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eraenaa · 2 months

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Worth the Price

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader

Synopsis: Aemond does everything to prove that he is worthy of you— even if it means that he would be a kinslayer twice.

Warnings: Aemond Plots Against Aegon, Oral Sex (f & m receiving), Mature, 18+, Semi-Public Relations, Choking, Edging, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 5,585

A/N: Reposting bc I was uncertain about this dynamic, but fuck it, I have a soft spot for a Lannister reader and cannot let it rest in my drafts.

Aemond had wanted you since he was young, but as a second son, he would always come second best to his brother. You were a daughter of house Lannister, betrothed to Aegon the moment you were born, an alliance not to keep their Valyrain blood pure but rather to be mixed with gold. You had grown in the walls of the keep, taken from your mother’s arms a few moons after your birth, and grew up under the supervision of your uncle, Tyland Lannister, as a measure to keep you acquainted with your betrothed, Aegon.

However, such arrangements instilled since your infancy were changed when Queen Alicent was offered a bastard for her only daughter. The queen was quick to cut the engagement made in your infancy and instead betrothed her firstborn son to her firstborn daughter, offering Aemond as your consolation prize. Aemond, who was ten at the time, was thrilled to hear of such arrangements, finally gaining one of the things his heart yearned for the most: you. However, he could see the quiet and greatly covered disappointment not only in your house but in you as well— you were set to be queen, now you were now only to be the lady-wife of a mere second-born son.

Aemond never truly heard such qualms leave your lips. He was fortunate enough that you had always been keen and kind to him in childhood, and your affection for him only grew in time. But he could not help but be affected by your quiet and greatly oppressed disappointment. For the first ten years of your life, you were prepared and molded to be a queen, hours of unending lessons on how to play the part wasted as you were to be bound to a mere second son. Aemond could not stand for it. He ambitioned to be so much more. He could not stand to be just the second. Second son, second in line, second in your heart.

“My love, are you listening?” You asked as your husband’s gaze was afar, and you had noticed his attention was not on you. You furrowed your brows as he made no reply, tugging at his arm to bring him out of his trance. “I— I apologize, my heart, I was thinking of another matter,” You pursed your lips and hummed, “And praytell, what matter may that be? Certainly, it is of much importance that you have started ignoring me,” Aemond bit his lip to hinder his amused smirk; he just absolutely adored how you were never afraid to voice out and demand his undivided attention— in others, he would find that absolutely insufferable, but of course, that sentiment was not the same for his dear lady-wife.

Aemond sighed and could not help but kiss you, unbothered that you two were in the halls and anyone could walk in and see such passion exuding from his usually stoic and rigged demeanor. As your lips parted and Aemond’s body was alight by the feel of your lips and the taste of you, you simply raised your brow, silently urging him to tell the matters that plagued his mind. Aemond tucked a strand of your golden hair and sighed once more, “Nothing— just mere matters of the realm that the king is too incompetent to comprehend and tend to,” You nodded, “Then he is lucky to have you— his brother forever capable and loyal to him and the kingdom,” Aemond bit his tongue. “You must steer him in the right direction, my love. We are already at war; we cannot have the kingdom in shambles because of Aegon’s squandering self. You have always been the diligent one, unending hours poured into learning the histories of your house and training with your sword… your great knowledge must be exercised greatly in this hour of war.” Aemond could only nod his agreement. You smiled and cupped his cheek, tracing his scar, and you hummed as Aemond pressed his cheek further into your soft palm.

“Now go; I believe that it is the hour of the small council. Best be there and see to it that your brother does not humiliate your family’s claim to the throne further,” You say, reluctantly urging him to let go of his hold on you, even though you were always quick to miss his touch. Aemond shook his head, “Do not be so stubborn,” you said, and you smiled further when Aemond wrapped both of his arms around your waist. You rose to the tip of your toes and pecked your husband’s lips as encouragement. Even though you had shared his kisses countless of times, you still felt the quiet tingle on your plush lips as you two did such actions. “Very well then, I shall do whatever my lady-wife should ask of me,” He said against your lips, making your smile widen. You parted and tried to walk off, but Aemond took hold of your wrist and pulled you back to him, a laugh escaping from your lips, and you rested your hands atop his chest. “And where are you off to?”

You smirked, “To some engagements for the court that I offered Helaena reprieve from. And after, you shall find me in our chambers… warming our bed… waiting impatiently for you.” You whispered the final part, watching as Aemond’s lilac eye darkened with want, pupils dilated that it made your core turn— finding it utterly flattering how quickly your husband will always grow in want of you. “Now go; the quicker you are to attend the meeting, the quicker they are to end, and you can be my arms.” You said and gave a final kiss on your husband’s cheek before hastily walking off, afraid that Aemond’s wants would get the better of him and take you against the alcove in the hall; it had occurred once or twice before.

Aemond stomped off the room of the small council after a rather aggravating session with his brother. Seeing Aegon be so clueless with the matters of the realm and the war was pathetic. And in a way, Aemond found great satisfaction in that— seeing Aegon struggle to comprehend his words as he spoke in the ancient tongue, his brother unable to articulate even just one sentence without stammering like a simpleton was quite amusing but overly embarrassing. As the meeting ended, Aemond was quick to rise to his feet and leave, overly impatient to be with you— savoring every second in your arms before he had to leave quietly in the night to make good of his secret plottings with Ser Criston.

Aemond walked the halls that led to his chambers, each step fervent and quick. The fading sun illuminated his chambers when he entered, setting it aglow in an amber hue. “I’ve been waiting,” Aemond heard you breathlessly call, his head quickly turning to your bed; he squinted his eye as he could not see you through the canopy covers. Aemond wasted no time to march in your direction; his breath caught in his throat as he saw your figure covered by nothing but a thin sheet that was comparable to what the whores in the street of silk wore. You lounged laxly in the middle of the bed, your body in full display for your husband, who stared at you dumbfounded and filled with desire.

“Seven hells,” Aemond could not help but mutter in pure amazement. His knees felt weak, and his stomach coiled painfully in burning want of you. “Do you not like it?” You frowned as he only stood there, you feigned innocence— of course, you knew he would like it. You knew your husband better than he knew himself. Having grown up with him, you knew every possible thing there is to know about Aemond. Aegon may have been your betrothed at the start, but you were not at all keen to know him to such a deeper level than you had his brother.

You went to the edge of the bed to meet your husband, who stood by the foot of it, kneeling before him as he hungrily raked his gaze through your body, yet he still did not dare to move. “Has my display rendered you simple, my prince?” You asked lowly, peeking up at him through your lashes and watching as the ball on his throat bobbed and hearing how his breathing turned ragged. You hummed and raised your hand to caress his cheek, rising higher to be met with his face, slyly pushing your breast against his clothed chest. Aemond groaned at just the simple feeling of that. You ghosted your lips against his jaw and neck, your fingers effortlessly undoing the buckles of his leather doublet.

Your hand slowly trailed south after you had successfully removed his upper clothing; you heard the catch in Aemond’s breath as your fingers trailed his toned chest and torso. Every single inch of him was carved by the gods and embodied a warrior. Aemond hissed as he felt you cup his needing length through his trousers, watching as a sly smirk rose to your lips. “I see that you are quite… tense, my love,” You whispered against his lips, catching as his eye fluttered to a close as you added pressure into his length. “I am.” He gritted, and your smirk widened. “Hm… tell me then what do you need— what do you want, my prince?” You taunted and felt him shudder as you slipped your hand into his trousers, finally letting him feel skin against skin.

“I want… I need you, little wife. I desperately need you,” He muttered as his eye opened. Aemond moved to kiss your lips, but you instead lowered yourself to be met with his length, yanking down his trousers and letting your lips wrap around the tip of his needing and weeping cock. Aemond’s hands lost themselves in your hair, fisting the gold strands in utter pleasure, hissing as you sucked his length, urging yourself to take his cock deeper into your throat. Lewd sounds of your and Aemond’s heavy breathing, along with you gagging on his cock echoed through the chambers. Quiet praises leave your husband’s lips as you pleasure him with your mouth. You reached out to fondle his stones, earning a loud groan from him, and his head tilted to the heavens. Aemond could only stand there and marvel at you, his eye torn as to what to stare upon, your pretty face or your ample behind that hung in the air and squirmed with each of your pleasurable movements. He began to wonder what he had done to have you as his lady wife and pondered the ways he could prove himself worthy of you.

Aemond felt himself ready to come undone, and he forcefully slipped out his cock from your lips, earning a whine from you. “Had I done something wrong?” You panted as you wiped away the traces of drool on your chin, looking up at Aemond with slight hurt in your eyes. Your husband was quick to shake his head and cup your cheeks, “No— you could never do me wrong, my heart,” He reassured, but you felt yourself pout and wonder as to why he had ceased your actions, if you were being honest, you quite enjoyed sucking his cock.

“Then wh—“ Your words were left unfinished as you felt Aemond cup your dripping heat. Your eyes widened, and the earlier smirk on your lips had now flown to your husband’s. “Already so wet for me… you are a saint, my heart. Tending to my needs first even though you yourself are in desperate want of release.” Aemond hummed as your eyes rolled back; he effortlessly slipped two digits into your dripping core. You mewled out his name, squealing as he curled the digits and as his thumb fervently rubbed your sensitive pearl. “I want your cock,” You said distractedly, any form of decorum or chasteness gone as your want for Aemond had made you utterly desperate.

Aemond let out an amused breath, “Of course you do,” He taunted and smashed his lips unto yours. You clawed at his toned arm as you felt your release bubbling, but before you could finally feel the climax you sought, Aemond parted your lips and ceased the pleasure of his fingers. You whined, glaring at your husband, who only stared down at you in amusement as he brought his fingers to his lips and licked off your essence. “Patience, my heart. All that you want shall come in due time,” He whispered his oath, and you huffed as he walked away, leaving you to wonder what had gotten into his mind.

You lay on the bed as your husband went to one corner of your chambers. Your legs were spread, and your cunt was pulsating in need. You could not help yourself as your fingers slipped along the wet folds, holding back your moans as you touched yourself because you could not wait for your husband to give you your release. Aemond stilled as he heard your once still breathing hitch and the distant and quiet sound of your wetness. He turned to the bed and saw as your back was arched, and your fingers disappeared to pleasure your cunt.

He took large strides only to witness you on the verge of an orgasm that he had denied you of. You groaned as Aemond took hold of your wrist, your second time being denied your release. “You’re being cruel, husband,” You whined as you stared up at your husband, a wicked glint in his eye. “Please, Aemond… I need you,” You breathed out, and all he did was hum. That was then you realized he held something in his other hand. You sat up, skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat. Aemond moved his lips to pepper kisses on the side of your neck, bitting to leave his mark as a reminder as to who you belonged to.

“Open it,” Aemond murmured against your skin as he placed a velvet box into your hands. You frowned as he continued on to pepper kisses on your neck and down the swell of your breasts, ripping off the thin sheet you had worn. You did as he told and felt a gasp escape your lips as you saw what was inside and as his fingers pinched the bud of your tit. “W—What is this for?” You said mind befuddled as you did not know where to focus, your husband’s gift or his pleasure. “It is for you, of course.” He said plainly, took the ruby tiara into his hands, and moved to place it atop your head. Aemond grew further with need at the sight of you flushed and naked; the only thing you had on was the tiara he had commissioned for you.

You stared up at your husband in wonder, “I— It’s lovely… thank you, but my love, I am in no position to warrant a tiara— it is rather inappropriate, do you not think?” You asked and tried your best to focus as Aemond fondled your breasts. Aemond placed open kisses onto the side of your breasts, trying to form his words. “Aemond,” You called and Feld his face to look you in the eye. You delicately took off his eye patch as his lips pursed. “What is this for?” You asked once again.

“Do you wish to be queen?” He instead asked you, and you were rendered speechless. “Do not deny it, my heart… You were born and bred with the purpose of being queen of the seven kingdoms.” He sighed, and you tried to find your words. “Even now, you bear the duties of a Queen that Helaena cannot tend to,” He added, as you were always by his sister’s side, aiding her with her duties until she all together left the role up to you. You let out a heavy breath. “I… Sometimes I do— seeing that was my whole purpose, why I was taken out of my parents’ care and instead raised here to do what was expected of me.” You admitted and felt your heart pit as Aemond avoided your gaze. “But I’d rather have married you than be queen.” You quickly added.

“I may have wanted the title, Aemond… but I want you more. I am perfectly content with just being your wife,” You reassured, but something in Aemond burned in anger. Anger at the gods as to why he was born the second son— anger at himself as to why he had to seek out Aegon instead of just letting him escape. You sighed as you rested your forehead against Aemond’s, “Do you believe me?” You questioned and waited for his reply. Aemond bit his tongue not completely believing that you were perfectly content with your station because even he was not contented. He knew envy was a lesser emotion that he must not succumb to, but it was inevitable, especially as he bore witness to how his brother squandered off the most coveted station in the kingdom. He gave a nod and connected your lips, deciding to lay the matter to rest for the moment.

You sighed and steadied yourself as he hoisted you on his lap, moans leaving your lips as you sank down on his cock. Aemond’s breathing labored as he felt your tight cunt around his length and as your nails left traces along his back. “Oh… gods, Aemond—“ You cried as you rocked your hips, the tip of his cock hitting the perfect spot that made your back arch and your eyes rolled back in utter pleasure. Your moans filled his ears, and Aemond could only hum with satisfaction. “You sound like such a whore, little wife,” he muttered as he reached downwards to trace circles on your nubbin. You could only whine louder, too focused as you bounced on his cock and sought out your high. “Such a vision you are… bouncing on my cock and moaning out my name with a tiara on your pretty head.”

Aemond’s other hand harshly gripped your tit as he was overwhelmed by the feel of you. “So perfect you are,” He praised, and you smirked at him through the haze of pleasure, your cunt clenching further as you had always loved when he would compliment you. “Such a perfect wife— you would have been wasted on my squandering brother.” He gritted and groaned as you clenched around him tightly and as you nodded your head in agreement. “I was meant to be yours, Aemond,” You breathed as you felt your skin alight with your nearing climax. “You’re mine… all mine.” He groaned as you came undone, your loud moans spurring his own release. “All yours,” You swore and watched as his face contorted in pleasure.

You sighed in contentment as you lay on Aemond’s chest and as he ran his hands through your hair. “I must leave,” He suddenly cut the silence. “I must meet with Cole,” You pursed your lips. “I know.” You said, trying not to let the tone of bitterness and concern be heard. Aemond furrowed his brows as he looked down upon you. You raised your gaze to meet his, “I know you, Aemond. I know you better than I know the back of my hand— did you really think I would not figure out that you had plotted secretly with Ser Criston?” You questioned, and Aemond sighed, his heart warming further for you as you uttered such words.

You sat upright to gain a better view of your husband, Aemond already feeling cold, as you removed yourself from his chest. “Be cautious, my love— do not be so reliant on Vhagar. Swear that you will return to me unscathed.” You implored, and Aemond leaned forward to capture your lips. When your lips parted, whatever tenderness you had was hidden behind your serious and threatening expression, urging your husband to be cautious and vigilant. “You will not make me a widow at only nine and ten, Aemond.” You said, voice overly serious and gaze scorching, but your husband still had the gall to laugh. “I wouldn’t dare to, my heart.” He said and captured your lips once more to seal his oath that he would return to you unharmed.

The whispers of vipers were deafening. ‘The king was slain,’ they would say. And murmurs had spread that the fall of the king was not caused by the Queen Who Never Was but rather by the One-Eyed Prince. You had stewed in silence as you could not possibly fathom what had happened. The only thing that had kept you sane was a single letter that came from your husband stating that he was well and would fly back and return to you in a day or two.

You stood in the gardens alone as you pondered upon the whispers spreading around the keep when you felt strong hands wrap around your frame and lips pressing kisses upon your neck. Your tense frame momentarily turned lax at the touch of your husband. “I have missed you, my heart,” He said softly and tried to capture your lips— for him, a week was far too long not to be in your presence. Suspicion rose in you as you heard elation in his voice— elation that was rarely present in him. You turned and saw satisfaction glinting in Aemond’s eye. “What has happened?” You questioned, a sickening feeling in your stomach as your intuition told you that there was something afoot.

Aemond frowned at the seriousness on your face. “We had won the battle— we had effectively cut off Dragonstone by land, my plan proven effective.” He said, dipping down to try and capture your lips, but you backed away, your movements sending a tinge to Aemond’s heart. “What has happened to Aegon?” You whispered and saw how quickly the satisfaction in your husband’s eye disappeared. “The king was inexperienced in battle— he fought against the qualms of his council, and now he reaps the consequences.” You shook your head as you studied each expression of your husband. “Who had caused his injuries? They are whispering that it was not made by Rhaenys but rather by his own brother… tell me the truth of it, Aemond.”

Your husband sighed, stirring you to the side, away from prying eyes and ears. “It was an unfortunate incident… but it was a necessary one. The end justifies the means, my heart. You must know this.” He whispered, hoping to see understanding in your eyes, but he could only see horror. Your mind spun at the words your husband said; you felt bile rising to your throat because, within a blink of an eye, you scarcely recognized the man before you— the man you had spent your whole life with, unrecognisable. Aemond felt his heart sink as you shook your head and removed his hold on you, hastily running away from him.

He knew what he had done was cruel— treasonous, but it was for the greater good. He could not watch idly as his brother commanded the throne even though he was unfit to rule. He could not stand to watch as Aegon squandered away his birthright and made their cause’s claim weak. It was a last resort that he had to succumb to— a last resort to save their faction and to prove himself worthy of you. Your words haunted him; the way you admitted that a part of you wished to be queen and the image of you wearing a tiara of rubies burned into his mind. He had to make it a reality. He needed to be king and have you by his side as his queen.

You avoided your husband the following days, unable to comprehend what he had somehow become. You had always known he had great ambitions—you would lie if you said that you had not encouraged his, for you as well had your own—but you never meant for it to come to this. You never thought of the possibility that Aemond would kill for the throne. For revenge, yes, but certainly not for his own brother’s station.

It was the day of Ser Criston’s return when you finally revealed yourself to Aemond. Standing by his side along with his mother as you three peered down on the few soldiers returning from battle, along with a cart that housed the fallen king who was clinging to life. You stared head-on as you felt the questioning and almost spiteful stare of the Queen Mother towards your husband. Not an ounce of remorse was shown by Aemond as he proudly wore the Valyrian steel dagger.

The queen walked off, ready to meet her firstborn son, and you moved to follow, but your husband took hold of your upper arm and forced you to look upon him. “How long will you ignore me, little wife?” He hummed, growing impatient with each day of your ignorance of him. You stayed quiet, unable to meet his gaze. It was torture for you as well— you had missed your husband greatly, but the guilt you felt by his actions, which you knew were partly because of you, was greater. You long tried to hide your disappointment as you were not made queen; you thought it cruel that they had taken you away from the arms of your mother moments after your birth just to be raised in the keep and groomed to be the perfect and dotting wife of a king and take it all away with just one notion.

All those years of effort and sacrifices were wasted. But you did not dwell on it further as they presented Aemond to be your husband instead. You knew he believed you and your family see him as a consolation prize— and for your house, he was, but for you, you would gladly trade away all the gold in your house’s coffers and the crown for Aemond. You had loved him ever since you two were children; you were intended for Aegon, but your heart had always longed for his younger brother. It was a shame that he could not see it until now.

It was flattering that he tried to prove himself to you— that he says he does not deserve you, but you could never agree to such sentiments because you knew in yourself that you were meant to be his. It pains you that whatever you say, whatever you do to reassure him that you are happy and content in his arms, even without the prestige of titles, he still does not believe you.

Aemond felt his heart twist further as you shook your head and walked off. He followed you quietly as you two ventured to the chambers of the king to bear witness to the price of ambition. You could not will yourself to walk in; the distant sight of Aegon filled with burns, clinging to life, along with his death rattle breathing, was enough for you to flee away. Aemond watched as you stumbled through the halls, unable to bear the sight of what he had done. It was only then did Aemond felt guilt. Not guilt for what he had done to his brother but guilt as he saw your reaction— it was only then did he realized that the weight of his actions would affect his lady-wife as well.

It was sundown when your uncle sought you out. Telling you what had transpired in the small council and how Aemond was named Prince Regent. He as well questioned you as to what you knew about the battle in Rook’s Rest and if your husband had confided in you any secrets, as all who had returned from the battlefield kept a tight lip. You said not a word. Your loyalty to your husband has proven to be greater than your guilt for Aegon’s state.

“Greatly unfortunate as the events were… I must say that the council and I are relieved that your husband shall see to the concerns of the Realm.” Your uncle muttered, and you sat stiffly in your seat. “Really?” You asked in a small voice. “King Aegon might be the firstborn, but all are aware that Aemond has the tact to rule. Let us pray that he would lead our side to victory— his brother certainly cannot.” He sighed as he stood, kissing your cheek as he exited your private chambers, leaving you to ponder on his words.

A storm came at night, and you could not find rest as your husband was not by your side. The rain and thunder always made you uneasy, and at times like these, you greatly relied on Aemond for comfort. You walked the path to your marital chambers and peeked inside, only to see your husband was absent. You walked along the cold halls of the keep, searching for Aemond in his usual spots, but to no avail. Your feet carried you to the great hall, and there you found him, staring upon the iron throne. You bit your lip as you studied him, staring at the prize of his efforts.

Aemond felt a presence join him, and he turned his gaze and was met with you. “Was it worth the price?” You questioned, a steely look on his face as he thought over your words. You stood still as your husband took slow strides towards you. “If it proves me worthy of you, then it does.” You let out a breath as he said the words. “Aemond… how many times must I repeat myself— you do not need to prove yourself to me. I— I love you unconditionally. I do not need the throne or a crown… can you still not see that all I want is you?”

Aemond cupped your cheek, and you leaned into his touch. “What’s done is done. We need not dwell on this matter, my heart. What is important is that we got what we wanted— we finally have what we deserve.” He whispered, lips flying towards yours. You felt weak as your lips entangled with your husband’s. “This… this is not right.” You whispered as his kisses trailed down to your neck and to the valley of your breasts, his fingers slipping off the shift you wore, leaving you standing bare in the middle of the throne room. “What is not right is that our efforts and potential are wasted as those who are unfit for the title, rule. We were made for the throne, my heart… stop resisting it; you know it is the truth.”

You breathed heavily as you watched your husband fall to his knees, and his lips kissed your cunny. “Admit what you want, my heart.” His voice muffled against your skin, your hands moving to grip his hair and steady yourself as his tongue drew circles upon your cunt. You feel him grip your thighs, urging you to speak. “You… I want you.” You cried, desperately writhing your cunt against his face. “And?” He questioned, and you tilted your head back, your climax quick to come as your body ached for your husband’s touch. “To be queen… I want you and be queen,” You admitted with a gasp as you felt his tongue enter your dripping core. Aemond smirked against your cunt; his body fueled with need as he tasted your essence. When you came undone, he greedily licked and lapped any remnants of your release, not at all conscious that you two may be caught in such compromising situations.

You watched through the haze of your release as your husband stood and undid his trousers. Your gaze followed him as he stood behind you and slipped in his length; your loud, surprised moan echoed through the empty hall and was accompanied by the clap of thunder. You cried as Aemond mercilessly pounded into your cunt, your dazed gazes planted on the throne. You gasped for air as Aemond wrapped his calloused hand around your throat and urged you to rest your weight on his leather-covered chest; all the while, his thrusts were relentless. “Are you to come? Are you to come before the throne, my wife?” He taunted in your ear, biting the lobe, and you could only cry in pleasure, your body arching and your hips meeting each of his thrusts. “Yes… yes!” You cried as his other hand returned to its usual torment and drew circles upon your cunt.

You threw your head back upon Aemond’s shoulders as you were met with your second release. With a few more thrusts, you feel him come undone, his seed filling your cunt, and he could only hope that it would finally take, for he surely needed heirs. Aemond turned your head to face his and kissed your lips, finally feeling a speck of calm in his raging being, for he knew he had secured the station that you both deserved.

As you two tried to relish in the calm brought by your climaxes, outside the great hall, the castle was in an uproar as the king drew in his last breath. Men searching for the prince regent to inform him of the dire news. They scoured every corner of the castle and soon found their new king seated on the iron throne with his queen bouncing on his cock, Aemond fucking her in their rightful place.

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struggling-with-drivers · 6 months

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Under the Opulence - Max Verstappen

⋗ Pairing - Max Verstappen x Reader

⋗ Summary - Your family isn't kind to you, and in fact, they all think Max would be a much better fit for your sister. Max likes to differ.

⋗ Word count - 3.4k words, hurt/comfort

⋗ Masterlist - This has been finished for some time, but I've only gotten around to given it a name Feedback and reblogs are appreciated

The grandeur of your family's foyer, adorned with polished marble and intricate chandeliers, set the stage for Max’s introduction to the world you came from. As you and Max entered, the echoes of your footsteps reverberated through the opulent space, the air charged with excitement and anxiety, but most noticeably on your side, dread.

Gabriella, your sister, emerged from an adjoining room, her presence demanding attention. With her radiant smile and effortless poise, she seemed to glide into the scene like a queen entering her court. She was the star of the family, the golden child who effortlessly commanded attention and adoration. With her striking looks and sharp intellect, she had always been the one to effortlessly charm anyone who crossed her path. Even your past romantic interests had succumbed to her allure, leaving you with the bitter taste of never good enough.

"It's okay, we're sisters," Gabriella would nonchalantly reassure you. "They weren't good enough for you if they wanted me more."

Her eyes, adorned with an air of confidence, locked onto Max, acknowledging his presence with a subtle yet unmistakable hint of curiosity. Bluntly scrutinising Max, she drank him up with her eyes, then she battered her long eyelashes a few times before slotting into the role of the perfect twin sister.

Max, a bit taken aback by the unexpected encounter, met Gabriella's gaze with a polite smile. That was all your sister needed before stepping forward, presenting her hand gracefully, a subtle gesture that belied the underlying power dynamics at play. Max, being the gentleman he was, reciprocated the greeting with a warm shake. However, as the customary exchange lingered for a moment longer than expected, you felt an unspoken tension building.

“Gabriella, but you – my dear – can call me Gabbie.” Her voice sang in the foyer, bouncing so wonderfully off the walls. You wanted nothing more than to leave. Their hands were still intertwined.

Instinctively, you began to withdraw your hand from his left, realising that you were caught in an awkward silence. Gabriella's grip on Max's hand tightened imperceptibly, and you hesitated for a split second, torn between asserting yourself and avoiding a confrontation. Finally, you reluctantly released Max's hand, a subtle concession that felt like surrender.

However, your parents made their grand entrance, drawn by the commotion in the foyer.

Gabriella finally let go of Max. She stepped back, allowing a brief respite from the charged exchange.

Your mother, an elegant woman with an air of sophistication, approached with a warm smile. "Oh, there you all are! We were starting to wonder when you'd make it to the heart of the festivities."

As she spoke, her eyes lingered on Gabriella and Max, a subtle but knowing gleam in her eyes. It was as if she sensed the unspoken currents beneath the surface. Your father, a more reserved figure, stood beside her, observing the scene with a discerning gaze.

"Mom, Dad, this is Max," you introduced, trying to steer the conversation away from the palpable tension that lingered.

With an air of practised nonchalance, Gabriella returned her attention to Max, a playful smile gracing her lips. "Well, Max, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you," she purred, her words leaving an ambiguous trail of intentions.

She tried to grasp his hand once again, but instead, he started helping you out of your coat to keep his hands busy.

Max, still wanting to leave a good impression, responded with a friendly smile. "Likewise, Gabriella. Your sister here has spoken highly of you too," he said, casting a glance in your direction, before he extended a polite hand toward your parents, exchanging pleasantries as he tried to steer the conversation towards the two newcomers in the foyer.

Gabriella subtly positioned herself beside him, a silent claim reaffirmed. The atmosphere remained charged, your parents seemingly ignorant of the intricate dynamics playing out before them. The dreadful feeling returned to you as your mom made eye contact with you once more. You averted your eyes.

Gabriella, seizing the opportunity, looped her arm through Max's, as if marking her territory. "Max, let me give you a tour of this magnificent place. There are so many things you haven't seen yet," she exclaimed, her tone holding a mixture of innocence and mischief.

Your heart sank as you watched them disappear into the lavish corridors of your family home.

“Let them go, honey. I’m sure he will be quite interested in our family’s history.” Your mother commented, foregoing the formality of any other type of recognition or greeting to you as she and your dad disappeared after Gabriella and Max.

Leaving you on your own in the opulent foyer, you wished to leave once more.

Determined to regain some semblance of composure, you wandered into the adjacent parlour, a room adorned with plush furniture and rich tapestries. The soft glow of antique lamps cast a warm ambience, but even the comforting setting couldn't dispel the growing unease. You settled into a chair, the plush upholstery offering little solace for the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. The room seemed to close in on you as you anxiously waited for Max and Gabriella to return. The dreadful feeling intensified with every passing moment, and your mind raced with unsettling thoughts.

Finally, the door swung open, and they entered the parlour. Gabriella's laughter echoed through the room. Max wore a polite smile, seemingly having enjoyed the tour, but you couldn't shake the feeling that Gabriella was orchestrating an elaborate performance.

"This place is quite… something," Max said, casting a glance in your direction as if seeking reassurance or acknowledgement. You tried to smile at him. Gabriella, however, continued to dominate the spotlight.

"We have quite the family history," she replied with a sly smile, her eyes flickering between Max and you. "It's a shame you won't be able to hear all the juicy details."

You forced another smile in response, but the unease gnawed at you. As they settled into the room, Gabriella strategically took the seat next to Max, her gestures and expressions aimed at enchanting him right before your eyes.

The conversation flowed effortlessly between them, a dance of words that excluded you from its rhythm. You felt like a mere observer in your own home, watching as Gabriella captivated Max with tales of the family's past, her laughter ringing like an enchanting melody.

Your attempts to engage in the conversation were met with fleeting glances as if your presence were an afterthought. Gabriella was ever so quick to recapture Max’s attention, despite your valiant efforts to seek a way into the discussion.

Desperate for a reprieve, you finally excused yourself under the pretence of attending to something in the kitchen. As you escaped the room, the weight of the evening bore down on you, and you couldn't shake the sinking feeling that this family gathering had become a stage for a performance in which you had no choice but to play a reluctant supporting role.

In the kitchen, you busied yourself with trivial tasks, the rhythmic clinking of dishes providing a brief respite from the orchestrated drama in the parlour. The tension that had followed you from the foyer to the parlour lingered like an unwelcome guest, and you desperately sought a moment of solitude to collect your thoughts.

As you absentmindedly stacked plates from the dishwasher, your mother entered the kitchen, her gaze lingering on you with a knowing expression. It was as if she could sense the turbulence beneath the composed facade you were desperately trying to maintain.

"Oh, dear, are you alright?" she inquired, her tone carrying a hint of concern.

You forced a smile, attempting to deflect the obvious discomfort. "I'm fine, just needed a moment away from the chatter in there."

Your mother's eyes softened, but there was a glint of curiosity. "Well, I must say, Gabriella and Max make quite the pair. They look so good together, don't you think?"

The question hung in the air, a subtle prod at the heart of the matter. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach as you processed the implications of your mother's words. It was a commentary that cut through the facade you were desperately trying to maintain.

"Oh, Mom, they're just chatting. It doesn't mean anything," you responded, attempting to downplay the situation.

Your mother, however, seemed undeterred. "I don't know, dear. They do seem to have a certain chemistry, don't you think? They'd make a handsome couple."

The weight of her words settled on you like an anvil, and you struggled to find a suitable response. The kitchen, for a brief moment, had been a sanctuary, but now felt like a confessional where you were forced to confront the complexities of your feelings.

"I...I don't know, Mom. It's just an introduction," you stammered, your attempts to maintain composure faltering.

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment, and then she sighed, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You know, sometimes we find unexpected connections in the most peculiar places. And if they happen to find something special tonight, well, we should be happy for them, shouldn't we?"

You felt a surge of frustration and helplessness.

“It’s such a shame his looks just aren’t quite there, but he certainly has other features to make up for it. Wouldn’t you say so as well? Yes, a shame, but Gabriella has always been so kind-hearted. I’m sure she doesn’t mind either.” Your mother continued, before finally smiling at you.

Her message was loud and clear, as she had expressed her approval of Max as a suitable match for Gabriella.

Your mother wanted you to break up with Max and hand him over.

It was as though Max was a commodity to be exchanged, a possession for your sister to play with until she grew tired and moved on. It made you feel sick to the stomach.

“Dinner is all ready, your father just put down the roast on the table.”

You followed your mother into the dining room, the scent of the roast filling the air. The grand table, adorned with fine china and polished silverware, became the stage for the next act in this familial drama.

As you took your seat, Max seated next to you, your parents strategically positioned Gabriella opposite Max. The tension in the room was palpable, and you couldn't shake the feeling that every word and gesture would be scrutinised.

"So, Max," your mother began, her eyes flickering between Max and Gabriella, "how did you find our home? Quite exquisite, isn't it?"

Max, thankfully pr-trained, nodded appreciatively. "It's a stunning place with so much history."

Gabriella's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and you braced yourself for what would come next. Your mother, however, wasn't finished.

"And speaking of history," she continued, casting a pointed look at Gabriella, "our family has quite a rich one. Gabriella, why don't you share some of the highlights? Max might find it fascinating."

“It’s alright, I think I heard enough earlier,” Max told your mom, “I would much rather hear childhood stories about her.” He turned his head, making himself able to look into your eyes, and you felt the dread spread. Despite the way he looked at you, it did nothing to calm you down, knowing your parents would not deliver what Max was expecting to be told about.

Max's genuine interest in hearing about your childhood seemed to momentarily disrupt the carefully choreographed performance. Your mother, however, skilfully manoeuvred to maintain the narrative she had meticulously constructed.

"Oh, Max, you're sweet," your mother said, offering a polite smile, "but Gabriella's achievements are the true highlights. She's always been the shining star of our family."

Your sister, seizing the opportunity, began to regale Max with tales of her academic triumphs, artistic pursuits, and social accomplishments. As she spoke, you felt the distance between you and Max widen, a chasm fuelled by your parents' insistence on casting Gabriella as the focal point of the conversation.

Max, sensing the discomfort, tried to redirect the conversation toward a more inclusive narrative. "I'm sure there are some other stories you could tell, perhaps some that aren’t about Gabriell-?"

“Please Max, do call me Gabby.” Gabriella interrupted Max.

Your mother exchanged a knowing glance with your father before responding, "Oh, there are plenty of stories, but I think Gabriella's achievements are what make our family truly special. Don't you agree, Max?"

Max hesitated for a moment, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. However, not wanting to create a scene, he nodded uncomfortably, "Yes, I guess Gabriella is quite accomplished."

Gabriella shot you a coy smile, her triumph was evident in the subtle control she exerted over the narrative. As the conversation continued to revolve around her, Max's attempts to steer it in a different direction seemed to hit an invisible wall.

Your parents, seemingly oblivious to Max's growing discomfort, continued to extol Gabriella's virtues. The room buzzed with the clinking of silverware and the murmur of praise, all while you sat there, a silent observer of your own family dinner.

As dessert was served, Max couldn't hide the subtle tenseness in his shoulders. He glanced at you, a mix of empathy and frustration in his eyes. Despite the challenging circumstances, you appreciated his efforts to bridge the gap.

When Max tried to ask about your childhood again, your mother skilfully redirected the conversation. "Oh, Max, we can talk about that another time. Let's focus on the present moment and enjoy the evening."

Your sister, seizing every opportunity to keep the spotlight, interjected, "You know, Max, I've always been curious about your interests and aspirations. Tell us more about yourself."

The shift in attention to Max was noticeable, but it wasn't the genuine interest he had hoped for. Instead, it felt like another tactic to steer the conversation away from you. Max, his patience waning, briefly shared short anecdotes about his work, nothing he hadn’t already told to the media. However, his eyes kept returning to you, his fingers intertwined with you. As though you were oblivious to the way your sister's feet – under the table – were trying to urge Max to look at her.

The night wore on, and Max's frustration continued to build, a silent storm brewing within him. The genuine smile he had worn upon arrival had now transformed into a tight-lipped expression, betraying his growing discontent.

Your dad had taken it upon himself to serve a glass of whiskey to him and Max, while your mother brought forth an array of finger foods and other light and savoury snacks. Your family settled around the nice fireplace in the big sitting room, it’s even more extravagant and opulent than the smaller parlour room you had tried to take refuge in earlier in the day.

When your sister, seemingly oblivious to the tension, leaned closer to Max, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "You know, Max, we're so thrilled to have you here. It's not often we get such distinguished company."

Max, no longer willing to play along, shifted uncomfortably on the beige couch. "Thank you for having me. It's been... quite an experience," he replied, his tone carrying a subtle edge.

Your father, still under the illusion that the evening had gone splendidly, raised his glass. "A toast! To family and new beginnings."

Max's frustration reached its peak as his eyes locked on your dad’s raised glass. Max abruptly stood up, the sound of him slamming his glass down echoing in the sudden silence. The tension in the room was palpable as he looked directly at your parents.

"I appreciate your hospitality, but I can't ignore the blatant disregard for your own daughter," he said, his voice measured but firm. "I came here hoping to learn more about her, but it seems the spotlight is reserved for someone else."

Gabriella's eyes widened in feigned innocence, a practised mask that Max wasn't buying. Your parents exchanged uneasy glances, finally sensing the budding cracks in their carefully constructed facade.

"I won't be a part of a charade that dismisses her existence," Max continued, his frustration now laid bare. "If you can't appreciate the amazing person she is, then I want no part in this. Goodnight."

Without waiting for a response, Max pulled you from the couch. As you both retreated from the sitting room, leaving behind the echoes of tension and shattered illusions, you felt a strange mixture of relief and sorrow.

Max led you through the ornate hallways of your family home, the grandeur of the surroundings now feeling suffocating. The air outside was cool and crisp as you stepped onto the front porch, the distant sounds of the night providing a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere within.

He turned to you, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and concern. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect it to be like this."

You managed a small smile, appreciating his genuine intentions. "It's not your fault. Thank you for trying."

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Your family... it's not what I expected."

You nodded, feeling a lump forming in your throat. "It's never been easy."

"Look, I don't know what's going on, but you deserve better than this," Max said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'm here for you, no matter what."

As Max navigated the darkened streets, a palpable tension and heavy silence filled the car ride home between you and him. The glow of streetlights cast fleeting shadows across his determined expression, the lines of worry etched into his brow.

You sat beside him, lost in your thoughts, the events of the evening replaying in your mind like a broken record. The weight of the strained interactions with your family weighed heavily on your shoulders, a burden you couldn't shake.

Max glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, breaking the silence that had enveloped the car.

You sighed, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. "I don't know, Max. Tonight was… a lot. I’m sorry for Gabriella."

“They shouldn’t have said any of that.” Max ignored your comment, “that’s not- even I know that’s now how you treat family.”

“I’m sorry for Gabriella.” You tried to tell him once again, instead finding his hand reaching out to tangle it into yours.

As Max's hand intertwined with yours, a comforting warmth spread through your fingertips, grounding you in the present moment. His touch was a lifeline, offering solace amidst the turmoil that had consumed your family gathering. You squeezed his hand gently, appreciating the silent support he offered.

Max pulled the car over, letting him turn to you and gaze into your eyes.

"I know you're sorry, love," Max whispered, his voice laced with understanding. "But you can't take responsibility for someone else's idiotic words. Gabriella's actions were uncalled for, and it's not your parents should have stopped it, not… Encouraged it."

His words resonated deep within you, reminding you that you were not solely accountable for the strained relationship with your parents. The weight on your shoulders began to lighten as if Max's presence alone could alleviate the burden.

You turned to him, finally meeting his concerned gaze. "Thank you, Max. Your support means the world to me."

He smiled softly, his eyes filled with tenderness. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what. We'll get through this together, alright?"

A surge of gratitude washed over you, grateful for the unwavering love and understanding Max consistently provided. You squeezed his hand once more, as he pulled out of the ditch.

The car continued to glide through the darkened streets, but the heavy silence had transformed into a comforting embrace of shared vulnerability.

As the glow of streetlights continued to cast fleeting shadows, you realised that it was in the darkest moments that the strength of your relationship with Max shone the brightest. And with his hand clasped firmly in yours, you knew that together, you could weather any storm or awful family dinner.

⋗ a/n - thank you for reading this, sorry that it took so long to post this one

2K notes · View notes

baelarys · 14 days

Note

req!!

jealous aemond at their twin daughters or their other child nameday…when the reader be ask dancing with some lord. And BAM jealous husband moments…

𝙅𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨

Aemond targaryen x reader velaryon ¡Niece!

Word count: 3222

Warninig: Jealousy, fluff

Pt1,pt2 & pt3(I will continue with this dynamic until I die or you get tired hahaha because I love this little family, don't be shy and make more requests for whatever you want!)

Everything had to look impeccable, perfect like in a fairy tale, and you had worked hard to make sure it was so. The castle halls and gardens had been adorned with millions of flowers, each one carefully selected to harmonize with the colorful and majestic tapestries hanging from the stone walls. The servants had worked tirelessly under your watchful supervision, ensuring that not a single detail was out of place.

You had eagerly awaited this day, your princesses' name day, an event that brought together the most powerful Lords and Ladies of Westeros. The sun shone high in the sky, blessing the celebration with its warm light, while the tables in the gardens filled with delicate dishes and golden cups of wine.

You stood by the grand doors of the hall, attentively watching as the guests arrived. Elegant laughter and lively conversations filled the air as ladies in silk and brocade dresses gracefully paraded, followed by knights whose armor gleamed in the sun. The banners of the great houses fluttered proudly in the wind, each a reminder of the nobility and power gathered at your celebration. Every courteous gesture, every measured smile, and respectful bow reflected the harmony you had worked so hard to achieve.

Your daughters, Vaera and Vaerys, were the very image of joy and youthful pride. Clad in matching dresses, their golden hair crowned with flower garlands gleamed under the light. They walked confidently through the hall and gardens, their small steps filled with enthusiasm and curiosity, as if they were truly the mistresses of the place. The laughter of both mingled with the soft music accompanying the event, as they played carefree among the guests, who were quick to praise their charm and beauty. The attention they received pleased them immensely, their childish smiles lighting up every corner they passed.

Aerion, on the other hand, did not share his sisters' festive spirit. Since waking up, he seemed to carry a cloud of discontent that darkened his little face. He had not left your side all day, and his irritability became evident whenever you tried to step away for even a few minutes. As soon as you were out of sight, his cries echoed through the halls, a constant reminder of his foul mood. Your attempts to soothe him with sweet words and caresses seemed to have only a temporary effect, as any interruption of your presence turned him into an inconsolable baby.

The hour of the banquet had finally arrived, and you found yourself seated next to Aemond, who, despite his well-known aversion to such events, wore an expression of patient resignation, trying his best to appear comfortable in the midst of the celebration. The great hall was filled, with the royal family occupying the seats of honor. To your right, Queen Alicent exchanged solemn glances with her children, while your mother and grandmother, Rhaenys, and the Velaryons sat at the main table alongside your maternal relatives. The torches illuminated the room, casting golden reflections on the goblets and platters overflowing with delicacies.

You, for your part, tried to remain present, though your attention was divided between the banqueting bustle and Aerion’s persistent restlessness, still nestled in your lap. With gentle movements, you stroked his golden hair, trying to soothe him as the little one emitted soft sighs of exhaustion. It was a fragile, temporary comfort, as if at any moment the child's bad mood might resurface.

Suddenly, an unsettling feeling crept over you, as if a burning gaze was resting on your skin, piercing through the warm atmosphere of the hall. At first, you thought it was Aemond, watching you as he often did when he thought you wouldn’t notice. You turned your head slightly, expecting to find his one eye fixed on you, but to your surprise, he was engrossed in a whispered conversation with his mother, Queen Alicent. Their words were barely audible, but his concentration seemed complete.

Confused, you glanced away, discreetly searching the nearby faces. That’s when you saw him. It wasn’t Aemond watching you so intently, but Lord Donald Tarly, whose position at the table gave him a clear view of you. His penetrating green eyes were fixed on you with a mix of curiosity and something more—something difficult to decipher from across the distance. It was a gaze laden with intentions you couldn’t interpret at that moment but which undoubtedly made you uncomfortable.

The lord, heir to one of the oldest and most respected houses of the Reach, had only recently arrived at court after several campaigns on the western border. His reputation as a formidable warrior and strategist preceded him, and although his public demeanor had been impeccable, that insistent scrutiny from the other side of the room made you feel vulnerable.

Instinctively, you adjusted Aerion's position in your lap, using the movement to divert your gaze and cover up by appearing focused on your child. However, the discomfort remained. Lord Tarly's gaze was unyielding, as if he was waiting for some kind of reaction from you.

Aemond, despite his apparent detachment from the surroundings, noticed the change in your posture. "Is everything alright?" he murmured, his deep voice barely a whisper as he leaned closer to you, his expression unchanging. There was no need to explain the situation to him; his keen perception seemed to have sensed your discomfort even before you fully understood it yourself.

The banquet continued, with the atmosphere growing denser and more charged as the food came in endless trays of roasted meats, golden breads, and fragrant sweets. However, your attention was far from the feast. Aerion, still in your arms, was beginning to fidget, his heavy eyelids struggling against the sleep that wouldn’t quite come. His sisters, not far off, had started to sway in their seats, their eyes heavy with sleep after a day of games and excitement.

With a gentle gesture, you leaned toward Aemond. "I think it's time to put the children to bed," you whispered, watching as Aerion nestled closer to you, seeking the warmth of your body. Aemond nodded slightly, a sign of approval that needed no further words. With one last look at the hall, you carefully stood up, holding Aerion in your arms while summoning one of the maids to help with the girls.

You left the hall, leaving behind the growing clamor of the evening. The sounds of laughter and animated conversations were muffled as you walked away, and the echo of your footsteps resonated in the wide corridors. The torches illuminated your path as the girls, tired but obedient, followed closely.

You finally reached the children's rooms, where the maids had already prepared their beds. Gently, you placed Aerion in his crib, caressing his forehead with a tenderness only a mother could offer. His eyes, now almost closed, sought yours for a brief moment before surrendering to sleep. The girls, between whispers and soft giggles, were guided to their beds by the maids, who soon dimmed the lights and left them to their dreams.

Once you ensured that everyone was peacefully asleep, you paused for a moment to watch them. Aerion breathed calmly, and his sisters, wrapped in their blankets, looked as innocent and peaceful as the day they were born. You sighed, letting go of some of the tension you had accumulated throughout the night.

When you returned to the great hall, the atmosphere had changed dramatically. The festivities had evolved, shedding the formalities that marked the ceremonial dinners. Now, laughter was louder, wine glasses were raised more frequently, and the sound of music blended with the clinking of glasses and the rhythmic footsteps on the marble floor.

The center of the hall was cleared, turned into an improvised dance floor. Pairs of nobles, some visibly affected by wine, spun and laughed, their garments shining under the torchlight. The music, once soft, had come to life, with violins and lutes setting a livelier rhythm, suited for the occasion. The younger guests, those who stayed away from the stern gazes of the older ones, seemed to embrace the celebration with a freedom you had not seen earlier in the evening.

Determined to return to your seat next to Aemond, you maneuvered around the edges of the dance floor, avoiding the couples spinning and laughing in their intoxication. The hall vibrated with the lively music of the lutes and violins, and the atmosphere, filled with wine and laughter, seemed to intensify by the second.

However, just before reaching your destination, an unexpected obstacle appeared before you. As you looked up, you came face to face with Lord Donald Tarly. His smile was wide, and the warmth with which he regarded you suggested more than mere courtesy. His eyes roamed your face with a familiarity that made you uncomfortable, but there was no way to avoid the encounter without appearing rude.

"My lady," he greeted with a courteous bow, though his tone held a confidence that bordered on insolence. "It would be an honor to invite you to dance."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the urge to decline his offer to avoid stirring Aemond’s displeasure. However, given the public nature of the event and the presence of nobles and allies, you decided to maintain appearances. After all, it was just a dance, and courtesy dictated that you should not refuse without a clear reason.

"Of course, Lord Tarly," you replied with a nod, taking his hand when he offered it. You knew Aemond wouldn’t be pleased, but you trusted he would understand; after all, some formalities were unavoidable in court.

Lord Tarly’s fingers gently closed around yours as he guided you to the dance floor. The music continued to resonate, and the violins began a softer melody, fitting for a quiet conversation. As you started to move to the rhythm, Lord Tarly broke the silence.

“It’s an honor to dance with you tonight, my lady. I must confess I’ve been looking forward to this moment since I arrived at the banquet,” he said, his tone kind but with a hint of flirtation.

You managed a courteous smile. “It’s a pleasure, Lord Tarly. I hope you’ve enjoyed the festivities.”

“I would enjoy it more if every night included the privilege of your company,” he replied without losing composure. You could feel his gaze examining you with interest, and you decided not to respond to that.

However, as the dance continued, you found yourself laughing at one of Lord Tarly’s anecdotes. Despite your initial reservations, the conversation turned out to be more pleasant than you had anticipated. His humor was subtle, and his ability to keep the conversation flowing made time pass quickly.

But then, as you gently twirled to the music, you felt a shiver run down your spine. It was as if an invisible force compelled you to look across the room. Raising your gaze, you met Aemond’s eyes on the other side of the hall. He was seated, his posture rigid, his expression grave. The tension in his jaw was evident, and though he hadn’t said a word, his gaze conveyed everything you needed to know. Aemond’s lips barely moved, but the fire in his eyes indicated that the scene before him displeased him greatly.

Your heart skipped a beat. Aemond was not known for his patience when it came to you, especially when someone else showed interest in your attention. His gaze was a mix of jealousy and barely concealed anger, and you could see how his fingers tightened around the goblet he held, as if trying to contain himself.

“Are you alright, princess?” Lord Tarly’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

You forced a smile, though your attention was no longer fully on the conversation. “Yes, of course. Just a bit distracted.”

“I see that Prince Aemond is watching you quite intently,” Tarly remarked with a barely perceptible smile. “I hope I’m not causing any misunderstandings.”

You tried to laugh lightly, though you knew the situation was becoming more tense. “No, of course not. Aemond is… very protective, that’s all.”

“Protective?” Lord Tarly’s smile widened a little. “I can’t blame him. There’s certainly much to protect.”

You felt uncomfortable at the double meaning in his words, and as the music began to slow down, you decided it was time to end the dance. “It has been a pleasure, Lord Tarly, but I think I should return to my husband.”

You stepped away gracefully, determined to return to Aemond. When you sat next to him, you hoped he would break the silence, but he did not. He didn’t even look at you. His jaw was tight, and the jealous glint in his single eye was unmistakable, though he made no effort to conceal it.

Frustrated, you took his hand in yours, trying to smooth over the situation. However, his rigidity remained. “Do whatever you want,” you said, your voice tinged with a mix of irritation and exasperation.

You hoped for a reaction, a word, something that indicated he was willing to discuss the issue, but Aemond simply continued to stare ahead, his silence more stubborn than ever. You bit your lip, suppressing the urge to keep pressing the issue. You had no intention of arguing over something so trivial. Not here, not now, and certainly not over a minor courtly dance.

His jealousy seemed, at that moment, rather childish. You stood up firmly, adjusting your dress with a decisive gesture. There was no reason to prolong the discomfort of the situation, especially not in public. You decided that it was best to retreat to your room. If Aemond wanted to maintain that absurd attitude, you would not waste your energy discussing it at a banquet full of onlookers. Not for something so insignificant.

Aemond did not stop you, which irritated you even more. Without looking back, you left the hall. As you made your way through the torch-lit corridors, you felt the tension in your shoulders beginning to ease slightly. You repeated to yourself that distance would do you both good and that tomorrow, things would surely look clearer.

You reached your room, closing the door softly behind you, though more decisively than you had intended. Silence greeted you, and the tranquility you had longed for during the hectic night began to settle. You removed your jewelry with methodical movements, letting your thoughts drift away from the previous scene.

But the echo of your thoughts was soon interrupted when you heard the door open with an almost imperceptible sound. There was no need to turn around to know who it was. Aemond.

You turned slowly, finding him in the doorway, his expression a mix of wounded pride and barely contained regret. There was no need for immediate words; his presence said it all. He couldn't bear the idea of letting you go like this, just like that. And although he was a man who rarely apologized openly, you knew that his way of following you was, in itself, an acknowledgment that he had let jealousy overpower him.

"Are you going to say something?" you asked, keeping your gaze fixed on him. Your tone, though controlled, had enough acidity for him to know you weren't willing to let the matter pass easily.

Aemond stopped a few steps away from you, his gaze locked with yours, but the silence continued to fill the space between you both. He seemed to be torn between his pride and the desire to make things right, a tug-of-war that you knew all too well in him.

"What do you want me to say?" he finally murmured, his voice low but charged with barely disguised tension. "That I didn't care to see another man approaching you as if he had any right? That I should have stood idly by while he looked at you that way?"

You sighed, crossing your arms in front of you. "Aemond, it was a simple dance. Nothing more. You can't react like this every time someone speaks to me. This isn’t the battlefield, and not everyone is an enemy."

"A simple dance?" he retorted, taking another step toward you, his eyebrow raised. "I saw what I saw, and it wasn't just a dance. That man has no idea what respect means, and I'm not going to tolerate anyone even thinking they can..." He stopped, his words hanging in the air as he struggled to contain the rising heat of his temper.

"Can what?" you challenged, shaking your head, frustrated. "What do you think is going to happen, Aemond? That I’ll leave you for Lord Tarly? For a man I barely know and, to be honest, means absolutely nothing to me? You can’t keep acting as if any interaction is a threat to you."

For a moment, his eyes showed something more than jealousy: there was insecurity in his gaze, a shadow that he rarely revealed. You knew it wasn’t just a matter of wounded pride; there was something deeper affecting him.

"I can’t stand the idea..." he started to say, his voice softer now, almost broken, "that someone else might even imagine having your attention, your closeness. I’m a man of war, but with you... I don’t know how to handle this."

The echo of his words hit you hard, disarming any defenses you had built. Aemond, however fierce he was with people or in court, found himself lost when it came to expressing what he felt for you.

You looked at him for a moment, letting your shoulders drop, tired of the argument and knowing that despite everything, there was some truth in his fears. "You don’t have to handle anything. I’m not going anywhere, Aemond. I’m here, with you."

There was a silence loaded with emotion before he took the final step toward you, closing the space between you both. His hand slowly rose to your face, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that always surprised you in someone like him. "I’m sorry," he murmured, almost in a whisper, his gaze searching yours.

Before you could respond, his lips met yours in a kiss that, although starting softly, soon grew more intense, filled with a mixture of regret and need. Your hands clung to his clothes, responding with equal fervor, allowing the tension that had filled the space between you both to dissolve in that intimate moment.

When he pulled away, just a few inches, his eyes shone with a silent promise. "It won’t happen again," he assured, his forehead resting against yours. And in that moment, you knew that, as complicated as the emotions you shared were, you would always find your way back to each other.

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jyoongim · 7 months

Text

A Deal With God

Alastor x Morningstar!Reader

Themes: fem!reader, Morningstar!reader, Angst, mention of character death, secrets, religious themeAlastor being Alastor, fluff, slight smut, deal-making, soul possession, Lilith a shitty mother/wife/sister, established relationship, difficult family dynamic, there’s a trope in here I just don’t know what to call it?

Chapter 2

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Chapter 1

“You cannot be serious?!” You shouted rushing after your sister. Lilith was packing her things in a suitcase, ignoring you. You just couldn’t believe her.

Had she lost her mind?

Lilith had told you that she was going to leave.

Leave Hell.

“Where will you go? How can you leave your own kingdom?” You asked her as she stood, looking at a family portrait.

It was Lucifer, Her, and Charlie.

You couldn’t understand what would have caused your sister to want to leave home.

She had no where to go

At least if you had a say in it.

You tried to talk some sense into you.

”Sister…this is your home you’re leaving. Your kingdom! You are the Queen of Hell you can’t just up and disappear!”

She sighed, turning to you with a stern look.

”I just need a change of scenery”

You frowned “Blasphemy! What about Lucifer? That man will be torn if you leave and from my knowledge he hasn’t done anything to upset! he loves you Lil”

She took off her wedding ring, placing it on the dresser

”This has nothing to do with me or Lucifer”

She tried to barge past you, but you pushed her back

”If not him or the kingdom then what about your daughter? What about Charlie Lil?!”

She paused. It was just for a second but you saw the uncertainty in her eyes.

”Charlie will be fine. She’s old enough to understand” she barged past you, but you were hot on her tail.

”Just tell me why you’re leaving! At least give me something so i can console your husband and child!” You screamed at her, grabbing her arm and yanking her to look at you.

She growled at you, eyes flashing red and horns extending out her head. “I don’t have to explain anything to you or anyone for that matter! Now let go!” She yanked her arm, but you held fast.

Your emotions getting the better of you and you too, hissed right back at her. “You do when you’re trying to run off in the night with no regard to your duties! Now answer me!”

She sighed, looking away “I’m going back” she whispered.

You blinked. Back? Back where-your eyes widened “No”

you tightened your grip on her arm “no no you can’t! Are you mad?! Why would you go back? After everything that happened?”

She huffed wrenching her arm out of your hold “I am aware and I just have to okay”

You’ve never seen your sister look so…cold.

”Lil…” you started but she cut you off “Promise me”

She grabbed your hand “promise you wont tell anyone! No matter who ask or what happen you wont tell!”

A golden glow emitted from your bounded hands.

”L-Let me go!” You said trying to pull away, but she squeezed your hand, making you wince

“Promise no matter what you see that you’ll tell no one where I am, that goes for Lucifer and Charlie. Do you promise?”

she was shaking.

”Why should i hmmm?” You challenged her.

”It’ll all be yours.” She said. You narrowed your eyes at her.

You know what that meant.

”This Realm. The kingdom. The power. The Crown. Ill give it all to you. Just promise me that you’ll tell no one”

Your sister was holding back tears.

But so were you.

If you did this…

”Please sister”she pleaded,tears sliding down her cheeks.

You sighed “Fine”

You clenched your jaw as the golden glow brighten and felt the burn of your promise seal into your hand.

Lilith hugged you, it would be the last time for some time that you will see your sister.

You watched as she neared the door, gave the palace one last look, gaze lingering on the family portraits, and she smiled

”Take good care of them for me?”

And just like that she was gone.

”You idiot…I would have done that anyway”

And you wept.

Cries carried out into the night along with your burden.

But that was seven years ago…..

————————————————————————————————

Soooo what do you guys think so far? This might be slow to update as I am still working out the plot but do stay tuned!!!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lilith hazbin hotel #charlie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel angst #alastor angst #hazbin hotel adam #alastor x morningstar reader

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rafedarling · 24 days

Note

queen have u seen the new photos of Drew. 🤭🤭

dad!Drew x reader where like it’s the blue suit red carpet and the whole family is in italy together and reader thinks drew looks so yummy so it’s like smut where they get back to the hotel and they have to be quiet AF

yass girl and not gonna lie, he looks fucking hot !

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐤𝐲

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader summary: at the venice film festival 2024, drew and you, both acclaimed actors, make a stunning appearance on the red carpet for the premiere of the new movie, ‘queer’. your two-year-old twin daughters, ophelia and olympia, accompany you and drew, captivating everyone with their sweet presence. after the event, the starkey returns to their luxurious hotel suite, where, after putting the girls to bed, you and drew indulges in a passionate, intimate moment, trying to keep quiet as your daughters sleeping in the room next door. | word count: 2,8k warning(s): english is not my native language. 18+, smut, piv, creampie, cum play, sexual content, language, MINOR DNI!!

au: fill this form if you want to be tag. like, reblog & reply or much appreciated! tagging: @rafeyslamb

As the sun was setting over Venice, casting the city in a warm, golden glow as you and Drew Starkey arrived at the Venice Film Festival. The air buzzed with excitement as stars from around the world gathered to celebrate the premiere of QUEER, a film that had garnered significant attention for its bold storytelling and representation. Tonight, you and Drew were not just co-stars but partners, sharing the spotlight with your two-year-old twin daughters, Ophelia and Olympia.

As you stepped onto the red carpet, the cameras flashed, capturing the perfect image of a beautiful family. Drew looked stunning in a deep navy suit, the black lapels adding a sharp contrast that highlighted his chiseled features. His hair was styled just so, a little tousled, giving him an effortlessly handsome look. You wore a flowing, elegant gown that complemented Drew’s suit perfectly, the fabric shimmering under the lights as you walked hand in hand.

Ophelia and Olympia were dressed in matching white dresses, their blonde curls bouncing with every step as they clung to your hands, their little faces a mixture of awe and curiosity. They had been to events before, but nothing quite like this. The sheer scale of the festival, the grandeur of the venue, and the attention from the media were overwhelming for anyone, let alone two toddlers. Yet, they handled it with the grace of seasoned professionals, waving shyly at the cameras, their innocent smiles melting the hearts of everyone watching.

As you posed for photos, Drew leaned down to whisper in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You look incredible tonight,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “But I think the girls are stealing the show.”

Drew chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked at Ophelia and Olympia. “They are, aren’t they? Just like their mom—beautiful and captivating.”

The interviews followed, and as usual, Drew handled the press with charm and ease. The reporters were eager to hear about your experiences on set, the dynamics of working together as a couple, and of course, how you managed to balance your careers with raising your daughters. Drew’s answers were thoughtful and sincere, emphasizing how much he valued the time spent with his family, both on and off the set.

“They’re the reason I do this,” he said, glancing at you and the girls with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Having them here with me tonight makes it all the more special.”

The night continued with more photos, more interviews, and a palpable sense of anticipation for the premiere. But as much as you enjoyed the spotlight, the most important part of the evening was the shared experience with Drew and your daughters. You could see the pride in Drew’s eyes every time he looked at you or the girls, a silent acknowledgment of the journey you had been on together.

After the screening of QUEER, which was met with a standing ovation, the four of you were whisked back to your hotel in a sleek black car. The night air was cool and refreshing, a welcome contrast to the heat of the cameras and the lights of the red carpet. Ophelia and Olympia, who had been little stars all evening, were starting to show signs of fatigue. Their little eyes drooped, and they leaned heavily against you and Drew, their tiny bodies growing limp with exhaustion.

Back at the hotel, you and Drew worked together to get the girls ready for bed. The suite was spacious and luxurious, with a separate bedroom for the twins. After helping them out of their dresses and into their pajamas, you read them a story, your voice soft and soothing as they snuggled into their beds. Drew sat beside you, one arm draped around your shoulders, his other hand gently stroking Olympia’s hair as her eyes slowly closed.

Ophelia was the first to fall asleep, her hand clutching her favorite stuffed bunny. Olympia held out a little longer, her eyes fluttering open and closed until finally, she gave in to sleep. You and Drew sat there for a moment longer, watching your daughters’ peaceful faces, their soft breathing filling the room with a sense of calm.

Finally, you and Drew quietly left the room, closing the door behind you with a gentle click. The suite was silent, the only sounds the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint noise of the city outside. You leaned against the door, your eyes meeting Drew’s across the room.

“They were amazing tonight,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips.

Drew walked over to you, his gaze intense as he cupped your face in his hands. “They take after their mother,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You were incredible too. I’m so proud of you.”

You felt a warm blush spread across your cheeks at his words. “Thank you,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Drew’s eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. “We finally have some time to ourselves,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “What do you want to do?”

A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine at the implication in his tone. You slid your hands up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. “I can think of a few things,” you replied, your voice breathless as you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

Drew responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing yours as he pressed you against the door. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the intense need that was building between you. His hands roamed your body, expertly undoing the zipper of your dress and letting it fall to the floor in a soft rustle of fabric.

You broke the kiss just long enough to help him out of his jacket and shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you undid the buttons. Drew’s hands found your waist, pulling you close as he kissed you again, more urgently this time, his need for you growing with every passing second.

He backed you towards the bed, his hands never leaving your body as he guided you onto the soft mattress. The cool sheets contrasted with the heat of his skin as he hovered above you, his gaze raking over your body with a look of pure adoration.

“You’re so beautiful,” Drew whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he kissed a trail down your neck, his lips leaving a burning path on your skin. “I can’t get enough of you.”

You arched into his touch, your fingers threading through his hair as he continued his descent, his mouth hot against your collarbone. “Drew...” you moaned softly, your voice trembling with need as you felt him reach for the clasp of your bra, expertly undoing it and tossing it aside.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours as he gently cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, making you gasp. Drew smiled at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself as he dipped his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

Your back arched off the bed at the sensation, a moan escaping your lips as you clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, every nerve in your body on high alert as Drew lavished attention on your breasts, his hands and mouth working in perfect harmony to drive you wild.

After what felt like an eternity of blissful torment, Drew continued his journey downward, his lips trailing kisses down your stomach, his hands guiding your hips as he slowly pulled your panties down, leaving you completely exposed to him. He paused for a moment, his eyes darkening with lust as he took in the sight of you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe as he gently spread your legs, positioning himself between them.

You bit your lip, anticipation building as you felt the heat of his breath against your most sensitive area. “Drew, please...” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

He didn’t make you wait any longer. With a low growl of desire, he dipped his head, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you, your hips bucking involuntarily as you moaned his name. Drew’s hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he continued to pleasure you, his tongue and lips working together to drive you closer and closer to the edge.

You clung to the sheets, your body trembling with the intensity of the sensations as Drew brought you to the brink of ecstasy. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it any longer, he pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours as he inserted a finger inside you, the sensation of his long, skilled fingers pushing you over the edge.

You cried out, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm as Drew continued to work you through it, his fingers and mouth never stopping until you were completely spent, your body going limp with exhaustion.

Drew climbed back up your body, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss as he positioned himself at your entrance. You were still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but the feel of him so close, so ready, reignited the fire inside you.

You wrapped your legs around Drew’s waist, pulling him closer as he hovered above you, his breath warm and ragged against your lips. His eyes locked onto yours, a mixture of love, desire, and admiration swirling within them. He held himself there, just at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

You nodded, unable to find the words as anticipation coursed through your veins. The look in his eyes was enough to send another shiver of pleasure down your spine. You could feel him, hot and hard, pressing against you, and the need to have him inside you was almost unbearable.

“Please,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. “I need you, Drew.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a slow, deliberate movement, Drew pushed forward, filling you inch by inch. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and pressure as he stretched you, your bodies fitting together like they were made for each other. You both moaned as he entered you fully, the feeling of him deep inside you almost overwhelming.

Drew paused, his forehead resting against yours as he took a moment to savor the sensation, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“So do you,” you replied breathlessly, your hands gripping his shoulders as you adjusted to the feel of him inside you. The connection between you was palpable, an unspoken bond that had only deepened over time. Every touch, every movement felt like a promise, a testament to the love you shared.

Drew started to move, slow and steady at first, his thrusts deep and measured. Each movement sent ripples of pleasure through your body, building a delicious tension that made you gasp and cling to him even tighter. His hands roamed your body, one settling on your hip to guide your movements, the other brushing the hair away from your face as he kissed you deeply.

The kiss was passionate, filled with the kind of raw, unfiltered emotion that only came from years of love and trust. You could feel the intensity of his feelings in the way he kissed you, in the way he held you close as if you were the most precious thing in the world. It was more than just physical; it was a connection of souls, a merging of hearts.

As Drew’s thrusts became more urgent, the pace quickened, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of another orgasm. He seemed to sense it too, his movements becoming more purposeful, his hand slipping between your bodies to find that sensitive bundle of nerves that he knew would push you over the edge.

When he touched you there, the sensation was electric, your body responding instantly as pleasure exploded within you. You cried out his name in silece, your back arching off the bed as the orgasm ripped through you, your body trembling with the force of it. Drew didn’t stop, his movements relentless as he continued to drive into you, prolonging your pleasure until you were a quivering mess beneath him.

Finally, with a few more powerful thrusts, Drew followed you over the edge, his own release coming with a guttural groan as he buried himself deep inside you. You could feel the warmth of his release, the pulsing of his body against yours as he collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving with exertion.

For a moment, the two of you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, both of you trying to catch your breath as the aftershocks of pleasure continued to ripple through your bodies. The room was filled with the sounds of your breathing, mingling together in the stillness of the night.

Drew finally lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with love. He reached up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek as he smiled down at you. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with sincerity.

You smiled back at him, your heart swelling with love. “I love you, Drew” you replied, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “I love you, Drew.”

“I love you too,” he whispered back, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. It was a kiss filled with all the love and affection he couldn’t put into words, a promise that he would always be there for you, no matter what.

He rolled over, pulling you with him so that you were lying on his chest, your legs still entwined. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that lulled you into a state of contentment. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go.

The two of you lay there in silence for a while, simply enjoying the closeness, the feel of each other’s bodies pressed together. The world outside might have been filled with the glitz and glamour of the festival, but in that moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s love.

Eventually, Drew shifted slightly, his hand running up and down your back in a soothing motion. “We should probably get some sleep,” he murmured, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “The girls will be up early.”

You chuckled softly, knowing he was right. As much as you wanted to stay in this moment forever, the responsibilities of parenthood would call soon enough. “Yeah,” you agreed, though you made no move to get up just yet.

Drew smiled, tightening his hold on you. “We’ll have plenty of nights like this,” he promised, his voice filled with certainty. “Plenty of moments where it’s just you and me.”

You nodded, feeling a warm sense of contentment settle over you. “I’m looking forward to it,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest before finally, reluctantly, rolling off of him.

You both moved slowly, the exhaustion from the day and the intensity of your lovemaking catching up with you. Drew helped you pull the covers up over your bodies, his arm wrapping around you once more as you settled against his side. The bed was warm and comfortable, and you could feel yourself drifting off almost immediately, the events of the day a pleasant blur in your mind.

As you closed your eyes, you felt Drew press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, his voice the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you.

“Goodnight,” you murmured back, a smile on your lips as you finally surrendered to the peaceful darkness.

And with that, you both fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey smut

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rax-writes · 1 year

Text

↬ when night falls

Tywin Lannister x Reader

intended to be a sequel to the morning after, but it's not necessary that you read it prior to this

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, 18+ ONLY ⇆ P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampie, age gap, nipple play, bit of breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, pregnant!reader

The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing took considerably longer than necessary, given the Queen's insistence that she travel in that godsforsaken carriage of hers. As such, five weeks after your marriage to Tywin Lannister, you were spending one final night in a lavish red and gold tent alongside your lord husband.

For the entirety of the journey, the two of you spent the entire day apart – your horse trotting behind your father and King Robert, and Tywin a short distance behind, alongside Ser Jamie. Occasionally, Arya would pester you into allowing her to sit in front of you on the saddle, as you quietly conversed with her and taught her how to control the horse. But, aside from that, you were alone with your thoughts all day, every day.

The nights, however, were spent in the arms of your lord husband.

The two of you quite quickly developed a very… peculiar dynamic. You had quickly learned and adapted to the way the fearsome Tywin Lannister operates – preferring you speak concisely and directly, vehemently uninterested in anything otherwise. Additionally, there was a degree of mutual respect, as well as a vaguely guarded openness to one another – but certainly no love, or any semblance of romantic feelings at all. In truth, you assumed there never would be.

But gods was there lust.

On your end, it was your first and only experience with sex, and it was undeniably good, so you were eager for it. On his end… you couldn't be sure. It could be that the man was pent up from years as a bachelor, but it would be safe to assume he had simply sent for a whore when the mood struck him. A more likely reason would be his pursuit of an heir, but surely he wouldn't have needed to fill your cunt nightly to achieve that goal. No, you were almost certain that he was simply enjoying fucking you – just as much as you were enjoying fucking him.

When Tywin entered the tent, you were sitting on the edge of the cot, toying with the goblet in your hands, already undressed to your shift. He met your eyes as he entered, but said nothing, that unreadable (but somehow always leaning toward annoyed) expression on his face. He silently began taking off his boots, then removed his sword and placed it beside the cot. He was in the middle of pouring wine into his goblet when you found the courage to ask your question.

"Will you stop bedding me when I become pregnant?"

Tywin said nothing, setting the pitcher down and turning to face you as he took a sip of his wine. He wore that calm, calculating expression as he stared at you – but you could swear there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. The golden goblet made a faint clank as he set it down before speaking.

"Do you ask because you wish for me to stop? Or because you wish for me to continue?"

"I wish for you to continue."

"Then I shall continue," Tywin stated, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Good," you replied, then added, "Because I am."

"You are what?"

"Pregnant."

The smile dropped and Tywin's eyebrows raised, making his forehead crinkle.

"Already?" he inquired dryly, surprised. Then, incredulous, he asked, "How do you know?"

It was a fair question. You had never been pregnant before, so perhaps you were mistaking soreness and fatigue from travel as signs of pregnancy. But no. You knew.

"I should have bled three weeks ago, but I have not. My breasts are extremely tender, and certain smells make my stomach turn."

Tywin nodded, then stated, "I do not doubt that you are right, but we will have a Maester provide his confirmation and look you over when we arrive in King's Landing. In the meantime, is there anything you need?"

A faint but wicked smile spread across your face, and you stood from the bed, setting the goblet down as you slowly made your way over to him. The metal of his armor was cold beneath your fingers as you idly ran your hands over his chest, before toying with the belt around his hips, looking up at him through your lashes.

"You," was your simple answer. But both of you knew that it wasn't meant in a romantic, sweet sort of way.

Tywin's hand reached up to cradle your face, somewhat harshly, hooking his thumb under your jaw to tilt your head up and kiss you. It was lustful and full of desire, accompanied by the scratch of his beard upon the delicate skin of your face.

When he pulled away, Tywin smiled quite faintly, then hummed lowly and said, "Well, what sort of man would I be to deny his pregnant lady wife her wish?"

The old lion made quick work of removing his armor and smallclothes, and relieving you of the thin linen shift you wore, before guiding you to the luxurious cot. Tywin continued to kiss you, eventually trailing kisses down your neck, until he reached your chest, unexpectedly taking one of your breasts into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

The sensation nearly made you shout, opting to take in a sharp breath instead as your back arched off the blankets. Eyes squeezed shut, you heard a low chuckle, and looked down to see a set of very amused, crystalline eyes staring up at you.

"Hm, I see you were not exaggerating about the sensitivity."

Electing to ignore him, you let your head fall back onto the pillow. However, it seemed he did not intend to grant you any reprieve, moving to the other breast and doing the same thing – prompting you to dig your nails into his shoulders and bite your lip to avoid crying out. Unfortunately, that made matters worse, as Tywin let out a low groan with his lips still wrapped around your nipple, earning a loud, pitiful whine from you.

Seemingly enjoying himself, Tywin began peppering your chest with gentle bites, which he soothed with his tongue afterwards, sure to become small little bruises by morning. Breathy moans and sighs of pleasure filled the tent, as he then resumed his ministrations on the hardened peaks of your breasts before snaking one hand down to toy with your clit, expertly rubbing it in small, steady circles. Astoundingly fast, your release washed over you, soaking his hand as you moaned and writhed beneath the Warden of the West – who only chuckled darkly at your quick climax.

Noticing that the continued kisses and licks upon your breasts began to make you twitch, Tywin captured your lips in a brief, rough kiss, before rolling onto his back. He then pulled you into his lap, with a strength one wouldn’t assume the older man to still possess – which was, admittedly, arousing. Your mind was still foggy from the orgasm, and your movements were not unlike a rag doll, eyes half-lidded and jaw slack, moving somewhat limply as you allowed him to maneuver you. He gripped his hard, leaking cock in one hand, then reached behind you to urge you forward with a flat palm on the small of your back.

A hiss through gritted teeth escaped Tywin, and you gasped lightly, head thrown back and hands flat on his chest. Although you’d already lost count of how many times he’d taken you, it still felt more incredible than anything you’d ever experienced. A passing thought reminded you of the fact that he seemed to share the sentiment, always hissing or groaning when he first sheathed himself inside you.

Tywin’s grip moved to your hips, prompting you to begin rocking them against his own, keeping your pace steady. However, he made no move to halt you when you eventually began to move faster, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs as you fucked yourself on his long, thick cock. The sound of it alone would have made a Septa drop dead – a symphony composed of wet skin upon skin and gruff grunts intermingling with breathy moans.

He reached up to grasp and knead your breasts in his rough, calloused hands – but he then surprised you, his hands drifting lower, until they rested flat against your lower stomach. You thought perhaps he was focusing on the movement of your hips, but then his thumbs began to stroke across the soft skin of your belly.

At first, it seemed very sweet and sentimental. You thought that perhaps he was basking in the joy of another child being on the way – until you felt the way his cock throbbed, deep inside of you, as he stared intently at your belly. Immediately, you came to the realization that it must be arousing for a man to have successfully fucked a babe into his wife – stroking their ego and their pride to have done their husbandly duty, as well as show everyone that you belong to them.

Truth be told, you were surprised to learn that it aroused you just as much.

Tywin groaned as you clenched around him, and when his eyes flicked up to meet yours, it felt as though he knew you had been thinking the very same thing he was.

That seemed to ignite something within your husband, and in the blink of an eye, Tywin flipped you onto your back and began driving into your soaked cunt with a newfound ferocity. You bit down on your knuckle to keep quiet, but Tywin pinned both of your wrists down, his arms on either side of your head. The act did not last much longer beyond that point, both parties having already been too near the precipice of climax, and the pair of you met your releases in unison.

Tywin rolled off of you, breathing heavily, a light layer of sweat covering his chest, along with the small patches of silver hair. You allowed yourself a few moments of recovery, before moving to leave the cot in order to extinguish the candles, as well as tidy yourself up. However, Tywin grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Where are you going?”

“The candles –”

“Can wait,” Tywin interrupted, voice sounding unbothered as always, albeit with a hint of fatigue. He exhaled slowly, as he gently pulled you back down to lay upon the cot beside him. “One of the guards outside can see to the candles in a moment. You are carrying my heir, so you are to rest. As much as is feasible, from now until the babe is born. And if anyone questions it, they are to discuss it with me.”

Anyone possessing the sense the gods gave a mule knows “discussing” something with Tywin Lannister was just the opposite – it was not to be addressed at all, because what Tywin Lannister says, goes. A fact which made you smile softly.

“As my lord husband commands,” you replied, a hint of sarcasm in your tone, but you did exactly as he bade you, pulling some of the blankets over you and nestling into the pillows. You were already yawning by the time Tywin called for a guard, who extinguished the candles, and bathed the room in darkness as you drifted into a deep, contented sleep.

#i'm hoping this stayed in the realm of “we have a mutual understanding and respect but no love at all”#also this isn't proof-read or beta-read so if there's anything wrong lmk #tywin lannister #game of thrones #got #tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister x you #tywin lannister fan fiction #tywin lannister fanfic #tywin lannister fanfiction #tywin lannister fan fic #tywin lannister fic #got fanfiction #got fan fiction #game of thrones fan fiction #game of thrones fanfiction #my writing

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skzdarlings · 2 months

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the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part iv

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid all worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader described with curly hair.

content warnings: the previously established story dynamics are prevalent in this chapter, please proceed at own discretion.

chapter word count: 12000 words.

Your body inevitably surrenders to its exhaustion. You sleep through the sunrise and past noon, opening your eyes to a day gone by. The deep gold of afternoon sunlight fills the room like a dreamy mist.

The golden shade obscures all your worries. You forget where you are. You forget who you are. You feel well-rested and well-loved, a warmth blossoming in your heart, reminiscent of a hopeful spring in this rotting hot summer.

You are brought back to reality by voices outside your door. You sit up in bed, straining to hear.

“—had me ride ahead to see the queen was safe.” That voice sounds like Changbin. You have only heard him speak a few times but he has a recognizable pitch, not to mention his tone when he says, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Jisung replies. He sounds tired. You can only imagine what he looks like. Did he sleep at all?

There is a beat of silence. Maybe Changbin is waiting for more, but Jisung is not forthcoming.

“Did something happen?” Changbin asks.

“Huh?” There is some clattering as Jisung moves. “Yeah,” he snaps, in a tone more agitated than you have heard from him. “Someone tried to kill the fucking queen.”

“Hey, watch your tone with me. I know that, but you—”

Changbin stops halfway through his sentence. Jisung’s expression is evidently enough to quiet him.

There is some more movement, the swish of fabric, then Changbin says, “Go change into clean robes. Take a nap. I’ll guard the queen. When you’re done, I’ll ride back to the others and report. We should all arrive by nightfall—”

“I’ll ride back,” Jisung says, his voice and footsteps already sounding farther.

“Hey!” Changbin hollers. “You need to rest!”

There is no reply. You hear the creak of booted steps on the stairs, then Jisung is gone.

“Be careful with my horse!” Changbin shouts. “Ahhh, if he leaves her in the woods…”

Changbin keeps muttering even though Jisung is long gone.

You sink into the blankets.

It does not matter how far he goes. Not the shade or the sunlight or the mist can hide him. Even when you close your eyes, he is there, looking back at you. In a few short days, Han Jisung has inextricably twined himself around your heart. You don’t love him yet, but you could. You want to love him. That warmth in your heart is him, a blossom unfolding in the spring of your new becoming, but it aches – not because a love is ending, but because it can never begin.

Jisung has saved you yet again. He took care of you last night, disregarding himself as he has done before. You want to chase after him, swear new vows to him alone. You would give anything for him to experience the same devotion he has bestowed upon others. You want to fly out of this bed and saddle a horse, chase after him, find him in the woods and –

And what? That plan did not work last time.

You linger in bed for a long time, awake but nonetheless dreaming, pondering:

You. Your duty, your family, your people. The king. The marriage, the cruelty, the wedding bed.

Jisung. His eyes, his voice, his everything.

Hunger finally lures you out of the covers. You dress yourself in the gown gifted by the innkeeper’s wife. When your hair is pinned up as neatly as possible, you step into the corridor and greet Changbin. You go downstairs and the innkeeper prepares you a meal. You eat by the unlit fire, the same place you sat with Jisung last night, before –

Your whole body burns when you think about it. Whether you are with the king or on your own, you doubt you will ever touch yourself without thinking of Jisung and last night.

“Is the food all right, Your Majesty?” Changbin asks. His nose crinkles as he looks down at the bowl, as if he expects to find the source of your misery there. “It smells all right.”

“Oh, yes, it is,” you say. You suppose morosely poking at a bowl is bad manners.

The inn is bustling with workers preparing for the royal arrival. When you finish eating, you find the innkeeper’s wife and ask for something to do. Though she says the queen should not lift a finger, you insist that you prefer to stay busy. You tell her you have genuine technical skills and she relents, perhaps seeing the sincerity in your pleading. You do not want to sit in silent thought right now.

That is how you find yourself with the mending. Changbin loiters nearby, not hiding his boredom very well. He starts lifting random objects to exercise his already-ample muscles. He tries to challenge himself but it loses novelty quickly as there is nothing especially heavy in the room.

You ask if he wants to sew with you. He gives you a wary look but takes a seat. You show him some basic stitches.

“Kingsguards don’t do their own mending, I suppose,” you say.

He furrows his brow with concentration. He has thick fingers and struggles to thread the needle, but he cheers for himself like the winner of a game match when he succeeds.

“Ah, no,” he eventually answers, stabbing the needle into a torn shirt. “The squires take care of it. I haven’t touched a needle since my training.”

You chat about his time as squire for the kingsguard. Unlike Jisung, Changbin comes from a noble family, though he is the youngest of ten. Knowing he would never see a penny of inheritance nor an acre of land, he devoted himself to the gods. He claims beyond prayer, his only real skill is crushing skulls.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” you say, resuming your own mending now that he is easily sewing on his own. “You’re quite the seamstress.”

He giggles. That bubbly laughter in that bulky body makes you laugh too.

“Well, it never hurts to have more skills,” you say. “And I don’t think any work is beneath anyone. If you don’t take care, you may forget just how much effort goes into menial tasks.”

“Hmm.” Changbin looks thoughtful. “Yes, that does happen.”

The day passes with a few chores and some conversation. The sun begins its descent sooner than later. You are eating supper when the royal party arrives.

You promptly lose your appetite.

You and Changbin wait in the front room while the party loudly organizes itself outside. The contrast of quietude makes it feel like there is a bubble around the room – weak, vulnerable, about to burst.

Changbin looks at you sideways. He has spoken freely this afternoon and appears to debate whether he should question your wellbeing as a person or stay silent as a kingsguard. He rocks on his feet, fist curled around his sword hilt. His mouth opens with a question when the door swings open.

Chan enters first. He and Changbin exchange a nod, then Chan bows to greet you. “Your Majesty,” he says.

He moves aside swiftly. The king enters right behind him. Your knees knock but you conceal your fright, hoping your queasiness does not show on your face.

“My queen,” the king says. His tone is warmer than usual. He has only ever addressed you with open contempt, but now he approaches you with his hand outstretched and a respectful dip of his head. “The gods have surely blessed you to survive such a trying ordeal.”

You flinch when he grabs your face, though he does not strike you. That would have been less surprising than the kiss he places on the top of your head.

He drops his hands and walks away without another word, leaving you standing there in shock.

The other kingsguards follow. Minho does not show much expression but Hyunjin rolls his eyes at the king’s display. His aggravation seems as red hot as ever, barely concealed as he bows appropriately. When he rises, he gives you a look, one you can only describe as a warning.

Your shock settles. Maybe it is not strange the king is acting nice. He would not want anyone to suspect him of your assassination attempt. Feigning affection for his wife would redirect the accusations.

Hyunjin and Minho move along. Seungmin and Jeongin bow next. You wait but Jisung does not show, just an array of courtiers and servants that have been travelling in the retinue.

“Wife,” the king says, though bellows and commands is more appropriate. “Sit. Eat.”

You do not have an appetite. You sit beside the king as he glowers and mutters complaints about everything and nothing.

Part way through the meal, Jisung arrives. He makes some excuse to Chan, something about minding his horse after its ordeal.

You stare at Jisung across the room. He shakes out his robes, brushing a few twigs of hay from the black cloth. His dark hair is pushed back, his face open as he turns his face to the room.

He catches your eye before anyone and anything. Your heart reacts with an eager leap.

Last night was overwhelming. You remember his desperation towards the end. You can only imagine what was on his mind. You have spent all day in turmoil, alternating between reassurance and berating yourself. Perhaps he just needed to decompress, or perhaps he regretted ever telling you a word, that he would prefer to never look upon you again.

He looks at you now and you realize that was nonsense. It is the same roving, intense stare as last night, one that moves like a hungry touch. You shiver even though the heated room is packed full.

The king pays him no mind, engaged in conversation while he eats. Jisung bows from across the room and it is only for you.

He does not look at you after that, sitting with the other kingsguards while he eats his meal. When it is over, the king asks for music so Jisung fetches his guitar. His singing soothes your anxious spirit. It is so calming after so much turmoil, your eyelids start to feel heavy.

You fall asleep to his music. You wake to a gentle touch on your shoulder, finding yourself slumped over the table, head on your folded arms, a very un-queenly pose. You surface groggily, blinking slowly up at the guard who touched you.

It is Minho. The front room is empty except for the innkeeper, some servants, and two kingsguards chatting, evidently manning the front door. The king is gone, perhaps already to bed. You sigh with relief as hopefully that means he will not bother you.

Minho has been assigned to guard you tonight. He sweeps through your room, checking the windows and locks, but thankfully does not stay inside. You prefer privacy, though you would not mind if it was Jisung, even if it is dangerous to think that way.

Yes, very dangerous, as you close your eyes and imagine his dark eyes, watching you from across the room. You kiss your fingertips and touch your neck, just like he showed you, feeling that tell-tale flush of warmth when you imagine his lips on your throat. Your body feels tight, everything from your waist below clenching inside.

Your hand slips under the covers. You do not think of the king even once, all your thoughts rivetted to Han Jisung. You follow the natural call of desire, going so far as to curl your fingers inside yourself. You dare only a little touch but it still makes you gasp. You bite your lip to stay quiet, even though you want to scream a certain name when you stroke the place he showed you and come apart with the same earth-shattering release. You picture his face the entire time, specifically the dark and desperate way he looked at you when you put your fingers in your mouth.

You do it again, imagining those fingers are his, imagining kneeling in front of him like you desired last night. You take your fingers to the knuckle and wonder what he would say, what he would do. Just watching you made him blaspheme, the gods on his tongue as his whole body shook with a deep breath.

You fear you may be an insatiable, lecherous creature on top of irredeemably sinful, as you lower your fingers and do it all over again.

You whisper his name as you come over that crest of pleasure. It sounds like a prayer in the quiet dark.

A long day of travel looms ahead of you. You do not want to give the king any excuse to berate you, so you rise early and dress quickly without assistance. You intend to be the first downstairs.

You open your door without warning, causing the guard to stumble backwards because he was leaning on it.

The guard is no longer Minho.

Jisung spills into your path, eyes flashing with surprise. You are surprised too. The guards must have traded posts overnight, allowing the first group to get some sleep.

Of course, no one thought anything of assigning Jisung to your room. No one would have reason to believe you would stand like this in the doorway, staring at each other so intently.

You make no sound, just the gentle exchange of breath, but your heart races towards him in a noisy stampede. Given how he leans towards you, as if enthralled in a spell, his own heart is doing the same.

“Ah, uh, Your Majesty,” he finally says, sweeping into a bow.

His dark hair falls over his face. Unable to resist the soft allure of each dark wave, you touch the back of his bowed head. It is a soft, quick caress of your fingertips.

He makes a wounded sound. When he stands, his face is flushed.

“Are you, ah, ready for me to take you?” he asks. His eye twitches. He clutches the hilt of his sword very tightly. “Downstairs,” he says quickly. “Are you ready for me to take you downstairs? Yes. That.”

You nod. You have not spoken a word out loud, but you suspect your gaze gives you away, because Jisung looks into your eyes and makes that same sad whimper before darting down the corridor.

“Downstairs,” he says, a sing-song as he scuttles down the stairwell. “Downstairs, downstairs, la la—”

The king arrives while you are having breakfast. Before long, you are gathered outside the inn, preparing to travel. There is a long stretch of countryside between this city and the capital. The next few nights will be spent camping in the woods, then you will arrive at the capital city and stay at an inn, then finally traverse the great city to the palace.

You are not sure what fate awaits you there. It seems so impossible and far away, but the interim is only a handful of days.

You stand on your own, watching the activity around you, anxiously twisting your fingers around the sleeve of your dress.

In the midst of the hustle, your eyes find Jisung. He is adjusting his saddlebags, surreptitiously glancing at you from a distance. If anyone caught him looking at you now, you fear they would see far too much of everything. Those eyes betray him every time. Right now you see anxiety burning in them. Perhaps he is picturing what you are picturing: that you will have to ride with him, your back pressed to his front, and you will not be able to think of anything except the other night.

You make your way over to him. He turns his attention to his saddle, securing and re-securing every strap, rein, and buckle. He keeps his eyes occupied and his hands busy, even when you finally step into his periphery.

“Jisung,” you say.

“Hmm?” He tightens a strap he just loosened.

“Is it all right if I ride with you?” you ask.

“Of course!” he says, his voice bright and joyful, like a bard entertaining a crowd rather than a man in conversation.

“I just thought I would ask, in case there was a problem,” you say. You get more anxious the longer he does not look at you.

“That’s nice,” he says, in that same boisterous tone. “But why would there be a problem, ha-ha?”

He steps away, circling the horse to adjust something on the other side. You blink at the empty air then follow. The horse dips its head you so you take a second to stroke its muzzle. To anyone passing, you and Jisung look perfectly occupied and uninterested in each other. Truly, you can feel the distance straining. You step a little closer.

“Can you look at me please?” you say softly.

His frantic hands finally stop their fluttering. He looks the other way. It is towards the king’s carriage where the other kingsguards are organizing.

In the blink of an eye, that cheerful bard disappears and a much more solemn character stands before you.

“No, Your Majesty,” Jisung speaks in a low voice. “Not when you’re this close to me.”

It is good he has the sense to look around, because you forget about everyone but him. You are rooted to the spot, unblinking and not breathing. It comes in a shallow gasp at last.

“Why not?” you ask.

His brow furrows with utter confusion, like he cannot fathom the question because the answer is so obvious.

“You know why,” he says.

You are not sure how religious you are anymore. You have drowned in the silence of the gods. When Jisung says those words, this quiet but honest acknowledgement that he is just as affected by this power between you, you feel a force of nature rise within you. It is the closest sensation to the breath of the gods, the supposed life force they breathe into their chosen ones. It moves through you like lightning. You feel hot, dizzy, and not from the sun as it creeps towards its midday pinnacle.

You look at Jisung. He looks at nothing.

“Your Majesty,” Chan’s voice breaks the wall of intense silence.

You and Jisung both whip towards him. If Chan saw anything untoward in your nervous behaviour, he does not comment. He strides to you with the confident steps of an authoritative man. He dips smoothly into a bow. When he rises, one hand rests in a fist above his heart. The other sits on his sword hilt.

“As I’m sure you know by now, yesterday was not just a robbery,” Chan says, getting to the crux without wasting a breath. “Jisung is a very capable soldier but if there is another attempt on your life, the safest place will be with me. If it’s all right with you, Your Majesty, I would personally escort you to the capital.”

There is no reason to refute his request. Perhaps it is better you do not even try. With the intensity of the last few days, maybe it is better to let all these passions simmer. When they have burned themselves to ash, it will be easier to sweep them away.

“Of course,” you say. “Thank you, kingsguard.”

Chan guides you towards the front of the train. You do not look at Jisung until you are perched on the horse. You intend to merely glance over your shoulder, but he is staring intently and it locks your gaze on him. Fortunately, before it lasts too long, Chan swings onto the horse and blocks your view.

You let yourself settle near the kingsguard leader. All the while, you feel a different pair of eyes on you.

It feels like ages before you finally depart. After some time on the road, the others begin their chatter and sing-song. Jisung starts the singing, as is his wont. You wonder if anyone else notices how he starts the songs but never finishes them. As soon as the others begin their jovial singing, Jisung goes silent and remains quiet until prompted again.

You do not have to turn around to know his expression is solemn between bouts of entertaining giddiness.

Chan does not sing or chat much. He has a clear respect and even affection for his men, but he puts his duty first.

Chan is also better at keeping an appropriate distance between your bodies. Perhaps that is because the king’s carriage is close enough that you can catch a glimpse inside. Some of the king’s favourite courtiers ride with him, all of them adjusted to the uneven road as they play card games and drink while talking. You are sure some of their gossip is about you given the side glances and whispers.

You are not sure if Chan notices. You get periodically tense and he is close to you, so maybe he can tell. Perhaps that is why he lets his horse fall back just enough to lose view of the inside of the carriage.

With the king’s judgemental eyes no longer snapping towards you, you can breathe easier. You even dare start a conversation with the kingsguard leader, though it feels intimidating in its own right. Riding with Chan is not like riding with Jisung, and a conversation with the devout leader is very different than giggling with the bard.

“Why doesn’t the king want me to ride with Hyunjin?” you ask curiously. “He seems like a competent soldier.”

“Ah.” Chan laughs, a nervous little giggle. “He is. It’s, ah, not for any real reason. Really. Just that, well, Hyunjin is good-looking, I guess.”

“But he’s a kingsguard,” you say.

“Yes, he is,” Chan answers more seriously. “Honestly, I know the guys joke about it but… Hyunjin is one of the most devoted soldiers I have ever known. There’s a reason he’s in the order. He can’t really helps what he looks like, but whatever you hear: it’s not true. He’s good, Your Majesty. They all are.”

“I believe it,” you say. “I’ve never known a more loyal group of men. They live up to their reputation.”

“Yes, they do,” Chan says with obvious pride.

You were seeking the warmth that is now in his voice, the respect with which he clearly regards his men. It makes the real question inside you burn.

“May I ask something more serious?” you finally say.

“Of course, Your Majesty!” Chan says. “You can ask me anything.”

There is not a hint of insincerity there. You truly do believe Chan wants to do the right thing, but you are still wary in conversation with him. Chan is steadfast with his responsibilities. To him, the right thing will always involve the king in some capacity, so you cannot be as free as you were with Jisung.

“The matter does not necessarily concern me,” you explain.

“Hm, you’re the queen,” he answers. “If it’s about the kingdom, it’s to do with you. Ask me.”

He lends himself easily to trust. With his competency and sincerity, you see how he easily rose the ranks of the kingsguard. Jisung mentioned Chan was one of the youngest squires in history, setting records for length of time spent in training. Those years of study and prayer make him incomparable. He is the best and worst person to ask this question.

“The guard who ran off,” you say, “and the king’s former mistress… What will become of them?”

The king has not forgiven nor forgotten the treachery. It contributes to his constant stream of anger. You cannot imagine anyone, even this spoiled fool, possessing the energy to rant and rave so incessantly, but his passions will not be tempered. He has mused aloud all his gory desires, threats you know he will manifest if given the opportunity.

It makes you sick to your stomach. The details of the king’s fury are nauseating, not to mention your personal connection to the couple. You saw them with your own eyes. You saw their hope and their desire as they risked everything for freedom.

You know that Han Jisung was involved.

All those gory images dance across your mind like tableaus from some horrible play, too gargantuan and horrifying to be real life.

“Ah,” Chan says. Though he encouraged your question, he does sound a little hesitant now. “I understand. That was a… bad introduction to the kingsguard, I guess, wasn’t it?” he says. “We couldn’t spare the resources to search for them, not without delaying our return. The king wants to launch a kingdom-wide search once we are settled in the capital.”

“You’ll be the one in charge?”

“Well, I’m issuing it to Changbin and probably Minho, because I’ll have to attend to my usual duties. But I’ll oversee it. Why?”

“How much will a search like that will cost?” you ask.

The question surprises Chan. Perhaps he did not expect such a pragmatic question, but there is an emotional underbelly to your query. That is your family’s money the king will use to satisfy his own petty grievances, rather than putting it towards the kingdom he is sworn to protect.

“It won’t be nothing,” Chan finally admits.

“What purpose will finding them serve?” you ask.

You want to turn around and shout it: that the king is pursuing them to soothe his own damaged ego and not because they are any threat to the wellbeing of the kingdom. Surely, a man as capable and intelligent as Chan must know that.

You wonder how it must feel for this dedicated guard to be sworn to this type of king. He deserves better. Everyone does.

Chan bristles, hearing the unspoken accusation in your question. You feel his upright posture straighten even more.

“They broke the law,” he answers, his voice steadier than his body. “He broke his vows. She broke her promises. There are consequences.”

“Consequences?” you ask. “Or punishments?”

“Your Majesty,” he says, as sternly as he can without being rude. You suspect if you were a foot soldier, you would have been told to shut up. “The kingsguard is pure. When we give up our earthly goods, that doesn’t just mean literally, it means emotionally. We trade our present life for eternity. Everything we do, we do in service of the gods who provide for us. Then and only then can the kingdom thrive. A slight against the king is a slight against the gods. Corruption can’t be allowed to spread.”

“Corruption,” you say softly. “You truly believe in the king’s purity?”

When he does not answer right away, you look at him. He looks at the carriage. His brow is furrowed, his jaw set, looking very austere and cold. He softens his expression when you meet eyes.

“I think you’re a good kingsguard and a good leader, Bang Chan,” you say. “Your men are good and they put their faith in you as much as the gods. Whatever you believe, I will believe too.”

You know Chan will not speak ill of the gods-chosen king. You also know he will not commit a sin like lying. So when you ask if he believes in the king’s purity, you are not surprised there is no answer. He simply sighs as he turns his gaze ahead.

“Maybe we should talk about something else,” he says.

It is all the answer you need.

Your journey follows a river that flows to the sea, now behind you. The course ahead lays inland. Rest comes a few hours into travelling. It is at a clearing not far from the river. You can only just hear as it rushes and pours in a steady stream that leads far away from here.

Everyone mills about, stretching their legs or sitting in the shade, while some prepare food and share drinks. The king is with his courtiers, Chan close to him as usual. You sit near the remaining kingsguards, close enough to be guarded but not so close to make them uncomfortable. You know they will not speak freely in the queen’s presence so you grant them privacy.

It means they are distracted just enough, blind to the way you and Jisung lock eyes across the breadth of woodland space. After your conversation with Chan about the potential fate of the runaway lovers, you have fought to restrain all those deep, complicated desires. You are less committed to true obedience, resigned to your own tragedy if the king moves against you, but you cannot be so careless with Jisung’s fate.

It should be easy. You hardly know the man. But those dark eyes find you and see you, always right down to the core of you, and it is so difficult to wrench your gaze away.

Jisung turns first. He mutters something to Minho who is sitting beside him. Whatever he says makes Minho freeze, a drink halfway to his lips. His eyes dart over to you.

Your back straightens, goosebumps rising, wondering what Jisung just told him. Whatever it is, Minho makes the same report to Seungmin who also looks your way.

Startled with all the attention, you resume focus on your idle task. You dug some embroidery tools out of your trunk, so you sit on a stump threading patterns with no particular end design in mind. It is just way to look and feel busy. Your loneliness is less acute when occupied with a familiar task.

You are disrupted by the crunching of the dirt path under booted steps. You lift your head, gaze travelling long dark robes until you meet Seungmin’s eyes. Seungmin is not exactly the friendliest, but there is an honest simplicity to him. He does what he must, when he must, and he does it well, with no subterfuge or obfuscation of true intent. So he must mean it very sincerely when he tips his head towards the circle of guards, clearly inviting you to join them.

“Your Majesty,” he says. “The kingsguard would be honoured by your company.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised.

Seungmin does not leave time for argument, taking your embroidery out of your hands and offering his arm. You accept it blindly, ushered along before you can think twice. You are soon seated, this time a part of the kingsguard circle. You take a seat between Seungmin and Hyunjin.

Seungmin returns your tools once you are settled, skirts neatly arranged around you. The boys continue their conversation while you work, a tenderness and warmth in your heart that was not there before.

“I can do that too,” Changbin says, pointing to your embroidery. It makes Hyunjin spray his drink everywhere, the others similarly laughing. “I can!” Changbin protests. “Tell them,” he says to you. “Tell them how good I am.”

“Tell them, Your Majesty,” Jeongin reminds him, nudging him with an elbow.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Changbin jokes, ruffling the youngest’s hair.

“Yes,” you say. You laugh at their antics, but lay a hand on your heart and declare with teasing solemnity, “It’s true. Kingsguard Changbin is quite a natural with a needle, I must swear it so.”

Seungmin whistles, the others still chuckling.

“I believe it then,” Hyunjin says, a twinkle in his eye. “If the queen swears it, it must be true.” There is a hint of seriousness to the proclamation, a knowing glance cast aside. “It’s easier being a queensguard when the queen is true.”

Though it is not unusual to refer to the kingsguards as queensguards in relative context, it is rarely done, and certainly no one has said it yet. You suspect this king would not be so partial to acknowledgement of shared power. Any reminder of your own latent holiness just angers him.

Not to mention, while Hyunjin does not mention the king directly, the proclamation it is easier to guard a true monarch nonetheless carries a hint of accusation.

You say nothing to refute nor encourage the claim, anticipating someone else may correct or shush him.

Instead, Minho tips his cup in your direction.

“Mm, hear to that,” he says casually, before taking a sip.

“To the queen,” Jisung says, lifting his own cup too.

Your gaze flies to him. He smiles from across the circle, his arm outstretched and his cup tilted towards you. Strange to say you have missed that sincere smile after so short a time, but you have, and it moves you more than the toast. It reminds you of the first time you saw him, the first time he saw you in turn, when he stood above a crowd and sang to you across hundreds of people.

The other guards follow his prompt. They lift their cups and take a drink, leaving you more than a little flustered.

“You’re the queen,” Seungmin says with that wide, cheeky smile, lightly nudging you with his elbow. “You’ll have to get used to this.”

You find it unlikely anyone but the kingsguard will ever toast to you, but you smile and express your gratitude.

Conversation has scarcely resumed when Chan comes stomping over. His agitation ripples like rings in a disturbed pool of water, spreading to his men who are follow his flow. They all sit straighter, looking at him for orders.

Chan, clearly frustrated, just huffs and takes a seat.

“Jeongin,” he says. “Go stand guard over the king.” He unwraps some food and takes a bite, shaking his head all the while. His irritation clearly gets the better of him because he mutters through his teeth, plenty loud enough for the others to hear, “I can’t listen to more complaining.”

“Is he mad about the weather again?” Changbin asks with a laugh.

“He’s the chosen one,” Minho says with a sly grin. “Why doesn’t he just make it less hot?”

Chan clears his throat loudly, though he doesn’t berate them beyond that.

“Jeongin,” he says, making a vague gesticulation in the direction of the king.

“Why do I have to go?” Jeongin asks, wearing a petulant pout that only the youngest could get away with. You suspect anyone else would have received a lecture, but Chan just gives him a look, eyebrow quirked, and Jeongin complies with a tired sigh.

“That’s what you get for eating so fast,” Seungmin says, earning himself a smack up the head as Jeongin passes him.

“He’s right,” Minho says. “You eat like a horse.”

“Whoa, hey, man!” Jisung says. “Don’t insult our horses like that.”

There is some more laughter. Jeongin shakes his head but his deep dimples show his amusement. You giggle too, though it is probably inappropriate to jeer and chortle with a group of guards, hiding it behind your palm. It is just too funny. You watched moments ago as Jeongin shoved a truly impressive amount of food in his mouth, all but unhinging his jaw as he crammed it in like it was going to be taken away. The jokes are mostly to that effect as the youngest ambles over to the king for guard duty.

The conversations splinter after that, everyone more or less talking in pairs. You just listen while working on your embroidery. When Seungmin leaves to relieve himself, it opens an empty space between you and Chan. The others are engrossed in their conversations – and playful but rowdy debates – while Chan just smiles and listens. He occupies his hands with sharping the point of a dagger.

You shuffle closer to him. The motion catches his eye and he looks at you. Though your conversations on horseback were polite after the initial topic, he still looks wary, perhaps now recognizing the look in your eye.

“May I ask a question?” you ask.

“You know you can,” he says, though he looks even more concerned.

“It’s about the kingsguard vows,” you say. “I know you said it prevents corruption – but how? But why?”

“Why those vows?” Chan asks.

He picks up the sheath for his dagger, eyes there as he slides it back in place. The other guards notice his contemplative attitude, eyes flicking towards him then towards you. Their conversations trail off when Chan begins to speak.

“The kingsguard is an old service,” Chan says. “Almost as old as the kingdom itself. The gods chose favourites even before the palace had walls, and those favourites become kings, yes? But with palaces, and money, and power… comes corruption. There was a king who lost his way. He stopped listening to the gods. Sin and lust and anger: he let it conquer him. The kingsguard was formed to save him from himself and, when that couldn’t happen, to save the kingdom. The first kingsguard order burned all their clothes, put on the black cloth, and vowed to never be swayed by any temptation or sin. It is not an order you can just join. It is not a vow you just make. The king, your brotherhood, and all the kingdom rely on your sword. The corrupt king was executed by the kingsguard so the gods could choose another. Since then, there has been no need for intervention. It has been a perfect harmony for centuries. So we maintain the vows of those first kingsguards and so the kingdom stays in harmony and order.”

“So it is of utmost importance both the king and the kingsguard keep their vows,” you say.

There is a beat of silence, like Chan knows you are going to say something that will make his forehead throb, but he relents and says, “…yes.”

Rather than torment him with more implications the king is not pure, you ask, “What makes a sin?”

His shoulders fall with a sigh of relief, though it doesn’t last. His eyes dart over the other guards, aware they are waiting for an answer too.

He slowly turns to you and says, “Anything that distracts from the gods.”

“I see,” you say. You can feel the kingsguards looking at you, their attention moving between you and Chan as if watching the volley of an intense game match. It makes your skin prickle, sweat on your nape as you swallow your nerves. “Such as lust and anger, as you said?”

Their eyes flick to Chan.

“Yes,” Chan says.

Their eyes flick back to you.

“Yet I fear I feel the gods most strongly in the throes of such things,” you say. “The gods created all those feelings. I have spent much of my life suppressing the call of great emotion. Perhaps it is not a coincidence that since being chosen by the gods, I have felt their designs all the more powerfully.”

Their eyes practically bulge out of their heads. Chan just stares at you, barely even blinking.

“Perhaps the king does too,” you say, your voice light, like this is a simple remark. You draw your needle through the fabric, watching the colourful thread as you draw it heavenward. “Perhaps that is why his relentless wrath is considered a permissible action.”

Hyunjin makes a sound, a short, sharp cackle, throwing a hand over his mouth before it can grow. The others wear long faces, not daring to remark. Jisung is wide-eyed. When you glance at him, he tips his head, at once curious and concerned.

You tear your eyes away from him. You smile at Chan.

“Ah,” Chan says. “Well.”

“I think it might be the same for other so-called sins,” you say. “Lust for example. I think… I think it’s a lot like prayer.”

“I’m sorry.” Chan shakes his head rapidly back-and-forth. His eyes close in a painful wince. “Like.. like prayer?” He looks at you like you just smacked him. He probably would have preferred it. A kingsguard can take a hit, but you are not sure they are built to withstand the queen speaking like this.

“Yes,” you say, smiling. You look down at your embroidery, threading a little flower. “I think intimate intercourse is like praying. It is the highest expression of gratitude and love, showing appreciation for the life the gods have given you, and the appreciation of the life they have created in another. I think this can be turned into a sin, of course. When it is stolen, when it is forced, when it is coerced, when it is taken without care or consideration for the other… Yes, I believe this great gift can be corrupted. But I believe it can be the holiest of all earthly actions. I dare say there is no way to be closer to the gods.”

There is a long gap of silence. Hyunjin still has a hand over his mouth, like he doesn’t trust himself otherwise, and Jisung is still wide-eyed – and more than a little flushed. Tufts of dark hair are flicked up at the nape of his neck, a scarlet tinge to his complexion.

Minho and Changbin eventually say, “Wow.”

“Um.” Chan clears his throat.

“I know,” you say, smiling at him. “We should talk about something else.”

You focus on your embroidery, humming to yourself.

Seungmin returns and sits down in the silence. He looks around the quiet circle and lifts an eyebrow.

“What did I miss?” he asks.

Rest comes to an end. There is a bustle as everyone packs up and prepares to continue the journey. You will travel a few more hours, at which point the sun will begin its descent. You should reach the predetermined site to build camp before nightfall.

You wait near Chan’s horse, stroking its muzzle, lost in thought. You imagine what would have happened if you died yesterday. Would the king have the audacity to celebrate, even in the face of his solemn guards? His success might have emboldened him, made him feel justified, like the gods were on his side. You like to think his failure has tempered him, that he will take it as a sign of the gods’ disapproval, but you doubt it.

You spot Changbin in the middle of the crowd. He is helping the servants with some heavy lifting, packing cooking instruments back on the wagon. Chan looks like he will be another minute. While he is distracted, you wander over to Changbin.

Changbin puts the last piece of equipment on the wagon. A servant bows and thanks him profusely. Changbin grins and lifts the servant out of his bow. He winks, saying, “Ah, no work is beneath anyone! You don’t need to thank me.”

You smile as Changbin gives the flustered servant a friendly pat on the back. Of course, Changbin is quite strong, and the willowy servant stumbles, but it is still a sweet moment. Once confirming the servant is all right, Changbin approaches you and bows.

“Your Majesty,” he says. “Can I help you?”

Changbin is in a good mood. The kingsguards did not seem angry with your earlier words, just surprised, even amused. You think they just like to see their incorruptible leader so flustered.

“Not so much,” you say. “I just have something on my mind. Chan told me the king intends to launch a search for the missing guard and mistress. He said the primary duties may be relegated to you.”

“Ah.” Changbin’s eyes darken with the furrow of his brow. His grin disappears and he looks very morose. “Yes. Most likely. Do you have something to report?”

Flashes of that night play in your mind. You shiver as you suppress them.

“No,” you say. “I just – I have a great deal of respect for the kingsguard. This is a difficult situation for you all, I am sure. I just wished to make my allegiance to you known. In the event of any… complications.”

“Complications,” Changbin repeats.

“Yes.” You weigh your words very carefully. You can either win Changbin’s confidence or push him further away. “Like Chan said, the vows are so important, and your brotherhood relies so strongly on each other. I’m sure Felix meant a great deal to you, at a time. This must be very difficult.”

“Yes.” Changbin’s brow unfurrows, his face softening in a moment of obvious reminiscence. He seems to stare right past you, lost in some faraway thought. He sighs and runs a hand through his black hair, smooth strands falling back over his forehead. “Felix was a good man,” Changbin says. “You… remind me of him, a little. The things you say. Ahhh, this is all wrong.” He shakes his head, his expression pinched with frustration. “It shouldn’t be like this. I don’t like the idea of going after him.”

You restrain yourself, not leaping too eagerly at the brazen remark. With the well of emotion rising in your chest, you ask, “Then why do it?”

“Because those are my orders,” he says, like it is obvious.

“What if those orders are wrong?” you say.

“They’re the king’s orders,” Changbin says, not quite an argument, not quite an agreement.

“Yes,” you say. “And the king is heaven’s earthly sovereign, who rules us all by the will of the gods. But what if those orders are not actually coming from the gods?”

The king is close to you. Changbin sees him first, but too late to spare you.

The king shouts your name like it is a blasphemous slur. The scream is imbued with so much fury, it sounds as though he means an exorcise a demon right here, right now.

Although you told yourself you were resigned to his wickedness, the terror of that voice makes your whole body shake. Bravery is much easier in theory, a whispered voice in the back of your head that extends no further than stolen words in shadows, but it is different to stare down a hateful man whose cruelty knows no bounds.

You turn to face the king, grateful for the length of your skirt as it hides your trembling legs. You summon your many years of etiquette practice, feigning the most stoic countenance you possibly can.

The king gets right in your face, screaming so loudly it blows a loose curl out of its pin.

“You have the audacity to blaspheme against your king?”

A deathly hush has fallen over the forest, all conversations ended. You hear nothing but the shuffle of bodies as people either retreat or approach the action. Servants make themselves scarce, courtiers gathering with eager eyes. The kingsguards swarm, abandoning their horses and forming rank with a hand on their swords. You are not sure who they mean to protect.

Chan is the only one to directly intervene, shoving through the throng to reach the king.

“Whoa, whoa, Your Majesty,” he says, skidding to a halt, his black robes swishing around him. “What happened?”

“This blasphemous creature dared to question the will of gods before my people,” the king snaps.

“I did not,” you say, wrenching your voice from the nauseas pit of your gut. “I did not question the gods.”

“You have the nerve to call my authority into question?” the king asks, taking another menacing step forward.

You instinctively stumble back. Your gaze darts when you move, eyes finding the other kingsguards. Minho, Changbin, and the younger two watch the scene intently, hands on their sword hilts. Hyunjin has partially withdrawn his sword, hilt firmly in hand and a shiny length of silver catching the sunlight.

Jisung has one hand on his hilt but his grip is loose. He is the only one moving, taking tentative steps towards the scene. His wide eyes are concerned but not frightened, his shoulders tensed, entire body braced. A fist uncurls, hand lifting. You are not sure if he is reaching for you or warning you.

The king is still ranting. All he does is repeat the same accusation, hurl the same slander. There is a wretched delight to his snarling ire. Because of the assassination debacle, he has been forced to feign a modicum for respect for you. Your remark serves as justification for unleashing all that contempt once more.

He calls you every foul name a man can call a woman. No doubt you are also subject to his anger for the mistress. It makes your hands curl up in fists at your side. Your trembling body is building adrenaline with every quivering shake. You think of the mistress, of Felix, of Jisung, of a cluster of crying servants, of your own body slumped in a carriage with an arrow in your heart, when all you ever wanted to do was help your people.

“I would never speak ill of the gods,” you snap. Perhaps it is your shaking or perhaps it is heavenly intervention, but you feel your voice as it thunders out of you. It reverberates in the arching trees and quakes underfoot like an earthen tremor. “Even in moments of my greatest doubt, I use them as my example in how to conduct myself.” You speak loud but steady, looking the king in his startled eyes. “I would never speak against them. I would never act against them. I would never assume I have the perspective to rebel against their will. No matter how someone might offend me, I would not attempt to intervene on the god’s will by bringing harm anywhere near to them.”

Ostensibly, this is in retaliation to his comments – but everyone knows the attack yesterday was not just a robbery. No one is speaking the accusation aloud, but it sits on the tip of every tongue when the subject is broached. Yes, everyone here knows what the king has done, and when you make your declaration, it is all anyone hears.

Only one of you has kept your vows. Only one of you is righteous.

He backhands you, clean across the face. It lands even harder than on the wedding night. That slap burned like a hot iron welt, but this one drums like a storm. It knocks you to the ground, the earth rushing up so quickly that you cannot even catch yourself. Your cheek hits the dirt, your body crumpling on impact.

Your face is downturned but you hear the zinging slash of sword after sword as the kingsguards reveal their weapons. When you look up, you see every blade partially drawn. Hyunjin is the only one to fully draw his weapon, his sharp, intense face focussed on the king while the other guards look at Chan.

Jisung is the only one who looks at you. He does not draw his sword. His hand leaves his hilt and he runs straight towards you. He slams onto his knees with so much impact, it sends leaves and gravel flying. His hands are on you, shameless and without delay.

“Your Majesty,” he says. He holds your shoulders, guides you upright into a sitting position.

You can barely see him through your tears, watering from the sheer physicality of such brutal pain. You face is numb so you do not even realize Jisung is wiping it clean.

His efforts accomplish very little because the king kicks you over, a sharp jab in your side that makes you cry out. It is more unexpected than the smack and makes everyone gasp.

Jisung catches you, drawing you protectively into the cradle of his arms. You imagine his face, his wide, startled eyes turned up to the king in questioning terror as he clutches the queen to his chest. You fear he will be kicked for insubordination. You press against his chest and will the world to disappear to around him.

“Are you seriously going to allow this?” Hyunjin’s voice rips through the clearing.

You turn your face, cheek pressed to Jisung’s chest. Hyunjin has stepped forward but he does not address the king, anger bright red on his handsome face as he stares at Chan.

Chan looks at him but it is the king who answers, spinning on his heel to march up to Hyunjin.

Bellowing, the king begins, “The kingsguard does not allow or disallow me anything—”

“The kingsguard has a right to intervention in the face of injustice!” Hyunjin shouts back, driving his sword into the dirt a mere foot from the king.

It draws the man to a halt, a flicker of intimidation crossing his face as he looks at the guard. He quickly shakes it off, pointing a threatening hand at Hyunjin.

“What do you dare accuse me of?” the king demands. “Do you have the audacity to make so formal a claim against me? Tell me, kingsguard! Use your rights! Make your claim! And I shall make mine, rest assured!”

Hyunjin cannot say anything more. He stares at the king, fuming. Chan was not exaggerating when he spoke of Hyunjin’s devotion to his beliefs. More than a pretty face, indeed. He does not budge an inch for the tyrant king.

While the king is distracted, Jisung helps you up. You rise on shaking legs, using his arms for leverage. He murmurs your name, not your title, so soft an utterance that no one else hears. It affects you more deeply than the king’s shouting.

Your watery eyes lift to Jisung. You are clasping his forearms for support but you want to fall against him. Your heart and body both call to him. You are overwhelmed with the memory of being in his arms at your most vulnerable moment, bare and open and overcome. It makes you feel like if he is close, there is no height you cannot reach, no harm that can ever pursue you there.

With your eyes locked so reverently on Jisung, you do not see the king approach. You turn your face as he throws Hyunjin an arrogant, challenging look.

Then the king reels back and punches you. It is clumsy and too emotional, his anger getting the better of him, so it lands with less force than intended. You still feel it right down to your toes, a shock of awful pain. You are not sure what actually hurts, if he hits your nose or something else, but you taste blood, tangy and metallic on your lips and tongue. Jisung catches you when you fall, keeping you upright while you spit blood onto the forest floor. If anyone gasps, you cannot hear it over the ringing in your ears.

Hyunjin instantly explodes. He attacks the king with his bare hands, his swing far cleaner, a swift punch that strikes the royal face so hard, it makes a cracking sound. Hyunjin is lean but evidently strong because the king reels upon impact.

Hyunjin does not let him recuperate. He lands another blow, then one more, coming at a different angle each time. The king hits the ground on the third punch, landing with a humiliating scream and thud.

Everyone is chattering and shrieking now, even the most eager courtiers retreating from the violence. Minho and Seungmin spring into action, charging Hyunjin before he can chase the king to the ground.

“Hold him back!” Chan shouts at them. Like everyone else, pure shock delayed him.

Minho and Seungmin seize Hyunjin by the arms, hauling him away from the king while he froths with anger. The king recoils from him, then starts to rage because he has been humiliated. Hyunjin shouts back, so much piercing chaos that you hardly make sense of it.

“This ends now!” Chan shouts above it all. He does not need to draw his sword or swing his fist. Hyunjin finally goes silent, shrugging Minho and Seungmin away. Even the king ceases his hollering, spitting blood onto the ground.

Your own mouth is still streaked red. Chan looks at you, his hard expression softening.

“Your Majesty, are you okay?” he asks.

The king begins to answer, a furious exclamation that he is obviously not okay, then he realizes Chan is speaking to you.

“How dare you address that creature—” the king begins.

“That creature is the gods-chosen queen!” Chan shouts. Where Hyunjin and the king raged with a red hot fire, Chan is cold, the harsh narrowing of his eyes speaking for him. It cuts across the clearing. Everything, high and mighty or low to earth, seems to bend in acquiescence. “The queen is not to be struck under any circumstances,” Chan says sharply, a hand on his sword hilt, his eyes on the king. “I am making a formal accusation against you as I just witnessed the offense with my own eyes.”

The silence is more deafening than the chaos. You watch as Chan shakes his head. His booted steps roll like thunder on the dirt as he approaches you. His arm is outstretched, a word on his lips, but he interrupted by the king.

“I want him flogged.”

Chan freezes. His back is to the king and all the courtiers, guards, and servants. Only you and Jisung see the flash of fury, barely tempered as Chan clenches his jaw then draws a breath.

“The gods spoke to him,�� Chan says, frighteningly calm. “They told him to defend the queen who should never have been struck so carelessly.”

“And for that I won’t have his head removed,” the king snaps. He spits blood on the ground again, looking at Hyunjin as he does. Hyunjin stares back but has the sense to not act again. The king lacks any and all sense. No sense of duty, no sense of responsibility. He points at Hyunjin like an infant points at a child, stamping his foot and crying to his parents of some petty, childish plight. “Twenty lashes,” the king demands. “Ten for each time beyond this so-called defense he dared laid his hand against the holy king.”

Chan turns. He looks at Hyunjin. Hyunjin stares back, a silent conversation unfolding in the space between them. You see the calculation, the surrender. Chan shakes his head and Hyunjin clenches his jaw.

Your hand twitches at your side, instinctively searching for Jisung. He finds it, clasps it, hiding your joined hands between his robes and your dress.

“Jisung,” you whisper.

“It’s all right,” Jisung whispers back. Despite his words, he sounds upset. “Hyunjin can take it.”

In proof, Hyunjin does not await further instruction. He rips at his outer robe, tearing it off his body and dropping it in a heap on the forest floor.

“Jeongin,” Chan says. “Get me a horsewhip.”

You jolt. Jisung squeezes your hand, holding you back, shushing you gently. You watch, heart in your throat, as Hyunjin tugs off his under-shirt. He drops to his knees where he stands, Minho and Seungmin backing away, their faces plastered with practiced stoic looks. Seungmin betrays only a hint of thought, shaking his head an infinitesimal degree as he backs away. Minho flashes Jisung a look of similar aggravation.

You still taste blood, even when you wipe your mouth with a shaking hand.

Hyunjin prostrates himself on the ground, a full bow as if at prayer. Chan has the whip in his hands and he snaps it open at his side. You do not know if your eyes water from pain or sorrow.

The king stands nearby, arms crossed, a smug look on his face. You look at him as Chan swings an expert arm and brings the whip down. The king does not flinch, his pompous self-satisfaction only deepening.

You jump at the crack of the whip, eyes racing back to Hyunjin. There is a welt across his skin, pale as it is never exposed beneath those layers of black. Despite all the jests made at his expense, Hyunjin does not remove those robes for anything. He keeps his vows with an unrelenting determination. He is a good kingsguard. It is not his fault he has a bad king.

“Stop,” you say.

Jisung tries to hold you back but you drop his hand. You are still dizzy and speaking with a mouth full of blood, but you march onward. The king is probably looking at you with all that heated aggravation but you do not care. You look at Chan, the only authority you respect.

“Hyunjin was defending me,” you say. “He acted on my behalf. I will take his punishment.”

There are immediate protests, not just from the kingsguards but from servants and even scandalized courtiers. Their vocal protestations make chaotic discord, the forest shaking with every shout and holler.

You hear Jisung above the rest.

“Chan!” he says. “Don’t you let her, Chan! Chan!”

You and Chan are the only ones who remain silent, staring each other down. You are perfectly calm, holding his gaze. He looks at you like he is reading a book in a language he did not even know existed, scrutinizing the shape and sound of everything that lies in front of him.

“Silence!” the king finally shouts, curtailing the worst of the chaos. He marches over to you, hand out like he intends to grab you. “Stand down, woman! You’ve caused enough problems today!”

You storm towards him too, wiping the blood off your face with such a flourish that it flicks towards him. He takes a step back, so surprised by your approach that he almost trips over his own feet.

“Am I not correct in saying that a citizen has the right to stand in for another when a punishment has been issued?” you ask.

“You are not a citizen, you fool, you are the queen,” the king snaps.

“Oh, so now there’s some fucking rules about propriety!” you snap back. “Punching me in the face did not account for it, but this does? I am curious where your lines are drawn, Your Majesty, and which gods drew them, as they certainly do not resemble any teachings I know.”

The look on the king’s face is more satisfying than any welt or punch.

“Enough,” Chan says, not raising his voice. He drops the horsewhip to the ground and Hyunjin lifts his head. “This has gone on long enough,” Chan says firmly. “We have a long journey to make today. This was a petty disagreement and a misunderstanding, and it is an insult to the gods and all of us present to draw it out any longer. Hyunjin, get up. You’ll spend the night in prayer asking the gods for forgiveness for any slights they perceived. Accept their revelation and be done with this. Everyone, back in formation. Now.”

Finally, the crowd disperses, speaking lowly amongst themselves as they return to their former tasks.

Chan faces the king. In the same tone, he demands, “You too, Your Majesty.”

The king boils with such a quiet, fiery rage that you are amazed he does not burst. Chan does not relent in the face of his threats, standing firm until the king storms away. Once he is gone, your own adrenaline cools. Your legs feel weak again. You stumble.

Jisung catches you. His arm swings wide, catching your waist and drawing you into him.

“She’s still bleeding,” Jisung says.

“Take her,” Chan says, nodding sharply. “Get cleaned up. Meet back at the horses soon. He’s not going to be in the mood to wait.” Chan rolls his eyes and turns away.

You and Jisung are the only ones left. You are standing too close to him, his familiar heartbeat pounding against yours, and you need to rip away but you want to be even closer.

Jisung takes a step, guiding you towards the sound of the river. When you try to separate further, he pulls you back into his side, that hidden strength revealing itself. Your feet only skirt the ground as he practically carries you the riverside, like if he lets go for a second the gods will sweep you away from him.

Jisung holds the briars as you cross through dense brush. The riverbank is on the other side. You step onto the gravel bed, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel separated from the world again at last.

Jisung touches your lower back, just a press of his fingertips to get your attention. It certainly works, sparks shooting up your spine as if he traced the length of it. But no, it stays there, palm on your lower back, nudging you towards the water.

Earlier, he could not bring himself to look at you. Now you are the one hiding your gaze. After a tumultuous day of warring with yourself, of provocations and retreats, accusations and regrets, you feel tired and unsure, hurt and embarrassed.

“What were you thinking?” Jisung asks.

You kneel at the same time, at the river’s edge, the cool fresh water lapping at the edge of his robe and your skirt. It is paid no heed. You gather water in the cup of your hands, bringing it to your face in a gentle splash. You close your eyes, relishing in the cool kiss of the stream. The water runs pink as it spills over your lips. You scrub your mouth on the sleeve of your dress.

“It doesn’t matter what I do, does it?” you ask. “It doesn’t matter if I follow every rule he makes or if I break them in front of him. He is going to hurt me. He is going to find ways to justify it.”

Jisung is still bad at hiding his emotions, looking at you with sad, shiny eyes, his face long with sorrow.

You spare him a momentary glance, too affected by his empathy. It would be easier if he did not care. It would be easier if he did not look at you. It would be easier if he did not gather every undone curl to pull them back over your shoulder.

It makes you shiver like the first time. That chill is swallowed by heat as you remember him looking at you through that mirror, drawing your hair off your shoulders, firelight warm against your naked skin as he choked on his breathing.

Even now, his hand lingers on the back of your neck, on your shoulder, your arm. Every touch is just a second too long. He looks at his hand like it belongs to someone else, curling his fingers towards his palm like they hurt.

“Your Majesty,” he says, not much louder than a whisper.

“You can use my name,” you say, just as quiet.

The roar of the river makes you bold. You are alone but even if you were interrupted, you could never be overheard. It makes everything feel so natural, so right, like the gods themselves have aligned the world in such a way that you would be here with him at this exact moment. Yet at the same time, that is impossible. The gods chose you for the king. It was you who chose Jisung.

“I know,” he says. With a laugh, airy and humourless, he runs a hand through his hair and says, “Believe me, I know.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are drawn to your mouth, but that is because you missed some blood. You fold your hands neatly in your lap, the very picture of lady-like perfection if not for your bloodied lips and the aching swell of your cheek.

Jisung cups water into his own palm. With one hand, he holds your face, thumb and forefinger curled around your chin to tilt your head. He brings the water to your lips, pours as neatly as he can.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers. “I mean, you’re crazy— Fuck, I shouldn’t say that to the queen – Fuck, I swore again – don’t listen to me – Your Majesty, with all due respect, you’re just—” He laughs, truly and deeply, wiping blood off your cheek while you stifle your own giggles.

The ordeal is still too fresh to truly have any perspective, but you suspect you will be reeling later tonight as you remember your own adrenaline-fueled actions.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you that,” he teases.

“Our secret,” you say, smiling.

His eyes are on your cheek, his thumb scrubbing a mark. When you say that, his gaze flicks to yours.

Your whole body reacts to his eyes. You feel – tight, clenching, stomach twisting with heat. There is at once an impossible emptiness at the centre of your being, and also a penetrating fulfillment as he looks at you so intensely that you feel it deep inside of you. You think the king could come to your chamber every night, could do whatever he would, and it would not feel half so thorough a claiming as one glance from Han Jisung.

“I, um, oh. Oh.” Jisung shakes his head. He looks down, hair falling into his eyes as he swoops over to cup some more water. He still holds your chin with his other hand, fingers loosely clasped.

He straightens, tossing his hair out of his eyes, focussed on your lips.

You know it is just because he is cleaning the residual blood, but his searching glance moves through you. It deepens when he wets your lips, as he lets that little bit of water pour off his skin and onto your mouth.

Your lips part, trusting. His fingers on your chin tremble just a bit. When he exhales, it flutters through a loose curl.

“Thank you,” you murmur, lips moving against his fingers.

“Your Majesty,” he says, trying to be jovial, trying to laugh, but it comes out like a croak. “It’s why I’m here,” he says in a voice that sounds as rough as it did the other night. “I’m supposed to serve you. And – And I—”

His thumb runs slowly across your bottom lip, his eyes entranced with the way it gives under his touch, where it softly springs back. Your breath spills over his fingers and he swallows.

“And,” he tries again, breathing deeply when you do.

“And?” you say on that breath.

His gaze moves from your lips to your eyes. He drops one hand as if startled, fumbling for nothing, accidentally finding yours in its descent. You clasp that hand in your lap, heart racing as he so tightly curls his fingers around yours. It is such a desperate clutch, but it does not hurt. No, it never hurts.

“And,” he says, those other fingers still curled under your chin. It would make any defense impossible, his fingers so obviously guiding your face closer to his own. His mouth is a breath away, every exhale soft against your lips. “And I want to serve you, my queen,” he says in a soft, low murmur. “I need to serve you.”

You make a noise that could be mistaken for pain, wounded and sharp, but it is not that. It is the sound you make when you draw your kiss-wet fingers down your own throat, the way his damp fingers now trace that same descent. You tilt your head, offering him all that vulnerable skin, shivering under the long, slow touch.

He recognizes that sound too. He heard you make it two nights ago. You remember him kneeling, just like this, looking at you, just like this. You remember him, slouched in that chair by the fire while you dreamed of nothing more than kneeling in front of him. What would you even do from that vantage? You do not know. You just know it beckons to you like a call from above.

“Oh,” you say, trembling for a very different reason than earlier. “Jisung,” you whisper, “I want to serve you too.”

It is that remark that petrifies him, his hand freezing, his eyes wide. He stares at your neck like it is more dangerous like a sword-hand. A million complicated thoughts seem to flash across his face, one after the other.

His fingers splay open across your throat, your pulse beating under his hand. You swallow.

“What are you doing to me?” he breathes.

Then his fingers are under your chin again. Your faces come close. His lips are touching yours but it is not a kiss, just the promise of one, so painfully close to kissing that your mouths brush with the slightest twitch or breath. Still, he does not close the space entirely. He leans into it like he will, but then he collapses with a pained whimper, abruptly letting go, turning his face to the side.

“Fuck,” he says. He puts a hand over his face and shakes his head.

You turn your face the other way, closing your eyes too, breathing hard. You also touch your face, fingers shaking as you touch your unkissed lips, still tingling from the proximity.

Your other hand is in your lap. It is still tightly clasped around his.

“Oh gods,” he says.

“Yes,” you say. “I feel them too whenever you’re near.”

You look at each other. His mouth opens, some sentiment on his lips, desperate to be uttered, but he only manages to move his lips a few times before surrendering to muteness. He stands. With a gentle tug, he brings you with him.

The river laps at your feet. There is a swirl of pink where your blood spilled. You look at it for a long moment.

“In the banquet hall,” you say, watching the pink wash away. “In the wedding ceremony. On the road. In that inn.” You lift your eyes to his. “I felt it everywhere,” you say. “The gods, or just you, all around me, like nothing I have ever felt before.”

You lift his hands, bringing them to your lips as he did last night. He just stands there, mouth open, watching as you kiss his knuckles with the same devoted press. Where he was all desperate teeth and lips, you are tender, a soft wet kiss that lingers on his knuckles, scraped and scarred from so much work.

“These hands are a testament to years of hard work, kingsguard,” you say. You give his hands one final squeeze before letting go. “They should be worshipped too.”

He makes a sound you can only describe as a comical squeak. Your sweet, complicated, funny guard. Big eyes blink at you as you step back.

“Shall we?” you say, nodding to the brush, to the world that waits on the other side.

He nods, still too stunned to speak, staring at you as if in a trance. You bow your head to him, clasping your hands politely in front of you. You turn to leave.

You have only taken one step when you feel his hand on the back of your neck. It sends a bolt of fire shooting down your whole body. Your heart, moments ago doused with cold water, comes roaring back to life, shooting heat to every extremity.

You remember the strength of his arms. Yes, you will never forget. He wraps one arm in a possessive grip around your waist, just like before, but more. The other hand stays on the back of your neck, buried in your half-pinned hair, leaving it even more dishevelled.

The state of your hair is a perfect visual metaphor for what you feel inside: unravelled, undone.

He pulls you right into him. His name has scarcely left your lips before he swallows the sound, mouth pressed to yours in a hot, hungry kiss. His lips, his tongue, his teeth, all of it there, soft and hard and needy.

A kiss is the most you ever dared to steal over the years, silly childish exchanges that amounted to nothing.

But this –

This is everything.

“Jisung,” you say, like begging, almost a cry against his mouth before he steals the sound again.

You are both clumsy from lack of practice, or maybe lack of time. You are desperate to feel everything in the few moments afforded to you. There are lifetimes of desire packed into that kiss, eternities surrendered to the passionate press of his lips on yours.

He breathes your name, cups your jaw, tilts your face just so, kissing you slowly despite the ticking clock. You shiver, humming a sweet, amorous sound against his lips. The taste of blood is long gone, replaced with him. Just Jisung, on your lips and your tongue. You want it everywhere else.

You would give yourself to him if he asked. You would forget about everything and do it right here on this riverbank.

Fortunately, he has more sense than that. He lets you go, takes a small step back. He breathes unevenly while raking his fingers through his hair.

“We can’t do that again, okay?” he says.

You blink at him. It must be a convincing argument because he groans, then grabs you by the hips and pulls you towards him. He kisses you again, mouth open against yours, coaxing all those tender sounds you did not know you could make. It feels wet and messy and it should be awful, this frantic animal hunger, but it just feels good.

You just – feel.

“Okay,” he gasps. He clutches your waist, holds your body in his hands and counts under his breath. Finally, he steps back, nudging you away from him. “Okay,” he says, wiping his mouth and shaking his head. “That’s fine. That was – that was just. Exactly, you’re so right. Yes. All right. Very fine. Very good.”

He clears his throat, adjusting his black robes neatly like he did not just ravage your mouth in his holy garments. He tips his head back and stares up at the sky, holding the briars back for you, pointedly not looking down even when you approach.

You could walk right past him. You should walk right past.

You lean towards him and whisper, “I thought of you again last night.”

You step through the brush. You listen as he somehow accidentally slams them all in his own face, sputtering as he fights through the greenery to join you. He shakes himself out like nothing happened.

“Right,” he says. “Right. Right. Right. Go.” He points ahead.

You walk a few paces ahead. He escorts you back to Chan. When you are perched on the horse, you look back over your shoulder, once more intending just a fleeting glance. Jisung is already looking at you, fingertips pressed to his bottom lip. He lowers his hand.

You smile softly. Like something heaven-sent, he smiles back.

#han jisung x reader #jisung x reader #han jisung x you #jisung x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz x reader #skz x you #kpop fanfiction #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction

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dinneratgrannys · 6 months

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ONCE UPON A TIME 6.09, Changelings

#ouatedit #onceuponatimeedit #rumplestiltskinedit #goldenqueenedit #ouat #once upon a time #rumplestiltskin #golden queen #s6 #6x09 changelings #character: rumplestiltskin #dynamic: golden queen #event: rewatch 22

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imaginarianisms · 5 months

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1 day i will make a meta of sansa's dynamic with her metaphorical champions/suitors & how that correlates to the ashford theory (i.e sansa being betrothed to joffrey baratheon, then promised to willas tyrell, then being married to tyrion lannister, then being married to harry hardying then married to aegon vi targaryen & aurane velaryon but it is not this day. lmao. when i make that meta it'll be so over for y'all.

#just know that. she never marries after aurane. btw lmao #like if he like g-d forbid ever died before she did she'd like. literally never marry or love again like. thats it lmfao #but anyway like. she has a complicated relationship w/ all of them tbh & reflects on them sometimes.#she obviously hates joffrey for him abusing her but like. she can't help but feel sad for him at times bc like. he was so young.#if he had the right people around him maybe he would've turned out okay eventually. but it didnt happen. she never met willas but sometimes #she wondered what it would've been like to be lady of highgarden but she hopes he's doing alright. her dynamic w/ tyrion is. complicated #like. he was never like openly cruel to her or anything & she's grateful to him for saving her life & standing up for her but like.#there's always that grief surrounding their families & i think she resented & mostly afraid of him at the time but in hindsight she's+#grateful that he never hurt her or forced himself on her. harry she hardly knew unfortunately but like she disliked him at first #but then he actually seemed to warm up to her & she had him tied around her lil finger but she knows that she wouldn't like to be married+#to a guy who actually has children w/ sb else. like. she's seen how that played out & while she wouldn't be mean it makes her uncomfortable #but especially surrounding aegon bc like. she's not naive enough to say she loved him but like. she actually LIKED him #like. while she was wary of him at first she warmed up to him & genuinely respected him as a person & most importantly aegon was her FRIEND #they got along rly well due to their similar upbringings & what they had to do to survive & like. he's actually a decent guy in canon. lmao #he's handsome & was chivalrous & honorable & sweet w/ her but also like batshit insane in a good way. like.#he was the golden prince she always wanted since she was a little girl; the prince that joffrey was supposed to be but never was.#he gave her a future as queen of westeros that was originally HERS. so when daenerys eventually executes him she has mixed feelings about i #aegon was good to her & she'd vowed not to betray him & she actually intended to keep that vow. to her she was forever in his debt+#he gave her a future from her isolation & suffering @ winterfell bc of how much everything changed & he waited for her to love him back.#he actually showed her respect & gave her a solid future when she felt alone & abandoned & led her gently into a world of his own making+#& gave her back her honor & a future. esp when the north was divided between jon rickon & herself. most preferred jon or rickon over her.#without aegon's intervention she probably would've had to marry some northern lord below her station. the winterfell succession crisis wild #but aurane velaryon? that's the love of her life. her bold captain. he taught her how to love & coaxed her in the sun to bloom & freed her.#freed her from the chains of her family obligations. he taught her to break the rules of tradition & follow her heart & trust her instincts #he was there with her in her darkest hour. he quite literally saved her life & defended her honor when no one else had the balls to do that #no one looks @ or touches her the way aurane does she loved him madly truly & deeply he took her girlhood in his stride but when autumn cam #she escaped & had to push him into the deepest recesses of her mind in the name of survival & pragmatism but she never stopped loving him.#& his sweet memory brought too much heartache & bittersweetness for her. she lowkey waited for him for years. & they EVENTUALLY reunited !#he fought & got legitimized for HER. she's. so genuinely happy w/ that man. he's one of her best friends & the father to her children.

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beom-pyu · 1 year

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i can't swim, idiot ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ choi beomgyu

choi beomgyu x fem!reader , tags: best friends to lovers au , beomgyu is annoying(ly cute) , fake dating? nah... fake married? bingo! , reader is so fed up with beomgyu how is he still alive , fluff , black cat x golden retriever dynamic ??? , hinted bisexual!beomgyu happy pride month , hinted pining , nsfw , some cliche moments bc who doesn't love a good cliche

warnings: reader uses she/her pronouns and is referred to as a wife and "mrs" , cursing , playfully (?) threatening each other's lives , soft dom!beomgyu , sub!reader , pool sex , unprotected sex , marking , praise , creampie , cum eating , morning sex <3 , cunninglus (fem receiving) , overstimulation , dry humping , big dick gyu community please gather

a/n: another summer fic for you lovelies!! <3 i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i had fun writing it! (not edited yet!)

song recs: island - youha, spotless mind - jhene aiko, nature feels - frank ocean

wc: 10.7k+

[I THINK WE JUST GOT SCAMMED.]

“wait, wait, wait. you did what?”

you slowly lower your lukewarm cup onto the cafe table before taking out your airpods—no music is playing, but you want to be 100% sure you heard him right. your best friend shoots you a lopsided grin from across the table, stirring his drink with the chewed straw in between his fingers.

“i entered us into an exclusive giveaway for married couples to win a trip to greece for a week?”

one by one, you can feel your brain cells begin to die off at his words, your eye twitching while beomgyu smiles innocently at you.

“beomgyu, i’m going to ask you a simple question and i want a simple answer.” pinching the bridge of your nose, you inhale for a second before meeting his eyes with the most exasperated gaze you've ever worn in your life. “why?”

the brown-haired boy is all too quick with a reply.

“why not?” beomgyu shrugs, his tiny grin morphing into something menacing on his lips—as if this is the funniest thing that has ever happened to him in all of his 22 years of life.

you have the sudden passing thought to throw your coffee at his face, but that’s a precious $6 you’d never get back, so you refrain from doing so. instead, you take a slow, deep breath and momentarily close your eyes. “god, if you’re out there, please, please give me patience.”

“i’m pretty sure the phrase is ‘god give me strength’,” beomgyu retorts from his seat across from you, sipping annoyingly on his nearly empty caramel frappe.

you blink at him once, twice. “if god gave me strength, you’d be in a casket right now.”

beomgyu simply cackles at your response, feigning a scared face with his hands up like he’s being held at gunpoint before he continues to laugh at his own mockery. you kick him under the table, successfully wiping that wide smile off of his dumb face.

“what was that for?” beomgyu whines with a pout, reaching down to rub his shin. a few heads turn to see what the ruckus is about and you shoot them a polite, apologetic smile and bow before turning back to mr. drama queen. the kick wasn’t even that hard.

“did you even think about what would happen if we actually won? we don’t have the time nor the money for a resort in greece.”

“oh, calm down, y/n. you know no one ever actually wins those things, right? they’re all scams.” beomgyu waves you off with his hand before bringing the green straw back up to his lips, your ears bleeding at the sound of his obnoxious slurping. you can’t stand his face.

“and how are you so sure of that?”

“because i entered that nickelodeon giveaway thing when i was 11 and never heard back from them.”

you blink at him again, thrice this time—just in case you’ve been transported into a different dimension and a stupidity demon has possessed your best friend’s body. nonetheless, beomgyu is still grinning idiotically as he chews on his straw, tilting his head at you like a maltese.

“please be so serious right now.”

“i am! plus, even if we do win—which we won’t—and it’s not a scam… shit, that’s a free trip to greece!”

the joy on his face boils your blood to no end. he’s truly dense; you can’t believe you’re insane enough to call him your other half. everything on earth must be balanced out, you suppose—the yin to your yang.

“have you considered the fact that we aren’t married?” you cock your head at him, hands folded on top of the table, speaking slowly as if you’re talking to a child… hold on, wait—you literally are.

“shoot—could’ve fooled me!” beomgyu lets out a puff of laughter. “we might as well be.”

you blink at him again.

“please don’t ever say that again. i think i just threw up in my mouth.”

beomgyu rolls his eyes before snatching his phone out of his pocket with the speed of light to show you the flier he had screenshotted. he shoves the phone in your face, tapping incessantly at the bottom text of the photo.

“look. it says all expenses paid.”

you stare at him with a silent ‘so what?’ and beomgyu sighs dramatically as he lowers his phone. he has the nerve to be exasperated with you? you’ll never understand where men get the pure audacity.

“so you’re going to look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t pretend to be my wife for a few days so we can get a free trip to greece?”

you look him straight in the eye. “beomgyu, i’d rather be burned on a stake.”

“yea, 'cause you’re a fucking witch,” he mumbles under his breath, trying to hold in his laughter. you don’t know how much more patience you have with him, so you simply exhale, checking the clock on your phone.

“i don’t have time for this—i gotta get to my lecture,” you huff out, standing as you grab your bag that sits by your feet. beomgyu pitifully whines, looking up at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes known to man.

“would you seriously not do it?”

it’s now your turn to laugh, picking up your coffee to take a big sip. you’re gonna need the caffeine.

“those things are scams, gyu—you said it yourself! see you later.”

☆

nights are oh, so serene, you think, as your head hits your fluffy pillow later that night. you’re freshly showered and tucked under your covers, snug as a bug in a rug as you doze off to the lovely scent of your hibiscus air freshener and the quiet waves of your sleep sounds machine. there’s no need to count sheep—you’re completely drained from all of the walking you had to do today. all of your classes just so happen to be on opposite sides of the campus, and you’re sure your step counter is on the verge of exploding by now.

your mattress feels even comfier today, a slight breeze coming through your cracked window, balancing out the heat from your thick duvet. it takes no time at all for you to be tugged under by the lust of sleep, drifting off to a perfect dreamland full of bright colors and open fields and your blaring ringtone.

wait.

your ringtone?

you don’t even bother to open your eyes, patting around your bed for your phone before you feel the cool screen against your fingertips. it takes a few failed swipes to actually answer, mumbling out a half-asleep “hello?” as you lazily press the device to your ear.

“hi, my wonderful bff. my world, my girl, my bro, my home-shizzle! hypothetically, on a scale of one to ten, how mad would you be if i told you that the greece trip thing wasn’t a scam? and that we won? and that we leave in 2 days? hypothetically.”

the silence is incredibly loud.

…

“eleven.”

[NEWLYWEDS.]

three months ago, if you were to tell yourself that you would be adorning a fake amazon wedding ring with your best friend’s arm wrapped around your waist as you stand inside some modern insurance firm being interviewed as a newlywed couple—well, you probably would’ve admitted yourself into the nearest asylum.

you don’t know what choices from your past led you to this moment, forcing a smile as a middle-aged woman with the cleanest-cut bob you’ve ever seen enthusiastically shakes your hand before moving on to beomgyu’s. he seems completely unfazed and the thought alone irks your soul to no end.

truthfully, this is all your fault. if you would’ve just told beomgyu that you are not going to pretend to be his wife for a week, you would’ve never ended up in this situation in the first place. but can anyone blame you when he offered to pay for your coffee every single day for the next 6 months, and wash your car, and take out your trash for as long as you ask him to?

right! any sane person would’ve said yes, too!

so here you are as mrs. choi (gag), laughing along as the lady cracks a few jokes, complimenting beomgyu’s silky hair and your bright smile before sighing dreamily.

“my goodness, aren’t you two just the cutest newlyweds i’ve ever seen! how many months has it been?”

beomgyu looks down at you with a soft smile; anyone who is meeting him for the first time would’ve taken the gaze as something filled with pure adoration and undiluted love… but you know him. you see the way his eyes sparkle with mischief, the annoying quirk of his playful grin, and the pure amusement that washes over his features at your subtle glare.

he’s having way too much fun with this.

you pinch his side hard, a small bout of victory washing over you as he flinches.

deserved.

“we’re coming up on three months now?” beomgyu speaks through slightly gritted teeth before looking back up at the short woman, sending a charming smile her way. she squeals, bouncing on her heels and you bite back a grimace at the sheer volume.

“we decided to travel a bit before settling down and buying a home here in seoul,” you speak robotically, following the exact script you both came up with in your notes app on facetime last night. beomgyu hums in affirmation, tapping your side in a silent “good job”.

“awe! how sweet is that? what a wonderful idea to travel together while you're still young and nimble, unlike this old lady right here.” the lady honks out a laugh as she points to herself with her thumbs. you glance over at beomgyu who seems to be having the time of his life and—the regret of saying yes quickly settles deep in your bones. “you pair are such a lovely and beautiful couple!”

her high-pitched and overly enthusiastic voice pierces your ears and you can already feel the headache coming on.

“well, what can i say? it was love at first sight. i knew i had to make her mine and see the world with her as soon as possible,” beomgyu smoothly recites, gazing back down at you with the same look as before. you feel the bile rise in your throat. the words are so foreign to your ears, it’s almost jarring. the lady doesn’t even notice your discomfort and continues on and on about how cute you both are, how you remind her of her niece, and how beomgyu should totally be a model.

you force the fakest smile ever as beomgyu pinches your side, a cue for you to speak up. resisting the urge to punch him for pinching you (even though you had done it first), you simply nod along with an artificial laugh, your hand coming up to rest on his chest in faux infatuation.

ew.

“marrying beomgyu was the best decision i’ve ever made. i’ve never been happier.”

you swear you feel your eye twitch as the lady coos—she claps her hands excitedly, her short bob bouncing with the movement.

“how heartwarming! i’m sure this trip will bring you even closer, shedding a new light on the glitter of your love for decades to come!”

you and beomgyu are silent for a beat—because what the fuck is she even saying?—before awkwardly laughing, nodding along in hopes that she’ll wrap this up quickly. the lady’s smile doesn’t falter for a second as a stiffness fills the air, clapping her hands again as he ushers you two towards the lyft.

“better get a move on so you don’t miss your flight! i hope you have a wonderful time, lovebirds! and congratulations once again!”

the car is absolutely silent as you both settle in after all of your luggage is loaded up. beomgyu has this annoying, close-lipped smile on his face, his lips pursed like a duck—he’s so obviously trying to hold in his laughter as you grumble under your breath, snatching that stupid plastic ring off of your finger.

you glance at him before rolling your eyes. “go ahead.”

in the blink of an eye, his boisterous laughter fills the car, high and squeaky, and you silently empathize with the lyft driver who subtly turns the radio up to combat the intrusive noise. beomgyu’s doubled over, patting his leg as he gasps for air, eyes squeezed shut; and as much as you hate to admit it, your own lips quirk up into a small smile at the sound. curse your best friend and his contagious laughter.

“i can’t believe we just did that,” beomgyu heaves out before another round of giggles leaves his lips. he reaches up to push his hair out of his face before wiping at his eyes dramatically.

“i didn’t think i had it in me,” you agree, giving in to the grin that slowly spreads across your face. you make the horrible decision of meeting beomgyu’s eyes, and it takes less than a millisecond for you both to aggressively burst out laughing, bodies falling against each other's as your limbs grow weak.

“no, that was the funniest shit ever, i swear. we sold it.”

“for a second, i actually thought you were really in love with me.” your laughter slowly dies down as beomgyu lifts himself off of you, his chest rising and falling quickly as he attempts to catch his breath. you’re sure you don’t look any better—you definitely have abs after all of that.

“i just had to pretend that you were i.u,” beomgyu admits with an overexaggerated dreamy look off into the distance. you’re quick to fall into another fit of laughter but for a different reason this time.

“i.u doesn’t date freaks.”

beomgyu’s lips dramatically pout as he crosses his arms over his chest like a little kid, scoffing at your comment. “why do you always have to crush my dreams?”

“i don’t always crush your dreams. only when they’re stupid.”

“so… always?”

“no—yes.”

beomgyu’s quiet for a moment, turning his head to look out the window. his eyebrows are slightly furrowed, but the expression quickly smooths out as he turns towards you, uncrossing his arms to play with the fake ring on his finger.

“i’m not taking the couch.”

“what?”

“it’s a couple’s suite. i’m taking the bed since i’m the one who entered us in the first place.”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes again—your mother had told you that one day your eyeballs would get stuck in the back of your head, and right now, that idea didn’t seem so bad. beomgyu’s teasing smile is anger-inducing, and you think you might rip it off if you have to look at it any longer.

“what happened to chivalry? i’m your wife now, so as the man, you have to give me the bed.”

“fuck chivalry! you’re mean to me. i owe you nothing,” beomgyu huffs, squinting his eyes at you.

“i’m not mean to you,” you immediately defend, hitting his arm for even making such heinous accusations. beomgyu gasps, reaching up to hold his arm where you made impact.

“see? mean!” once again, the dramatics are almost admirable—there’s no way that hurt. he’s been hitting the gym with his roommate taehyun lately, and you’ve seen the way he’s bulked up from the scrawny shrimp boy he used to be in high school. if anything, the hit hurt you!

“let’s play rock paper scissors, then. two out of three gets the bed.”

beomgyu huffs, but obediently holds up his fist. “fine.”

three games pass by in a blur.

“you cheated!” he whines, pointing his finger at you with wide eyes, his eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

“how did i cheat? just admit you suck ass, mr. couch.” your triumphant smile results in another whine from the loser next to you, putting his fist back up for a rematch. “no, i already won!”

“you’re lucky i love you.” beomgyu’s quick to give up, a tiny smile appearing on his face at the way you pretend to gag at his words.

those butterflies in your stomach are only because you skipped breakfast that morning—totally not because of the soft gaze he sends your way, mindlessly playing with the plastic ring on his finger as you two fall into a comfortable silence. totally.

☆

this sucks.

today is the first time you’ve ever ridden in first class, and you can’t even enjoy it because of the exhaustion running rampant through your veins. there’s a reason why you picked all afternoon and late night lectures; why you avoid any invitations to go out for breakfast with your friends; and why you have blackout curtains on all of your windows. you are not a morning person, whatsoever, and with that 8 a.m interview and your flight at 10 on the dot, you’re absolutely beat.

for starters, pretending to actually be in love with your best friend in front of a lady who cannot speak at a normal, human volume is more taxing than swimming from portugal to australia with no breaks. you swear. second, beomgyu has apparently never ridden an airplane before and therefore has no idea what airport etiquette is.

(“you have to put all of your electronics in the bins, okay?”

“when i go through the x-ray thing, will they see my underwear? oh my god, no, will they see my dick?”

“no, they won’t see your dick, beomgyu.”

“but how do you know they won’t see my dick? sick fucks.”

“they’re literally doing their job, beomgyu.”

“they can do their job without looking at my dick!”

“they aren’t going to see your dick!”

the lady in front of you covers her kid's ears as she shoots you two the nastiest glare you’ve ever seen. you both bow in apology before you flick beomgyu on the back of his neck.)

you can barely keep your eyes open as you watch some marvel movie on the little screen in front of you, fighting to at least stay awake long enough to order dinner. it’s futile, though, because you’re already blacking out every few minutes, head lulling side to side like a bobblehead.

you finally give up the battle, reminding yourself that there will be endless food at the resort, so you settle yourself into your plush seat, resting your cheek against your neck pillow. from this angle, you have a perfect view of beomgyu who’s in the secluded seat next to you, and—oh.

he looks… he looks softer than usual, only illuminated by the natural light emerging through the circular windows. his hair is slightly mussed from his fingers, his long fringe hanging over his eyes in such a way that he has to keep shaking it out of his vision. he has his earbuds in, watching the sky through the tiny window next to him with his bottom lip in between his teeth—a habit he’s had since he was young. you know he’s thinking, lost in his mind abyss by the way his fingers fidget with the end of his shirt, his leg shaking incessantly.

“hey, gyu,” you call out quietly so as to not disturb anyone else around you. his music must’ve been turned down low, seeing as his eyes find yours at the call of his name, taking an earbud out to hear you better. “you okay?”

if there’s one thing you know about your best friend, it’s when he’s nervous. it shows with the way his leg doesn’t stop moving, even as he nods out a yes in reply to your question, seeing his jaw move as he grinds his teeth together.

“the plane keeps shaking,” he whispers, eyes wide and worried as a little bit of turbulence rocks the cabin right after he finishes speaking. even in your tired state, you can’t help but laugh softly at his animated expression, shaking your head.

“are you scared?” the teasing tone in your voice is apparent—beomgyu rapidly shakes his head in disagreement, but you see right through him as his hand grips the armrest, eyebrows knitted together. everything in your nature tells you to tease him, rile him up a bit, poke fun at him—but he genuinely looks concerned, and you’re too tired to come up with anything witty to say. instead…

“it’s just turbulence. you’re okay, gyu.”

you watch the way beomgyu relaxes ever so slightly, nodding his head as his grip loosens. you send him a little smile, not bothering to wait for him to smile back before turning your head the other way, finally letting sleep pull you under.

[FREE MARGARITAS.]

you don’t get a single moment to look around the resort because as soon as you both lug all of your things into your suite, you’re told a romantic, candle-lit dinner on the beach just down the hill has been reserved for you two as a welcome gift by the company. you’re not complaining of course, but you still would’ve liked to at least get acquainted with the area before indulging in everything.

it takes you an hour and a half to get ready; partially because beomgyu’s showers take forever. he’s in there singing along to some random 70s hits playlist, having the time of his life, while you take the time to look around the suite.

it’s huge, to say the least. a single pod building that sits on a hill full of others alike with pristine white walls and elegant decoration—it’s almost 3 times bigger than your own apartment and you can only imagine how much all of this would’ve cost. wide, open windows line the walls with marbled tile underneath your feet, the furniture ranging from white to beige to a palette of blues, mimicking the colors of the beach in the distance.

outside is a wide patio with a glistening pool and comfy lounge area, complete with a loveseat and a swing. it has the perfect view of the coast, the sun already lowering behind the horizon. it’s absolutely breathtaking, and you make sure to take plenty of pictures, even posting a few on your instagram story (without tagging beomgyu, because you’re pissed at how long he’s taking in the bathroom.)

by the time he comes out, his hair is blow-dried and pushed out of his face with a headband. he looks like casper the friendly ghost with the white facemask he adorns and you stifle a laugh at the thought.

you force yourself to dismiss the way he only has a towel wrapped around his waist, chest completely bare as he strides over to his suitcase—he doesn’t even bother to acknowledge your presence as he pulls out the most formal thing he can find, dropping it onto the bed.

“you gonna shower or what?” he asks over his annoyingly broad shoulder, hands reaching down to undo the towel around his waist. a yelp leaves your lips at the sudden movement, covering your eyes as you rush towards the bathroom.

“you’re disgusting!” you yell before slamming the door shut, locking it for good measure. his cackles ring throughout the suite and you flick him off from behind the wall—he can’t see it, but you want to at least get it out of your system.

halfway through your shower, you realize you forgot to bring your clothes into the bathroom to change. you blame this all on beomgyu—half because somehow every inconvenience in your life is all his fault and half because you just want a reason to ignore the way you keep thinking about how toned he’s gotten recently. you mentally make it your mission to shut down every single gym in his vicinity.

you wrap your towel tight around your body before cracking the door open, the cool air from the a/c attacking your skin like icicles. poking your head out, you scan the room for any sign of your counterpart, but the room seems to be completely empty. you wait a few seconds, just in case he decides to make any unannounced appearances before deeming the room safe enough to enter. the coast is clear.

you rush over to your suite case, unzipping it to find an appropriate dress, deciding on a white one to match the white button-up beomgyu had pulled out. you grab your makeup bag, as well as your perfume and it isn’t until you stand back up to find refuge in the bathroom that you notice the figure in the doorway. you jump in surprise, a small scream escaping your lips as you wrap your arms around yourself defensively.

“you fucking stalker,” you huff as he doubles over in laughter.

“oh my god, you should’ve seen your face,” he gasps, holding his hand to his stomach as his entire body vibrates with cackles. despite the venomous glare you send his way, your eyes can’t help but catch onto the fact that beomgyu cleans up nicely.

you’ve gotten so used to beomgyu’s endless collection of sweatpants and hoodies that the thought of him looking like an a-list celebrity never once crossed your mind. the top few buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing the smooth expanse of his chest, appropriately decorated with a few layered necklaces. it seems like he decided to trade out his usual dangly earrings and ear piercings for simple studs that shine when the chandelier above you hits them.

those black dress pants hug his legs in a way that makes you swallow, feeling your body grow warm at the way he tucks his hands into his pockets. he cocks his head at you curiously, a jesting smile on his lips—he looks infuriatingly good, to the point where you have to physically rip your eyes away from him.

“like what you see?” he badgers while he strolls into the room, as if he can see right through your little facade. you scoff, holding your stuff tight to your chest as you flee towards the bathroom again.

“what happened to privacy?” you make sure to completely ignore his previous question—he can tell all too easily when you’re lying, and you really don’t feel like being teased relentlessly tonight.

“what’s the issue? you’re my wife now, aren’t you?” his voice is provoking, playful as you burn through him with another intense glare.

“beomgyu, i promise you, i will drown you in that pool if you say another word.” and then you happily slam the door shut in his face.

“no, you won’t! you love me too much,” he singsongs from behind the door. all you can do is roll your eyes because—yes. yes, you do.

☆

you don’t think you’ve ever seen beomgyu act so… gentlemanly ever since he tried to get his 6th grade crush to like him back—but this time, without the weird phrases he stole from western movies and the electric blue braces that lined his teeth.

he’s committed to this husband act; pulling your chair out for you and pushing you in after you take a seat, kissing the back of your hand (you kicked him under the table at that), and even telling you that you look, and you quote, “absolutely stunning, baby.”

you hope your discontentment isn’t showing too obviously through your forced smiles and giggles, that plastic wedding band around your ring finger uncomfortably sticking to your skin.

you can’t deny the fact that the dinner is really nice, though. never in your life would you have thought you’d be drinking expensive wines and eating 5-star cuisine on a beach with your childhood best friend—you’re pretty sure 14-year-old y/n would’ve complained about how it should’ve been choi soobin from 4th period instead of beomgyu, but you’ll take what you can get.

in all honesty, it simply feels like a normal dinner out with your best friend. you both still laugh and joke as usual, reminiscing on the time when beomgyu forgot to take out his retainer before his band performed at the school festival in 10th grade, resulting in a slurred rendition of sk8er boi by avril lavigne and a crowd full of giggling onlookers. (if you had to threaten a few people to leave beomgyu alone about it afterward, then so be it.)

the thing is, it’s not hard to let go around beomgyu. you’ve known each other since you were in diapers; defending beomgyu from bullies in elementary, attending all of his self-made band’s concerts, and hanging out on your rooftop eating popsicles and gummy worms. you could complain all you’d like about his teasing, his constant, exuberated nature, and his inane questions, but there’s no one else that you’d put your life on the line for, other than the puppy-like man in front of you.

his eyes sparkle with the reflection of the candlelight as he rambles on about how he genuinely thought planes did a loopty-loop before taking off and your heart aches with a sort of warmth you’ve been trying to dismiss for so long.

the dinner ends all too quickly, and by the time you down your last glass, you realize you’re slightly tipsy. you’ve always been a lightweight, but you really didn’t think you drank that much—you must’ve been too distracted by beomgyu’s crazy stories to acknowledge the waiter constantly filling your glass after every few sips. at least it was free.

you slightly wobble on your heels as you take a stand in the sand, a little noise of surprise leaving your lips as a warm hand meets your hip, swiftly steadying you. you look down and automatically recognize the amazon ring, your head turning to meet beomgyu’s gentle eyes.

“don’t tell me i have to carry you all the way back.” and even though it’s a joke, there’s a layer of genuineness in his tone as you stumble again.

“‘m not that drunk,” you reply with the slightest of slurs, quietly giggling at the simple image of beomgyu carrying you bridal style to the bed. now that would truly sell the act, for sure. beomgyu shakes his head with a small smile, but his hand doesn’t leave your waist as he guides you back towards the suite, his touch firm and sturdy.

you’re almost across the beach when you stumble again, but this time, your heel actually gives out as you trip, a tiny yelp leaving your lips right before you hit the ground. you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact—but it never comes.

“yep. i’m carrying you.”

you crack an eye open to see beomgyu with an amused smile on his face, both of his hands holding onto your hips. turns out you weren’t even close to hitting the ground at all… okay, maybe you are drunk.

“piggy back ride?” you ask with a little giggle. you’re reminded of that time beomgyu had to give you a piggyback ride all the way back home from the park after you sprained your ankle trying to do a backflip off of the swing in elementary school. what a time.

beomgyu rolls his eyes fondly, but gives you a little nod, letting go of your waist to kneel down by your feet. “give me your foot.”

you give him a quizzical look, cocking your head at him in pure confusion before he pats his thigh, motioning towards your leg. still a bit out of it, you hold onto his shoulder as you lift your foot, feeling a weird sensation rush up your spine at the way he gently holds onto your calf to slip your heel off of your foot. he does the same to the other without a word, completely unfazed by the way your mouth remains slightly ajar in shock. his fingers are gentle and soothing against your skin, despite being mildly calloused from his guitar back home.

it’s enough to throw you off, swallowing as his eyes meet yours again. his eyes are incredibly soft as he smiles up at you—he motions towards his back with a quiet “hop on”.

you obey, only faltering slightly as your arms sling around his shoulders. with the new proximity, you can smell his cologne, something sweet and woodsy. his hands grab onto your thighs—one decorated with high heels hanging off two of his fingers—before hiking you up a bit. he begins walking, saying something about how he thinks there’s 10 tons of sand in his shoes by now—and if he notices you’re too distracted by his hands on your legs to process what he’s saying, he doesn’t mention it.

☆

the view is absolutely breathtaking through the glass tall windows of your suite, the rays bouncing off of the pool as you watch beomgyu wade in the water, his eyes shut. it’s weird seeing him like this—fully relaxed, calm, and still.

it seems like ever since you met beomgyu, all chubby-cheeked and busy-bodied, he’s always been on the move. whether it be to sprint down the road to meet you at the corner so you can walk to school together, or high in the air as he jumps on your trampoline… and even when his body is physically still, his mouth still runs a mile a minute, talking about anything and everything in the entire universe, letting his thoughts run wild around you.

as much as you truly do adore his silly side, him being the main reason why you were able to break out of your shell in the first place, you can’t help but be slightly fascinated with this alternate side of him.

it’s morning now; the yellowish-white hue of the blinding sun bounces off of his skin as he soaks up the moment, his brown hair getting so long it falls down the back of his neck in soft layers. you feel like a creep, watching him like this, but something about the entire atmosphere makes your eyes unable to look away as you slowly sip on the complimentary margaritas.

your best friend has always been attractive—that’s one thing you cannot deny. he’s had his fair share of flings, and partners (and even a throuple once) throughout the years while you’ve only endured a few situationships here and there. he’s been called handsome his entire childhood and well into his adult years, taking the compliment in stride. he never let it get to his head or fuel his ego, though; for some reason, that fact makes him even more appealing.

he’s always just been your best friend, and you both are incredibly okay with that label—you know each other best, and that’s all that really matters. never mind the way his eyelashes flutter like monarch butterflies, or the way his cheeks flush when it’s too cold outside, or the way his leg bounces when he’s excited or nervous, alike. you try to ignore the way his laughter always manages to make the sun come out, and the way he always orders for you at restaurants because he knows you aren’t a fan of talking to strangers, and the way he seems always to know what you need, right when you need it.

he’s truly the yin to your yang. but there’s something else bubbling under the surface that you aren’t quite sure you’re ready to acknowledge yet.

a loud call of your name grabs your attention, your vision focusing on a grinning beomgyu waving you down from the edge of the pool. you don’t even have it in you to huff at the prospect of moving from your comfortable lounge chair, standing up to make your way to the large patio. sliding the door open, you poke your head out, immediately feeling the muggy air of midday wrap around you like a heated blanket.

“get in with me! the water is super warm,” he calls, motioning you towards him with his arm, the action flicking water everywhere. you frown a bit, looking at the pool behind him before meeting his eager eyes again.

“you know i can’t swim, idiot.”

beomgyu’s smile doesn’t falter for a second as he shrugs, holding his hand out.

“then i’ll do the swimming for you.”

the offer is so light-hearted and casual—it shouldn’t make your heart lunge in your chest, your gut twisting with anticipation at the simple implications of his words.

you’re already in your bathing suit from the mirror selfies you took for simply the aesthetic—a simple blue bikini tied tightly around your frame. you really don’t want to waste your time here; when else will you get the chance to stay in greece for free with your best friend?

so you let your feet carry you to the stairs of the pool, your fingers wrapping around the metal railing as you slowly step in, foot by foot. by the time you’ve made it waist deep, you begin to feel the fear creep into your bones.

“i won’t let you drown, y/n,” beomgyu laughs as you suspiciously eye the deep end of the pool, unable to even see the bottom of it. your hand tightly grips the rail as beomgyu wades his way toward you, holding his hand out for you to take. “i promise. just hold on to me.”

you nibble on your lip as your eyes flicker down to his hand, feeling the water move gently around you. drowning has always been one of your biggest fears, and because of that, you’ve always stayed far away from any body of water capable of swallowing you up whole.

but beomgyu’s eyes are warmer than the water, the most delicate of smiles resting on his soft features. there’s no room to be scared—not with the way his hand is so grounding as you take hold of it, squealing a bit as he tugs you closer.

“do you trust me?” and when he speaks, his voice is just barely above a whisper, his face so close to yours that you can individually count his eyelashes. his margarita-tinted breath fans over your lips and you find yourself unable to cringe away, nodding cautiously in response.

your hands tightly grasp his shoulders as he wraps a strong arm around your waist, holding you close to him as he uses his other arm to swim deeper into the pool. his doesn’t let up, even slightly, his grip sturdy around your figure as he utilizes one arm to keep you both afloat.

“here, wrap your legs around me,” he speaks, tapping your thigh under the water. you’re sure your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline, your mouth bobbing open and shut like a fish out of water.

“wha… huh?” you question oh, so eloquently, the rumble of beomgyu’s laughter transferring against your skin. his nose crinkles up in the way it always does when he finds something to be a bit too entertaining, his eyes forming those pretty crescent moons as his eyelashes tickle his cheeks.

“it’ll make this easier. i’m not trying to carry a dead weight,” beomgyu speaks as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. you’re still dumbfounded, blinking at him blankly—so he decides to take matters into his own hands, reaching down to situate you against him by himself. “there, that’s better.”

a persistent heat surges through your stomach as your brain slowly registers the position. beomgyu’s arm tightens around your waist as you adjust your hips in a way that makes your clothed core brush against his bulge. you almost see the way his eyes darken, his tongue peeking out to swipe over his bottom lip. it’s quiet, still as the distant sound of the beach’s waves and the gentle trickle of water fills in the silence.

your arms slowly come up to wrap around his neck—you don’t know what possesses you; some weird entity that makes beomgyu’s lips look all too kissable, and his eyes sickeningly alluring. his adam’s apple bobs as his eyes flicker across your face. you don’t register the way he slowly wades you both toward the wall of the pool, effectively caging you in as your back gently presses against the tile.

you have the chance to run, to push him off of you, and go back inside—to pretend your core doesn’t pulse with want as he presses his entire body against you. his chest is warm and his eyes are blown out, and you can say no.

but you don’t want to.

his eyes search yours for something before they trail down to your lips, his hips meeting yours in a way that renders you slightly dizzy with the proximity.

“tell me you don’t want this and i’ll stop, right now,” he whispers, his fingers leaving a ticklish feeling against your exposed skin under the water. you swallow.

“i want this, please.” and his lips are on yours before you can take another breath.

it’s nothing gentle; as if he’s been starved for your taste for all of eternity. the kiss is bruising as he nibbles on your bottom lip, his tongue meeting yours as you gasp into his mouth. he takes control easily, his hips moving against yours as the water moves around you, the sound mixing in with your quiet moans and beomgyu’s sparse grunts.

he swallows all of your sounds, holding you down against him as he bucks up into your core, his dick hard and heavy in between your legs. you squeeze your legs tighter around his waist as you match his movement to the best of your ability. you’re nearly unable to think straight as he kisses the oxygen out of you, your mind growing hazy as pleasure shoots up your spine when he rubs against your clit just right.

beomgyu breaks the kiss to dive into your neck, sucking and biting small marks onto your unblemished skin before kissing over the soon-to-be marks. he can’t keep his mouth off of you as he trails his lips under your jaw, over your clavicle, nipping at your cleavage. your own voice sounds foreign in your ears as every lick and bite shoots straight to your core, feeling that knot in your gut tightens with every thrust.

“think you can cum just like this, hm? just from humping my cock?” beomgyu pants against your skin as his lips brush over your cheek, his breath fanning your ears. the head of beomgyu’s clothed dick catches onto your slit for the slightest of seconds, and you have to clench all of the muscles in your body to not cum on the spot.

“ye—yes, please don’t stop,” you whine, tilting your head back to invite his lips back to your neck. you’re sure you’re leaving marks on beomgyu’s shoulder blades from how hard your nails dig into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind—if anything, it makes his hips work faster against yours, pressing you full-on against the pool walls.

“so good for me, fuck.”

beomgyu kisses up your neck, a low groan leaving his lips at the way you’re bouncing on his cock like a bitch in heat, clawing at his skin as your pussy clenches around nothing.

“gyu, ‘m—can i cum? please, please, please.” you can’t hold on anymore—not with the way beomgyu laughs against your skin, his free hand reaching up to grab your chin, forcing your lips against his again. he licks into your mouth with fervor, your teeth clashing together. your spit-slicked lips slide against each other, wet and messy, and he finally decides to take pity on you.

“go ahead, cum for me, baby.”

your brain goes blank as you finally come undone, blindly sinking into beomgyu’s lips and his faltering thrusts. your entire body tenses up as you moan against his lips, feeling like a ragdoll in the way he leaves soft kisses against your lax mouth. a low, rumbling groan emits from his chest as his hips still, twitching against yours subtly. he exhales once he finally pulls away from your swollen lips, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

it takes a second for you both to catch your breaths and when you finally blink your eyes open, beomgyu’s puppy-like eyes are already on yours.

“you okay?” his voice oozes with a type of concern; care that feels all too intimate. his pupils are blown wide, alluring and deep as they scan your face. you nod with a small sigh, leaning forward to drop your head onto his shoulder. you feel his torso shake with a chuckle at the action, feeling an unnamed emotion run through your chest.

you don’t pay any mind to it, though. not while you're ruminating in a cum-contaminated body of water.

“we should probably call someone to clean the pool.” and the laughter that bubbles out of beomgyu’s mouth is enough to distract you, just for a moment.

[I DO.]

it’s a weird, strange domestic feeling waking up to a fluffy head of brown hair resting on your shoulder, caged in by gentle arms around your waist. beomgyu’s always been a cuddler, and a week ago, you would’ve cringed at the simple thought of indulging him.

but now, a warm feeling blooms in your chest like a hydrangea as your fingers slip into his mussed hair to play with the strands. you’ve been cowed by your emotions, unable to fight off the fond smile that climbs onto your lips at the sight of the teddy bear-esque man clinging to you in his sleep.

you don’t know what to do with all of these butterflies swarming in your chest, flapping against each other, kicking up a sandstorm of admiration that runs wild through your veins. he’s your best friend—and at this point in time, you know he’s more than that.

it’s crazy to think that romantic feelings can accumulate overnight, and you’re starting to suspect that maybe these feelings have existed all along. he’s the only one capable of rendering you speechless, whether it be from the crazy things he says or the way his eyes sparkle with a sense of youthfulness that tethers you two together. he’s the only one who can make you feel so carefree and in the moment—you don’t worry about the future or what’s to come with beomgyu. you simply enjoy the now, soaking up his blinding smiles and outlandish stories.

he’s waking up, you realize, as he mumbles under his breath, nuzzling closer to you. his lips brush your neck, his hair tickling your cheek in a way that makes your nose scrunch up with a small giggle. you feel drunk despite the fact that all of the alcohol has long dispersed in your body overnight—you blame it all on the fact that the sun sits high in the sky, shining kindly through the wide, open windows. it lights beomgyu up in a way that squeezes your heart painfully, the white sheets strewn across his waist making him look so soft and gentle.

“good morning,” you mumble with a tiny smile as beomgyu begins littering faint kisses against the expanse of your neck, brushing over the previous marks he’d left there yesterday. he simply hums in response, his arms loosening from around your waist to trail up the side of your body—his touch is so delicate, you let yourself get lost in the feeling, your eyes fluttering shut as he softly nips at your skin.

he situates himself so that he’s hovering over you and you open your eyes again, feeling the sudden urge to shy away from his gaze. you’ve never seen such a look in his eyes—something so heavy and raw. as if he’s prying you apart and putting you back together again. it makes a shiver run up your spine.

“good morning, beautiful,” he finally replies and you can’t help but giggle again—you feel like a teenager, the way your stomach flutters at his morning voice, all deep and raspy and sultry. his brown eyes are half-lidded from sleep, his skin warm as his fingers brush your cheek.

the tension in the air isn’t incredibly prominent—it still lingers but with a less demanding presence. it’s natural and easy in the way it always is with beomgyu. existing with beomgyu is just so uncomplicated.

you feel yourself melt into the sheets as he presses closer, molding himself into you perfectly—as if he was destined to be right here all along. his nose brushes yours as he leans in, and when his lips touch yours, any thoughts clouding your mind immediately disperse, making room for the sun itself. your arms come up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you, feeling his heartbeat against yours. you feel safe, lax, content; all things good in the world.

his lips are unrushed as they move against yours, silently speaking a thousand words as he cups the side of your face, his hips subtly moving against yours. you sigh into his mouth, tilting your head to deepen the kiss—you don’t care about morning breath or the fact that you probably look a mess with your ridden-up shirt and tired eyes. and beomgyu doesn’t care either, licking into your mouth as if you’re a rare delicacy, grinding down against your thin panties.

he’s half-hard in his pants, desperately rubbing against you to chase whatever pleasure he can get. it’s endearing almost, the way he moans into your mouth as you reach down to slip your fingers past his waistband to trail a light touch over his dick. his voice is deeper than normal, stirring something inside of you that makes your legs clamp around his hips.

“i want you, gyu,” you breathe out once his lips finally leave yours, pumping him slowly. his lips catch in between his teeth as your fingers run over the head of his dick, feeling your fingers coat with sticky precum.

“hm? gotta be more specific than that, gorgeous,” beomgyu teases despite the way he’s slowly thrusting into your hand, smiling down at you in a way that usually would’ve pissed you off—but right now, it only makes your pussy drip with want.

“i want you inside of me. want you to fill me up,” you whine out as his fingers rub your clit over your panties, moving lower to press against your damp entrance. his resolve crumbles all too quickly as you peer up at him with your doe eyes, lips parted as you whine softly, moving your hips against his fingers.

“fuck, okay baby.”

you let him move away to strip himself of his sparse clothing as you pull your shirt over your head. the butterflies return quickly as you realize this is the first time you’re seeing each other completely unclothed and—oh god. he’s huge. your half-asleep state didn’t realize the sheer amount of dick between your fingers, but now that you’re seeing it in the morning light, you aren’t even sure if it’ll fit.

beomgyu makes his way back over to you, his fingers hooking onto the band of your panties to drag them down your legs. his eyes are almost predatory as he takes in your glistening folds, unable to stop himself from running his fingers over your cunt, collecting your juices.

“you’re dripping,” he awes, his eyes flickering up to yours with a small smile. a heat rushes up your neck, shyly covering your face with both of your hands. beomgyu’s small laugh resonates throughout the room, feeling his clean hand come up to gently move your arms away.

when you meet his eyes again, they’re filled with a sort of fondness that makes your head spin, makes your heart stutter—it’s horrible and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips as his fingers return to your cunt, slightly dipping into your hole, soaking them even more.

“i want you to look at me. can you do that?” beomgyu gently requests and you’re nodding before you can fully register his words. he flashes you a proud smile before he brings his wet fingers up to his mouth, licking them clean of your juices. an airy, surprised moan leaves your body against your will at the sight, and his smile broadens. “you taste amazing, baby.”

his middle finger enters your entrance with no resistance, and you feel yourself clench down as he curls it upwards to gently explore your walls. it’s all too much and not enough all at once. he’s going incredibly slow, as if you two have all the time in the world, but you can’t wait. you need him now.

“please, just fuck me. ‘m ready,” you demand through a whine, pleading with your eyes, an action that effectively softens beomgyu's gaze. he doesn’t remove his finger, but instead adds another alongside it, his thumb coming to brush against your clit. you buck against his hand with a small moan as he moves up your body, trailing kisses from your hipbone, to your breasts, and finally your lips.

it’s a chaste peck, but it’s enough to leave you wanting more, chasing after his lips once he pulls back. you whine at the loss, already feeling your brain turn to mush with the way his fingers slowly drag against the walls of your cunt, his thumb just barely applying pressure to your swollen nub.

“are you sure?”

“yes, yes, ‘m sure. want your cock, gyu. just—” you’re nearly hysterical as your hips grind down on his fingers. you can already feel the frustrated tears brimming your eyelashes, reaching up to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, your lips brushing against his. “please, please…”

“shh. it’s okay, baby,” beomgyu coos, pressing a few soft kisses to your lips. you quietly gasp as he removes his fingers from your hole. he kisses your cheeks all too delicately, his forearm resting by your head to steady himself. “i’ll take care of you. just relax.”

you almost cry happy tears with the way you feel the head of his cock tease your hole, dipping in but not fully entering. his lips find yours again as he drags his dick in between your sopping folds, swallowing his low moan at the feeling. “my perfect girl. so pretty, so wet for me.”

when he pushes in, your arms tighten around his neck, your enter body locking up at the intrusion. you feel like a virgin again, his girth stretching you open almost uncomfortably. his thumb rubs your hips to soothe you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss to distract you from the feeling. he stops for a second, letting you get used to his dick as he peppers kisses across your face.

“fuck, it feels like you’re splitting me in half,” you blurt out and beomgyu can’t help but laugh softly, his forehead resting against yours. “i think i can feel you in my throat.”

“can you stop making me laugh so i can fuck you stupid, please?”

his words are lighthearted, but the thought of being fucked to the point where you can’t even speak has you shutting up in no time. you whine quietly as beomgyu continues pushing into you until he’s fully situated inside of your cunt—you’re fluttering around him like crazy, feeling the faint pain slowly dispersing into pleasure as he kisses your jaw.

“you can move now,” you mumble, and beomgyu wastes no time pulling out, almost all the way, just to snap his cock back into you with a force that rocks the bed slightly. you can’t cover up the choked-out gasp that leaves your lips, eventually turning into a stream of moans and whines as he quickly sets a brutal pace.

his tip kisses your cervix with every thrust, your mind clouding over as pleasure fills your bloodstream, your pussy clenching around his thick cock. he places one last kiss on your lips before sitting up, both of his hands moving wrapping around your thighs. you’re so wet that his dick easily glides in and out of you, wet, squelching sounds filling the room as you drip around him.

“you’re so tight, god. letting me fuck you raw like the needy slut you are,” he chastizes, groaning as he pulls your body in to meet his hips. his strokes are so deep, you already feel yourself nearing your high.

“yes, yes, yes. need you,” you cry out, hands gripping the sheets. “so big, gyu. ‘s too much, i can’t—”

“you were the one crying for my cock, so you better take it.” his sudden demeanor change sends a tingly rush up your spine, leaving your brain a muddled mess. his bangs have fallen into his eyes, his cheekbones flushed with a slight pink from the physical exertion and the warmth of the sun beaming through the windows. his stomach contracts with every thrust into your wet heat, low moans and sharp gasps leaving his lips as his eyes fall shut, his head lolling back at the feeling.

your core throbs, gut tightening with every passing moment—at some point, he brings his fingers down to circle your clit, whimpers leaving your mouth at the overwhelming feeling of it all. you clench down around him, hand stretching out for something, anything; and it only takes a few seconds for beomgyu to notice. his fingers interlace with yours, giving your hand a grounding squeeze.

“gonna fill you up—gonna make a mess of this pretty pussy,” beomgyu pants out, a low moan leaving his lips as his hips slightly stutter.

“‘m gonna cum, gyu, ‘m cumming,” you babble out, your head rolling to the side as your eyes shut, the immense pleasure coursing through your body becoming all too much. somewhere through your muffled ears, you hear beomgyu praising you for taking him so well, but by that point, you’re already gone.

the moan that leaves your lips is nearly pornagraphic, your fingers clawing at the sheets as your orgasm washes over you. all the air is punched out of your lungs and beomgyu thrusts deep into you before settling there, a low groan leaving his lips as his dick twitches inside of you.

“fuck, baby, i love you. i love you so much,” he breathes out as he cums—you feel the hot streaks of his cum painting your insides, shooting places you weren’t even sure existed inside of you. it leaves your mind hazy, unable to even process the way he pulls out, his cum dripping out of you and onto the white sheets.

the feeling of a hot, wet tongue against your entrance makes your hips buck up—you let out a surprised gasp that’s quickly overtaken by a whimper, your hand reaching to entangle itself in his hair.

“wait, gyu—fuck, i’m sensitive,” you whine, feeling your eyes brim with tears at the overstimulation. his tongue flicks against your abused cunt as he cleans up his own cum, fucking it back into you with his tongue.

“you can take it, baby. i know you can,” he pants against your pussy before his lips encircle your clit, sucking and nibbling ever so slightly. you can’t control the noise leaving your lips, whining and moaning as your legs clamp around his head. beomgyu simply chuckles against you before two of his fingers enter your pussy, teasing and prodding at your sentive walls.

“gyu, i can’t, i can’t…” you sob, tears running down your cheeks as the overstimulation sends painful shocks up your spine. you’re gushing around his tongue, the sheets beneath you completely soaked through. your brain fights against itself, your body unsure of whether to press closer or pull away. you can’t think about anything other than beomgyu’s fingers and mouth, eyes squeezed shut as your body racks with sobs.

“yes, you can. cum on my tongue, pretty girl.”

and you do, your back arching as you moan loudly, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your hips frot against his face, waves of pleasure washing over you, drowning you. your entire body trembles with shocks as your mind goes blank, flopping back onto the bed as you attempt to catch your breath. tears are still running down your cheeks—your entire body feels like it’s floating. you’re completely wrung out. that was probably the hardest you’ve ever come in your life.

you don’t even register beomgyu’s soft hands on your cheeks as he wipes your tears away, his lips pressing against your forehead, your nose; anywhere his lips can reach. it’s grounding as you slowly come back down to earth.

“you did so well for me, baby. so, so perfect. so beautiful. you took it all, i’m so proud of you.”

you blink your eyes open at his words, feeling those butterflies flock with the way he’s watching you so attentively, his eyes flitting across your face quickly.

“i didn’t go too far, did i?” beomgyu’s voice is almost nervous, low and quiet in your ear as he strokes the side of your face. you crack a small smile at how cute he looks, reaching up to brush some of the hair out of his eyes.

“no, not at all. i liked it,” you reassure, your fingers trailing down his neck, playing with the hair on the back of his neck. he visibly melts into your touch at the words, shoulders slumping in relief.

“thank god,” he breathes out, slumping on top of you—you half-heartedly protest, but the weight is nice, loving the way it feels to have his chest rise and fall against yours, his head resting in the crook your neck. you wrap your arms around him with a little giggle, pressing a kiss to his hair.

“you big baby,” you tease. he’s completely unbothered, though, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder before settling against you again.

“only around you.”

the quiet is relaxing, hearing the calm waves of the beach down the hill and the slight buzz of the air conditioner. as much as your brain wants to believe that you imagined it, his words from a few moments ago ring like a mantra in your head. words that make your chest tight, and your mind spin, and your stomach flutter. having him in your arms like this makes you sure that what you heard wasn’t made up in your mind.

“you said you love me.”

a beat of silence.

“hm?” he hums inquisitively as if he didn’t hear you correctly the first time.

“when you, um—when you… came…” you whisper the last part, feeling the vibrations of beomgyu’s laugh fill your own chest.

“you’re still shy after all of that?” beomgyu asks incredulously as he lifts his head to look at you. a tiny, playful smile sits on his lips and you pout, nudging him softly.

“stop changing the topic!” beomgyu laughs again as he relaxes back into your hold.

“okay, i did say i love you. because i do. i love you.”

the words hit you deeper this time, now that your mind is clear—he sounds so sure of himself, and the confidence seeps into you, confirming your own feelings that have been threatening to spill over these last few days.

“i love you too.” you pause for a second. “ like, love love you.”

beomgyu chuckles against your skin, his arms tightening around your frame as he nuzzles in closer to you, despite already being skin to skin. he’s cute, you think.

“i’d hope ‘love love’ is what we’re talking about right now,” he speaks almost sarcastically and you lightly tug his hair for being a smartass—you get the opposite reaction you were searching for though because beomgyu dramatically moans at the action just to rile you up even more.

“oh my god, you’re insufferable,” you huff, but the smile on your face is telling enough as he lifts his head once again to meet your eyes—his hair is all messy and strewn about, lips bitten red and raw, cheeks flushed; and that fact that you’re in love with your best friend full sinks in. he’s everything to you.

“but you love me.”

you sigh.

“yea. i do.”

a blinding smile breaks out on beomgyu’s lips as he leans in to peck yours a few times, your body melting as he kisses you with so many emotions, it makes your heart get caught in your throat, your skin buzzing with contentment.

he pulls away, sitting up to climb off the bed, searching for his sweatpants.

“come on. time for me to do my husband duties and run you a bath.”

“you’re still comitting to this, huh?” you giggle as you sit up too, watching his figure retreat towards the bathroom. beomgyu turns slightly, the smile on his lips absolutely menacing.

“so? i gotta practice for the future.”

your future, you brain tells you.

and that idea isn't so bad, you think.

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