a couple whom they’ve been close friends for a long time, and it just so happened they had a son a little over your age. They were rich, just like you. So why not marry you two when you got older?

The first impression you had of him was of the oddnes he carried with him. He never smiled, never cried and barely spoke. He only lest he’d you with that blank look on his face. At least he played with you. Well, it depends on if it could be called playing, considering it was you dragging him around and demanding he humour you. Looking back at it, you feel bad for him having to endure the torture of a child’s endless energy. However, he didn’t complain at all and kept passing the ball after you continued sending it his way.

Whatever ‘I’m happy so I’m gonna make you happy with my happiness’- magic you had in your youth did eventually rub off on him. The change was evident in more ways in one. He started smiling- albeit they were small- and even gave the occasional chuckle. After that you became friends for real and it wasn’t forced as it’d felt in the beginning. This positive shift served as a strong motivator for both your parents’ willingness to have you wed. You supposed you would be rather devastated as well if your one and only child had come out with the emotional constipation your fiancé had, so you understood their encouragement. They treated you like some miracle cure.

You were content with your life and arrangement for years. That was until you got older and began actually thinking about your situation in detail. Your ambitions and needs also grew and you found yourself wishing to work to make your family greater; to put down the sweat and blood your ancestors had to give you the life you had now. But it was simply a dream, one that wouldn’t come true. You would never forget the confused- almost mocking-disbelief your mother and father showed you when you asked to inherit the company.

“Sweetie, why’d you ever be interested in such things?” Your mother asked. “Simply relax and enjoy the life you have now- the life your husband will continue to provide for you.”

You looked towards your father, hoping he would support you in any shape or form but he nodded in agreement with your mother.

“She’s right, dear.”

He was never a man of many words, however you a single sentence you knew the topic was done with.

While you had no doubt they loved you, they certainly didn’t understand you either. They couldn’t fathom why you weren’t content with your life and didn’t wish for your partner to take care of everything.

You spiraled afterwards. You could have everything and nothing at once. It was a strange feeling and it left you feeling angry. And that anger had to be directed at something: your fiancé. You began thinking he was the source of your misfortune. Because of him you would lose your freedom and have to live by his restrictions and rules for the rest of your life. Once you turn (y/o) you’ll have to marry him no matter your opinion. You would solely be his.

There was still time before your wedding and you’d be damned if you couldn’t live how you wanted until then. In an attempt of rebellion you moved out of your family’s estate and into an apartment of your own. (They agreed because they thought you desired to spend some alone time with your fiancé without them being near) You also stopped responding to his calls; he’d been calling every week to get updates on how things were going. You simply put your phone on silent mode whenever his name popped up. After the fifth time of calling, you blocked his number in great annoyance. Why couldn’t he just leave you be? You’re not ten anymore, you don’t have to talk every second of the day, ugh.

After a couple weeks with your new living conditions, another thought hit you. If you were going to be tied down to one man forever, why not meet as many as you can right now? And so you started going out more, inviting your friends to go clubbing and perhaps find someone interesting. More weeks followed, with a new guy in your apartment every month. Some stayed for the night only, while some preferred to stay a little longer. However, they all left as quickly as they’d come when you’d mention your engagement. Either they didn’t want to get tangled up in some lovers drama or they’d cuss you out for being a cheater. Were you one? Whatever, you thought, it doesn’t count if you don’t love each other- which you didn’t.

But one day, completely unforeseen by you, he swung by your new apartment. He’d been worried about you. Almost three months had gone by without a single word from you. He believed you might’ve gotten in an accident. Suddenly, you felt ashamed. It was strange, you hadn’t felt anything like it earlier. But now you did. You realised that your sweet, innocent fiancé wasn’t the root of your problems. You need to stop directing your anger at the wrong person. You explained everything, about how you felt and why you ignored him for so long.

You profusely apologised to him a million times when he found out about the others you’d been spending time with. You would never forget the look on his face that day when he found out. It was cold- colder than you’d ever seen him. Of course, he was like that to most, but never to you. In the end, he chose to forgive you. He told you that he understood and that it was fine; you weren’t wed yet and it was natural that you wanted to explore. You swore that you’d stop and make it up to him, while he said it wasn’t necessary, you hadn’t actually done anything wrong. You also swore that you’d be loyal to him and that you’d never do anything behind his back when you’re legally married. Thankfully, he appeared to believe you.

However, you wished you could’ve foreseen what would happen next. Nowhere in your mind, did you think you’d find yourself in your luxurious bathroom, staring at the two red lines of a pregnancy test. Eapecially when your fiancé didn’t have a part in it.

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[writersmacchiato]

Three Years | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Summary: You see Edmund and Lucy again in the most unexpected of places after their departure three years earlier.

Warnings: kissing (between Edmund x reader)

. . .

Salt.

It was misting over your face, tangy as it melted on your tongue.

The sun was just rising over the horizon, the endless blues of the sea turning golden and pink as they reflected the light.

Besides the creaking of the ship, and the shuffling of feet below deck as the crew began to stir and rise for the day, all was silent.

You had been waking up early every day since the voyage had begun. Without any reason, drawn to the crow’s nest in the misty grays of dawn before the rest of the world awakened. Watching the sunrise from the perfect spot.

The day would be like any other that had come before.

When Caspian, in all his kingly charm, had requested that you accompany him on this trip to the ends of the world you had been expecting more dangerous conquests. All you had battled so far was seasickness.

“Good morning. See anything?” The aforementioned king called up his usual greeting to you, hair ruffling in the cool breeze.

“Sea and more sea!”

You don’t hear it but can imagine the chuckle he releases through the rise and fall of his shoulders as he walks away to resume his check of the ship.

The sun continues to rise higher and higher into the sky, a cloudless day stretching away. You had snuck away to catch a moment of quiet in the crow’s nest.

Watching the empty waves was beginning to bore you.

When.

It couldn’t be-

“Caspian!” You yelled, jumping over the wooden beams that held you aloft. Grabbing hold of the rope to slide down, all the while yelling Caspian’s name.

“What is it?”

“There on the eastern starboard, I saw something. Someone.”

Caspian runs to the railing, quickly yelling orders at the crew to begin a rescue.

Rescue?

You’re too stunned by the possibility of a rescue to react when Caspian himself dives into the water. You’ve been watching the waters - there have been no sightings of any boats or ships for days now. Not even a rowboat.

The creak of the pulley grabs your attention, dragging first Caspian into view and then the young girl huddled against his side.

It couldn’t possibly be-

Lucy Pevensie. Daughter of Eve.

She shouts your name and crashes into you with little grace. You don’t care that she’s dripping water everywhere, returning her fierce embrace.

“Oh Lucy.” You can’t help the wide smile.

And then you see him, standing besides Caspian with his own smile looking at you.

“Edmund.” You breathe so quietly you aren’t sure you say anything, but Lucy pulls away and beckons her brother over.

He says your name just as quietly and gets close enough for you to touch him but he doesn’t make the first move, just looking and looking.

“Well come here!” You wrap your arms around him, relishing the way he grabs onto you gently. Almost shyly.

He whispers your name again, to himself, committing every bit of this to memory. He thought he remembered everything; but now he realizes how much he’s forgotten. The way you felt against him, the feel of your hair against his face, the way you smell.

A piercing scream cuts your reunion short, and Edmund has even more reason to despise his cousin when he feels the loss of your warmth against him.

“Welcome aboard the Dawn Treader.”

. . .

Edmund tried to fall asleep, he truly did.

The creaking of the ship and the swaying of his hammock made of his stomach roll, but he could’ve adapted to it if it wasn’t for the snoring of Eustace. He also couldn’t stop thinking about you and how much his heart swelled, almost painfully, when he thought about the look on your face when you saw him. Like you were happy to see him.

He’s sitting outside now, on the eastern stern of the ship, giddy at the feeling of the wind against his face. Narnian air.

“Edmund.”

His gaze cuts from the endless water to your form, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. Like a dream. It feels too much like the many dreams he had back home, wanting nothing more than to see you again.

“Mind if I join you?”

He shuffles over on the bench, trying to contain his grin when you open the blanket you brought and drape it over your shoulders and his.

“Tell me about your world.”

You play with his hand, tracing over the lines on his palm. Edmund doesn’t know how to describe it to you; he’s fought battles by your side, danced with you under the Narnian sky while fireworks flashed across the sky. In England, he’s no one.

“There’s nothing exciting there. Nothing like what we did.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I suppose so.”

You can tell there’s more he isn’t saying, something that is eating away from him. But you don’t pry. Not yet.

“Tell me. What have you been doing since I left?” Edmund asks.

You hum, fingers still tracing over the lines on Edmundo’s palm. Trying to reconcile three years worth of memories into something amusing or daring, but the truth is… that without Edmund, dealing with his sudden departure had left you in misery.

“Can I be honest with you, Edmund?”

He doesn’t answer right away, shifting slightly so he’s turned toward you instead of side by side. Hand gently squeezing yours.

“Of course you can.”

“The past three years have been amazing, theoretically. Caspian has managed to restore peace and order to the lands, Narnians have been rebuilding their lives and I… I missed you. I kept thinking to myself, ‘Edmund would love this’.”

“I missed you too.” Edmund says quietly. “Lucy had to drag me out of bed most days, because at least in my dreams I might get to visit you again.”

“Edmund?”

He hums in response.

You turn your body so you’re facing him too, the blanket you’d brought slipping down to your waist. Even with the chilly breeze from the ocean you don’t feel cold, feeling the warmth radiating from Edmund. From where his thigh touches yours. His hand still in yours.

You ask the question that you’ve thought about every night since he and his siblings walked through the tree back into their world.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

You don’t have to specify - when, where, what? Edmund knows exactly what you’re talking about.

The night of Caspian’s coronation, the sky lit up with fireworks. The way the colors flashed over your face, the whizz and crack of the fireworks vibrating through his chest. Your hands on his shoulder, his on your waist.

It felt like a moment torn out of a fairytale, the only thing missing was a twirl and a dip in the dance that ended in a kiss.

Instead, once the majority of the merriment commenced, the fireworks fizzled out and the food and drink all gone, Edmund walked you to your room. You remember the way your heart beat, so fast, feeling more nervous than you had on the battlefield days earlier.

“Goodnight,” Edmund had said, pressing a kiss to your hand and then he was gone in the castle shadows. The next day he was gone from Narnia.

“I did kiss you.” He has a hint of a smirk on his lips, but you can see the flush on his cheeks.

“On the hand does not count! Did you not want to kiss me?”

“Of course I did. I’ve spent three years thinking how foolish I was not to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I knew Susan and Peter had spoken to Aslan and that they seemed upset. I had a suspicion of what they discussed. So, that night with you… I felt that if we got closer than we already had, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Knowing how it felt and then leaving. I’m not sure I would’ve gone with them.”

“I thought I misread you.”

“I’ve spent three years regretting that night. I should have kissed you.”

“I think it’s time we rectify that, hm?”

You kiss him, and you’re struck by how warm he is. Slow and languid, the kiss is sweet. Filled with years of pent up longing finally being released.

Shaking your hand loose, your hand slides up to his neck, gently guiding his eager mouth closer to yours. He breath hitches in his throat, biting back a moan.

It gets messy, clumsy. Noses bumping against each other. His hand finds it way to your waist, your own hands slipping into the loose hair at the nape of his neck. You pull him closer and closer until he’s pressed right against you.

You pull away with a heaving breath, Edmund chasing your lips.

“I need a breather.” You huff out.

“I’ve thought about doing that every single night since Caspian’s coronation.”

“Oh, you mean after you chickened out and didn’t kiss me? And then left for three years?”

Edmund rolls his eyes, pulling away in his stubbornness. “I didn’t see you making a move either, oh fearless one.”

“I think I just did.”

“Three years later.” He mocks.

You shut him up with another kiss, this time finding a rhythm with your lips that makes your toes curl.

The voyage ahead was certain to become more dangerous with each passing day, but here, wrapped in a king's embrace, you think of nothing else but him. Edmund.

[citysuk]

so in love | aemond targaryen

pairing: dark!aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader (rhaenyra's daughter)

summary: some headcanons of aemond with his obsessive behavior over you

notes: I'M BACK!!! i just know that when this man is fixated on something, he won't stop until he gets it. he's so crazy! i think i wanna have his babies 🤭🤭🤭

warnings: targcest. violence. hate. kinda yandere aemond, he daydreams A LOT. but he my pookie <3 he's not bad, he just wants to be himself!! no proofread. no use of y/n and no oc neither.

Aemond Targaryen, a prince of great ambition and power, found himself falling hopelessly in love with you, Rhaenyra’s only and oldest daughter. It was a love twisted by fate and circumstance, but one that burned brighter than a thousand suns.

His gaze was always drawn to you. He watched you from across the room like a hawk, his intense eyes taking in every detail. He longed to touch you, to feel your soft skin and bury his face in your hair. But he knew it was a forbidden love, one that could never be. His mother would never allow it.

Aemond found himself dreaming of spending time with you, stealing moments away from the prying eyes of the court. He would imagine taking you on long walks through the gardens, their hands entwined, their bodies pressed closely together. He would dream of you flying alongside him on your dragon, the wind whipping through your hair as you soared through the endless expanse of the vast world below.

During the council meetings, Aemond would find his thoughts drifting to you, his mind unable to focus on the discussions of warfare and politics. He would fantasize about the future, about a world in which they could be together. He would day dream about walking down the aisle on their wedding day, vowing to love and protect each other for the rest of their lives.

In quiet, hidden moments, Aemond would find himself scribbling your name in his journal, as if writing it down would somehow bring you closer to him. He would sketch your face from memory, trying to capture your likeness on the page. He would pour his heart onto the parchment, writing poems and love sonnets, each word dripping with the fullness of his affection.

Aemond found himself drawn to the things that reminded him of you. He would seek out the things that made him think of you: a certain flower, a specific scent, a particular piece of music. He would find himself stealing a glance at jewellery and clothing, picturing you wearing them, imagining the way they would fit your body like a second skin. He would find himself stealing a strand of your hair, tucking it away in a hidden pocket, so that he could feel a piece of you close to his heart.

He would watch you at feasts, his heart aching in his chest, his desire burning like a raging fire. He would watch as suitors danced with you, his hands curling into fists as he had to watch them touch you, to see their hands on your hips, to watch them lean in too close. He wished it was him, his hands on your body, his lips close to your ear, his breath on your skin.

Aemond would find himself searching for any opportunity to be near you. He would attend meetings where he knew you would be present, just for the chance to hear your voice and see your face. He would find excuses to walk by your chambers, hoping to catch a glimpse of you through a cracked door. He would find himself listening for the sound of your footsteps in the halls, his body tensing with anticipation.

Sometimes, when the castle was quiet, Aemond would find himself outside your windows, standing in the shadows and looking up at your rooms. He would imagine you sitting at your desk, studying or sewing. He would imagine himself climbing through the window and sneaking into bed beside you, holding you in his arms and shielding you from all the hardships of the world.

Aemond would watch you, studying your face, the way you moved, the way you spoke. He would memorize every detail, every nuance, every little quirk. He would notice small things about you, like the way you bit your lip when you were nervous or how you twisted your hair when you were deep in thought. He would study you as if you were a work of art, like a sculpture in the godswood, perfectly sculpted in a way that only a higher power could create.

Aemond would also observe subtle things about your character. He would see your empathy towards those in need, your kindness towards your handmaids, and your strength when faced with adversity. He would notice the way you cared for your siblings, your loyalty to your family, and your love for your mother. He would see how you stood your ground against those who sought to undermine you, your determination and tenacity. He would see all of these things and love you more because of them, knowing in his heart that he had never met anyone quite like you.

Aemond would also feel a sense of guilt for his feelings. He knew that it was wrong to desire you, that he was supposed to be loyal to his brother and to his family's alliance. He would argue with himself in his mind, trying to convince himself that he was being foolish, that his feelings were just a passing fancy. But no matter how much he tried to reason with himself, his heart would not listen. It beat wildly in his chest, as if it was trying to break free and fly to you.

Despite the challenges and conflicts that came with his affection for you, Aemond would also find moments of tenderness and vulnerability. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly emotional, he would imagine confessing his feelings to you. He would picture telling you everything he felt, laying his heart bare and hoping for your understanding. He would imagine the look on your face, the shock, the surprise, and maybe even the realization that you felt the same way.

But Aemond would also fear the consequences of his confession. He would dread the rejection, the possibility that you would not feel the same, that his love was unrequited. He would worry about the judgement of his family, the disapproval of his mother. He would fear the consequences of acting on his feelings, the possibility that he could lose everything he had worked so hard for, all for a chance at happiness with you.

Aemond would also find himself struggling with his own insecurities. He would compare himself to the other men who sought your attention, and find himself lacking. He would question if he was good enough for you, if he was worthy of your love. He would doubt his own worth, his own prowess, and his own ability to protect and provide for you. It was a constant internal battle, one that he fought alone, in the darkest corners of his troubled mind.

Despite his insecurities, Aemond would also find moments of confidence. He would see the way you looked at him, the small smiles you would give, the subtle nods of approval, and it would give him a sense of hope. He would feel a burst of courage, imagining that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that you could return his feelings. He would find himself taking small risks, standing a little closer, making a joke, just to see if he could make you smile.

If he was feeling courageous he would steal glances at you across a room, hold your gaze a moment too long, or brush your hand with his, feeling the electricity shoot through his chest. He would find himself standing closer to you than was strictly necessary, taking in your scent, breathing in the air around you, like a man drowning and desperate for air.

Aemond would also find himself trying to impress you. He would find himself showing off during training, using more impressive moves, or taking on more challenging opponents. He would try and draw your attention to him, using his swordsmanship like a weapon in his pursuit of your affections. He would also try and display his intelligence, making clever observations, or offering thoughtful insights during council meetings. He wanted to show you that he was more than just a skilled warrior, that he had a brain to go along with his brawn.

After Viserys' death and the start of the war, Aemond would become more resolute and determined than ever. He would see the conflict as a chance to prove himself, to show the world what he was made of. He would channel his energy and his anger into the war effort, throwing himself into the fray with a newfound fervor.

He would also find himself taking on more responsibility, taking command of troops, making strategic decisions, and leading men into battle. He would become an even more fearsome warrior, fighting with a ferocity that was almost feral.

During the war, Aemond's feelings for you would only become more intense, even though you were on opposing sides. He would find himself thinking of you constantly, worrying about your safety and your well-being. He would hear news of your battles and victories, his heart torn between pride and worry.

His feelings would translate into his actions on the battlefield. He would fight with a reckless abandon, seeking out the most dangerous missions and the most challenging opponents, as if courting death would provide some sort of relief from his torment. He would throw himself into battle, hoping that tiring himself out with fighting would be a distraction from his aching heart.

He would also find himself looking at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and your dragon soaring above, wondering if you thought of him as much as he thought of you.

Despite his intense feelings, Aemond would find himself in a moral dilemma. On one hand, he loved you with all his heart, and the thought of raising his sword against you made his soul ache. But on the other hand, he was fiercely determined to get the throne.

If Aemond were to ascend the Iron Throne and rule the Seven Kingdoms, he would make sure that you were by his side. He would want to keep you close to him, to have you as his queen, his partner, his confidante.

But your loyalty to your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, would be unwavering. Aemond would know that you would never betray your mother.

He would also be worried about the political repercussions of your loyalty. He would know that your family on Dragonstone would never agree to you being his queen, and he would be aware that they would do everything to try and keep you from him.

Aemond would be furious when he learned that you were being betrothed to Cregan Stark. He would feel like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest and stomped on it. The thought of you being married to someone else would make him feel like he was drowning in a pool of molten lead.

He would also feel betrayed and angry, as if the world was conspiring against him, toying with his heart, making a mockery of his love.

Aemond would be a man possessed. The thought of losing you to another would drive him mad, and he would be willing to do anything to prevent it. He would start to lose his grip on his sanity, seeing no other way to have you than to burn the world to the ground.

He would fantasize about setting the Red Keep ablaze, watching it burn like a pyre of the damned, feeling the heat of the flames on his skin like the fires of his rage. He would imagine bringing down the entire world, reducing everything to ashes, if it meant he could have you.

He would also want to destroy the man who stood in his way, Cregan Stark, the man who would take you from him. His thoughts would be consumed with revenge, with a desire to end Cregan Stark's life, to make him pay for stepping between him and you. He would relish the idea of watching the light fade from his eyes, and would dream of the moment he could hold you in his arms once more, the body of your betrothed at his feet.

Aemond's love for you would be like a wildfire, consuming him from within. He would be driven by a primal force, and nothing would be able to stop him, not the law, not the gods, not anything in the world. He won't stop until you are his.

autor's note: do you guys want a part 2??? 👀👀 please like and reblog if you liked it, comment your thoughts!!

[ikkyfics]

Whispers of the Sea

dad!Remus Lupin x mom!reader

Summary: Remus looked at her with a mixture of wonder and reverence. It was as if no matter how many times he held her like this, the miracle of having her there never ceased to amaze him. "Look at that, my little star," he whispered, his voice low and filled with tenderness. "Do you see how the sea seems endless? It's as big as the world waiting for you."

Warnings: flufy, est. relationship, no war au, no use of a baby name, no use of y/n, after hogwarts (obviosly), Remus was born to be a dad

A/N: I hope the quality hasn't dropped here

Masterlist

The salty breeze of the beach was gentle, carrying with it the rhythmic sound of waves breaking on the sand. The sky was painted in soft shades of blue and gold, and the sunlight danced lazily over the water, creating a scene so serene it felt like a dream.

Remus walked slowly, each step sinking slightly into the warm sand. In his arms, his daughter was nestled, her curious little eyes taking in everything around her. She was leaning against his chest, one tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt as if that small gesture could ensure she would never drift away from the safe harbor he provided.

He looked at her with a mixture of wonder and reverence. It was as if no matter how many times he held her like this, the miracle of having her there never ceased to amaze him. "Look at that, my little star," he whispered, his voice low and filled with tenderness. "Do you see how the sea seems endless? It's as big as the world waiting for you."

She didn’t respond, of course—she was still too young to understand his words. But the way her eyes sparkled, reflecting the infinite blue of the sky and sea, said she was absorbing it all in her own way. Remus smiled, leaning slightly to let the breeze touch her tiny face.

"Can you feel that?" he asked, his voice almost like a shared secret. "That’s the wind, sweet girl. It comes from places you don’t know yet, but one day... one day you’ll explore every corner of this world. And when that day comes, I’ll be here, helping you find your way."

The baby made a small sound, something between a sigh and a murmur. Remus gently ran a finger over her little face, brushing away a strand of hair that the breeze had stuck to her cheek.

"You know I’d do anything for you, don’t you, my little star?" he murmured, as if making a promise. "I’ll always be here. Always."

She responded in the only way she knew—letting out a soft sound that resembled a giggle and reaching out her tiny hand toward his face.

Watching the two of them from a distance, you felt a sweet ache in your chest. The scene was so full of love it was impossible not to be moved by it. Remus was completely absorbed in his daughter, his movements slow and careful, as if holding her was the most sacred thing in the world. But he noticed when you approached, and the smile he gave as he lifted his eyes was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

"Someone’s eavesdropping," he teased lightly, his tone still filled with that softness he reserved for the two of you.

"How could I not?" you replied, closing the distance between you and placing a hand on his arm. "You speak as if you’re reciting poetry. It’s hard not to be enchanted."

Remus chuckled quietly, but the laughter faded quickly as he looked at you. "It’s just... sometimes I still wonder if all of this is really real." He lowered his eyes to the baby, now distractedly tugging at the fabric of his shirt. "Having you two... it’s more than I ever thought possible. And yet, here you are."

Your hand moved to his face, your fingers gently stroking his cheek. "We’re here, Remus. And we’re not going anywhere."

He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning slightly into your hand as if that simple gesture could ground him. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze locked onto yours, intense and filled with emotion. "I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m going to spend the rest of my life being grateful."

He leaned forward slightly, and you closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that seemed to convey everything he hadn’t yet put into words. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing deeply.

You kept your hand on his face. "You do deserve this, Remus. You deserve so much."

When he opened his eyes again, you couldn’t help but notice the details that made him who he was. The soft curve of a scar running across his jaw, a reminder of the battles he faced every month. His tousled brown hair, with a few prematurely gray strands, the result of stress and pain he had carried for so long. But to you, every detail was perfect. Each mark told the story of the man he was—strong, resilient, and so full of love that it seemed impossible he had ever doubted himself.

You smiled, your eyes tracing every familiar inch of his face. "You know how beautiful you are, don’t you?"

Remus chuckled softly, the sound almost disbelieving. "Beautiful, huh?" He shook his head, but a slight blush colored his cheeks.

"Yes," you said firmly, letting your hand slide from his cheek to his neck, where your thumb traced a small circle. "And not just because you gave me her." Your gaze shifted to the baby, still nestled in his arms, her rosy cheeks and curious eyes darting between you and him.

As if she realized she was the topic of conversation, the little one began babbling something unintelligible, her chubby hands reaching determinedly toward you.

Remus looked at his daughter, his smile softening even further, if that were possible. "Oh, you want to go to Mommy, little star?" he asked, his voice brimming with pure adoration.

He adjusted her in his arms with care, moving with the ease of someone who had performed the gesture countless times, and handed her to you. As soon as you held her, she snuggled into your embrace, one tiny hand gripping the fabric of your blouse as if to ensure you wouldn’t go anywhere.

"Well, I guess I’ve lost my spot," Remus joked, crossing his arms and watching the two of you with a satisfied smile.

"Maybe," you replied with a playful grin. "But only because she knows where the best lap is."

"She’s smart," Remus agreed, marveling at his daughter’s tiny hands with a look of fascination. "She knows exactly where she wants to be."

You laughed, gently stroking the baby’s soft hair as she gazed at Remus, clearly still expecting his attention. "She knows she has the best dad in the world," you said, smiling at him.

Remus ran a hand through his hair, the gesture slightly self-conscious, but the light in his eyes gave away how much your words meant. He stepped closer, leaning in to kiss his daughter’s forehead and then pressing his lips softly to yours. "I have the two most incredible people in the world," he murmured, his voice low but full of sincerity.

Remus wrapped his arms around the two of you, holding you in an embrace that seemed to promise that no matter what happened, you would always be home to each other.

"She’s mesmerized by the sea," he remarked, looking at the baby in your arms, now blinking drowsily as if the motion of the waves and the gentle rocking of the sea breeze were lulling her to sleep. "I think someone’s going to have sweet dreams tonight," he murmured, his voice full of affection.

And you knew he was right. Because with him, all dreams—hers, yours, and his—had found a safe place to exist.

[chlmtsdoll]

AM I YOUR GIRL ?

౨ৎ Pairing: Art Donaldson x ballerina!reader

౨ৎ Summary: Art is training to go off on tour. Not getting to spend as much time with him like usual has you missing your Art dearly. (a little hurt/comfort blurb since I left my airpods (my lifeline) in an Uber and I’m feeling distraught !)

౨ৎ Word count: 2k

౨ৎ Warnings: sugar baby ! reader, no use of y/n, mainly just fluff !, hurt/comfort, age gap (reader early 20’s) dilf age Art, needy reader, protective Art, jealousy, mentions of Tashi in between, brief mention of sexual intercourse

You know for a fact you’re his favorite girl.

And you could bet everyone around picked up on it too.

The way you would go straight to Arts embrace after a match, sweaty and with pony tails loosely fraying behind you as Art swept you up into his arms. Legs tight around his waist and girlish giggles echoing throughout the court.

The way you would play with your bubble gum as you watched him play. Legs kicked up on bleachers chairs right beside Tashi, grin plastered to your lips every time he would show off a serve and win. All for you.

When you’d grind your hips heavenly against his, use his chest as leverage when you bounced on his cock like there was no tomorrow. Mind too fucked out and hazy to think so you’d let him take over, his name pouring out from your lips in otherworldly moans as he fucked up into you and you’d taken it like his good little girl you always were.

And especially, when Tashi had been done for the day with everyone and everything , locking herself in the bedroom of whatever hotel you’d all been staying at for the time being. And instead of going to sleep, you and Art would request the maids to sneak some ice cream and sugary treats in for the both of you. Laughing like two high school sweethearts as you’d make sundaes together the night before a big game.

Art always made time for those special moments with you. and in your head, he was yours, and you were his.

But with the next u.s open being just around the corner, your days beside the absolute dream of a man weren’t exactly the way it always was this time around.

He’d been at practice for hours on end, trying not to let Tashi’s method of coaching get to his head in between the heat of it all really — but that was but only just hope when he’d come home, head low and covered in bruises from the court. Tired and only sharing a word or two with his wife once he’d been done showering the sweat and endless work off of his body.

You’d wait up all night, but by the time they had gotten back you’d always already been passed out on the couch in the greeting area, and Art would still always carry you to bed even being as drained as he was. Your little body cradled in his arms and he was careful not to wake you.

He’d get you tucked in and leave a kiss on your forehead before shutting the door. So used to the same drill with his daughter Lily before she was back with her grandmother for the week.

But that being the only part of him you got during that time, hurt even more since you weren’t awake to be present in it. And the next day he was right back out to practice.

All you could think about was the fact that you were much younger and you didn’t want to come off as being a needy child. So you decided to never mention your feelings.

But you really did just want nothing more than to be cuddled by Art. Sit in his lap and him tell you how sweet you are. How much he misses his girl.

You’d wake from your lonely bed to find Tashi in the kitchen area and you two would share breakfast together, usually being accompanied by Art telling you how beautiful you looked, and offering you to share a smoothie with him.

You missed his voice in the morning

Tashi picked up on the somber look across your expression rather quickly. Arms tucked tightly into one another. Sitting there rarely saying a word and hardly touching your pancakes topped with mixed berries attentively put together by the personal chef.

Your mornings were always perfect, with a silk robe laid out ready for your awake — you had been wearing it right then. So Tashi just couldn’t see what you could possibly be so upset about, she raised a brow. “What’s up with you ?”

“Oh… um- nothing.” You played it off nonchalantly as you popped a blueberry into your mouth and went back to sink into your seat and glance out at the high tinted windows.

Tashi decided to give it a rest, not really in the mood to be bothered with whatever had been bothering your mood.

Deep down she knew what it was. Tashi clever as always could see the shift in your mood when Art had a big game coming up and was strictly just attending to his duties.

She knew you could hardly function without Art holding your hand through every day. But she also believed you’d just have to suck it up for now as she wouldn’t take a single lose from her husband. It’s what you signed up for anyways.

On the weekends when Art had some time off, it was still no luck for you two to spend any time together since he had wanted to spend those days with Lily. Taking her out to lunch or the playground.

It was sweet, and it’s not that you weren’t happy he got to be with her, or acknowledge the fact that he was a great dad, you just couldn’t help but be a little jealous.

As much as you wanted to stay supportive, knowing you’d have him back when he won and this time was all over — you still just missed him. And you wished it could be you out and about with him for the weekend, but he was gonna prioritize his family and his career and you had to accept it.

You’d been leaning against the counter of the enticing hotel bathroom, shamelessly biting at your nails in thought.

You had no big games or matches this season, so your days consisted of staying back at the luxury hotels and basking in all the fine amenities that came with your new lifestyle (sulking in boredom without Art and Tashi there to entertain you while they trained for the open.)

You didn’t snap out of your limbo till you heard Arts voice call out to you from the hallway, a quick leg up before the tall blonde entered the grand room and eyed you standing there, soft grin on his face when he saw your face.

You gave him a half-hearted smile as he approached you, coming on close he leaned down to kiss a spot on your neck tenderly, “hi, pretty girl.”

You sunk into his sent, his kisses, and the way he went to grab you. So close, but you were reluctant to his every move.

You knew this was only briefly before he goes right back out to train bright and early for the start of the week. You could only let yourself embrace him but so much, so it would hurt a little less when he’d gone.

Which Art picked up on your reaction almost immediately, looking down to examine your face as you’d only shown them for a second before looking down again in chanciness.

Eyebrows furrowed, Art lifted your chin so your big doe eyes could meet his, “hey, what’s the matter, baby ?”

You had looked up at him for a moment. Soft but steady pout on your lips and readied tears sitting on your ducks, you released your chin from his grasp quick enough so he wouldn’t see. But he had caught it anyways.

“Nothing.” You replied quietly and Art frowned.

“No. It’s definitely something. You can tell me, baby. How can I fix it if I don’t know ?” The tone of his voice worried as he watched you, rubbing your arms so you would focus on him.

“It’s just- I never get to see you between your tennis and when you spend time with Lily, and-and I know how much that means to you. And that’s fine, it really is. I’m glad. But I hardly ever get to kiss you goodnight back, or say anything to you because I don’t get to see you. And we never hang out and- I miss you.”

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Art pulled you into him as you tripped up on your words and you rested your head against his chest as you bit down into your lip hard.

Arts large hands going to explore your scalp as he comforted you gently. Looking away, immediate grimace took over him as he felt the way you sniffed.

He never intended to make you feel unseen or anxious. Your sadness broke his heart, and he’d do anything to make it better as soon as possible.

“I’m sorry, Angel. I wish I had known. I swear if I had known I would of tried to figure something out,”

You whined softly as your cheek was pressed against his chest and that made his heart sink.

“I should of asked Tashi to bring you along with us. I bet you were lonely here all by yourself and I truly am sorry baby, I mean it.”

Art’s finger tips came back to take your face in his palms so you could look up at him, tenderly brushing away the glossy tears on your cheeks. Wanting to kiss them all away for you.

“Did you miss me ?” Your eyes met his icy blue ones that had been peering down at you in the most gentle way. Ready to wrap you up in his arms and take you away.

“So much. I wish I could of seen your pretty face all the time when I’m on the court, and hear your voice and your kind words of support because you’re just too sweet.”

He praised you all slow and soft spoken which made a smile brush your lips, Art kissed your forehead attentively as he held your neck in his hands. You close your eyes briefly before he met your expression again.

“Let me make it up to you, what can I do to make it better ?”

“Just be with me, please.” Your hands graced his shoulders as you looked up at him with wide eyes, you ran your hand across his cheek, never wanting to stop gracing over his pretty face so close to you right now. Art kissed the inside of your hand.

“Would… making an ice cream sundae make it any better ?” Art reached under your thighs to hoist you up on the counter behind where you stood, you let out a soft giggle as he took place between your legs. You wrapped them around his waist tight and kissed his lips, arms over his shoulders.

“With sprinkles ?” you uttered with a soft grin between smooches, his sweet lips effortlessly moving with yours. He simpered.

“With sprinkles, and chocolate chips, whatever you want, princess.” The blonde cradled your figure to his as he kissed your jaw down to your neck, sucking softly as you held him there.

“Tashi will be upset if you ruin your diet,”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

You giggled as Art whispered against your neck. He’d do whatever it takes to hear that glorious sound run through his ears, to get you to smile. He wanted nothing more than to keep all his girls happy.

Your mood had lifted almost instantly with the way he kissed you, held you, made you feel special in every way. The light came back to you eyes, he let your fingers play through his short hair,

“You don’t think I’m pathetic ?” You laughed gently.

“Never. You’re my girl, don’t forget that, okay ? I promise when this is all over it’ll be me and you. If you want, I’ll make sure you’re able to tag along with us while training. I just don’t want you to be all alone during the day or upset, alright ? Just tell me however you’re feeling. No matter how late or early.”

Arts voice warmed you up from the inside out and your smile had came shining. You knew Tashi would probably protest at first, claim Art spoils you too much. But as long as you got to be in his presence you felt at ease. It was worth it.

You nodded happily at his offer, and Art grinned as he kissed your cheek.

“So, does sundaes sound good ?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Later that night, just like Art promised, you two had been in the kitchen. Placing different toppings on your sundaes and you fed each other cherries with delightful laughter as you tried to be quiet enough not to wake Tashi.

Instead of sleeping alone, Art didn’t leave when he went to place you in your bed and tuck in the covers. He would be in bed with you, letting you sleep on his chest and holding you safe and comfortable in his arms all night.

[greengoblinswifey]

Forbidden Flame

pairing— dad’s best friend!nicholas chavez x fem!reader

summary— the move to LA allows you to meet your dad’s best friend you’ve always seen on the big screen and who he always speaks about. what you don’t anticipate is the tension and connection between you that inevitably boils over on vacation after much teasing. based on this request.

warnings— age gap(reader is 19, nicholas is aged up to be 40)teasing and flirting, praise kink, choking, sir kink, oral(m&f receiving), fingering, degrading kink, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.

Your dad had been best friends with Nicholas Chavez for years—decades, really. They’d grown up together, gone to the same schools and stuck by each other through all of life’s twists and turns. Nicholas’ move to Los Angeles to chase his acting dreams hadn’t changed that. Despite the distance, they talked almost daily, keeping their friendship as strong as ever.

You’d only met Nicholas once when you were younger, during one of his rare trips back home. You were about twelve at the time, and while you vaguely remembered his tall frame and sweet smile, he hadn’t left much of an impression. Over the years, though, you’d grown more familiar with him through your dad’s endless stories, their calls, and the movies your dad insisted you watch.

“You should be proud,” he’d say, nudging you as another one of Nicholas’ films played on the TV. “That’s my best friend up there.”

Your dad would occasionally fly out to California for Nicholas’ premieres or events, but you’d never felt inclined to join him. It wasn’t until university brought you to Los Angeles that your paths finally crossed again.

When your dad divorced your mom, he decided to move to California to be closer to you. He bought a house in Hollywood, offering you a place to live while you attended university. You didn’t mind, you’d always been closer to your dad, and his laid back, supportive attitude made sharing a house easy.

Being in the same city as Nicholas meant your dad finally had a chance to see his best friend more often, and you heard him mention Nicholas’ name even more in passing.

“He’s coming over soon,” your dad told you one afternoon. “Haven’t seen him in person in ages. Thought we’d catch up.”

You didn’t think much of it—until the night Nicholas arrived.

The dinner table was a culmination of clinking silverware, stories and laughter. The kind of laughter that made the years between old friends feel like seconds. Your dad beamed as he embraced Nicholas, who stood in the foyer looking effortlessly charming.

“There he is, the big shot actor!” your dad teased, giving Nicholas a pat on the back.

Nicholas chuckled, his voice deeper and smoother than you remembered. “You haven’t changed a bit, man. Still know how to make me feel like a show off.”

And then his eyes fell on you.

“And who’s this?” he asked, his gaze sweeping you up and down with a hint of curiosity and something more.

“This is my daughter, Y/N,” your dad announced proudly, gesturing toward you. “You haven’t seen her since she was, what? Twelve?”

You swallowed hard, feeling pinned under Nicholas’ attention. His brown eyes lingered just a second too long before his lips curled into a slow, polite smile.

“You’ve grown a lot,” he said smoothly, extending a hand. “Nicholas Chavez. Though I suppose you know that.”

You managed to stammer out a soft, “Nice to meet you,” shaking his hand. His grip was firm, and his touch sent a strange spark down your spine.

Dinner was filled with nostalgia and catching up. Your dad recounted old stories from their youth, embarrassing moments, spontaneous road trips, and the mischief they’d gotten into. Nicholas laughed freely, though every so often, you caught him glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

“So,” your dad began, shifting the conversation, “she’s doing theatre arts and creative writing. Wants to get into the business—creative side of things, you know?”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, turning his attention fully to you now. “Theatre arts? Creative writing? That’s a great combination. What’s the end goal?”

“I—uh—I want to write scripts,” you admitted, feeling nervous under his intense gaze. “Maybe work on sets or be an actress, just get my foot in the door somehow.”

“Well, you’re in the right city for it,” he said with a small smile. “And, hey, if you ever need some experience, I’d be happy to take you under my wing. Help you learn the ropes.”

Your breath caught, and you fumbled with your glass, bringing it to your lips to hide the warmth creeping up your neck.

Your dad laughed, oblivious. “Hear that? You’ve already got a mentor lined up. I always knew you’d be useful for something, Nick.”

Nicholas smirked, his eyes still on you as he raised his glass. “Happy to help.”

The rest of the evening passed, but your mind kept replaying his words. Take you under my wing. It was nothing inappropriate—perfectly professional. Yet something in the way he’d said it made your stomach flip, as if there was an unspoken undertone you couldn’t quite place.

By the time the night ended, Nicholas was standing at the door with your dad, exchanging plans for future meet ups. He glanced back at you one last time, his expression unreadable but lingering.

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice softer now, just for you.

“Goodnight,” you replied, and as the door shut behind him, you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

Your dad clapped you on the shoulder, oblivious to your spinning thoughts. “See? Told you he’s a good guy. You’ll learn a lot from him.”

You weren’t so sure what you’d learn having a man that attractive around you, but one thing was certain—Nicholas Chavez was going to be hard to forget.

The next day, your dad picked you up from campus, his energy high as he tapped the steering wheel with excitement. “Nicholas invited us over to his place,” he announced. “Thought it’d be nice for us to hang out. You’ll love his house, it’s insane.”

Your stomach flipped. Spending more time with Nicholas already had you on edge, and now you’d be in his home? You glanced down at your outfit, a cute red and white crop top paired with high waisted shorts. You’d worn it to class without a second thought, but now the exposed skin felt too revealing.

By the time your dad pulled into the driveway of Nicholas’ mansion, your nerves were in overdrive.

Nicholas greeted you both at the door, his smile welcoming as hugged your dad. “Good to see you, man,” he said warmly, stepping aside to let you in.

Then his eyes landed on you.

For a moment, he just looked, his gaze sweeping over you in a way that felt deliberate. His jaw tightened slightly before his expression softened. “And you,” he said, his voice dipping lower, “looking even more beautiful than last time.”

You stared back, trying to keep your breathing steady. Up close, Nicholas Chavez was impossibly good-looking. The sharp lines of his jaw, the way his hair framed his face, the confident way he carried himself—it was overwhelming.

His hand brushed against your bare back as he stepped aside, sending a shiver up your spine. “Come in,” he said, though his eyes lingered for just a second longer.

The inside of his house was stunning. Bright sunlight poured through massive windows, highlighting every detail of the sleek, modern décor. Your dad let out a low whistle. “This is incredible, bro. You’ve really done well for yourself.”

Nicholas chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks, but it’s just a house. A place to unwind, you know?”

“Unwind?” your dad teased. “This place looks like a movie set.”

Nicholas smirked but didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes flicked back to you. You met his gaze, your stomach tightening at the look in his eyes. For a moment, it was like the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but he quickly turned back to your dad.

“Speaking of unwinding,” Nicholas said, his tone casual now, “I thought we could hang out by the pool for a bit. I’ve got drinks and food.”

“That sounds great,” your dad said, clapping his hands together.

Nicholas glanced at you again, his expression unreadable. “You good with that?”

“Yeah,” you managed to say, your voice a little too soft.

“Perfect,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll get everything set up.”

As he walked toward the kitchen, you couldn’t help but watch him go. The way he moved, so confident and self assured, only added to his appeal. You exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the heat crawling up your body.

Your dad caressed your arm, snapping you out of your thoughts. “See? This is gonna be fun. Maybe you’ll even get some acting tips while we’re here.”

You nodded, forcing a smile, but your mind was elsewhere. The way Nicholas looked at you, the brush of his hand against your skin, the charged silence that hung between you—it all left you wondering what, if anything, it meant.

Seeing as you didn’t have your swim suit, you opted to just dip your feet in the water. Your dad could get one of Nicholas’ swim trunks. A few minutes later, Nicholas returned, a bundle of fabric in his hands.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to you.

You tilted your head, confused, as you took the neatly folded bikini. “What’s this?”

He shrugged casually, but there was something in his smirk. “Ordered a few things online a while back, and this one accidentally came. Figured it might fit you, though. You can keep it.”

Your fingers brushed over the soft fabric, noting the vibrant color and skimpy cut. “Oh, uh, thanks,” you said, a bit shy now.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his voice smooth. “It’s better than swimming in your clothes.”

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you nodded and got up. “I’ll go change.”

The pool house offered privacy, but as you slipped out of your clothes and into the bikini, you glanced at yourself in the mirror. The top hugged your tits tightly, barely offering coverage, while the bottoms sat high on your hips, leaving little to the imagination. It wasn’t something you’d typically wear, and the thought of walking out in front of Nicholas made your stomach flutter.

When you stepped back outside, the air felt cooler against your exposed skin. Nicholas was leaning against a lounger, sipping beer, but when he saw you approach, his movements stilled.

His eyes swept over you, and for a brief moment, his breath hitched. “You’ve—really grown up,” he said, his voice low and a little rough.

Flustered, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s just a swimsuit.”

“Still,” he said, his gaze lingering for a second too long before he cleared his throat. “It looks good on you.”

You managed a quiet “thanks” before sliding into the pool, letting the water cool the heat creeping. Nicholas joined you and your dad shortly after, but even as they talked and laughed, you could feel his eyes on you.

It wasn’t obvious—his gaze flicked back and forth between you and the conversation, but every time your head turned, you caught him watching. The weight of his attention made your heart race.

By evening, the three of you had dried off and gathered around the dining table. The smell of roasted vegetables and perfectly cooked steak filled the air.

“Wow, Nick,” your dad said, cutting into his meal. “This is impressive. Never thought I’d see the day you’d learn to cook.”

Nicholas chuckled, sitting back in his chair. “Had to pick up a few skills along the way. Can’t survive on takeout forever.”

Your dad teased, “Guess that’s what happens when you don’t get married. No one to cook for you.”

Nicholas glanced at you then, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right girl,” he said, a slight edge to his tone. Then, with a small smirk, he added, “But when I do, she’ll find out I’ve got all the skills she’ll ever need.”

You swallowed hard, the double meaning not lost on you. His gaze lingered second longer before he shifted his attention back to his plate, leaving you wondering how much of that comment was intentional.

Your dad laughed, shaking his head. “Well, if she’s out there, she’ll be lucky to have you. Who knew you had all this domestic talent?”

As the conversation carried on, you found yourself quiet, focusing on your food and the occasional glance Nicholas sent your way. The air felt heavy, but whether it was in your head or something more, you couldn’t be sure.

The wine Nicholas poured had loosened you up, and by the time your dad excused himself to use the bathroom, leaving you and Nicholas alone, the air felt thick and suffocating.

You tapped your glass idly, the boldness of the wine coursing through your veins. “So, is this how you usually spend your evenings? Hosting your old friends and their kids?” you teased.

His lips curved into a slow smirk, and he leaned back in his chair, swirling his own drink. “Not usually, no. But tonight’s—different.”

You decided to push, emboldened by his tone and the way his attention seemed to settle solely on you. “Different, huh? Maybe because you’re spending time with someone younger? More interesting?”

Nicholas tilted his head, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “You’re bold tonight,” he said, his voice low. “I like that.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe you like more than that.”

He opened his mouth to respond, his expression enticing, but the sound of your dad returning broke whatever moment had formed. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat, and you quickly sat back, pretending to focus on your glass.

“Alright,” your dad said, clapping his hands together. “She’s got an early class tomorrow, so I think it’s time we head out. Thanks for dinner, Nick.”

Nicholas stood, composed. “Anytime, man. You know that.”

Your dad reached for his jacket, but when you stood and approached Nicholas to say your goodbyes, you couldn’t resist one final moment of boldness.

“Thanks for dinner,” you said sweetly as you stepped in for a hug. But instead of the polite embrace he might have expected, you pressed yourself flush against him. One hand slipped up around his neck, fingers grazing through the soft strands of his hair, while your hips brushed against his. You felt the way his breath hitched, and there was no mistaking the hardness you’d pressed against.

Nicholas’ hand hovered near your back before resting lightly, as if trying to maintain control. His voice was low, barely audible. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, his lips brushing close to your ear.

You pulled back to meet his gaze, your voice equally quiet. “So are you.”

Before either of you could say more, your dad turned back to you, oblivious. “Ready, sweetie?”

You smiled innocently and stepped away, pretending nothing had happened. “Yeah, dad. Goodnight, Nicholas.”

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice steady but his eyes stayed on your ass as you walked out the door.

That night, you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. The interaction replayed in your mind on a loop, his sharp, chiseled features, the way his breath faltered and his dick got hard when you touched him, the low, gravelly tone of his voice.

It was wrong, you knew that much. He was your dad’s best friend, for God’s sake. The kind of man you should steer clear of, not fantasize about. But the very thought of how forbidden it was only made it more intoxicating.

Nicholas wasn’t just handsome, he was magnetic. His success, the way he carried himself, it all checked every box you’d ever had. And then there was the age gap. You had a taste for men who were older and Nicholas embodied everything you craved.

You pressed your thighs together as the memory of his body against yours sent a rush through you. The way his voice dropped, how he’d let his guard slip for just a moment, it made your heart race and your core throb.

“This is bad,” you whispered to yourself, but even as you said it, you knew the truth. You didn’t want it to stop. If anything, you wanted to push further.

And, deep down, you hoped he felt the same way.

Friday came faster than you expected, but the days leading up to it were anything but dull. Earlier in the week, Nicholas had texted you out of the blue, and the conversation quickly veered into dangerous, flirtatious territory.

Nicholas: “Miss me yet?”

You: “Should I?”

Nicholas: “You tell me.”

You: “Maybe a little.”

You smiled at your screen, biting your lip as you typed out your next message.

You: “You like having me around that much?”

Nicholas: “You have no idea.”

His response made your pulse quicken, but you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand so easily.

You: “Guess you’ll just have to wait.”

Nicholas: “Not sure I can.”

Your heart was racing, and just when you thought the conversation couldn’t get any more suggestive, his next text came through.

Nicholas: “Keep your phone locked.”

You raised an eyebrow, staring at the message for a moment before replying.

You: “Why? Are you planning on sending something?”

Nicholas: “Only if you want me to.”

You: “Hmm, maybe.”

You could feel the tension even through the screen, but after he replied, you left him on read, smirking to yourself. A part of you wanted to follow up, but you were content letting him stew in his anticipation.

For the next few days, you didn’t respond to any of his subtle messages, leaving him to wonder if he had pushed too far. You stayed busy, keeping things light and casual whenever you tagged along with your dad and Nicholas during their outings. The tension was always there, simmering, but you played it cool, knowing full well that you held all the cards.

Then Thursday evening came. Your dad burst into your room with the kind of excitement you didn’t usually see from him.

“Pack a suitcase,” he said, grinning.

“What?” you asked, looking up from your laptop.

“We’re going on a trip,” he said, leaning against your doorframe. “Me, you, and Nicholas. We’re heading to Miami for the weekend. Figured we could get away, hit a resort, relax a bit.”

“Miami?” you repeated, your mind already racing.

“Yeah. Nice beach, warm weather. Get a little fucked up for the weekend,” he added with a laugh.

“Dad,” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”

He laughed. “Just pack something nice. We leave tomorrow.”

Excitement bubbled inside you as you started packing. You made sure to include a few outfits that would undoubtedly turn heads, particularly Nicholas’. Tight dresses, short skirts, and bikinis that barely covered anything, they all made their way into your suitcase.

Later that night, as you sat on your bed scrolling through your phone, you decided you’d teased Nicholas long enough. You called him, and he picked up almost immediately.

“Finally,” he said, his voice deep.

“Did you miss me?” you teased, twirling a strand of your hair between your fingers.

“Maybe I did,” he admitted. “I was starting to think the trip was the only way to get you alone.”

“Technically, it’s not,” you countered, smirking to yourself.

“Well,” he said, his tone dropping slightly, “I’ll make sure to get you alone at some point.”

Your breath caught at the implication. “See you Friday,” you said quickly, hanging up before he could say anything else.

Friday morning, Nicholas’ driver arrived to pick you and your dad up. You wore a simple yet flattering outfit, a short skirt that showed off your legs and a fitted top that hugged your tits. When Nicholas greeted you at the private hangar, his eyes lingered just a little too long, sliding over your body before meeting your gaze.

“Morning,” he said, his voice casual, though his eyes betrayed something else entirely.

“Morning,” you replied lightly, pretending not to notice how he was looking at you.

Your dad clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “You’re spoiling us with this, man.”

Nicholas laughed, his gaze flicking to you again. “You deserve it, you’re my brother. Besides, what’s the point of having nice things if you can’t share them?”

You followed them onto the jet, your jaw dropping slightly at the sheer luxury of it all. The plush leather seats, the spacious layout, and the private rooms in the back, it was a dream.

“Not bad, huh?” Nicholas teased, catching your expression.

“Not bad is an understatement,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Once in the air, your dad fell asleep almost immediately, leaving you to sip on a cocktail in the small lounge area. You scrolled through your phone, trying to act casual, but your mind was already racing.

A few minutes later, you heard footsteps. Turning slightly, you saw Nicholas leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed and a small smirk on his lips.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice low. “Your dad’s out cold.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your drink down. “Why would I worry? What’s going to happen?”

Nicholas chuckled, his gaze dropping briefly to your bare thigh before meeting your eyes again. “Anything you want to happen.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his eyes lingered, his jaw tightening briefly before he looked away.

“You always this confident?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“Only when I’ve got a reason to be.” His smirk widened as he stepped closer, leaning on the back of the seat across from you. His voice dropped as he added, “You’re making it hard to behave, you know.”

“Who said you have to behave?”

His eyes darkened slightly and he shifted, running a hand through his hair. “Your dad’s my best friend,” he said, almost to himself, though his gaze never left yours.

“And?” you challenged, your voice softer now.

His lips quirked up into a small smile. “And—you’re trouble. I can see that already.”

You leaned back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other deliberately. “Maybe you like trouble.”

Nicholas exhaled sharply, shaking his head, though he smiled in amusement. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He shook his head, his gaze not wavering. “You should,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

You stood, crossing the small space between you and Nicholas in a few deliberate steps, until you were right in front of him. His eyes flicked up and down your figure, his jaw tightening slightly.

“You’re not very subtle, you know,” you teased, tilting your head as you caught his eyes trailing over your legs and the hem of your skirt.

“I’m not trying to be,” he replied.

You took a step closer, your voice dropping just enough to make him lean in. “You can look and touch,” you whispered, grabbing his large hands and placing them gently on your hips.

Nicholas hesitated, his fingers barely pressing into your waist. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered, though he didn’t pull away.

“You’re such a pussy,” you said, shaking your head and giving him a challenging look.

That seemed to snap him out of his hesitation. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer in one swift motion, and suddenly his grip was firm. His other hand slid up, fingers grazing the side of your neck before settling at the base of your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“Not so bold now, are you?” he murmured, his lips just inches from yours.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribcage, but you weren’t ready to back down. With a final burst of boldness, you pushed him onto the chair then swung your legs over him, settling yourself in his lap so you were straddling him. The movement seemed to catch him off guard for a moment, his eyes darkening as he looked up at you.

Your breaths mingled, the air between you filled with so much tension. His hands rested on your hips, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your skirt. You leaned in slightly, and he mirrored the action, your faces so close that your lips were slightly brushing against each other.

The kiss came almost naturally, slow and testing at first, as though either of you could pull away at any second. But when you didn’t, when you leaned in just a little more, it quickly deepened. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your head spin, his hands pulling you closer against him like he couldn’t get enough.

Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging lightly as the kiss grew more urgent, more ferocious. He groaned softly against your mouth, and you felt the sound vibrate in your chest, sending a thrill down your spine. Then the plane shook.

You both froze, pulling back just slightly. His hand stayed on your waist as you both caught your breath, your faces still close enough to feel the warmth of his skin.

Nicholas cleared his throat, his voice quieter now. “We should probably stop before this goes any further.”

You nodded, slipping off his lap and standing in front of him again. “Yeah,” you said softly, smoothing out your skirt.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, and then he stood, straightening his shirt. “Get some rest,” he said, his tone gentler now. “I’ll see you when we land.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked back toward the main cabin, leaving you standing there with your heart still racing. You took a deep breath, shaking your head as you went back to your private area.

As you closed your eyes, the lingering heat of his touch still burned on your skin, and you wondered how the rest of this trip would unfold.

You stirred awake hours later, feeling the gentle sensation of fingers brushing through your hair. A lazy smile tugged at your lips as you mumbled, “You’re being bold now, aren’t you?”

“Bold?” a familiar voice replied. Your eyes fluttered open to see your dad standing over you with a raised eyebrow. “Sweetie, we’ve landed. Time to get moving.”

Blinking away the sleep, you sat up quickly, your heart beating fast. “Right. Thanks, Dad.”

The ride to the resort was quick, and you were immediately struck by how massive and luxurious it was. Each of you had your own private room, and you couldn’t wait to explore. After setting your bags down, you wasted no time pulling out a swimsuit—a sexy two piece that hugged every curve, and headed out to meet your dad and Nicholas by the private pool.

When you arrived, heads turned, and you couldn’t ignore the stares and the occasional whistles from passersby. Nicholas stood nearby, clearly irritated by the attention you were getting, his sharp jaw tense as he greeted fans asking for his autograph. You caught the way his eyes flicked to the men looking your way, his annoyance evident.

“Not a fan of the attention?” you teased, stepping closer to him while your dad busied himself at the far end of the pool flirting with a woman.

Nicholas’ gaze bore into you. “Not when it’s them giving it to you,” he muttered, his tone low.

You grinned, deciding to push your luck. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

His eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smirk. Before he could reply, you held out a bottle of sunscreen. “Do me a favor and get my back?”

He hesitated, glancing over to where your dad was preoccupied. “You’re a tease, you know that?”

“Am I?” you asked, turning around and presenting your back to him. “Then don’t help me.”

He sighed but took the bottle from your hand. His touch was firm as he worked the sunscreen over your shoulders and back. When he reached the small of your back, his hands faltered for just a second.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you said over your shoulder, playfully.

“Trying to focus,” he replied, but his hands moved lower, brushing over the curve of your hips and your plump ass.

You shifted slightly, making your ass jiggle beneath his hands. His breath hitched audibly, and he muttered under his breath, “You’re going to kill me with this shit.”

You giggled, biting your lip as you turned to face him and took the bottle back. Without breaking eye contact, you squeezed some sunscreen onto your hands and began rubbing it over your chest, your fingers grazing deliberately over your tits.

His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening as he watched you. But before he could say anything, you gave him a sly smile and walked toward the pool, leaving him standing there visibly hard.

You dove into the water, and moments later, he joined you, swimming a few laps before suggesting, “Why don’t we head down to the beach? It’s quieter there.”

You nodded, glancing over at your dad, who was still deeply engrossed in conversation with the woman. Nicholas called out to him, and your dad waved him off with a grin.

“I’ll be busy this evening, maybe even tonight,” your dad said, his tone suggestive. “You two have dinner without me. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

Nicholas laughed then muttered, “Always the womanizer. Some things never change.”

You laughed softly. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. Have fun.”

The beach was stunning, with the sun beginning to set, casting everything in a golden glow. As you walked along the shore, Nicholas’ eyes kept wandering, lingering on your ass and the way your bikini hugged your figure.

Finally, you turned to him with a teasing smile. “See something you like?”

“Definitely,” he said, his voice steady, though his gaze was anything but.

“Good,” you said, stepping closer, your heart racing at the way his eyes raked over you.

The water was warm as it slapped against your body. Nicholas stood just a few feet away, his eyes locked on yours as the golden light of the setting sun reflected off your dark skin. You moved toward him, closing the space between you, and without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. His large hands instinctively gripped beneath your ass, holding you steady as he swayed you gently in the water.

You giggled at the way he playfully moved you around, the water rippling around you both. His gaze softened as he looked at you, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

Heat went to your cheeks, and you instinctively buried your face into the crook of his neck. “You can get shy now,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a teasing tone, “but don’t be shy when I’m fucking you.”

The words rolled off his tongue so smoothly, so confidently, that it sent a shiver down your spine. Your breathing quickened as you pulled back, your eyes locking onto his. The look in his eyes made your heart pound, and without a second thought, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss started slow but quickly turned desperate, your mouths moving against each other as the water swirled around you. Nicholas’ grip on you tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, leaving you breathless.

“I need you so bad,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling.

He groaned softly, his forehead resting against yours. “I need you more,” he said, his voice rough and full of hunger. His eyes roamed your face. “Fuck, look at you.”

You kissed him again, your lips pressing against his like you were trying to convey everything you couldn’t put into words. He pulled back slightly, his breathing ragged. “At this rate,” he muttered, his voice strained, “I’ll fuck you right here, right now. But we can’t—not yet.”

Before you could respond, he adjusted his hold on you and began carrying you toward the shore and you admired the way his muscles flexed under the golden light. Once you reached the sand, he set you down gently and handed you a towel, his eyes lingering on you as you dried off.

The two of you returned to your rooms to freshen up for dinner. You slipped into a stunning white dress that hugged your curves perfectly, the gold jewelry you chose glinting against your dark skin. When you stepped out, Nicholas was waiting for you in the hallway. His eyes widened slightly as he took you in, and he let out a low whistle.

“You look—” He trailed off, his gaze sweeping over you. “You look breathtaking.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” you said, glancing at the fitted shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders.

He offered his arm, and you looped yours through it as the two of you made your way to one of the resort’s restaurant. Inside, the air was intimate, with dim lighting and the soft hum of music filling the air. Nicholas pulled out your chair for you, a small but thoughtful gesture that made your stomach flutter.

As the meal progressed, you noticed he couldn’t take his eyes off you. His gaze lingered on your lips when you spoke, on your hands as you picked up your glass, and on your cleavage.

“You’re staring,” you teased, setting down your fork.

“Can you blame me?” he replied, leaning back slightly in his chair. “You’re making it hard to focus on anything else.”

You smirked, sliding off one of your heels under the table. Slowly, you let your foot brush against his leg. His eyes flicked to yours in amusement. “What are you up to now?”

“Nothing,” you said, innocently as your foot moved higher. When it pressed against the growing bulge in his pants, he let out a low chuckle, his hand running over his jaw.

“You’re such a bad girl,” he murmured.

“How big is it?” you asked, your tone filled with need.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Come to my room and find out.”

“Maybe I will,” you replied with a sly grin, withdrawing your foot.

By the time you both made your way to the elevator after finishing your meal, you knew the dam would burst.

The doors had barely closed when Nicholas turned to you, his eyes blazing. Without a word, he pushed you gently against the elevator wall, his hands gripping your thighs as you jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your lips crashed together in a deep kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands roamed over your back.

The elevator dinged, but neither of you broke apart. Nicholas stumbled down the hallway, fumbling with his keycard as your lips moved against his, both of you breathless and desperate. Finally, the door clicked open, and he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him.

His lips never left yours, the kiss deepening with every step. When he reached the large bed, he laid you down, his body hovering over yours as he took you in.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmured.

Your chest rose and fell quickly as you looked up at him, your own desire reflected in his gaze. “Fuck,” you breathed, your voice trembling. “Me too.”

His hands moved to the hem of your dress, and with one swift motion, he hiked it up, revealing your bare pussy. His eyes darkened when he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath. He let out a low, groan. “You’re so fucking naughty,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk.

You bit your lip, your voice dropping into a sultry tone. “Only for you, sir.”

That one word made him pause, his gaze snapping to yours. He arched a brow, his smirk deepening. “Sir?” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue with deliberate slowness. “I like that.”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip again, and before you could respond, he leaned down, his lips trailing down your stomach with kisses. The heat of his breath against your skin sent shivers racing through your body, and anticipation built as his hands slid up your thighs, parting them gently.

When his mouth finally found your wet pussy, your back arched off the bed at the first touch of his tongue. The sensation was otherworldly, every nerve ending in your body sparking to life. His tongue moved with practiced precision, alternating between slow strokes and quick flicks that left you gasping for air.

“God, you taste amazing,” he murmured against you, his voice full of praise.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as you squirmed beneath him. Every flick of his tongue sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, and you couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled from your lips. “Nicholas,” you whimpered, your voice breathy and desperate.

“That’s it baby,” he murmured, slipping two fingers inside you with ease. His touch had you squirming, and he moved them in sync with his tongue, building your pleasure higher and higher. “You’re so perfect,” he praised. “So responsive. Taste just as good as you look.”

Your breathing grew erratic, your pussy tightening around his finger as the sensation became overwhelming. “Sir,” you gasped, your grip on his hair tightening. “I’m gonna—”

“C’mon baby,” he encouraged. “Cum for me, beautiful.”

His words tipped you over the edge, and with a cry, you fell apart beneath him. Your body trembled as the orgasm washed over you, and he didn’t stop, working you through every wave of pleasure until you were left breathless and trembling.

As you relaxed, his lips trailed back up your body, leaving soft kisses. When he reached your face, he smiled down at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You’re fucking amazing,” he whispered.

You caught your breath, still trembling from the pleasure he’d just given you. You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, a small, mischievous smile on your lips.

“I wanna please you too,” you whispered, your voice soft.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Wanna be my good little cock sucker?”

Your breath caught at his words, but the flush of desire through your body made you nod without hesitation. “Yes,” you murmured, but his smirk widened.

“Say it properly,” he demanded. “Yes, sir.”

You swallowed, your gaze never leaving his as you obeyed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good fucking girl,” he said. He leaned back slightly, giving you room as you slid off the bed and sank to your knees before him. The sight of you looking up at him from that angle made his jaw tighten, but he maintained control, watching you with focus.

Your fingers moved to unbuckle his belt, your hands steady but your heart racing. As you tugged it free and unzipped his pants, your pussy dripped. When you finally freed his cock, your eyes widened, and your lips parted in surprise.

Nicholas smirked down at you, clearly pleased by your reaction. “Now you know how big it is,” he said, his tone dripping with arrogance.

You glanced up at him, still slightly stunned, but you couldn’t help the small, breathy laugh that escaped you. “It’s—a lot,” you admitted, your voice teasing.

“You can handle it,” he replied confidently, wrapping a hand gently but firmly in your hair. His fingers tightened slightly, enough to guide you.

Leaning forward, you began slowly, your lips wrapping around him as you took him into your mouth. He moaned softly at the first touch. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like that. You’re such a good girl for me.”

The sound of his praise spurred you on, and you moved with more confidence, hollowing your cheeks as you took him down your throat. His grip in your hair tightened slightly, guiding you at a steady pace. “God, your mouth feels amazing,” he muttered, his head tilting back for a moment before his gaze returned to you.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he continued, his voice strained but steady. “Sucking my dick so well. Just like I knew you would.”

You couldn’t help but moan softly at his words, the vibrations pulling another groan from him. His free hand reached down to cup your cheek briefly before sliding back into your hair, his touch firm but still careful.

“Such a perfect mouth,” he murmured, his voice rougher now. “You’re making me lose my mind.”

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his as you continued, and the look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. The way he looked at you—like you were the most intoxicating thing he’d ever seen—only made you want to please him more.

Your tongue slid across his shaft as you moved, every glide eliciting a deep, guttural sound from him. You moved your head faster and massaged his heavy balls, his breathing turned uneven, and his grip in your hair tightened. “You’re such a good little cock sucker,” he muttered, his voice rough.

Just as his cock throbbed, and you thought he was close to letting go, he grasped your hair gently but firmly, pulling you back. “I’m not gonna cum in your mouth tonight,” he murmured, his eyes dark and unwavering as they locked with yours. “Next time, I’ll fill that gorgeous mouth of yours. But right now, I need to be inside you. Need to fill your pussy up first.”

Nicholas hovered over you, brushing a thumb across your lips as he looked into your eyes. “Are you ready? Are you sure you want this? I need to hear you say it.”

You nodded, your breath shaky. “Yes, sir. I’m sure.”

He smirked faintly at your words, though his gaze softened with something deeper. “You know there’s no going back from this,” he murmured, his voice low. “And no one can ever find out.”

“I don’t care about anything else right now,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I just want you.”

His expression flickered, caught between control and desire. Slowly, he leaned down to kiss you, taking his time as though to savor the moment. His hands moved over your body, caressing your skin and pulling off your dress fully leaving you bare.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his breath warm against your collarbone as his lips trailed lower. “So beautiful and all mine.”

“All yours,” you echoed.

He lined the leaking, heavy tip with your entrance and rubbed it along your folds. He was so big, probably the biggest you’d ever had. That’s one of the things you loved about older men.

He stared into your eyes as he slowly pushed his cock inside you. You gasped for air, the feeling of him filling you inch by inch taking your breath away. It felt like he was so deep and he just started.

“Breathe baby, you can take it.” You nodded, biting your lips as he could only get half way in but that was enough. He started snapping his hips to meet yours, the friction against your clit making you shiver. His raw cock dragged along your walls and you could feel every vein.

“You’re fucking me so good,” you croaked out, getting lost in pleasure.

“Yeah? Only I can make you feel this good,” he smirked.

He pushed your legs back even further, and the new angle had his cock going even deeper. Your pussy clenched tightly around him and he moaned, increasing his pace. “I can’t get enough of this wet fucking pussy,” he groaned. You wrapped your arms around his neck, grinding against him as he fucked you.

You couldn’t contain the loud moans that left your lips feeling him snap harshly into you, his cock practically kissing your cervix. If you had felt guilty about fucking your dad’s best friend before, it all went out the window as you felt an intense orgasm approaching.

“Gonna cum for me baby? Yeah? Do it. Cum all over my cock,” he growled.

Your entire body shuddered and you stared into his dark eyes as a rush of liquid spurted from your pussy, soaking his raw cock. He continued pounding into you, guiding you through your high until he flipped you so that you were on top of him.

You cried out as he positioned his cock back inside your aching pussy, your nails digging into his chest.

“Fucking ride me like the slut you are,” he said.

The stretch was intense, your pussy twitching as you sank down on his cock, taking him deeper, every inch filling you to the brim. Your pace was wild, desperate, and you screamed feeling his cock repeatedly hit that perfect spot deep inside you.

Nicholas’ hand wrapped around your throat, his grip firm, cutting off your breath just enough to make your head swoon. Your tits bounced with each thrust and he reached up, tangling his fingers in your hair, tugging your head down to make you look at him. His eyes were locked on yours, dark and possessive, as he forced you to glance down at your own stomach to look at the bulge in your belly where his thick cock was buried deep inside you.

“Look at that baby. Look how deep my cock is inside you,” he teased.

“S-so deep sir,” you screamed, lifting your hips and dropping back down.

The sight of him in your guts, being on top of his muscular body, it was all enough to send you over the edge. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you moaned his name and came on his thick cock. Your entire body convulsed as you did, muscles contracting around him, gripping him tight. But Nicholas wasn’t done. He fucked you even harder, his hips snapping against yours with brutal precision as you whimpered on top him.

“Oh shit. I’m gonna cum inside you, take it. Take it like a good little girl.”

You collapsed on top of him and he wrapped his big arms around you, bucking his hips deep inside you. Soft whimpers left your lips as you felt his hot load fill your insides and you were almost sure you came again from just that. Your pussy clenched down, milking him of everything he had and he continued thrusting slowly, making sure every drop went inside you.

He held you close, kissing the top of your head as you both caught your breath, relishing in the afterglow of the moment. Nicholas leaned back slightly, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, catching your breath. “I’m more than okay,” you replied with a small smile.

He grinned back at you, running a hand through his tousled hair. “That was incredible. You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

A soft laugh escaped you. “I could say the same,” you admitted, cheeks warm as you avoided his intense gaze.

He lifted you off him then stood, stretching before heading to grab a towel from the bathroom. You watched him move, his broad shoulders, his strong back and felt a familiar heat start to build again. By the time he returned and gently cleaned you up, his touch so attentive and tender, the idea of another round was already teasing the back of your mind.

But you stayed quiet, watching his face as he finished and leaned over you, planting a kiss on your temple. “You don’t regret this, do you?” he asked.

You shook your head quickly. “No. Do you?”

“Not at all,” he said immediately, a reassuring smile on his lips. Then he sighed, running a hand over his face. “But if your dad ever finds out—”

You placed a hand on his chest, cutting him off. “He won’t,” you said firmly. “He can’t. He would never forgive you.”

Nicholas nodded slowly. “Yeah. We’ll keep this between us, then.”

The unspoken agreement hung in the air for a moment before you sat up, reaching for your clothes. As much as you wanted to stay wrapped up in him for the night, you knew better. “I should go,” you said reluctantly, slipping your dress back on and smoothing it down.

Nicholas leaned back against the doorframe, watching you with a smirk. “You know, you don’t make it easy to say goodbye,” he teased as you slipped on your shoes.

You walked over to him, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you murmured against his mouth.

He grinned and gave you one last kiss before opening the door. “Goodnight princess,” he said, his hand sliding down to give your ass a smack. You shot him a look over your shoulder, smirking as you stepped out into the hallway.

But the moment you turned, your stomach dropped. There, just a few feet away, was your dad, stepping out of his room with the woman from the pool earlier.

Your heart stopped.

His eyes flicked between you and Nicholas, who was now standing in the doorway behind you, and you forced a smile, hoping your face didn’t betray the panic building in your chest.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your dad said casually, his arm around the woman’s waist. “What are you doing up so late?”

You fumbled for words, glancing back at Nicholas, who gave you a subtle nod before stepping back into his room. “I, uh, I couldn’t sleep,” you managed, swallowing hard. “I was just getting some air.”

Your dad narrowed his eyes slightly but didn’t press. “Alright,” he said, his tone light. “Well, get some rest. We’ve got a full day tomorrow.”

“Of course,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Night, kid.”

As he turned to head back into his room with the woman, you let out a shaky breath, your pulse still racing. You hurried back into your own room, your mind spinning. You couldn’t believe how close that had been.

In the bathroom, hot water cascaded over your body, soothing your muscles but doing little to quiet your thoughts. You leaned against the cool tile of the shower wall, closing your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing. The memory of Nicholas hovered like a spark in the dark. You could still feel his hands on you, the way he moaned your name like it was a prayer, and the look in his eyes that made you forget anything outside of that moment existed.

You knew this was dangerous. You knew you should stop before it spiraled out of control. What’s done in the dark always comes to light, you reminded yourself, the words playing in your mind like a warning.

But then his voice echoed in your head. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, and you groaned softly, pressing your forehead to the wall. “What am I doing?” you muttered to yourself, the guilt swirling in your chest.

Still, no matter how much you tried to rationalize, you couldn’t shake the pull he had over you. The way he made you feel alive, craved, wanted, it was intoxicating. You bit your lip, your cheeks heating even as you stood under the water.

The truth settled heavily in your chest. You couldn’t stop. Not now. Not after the way he made you feel, the way he fucked you like you were his very fantasy come to life. The way he held you, kissed you, worshipped every part of you. You needed more.

You turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a plush towel. As you stared at your reflection in the foggy mirror, your mind wandered back to the way Nicholas had whispered your name, the way his lips had trailed over your pussy. A quiet voice in your head reminded you of the risk, the possibility of your dad finding out, the fallout it could bring.

But as you looked at yourself, you found a strange sort of clarity. You weren’t going to let Nicholas go.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @nicholaschavezslut69

[moviestarmartini]

ella es mi fiesta — jude bellingham x hispanic!reader

es la favorita, la mujer más buena / la que más me gusta de todas las nenas / es la mamacita, se me agua la boca / que no más las miro y todo me provoca.

summary: jude has completed his move to madrid, and while you watch him shine, you've got a wedding to plan.

wc: 3.1k

warnings: wedding!! tried not to specify much so it adapts to everything (methinks), good mother/daughter relationship lol, short nsfw but still 18+, brief female masturbation, unprotected sex (not endorsing it!!!), lots and lots of sappy crying, smau at both the beginning and the end, sentences in spanish, a paragraph in spanish will be translated at the end hehe

previous part

A bigger, brighter spotlight started to shine on your fiancé. 

You knew Jude deserved that and more, and you were more than satisfied with his success. If college wasn’t occupying your nights, you saw him at the Bernabeu whenever you could, preferring to sit outside than inside the VIP boxes to feel la afición you grew up with. Feel that passion and support surrounding you, coursing through your veins. 

Nothing had really changed; you still supported him through thick and thin. You cried when he scored a brace against Barcelona, and held him close after the endless recovery hours when he was injured. The fact he was physically closer only improved your relationship further. 

You never knew how much you needed to have him close by. 

But being at Real Madrid had its disadvantages. You barely got to hang out around campus to avoid people asking too many questions, wanting to know more about your relationship with the golden boy. But most of this chatter wasn't even questions about you or him, they were directed towards your relationship. 

The same comments you’d read on Twitter and his Instagram Posts— not yours, considering you decided to keep your account private for the time being. Things ranging from your age, the time you’ve been dating before the proposal to downright wishing you wouldn’t even make it to the wedding and just cancel the engagement. 

You’d discussed these comments with Jude, and his reassurance was more than enough to keep you at peace about your relationship. But the criticism only made your body burn with the necessity to prove everyone wrong. So you kept your head down, concentrating on your studies and planning the wedding on the side. You had bimonthly reports to Jude about the progress of everything, though Denise had been a godsend this whole time. Any decision you needed an opinion on, she was there to provide the most helpful insight when Jude wasn’t able.  

As he settled into the team, the teammates he grew closer to got to meet you, all of them absolutely adoring you and the pair you made with the englishman. 

“When are we getting our wedding party ask? Cama here wants to be the flower man.” Tchouameni joked, elbowing his fellow french national on the ribs as the group exploded with laughter. 

During one of the international breaks Jude surprised you with his return by joining you during a cake tasting. He wasn’t fully recovered from the injury and was sent back, having taken a few hours off to be with his ‘best girl’— he said himself. 

“Shoo, or I’m going to report to the mister that you’re playing hooky.” You stuck your tongue out while dropping him off at Ciudad Real Madrid for his recovery training. The truth was, you had a dress fitting that afternoon. Your mom, Denise, your cousin and your best friend were in attendance. 

You’d find your dream dress at a boutique in the city center, the streets crowded enough for people to recognize you and snap a few blurry pictures entering the shop. None of those wearing the dress, thank goodness, but by the time you found out people started to realize you and Jude were actually getting married that year, you were too elated to care. The dress fit like a glove, and your mom couldn’t help but sob by seeing you in it. She bought it on the spot without much consideration, and considering you were the only girl in your nuclear home, your mother was going all out for her little girl’s wedding. 

As the temperatures dropped, the planning became more frantic. You had fifty calls to make every single day confirming everything, keeping Jude updated and checking one last time for the RSVPs. As November edged in, you only felt more and more nervous. 

“Are we too insane for this? We should’ve waited for two years from now maybe…” You wondered out loud to Jude as you finished the engagement photoshoot. Brunch was your thing, so it was a playful twist on the theme. 

“Look at me,” He incited, taking your face in his hand. His eyes were full of reassurance, and it always surprised you to see how he never doubted anything for a second. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me. If you want to delay it for fifteen years I’ll wait patiently.” The photographer was already packing up his things, but perked up when he noticed the intimate moment going on. He didn’t interrupt, just taking a few candids. 

His understanding just melted away any doubts instead of reinforcing them. You scooted closer in your chair. “I’m not moving anything. The wedding’s in a month, and I couldn’t be happier.” You cooed, your fiancé humming happily as he kissed your forehead. 

When you received the pictures you came to notice those candids turned out to be your favorites. Not that the others looked bad— on the contrary, you both looked stunning— but they transported you back into that moment full of reassurance and love. 

Before you knew it, the last game of the season transpired, along with your last class before exam season took place in January after your Winter vacations. 

After your wedding. 

For your bachelor and bachelorette parties respectively the two of you decided to celebrate during the day so that night the rehearsal dinner could take place at the same cozy chateau the wedding was taking place the next day. It was more of a mixer than anything else, considering Jude had guests come from all over to the event. All of them you knew, since you both agreed to keep it tight knit on both sides. There had also been a sworn secrecy, you’ve giggled for hours reading Twitter threads speculating when your wedding was taking place when it was literally happening right under their noses. 

It had been an hour or so since the last of the guests either drove home or crossed over to stay at the boutique hotel nearby. Both of your families were sleeping in the other rooms in the venue, but the matrimonial bedroom was left for your solitude. 

“Can’t sleep either, eh?” You turned to Jude’s husky voice from the bedroom door. You got up with a nod, watching as he closed the door behind you. “Anxious?” 

“Definitely.” You agreed, pulling him down and into a hug. “Young bride was not something I ever pictured in my resume but that was before I met you.” You muttered, cupping his face and kissing his forehead. 

Jude observed your movements slowly, feeling the cold white gold against his cheek. He turned his face and kissed your palm before taking it in his hand, kissing your fingers, never breaking eye contact. He inched in, nose brushing against you and you knew well enough his intentions. 

“In twenty-four hours we’ll consummate the marriage, Belli-bear; don’t.” You warned him with a playful smile, noticing how he leaned down and kissed your neck slowly. You couldn’t resist, tilting your head back. With all the planning involved, you barely got to see anything of each other, even less intimately. 

“I don’t care.” He grumbled, sliding his hands on your thighs as you stumbled over to the edge of the bed. He sat first, drawing you over to his lap. “I’ve barely seen you in the last two months.” Jude linked your lips together, and you melted right into his lap. It was slow, taking your time. He pulled down the straps of the soft cotton pajamas, letting the top roll down and pool at your waist. 

Your bare chest heaved against his clothed one, and he removed the shirt before his hands cupped your breasts. The tension building up in the room was something you’ve never experienced before; it was mind numbing, almost. 

“I love you.” You muttered something you’ve said so many times previously, but it felt like the first time. You noticed how he swallowed hard, his eyes looking up at you with utter admiration. Instead of replying right away, his hand sneaked under the matching shorts, past your underwear. Your breath hitched, his middle fingers drawing circles slowly. 

“Yo también te amo.” He replied, licking his lips. You slightly raised your brows in surprise; it was usually the other way around. You said it in Spanish and he replied in English. Now his tongue spoke your language with ease each day. Your mouth twitched lightly into a smile, interrupted by a moan as he gathered the slick pooling around his fingers. 

“Let me take you, please.” His begging was sincere, knowing you could easily decline and follow traditions. Not that you hadn’t done it before, but maybe right before your wedding was pushing it. “I’m too eager… I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow. 

You have been feeling his boner pressing against your thigh for a while now, yet again adding to his honesty. Your thoughts were racing a hundred miles per hour, but you concluded there was nothing traditional about this in the first place. The two of you were bending the rules over backwards from the day you met. A smile still rose to your lips, pulling him into a kiss and pushing him onto the bed. 

“Take me now. Tomorrow you’ll do it forever.” You brushed your nose against his, and he switched places to lay on top of you. Without wasting any time he pulled your pajama shorts and underwear down, his own following soon after. 

“Uh, fuck— I forgot,” He looked around the room, trying to figure out if you’d brought any condoms. You pulled his face towards yours, cupping his jaw in your fingers. 

“I’ll take a pill tomorrow.” You noticed how his eyes shone in a way you’d never noticed before, and he caught your lips in his once more, brushing his tip against your entrance. You mewled, feeling the stretch and embracing it warmly. Your fiancé held you against his chest, kissing the top of your head. 

“You feel so warm,” He practically whined, starting to draw out long thrusts. You could barely reply to the praise, trying to keep your moans muffled by hiding your face in his neck. “So perfect for me, my girl.” 

He knew those strained moans like the back of his hand, the kind where you seemed to be choking on air. The way your cunt squeezed him was enough indication. “Yes, baby. Do it, cum for me.” You exhaled in a way it was apparent the permission lifted a weight off your shoulders. He held you closer to his body, allowing your moans to leave your mouth more freely without escaping those four walls. 

The stutter of his hips that came soon after, followed by a string of curses gave away that Jude was close too. You kissed his strong shoulders, giving him words of encouragement as he perched your legs over his shoulders and started a painful pace to find his release. Still, he looked down at you with a fondness that made your heart melt, leaning down for a final kiss as he pulled out and shot ropes of white to cover your lower tummy. 

“How about a warm bath?” He proposed tenderly, and you couldn’t have said no, even if you wanted to. Without even noticing you fell asleep curled up in his chest, the light steam surrounding your bodies. 

You woke up the next day to the empty bed, haven’t felt so well rested in a while. There was some chatter going on downstairs, and you peaked from the bedroom window to notice staff being led by your mother and soon to be mother-in-law assembling the ceremony venue in the vast backyard. The reality soon dawned upon you, and you wanted to throw up from the nerves and scream in glee. 

But that was the last time you were left alone with your thoughts, as a soft knock rang through the room. “Coming! Denme dos minutos!” You sprung up from the bed, quickly fixing the bed and slipping into the silk slip dress you bought for the whole ‘getting ready’ part of it. The house had a great heating system from the dropping temperatures, but you still got a matching bolero in cashmere. Upon opening the door you were greeted by your small wedding party, consisting of your cousin and best friend. Your other female family members were getting ready with you with the same team of hair and makeup. 

The greeting hugs everyone gave you were so different. They were full of warmth, positivity. You had to hold back tears when your mom hugged you, easing up all your nerves. It was as if they were confirming to you that they were there for you, sending all the well wishes for the years to come with a simple embrace. 

You had your favorite breakfast with mimosas before getting ready. Music was blasting, everyone was chatting it up and helping each other. It felt as though you were getting ready for a regular party, until your brother came knocking at the door. “Delivery for the bride.” He smiled, and the room full of women squealed. You were done with your hair already but you were going to be the last to get your makeup done. 

With a smile you kissed your brother on the cheek before ushering him out the door, taking a hold of the large box and placing it on the bed. Upon removing the lid, you gasped at the delicately placed bouquet, the one you were going to be walking down the aisle with. 

“You like it? I helped him choose. He assembled it himself last night after everyone was gone.” Denise came up to you with a warm smile, and you couldn’t help but give her a tearful nod, setting the flowers aside to give her a tight hug. You figured this whole thing was a big change for her, considering how much of a mama’s boy Jude was. 

But that embrace felt just like the others; full of support and well wishes. 

In no time your makeup started and the women got dressed, only leaving your mum to help you with the dress and the veil. “Ay mi princesa.” She exhaled, fanning her eyes as you took a step back to look at yourself in front of the mirror. You took a deep breath in, having to hold back the need to start crying. Your dream wedding dress fit you as perfectly as it did on the first fitting, and the lacy veil was as perfect as it was on your mother all those years back. 

“I think we should head downstairs. Get some pictures of our family together. Jude should be waiting outside already, so there would be no peeking.” She laughed, carefully cleaning away the tears right at the edge of her eyes. 

The following reactions were similar. Your father looked as though he was about to pass out, and your brother was left speechless. But you only cared about one reaction, and you stood perfect for the family pictures as you could only imagine how Jude would react. 

Still the anticipation couldn’t have prepared you to see him shedding real tears as you walked down the garden, unable to stop looking at you. And for a second there, you swore it was just you and him in the entire planet. 

You couldn’t stop looking at each other throughout the whole thing, no matter if you were supposed to look at the officiant. You said your vows first, eyes brimming with tears. “Most importantly, I love how you make me think I’m the brightest star in the world, no matter how bad either of us are feeling. And I promise I’ll drive you everywhere for the rest of our lives, don’t get that license, amor.” You finished with a bitter sweet chuckle. But you couldn’t have expected what Jude had to say next. 

“Uh, I’ve been practicing my vows for the past six months. If there’s any mistakes, just… keep it to yourselves.” The audience chuckled lightly, but they were as intrigued as you were. He started out by saying your name, almost breathless, “Siempre te he dicho que eres la razón por la que creo en el amor a primera vista.” You choked out a sob, as people in the audience gasped. 

Jude had written and learned his vows in Spanish. Without telling a soul. 

He apparently grew more confident, sucking a big breath in. “Y hoy, puedo decir con toda certeza que creo en el amor sincero y eterno. Todo por ti, preciosa,” His bottom lip quivered, noticing how you were made a mess, eyes full of tears. 

“Eres la estrella que alumbra mis días. Mi chauffeur que me lleva a todos los lugares sin que se lo pida.” He cleared his throat, inhaling the tears in. “Gracias por confiar en mí y en nuestro amor para llegar aquí hoy. Te amo.” 

You smiled at him warmly, and knew he would tease you later for having matching vows without knowing. The rest of the ceremony flew by, and Jude really took the ‘you may kiss the bride’ part too seriously. 

“I can’t believe you copied me…” He huffed as you made way inside the mansion, waiting in a separate room for your entrance. “…Mrs. Bellingham.” He practically giggled, and you laughed from the mirror as you were retouching your makeup.

“You’re the one that copied me! I said my vows first, idiot!” You joked, finishing the lip combo before getting to his side, holding his hand to do your entrance to the dining hall. The nerves filled you up and he noticed from the way you shifted your weight from one side to another. 

He kissed your hand and winked, and you knew everything was going to be alright. 

You found out that night most of your guests were hefty drinkers, or at least they had decided to be so for that particular occasion. But you also found out later that night that thank God you ‘consummated your marriage’ the previous night, considering you had to ask for a few of his fellow athlete friends to carry him up to the newlywed couple’s bedroom. You later laid there staring at the ceiling, stomach churning from… anticipation? The drinks? 

But even as Jude was snoring right next to you, you knew deep down everything was going to be alright. 

For the rest of your lives together.

judebellingham mr. and mrs. b 🤍

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A/N: my bf still says we can't get married so enjoyyy this delusion i'm using to cope KFDSKLSDFKLV lowk did my dream wedding here but it wasn't at the same time. hope everyone enjoyed this sappy sappy short series !! the translation to jude’s wedding vows are in that lil note in the smau !!!

[redvexillum]

Well, this was just asking for a companion piece to my other two story C☆CKWARMING and ROUGH S☆X, so thank you for that. I dedicate this story to @kewpikayo. Listen, I dedicated yesterday's story to your wife, it only makes sense this story should be dedicated to you - after all, Dew & Kew FOREVER! 💖

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human!alastor, alastor is dom, reader is sub, pain kink, reader is masochistic, alastor is sadistic, bad BDSM etiquette, no safe word, no after care, blood play, biting, spanking, rough ☆ral s☆x, p in v, c☆m outside, c☆m eating, implied period-typical racism

✨️ Companion piece to C☆CKWARMING and ROUGH S☆X. This story is the origin of where it all started. ✨️

A low, irritated growl simmered in Alastor’s throat as he watched you—Daddy’s sheltered little girl—stumble back, arms flailing as the load you carried slipped from your grip. You landed unceremoniously on the ground, the papers and boxes you’d been carrying spilling around you like fallen leaves. The sight was exasperating, yet all too familiar; he wasn’t sure whether to sigh, sneer, or simply walk away. 

Instead, he felt his left eye twitch as he forced his grin wider, an increasingly tight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Each muscle in his face strained against his better judgment, but he bent down, begrudgingly extending a hand to help you up. 

And there it was: the way your cheeks bloomed crimson as you looked up at him, hesitantly taking his hand as if touching him was some kind of privilege. 

Under normal circumstances, he would have thrived on this—the adoration, the bashful flush, the clear admiration in your eyes that so many others had shown him. The mere idea of having another fan should’ve filled him with smug satisfaction. But not this time. 

No, there was one pesky fact that dulled the thrill. 

From the beginning, breaking into the radio world had been an uphill battle. The station was his dream, and to make it a reality, he’d had to secure an investor. But with his humble roots, Alastor had needed more than a charming smile; he needed money, power, and someone with influence willing to back a stranger like him. And so he’d found himself entangled with a wealthy patron—a man who agreed to fund him… under one condition. 

He had to hire you.

You. 

His patron’s clumsy, insipid little daughter, the perpetual thorn in his side. Each time he thought he’d seen every mistake a person could make, you’d invent a new one, blundering through tasks with astonishing incompetence. His nerves frayed more with every passing day as he forced himself to breathe, to smile, to tell you gently that "everyone makes mistakes." The words tasted like rot in his mouth. 

Alastor considered himself a patient man. A forgiving man. But everyone has their limits. 

And you, quite simply, were his. 

He took a slow, seething breath, plotting as he felt the spark of a plan take root. If he could get you to quit on your own, perhaps he could still keep the funding—maybe, if he played his cards right, he could even sway your father to his side without the added irritation of watching you trip over your damn feet every three steps. 

So he began to freeze you out. Day after day, he kept his distance, watching from the corner of his eye as you struggled on, hoping his chilly demeanour would drive you away. But you were far too talkative, your relentless cheer slipping through the cracks of his carefully crafted mask. Every time he steeled himself to ignore you, there you were, talking at length about how much you loved his show, how much his puns and wordplay made you laugh, how his humour lifted your spirits. 

The way your eyes sparkled when you praised him—it should have been satisfying. Instead, it was infuriating. 

Yet, against his better judgment, he found himself responding. Something in the glint of your smile made his guarded grin relax, if only for a moment. Begrudgingly, he’d join in, rolling his eyes at your endless enthusiasm but unable to entirely dismiss it. It was as if you were some parasitic creature, a leech drawing life from him, clinging on with no intention of letting go. 

And he endured—patient, calculating, waiting for you to tire of him. 

But then came the last straw. His beloved broadcast, his dream, was starting to slip through his fingers. Listeners dropped off, each patron he had worked tirelessly to convince backed out one by one. Every investment vanished like smoke. And with it, his patience thinned to a knife’s edge, fraying with each setback. Months of self-restraint, of resisting his baser urges, of refraining from any “extracurricular activities” in favour of keeping his show alive, felt like sacrifices crumbling underfoot. 

And he blamed you. 

Though in truth, your mistakes weren’t drastic enough to ruin his business, but they were enough to tear away at his sanity: the times you forgot to pick up his dry cleaning, spilled coffee on his meticulously crafted script—one he knew by heart—or neglected to take his typewriter in for maintenance, forcing him to painstakingly handwrite his next segment. Small annoyances, but they added up, each one tightening the coil of irritation within him. 

Today, though, something snapped. It started with a simple spill, water glistening on the polished wooden floor of his office. As you bent down to hurriedly wipe it, your hand brushed against his glass vase, sending it crashing to the ground in a cascade of shattered crystal. The shards sparkled around you, a mocking reflection of the life he felt slipping into chaos. 

In one swift movement, he had you pinned against the wall, his hands braced beside your head, his body pressing close. He could feel the heat radiating from you, his knee slipping between your legs, lifting just enough to keep you fixed in place. The room felt smaller, the air charged with something he couldn’t name, something that sent a thrill down his spine as he watched the flush creep up to your cheeks. 

“I have never met anyone as clumsy and foolish as you,” he murmured, his voice low, menacing. Though his mouth held its trademarked grin, his eyes burned, dark and narrowed, a storm barely restrained. 

“Ah, u-uhm,” you stammered, your eyes darting away, body trembling before him. 

“Look. At. Me.” His fingers caught your chin, tilting your face up, so your gaze was locked with his. 

Deep down, Alastor knew he was risking everything. You were untouchable—Daddy’s little girl from a family of wealth and power, far beyond his own background. He knew what one accusation could do, one tear sent running back to your father. His dream, his work, his station—he could lose it all before he could snap his fingers, hah! 

But right now, the months of mounting irritation, of resisting every impulse, of pushing down every dark urge—none of it seemed to matter. 

“So-sorry, s-sir,” you whispered, a helpless apology on your lips. And at that moment, something snapped within him. The rush of power, the slight tremor in your voice, the glimmer of fear in your eyes—it was intoxicating. 

His fingers itched with desire, a pulse of longing, dark and primal. 

He wanted to choke you, see the life dull from your eyes, kill you. 

It had been so long since he’d indulged, felt the thrill of being in control, of bending someone to his will. Slowly, his hand slipped down, brushing along the column of your neck, fingers tracing the soft, vulnerable skin. 

Just a small squeeze. Just a taste.

The moment his hand rested there, he felt the rapid beat of your pulse beneath his fingertips, sensed the quick rise and fall of your breath. Your pupils widened, darkening with something that wasn’t just fear, and he nearly laughed at the realization. 

You were… enjoying this. 

“Was it all on purpose, dear?” His voice dropped to a dark murmur, lips just a breath away from your ear, close enough that he could feel the heat of you. “Did you want this to happen? Have you been fantasizing about this with me?” His leg shifted, pressing upward, his knee sliding dangerously close to the warmth of your core, your skirt sliding higher as he held you in place. 

There was no escape for you, nowhere to look but at him, and he could hear your heart pounding louder, a heat blooming that had nothing to do with fear. The line between his anger and desire blurred, each breath he shared with you pulled him deeper into something he couldn’t resist. 

“Did you want to be punished by me?” Alastor’s voice was a low, dangerous purr, his fingers pressing into the side of your neck as he held you there, watching your every response. The softest moan slipped from your lips, unbidden, and his mouth curved into a slow, wicked grin. 

“Oh, dear,” he murmured, clicking his tongue in mock reproach. “How utterly deviant, depraved, you are.” He leaned closer, his lips barely grazing the edge of your ear. Every sound, every whisper, heightened the tremble in your muscles as your body gave in to his hold. 

Alastor felt the thrum of his own pulse, a deep, carnal need that was building to an undeniable point. He’d known desire before, but never this tangled web of control and raw hunger that he felt with you pinned so willingly beneath him. 

To his dark amusement, he felt the tightening in his pants as he took in every inch of your flushed, submissive form. You were an enticing little thing, and now, the line he’d never meant to cross was beginning to blur. 

A tempting thought crossed his mind. “If I fulfill your desire, will you fulfill mine, dear?” His voice was a low, velvet promise as he pressed his knee firmly against your core, feeling the heat of you even through the fabric. His grin grew, an expression laced with a dangerous delight. “How utterly sinful you are, hiding that desire under a mask of innocence.” 

“I-I would do anything you’d like, sir,” you whispered, breath hitching, your hands glued to your side.

Keeping his eyes locked with yours, Alastor pulled back, though he didn’t allow enough distance for you to look away—or see the intensity of his arousal pressing through his trousers. 

“Let me give you what you want,” he murmured. “One good, hard fuck, and I,” his voice turned sweet as he tilted his head, his gaze narrowing with intent, “want you to quit for good, after ensuring that Daddy keeps his generous funding for me.” He brushed his fingers along your cheek, a mockingly gentle caress. “What do you say, dear? Do we have a deal?” 

You hesitated, looking into his eyes, the flush of your cheeks deepening as your lip caught between your teeth. “Hard f-fuck?” you stuttered, voice soft yet bold, your fingers hovering near his chest before you finally dared to touch him, briefly tugging at the lapels of his jacket. “You don't find that strange?” 

Alastor didn't care how unusual your desire was. As long as he got what he wanted at the end, that was all that mattered to him. 

The end always justified the means. 

A dark laugh slipped from him, and he tightened his grip, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair, fingers pulling enough to tip your head back as he leaned in. He pressed himself against you, his hardness now unmistakable against your stomach, his lips grazing yours in the lightest, tantalizing tease. 

“Eyes on me, darling,” he commanded softly, releasing his hold on you just enough to let his thumb trail down your lip as he took a small step back, watching you. “Now,” his voice dropped to a dark whisper, “strip.” 

To his delight, you hesitated, only for a heartbeat. Your cheeks flushed in that shade of pretty pink he found almost as irresistible as your trembling compliance. But then, slowly, you began undoing the buttons of your blouse, your fingers shaking slightly as you slipped the fabric from your shoulders, baring yourself to his gaze. 

Heat surged in his veins, not only from the sight of you, but from the delicious power thrumming in his veins. This wasn’t just about pleasure. It was control, a feeling as heady as the thrill of holding someone’s life in his hands. 

But tonight, he was going to savour every second of holding you in the palm of his hand. 

As your clothes slipped away, one by one, you stood bare before him, your skin glistening in the dim light, the cool air teasing your erect nipples. He stepped closer, the sharp click of his heels against the polished wood. “Someone might come in, dear; are you aware of that? I left the door unlocked, after all.” His voice dripped with sadistic glee.

Your breath hitched, and your gaze flicked nervously to the doorknob, before you paled, realizing it was indeed unlocked. You had no idea that his workers had all quit once they heard wind of the investors backing out. 

Yet, you stood your ground, your eyes meeting his with a potent mix of fear and unyielding resolve. There was a trust there—a dangerous, intoxicating trust—that he knew he didn’t deserve but was all too willing to take. 

“Kneel,” he commanded, and your knees hit the floor without hesitation. His lips curled into a wicked grin as he closed the distance, his hips thrusting forward enticingly. “Show me just how much you want it, dear.” His voice was sultry and low, coaxing you into surrender. Your fingers fumbled with his belt and pants, pulling them down to reveal his half-hard cock, thick and waiting for you. 

You inhaled sharply, before you pressed your lips to the tip while looking up at him, waiting for his next command. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, and you obeyed, “Tongue out,” he added, and your tongue slipped out from your lips, eager to please him. 

With a firm grip on your hair, he guided your head forward, forcing his cock deeper into your mouth. A low, primal groan escaped him, echoing off the walls of the office. It had been far too long since he’d indulged in such raw pleasure, and the thrill of having complete control over you heightened his arousal. This was not the gentle foreplay he was used to; this was a deliciously crude act of dominance that made his heart race. 

He couldn’t help but imagine how his mother would disapprove of his treatment of you. But you craved this, wanted him in ways that thrilled and terrified you both. It felt like a dark dance of power—a beautiful, twisted exchange that neither of you could resist. 

With each thrust, he lost himself deeper in your warmth, the sensation of your soft, wet mouth engulfing him driving him to the edge. He revelled in the control he wielded, in the way you surrendered to his desires, your submission stoking the one lukewarm drive within him. 

The best part of this exchange? He was going to remain on top, remain in control, remain in power, both in the deal struck and the way he devoured you. 

When he called you depraved, a deviant, your heart sank. Deep down, you knew it was true; your desires were unconventional, perhaps even strange. You had been with other men before, yet none had ever come close to scratching the itch that Alastor stirred within you. 

Every word he spoke about you rang true. Yes, you had a crush on him. Yes, you often found yourself lost in naughty, impure thoughts about him. Still, you yearned to keep those thoughts hidden, for working for him had become the highlight of your months. 

For once, you felt needed, desired, and useful—feelings that seemed to vanish the moment you returned home, where you faced the disappointment of your parents after yet another failed meeting with a suitor. The worry etched on their faces suggested they feared you might become a spinster.

The thought of Alastor wanting you to quit stung. It felt as if your dreams were crumbling around you, and the realization that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings hurt more than you cared to admit. But if you could have him for the first and last time, you wanted it to be an unforgettable memory. 

What Alastor would never realize was that you would never allow your father to withdraw his support from him financially. You loved his show genuinely, and you wanted to see him succeed and thrive. You believed in him wholeheartedly, confident that one day he would achieve the success he deserved, so he wouldn’t have to bargain for your father’s backing. 

As his hot, heavy cock filled your mouth, you felt a rush of heat flush through your body. You gagged slightly when the tip pressed against the back of your throat, a combination of pleasure and slight panic washing over you. The salty taste of him overwhelmed your senses, and you glanced up, seeing Alastor’s eyes closed in pure ecstasy. His fingers gripped your hair, the pressure varying as he slowly rolled his hips, the head of his cock brushing against the roof of your mouth. 

Each time you choked on him, you felt the violent twitch of his cock, and a small, heady low moan from him. It seemed he relished the sounds you made, and you focused on creating a tight seal around him, sucking with all the enthusiasm you could muster. But the bliss was abruptly cut short when he pulled your hair, yanking you off his cock. A glistening strand of saliva connected the tip of his cock to your lips, then fell, leaving a tiny droplet on the floor. 

“Messy girl,” he teased, and you could see the hard anger in his eyes fade, replaced by a gleam of something more raw and animalistic. He was enjoying this, and your heart raced at the thought. “Always making a mess of all my things.” His gaze flickered to the shattered vase on the floor, but thankfully, none of the fragments had reached where you knelt. “What do you have to say for yourself?” 

Your shoulders jumped as you looked up at him, your voice trembling. “I’m so—” But before you could finish, he thrust his cock back down your throat. You gagged again, tears springing to your eyes as you grasped at his thighs for stability. 

The struggle for breath was real, but Alastor didn’t relent, pushing deeper until your vision blurred from the lack of air. You fought to breathe through your nose, panic mingling with arousal. Just when you thought you might pass out, he finally pulled back, leaving you gasping for air, your body bowed low as coughs escaped your lips, mixed with tears and saliva spilling from your mouth. 

“I should punish you, shouldn’t I?” Alastor purred, his voice smooth like silk as he sauntered over to the single-seat couch in the corner of his office. His cock stood proudly, glistening with your saliva, an inviting sight that made your heart race. He patted his knee, an invitation that sent a shiver down your spine. “Come.” 

A flutter of excitement mixed with trepidation filled you as you quickly stood up, your legs feeling slightly unsteady as you approached him. When you reached him, your stomach flipped with a blend of curiosity and uncertainty. His gaze roamed hungrily over your body, settling on your slick folds, and he hummed a low note of approval. Slowly, he extended his hand, sliding a finger between your inner folds before teasingly flicking your sensitive clit. 

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you doubled over, almost collapsing onto his lap. You could see the wicked glint in his eyes as he observed the slickness on his finger before bringing it to his mouth, tasting you. “Hmm,” he hummed, a smirk played on his lips. “Lay on my lap, stomach down.”

Your mind spun with a mix of confusion and apprehension. You complied, laying across his lap, your gaze dropping to the floor, heart racing. You felt the heat of his hard cock pressing against your side, and his hand began to stroke the gentle curve of your ass, sending sparks of desire coursing through you. 

“Have you ever been punished before, my dear?” he asked suddenly, his tone teasing yet serious. You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. “Have you ever been spanked before?” he corrected himself with a soft chuckle. 

Confusion clouded your thoughts as you shook your head. “N-no, my mama and papa never laid a hand on me like that,” you admitted quietly, unsure where Alastor was going with this. 

“Ah, it all makes sense now,” he mused, his hand continuing to caress your ass, fingers grazing your drenched folds. The teasing touch was just enough to send waves of heat pooling in your core, igniting a desperate need within you. You wanted him to delve deeper, to flick your clit until you were begging for release. 

“Let me give you a lesson on what we do to spoiled princesses,” Alastor remarked, his voice dripping with mock cheer. 

Before you could utter a word, you felt a sharp slap against your left cheek. The sting radiated through you, a mix of pain and unexpected pleasure that made tears prick at your eyes. You stifled a cry, fingers clenching at his pants in a desperate bid for control. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his tone devoid of any sympathy, only curiosity. 

You nodded vigorously, the truth washing over you. 

“Excellent,” he replied, a smirk curling at his lips before he raised his hand again, delivering another sharp slap to the same spot. The pain was intense, yet thrilling, and you felt a tear escape, rolling down your cheek as your body reacted in ways you never thought it could. 

Before you could beg him to stop, you felt his fingers plunge deep into your core, rubbing and massaging against your walls. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, quickly morphing into a heady moan as your body instinctively wiggled, seeking more of his touch. The slick sound of his fingers squelching inside you mixed with your cries, blending the initial pain into a dizzying rush of pleasure. 

Suddenly, an insatiable hunger ignited within you. You hadn’t realized how exquisitely pain and pleasure could intertwine. “Please, sir, m-more,” you mewled, unable to hold back the desperate need spilling from your lips as you turned your tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. Your heart raced, overwhelmed by the heady blend of emotions and sensations. 

Alastor’s fingers stilled inside you, his eyes darkening as they traced over your expression, drinking in your vulnerability. The corners of his lips twitched with satisfaction, and you felt the heat of his cock twitching insistently against your side. In a swift motion, he withdrew his fingers, pulling you up and manoeuvring you to straddle his lap. 

Blood rushed to your head, the dull ache of arousal amplifying every sensation. Your breath hitched as you felt the thick tip of his cock pressed against your entrance. With a firm pull, he sank you down onto him, filling you completely to the hilt. 

A scream tore from your throat, a mix of shock and bliss as the delicious stretch enveloped you. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the sharp, heat of pleasure as his cock throbbed against your walls. The arousal only mounted as Alastor leaned back against the couch, his mouth slightly parted, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. 

Moments later, he opened his darkened eyes. His fingers released your hips, and he commanded, “Move.” 

You hesitated, adjusting to his size, then began to lift yourself up, savouring the emptiness he left behind before sinking back down onto him again. The rhythm felt exhilarating as you rode him, bare and exposed before his hungry gaze. 

His hands found their way to your nipples, fingers grazing your sensitive skin, teasing your areolas with gentle circles. The electric pleasure shot through you, urging you to move faster, each rise and fall sending jolts of pleasure through your body. As you sank back down, he pinched your nipples hard, the sensation exploding through you. 

A sharp cry escaped your lips, mingling with a wave of decadent arousal that crashed over you. Desperation consumed you as you began to grind against his hip, your clit pulsing with need, craving attention, longing for the release that only he could provide. 

“My, you certainly do handle pain in quite a strange way,” Alastor said, his breath coming in heavy, lust-filled gasps as his hips jerked up against you. “Though—hah—I can’t say that I dislike it,” he murmured, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. 

He pulled your body forward, pressing his face between the soft, inviting curves of your breasts. His hips took full control, pistoning his thick cock deep inside you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body, rising in a staccato rhythm that matched the desperate cries spilling from your lips. His teeth sank into the tender flesh of your breast, and you felt a delicious blend of pain and elation that blurred the lines of your pleasure. 

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging to him as he bit down harder, his hunger for you evident in the fierce way he held you. Finally, he let go, his breath hot and ragged as he revealed his lips stained crimson with your blood. 

Your heart raced as you looked down, seeing the deep teeth mark oozing with warmth. His tongue flicked across his lower lip, savouring the taste of you as he pressed you even deeper onto his cock. A deep, throaty moan escaped him, the sound raw and primal. 

His eyes glinted with a dangerous hunger, and he bit into the underside of your breast once more, drawing another cry from your lips as his cock throbbed insistently against your walls. Instantly, the world flipped, and your back hit the cold floor, the shock sending sparks of mind-numbing pleasure coursing through you. Alastor's every bite left a blazing trail of sensation, a heady mix of sharp pain and bliss. His teeth glistened with crimson, and he began to thrust into you with desperation, each powerful movement sending waves of euphoria radiating from your core. 

It was overwhelming—the way he drilled into you, the way his hips slapped against your clit with a relentless intensity. The wet sound of skin against skin filled the air, mingling with the cacophony of his moans and your cries. Just as he sank his teeth into your other shoulder, you felt a blinding rush of pleasure, a bright flash that took you over the edge. You shattered around him, your body convulsing in waves of pure bliss as he continued to thrust, driving you deeper into ecstasy. 

Sobbing with a mixture of overstimulation and overwhelming emotion, drool trickled from your lips as tears flowed freely down your cheeks. You clung to him, the intense heat of your orgasm washing over you in a torrent. When he finally withdrew, Alastor positioned himself above you, pumping his cock vigorously, each stroke pulling a raw, primal growl from deep within him. The gleaming head of his cock pointed toward you, dripping with unsatisfied lust. 

With a low, guttural sound, he released himself, spurting hot, milky liquid that mingled with the crimson of your blood, swirling together into a beautiful shade of pink. The warmth splattered across your face, your neck, and trickled down the curve of your chest, marking you as his. 

When he finally let go, he gazed down at you with a mix of desire and admiration. “My, how pretty,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust, his eyes glazed and wild with an unquenchable hunger. 

Your heart raced at his words, and you lay still, the remnants of your orgasm still pulsing through you, each throb a reminder of the heat and sting left by his bites and slaps.

You didn’t dare speak as you waited for Alastor to gather himself, bracing for the inevitable moment he would fire you. Instead, he did something entirely unexpected. With a slow, deliberate movement, he traced his cum, now mingled with your blood, transforming into a light pink hue across your bottom lip. The sight sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and something more debased stirring within you. 

He then penetrated your mouth with his finger, the salty, bitter taste flooding your senses. You could taste the metallic tang, and a whisper of disgust escaped your lips as the awful flavour overwhelmed you. 

“I expect to see you tomorrow,” he murmured softly, his gaze locked on your lips, hypnotized as he pistoned his finger in and out of your mouth. Each movement was both gentle and demanding, making you feel utterly exposed. “Perhaps I underestimated your usefulness,” he continued, pressing down on your tongue, forcing you to swallow around him. “If you don’t come, I’ll assume you quit.” 

As he withdrew his fingers, glistening with your saliva, he brought them to his own, licking them clean with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your heart race. The way he savoured you, relishing the taste, ignited a forbidden thrill deep within you. 

“Understood,” you managed to say, your voice hoarse yet tinged with submission. The soft addition of “sir” fell from your lips like an offering, and the way his eyes darkened in response sent a jolt of excitement through you. 

His grin stretched wider, a predatory gleam flashing across his features, making you feel like prey caught in the gaze of a hungry predator. You were trapped, utterly captivated by his dominance, and yet there was a part of you that craved it—craved him.

And deep down, you knew you would let him devour you whole, wouldn’t you?

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[himasgod]

King Deshret x Reader IV part I

Where Deshret finds out that you are marrying Morax, and goes to great lengths to get to the location and beg for your forgiveness.

(PART IV DONE. I've decided to split this request in two, since I wanted to make it quite long and doing it in one post would be quite long. This part is about Deshret finding out that you're going to marry Morax and the next one, which I'll post in a few hours, will deal directly with the wedding and Deshret interrupting it. Thanks to sailorstar as always and, of course, enjoy <3)

XVII.

The nights in the desert had always been his refuge, a kingdom of endless stars above a sea of ​​golden dunes that only he could rule. The silence, once so comforting, now weighed on his shoulders like a blanket of ice. King Deshret returned to the palace after half a year away, the promise of returning to you still fresh in his mind. He had set out in the hope of bringing you an era of splendor, with Nabu Malikata at his side. But in his obsession with dreams of greatness, he had let himself be carried away by the intoxicating sweetness of the Goddess of Flowers.

When his sandals echoed in the halls, there was no welcome. He did not find you waiting for him with a frown or words of reproach for his prolonged absence. Instead, he was greeted by a desolate palace, as cold as a tomb. The servants avoided his gaze, bowing their heads in silence. Was there something they were not telling him? An inexplicable uneasiness began to stir in his chest.

“Where is the queen?” he asked in a grave voice to one of his oldest servants, whose face was marked by uncertainty.

“Your Majesty… the queen has departed.” The man hesitated, swallowing before adding, “You will find a letter in her chambers.”

The words fell like stones into a bottomless pit. Deshret felt his heart race as he walked through the halls with increasingly hurried steps, almost tripping in his haste to reach the room they once shared. The door, normally ajar to allow the light of the rising sun, was now shut tight. He pushed it hard, almost ripping it off its hinges.

There, in the vastness of the bed he had shared with you, lay a single scroll. Deshret approached slowly, as if the simple act of touching it could trigger a catastrophe. His hands, which had not trembled even in the face of the most fearsome armies, now trembled as he unrolled the letter.

“To King Deshret, who was once my husband: I hereby dissolve our marriage. I am no longer the queen who swore to remain at your side in the eternal dunes. I am leaving, for the fidelity I promised cannot be sustained in the emptiness of a love that has withered.”

The words were sharp, written with the precision of a knife. Each sentence was a reminder of what he had lost in seeking the company of another, of what he had let crumble in his pursuit of power and fleeting pleasures. This was not just a piece of paper; it was the end of an oath he had taken for eternal.

But it was the last line that broke what little remained of his temper:

“I return to my home in Liyue, where the vows I gave you will be extinguished like the embers of a fire that no longer burns. This time, there will be no turning back.”

XVIII.

The weight of your words echoed in his mind as he stood there in the dimness of your empty chambers. You had been so much more than a wife to him: you were the legendary Phoenix Princess, Liyue’s most precious jewel, the daughter of the Phoenix Queen. You had given up your golden destiny alongside Rex Lapis, you had abandoned the fertile valleys of your homeland to accompany the king of a kingdom of sand. And he, blinded by the promise of power alongside Nabu Malikata, had let the glow of that sacrifice fade.

When he was finally able to move, Deshret summoned his advisors, demanding answers. But all he received were evasive glances and empty answers. You had left with a small entourage, taking only what was yours, rejecting all the luxuries he had arranged for your comfort. Your decision had been final, unwavering.

Deshret felt an unparalleled emptiness devour him from within. The great king who had defied the gods was now nothing more than a broken man, a prisoner in his own palace. For the first time in centuries, King Deshret understood what it meant to truly lose. Not by war, not by the betrayal of allies, but by the foolishness of his own heart.

XIX.

A week later, Rukkhadevata arrived at the palace with news he did not wish to hear. She stood before him, compassion veiling her emerald eyes.

“Deshret,” she said softly, “I come with news from Liyue.”

“Speak, Rukkhadevata.” His voice was barely a whisper, as if the mere act of speaking words exhausted him.

Dendro Archon took a deep breath. “Rex Lapis has sent invitations to all the Archons. He is announcing his marriage with the the Phoenix Princess.”

His blood froze in his veins. He felt the world crumble around him, as if the palace walls were about to collapse on him.

“Marriage…?” he repeated in a murmur, unable to process what he heard.

Rukkhadevata nodded regretfully. “She has returned home, Deshret. She has found in Morax the love and stability that you denied her.”

XX.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of anguish. While Nabu Malikata spoke excitedly of the lavish ceremony Liyue was preparing, he could barely hear her. Her words were like a distant echo, lost in the storm of his mind.

He couldn’t bear it. The image of you beside another man, smiling as you once did just for him, consumed him. Morax… his rival, his opposite in so many ways, was taking away what he had cast aside.

“I must see her once more,” he decided, his pride crushed under the weight of his despair. He turned to Rukkhadevata with a plea he never thought he would make.

“Take me to Liyue, I beg you. Let me see her, even one last time. Let me beg her to reconsider, to forgive me… before it’s too late.”

Rukkhadevata watched him, pain in her eyes. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. He knew you had closed your heart forever. But after a long, tense silence, he nodded.

“I will take you, Deshret. But you must prepare for what you will find. It may already be too late. Sometimes, even for the gods, second chances do not exist."

XXI.

And so, the once invincible King Deshret, who defied the gods and dreamed of conquering the heavens, found himself in the position of a broken man, a king who had lost everything because of his own blindness. Now, he was not heading into a battle to win a kingdom, but into a fight for a heart that no longer belonged to him.

As the desert dunes fell behind him and the green valleys of Liyue rose before him, he knew he was facing his final battle. But this time, the price of failure would not be a crown, but the love he himself let slip away.

He was willing to stop that wedding. He was willing to get you back. Even if it cost him his life.

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[drabblesandimagines]

Been playing a lil' bit of Rebirth and found this in my drafts - dunno if I'll continue it but throwing it out into the world. Sephiroth x female reader (reader is President Shinra's daughter, no spoilers for Rebirth, just your average Sephiroth lore)

You wake up with a start as your book hits the floor with a thud. You’d fallen asleep on the sofa, reading. The only recreational activity you’re permitted these days.

“Hello, little one.”

You must be dreaming. You have to be, because you haven’t heard his voice in five years.

Not since he'd left on a mission - an awkward goodbye on your part at the door of your quarters. He'd pressed a kiss against the back of your hand, ever chivalrous.

But he’s there, towering, in the shadows of the corner, his eyes almost glowing. They said he was dead. You’d played the part of a war widow, despite the fact the two of you weren’t even married when he was killed in action. You were never sure if the wedding was truly going to happen - surely just a PR stunt to boost morale. The war hero and the darling of Shinra. When he hadn't returned, you'd been sent out to endless memorials, dressed head to toe in black, told not to speak, before you secluded yourself to process your grief - or at least that’s what the press releases said when your father or brother had been asked about your rare public appearances.

“I thought you’d be more pleased to see your betrothed.”

“You’re…” You swallow, though your throat remains as dry as it was. “You’re dead.”

Sephiroth steps forward into the dim light of the room and you hear something drip on the floor.

“Am I?” At first, you think he’s scowling at your statement, the fact that you’d think he, of all people, was dead. But within a blink, he’s somehow in front of you, one hand grasping your chin with firm fingers. “What happened to your face?”

“I… displeased the President.”

“He hit you.” It’s not a question. He turns your face to the side, taking in the purple and yellow bruising before tsking. “That won’t do.”

There’s another drip as he releases his hold on your chin.

“It is not as bad as it looks.”

“I do not tolerate others marring my things.”

Drip.

You should be indignant at being referred to as a thing, as his thing - you know you should - but perhaps it’s the shock of him standing before you, as if no time had passed at all, and the odd noise that appears to accompany him. Your eyes are drawn down to his left hand, the source of whatever was dripping on the linoleum. He notices your stare. “Allow me to make introductions. Little one, I’d like you to meet my mother, Jenova.” He holds his hand aloft, now practically beaming and it takes a moment for you to process what you actually see before you. "Mother, meet my soon to be wife." He’s holding a head.

--

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