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cinnamorollcrybaby · 3 months ago

Note

The Reader gets jealous/upset because Sukuna gets Concubines, with a happy ending though. pleaseeeee

Wish I didn’t care

Tags: true form!Sukuna x fem!Reader, king!Sukuna, royal au (?), angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending i promise

An: Ooo, this was such a good idea. Thank you for requesting it from me!! I hope it’s everything you wanted!!

Sukuna never felt the need to give you a title for being in his life. To him, titles were superficial… There wasn’t a title in the world that could explain or encompass the complexities of his relationship with you.

However, you, coming from the mortal realm, wanted a title. It’s not that you wanted the power that was associated with being the betrothed of the King of Curses. You just wanted to feel.. irreplaceable to him.

So, to make you happy, you were his wife.

Kings rarely ever are allowed the luxury of marrying for love. Most kings marry daughters of other powerful kings to create allies between nations. However, Sukuna didn’t need allies. He didn’t need to marry for power when he had more power than he knew what to even do with.

Everything was simply child’s play for him. He even stopped trying to conquer the mortal realm because it was just too damn easy for him. The “sorcerers” could barely even put up a fight. It was embarrassing.

Life was truly becoming boring for him.

That was, until a female curse was delivered straight to his chamber. He was confused and honestly pissed that Uraume would simply guide this harlot into his chambers without his permission. Only you were granted such luxuries.

He was leisurely splayed in his bed with no cloth to cover himself. He truly appreciated the concept of being completely in his own skin at all times, and he often encouraged you to do the same. Though, he also learned to appreciate your more modest approach. You didn’t have to show any skin to get Sukuna riled up.

“State your purpose.” His voice was low and menacing as he spoke to the woman. He slipped his robes on over his shoulders, tying it in the front so he was no longer exposing himself.

“My father sends his regards. Says that a newly wedded king deserves a ‘fresh’ concubine.” The girl spoke with no humility towards him.

Sukuna’s face twisted in disgust that her dad would even suggest such a thing. He was even more put off that she described herself as ‘fresh’ as if she were a type of vegetable in the garden.

“Your father can kindly go fuck himself. I’m not interested.” He responds coldly, and his large palm grabs onto her shoulder with the intention of throwing her out of his chambers. He knew that if you saw her here, you’d probably be devastated.

“My lord-“

“I am not your anything. You address me as Lord or King, but make no mistake. I am not your lord.” He rudely cuts her off, not letting her think she has any sort of claim to him.

“Okay, Lord Sukuna, when’s the last time she’s fulfilled her wifely duties? I can see she’s not in here tending to you now, right? She’d probably feel grateful that you’re being satisfied around the clock.” The concubine’s voice was like a purr, and she looked up at him with eyes that’d rival a siren’s.

And for a split second, Sukuna almost considers her offer.

“You’ll never believe it, Kuna!” Your happy voice fills the air, and the door swings open to reveal you holding a small flower in your hand. “I got a jasmine to bl-“ Your eyes fall upon to scene in front of you.

Sukuna’s towering over an unfamiliar woman. His hand is touching her neck and shoulder area, while she has her hand leisurely pressed against his bicep.

“Who’s.. this?” You quietly ask, and immediately, Sukuna can feel a strange feeling pour into him. It feels like… guilt? He regrets even momentarily entertaining the idea about this harlot occupying his bed.

“Nobody-“

“Oh my lady, it’s nice to meet you. I apologize. Lord Sukuna and I were just getting aquatinted with each other since we’ll be seeing each other a lot from now on.” The serpent of a female cuts him off, and he immediately realizes just what this is. Whichever king decided to send her is hoping to ruin his marriage. She’s quite literally a snake in his garden, trying to ward his wife away from him.

“I don’t… understand.” The way your voice sounds so small. The small pout upon your lips. The way the flower you were once carrying with such confidence is now sagging in your hand. Fuck. Sukuna felt like a complete imbecile.

“Oh, come on now. You know he has needs that are beyond your abilities. I’ll lay with him when you’re too-“

“Enough.” Sukuna’s voice snaps. His teeth grit together as he practically drags the woman out of his chambers. “Go fuck off for a while. I’ll deal with you later.” The door immediately slams in her face.

After a moment of trying to comprehend what just happened and how it all happened so quickly, Sukuna slowly turns to you. It feels like a gut punch once he sees the tears brimming in your eyes.

“That wasn’t…”

“You took up a concubine?” You ask in a sniffle. Your hands are barely even holding the jasmine that’s you were once so excited to show him. Flowers rarely ever bloom in Sukuna’s desolate kingdom, but with hard work and determination, you had gotten a jasmine to bloom in his kingdom.

“No, she was sent to me. I didn’t seek her out.” He tries to dispel the claims while he slowly approaches you. His chest aches as he watches you take a step back away from him. “Do not cower from me, woman.”

“Was I not good enough? Was I not doing enough for you..? I thought… I thought it was good, b-but I can try harder.” Your voice is so shaky, and you won’t even look him in the eye. What has he done?

“Silence. You will not speak of yourself like that to me.” Sukuna orders, and he takes another step forward. You take another step back with another sniffle. Your tears are streaming down your cheeks.

“Please…” The word sounds foreign on his tongue. He’s never ever pleaded for anything in his life. He could simply take what he wants, but he doesn’t want to hurt his delicate flower. He wants her to seek out comfort in him. “Please don’t cower. It was not like that. She showed up at my door, spoke of lies and filth, and I was trying to throw her out when you walked in.”

“So you didn’t even con..consider taking her on as a concubine?” You ask while you rub the tears away with the back of your hands. Hopefully, this was all just a poorly timed miscommunication.

Sukuna takes a moment before responding. He has two options. He could tell you a white lie that would instantly comfort you, but it would be a lie. Or he could tell you the truth and face the consequences of his actions.

“It was one moment of weakness.” He replies carefully.

He instantly wishes he just lied from the way your face immediately twisted in disappointment and pure hurt. The jasmine falls from your hands, and your footsteps trail away from his chambers, leaving him dumbfounded.

Sukuna is immediately on your trail, unable to let you be. He needs to fix this. His dear wife is upset, and it’s all his fault.

A pair of hands slither up his arm as he walks. He already knows who’s touching him based off the nasty feeling from their contact. “My lord, let her be. She needs to-“

“Dismantle.” The concubine’s body drops to the floor in two, split directly at her waist. He had warned her already about referring to him as her lord. She didn’t deserve to speak of you so carelessly, and she didn’t deserve to live after causing this rift in his marriage.

Sukuna continues on his hunt for you without another hitch, leaving the harlot’s body right where she once stood for one of the servants to clean up.

He searches for you in all your usual spots: the gardens, the kitchen, the library, the rooftop. You’re no where to be found. You don’t want to be found. He starts to wonder around his perimeter. The longer he goes without finding you; the more his heart starts to race.

Did you leave him? Did he lose you for good?

The thought of not having his delicate flower by his side makes his body feel ill. You must’ve placed some sort of binding curse on him, but he didn’t necessarily mind.

He’s close to waging war when he finally sees your small human body tucked underneath a weeping willow on a bed of grass. His body moves on it’s own: running to you. When’s the last time he’s ran like this?

Crouching over you, he can see no visible injuries on your body, but he knows he’s wounded your heart with his foolish actions. How could he ever have a wandering eye when you were the real prize?

His four arms carefully scoop you up and cradle your body as he takes a seat underneath the willow. Your poor cheeks are flushed and tear stained. Your eyes and lips are so puffy. You must’ve tired yourself out from crying.

“I’m sorry, flower.” He whispers softly, even if your eyes are still resting. He pulls your body closer to his chest, and he contemplates when he started becoming so soft for you.

A part of him hates it. That small unconscious voice of his telling him that he shouldn’t concern himself with the feelings of a mere mortal, but the bigger part of him knows that he can’t just ignore you. He cares far too much for you.

“Kuna..?” You murmur as your hands rub your eyes. You’re immediately met with remembering just why you had fallen asleep. “I do not wish to see you right now.”

Sukuna chuckles quietly from your defiant little comment. It reminds him of when you first arrived to his estate. “Then close your eyes.” He simply states as one of his hands start to comb through your hair. “Woman, tell me what to do to fix this.”

You shift your gaze away from him with a small huff. If he wasn’t so much bigger than you, you’d try to wiggle away from him. However, you know it is of no use. “I don’t know, Kuna.” Your words are sharp and still so full of emotion. “Imagine how you’d feel if I told you I contemplated sleeping with someone else… in a moment of weakness.”

The sheer thought of it has Sukuna’s anger burning up like an inferno. You’re his delicate flower. No one would even know how to take care of you like he can. His arms subtly tighten around your frame. “I’d kill every man you gaze at.”

“Well, men can rest easy because I only have eyes for you.” You mutter while rolling your eyes. “I love you so much that the thought of being with someone else repulses me, and it… just really hurts that you don’t feel the same.”

“Flower, I took you for granted. It was a brief moment of contemplation, but I instantly decided against it. I did not desire her in the slightest.” Sukuna tries to explain, and his hand gently brushes against your soft cheek.

“You still don’t deny that you don’t feel the same for me.” You respond quietly, still not giving him the satisfaction of you looking at him.

“You are everything to me. I will not lose sight of what’s important again.”

“Kuna.” You finally look up at him, and you frown slightly. Sukuna secretly adores the little nicknames you have adorned him with, but he’d never admit it.

“What is it, woman?” He asks, titling his head to the side a bit to get a better look at your face. You’re so pretty in his lap like this.

“Do you love me?” You quietly ask, even if you can already hear his voice telling you ‘do not ask questions you don’t want answers to’… because even if he’s the incarnate of evil, Sukuna will not lie. Liars are weak cowards who can’t get jobs done by being upfront. Sukuna isn’t afraid of what the truth is.

Your husband contemplates your question for a moment. He thinks about how disgusting that wannabe concubine was. He thinks about how you preoccupy his mind majority of the time. He thinks about the weird mix of feelings he has felt today in your absence.

“What I feel for you… is probably the closest to love that I’ll ever get.” Sukuna responds, carefully choosing his words. “You, my flower, are the only thing that keeps me grounded to the mortal plains.”

You give him the best smile you can muster despite the disappointment that you feel since he won’t tell you that he loves you. You suppose you have no one to blame other than yourself. Sukuna told you when he married you not to get your hopes up for love, but you still can’t help but crave that sort of affection from him.

“I don’t like seeing you upset, flower.” He speaks tenderly as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “If I could, I’d snap my fingers and assure you that I love you whole heartedly. It just not in my genetic code.”

“I know… I’m grateful for your effort at least.” You murmur as you wrap your arms around his neck.

His arms wrap around you, cradling you to his chest. He inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent that he enjoys so much. “Am I forgiven, woman?”

“Mmm, no.” You smile cheekily in his embrace, and Sukuna chuckles heartily.

“Oh? Is someone going to use this blunder to her advantage?” When you nod in his shoulder, Sukuna lays back against the soft pillowy grass. “That’s my girl. Go on. Make me work for your forgiveness.”

On a completely unrelated note, Sukuna had that harlot’s body mailed back to her father as a ‘thank you’ for sending a whore to his kingdom.

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #drabble #jjk suggestive #jjk sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk angst #hurt/comfort #sukuna #jjk fic #ryomen sukuna #jjk ryomen #ryomen x reader

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fastandcarlos · 6 months ago

Text

“I Do” : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: follow along as the countdown to becoming mrs norris is on 🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux and 293,705 others

ynusername: last race week of the season, wedding season is officially under way 💕🤩

38,028 comments

username1: I can’t wait for all the wedding spam that’s coming our way!!

username2: lando as a husband is a vibe 🥺

landonorris: thank you for always supporting me again this season 🫶🏻

ynusername: @/landonorris always your biggest fan 💕

username3: another amazing year in the papaya 💪🏻🏎️

oscarpiastri: sorry where’s my congratulations for my season too???

ynusername: @/oscarpiastri congrats osc, I’m very proud of you too!

username4: osc 😭😭😭

username5: you two are everything omg

carmenmmundt: I cannot wait to make you a bride 🥺

lilymhe: bridesmaids assemble 🫡

username6: deep in my feels knowing these two are getting married in a couple of weeks

username7: please remember your fans and share everything with us 🙏🏻

georgerussell63: you just wait and see what we’ve got prepared for lan 😂

danielricciardo: can’t wait to lead your soon to be husband astray 😬

username8: why does this feel like it’s about to be the messiest wedding ever lmao

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liked by georgerussell63, danielricciardo and 1,593,604 others

landonorris: last trip before we get married, I think my face shows just how excited I am to marry you 🫶🏻

138,593 comments

tagged: ynusername

username9: I wish I had someone as excited to be with me as lando is with yn

username10: his smile 🤧��

maxverstappen1: you’ve got your vows to be soppy, keep it off of social media 😂

ynusername: thank you for the best time ❤️❤️❤️

username11: the outfits woah 🤩

username12: my heart can’t cope with much of the adorableness between these two

lewishamilton: talk about making everyone feel jealous about how happy you are 😂

charles_leclerc: we get it. you’re getting married. jeez.

landonorris: @/charles_leclerc do one party pooper 🙃

username13: if I don’t have a marriage like these two then I’m not interested

username14: oh how I wish I was yn right now 😭

carlossainz55: little lando norris is all grown up

landonorris: @/carlossainz55 but big lando norris where it matters 🤭

username15: pls say these two will be forever together

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liked by charles_leclerc, alex_albon and 483,605 others

ynusername: when people ask me what I see in lando to want to marry him, this is what I show them 😂💞

28,505 comments

tagged: landonorris

username16: can always count on yn to throw lando under the bus lmao

username17: thank you for reminding us what an idiot lando is

oscarpiastri: fyi he’s raging that you posted these 😂

ynusername: @/oscarpiastri remind him of all the times he’s done this to me hahah

username18: these are the photos we LOVE

danielricciardo: saving all these photos for future use as we speak 🤷🏻‍♂️

alex_albon: you’re a brave girl yn 😂😂

lilymhe: how are you so unserious all the damn time 🤦🏻‍♀️

username19: keep it coming pls yn I beg you

landonorris: remind me again why I’m marrying you when all you do is bully me

ynusername: @/landonorris because you love me 💞

username20: why does the second picture leave me with so many questions 😂😂😂😂

username21: it’s picture one for me ☺️

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liked by ynusername, maxverstappen1 and 1,795,203 others

landonorris: BEST STAG DO EVER 🍻

136,594 comments

ynusername: please say you arrived home in one piece 🤦🏻‍♀️

danielricciardo: @/ynusername can’t make any promises 🤐

username22: lord help us if daniel ricciardo organised lando’s stag do

username23: poor yn having to deal with the hangover from this 😂

oscarpiastri: and I promise not to show yn the photos of you doing body shots off of max

ynusername: @/oscarpiastri I don’t think I want to see these photos 😂😂

username24: wtf I wanna see these photos

georgerussell63: happy to give you the send off you deserve 🫡

username25: this sequence of photos is titled lando living his best life

username26: how many shots do we reckon were drunk last night??

pierregasly: remind me never to go out partying with you again

carlossainz55: I think I need about three weeks to recover from this 😭

username27: not lando wrecking all his fellow drivers

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by and 10,583 others

f1wags: congratulations are in order as today’s the day lando and yn tie the knot - wishing you guys the best day ever 💕🥂

960 comments

username28: ah I can’t wait to see all the photos from this

username29: I’ve never met two people so in love

username30: so glad they’re getting their happy ending 💕🤧

username31: the perfect match finally tying the knot 😭

username32: I’ve got major fomo today omg ☺️

username33: I never imagined lando even getting married until he met yn

username34: praying we get lots of content from the boys today 🤞🏻

username35: hoping they have the best time, they deserve everything!!

username36: I’d do anything to be there and see lando in his suit

username37: I can’t believe the day has finally arrived, I’m not even getting married and I’m nervous

username38: mr and mrs norris 🧡🧡🧡🧡

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by and 9,492 others

f1updates: here’s just some of the drivers suited and booted as they attended the norris wedding today, they all look great 🤵🏻🏎️

1,302 comments

username39: how can a trio of men be so beautiful 😭

username40: asking for a friend…are any of these single???

username41: now this is the content I wanted from today 😂

username42: anyone else wondering what charles was thinking with those sunglasses hahah

username43: not carlos looking like the finest best man to exist

username44: petition for these guys to appear at my wedding too pls

username45: if these guys are a warm up I can’t wait to see what lando looked like

username46: my heart is so happy that all the drivers showed up too

username47: I can’t wipe the smile from my face after seeing these photos ☺️

username48: race suits, formal suits, these guys pull off anything 😭

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 783,504 others

ynusername: the day I’ve dreamt of since I was a little girl, so proud to be your wife lando norris 🥺🫶🏻

54,593 comments

landonorris: the best day of my life, so happy to be able to call you mine forever 💞

username49: congratulations you guys!!

oscarpiastri: thank you for inviting me and lily to be part of your special day 🥺

danielricciardo: well done for not messing up your speech 👏🏻

landonorris: @/danielricciardo it was touch and go for a while 😂

username50: I can’t believe my favourite duo are officially married!!

maxverstappen1: best wedding I’ve ever been too…lando’s dad dancing aside 😝

alex_albon: you guys are the cutest, so happy for you both 🫶🏻🥂

username51: I can’t get over how adorable these photos are

username52: the smile on yn’s face omg 🤩

carlossainz55: proud dad over here 😂😂

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 best in law ever!

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liked by oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 2,043,483 others

landonorris: I could get used to married life 😂 honeymooning with the most beautiful bride in the world ❤️

78,492 comments

ynusername: cannot wait to spend forever with you my love 💞🫶🏻

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˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ��ˎ˗

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narfin-frood · 2 months ago

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i've been itching to share my swap au since i thought it up, but i think i now finally have an actual baseline to introduce it with!!

the idea isn't that it's a personality swap, but a role swap, with wander and sylvia as antagonists and hater and peepers as the protags, and i have a whole lot to say about it so im gonna go ahead and infodump below the cut

so i've renamed these two, at least, since hater's story has become less about getting over himself and more about how he sees the world Now That He's Gotten Over Himself. i'm calling him The Great (and absent) Lord Lackadaisical right now, but i don't think that's what he'd like to be called, since he's an absent ruler who doesn't really care to be in a position of so much power and would rather fuck off to all the planets with really nice hot tubs. he and Sir Peepers (his loyal knight who cannot be convinced to leave his side) travel the galaxy with hater's sweet ride (i'm not too good at designing motorcycles yet. pending).

i haven't thought of new names/titles for wander and sylvia just yet (i cannot just call him Sitter Over Therer) but i do know what their deal is, and it's the main reason i made this au (i feel like if wander were a villain he would not in fact be a villain like lord hater or dominator because i think that kinda disregards wander's whole Shit, he'd be like screwball, and even then he'd have very strong convictions that he's doing the right thing): wander has a cult (a hivemind, kinda) and sylvia is his priest.

i think wander comes along this mushroom during a time in his life when everything seems to have been torn asunder, and instead of continuing his adventures and learning and growing as a person, the mushroom offers a solution that doesn't require much effort on his behalf. the mushroom links people together borg-style, makes them share a brain and a purpose. wander not only thinks it's super neat, but he's in such a poor state of mind when he finds it, he convinces himself it's the only way to make the galaxy a better place.

sylvia is the only person in his Ring of Friends who isn't hooked up to the mushroom, because she's actually wander's friend, and she's his ride or die. she does the things she does out of free will and dedication to her best friend, including preaching and fisticuffs.

^^^ here's some more of my initial concept art. originally the mushroom was gonna be a tree, but i had a vision of an upside down mushroom (or several, to take the place of watchdogs) scuttling around and by god is it easy to make that look like his hat.

the thing that really really pushes wander over the edge is the sheer boredom of it all. when he's connected to the mushroom, he's very little more than the brain they all share. he can't move around, and that KILLS him (see: the hole lotta nuthin). so when hater (name pending) comes along and refuses to join him and annoys him enough, he gets suuuuper stoked about having something to really DO for once.

anyway. this is what i've got for now. do you like it. you can be honest if you dont like it

#myart #wander over yonder #wander #lord hater #commander peepers #sylvia the zbornak #lord lackadaisical #sir peepers #uhhhhhhhhh. whatever i end up tagging swap wander and sylvia as #txt #swap au #swap wander #sister sylvia

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spacerockfloater · 9 months ago

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The way people switched on Tamlin the moment Rhys was introduced is diabolical.

“Tamlin never really loved Feyre, it was all a trick from the start”: It is stated that Tamlin was disgusted by the idea of forcing someone to fall in love with him and considered it slavery, but ended up being so in love with her that he ultimately lets her go and choses her freedom and safety over that of his own people. Rhys confirms that Tamlin loved Feyre too much. And he loved her truly. Not because he had to. Tamlin treated Feyre with dignity when she was engaged to him. He introduced her as his lady, to be respected and cherished by all. And she really was loved by his people, too. Rhysand uses her as his lap dog to scare Hewn City and parades her as his whore.

“Tamlin never did anything for Feyre, he just used her”: He improved her and her family’s life in every aspect and offered her everything he had.

“Tamlin had sex with someone else in Calanmai”: Out of duty and responsibility because he didn’t want to force Feyre, who still wasn’t sure about her feelings, into it. All of the High Lords perform the Calanmai. Lucien says so. How convenient that this is never brought up with Rhysand. He surely does perform it as well. All the theories in here, “Lucien doesn’t know what he’s talking about/ This is a SC ritual only/ He probably just passes the duty on to someone else” are just a way for people to villainise Tam and glorify Rhys again. All of them inaccurate. The Calanmai is canonically performed by every High Lord. There’s no evidence that proves otherwise. As the son of one High Lord and the ambassador of another, Lucien would know. He is 500 years old. It’s just more convenient for SJM to never bring this up again because it raises the question of “Who was Rhysand fucking all these years?” and it makes her favourite character look bad. And once he is engaged to her, Tamlin flat out refuses to do it. Let’s be real for a second.

“Tamlin didn’t help Feyre under the mountain”: He literally could not. He was bound by a curse. He was forced to be Amarantha’s consort and a consort cannot oppose you. His powers were bound. Alis warns Feyre that Tamlin will not be able to help her. Stop acting as if he didn’t want to help her. He decapitated Amarantha the moment he got his autonomy back. Claiming that there’s no proof that Tamlin was under the influence of a spell when he literally didn’t break the curse and Amarantha’s magic didn’t allow him to use his powers is crazy. And even if he tried, he could never provide actual help. We see this when he begs Amarantha for Feyre’s life. Him showing he cares about her would only make Amarantha more jealous and vicious towards Feyre.

“Tamlin made out with Feyre instead of helping her”: He couldn’t help her run away. No one could do that. She would never make it, Amarantha would find her. In fact, Tamlin specifically could not help her in any way. He could only assure her he still wants and loves her. And she wanted that just as much. Rhys abused her physically, mentally, verbally, drugged her and much worse. And he enjoyed all of it. If he didn’t want to raise suspicions, he wouldn’t have placed a bet in her favour. Rhys is a sadist, SJM just decided to mellow him down in the next book so that we’d all like him over Tamlin.

“Tamlin ignored Feyre’s wishes and only wanted her to be his bride, he didn’t let her be High Lady”: Both Tamlin and Feyre were bad communicators going though trauma and Tam had a whole court to care for. Tamlin was unaware of how Feyre felt because she barely spoke up once. Rhys knew because he literally lived inside her head and had all the time in the world to focus his attention on her since his court suffered zero consequences during Amarantha’s reign. And Tamlin simply told her the truth: there’s no such thing as High Lady. Even her current title is given to her by Rhys, the magic of Prythian has not actually chosen her to be High Lady. The title and its power are decorative. And she said she didn’t want that anyway.

“Tamlin locks Feyre up and uses his magic to harm her”: He locks her in his humongous palace to keep her safe, after she just came back from the dead and his worst enemy is kidnapping her every month, while he runs off to protect his borders. Rhysand locks Feyre in a fucking bubble. Tamlin loses control of his magic. He doesn’t want to harm her. That’s not abuse. Abuse is intentional. Feyre and Rhysand lock Lucien and Nesta up. They lock the people of the Hewn City up in a cave. Feyre loses control of her magic and harms Lucien’s mother. Double standards I guess.

“Tamlin is a bad and conservative ruler”: Tamlin is such a beloved ruler that his sentries literally begged to die for him. Feyre had to fuck with their minds to finally turn them against him. They were his friends. He was so progressive that the lords fled his court once he became their ruler because he wouldn’t put up with their bullshit like his father did. He loved all of his people. He is against slavery. The Tithe was just tax collection. Rhysand practically rules over just one city, while ignoring Hewn City and Illyria. He treats 2/3 of his realm like shit and everyone except the residents of Velaris hates him. He collects tax, too, but we conveniently never see this. He ranks the members of his inner circle (my 1st, my 2nd etc.) and reminds them every moment that they are his slaves first and anything else second, while Tamlin treats them equally and even gives Lucien an official title by naming him Ambassador.

“Tamlin conspired with Hybern”: He was a double agent and his short lived alliance, two weeks all in all, not only didn’t harm a single soul, but ultimately saved all of Prythian as he was the only one who brought valuable information to that meeting. He dragged Beron to battle. Rhysand’s alliance with Amarantha harmed thousands and only helped save one city, Velaris.

“Tamlin is responsible for turning Nesta and Elain into Fae”: No, that was Ianthe, who got the info from Feyre. Tamlin was fooled by her, just as Feyre obviously was, or she wouldn’t have trusted her. Tamlin was disgusted by that act.

“Tamlin is less powerful than Rhysand”: Rhysand himself says that a battle between them would turn mountains to dust. Tamlin killed Rhysand’s dad, the previous High Lord of the Night Court, in one blow. He is just as powerful as Rhysand. SJM again just wants us to believe otherwise. And he is smarter, too. He was the only one not to trust Amarantha. And he was a good spy for Prythian against Hybern.

All of these takes are cold as fuck. SJM was testing the waters with ACOTAR and she made sure the main love interest, Tamlin, was insanely likeable, so that the book could be a satisfactory standalone story in case she couldn’t land a trilogy deal. She didn’t know it would be such a big hit. But once she realised she could turn this into a franchise, she had to figure out a new story to tell. She may claim otherwise, but there’s just too many plothotes to convince me. And in order to make her new main love interest seem like the best choice, she had to character assassinate the old one. There was no other way. ACOTAR Rhys was too much of an evil monster to be loved by the majority of the audience. But Tamlin was introduced to us as such a heroic and passionate man that is literally impossible to turn him into someone despised by all. Feyre’s relationship with Rhysand reads too much like cheating on Tamlin. That’s why anyone with basic analytical skills is able to realise the flaws of the narration.

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bitterkarella · 10 months ago

Text

Midnight Pals: Spicy Stories

JK Rowling: hello children Poe: oh Poe: oh joanne Poe: you're back Rowling: i have concernss Poe: uh we're mostly about just telling stories here Poe: you have your own campfire for your terf stuff don't you? Rowling: yess but they've really been getting on my nervess lately

Rowling: you know how it iss with terf deatheaterss Poe: not really Rowling: alwayss agreeing with everything i ssay Rowling: all "oh yes dark lord" this and "oh spare me dark lord" that Rowling: ssometimess you jusst get tired of hearing "masterful gambit dark lord"

Rowling: i tell you, you don't know how hard it is to run a cult L Ron Hubbard: oh yeah woof big mood Hubbard: people think its all fun, but its actually a lot of work Rowling: I know right????

Poe: regardless, joanne, i'm going to have to put my foot down Poe: this campfire is just for stories Rowling: uhhh actually i do have a new ssstory Rowling: i wass insspired to write after having an argument on the internet Barker: oh damn no shit? Barker: that's wild

Rowling: it's a new harry potter ssstory King: oh man! it's about time, i've been hoping for a new potter story for ages! Rowling: itss about hermione going back in time to help grindelwald, who actually had sssome good points if you think about it

Rowling: i call it Rowling: the time turner diariesss Barker: wow this is not really funny anymore Baker: its like INTENSELY not funny Lovecraft: catchy title tho!

Rowling: i'm retconning grindelwald into a misundersstood idealisst Rowling: who was only forced to make hard choicess because of the unreassonablenesss of decadent weimar society

Rowling: oh also you know that thing where people kept criticizing me cuz technically grindelwald's "evil" plan was to prevent the holocaust? Rowling: well good news Rowling: i've rectified that little mistake

Rowling: like, why would the naziss target transs & queer people, traditionally the most powerful and widely accepted memberss of ssociety? Rowling: would not the naziss, famouss for their love of diverssity, actually approve of them? Rowling: i'm jusst asskin questions

King: actually joanne there's a lot of well-documented evidence Barker: give it up steve King: no no i can fix this King: i'm sure if i just lay out the facts in a logical, well-reasoned manner- Barker: oh god that's so cute Barker: don't you just love him? Poe: that's our steve

King: so you see the nazi book burning of the institute for sexualwissenschaft- Rowling: nope Rowling: didn't happen King: King: well it kinda did, see, as i was saying- Rowling: thiss iss missogyny

Rowling: i don't undersstand you lot at all Rowling: i come into your campfire, i make a sstatement that i really want to be true & you all refuse to accept it Rowling: thiss issn't the way it works over with my terf deatheaters at all Rowling: they love accepting things i ssay!

Rowling: it'ss actually really missogynisstic that you all refusse to accept what i'm ssaying asss truth Rowling: even though you all know how badly i want it to be true King: but joanne, it isn't true- Rowling: ssave it for court ssteve!

Mary Shelley: sup fuckers Shelley: i got here late wot's going on? Barker: joanne is doing holocaust denial Rowling: EXCUSE ME it'ss only holocausst denial if you quesstion the murder of jews Rowling: tho now that i think about it i do have some questionss

Rowling: like, would they not have ussed their goblin magic to essscape? Lovecraft: ya know, she makes a good point Sonia Greene: i'm right here howard Lovecraft: Greene: see, this is why i don't talk much

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #edgar allan poe #hp lovecraft #mary shelley #jk rowling #l ron hubbard #sonia greene

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axelsagewrites · 5 months ago

Note

could you make a robb stark x baratheon reader where they grow up together as friends and were promised to each other, at the beginning reader thinks robb doesn't wanna marry her but then he tells her he loves her

if you could please add smut at the end (afab reader btw)

Robb Stark*Arranged

Pairing: arranged marriage!robb stark x princess!reader

Word count: 2272

Warnings: arranged marriage, anxiety, talks of running away, making out, (smut in part two but this is mostly wholesome), fluff

Masterlist here

A/N: sorry this (and everything else lol) has taken so long but part two with the smut will be up in the next couple of days :)

despite being a Baratheon by blood, by title, and by name most days you felt more like a Stark than anything else. Your father had sent you up to the North on your eleventh name day to become a ward of Ned Stark as part of an alliance of sort. Marrying his eldest daughter to a well-respected and established house only strengthened your fathers claim.

It had benefits for you, well at least he told you all his reasons in the letters. You’d be safe under lord starks protection, able to grow up alongside Sansa Stark who was only a year younger than you, become the future lady of Winterfell, and most importantly, to you at least, marry your childhood crush.

Yes, that’s right from the time you met him at four, him being five, you were smittened. Your father had travelled north on business but also happened to attend the wedding of one of the northern lords. He and ned laughed loudly, clinking their glasses together, as they watched you force Robb to walk down a pretend aisle with you that Jon helped you set up with chairs.

Of course, it was just a silly crush. It’s not like four-year-olds understand what a wedding is. By the time you moved to the north at eleven it was just a fond memory of your fathers he would tell at dinner parties.

In the nicest way possible when you first arrived Robb didn’t even care you were there. He was twelve and running about with wooden swords to practise with Jon and Theon while you and Sansa would practise hairstyles in each other’s hair.

However, by fifteen something dreadful happened. You fancied him.

Sure, in theory it sounded great but there were so many awkward moments. After all you were only fifteen. You couldn’t help that your face went beat red when he gave you a necklace for your birthday and when he told you that you looked ‘pretty’ one day you could barely muster out a thank you, you were so shocked.

You did your best to shove it down and pretend everything was normal over the years, but the crush never went away. You got better at hiding it. you had to as you’d grown closer over the years. Since Sansa had no interest in horse riding you were left to go with the trio, as you called them, instead. It soon became one of your favourite past times and you quickly grew close with the three boys. Especially Robb.

You figured it was a good idea especially as the talks of your marriage began cropping up more frequently. Your parents started pushing you to go on chaperoned excursions to markets and walks through the gods’ woods. They had no clue, or at least pretended, about the unchaperoned ones. Often you disappeared into the gods wood for some peace or the fields behind Winterfell to race. Robb began to bring food in his satchel so your excursions could turn into late lunches in the few sunny days of Winterfell.

“I definitely won,” he grinned as he dismounted his horse.

“Yeah right,” you scoffed as you jumped down, “you cheated,”

“How?”

“You went before I said go!”

“It’s three, two, one, go on one,”

“No, it’s not. Its three, two, one, go,”

“As in go already I said one,”

“As in you’re a cheat,” you huffed as you sat down against a thick oak tree.

Robb laughed at your antics as he sat down beside you, pulling his satchel out, “Truce?” he offered as he pulled out a parcel of sandwiches.

You pretended to think it over before nodding, “Truce,” For a few moments you sat in silence eating the sandwiches before you finally decided to tell him the news that had been weighing over you for the past week. “My mother sent me a raven,”

“Oh?” Robb paused, mid bite with concern written on his face. Your father sent you letters on a weekly basis but so far, your mother had only sent three since you left. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, well, I think so. I’m not sure,” you paused for a moment before just blurting it out, “She’s coming next week. With a seamstress,” Robb stared at you confused, “For the wedding,”

“Oh,” the word shattered your heart. While you had become friends over the year neither one of you ever spoke about the impending nuptials. Sure, you wanted to marry him, but you were terrified. Not of marriage. He was a good man. He would treat you right whether he wanted this marriage or not. But that’s when the fear came in. what if Robb could never love you? “Aren’t most girls excited about fancy dresses?” he tried to joke, lighten the mood like he always did. Its what he always did whenever the wedding was brought up. Play it off, make a joke, laugh. It was all an awkward joke to him.

“I suppose, Sansa will be,” you laughed. She really had become like a sister to you over the years, “I suppose though this means it will be arranged soon,” you tried to look at him, but Robb just stared down at his food. “Unless we escape somehow,” you joked, copying his defence mechanism.

He looked up a smiled a little, “Quick you grab the horses, I’ll pack the bag. We’ll ride at dawn,” he joked.

“Imagine. Take all the back roads till we get to Riverrun,”

“Bribe the Frays into letting us cross,”

“Then straight down to Dorne,”

“Sounds like a plan,” he smiled, knocking his knee against yours. “Jon would never forgive me if I left him behind,”

“Him and Arya can come with. We’ll become sellswords,”

“Sounds like we’ve got it all planned out,”

When you returned to Winterfell Catelyn ran up to you both in a tizzy, “Where have you both been?” she whispers shouted, smiling at a passing lord before scouring, “A messenger from the king has arrived,”

You knew she meant well but your stomach dropped. you both followed her to the hall but soon the sorrowful look on your face was replaced by a grin, “Uncle Tyrion,” you rushed up to him immediately.

“Ah my favourite niece. Finally returned from some dingy pub I assume,” he joked though Cat couldn’t help but frown a little. They were both protective just in their own ways. “Don’t worry I’m not here to stay long. Just come down on your father’s behalf to organise the wedding. Speaking of, Lord Stark I do believe this is the first time we’ve met,” he extended a courteous nod to a very nervous looking Robb.

“Lord Tyrion,” he bowed.

“It goes without saying if you hurt my niece, I will have to have my men kill you,” he said, head tilting to the side making Robb gulp, “But other than that it’s lovely to meet you,” he grinned widely like a jester.

“Don’t tease him uncle,” you shook your head, but Tyrion just laughed, “I’d say you’ll get used to him, but no one has so far,”

“You’re so kind niece, truly,” he laughed, “Now onto business The king has organised his travels and shall be in Winterfell by the first of next month so we shall have to act swiftly,”

Panic set on all three of your faces. Though Robb and yours was far different than Catelyn’s. “My lord that’s awfully soon. We may not have the provisions to afford so many guests so soon- “

“No fear my lady. I was also sent with my father’s gold. No Lannister shall have anything less than a golden affair,” you could see the relief melt from Catelyn but yours was just setting in.

For the next three weeks every discussion you had was about the wedding. cakes, flowers, food, music, dresses, veils, and most daunting of all; organising the preparation for Robb’s and yours new chamber. Tyrion even sent a seamstress to your room to organise an outfit for your wedding night. It was all quickly becoming too much.

You’d barely even seen Robb since the planning began. There was no time to calm down and no one to remind you to breathe. That was his job. Whenever you got nervous, he would gently grab your wrist under the table, running his thumb over the back of your hand. But he was nowhere to be found.

You eventually managed to find Jon who told you Robb was under the same stresses. His mother had him arranging with traders and mingling with the growing number of lords appearing at Winterfell’s gates. “Suppose this is the stresses of being a lady,” Jon joked.

It was only then it hit you. Soon this whole castle would be yours to run. How would you ever have time to breathe let alone enjoy your husband’s company if he would even have you.

Despite missing your family, the night before their arrivals, you cried quietly in your chamber. Their arrival tomorrow only marked the three remaining days you had left as a maid. Perched on an open windows ledge, the cold air stung your cheek but at least as you watched the birds fly you could feel a little of their freedom.

Then there was a quiet but rapid knocking. The faint sound brought your attention to the door which was shut less than a second after it was opened. “Hey sorry I’ve not come sooner- “Robb’s voice entered the room, for some reason making your tears sting more. Robb shivered from the cold, “Why’s the window open? You’ll freeze princess,”

Robb rushed to your side, leaning past you to shut the glass to preserve what little heat he could. His confusion fell from his face when he saw your tears, “What’s the matter?” his voice was soft and tender as he sat across from you to hold your hands, his thumbs stroking over the back on them.

“I don’t know,” you lied in a whisper.

Robb knew. He always knew when you lied. He just nodded gently though. “I’ll start a fire,” he was on his feet again.

“I can fetch someone if you wish- “

“But I’m already here,” he teased as he knelt by the fireplace.

As he got to work in silence you padded across the floor. The stone floor felt like ice against your bare feet making you quicken your pace till you could sit on the small sofa in front of the fire Robb had started. “Easy, see,” he said, joining you on the couch, “We’ll get a heat in you,”

“Thanks,” you sniffled.

You sat in an easy silence though when you left out another sigh Robb was compelled to place an arm around your shoulder. You leant into his touch, your head rested on his shoulder and his on yours. A few moments passed before he spoke, “Jon said you were asking for me,”

You weren’t sure why you tensed, “I just worry sometimes,”

“I know,”

You couldn’t stand the next silence that followed so made a joke, “Thought you’d ran away,”

“Without you?” he said, pulling back to grin back at you, “Nah we have a deal princess. Say the word and I’ll get the horses,”

His smile made your stomach drop. It all felt like one big tease, “I thought,” you began to stutter, “You may have been running from me,”

Robb’s face fell, “Why would I do that?”

You sighed, turning to face the flames again as the tears threatened to spill, “It’s not like you chose this marriage. You weren’t exactly ever given the option. I wouldn’t blame you if you objected to it,” you muttered.

When he pulled away you could’ve sobbed but it was quickly replaced by confusion when he knelt in front of you, “Why would I object? all I desire is to be a good and faithful husband to you and may gods help me I will be. I wouldn’t desire another option if I was given a thousand,”

“Why?” you could feel venom briming in your voice, “Because my dowery? Because the king commanded it?”

The hurt on his face felt like a stab to the gut but his words only twisted the knife, “Because I love you,” he took your hands in his, “and I understand that you don’t feel that way for me and may never, but nothing will stop the way I- “

You didn’t even realise you’d moved till you pulled back from the kiss. Without thinking your lips had found his and now you stared into his eyes. It only lasted a second before Robb lusted forward, reconnecting the kiss into a messy, desperate thing.

As you felt him raise, you followed, standing to kiss him as his arms wrapped around your back, pulling you flush against him. Your hands rested on his shoulders, now fully able to appreciate his strength.

You wanted more but he pulled away, your lips chased his making Robb breathe out a laugh. “You’re something else,” he muttered, a grin on his face, “I can’t imagine not wanting to be with you,”

This time your arms tightened, burying your head into his neck as you hugged him close. Robb followed suit, his muscular arms keeping your warmer than the fire, “I feel the same way,” you eventually managed to stutter out, “But I- “

“You don’t have to say it,” he mumbled, kissing the top of your head, “I understand,”

“How did I get so lucky?” you pulled back to smile up at him.

He just smiled back, “I ask myself that each night,”

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#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark fic #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fic #asoiaf x reader #robb stark fluff

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vivwritescrappythings · 3 months ago

Text

anything you ask

knight!könig x plus-size!fem!reader

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

despite all odds, it is your wedding day (final part)

tw: fem reader, afab reader, plus size reader, body image issues, drinking, kissing, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, loss of virginity, breeding kink, creampie, not proofread.

wc: 10.2 k

masterlist

Your father sequestered you to your chambers immediately after your makeshift proposal, a knight you did not recognize posted outside your doors to keep visitors away.

It was remarkable how quickly you turned into a prisoner, only allowed to fetch books from the library and have dinner with your father in his private study. The meals were silent, his disappointment in you clear as you kept your gaze trained on your plate.

You tried to speak to him once. It was a pathetic attempt at an olive branch, some silly apology for ruining his plan with Lord Fischer. You stumbled over the words in your efforts to sound sincere. On some level you were sincere, knowing you embarrassed him and hurt his reputation. But you were rebuked just as quickly, his glare silencing your stammered excuses.

His disappointment was hard for you to swallow. While your sister was your mother’s favorite, you had always been your father’s. When you were little he took you riding and told you stories to fall asleep and always had the patience to play with you. Your personality had never irked him, he simply called you spirited. He said you got it from his side of the family.

To be outcast from his good graces hurt more than you could describe.

The days in your confinement were long. There was only so much time you could spend reading before you wanted to gouge your own eyes out. You found yourself missing your idle conversations with the other ladies at court over your embroidery–you had taken talks of dress styles and weddings and how to properly put together a dinner party menu for granted, always rolling your eyes and sticking your nose up in the air. You missed the other girls, the way they anxiously giggled at your sarcasm and how Mary always made space for you.

Above all, you missed König. His crystal-colored eyes and smile had been haunting you ever since your father yanked you up off the staircase by your arm and escorted you to your room himself. The knight had been your constant companion for over half a year, it was odd to no longer have him by your side.

Although, you had no idea what you would say to him if you were able to speak with him. You were still reeling from all that had happened, it felt like you had been thrown from a horse rather than gotten engaged. Of course, you had fantasized about marrying him, but you had never imagined it to be under these circumstances.

You still could not decide if you wanted to embrace him or rebuke him. His plan had risked everything for you–your reputation, your freedom. Rather than let you two marry, your father could have easily just sent you off to a convent for the remainder of your days.

König would have lost nothing. He was too skilled of a knight to be executed, and you were not important enough for his titles to be stripped. Even if he had not been permitted to marry you, he would have been let off with a slap on the wrist.

You never knew there was a part of him so selfish. Or so calculated.

It was not until after that you realized everything he did had a purpose behind it. If getting his mouth on you was his goal, he could have just as easily knelt before you where the two of you had been tucked behind the curve in the wall.

Instead, he spread you out on the stairs in plain view of any passers by. But he allowed himself to nearly suffocate beneath your skirts rather than hike them up around your waist and sacrifice all of your modesty.

It was an enigma to consider his motivations: did he actually want to pleasure you or just force your father’s hand? You knew he was a second son and that you had foolishly informed him of your absurdly high dowry amount. The two of you got along reasonably, and matches had been created on less. The leap to marrying you was not a difficult one to make.

You often found yourself sitting at the window seat, counting the days away as you watched the flurry of motion in the courtyard. König was out there with the other knights and squires once. Your eyes had nearly popped out of your head when you spotted him, your hand flattening against the cool window pane as you pressed your forehead against the glass.

He was only wearing his black hood and trousers, his thick torso on display as he showed one of the younger squires how to spar with wooden swords. It was unfortunate that your room was too far to see the fine details of him clearly, you could see the covering of dirty blonde hair on his forearms and chest, the faint line of it beneath his navel that disappeared into the laces of his trousers. You should have been ashamed by how you were ogling him, watching each movement and the way his skin moved over the ridges of muscle.

But, he was your soon-to-be husband, after all.

You could ogle as much as you wanted.

An odd sort of thrill ran through you at the thought. Your husband. In all your dreams about being married, you had never considered that you could marry someone you would want to ogle at. You expected a man like Lord Fischer: far your senior with no other prospects. But König was unlike anything you had considered realistic.

He looked up at you from the training field, making you nearly fall back from your window in shock. You were too far to make out any expression in his eyes, only able to see the way he tilted his head a bit to one side. A laugh, you guessed.

It had even been a week since that one shred of contact with him. You sat at your window every day since then as you vied for another peek of him. But you had no such luck, just knights and squires you had never bothered to pay attention to before. You kept looking, hoping to see a man who towered over the others.

You were at your window when your father came to your rooms to tell you to pack your trunks. He hardly spoke to you, informing you that you were both headed east to the Kilgore estate for your wedding.

–

The week before your wedding went by in the blink of an eye.

It was a blessing your mother and sister had arrived at the Kilgore estate before you did. It was a flurry of activity when you arrived, they had gotten the servants into a frenzy cleaning for guests. They had taken over most of the planning, ordering flowers and sampling bolts of fabric for your gown and putting together a menu for the feast.

You had been told that the eastern peoples enjoyed festivities as fantastic as their monumental architecture and rolling hills of green, so your wedding ceremony surprised you.

The hall was grandiose: tall buttressed ceilings and two long rows of pillars along the main walkway. A breeze carried in through the open terrace doors, fluttering the hem of your deep blue gown. The air smelled thick of oakmoss incense, you could see the smoke floating through the rays of orange sunlight.

You steeled yourself, forcing yourself to tear your gaze from the polished marble floor and look up.

At the end of the hall, König was there with the priest.

The ceremony was nothing you expected, only your family and your sister’s husband were present. König’s brother was overseas on some trade expedition and he had no other family, so a knight he had grown close to during his time in battle stood on his side of the room.

König’s shirt was of the same blue fabric you wore, embroidered elegantly with silver thread. His hood was nowhere to be seen, a mask covering his face from forehead to nose. His hair was the color of sand, half of it drawn back away from his face into a thick bun with the rest curling around his shoulders. A few loose pieces fell over the silver forehead of the mask.

It was more of him than you had ever seen before, your gaze greedily taking in the shape of his profile. His nose had been broken a few times, the ridge of his Roman nose exaggerated from being set in the field. His jaw was sharp, the familiar scruff of his stubble covering it.

You finally willed yourself forward, the fabric of your dress heavy as the train dragged behind you. Each step was measured and careful, your mother and sister had drilled into you the correct walking speed over the week. It seemed ridiculous at the time. But you found yourself counting each step in your head.

The aisle was long, it gave you far too much time to think. THe still had not uttered a word to you since that day in the hall. There was so much you wanted to say to him, the words bubbling in your throat as you swallowed thickly.

You stepped onto the dias, turning to face König.

His smile surprised you. It was faint, it almost felt like a secret between the two of you. His eyes were so open, every flicker of joy clear to you as you found yourself grinning back.

He reached out and clasped your hands, the rough scrape of his callouses against the tenderness of your skin. Your hands told of a life of privilege, his told of a life of work despite the luxury his family’s estate exuded.

Thumbs ran across the backs of your knuckles, feeling the delicate bones of your hand shift under the gentle pressure.

The priest began to speak in a language you did not understand, the same lilting accent and harsh consonants recognizable from König’s voice. You glanced at the gnarled old man, trusting König to guide you through the ceremony that was so foreign to you.

You could hardly hear what the man was saying over the thundering of your own heart. It just took a squeeze of König’s fingers to prompt you when to nod and agree, to clumsily repeat his words.

He slipped a beautiful ring set with an emerald onto your left hand, its weight already feeling familiar on your finger. It was easy to admire, your lips parting as you watched how it sparkled in the sunlight. The air felt thick with marjoram and incense smoke. You struggled to breathe.

It took the priest clearing his throat to pull you from your reverie. The room cleared, breath coming easy once more. König’s gaze was on you, eyes sparkling with fondness as they dropped to his own ring finger and back to your face.

Oh. You clumsily produced the thick silver ring from the pocket sewn inside your dress sleeve. There were etchings in the metal, swirls of filigree pressing into your fingertips as you grabbed his hand to bring it toward you. A drop of molten lead moved through your stomach as you realized that you could fit both of your hands into one of his.

Buzzing filled your mind as you pushed the ring onto König’s finger, relief warming you as it settled into place.

The priest tutted, tongue clicking against his teeth as he was seemingly satisfied.

He moved off the dias first, König taking your hand in his and leading you to follow the painfully slow pace. “Meine frau,” he murmured in a low rumble.

You hardly even looked at your family, feeling lightheaded as you glanced up at König. “What does that mean?” you asked softly.

“My wife.” He brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss as soft as a petal on the back of it. You warmed at the term. Wife was a word that you were convinced would never belong to you.

His knuckles ghosted along the gooseflesh lifting on the back of your arm before lifting it around you. You tucked into his side easily, naturally. His hand settled on your waist, drawing you close as he steered you into a private room. The doors clicked shut behind you.

“Are we wed?” you whispered, brows drawing together as you looked up at König. You could see the distorted reflection of your face in his mask, the silver polished handsomely.

He laughed and nodded, his smile genuine as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear.

It was the first moment the two of you had been alone. After a moment you pulled your hand from his grasp, taking a few steps back. You could see the confusion in his expression as he stood, watching you curiously.

Your anger had not dissipated, your arms crossing over your chest. “You could have informed me of your plan, you know,” you said, your glare earnest across the room. “I confided everything to you, trusted you with my life and you repay me by risking my reputation and what little freedom I have as a woman to force my father to accept your proposal.”

It was hard to pinpoint the moment when you started to shout at him, gesturing wildly with your hands.

König was smiling, aggravating your further. You huffed, lurching forward and shoving at his chest. His lack of an answer made you want to scream. “It was selfish! You knew that and you did it anyway.”

His big hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking along the bone as you snarled at him. “There she is,” he murmured, voice soft as he directed your gaze up to him. His smile was soft, the scars on his lips pulling taught. “I missed seeing the fire in my mäuschen, it has been quite some time.”

You scoffed, caught off guard by his words. Disbelief made you shake your head slightly, the warmth of his palm still curved to fit your cheek. “König…”

He stepped closer, his other hand curling around to the small of your back. “It was not my intention for your father to catch us,” he said, dipping his head toward your own. A kiss was stamped to your forehead, another to your cheek. “I was going to ask for your hand in marriage without any dowry–he would have been a fool to deny it.”

The skin beneath your earlobe prickled with sensitivity as König’s teeth nibbled at it. “The other day… I simply was too eager to give you pleasure,” he whispered into your ear, walking you back until your spine pressed against the stone wall and he loomed over you. “And I have thought about it almost constantly ever since.”

Your cheeks heated up like they were set on fire, your hand covering your mouth as you glanced away from König. “Constantly?” you asked, the word muffled in your palm. Something between embarrassment and flattery pounded in your chest.

His fingers nudged your jaw until you were looking at him once more. “It has been hard to focus on much else,” he murmured, a smirk twisting his mouth. The pad of his thumb ghosted along your lower lip, making you part them slightly. “You tasted so much better than I had ever even dreamed of, I could have kept my mouth between your legs all day.”

He may as well have lit you on fire.

“König!” you scolded lightly, shocked that he would say something so scandalous. “What if someone is listening?”

His laugh was warm and affectionate. “Well, mäuschen, then they will hear how much I desire my wife.” The pride in his voice was so obvious that you felt like you were glowing.

König finally bent to capture your lips with his own. You hummed into the kiss, letting your eyes close and your hand find his neck. The curls at his nape were soft as you tangled your fingers in them, pulling gently.

You had never kissed him without the bulk of his hood before, the smooth press of the silver mask covering his nose far different than the scrape of canvas fabric you had become used to.

His hand seized the fabric of your skirt, bunching it in his fist as he started to lift the hem. The feel of the embroidered edge sliding along your leg invoked your ire as you remembered why you had started the conversation in the first place.

You pulled away, shoving your husband’s chest to put some space between you. He let you, taking a step back and releasing your wedding dress. The air felt thick as you took a breath. “Do not think you can just kiss me and compliment me and I will forgive you,” you said, brows drawn.

König nodded, lips twitching as he tried to school his grin. He stepped toward you, palms lifted toward you like you were a cornered animal. “I will beg on my hands and knees if you wish.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. König took your hand and brought it back to his lips, letting them skate across your knuckles. “I will spend the rest of my days attoning for it if that is what my beautiful wife desires,” he murmured, looking up at you through his blonde lashes.

He disarmed you easily, making you turn your face as you fought the urge to grin. “Perhaps I do desire that,” you mumbled, the threat of a laugh tickling your throat.

There was a warm puff of air over your hand as König snorted softly. “The rest of my days, I swear. But first we must get through our wedding feast.”

You had forgotten there was still a feast to get through. The anxiety of walking down the aisle had taken up the forefront of your mind, the rest of the day had hardly occurred to you. The feast. The consummation.

Thoughts about consummating your marriage made you feel dizzy. Your mother cornered you a few days ago to discuss it with you, whispering in low tones as you both sat close on a window seat. Her words floated in your head: no man wanted a weeping, unexpired bride on his wedding night. She told you that if he showed you his face to tell him he was handsome even if you did not believe it, and to hide the fact that it hurt.

But she would not say what would cause you pain.

König gently tugging on your hand pulled you back to the present. “Yes, the feast,” you said, scraping your teeth over your lower lip as he brought you under his arm.

You leaned into his warmth as you exited the room, letting him pull you toward the large double doors at the end of the hall.

At his nod, the footmen pulled the large doors open to a room full of raucous clapping and shouts.

—

The feast was lively–far more people than you expected were present. The great hall was full of long tables, they even spilled out into the courtyard through the open doors across the room. Lords and locals and family and friends sat amongst them, eating and laughing and talking as though they had known each other their whole lives.

It had run long, hours upon hours of feasting and drinking and talking. You watched the plates before you were filled and cleared and filled over and over again. Seemingly without end. The food was delicious. Roasted meats and basted potatoes and honeyed pears, bread that flaked apart with the most gentle of touches. Cups remained full of ale and mead and wine, your drink strong enough that you were forced to sip it slowly.

People keep coming up to wish you both well, you and König sitting at the center of a long wooden table. The somber man you knew him to be was replaced by a man who remembered the name of each person who approached and clinked together mugs and laughed in loud barks.

You had been processing the ceremony still when you noticed the local blacksmith asking how König was liking the mask with a genuine smile on his face. It had been forged specifically for the wedding.

It was easy to feel smitten with König, the more you learned of him over the course of the evening making you soften from your previous anger.

His big hand landed on your thigh, squeezing gently as he turned to face you. Your eyes went wide as you looked up at him. “Is the food to your liking?” he asked softly, head dipping low toward yours so he could whisper over the din of the room. “You have not eaten much, it is unlike you, mäuschen.”

You almost felt embarrassed, warmth coming to your face. It was hard for you to eat when you were so anxious. “It is wonderful,” you assured, inclining your head toward his shoulder. There was no way you could share your anxiety for what comes after with him. “The honeyed pears are divine.”

He smiled, leaning in to press his lips against your temple. They were soft and warm, his breath puffing against your hairline before he shifted his weight back into his seat.

Before you quite realize it, another plate of honeyed pears sit before you on the table

–

It was only when the moon was high in the sky that König whisked you away from the feast, an arm looped around your waist as he pulled you from your chair and out the side entrance to the room without so much as a farewell. He shushed you softly when you stammered that you needed to say goodbye, assuring you that the party would still be going on for the next few days as was his people’s custom.

The next few days, you could hardly imagine being able to stay awake for it.

Your feet were already stumbling, you struggled to keep up with König as you leaned against him. He took you through what felt like a labyrinth of stone hallways, making you get hopelessly turned around.

“It has been a long day,” he murmured, stopping for a moment to pull you closer to his chest. You sighed, sagging against him and taking in his familiar scent. It was pleasant to feel the slight give of his flesh as he embraced you–you had only ever encountered him when he was wearing armor. Without it he finally felt real beneath your touch.

You nodded, forehead pressing into his sternum as you let your eyes shut. Only one thing was left, your mother had impressed upon you how important it was for you to let König take you to bed no matter what. She feared he would wake up and change his mind in the morning.

You found your feet after a few moments, fingertips wiping at the corners of your eyes as you stood up straight. He only released your arms once he was sure you were steady, tucking a piece of hair away that had escaped your elegant braided style. You leaned into the scoop of his palm, letting your cheek squish into it.

You stretched to your toes, hands linking behind König’s neck to pull him down. He answered your silent plea eagerly, mouth slanting against yours. The crackle of lightning behind it reminded you of the first kiss you shared in the library of the royal palace. It took no coaxing from him for your lips to part, the flavor of the spiced mead he had been drinking all night filling your mouth as he licked into it.

His hands settled on your hips, fingertips digging into your soft flesh as he pulled you close. One of them migrated dangerously, smoothing over the curve of your ass just before taking a handful of it. You giggled into the kiss, pressing your body against his as you moved in toward him. His pinky dug into the line where your ass met your thigh, pulling a genuine laugh from you.

“I am ticklish there,” you protested between your lips meeting, trying to defend yourself with a hand. König chuckled, using the newfound knowledge to his advantage as he hooked his fingers into the crease.

You lurched, scrabbling at the thick muscles of his arms as you tried to escape his grip. “You should not have told me that, mäuschen,” he threatened affectionately, continuing his assault in spite of your protests. Your laughs turned breathless as you weakly shoved at his shoulders, your legs kicking as you attempted to twist from him.

Voices echoed from around the hallway corner. “He was quite eager to pull her away from the feast.” There was a bout of conspiratorial giggles as unseen companions agreed with the man who spoke.

The distraction stopped your husband from tickling you, letting you stamp your lips to his once more. You would have been content to stand and exchange open-mouthed kisses without worry, no longer caring of who stumbled upon the two of you.

But König pulled away, blue eyes meeting yours before he took you by the hand and you raced breathlessly next to him to his chambers.

–

You sucked in desperate breaths as the door clicked shut behind the two of you. His chambers were opulent and extensive, furs and velvets and fabrics embroidered with silver thread strewn across the furniture. The fire crackled merrily across from the large, four poster bed along the center of the largest wall of the room. It was still unmade, the twisted mess of quilts making your body warm to the tips of your fingers and toes.

König began to undress himself as instinct took over, kicking off his heavy boots and removing the belt secured about his waist. You were in his rooms after all, the thought a molten ball of lead in your stomach.

You stood in the center of the room, hands clasped together in front of you as you looked around. The smell of marjoram filled your nose, undercut by a familiar musk that always seemed to cling to König’s skin. Goosebumps prickled along your arms as you considered the room, unsure whether to disrobe or not. Your confusion forced you to freeze in place.

A sigh from behind you forced you to turn to look over your shoulder. His shirt had been entirely removed, tossed over a plush settee with little care as he raked his fingers through his hair. Your lips parted, mouth drying as your gaze shamelessly fell to the thick muscles of his torso.

He noticed your admiration, letting his hands fall from his curls as he stepped closer to you. “Is there something you wish to ask, meine frau?” His head tilted to one side, his form towering over yours as he stopped before you.

You swallowed thickly, lips parting as you tried to find words. Scars crossed over his torso just as they did his neck and lower half of his face. You hesitantly reached forward to touch one, the gnarled skin smooth beneath your fingertips as you traced the slash mark down the center of his sternum. There were more slashes and stab wounds, a burn mark over the meat of his hip and disappearing into his trousers.

The ridges of his abdominal muscles were firm beneath your touch. You were breathless, wetting your lips with your tongue as your forefinger followed the trail of thick, curling hair beneath his navel.

You looked up to him through your eyelashes, still feeling like you were choking as you tried to think of something–anything–to say. The room felt too warm, the fire burning in your belly hotter than the one in the hearth.

His blue eyes were dark as he met your gaze, mouth twisted into a smirk that made it feel as though the ground had dropped out from beneath you. It was easy to see that he was pleased.

The silver mask reflected the glow of the room back onto your face, hiding the rest of his expression from you. Your fingers itched to take it off, to untie the strap of leather that held the metal snugly to his face and reveal it after so long.

“Will I ever know my husband by the entirety of his face?” you asked in a moment of boldness, gaze flickering from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “Or shall I only know you by your eyes?”

König hummed, seemingly contemplating as his large hands brushed over your shoulders and down your arms. “And if I did not wish to show you?” His thumbs circled over your wrists, slipping beneath the sleeves of your gown. Affection seemed so natural to him, as though he had spent the previous few months touching you whenever he desired.

“I would not force you to.” You allowed him to turn your hands over in his hold, thumbs pressing along the fine bones of your inner wrist before massaging the meat of your palms.

He was looking at your hands, blonde eyelashes fluttering against the bottom rim of the eyes in his mask. “And if you do not find me handsome?” he asked, so quiet that you almost missed it. Your heart ached, the fear undercutting his tone making your brows bunch together.

“I find you handsome now,” you assured him, cupping his cheek. It was hard to imagine a man like König to be insecure. He had always seemed so assured of himself before, exuding confidence in the halls of the royal palace.

“Promise you will not leave.”

It felt like he had seized your heart in your chest, fingers squeezing around it as you stepped closer to your husband. Your brow furrowed as you nodded. “I promise, König,” you said softly, trying to soothe the flicker of fear in his expression. “I am your wife, I will not leave.”

He sighed, a slight nod bobbing his head as he leaned toward you. You bit your lip, reaching up carefully to the knotted leather cord. It was easy to pull apart, your stomach turning with anticipation as the two halves of the cord fell away. He moved the mask away from his face, hardly breathing as he set it down on the same settee he had discarded his shirt onto.

You stopped breathing altogether, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

König was handsome.

Almost ridiculously so.

Of course he was rugged. His bright blue eyes were framed by thick, straight eyebrows and high cheekbones, his nose crooked from being broken so many times. It suited him, your husband both exactly what you expected him to be and nothing at all. One scar cut from the left side of his nose and curved up toward the outside of his eye, this skin jagged and puckered. The scar on the other side of his face looked like lightning, bisecting his eyebrow and meeting the cut running from the inner corner of his eye into a Y that dragged almost all the way down to the corner of his lip.

You must have been silent for quite some time, König clearing his throat prompting you to blink and shut your mouth. His cheek matched the cup of your palm, a shiver running up your arm as you touched his face for the first time.

“I am glad you did not take your hood off before now,” you murmured, watching him lean into your touch.

His eyes shut tightly, his expression bracing for you to say something worse. “I would have had to fight the other ladies at court off of you if they knew this is what you were hiding underneath that fabric.”

You grinned as his broad shoulders slumped, his relieved exhale puffing over your face. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours as he wrapped his arms around you. “You exaggerate,” he mumbled, almost sounding bashful. Color flooded his cheeks, dusting them with pink as the firelight illuminated him in gold.

It was hard to tame your fascination, your fingertips tracing the shapes of his features just as your eyes did in a foolish attempt to memorize them. You were greedy, wanting to make up for every moment you had wondered what he looked like.

“I would not exaggerate,” you whispered, wetting your lips once more. He shivered beneath your touch as you traced a scar across the bridge of his nose.

He grumbled something beneath his breath, bending his knees to grab you at your thighs and lift. “König!” you yelped, the sensation of the floor no longer beneath your feet making you balk as your hands pressed against his bare shoulders to keep yourself steady. “Put me down! I am far too heavy for you to lift like this.”

His laughter was genuine as he carried you with ease. For the first time in your life you felt as light as a feather, not even a hint of strain visible in König’s expression. “Too heavy? You seem to underestimate me, mäuschen.”

He turned, sitting on the edge of the bed and arranging you so your knees were on either side of the broad expanse of his thighs. König’s hands slipped beneath your heavy skirts, pushing the royal blue fabric out of the way so he could smooth his hands over your bare thighs. You still had the urge to shove his hands away from the dimpled flesh on the outside of your legs.

If your insecurity was obvious, König did not let on that he knew. His expression melted into one of desire as he squeezed handfuls of your soft thighs. The press of his hand on the small of your back pressed the two of you close.

Your bodies slotted together like they were made to, your thighs spreading wide over the bulk of him as he tugged you down hard. A whine pulled from you as you felt the swell of his clothed erection between your legs, snug against your quickly dampening undergarments.

The feeling of arousal was still new to you, your heart fluttering as König rolled his hips against yours. You tangled your fingers into his hair, now loose from the half-up style he had worn during the day. Twisting the soft strands around your fingers kept you tethered to earth as your bodies moved together, quiet moans filling the charged air between you.

Your nose dragged against his scarred cheek as you clumsily found his lips, teeth mashing against his as your hips rocked to the pace that he set.

The thin fabric of your undergarments started to stick to your inner thighs, the ache between your legs starting to make you desperate. You leaned back to better look at him, his eyelids heavy and lips parted as he took you in.

His gaze dropped from your face to your chest, tracing the square neck of your gown. There was a flash of his pink tongue as he licked his lips. Your fingers curled around his wrist, pulling his hand from your thigh to the bodice of your gown. It was all the permission he needed.

König’s thick fingers slipped into the front of your dress, pulling it down enough to make the stitches creak before your breasts spilled out of the fabric. Pride flickers through you at the way his eyes widen, jaw going slack as he stared with an expression that resembled awe.

It seemed he did not notice the stripes of stretch marks along the skin, the calloused pad of his thumb already strumming across your nipple in a way that made you sigh. His mouth moved to the other before you could quite register, lips closing around your nipple and sucking. You whimpered, arching your spine as you used your grip on his hair to pull his head closer.

“Christ,” you sighed, head tilted back and eyes screwed shut. He nosed along the thin skin of your sternum, his hot breath making gooseflesh rise on your arms. A bite on the side of your breast made you squeak, his tongue laving over the sting.

His big hand between your shoulder blades anchored you to him as he flipped the two of you over gracefully.

A few attempts were made to just pull your dress off like a brute before you were scolding him and flipping onto your stomach. “Be careful or you will rip it like that,” you hissed, moving your hair off the back of your neck. “There are such things as buttons, you savage.”

He only laughed, already working each button through the loop of thread holding it in place. “It should be a crime to have this many buttons on a wedding dress,” he mumbled, fumbling with them.

It gave you a moment to breathe. Despite not having touched a single cup all day you felt tipsy, the edges of the room a bit fuzzy as you tried to calm your heart.

Hands hooking beneath your shoulders flipped you over onto your back, earning a giddy laugh from you. König moving you like a ragdoll felt hard to reconcile with–you had grown up thinking that you were simply too heavy to be treated like the petite thing he saw you as.

Eagerness was glowing in his eyes as he pulled the sleeves of the gown off your arms, exposing your upper body to his greedy gaze. You had to calm yourself, breathing in and out and reminding yourself of your mother’s words: he had no time for a weeping bride on his wedding night–you just needed to make him happy.

You lifted your hips to help him pull down your dress and undergarments in one swoop. He tossed the gown onto the same settee with his shirt, the royal blue fabric ballooning in a heap.

His profile was outlined in the golden light of the fire, making him look ethereal for a moment.

You were thankful that he looked away to untie his trousers, letting you take in the rolls of your body without his reaction. You sucked in your stomach, breath locking in your chest. Perhaps sitting up would help, if you pulled your knees up it would at least cover the softness of your belly. You wished the firelight was dimmer, the shadows catching in each crevice of your body and exaggerating them.

You decided upon sitting up, awkwardly holding yourself with your arms as you tried to twist into a position that seemed natural. The press of your belly against your thighs took up too much of your focus, the rest of it preoccupied by the crease of extra flesh you knew existed just above where your hip met your back.

It was hard not to hyperventilate, each stretch mark and dimple on your skin magnified so much that you hardly remember that König was in the room with you.

You had no idea how many times he had to repeat your name before you actually heard him, blinking slowly as you looked up at him. His brows were furrowed as he observed you, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Sorry, I was preoccupied with my thoughts,” you murmured, smiling sheepishly. Your throat felt like it was squeezing closed, the anxiety you had been forcing out of your mind all day finally rearing its ugly head. The smile on your face tightened, your discomfort obvious.

His frown deepened. The laces of his trousers were forgotten, hanging open as he knelt on the mattress. Fingers nudged your jaw up to look at him, blue eyes seemingly staring through you and into your soul.

“What is bothering you?” he asked, thumb pressing your lower lip.

You felt like you were choking, your eyes wide as you tried to think of a plausible lie.

König’s gaze dropped to your body, lust shadowing his expression. His fingers twitched beneath your chin. “I am so lucky you accepted my favor that day at the tournament,” he said, a faint smile on his face.

He moved closer, slowly forcing you onto your back beneath him. His touch was delicate as he moved the hair out of your face. You let your eyes close as he pressed a kiss to your brow. “I worried that I would make a fool of myself and lose, I thought you were so distracting. So beautiful.”

It was hard to pay attention to his words when his mouth was dragging down the column of your throat, his teeth scraping over the delicate skin as he spoke.

He continued down your body, taking care as he felt the fullness of your hips and stomach and thighs. You grabbed his wrists, trying to pull them away as he shushed you. “I have been lucky enough to marry the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, please allow me to touch her,” he pleaded softly, voice muffled against the skin next to your navel.

His expression was so earnest you could hardly deny him, slowly letting go as you lay back. You could feel his smile as he lifted your legs onto his broad shoulders, smattering kisses and bites onto your inner thighs.

There he was, looking at you and still wanting you, still pressing his mouth to the ache between your legs. You gasped, grabbing a fistful of hair at the crown of his head as his scruff scraped against the insides of your thighs. He flattened his tongue over your sex, muscular arms curling around your legs to grab your waist.

He dipped lower, tongue teasing your entrance as he collected the wetness pouring from you. You bucked against his face, heel digging into his shoulder blade as you twisted to press the sensitive bundle of nerves against the ridge of his nose.

You were keening, biting your lip to keep from moaning too loud. König moved to wrap his lips around the bud and sucked with small pulses of his tongue. His fingers pet over your entrance, making you clench around nothing as your spine arched. “Please, König,” you begged through clenched teeth, not quite sure what you were asking for.

Then one of his thick fingertips caught at your entrance. Your whole body buzzed as he thrust up to the second knuckle. Breathing was hard, the tightness a foreign feeling as you tried to relax.

He never even bothered to pull away as he hummed contentedly, surely suffocating by now as you kept pulling him impossibly closer. The press of his finger inside you eventually became comfortable, your muscles releasing as you willed yourself to relax into the feeling.

As soon as you felt comfortable with one, he added another. Both curling inside you made your breath punch from your chest, his digits feeling each and every ridge inside of you as he worked you higher and higher. The building feeling he had introduced you to last time was starting to knot in your stomach.

Two fingers turned into three, making you sob as your arm covered your face.

It was hard to get used to the feeling of being so full. Your moans were pathetic, pitchy and breathless as he found a spot inside of you and curled the tips of his fingers over it mercilessly. His other hand held firm just above your navel in an attempt to force you to be still.

It was too much, the rhythm of his fingers matching the tightening of your muscles until everything finally just released. The relief was instantaneous, all-consuming as euphoria buzzed from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. You pulsed like a heartbeat around König’s fingers, still feeling dizzy as he pulled them from you.

His lips were wet with your slick as he pressed a kiss to the crease between your thigh and hip, wet fingers smearing against your waist. One leg fell to the bed, then the other as he crawled over your body.

You were limp on the tangled sheets as you looked up at him, his downturned eyes partially lidded as you ran your hand over the scrape of his stubble. It was wet around his mouth, his lips still shiny with your arousal as he buckled over you. His forearm braced next to your head, holding him above you.

It was hard to say who moved into the kiss first, but noses pressed into cheeks and teeth clicked together as you licked the taste of yourself off his lips. You ached for more, trying to pour your request into König through the touch of your lips.

He used his free hand to shove his trousers down his legs, kicking them off and onto the stone floor. The backs of your thighs were snug against his hairy quads as he shifted back over you.

You were almost scared to look at it–the only naked man you had ever seen was a drunk man who had been arrested just outside the palace gates. Even then, it was just glimpses and flashes through the bars.

The feel of a hot brand against your thigh caught your attention. You sat up slightly, propping yourself up on an elbow as you looked down at the gap between your legs. The flushed tip bobbed against your thigh under your gaze, smearing wetly against you. It was hard for you to tear your eyes away.

He fisted his cock, groaning as he worked the length of it in his hand with a practiced stroke. The girth was impressive, still looking thick even in his own hand as you watched clear slick trickle from the weeping head and over his knuckles.

This was the only part of the consummation that seemed to match what your mother warned you about. It was supposed to be the painful part, when she advised you to simply imagine you were somewhere else until your husband decided he had enough. You had no idea how his cock was supposed to even fit inside of you.

“Do you… do you think it will fit?” you asked, naivety coloring your tone. You never intended to flatter him, but the breathless laugh you earned made your cheeks warm. He dropped his head forward, lips pressing against your temple.

“Yes, mäuschen, it will fit,” he assured you gently as he tried to fight his grin.

Smooth callouses swept to the back of your thigh, your knee pressed toward your chest beneath his firm grip. The wet sound of your sex splitting against the press of his cock made you want to hide, arousal twisting deep in your abdomen as you lifted your hips toward his. You both sighed as he rubbed himself up and down the seam.

The blunt catch of the head at your entrance made König groan, his eyes screwing shut. He moved toward it on instinct, slowly pushing against the ring of muscle. The feeling was not painful as much as it was uncomfortable, the pressure of you stretching wide around him made you draw tight like a bow.

Your hips tilted through each strained press, trying to find a position that felt more comfortable as he kept pressing into you. It was hard to understand that he just kept going, seemingly taking up all the excess space inside your body.

Heat burned between your legs when he was finally seated fully inside you, the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickling the backs of your thighs.

Your breaths were shallow and quick, the intrusion overwhelming as your fingers twisted in the bedding beneath you. The press of his fingers was not enough to prepare you for the width of his cock, the length feeling like he was buried all the way through you and in your throat. He filled every inch of you, plugging you up until you felt like you would burst.

“Relax,” König breathed, his voice sounding strained as he kept himself still. He rubbed two fingertips up and down your sternum, the motion eventually coaxing your breaths to slow to match the rhythm.

He shifted against you, a minute movement jostling the two of you against one another. The sensation made the world drop out from beneath you, muscles tightening as your sex bore down around him. You were stubborn in your attempts to grind your hips against him. There was a strangled sound from his chest, deep and rumbling as he squeezed your thigh so hard you were sure it would bruise.

“Please, meine frau, you must calm down.” His hand moved to splay over your hip, forcing you against the mattress as he pinned you down. He nodded approvingly as you stopped moving, your head starting to clear as you settled with each breath.

Sweat dampened his forehead and the nape of his neck, wisps of his hair stuck to his pale complexion as he hovered above you. It was still hard to wrap your mind around the fact that König was your husband, the band of the ring on his finger digging into the flesh of your thigh to serve as a reminder. The scars marking his features already seemed so familiar to you, the tilts of his head and pinch of his eyes lending themselves to memorizing the expressions he had kept secret under his hood.

His thumb moved to press tight circles against your sex, a satisfied smirk contorting his features as he watched you gasp. The discomfort was quickly pushed to the back of your mind, your sex squeezing tight around him as you mewled. You kept squirming, making him groan each time your hips moved.

Another hot squeeze of your core had his head sagging forward on a groan. He rooted deep, hips stuttering as he nudged even further inside you. His eyes were dark as they found yours, your nod of encouragement frantic.

“Yes, please,” you breathed, hand finding the curve of his jaw. Your thumb traced the jagged line of the scar near his lip. “Please.”

He hummed his agreement, turning his head to press a kiss to the center of your palm. His breath was hot over your fingers as his hips bunched against yours.

It was only the first taste of him inside you, gentle rocks of his pelvis to get you used to the feeling. The hot slide and press of his cock deep inside you unlocked something in your mind, something primal and instinctual you never knew existed.

You clutched at his bicep, gasping for air as he got more confident in his movements. The squelch was loud in the room, you were absolutely soaking. You could feel yourself leaking all over König and the bedding and your inner thighs. But the way he looked at you like you hung the moon in the sky made you forget your concern.

He leaned back, his wide palm smoothing over the back of your other leg and pressing until you were nearly bent in half. You almost choked, surprised your body could even contort so much. His lips were parted, his breaths labored as he stared at where you were stretched tight around him. The swell of your stomach made it impossible for you to see so you settled on watching his expression grow heavy with lust.

A long, sinuous motion made your eyes roll back. König pulled out and plunged back inside you in steady thrusts from tip to base, his skin slapping loudly against yours. The muscle of his hips bumped hard against your pelvis, his hands pressing down on your knees to rotate your hips up toward his.

He looked up at you, the sight of your nod making him bear down further. You had to force yourself to keep breathing, each hard thrust making you sigh softly as you tried to keep your head above water and stay with him.

He rutted into you so firmly that your teeth clacked, sweat starting to form at every juncture of skin touching skin. You reached for his shoulders, making him gather the backs of your knees on his biceps as he moved in closer to you. His brows were drawn, cheeks flushed pink as he grunted softly.

The air in the room was humid, your shared breaths dusting over one another as your eyes remained locked together.

He fucked into you with grit teeth, sweat starting to roll down his temple. Each thrust of his hips made the knot in your belly tighten, a syrupy warmth blooming through you. The pressure of him around you scratched an itch you never knew you had–you would crave this for the rest of your life.

You lifted your hips even further, his cock reaching a spot that made lightning start to build between your legs as you cried out.

“König, there, please…” you begged, voice breaking.

He obliged, pressing his belly to yours as he caught your mouth in a searing kiss. The merciless rhythm of his hips continued, the ocean waves building in your belly starting to crest and break. His lips opened over yours, hot tongue twisting into your mouth and licking along your teeth.

His weight shifted, head of his cock pressing so firmly inside you that the frantic wave of pleasure smashed into a million pieces as you fell.

Your legs twitched as you came with a scream, back arching stiffly off the bed. It felt like you were on fire, hot and unbearable as your muscles locked up. You struggled to think, your pleasure syrupy and warming as you floated somewhere else.

König stilled above you, keeping you speared on his cock as you writhed beneath him. His moan was deep, vibrating against you as your sex squeezed down on him like a vise. The press of his hands held you there, as strong as steel as he ground into you through the throes of your orgasm. You surfaced, your eyes wide as they met his, the sight of him forcing a moan out of you.

He looked like a predator above you, eyes gleaming with arousal. They were the color of lightning, the blue so intense that it was almost crackling as he searched your expression.

Your body started to jolt, your orgasm wringing you dry as you panted beneath him. He ground into you, cock twitching inside you as your hips stuttered of their own accord. The bedding twisted in his fists as his knuckles turned white, forehead dipping into the hollow of your throat as his breath fanned over your chest.

It occurred to you that he was close to spilling his seed inside of you, the whole point of consummating your marriage returning to you as you thought of carrying König’s child. You gasped, hand flying to your stomach all at once as you rubbed the skin there and imagined.

Soon you would be pregnant. He wanted you to be. You wanted to be.

His eyes followed the movement of your hand, his own fitting over yours, thumb stroking over the backs of your knuckles. He groaned, pressing your hand down against your soft flesh as it became clear to you he understood.

Your name was on his lips, repeated like a prayer as his hands fitted to your waist and pulled you further onto his cock.

“König,” you replied, your voice breaking as he set a reckless pace.

Your world spun, fuzzy around the edges as you drew harsh breaths that ended in soft ahs. The full wave of his body was gone, a staccato rhythm that was quickly turning sloppy replaced it. He stopped withdrawing fully, fucking into you with an urgency as he pounded you deep.

Delirium took over you as he used your body for his own pleasure. Overstimulation made tears well up on your lashline and slowly roll down your cheeks, you moaned your husband’s name as you fought to keep your eyes from squeezing shut.

König was running his mouth in his native language, guttural words twisted around your name with his harsh breaths. You loved listening to him talk, you found yourself wishing you understood what he was saying as he muttered words under his breath. He snapped his hips against you once, twice, and then he made a wounded sound as he finally found his release.

He kept shoving into you, hard and unrestrained as he fought to get even deeper inside you as his cock spit come that felt like molten iron deep. His hips stuttered thoughtlessly to fuck it even deeper inside of you.

You were awed as he held you there, watching his eyes squeeze closed as his breaths came hard. One hand left your waist, pressing into the sweaty bedding beneath you to stabilize himself. He moaned under his breath, exhaustion and satisfaction mingling in the sound as he bowed toward you.

It was only a moment more until he collapsed, pressing you into the mattress with the bulk of his body as his nose pressed just beneath your jaw. You were both suspended in time as you gasped, your eyes wide as you stared at the ceiling.

His hand pressed beneath you to the small of your back, holding you close as he remained buried deep inside you.

The weight of him on top of you made you wheeze, your palm pressing against his shoulder finally bringing König back to life. “You are crushing me,” you said with a laugh, voice breathless.

He was moving before you could say anything more, arms curling around your waist and over your back as he rolled. The world shifted as your cheek came to rest on his barrel chest, ear pressed against his strong heartbeat. His arm fitted around you, pulling you closer as he stamped kisses on your damp hairline.

“My love,” he sighed, almost sounding awe-struck. You looked up at him through your lashes, your palm pressing over his ribs.

He shifted, both of you hissing as he slowly pulled out of you. His fingers traced down your body, gathering his come as it started to leak from you and pressed it back inside of you. You yelped, nerves frayed as you squeezed around his digits.

“Get that smirk off your face,” you said, your smile betraying your tone as you attempted to scold him. He looked satisfied with himself, eyelids heavy as he shifted his gaze to you. His eyes were back to the color of a clear pool of water, his calm affect returned.

“You did not seem so upset with me at the moment,” he teased, calloused fingertips tracing up and down your arm.

You rolled your eyes, mashing your cheek into his chest again as you curled into him.

The silence between you two was comfortable, your gaze roving over his chambers. There were shelves with trinkets from travels, books and scrolls amongst them. It was so cozy, furs and rich fabrics across the furniture and tapestries on the walls. You lifted your head slightly, the rounded ear of a stuffed bear visible behind a basket with odds and ends of fabric sticking from it.

“I have to ask,” you started, a wide grin on your face as you propped yourself on König’s chest. He smoothed his hands over your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin as he looked up at you, waiting. “Did you make that bear you gave me at the tournament?”

You had always found it hard to imagine him stitching it together, big hands working a needle through the fabric.

König laughed, a sharp breath of air leaving his nose as he nodded. “I did,” he said softly, cheeks turning pink as he looked a bit sheepish. “After the war I needed something to do with my hands that did not feel like murder. That was the best one I made, I wanted it to go to my future wife.”

You hummed, biting your cheek as you tilted your head to one side. “You thought I would be your future wife?” you asked, nose wrinkling. Affection warmed your cheeks, your hands pressing flat on his chest as you looked down at him.

“Oh yes,” he breathed, reaching up to tuck some of your mussed up hair out of your face. “I knew I would have no other. It seems that the gods agreed with me.”

You leaned into the touch of his hand, his thumb stroking over your eyebrow and down your cheek. “Would you make another one of those bears? For our child?” you asked softly, resting your chin on his sternum. You traced hearts on his chest with your fingertips.

König smiled again, his scarred face looking soft in the firelight. He bent down to kiss you, fingers hooked beneath your chin to lift your mouth to his. It was sweet, just a stamp of his lips to yours.

“For you, my lady?” he asked, eyes roaming over your face as he spoke. My lady. You were elated that he would now be calling you his wife. “Anything you ask.”

#konig x plus size reader #könig call of duty #könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #konig x you #konig cod #konig smut #könig smut #könig cod #knight!konig #könig x fem reader #konig x fem reader #konig x reader smut #könig x reader smut #cod x reader #reader insert #medieval au

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bookwormjust · 4 months ago

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Fever (established relationship Eris, caring hounds)

The night is quiet, the autumn breeze gently rustling the leaves outside the grand windows of your shared bedroom. You’re lying under the thick blankets, your body weak and trembling with the creeping fever that’s settled in once again. Though you're fae, your body has always been prone to sickness, a vulnerability that still clings to you even in your immortal state.

Eris had been working late again, the weight of his new responsibilities as High Lord of Autumn keeping him away more often than either of you would like. Since the death of his father, Eris had inherited not only the title but the endless demands of ruling his court. He was trying to be everything his father wasn’t—just, fair, protective—but it meant you spent many nights alone in your bed.

Except for the hounds.

Eris had insisted that his pack of loyal, powerful hounds guard you while he worked. They never left your side, curled at the foot of the bed or lying just outside your door, always on alert. The largest of them, the pack's leader, had taken a special liking to you, his amber eyes always watchful, his presence a constant comfort in Eris's absence.

But tonight, something’s wrong. The fever that had started as a faint warmth earlier in the evening has now become a roaring fire under your skin. You’re shivering uncontrollably, your breaths coming in labored gasps. The room spins around you, and despite the layers of blankets, a deep chill settles into your bones.

Suddenly, through the haze of fever, you hear a low growl—then the sound of paws padding softly across the floor. You barely manage to open your eyes when you see the chief hound standing beside your bed, his gaze sharp and concerned. His muzzle nudges your hand gently, as if to check on you.

You attempt to reassure him, your voice weak and hoarse. “I’m okay,” you whisper, though the trembling in your body says otherwise.

The hound doesn't buy it. With a determined huff, he turns and trots out of the room, his footsteps echoing faintly in the hall. He knows exactly where to go.

---

Eris is in his study, pouring over stacks of parchment by the dim light of the fire. His head aches from hours of work, but he refuses to stop, not until everything is perfect, not until he’s sure his court is safe and thriving. But his thoughts keep drifting to you. He hadn't missed how pale you'd looked earlier, the slight flush of fever beginning to color your cheeks. He’d meant to check on you but got caught up in endless council matters.

The sound of paws rushing toward him breaks his focus. His head snaps up just as the leader of his hounds barrels into the room, his amber eyes wide and alert. Eris instantly knows something is wrong.

“What is it?” he demands, his voice tight with concern.

The hound whines, nudging at Eris’s leg before turning back toward the door, clearly wanting him to follow. Eris doesn’t waste a second.

He moves swiftly through the corridors, his heart pounding with worry. When he reaches your bedroom, the sight of you lying in bed, shivering and drenched in sweat, makes his blood run cold.

“Gods,” he whispers, rushing to your side. He kneels beside the bed, his hand instantly going to your forehead, feeling the scorching heat radiating from you. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

You blink up at him, your vision blurred from the fever. “Didn’t want to... bother you,” you mumble, your voice weak. “You have... so much to do…”

Eris’s jaw tightens, guilt flooding him. “You’re my mate,” he says softly, his voice filled with both frustration and affection. “Nothing is more important than you.”

Without hesitation, he calls for water, cool cloths, and medicine from his healers. His hands move with urgency but care, placing a cold compress on your burning skin, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face as he whispers soothing words.

The hounds gather around the bed, watching anxiously as Eris tends to you, their loyalty to you as fierce as his own. The leader nudges Eris gently, as if to say *I’ve brought her back to you—now take care of her.*

“I’ll never leave you like this again,” Eris promises quietly as he sits beside you, holding your hand tightly. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles, his fiery gaze softening as he watches you, concern etched in every line of his face. “You’re going to be alright. I’m here now.”

Even through the fever, his presence calms you, and despite the heat that consumes you, you find comfort in his touch. You drift into a restless sleep, knowing that with Eris and his loyal hounds by your side, you’re safe.

#acotar reader imagine #acotar x reader #acotar #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris x oc #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra x y/n #Spotify

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aeralux · 5 months ago

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"Hard To Resist" - Cregan Stark

Summary: Betrothed to the one and only Cregan Stark. Your first meeting with him luckily goes better than expected.

Content warning: smut, oral (f! receiving)

-- aera xx

As a proper Lady of the North, your fate had long been determined before you learned to walk. Your father and brothers had found the perfect match for you, another northerner. “A proper man,” as they described him. Big, burly, and rough. Those were the only descriptive words you knew of him, not nearly enough to draw a picture of your betrothed.

Alas, the day to meet your future Lord husband has arrived. You were doing everything in your power to calm your nerves. Like playing with your wolves, Wane and Cusp, even resorting to having a strong drink. Nothing seemed to work. For a moment, you were contemplating escape and riding off into the distance with your wolves.

Your daydream was interrupted by your eldest brother knocking on your door. The loud sound startled you.

“Yes?" You asked, fearing that your soon-to-be husband had arrived. “Open up, dearest,” your brother answered with his usual affectionate nickname for you. Being almost 20 years your elder, he had become a second father figure to you than a brother.

"Come in, Arthur,” you answered, sadness evident in your voice. "My dearest sister, this should be a joyful day. Not a sad one," he tried cheering you up but to no avail.

How was one supposed to be happy when being married off to a stranger? "Easy for you to say. You got to choose who you married. And you knew your wife beforehand," you complained to your brother, getting pissed off. "I refuse to be treated as a broodmare and be sent off to some hairy northerner," already on the verge of tears, fuming. "My dear sister, it is your responsibility to strengthen the bond between our families, and you are fully aware of this."

You scowl, looking down at your feet. "I am well aware of my responsibilities and duties. It seems like that is all I was born for. To marry some Lord that I have never met, all for the greater good." Your tantrum was cut off by the sound of marching hooves.

The Starks have arrived. You looked at your brother with big eyes, feeling vulnerable and scared. "It will be alright, sister. You are beautiful, bright and cunning. He will take good care of you," he caressed your arms, trying to soothe your nerves. "Now let us go. Father and Albert are probably outside already, greeting our guests. And your soon-to-be husband," Arthur smirked at you, but his words only made you feel more uneasy.

You began walking downstairs, Arthur protectively placing a hand around your shoulders. As you reached the front door, you took a deep breath. "I'm ready," you said as you looked at your older brother. "Excellent!" he said before the guards pushed the massive entrance doors to reveal your eventual Lord husband.

Your breath caught in your throat upon seeing him. He was indeed big, burly, and rough but also wildly handsome. Cregan Stark looked every part of the "King of the North" title. Tall, muscular, and rugged. A true warrior. He studied you as he took in his first sight of you. Cregan had a stern look on his face, and as you met his grey eyes, you felt a shiver run down your spine. You walked over to him and curtsied. "Hello, Lord Stark. I am Lady (y/n). My family and I welcome you to our lands."

Cregan nodded his head respectfully. “Thank you, my lady.” He then stepped forward and took your hand in a firm, but not uncomfortably tight, grip. He raised your knuckles to his lips and planted a light kiss on them. “You look lovely,” he said before looking up to meet your gaze. You couldn’t help but blush, hearing soft words from such a brute man. Cregan smirked faintly, as he observed your cheeks tint with a light shade of pink. He found it amusing, how he could make you blush with a simple statement like that.

Cregan greeted your parents and brothers, giving each a strong handshake. “Arthur good to see you again,” Lord Stark said to your brother, giving him a tight smile that your brother returned.

“If the Lords find it fit, I would like to speak to my Lady in private,” boomed Cregan’s deep voice, gesturing to your father and two older brothers. Your father and brothers looked at each other before nodding in agreement. You didn’t say anything in return and led him to your castle's library. The library was modest, with big windows yet little light due to your House being far up in the North. At least you would feel at home in Winterfell, you thought.

“Here,” you walked into the library, waiting for him to follow suit. Cregan followed you as you walked to the library. He couldn't deny that his eyes were glued to your backside as you walked ahead, his gaze slowly running over the curves of your hips. Once you reached the library, you gestured for him to step inside, and he closed the doors behind him. You were alone now. Just the two of you, in the quiet, empty, library. Cregan glanced around the large room for a moment, before his grey eyes settled on you once again. He then smirked faintly and leaned back against one of the bookshelves, crossing his arms over his muscular chest as he regarded you. “Now I believe we should get to know one another, don’t you think?” He said, his voice coming out in a low tone.

“Oh? Yes, yes, of course,” you were a bit surprised by his boldness, but it made you smile nonetheless. Cregan chuckled, finding your slight smile rather adorable. He pushed away from the bookshelf and began to slowly close the distance between the two of you.

“Now, I want you to be entirely truthful with me, my lady.” He said as he stopped just in front of you. He was much taller, towering over you. “Tell me, what do you think of me, at this very moment?” Cregan’s gaze wandered over your face, studying every feature. The way your hair fell, the contour of your nose, the shape of your lips, the length of your eyelashes. He couldn’t help but think you looked absolutely beautiful. The boldness of his question took you back. “Well… seeing as I do not know much about your personality. At this very moment, I would say that you are handsome. My brother was right when he said that you are the very picture of a Northern man. And I must say that I am rather pleased with whom my brother decided to betroth me to,” you look down blushing, not wanting to see his reaction to the last part.

A smirk tugged on the corners of Cregan’s lips as your cheeks flushed pink once again, and you kept looking down. He found it amusing how he was able to make you blush so easily, and he took a step even closer, barely leaving any space between the two of you.

“Quite pleased, you say?” He repeated, his voice coming out in a low, teasing tone. “Now tell me, do you say that simply to flatter me, or are you being entirely truthful, my lady?”

“I do not care for lying my Lord, I will always speak the truth,” you smiled at him, finally daring to look him in the eyes.

Cregan chuckled lowly, enjoying the sound of your voice saying the words “my Lord”. “I like that about you. I can’t stand liars.”

He then raised a hand and gently lifted your chin with his index finger, forcing you to look up and meet his eyes once more. His thumb gently stroked over your lower lip. “And you certainly wouldn’t lie about thinking that I’m handsome, now would you?”

Your breath got caught in your throat when he gently touched your lip. Goosebumps rise on your skin. “No, of course not,” you muttered quietly. Cregan chuckled. “I know you wouldn’t, my lady.” He leaned in slightly, the distance between the two of you even smaller now. His face was only mere inches from yours now. He kept your chin raised with his thumb, slowly running the digit over the smooth skin. “You’re honest. I like that.” Another low chuckle came from him, as he slowly leaned even closer, his breath now warm and hot against your skin.

You tried to keep your composure but having him so close was making you slowly lose your self-control. “Arthur didn’t mention anything about me?” You asked upon hearing his words. Didn’t your brother mention what kind of a woman you were?

Cregan shook his head. “He didn’t.” He ran his fingers through strands of your hair before continuing. “He simply told me you were a good fit for a Lord. That you would be a proper Lady of Winterfell. That you could hold your own in the North... and make a good mother one day.”

A smirk tugged on his lips once again as he continued to twist your hair around his fingers. “What he failed to mention, however, is how gorgeous you truly are.”

I chuckled. “Well, I guess it would be unforeseen of my brother to call his own younger sister gorgeous.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Cregan laughed faintly, enjoying the sound of your laugh.

He stepped even closer, and gently pushed you backwards to press you up against one of the bookshelves. He gently ran his hands down the sides of your arms, running his calloused fingertips over your smooth skin. “He also neglected to mention how I would have to keep you away from all other men in the North…”

“You think I can’t hold my own?” You asked in a teasing tone, tilting your head.

Cregan chuckled, the low sound making your stomach flip. He found your attitude entertaining, the little smirk on your lips, the way you tilted your head. He took a moment to study your face with his gaze; the long, delicate eyelashes that framed your eyes, the way your lips curved into that little smirk. “Oh, I’m sure you can.” He said, his smirk widening. “But I don’t want other men to even think about how utterly ravishing you are.”

“I don’t see how that would matter, as you would be the only one doing the ravishing, no?” You smirked, joking ofcourse. But Cregan didn’t seem to take it as lightly.

His smirk grew wider at your reply. He liked this slightly bratty, sassy side of yours. It was a nice change, as most women he interacted with tended to swoon in his presence. He took another step forward, completely closing the space between the two of you and trapping you between his body and the bookshelf. He leaned in, his face barely a centimeter away from yours as he whispered in a low, silky tone. “Careful with those words, my lady. They might tempt me to do more.”

“And as much as I would love nothing more. That will be saved for later.” You said in a sultry tone, control slipping from your grasp. Resting a hand softly on his strong and sturdy chest.

Cregan’s smirk turned into a small, amused smile at your reply. He knew you were right; it would hardly be��proper to do anything too inappropriate in this library. He then looked down at your hand, resting on his chest as you spoke. He gently picked it up and interlaced it with his, bringing it up to his mouth to plant a light kiss on your knuckles. “I suppose you’re right…” he said, his lips gently brushing over your skin, “As much as I would very much love to.”

You blushed and yet again looked down. His words make your stomach flip, pleasure shooting right to your core.

“Although I did have a question for you, my Lord. Will my two wolves be able to make permanent residence in your castle? I have grown far too attached.”

A small, amused smile tugged on Cregan’s lips at your question. He was a tad surprised that you’d even ask him that; he’d assumed you would’ve brought them with you anyway.

“Of course, you can bring them. I expected you would bring them along. After all, how is Lady of Winterfell supposed to get along without her dire-wolves?” He said with a slight chuckle.

All you could do in response was smile shyly. His demeanor so different when with you.

Cregan smirked faintly, finding your shy smile endearing. He also found it a bit peculiar, that a northern woman would be shy. In his experience, northern girls usually were quite forward, even brash, whereas it seemed he was making you nervous. He kept his hand firmly grasping yours, gently squeezing it as he spoke, his eyes locking with yours. “I have a question for you, too, my lady.” He took a step forward, closing the already small space between the two of you even further. He now had you completely pressed up against the bookshelf as he spoke in a low, deep tone. “You said you were ‘quite pleased’ with me, after taking me in… but I want to know. Are you truly content, with the idea of marrying me?”

You found his question odd, considering men usually didn’t care much for a woman’s opinion on the betrothal. But you answered nonetheless.

“Yes. I am. Why would I not? I trust who my brother and father picked for me.”

Cregan smirked faintly as you answered, his lips still over your knuckles. He liked the way your soft skin felt underneath them, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss more of you.

He looked back up at your face, and gently brought his free hand up to your chin, lifting it slightly so you were looking directly into his eyes.

“Just ‘yes’? No other answer?” He teased with a slight smile, his thumb gently caressing your jawline.

His touch sent shivers down your spine, cursing yourself for feeling so weak from a man’s simple touch.

“What would you like me to say then?” You asked breathlessly, mind starting to go blank.

Cregan chuckled lowly as he gently tugged you even closer. You were now pressed against him, his broad, muscular chest completely enclosing you. “Perhaps I’d like you to give me a different response. Maybe tell me…”

He began to slowly and carefully lower his lips to your jawline, planting gentle kisses along it before moving to your ear and whispering.

“How much you want me…”

Hearing his provocative words, you threw all caution out the window. “What if I just… showed you,” you replied as you gently placed your hand from his chest onto his cheek, pulling him closer. Planting a soft kiss on his lips.

Cregan’s eyes darkened as you planted a delicate kiss on his lips. He couldn’t help the feeling of desire that began to ignite within him. He was taken by surprise at your bold move. He would have assumed you were shy, but here you were, taking the initiative. Cregan quickly got over the momentary shock and decided to match your boldness. He deepened the kiss, tilting his head to the side to get a better angle. He then wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against his large form, completely pressing you against the bookshelf.

You let out a quiet mewl, feeling his strong hands around you. His rough touches turning you on. He chuckled at the sound of your mewl and quickly decided he wanted to hear more of them. His hands slowly traveled down over your hips and to your thighs, which he grabbed a hold of firmly and lifted you, easily manhandling you to pin you against the bookshelf. He kept his body pressed flush against yours and continued to hungrily kiss you, his hands still holding your thighs.

You let out a breathy gasp, your hands immediately going to rest on his shoulders as he lifted you.

Cregan smirked faintly at the sound of your gasp, the sound making his lust for you grow, he let his hands slowly slide up your thighs to your ass, grabbing a firm hold of it.

You continued to make quiet sounds of pleasure, the desire to have him only growing in you.

Cregan found himself growing more and more addicted to the small noises you continued to make. He found them adorable, and it only encouraged him to kiss you even more passionately. He pushed his body even closer to yours, as close as he possibly could, and began to kiss down your neck and collarbone.

Your mouth fell open as he did that and you couldn’t help but moan his name.

“Cregan,” you whimpered.

Hearing you moan his name for the first time almost made him grow feral. He loved the way it sounded, the way it rolled off your tongue. He continued to slowly drag his lips down your neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin.

“Again.” He breathed out against your skin, his grip on your thighs and ass tightening. “Say my name again.”

You started to feel dizzy the way he was sucking purple marks onto your neck. Letting out a gasp.

“Cregan…please” You whined and begged him, not even knowing for what. Your mind was already foggy with arousal.

Cregan smirked faintly at the way you moaned his name, the way you begged him. He knew exactly what you were craving, even if you did not, and placed another kiss on your neck, letting his tongue slowly drag against your skin before pulling back slightly to look into your eyes.

"Please, what, my Lady?" He asked in a low, teasing tone, his hands digging into your flesh.

Your breath stuttered as you felt him drag his tongue across your neck, hips involuntarily bucking against his.

Cregan let out a low growl as he felt your hips buck against him. He was barely able to remain in control of himself, resisting the urge to completely rip your clothes off and take you right there in the library.

He placed a final kiss on your neck before speaking, his words coming out in a low, rumbling growl. “You are going to be the death of me, aren’t you, little wolf?”

You whined pathetically, hoping that no one could hear the inappropriate scene that was going on.

He took ahold of your hips and started moving them against his. You pulled him into a rough and passionate kiss, giving his hair an experimental tug. To your surprise, Cregan seemed to enjoy it, letting out a low growl.

He quickly moved you to a nearby sofa, laying you down. He was almost desperate in his moves, needing to take you as soon as possible.

He opened his eyes again, looking down at you with darkened eyes. He was no longer trying to hold back, no longer trying to rein in his desire for you. He needed you, and he was going to have you, right there in the library if that’s what it took.

“I need you, little wolf.”

"Is it that hard to resist me?" You giggled. Your teasing only egging him on.

Cregan huffed at your words, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could tell you were enjoying taunting him. He could see the smirk on your face.

“It’s very difficult.” He admitted, his tone was low and strained as if it was taking all his willpower not to just fuck you until you could no longer walk.

“I don’t like to be patient.” He added with a slight growl, his hands moving up your dress skirts, bunching them around your waist before sitting down on his knees in front of you. Letting his hands caress your now exposed thighs.

You covered your mouth to stop the whines from spilling out your lips. His light touches kept traveling upwards, getting closer and closer to your cunt. You couldn't help but shiver in arousal and anticipation, needing his mouth on your heat already.

Cregan started placing light kisses near your chemise, looking up at you for permission. When you nodded your head, Cregan pulled them down forcefully.

"Soaked already, my Lady?" He questioned and smirked, cockiness in his voice.

You didn't even get a chance to respond before you felt his mouth on folds. Licking at your wetness like a man starved. All he got in response from you were loud whines. He began to suck on your clit, doing everything in his power to draw more moans from you. Pressing kisses on your slit and opening, flicking his tongue over your pussy over and over again, swirling his tongue over your sensitive bud, your thighs began shaking.

"Ohh, Gods, Cregan!" You moaned like a whore, his tongue bringing you closer to your release.

At that, Cregan began to move his tongue quicker, adding two fingers into your pussy, working you open.

"Ahh!" You couldn't help but moan loudly at that, his big fingers stretching you open deliciously. You began to move your hips against his fingers and face, trying to get your dripping cunt even closer to him.

"Mm, just like that, ride my fingers," Cregan mumbled against your cunt, the vibrations almost sending you over the edge.

He curled his fingers expertly against your soft spot, starting to go faster.

All he wanted right now was your sweet release to coat his lips. After all, there is no nectar sweeter than your wife's cunt. At least that's what Cregan thought.

When you arched your back and let out a loud moan, he knew he hit the right spot.

"Faster! Please let me cum!"

Cregan was surprised by your bold words but couldn't deny that they turned him on even more. Knowing that you were desperate for him.

Cregan began pumping his fingers into you even faster, his erection already painfully pressing into his breeches. He will deal will that later, right now he was focusing on getting his Lady to come all over his face.

With a pointed tongue, he began to quickly flick your clit. Your legs trembling around his face, he couldn't help but smirk. It felt like he was splitting you open with his fingers, the pain of the stretch only adding to your pleasure, whines, and moans spilling from your mouth.

"Ohh, I'm... I'm so close, make me cum, please" You begged your soon-to-be husband, clamping your thighs around him.

He hummed against your cunt, and his movements became sloppy, his own arousal making him feel dizzy.

As he felt your cunt begin to pulse around his fingers, he knew you were close. Cregan gave a final few sucks to your pearl, and that is what threw you off the edge.

You came with a loud moan, your legs shaking and hips bucking against his face.

Cregan kept thrusting his fingers in you, working you through your release. When he pulled away from your cunt you saw how his face glistened with your juices and his spit. The sight so erotic and lewd.

You still felt the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body shivering.

"Your cunt tastes divine, my Lady. I can't wait to enjoy this every single night." Cregan said with a smirk, placing wet kisses on your thigh to calm you down.

You gave him a lazy smile and leaned down to kiss him, tasting your release on his tongue.

"Hey! You might want to save some for the wedding night!" Came your brother's voice from the other side of the door.

Author's note: This was quite literally my first smut so if it feels rushed, weird etc., it is probably because of that. Although I did enjoy writing it. Any feedback would be appreciated. THANK YOUU MWAHH!!!

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #house stark #cregan stark smut #cregan stark #hotd imagine #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon smut #hotd smut #house of the dragon x you #hotd x reader #cregan smut #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd cregan

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amuromi · 1 year ago

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.9k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, unprotected sex, established relationship (married), canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ I got a bit carried away with this one. My love of psychological horror was clawing to be free but I think I kept it pretty contained…

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 ✦ ⋆˙ engawa ┈ a hallway-like path surrounding the house ⋆ shoji ┈ a sliding door/divider ⋆ koto ┈ a Japanese zither/stringed instrument

The winter storm has leached everything into bleak shades of black and white, like ink on parchment. The trees are thick black strokes against the deep gray clouds, dusted with a thick layer of snow as flurries fall like stars through the courtyard. In the moonlight each snowflake shines like pearls, soft and lustrous as they dance on the wind. From the edge of the engawa it almost looks like staring into the great gaping mouth of a beast that’s swallowed the world, spears of ice hanging like jagged teeth from the edge of the roof, the wind shuddering through the estate in howling gusts. The cold night is scented with dreams of spring, sweet smelling coal burning in braziers, wafting gray wisps of floral-scented smoke into the wind.

It’s quiet aside from the sharp whistling of the wind and the hissing of snow melting over hot coals, then, somewhere within the estate, a bell tolls for the Hour of the Rooster. Nightfall, despite the veil of darkness already laid out by the storm clouds. Suddenly there’s the sound of footsteps soft as summer rain, pattering through the estate and the shoji begin to blossom with the warmth of firelight as candles are lit throughout the sprawling house. More snow gathers in soft sheets over the courtyard before there’s a gentle knock to announce a soft-footed servant coming to renew the braziers and light the lanterns. The scent of lavender is renewed as the coals are sifted and replaced and the engawa is streaked with blushing shades of gold as the pink-tinged paper lanterns are lit in turn.

Of all the rooms in the vast estate, yours is the most adorned. Which is to say, it looks as though your room is used for more than sleeping. There’s a modest desk with inks and paper, a small table for combs and perfumes, and a trunk for miscellaneous things beside the chest of drawers filled with kimono. When she’s lit the last lantern, you ask the girl to send for your personal maid. A dowry servant, though not originally one of yours. Life in this estate is fleeting in that way.

An unbalanced teacup had been the undoing of the girl your father sent to accompany you in your marriage. Stained silk and scalded skin, later soaked with splatters of blood. But the tatami were changed and the kimono and girl were replaced. Your new maid is a bit older–a few years your senior–originally belonging to a woman that came before you. Certainly not First Mistress because she would loathe to see you even look upon anything of hers. No, she served a less honored concubine that wasn’t worthy of the title “wife,” even if it’s a hollow honor in itself. Still, your maid had belonged to the unknown mistress before she perished. It all happened before you were brought to the estate, but the haggard weight of the loss still sits heavy on her shoulders. Her face always looks like a crumpled piece of paper that someone tried to smooth flat, creased with hidden worries. She arrives quickly, kneeling to await her orders.

“I’m happy,” you tell her. “A new Mistress is joining the family tonight, isn’t that right? Happy news.” The maid hums something to the tune of affirmation, long since grown used to your unflinchingly jovial disposition. She once asked if you wear a smiling mask throughout the day and take it off once you sleep. It’s a silly question, of course, but you like to imagine that you smile even in your sleep. There is nothing to be sad about. Living a life such as this is no different than a deer grazing in a meadow. There is nothing beyond the grass. Nothing farther than the horizon or higher than the tallest tree. What is there to be sad about when the world has been folded into something small enough to hold in your hands, a piece of origami meant to be appreciated and not pondered. There’s happiness in the simplicity that this life provides, though you seem to be the only one to realize it.

The other two Mistresses of the house say that you should be locked up in a rice chest and left out to die. That it’s cruel to let you live in such a state of delusion. How little they know, yet it’s still too much. At times, it seems that they are far deeper in their minds than you’ve ever been. Caught up in worries and tribulations that haven’t plagued you in a long time, since you let go of your humanity. What use is pretending to be human when you’re treated like a pet. Treasured and pampered but still inferior to the master of the house. Because your husband has no true use for human brides. In keeping the three of you, he has honored each of your families with the knowledge that their blood has produced something too intriguing to kill off just yet. Perhaps if he desires an offspring to assume his legacy he’ll have a true use for one of you.

Other brides have been offered and had their families culled like squashing bugs. It made you feel some air of superiority, knowing that you were chosen from a dozen women to be honored as a new wife to the King of Curses. It only took a few months for you to realize your place in all this and the last thread of your humanity snapped like a frayed koto string. Thinking of yourself as a person is useless when the person that holds your life within his hands sees you as no more than a doll to be toyed with as he sees fit.

“I’m happy.” You always mean it when you say it. Happiness is all you have left when faced with the truth of how finite your existence is. There is no world beyond the walls of this estate. No people beyond its residence and staff. No purpose outside of serving your husband with unwavering loyalty. In that regard you are the most precious of his wives. The others, their devotion wavers. You’ve seen it in the way they still hesitate to follow simple instructions, still tremble and shrink in Lord Sukuna’s presence even as you bloom like a flower in the light of the sun. He is your sun. There is no life without him. Which is why you are happy to simply exist in this small world that he’s made for you.

His power has greatly uncomplicated your existence, turned it to something purposeful, something that will end when you’re no longer of use. And Lord Sukuna will always tell you when you serve no further purpose to him. How many underlings has he executed because they were no longer of use? You imagine they must’ve felt great pride in the moments before their demise at the hands of their King. Pride in knowing that they did what they were made to do. As a child you had scoffed at the idea that your only purpose was to be wed and serve your husband as a proper wife should, but that was when the husband of your future was set to be someone unremarkable. Lord Sukuna is greater than any man that’s ever lived. Perhaps even ascended beyond the concept of a man to become the strongest sorcerer to ever live. As the daughter of a highly regarded family known for birthing remarkable sorcerers, you take pride in your small but purposeful place in all this. The culling of clans, the clashing of factions trying to unseat your husband. History will remember you because you will play your part until the very end. An end you’ll greet with a smile if it should come by your husband’s hand.

“Will the Fourth Mistress be here soon?” A new deer to join the herd, a new flower planted in the garden.

“By the Hour of the Bird, the last message said.” Your maid agrees. Soon, a new Mistress will be here. It’s been so long since another woman has joined hands with Lord Sukuna. The last being yourself nearly two years ago. First Mistress had been collected three years ago, and Second Mistress came along only a short few months behind her. Lord Sukuna had waited half a year after that to marry a third wife, and you must’ve served him well because there’s been no need for another until now. It makes you wonder if death is close at hand. A raven had come earlier in the day, before the snow began to fall, announcing that Lord Sukuna would be returning from his excursion by nightfall. Perhaps he wanted to arrive home in time to greet his new bride.

Fourth Mistress. Unlucky number Four, terrible number Four. Blowing into her marriage with a snow storm. It’s all terribly inauspicious, but Lord Sukuna has reason for everything he does. Nothing is without purpose. Even death has cause when dealt by his hand. Even if it comes tonight you will go towards it fully satisfied. The snowfall looks beautiful, and the cold isn’t so terrible with the legion of braziers burning around you and the thick furs draped over your shoulders. It’s a wonderful night to die if it should come to that.

“Shall we go welcome her?”

“First Mistress insisted that you need not be present for Fourth Mistress’ arrival, your highness.” First Mistress, Jurina, whose hatred towards you cannot be quelled by any manner of platitudes.

When you first arrived, you’re sure it was mere jealousy that compelled her to act out against you. A multitude of wives is not uncommon among high ranking men, but rarely is it expected that they should all live together. Most wives are left in their parents’ homes to be visited whenever their husband deems it fit. To walk the hall of your home and come across the woman your husband sees when he is not with you must be jarring to the first woman he married. Jurina seemed adamant about dispelling you from the family upon your first arrival. Now, her animosity isn’t borne of jealousy, but discomfort.

Your happiness makes her nervous. She’s said it herself. Snapping and raging at you for your unflinching smile even as she and Second Mistress have slowly begun to lose themselves in the monotony of this life. Sitting and waiting, then serving when Lord Sukuna comes home. To them, your complacency, your happiness, is something eerie and othered. Akin to the curses your families seek to eradicate. Unnatural. Inhuman. Though it hardly matters what they think of you. They are not your reason for being, and Lord Sukuna seems to find your smile charming.

Despite the chill, you find yourself reaching for a fan. A gift from Uraume. They’re strangely doting towards you in a way that they aren’t to Lord Sukuna’s other wives, bringing you gifts when they accompany Lord Sukuna on long trips away from the estate. A set of calligraphy brushes, a jade bracelet, a new kimono. You’ve amassed quite a collection of possessions by Uraume’s spoiling, though the fans are your favorite. All made a beautifully lacquered wood, some painted with gilded designs, the folded paper painted by the hands of careful artists. Crashing waves and blossoming trees decorate each of your fans and you take great pride in keeping them all in pristine condition because you’d hate to perform a dance with a damaged fan.

Of all of the things filling your room, your koto is the most precious. It had belonged to your mother and she offered it with teary eyes as your wedding gift, absolutely bereft that she had to marry her daughter off to a monster to appease the head of your father’s clan. But such was your purpose in being born into a highly acclaimed sorcerer clan. Take your blood and lend your body to another clan so that you might make more powerful jujutsu users. Your father had complained of the waste in sending you off to quell the King of Curses, insisting that sending you to Lord Sukuna would be a waste of a bride. Curses have no use for brides nor, truly, does their King. Still, Lord Sukuna keeps all of you alive and well in his home. To what end? It’s hardly your concern.

“Bring my koto,” you hum. “I want to dance.”

The maid goes about carrying the large stringed instrument to the edge of the room where the opened shoji separates the warmth of your room from the chill of the engawa. It is a happy coincidence that your maid had been taught to play the koto some years ago when she was still an eligible maiden. But her father grew ill and when he passed her mother sent her off to find work to support herself because she couldn’t afford a dowry to marry her off properly. So she sits and serves, waiting for you to name your song of choice with her fingers poised over the strings. The song you choose is one of comfort, the first your mother ever taught you when you were learning to dance and play. There’s a practiced grace to your movements, smooth as a flowing river as you dance with your fan. The song is short but it is always your favorite to perform.

A rare beauty in the north, she’s the finest woman on earth. A glance from her, the city falls. A second glance leaves the nation in ruins. There exists no city or nation that has been more cherished than a beauty like this.

Flecks of snow melt against the bare nape of your neck, so cold it feels like burning, but you want to keep dancing. The weather has no bearing on your mood. Rain or shine you are happy to sing and dance, amusing yourself as you wait to be of use to your lord husband. Perhaps he has already returned home along with his new bride but without the order to accompany him you will stay in your room, performing to your heart’s content. Your maid begins to pluck out the notes of your next song request, fingers stuttering over the strings as if she’s forgotten how to play the melody. That’s alright, you will dance even without proper music, swinging your fan with practiced poise as your voice contests with the howling of the storm. It’s a song of longing and melancholy. Fitting for a woman separated from her husband.

Are you going away? Leaving me alone? How could I live if you’ve gone away? Are you going away? Leaving me alone? I want to keep you unhappy with me. I fear you may never return. Sadly, I will let you go–

“Stop whining, I’m here.” A voice interrupts your singing, a smooth timbre that rumbles like a roll of thunder. So please, come back soon after you leave. In a heartbeat you’re on the floor, kneeling before your husband. Lord Sukuna is soiled from his travels. Kimono stained and torn, the scent of blood lingering heavily around him, along with the buzzing aura of excess cursed energy leaking into the cold air around him.

“Welcome home, Lord Sukuna.” He purrs at how you prostrate yourself at his feet, always so satisfied with your absolute submission. He once told you your lack of fear was something intriguing, your unwavering adoration far more interesting than submission borne of fear. It’s something he’s found in so few of his followers and you imagine it’s why he shows such preference for Uraume’s company. Of all of your husband’s subordinates, they are by far the most devout. Perhaps even more than you because they know what Lord Sukuna is trying to achieve with all the calamity he causes. Your lord husband has never made you privy to that knowledge, and as a good wife you remember it is not your place to ask. If you are meant to know something, he’ll tell you.

“Get out.” His voice is thick with something akin to revulsion, though you don’t bother to raise your head. Lord Sukuna hasn’t spoken to you so gruffly since you first proved your devotion to him. Behind you there’s the sound of frantic movements as your maid assumedly makes herself scarce in the presence of her master. When she’s gone Lord Sukuna gives you permission to lift your head. In the low light, you can hardly see his face. It’s hard to tell Lord Sukuna’s mood even in bright lighting. He hardly changes from his stoic expression unless there’s blood being spilled, then a smile–more like a deranged baring of his fanged teeth–finds its way onto his face.

“Come bathe with me.” He doesn’t wait for you to react, already halfway down the engawa by the time you gather yourself enough to stand. Lord Sukuna traverses the estate with practiced ease, as if this was his childhood home and not all place of residence usurped from some affluent family. Though the perks of Lord Sukuna’s minions commandeering such a luxurious home for their leader and his family are the accommodations afforded to only the highest nobility. Because only families with more money than time to spend it can afford to build their home large enough to encompass a hot spring along with all the other necessary land. The air is humid around the bathhouse, curtained with steam as clouds of warm air seep out of the secluded space.

Lord Sukuna stands expectantly at the edge of the rocks surrounding the steaming pool, waiting for you to fulfill your wifely duties. With great haste you begin to undress him. His kimono is ruined beyond repair, delicate white silk tattered and stained with browning patches of blood. Still, you take great care in folding each article as it’s removed from his body. There’s no added layers despite the inclement weather, no added underclothes beneath the outer layer of clothing. Your hands reach skin sooner than you expected, flinching away from the warmth of his muscles as if his skin were an open flame. Despite your status as his wife and your consequently intimate knowledge of his body, you still err on the side of caution when it comes to touching Lord Sukuna. He had only asked you to undress him, not to run your fingers over the corded muscles of his arms. Luckily, your husband seems unconcerned with the wayward touch. Instead of snapping at you he rolls his shoulders as if the layers of clothes had been restricting his movements. In all likelihood, they probably have.

Lord Sukuna is something that is no longer human. A higher being ascended beyond the physicality of a normal man, as if his body could no longer handle the brunt of his power and needed to evolve to fit the newly emerging shape of his soul. Once, before you first laid eyes upon him, Lord Sukuna had the appearance of a mere man. An unremarkable face and body. But now he has become something beyond the shape of a human. “A two faced demon with four arms,” as the members of your clan had called him when talks of appeasing the great King of Curses began whispering through the halls of your maiden home. Of course his rumored differences held no bearing on whether or not the clan would be willing to sacrifice a bride to satisfy the Disgraced One. His four eyes and black markings make no difference to your devotion. He is still the husband you’ve dedicated your life to.

Tentatively, you try to strike up a conversation as Lord Sukuna settles himself in the warm pool. “Has Fourth Mistress arrived yet?”

“Yes, she arrived before I did. I expected you to be with the others, fawning over her. Why weren’t you?” His tone is calculated as if he is trying to decide if there is cause for punishment. Your next words are chosen carefully.

“First Mistress did not think–it was requested that I not attend to Fourth Mistress’ arrival.”

“Are you not my wife?” Lord Sukuna asks, annoyance thick in his tone. Of course you are. In this life you are nothing if not his wife. “I expect that you’ll act your part. The lady of the house is meant to greet guests upon their arrival. I don’t care what Jurina says. You’re of noble birth. You know the rules on how to conduct yourself. Act like it.”

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my lord, but I am not the lady of the house. That is First Mistress Jurina’s title.” To go against your husband’s word is wrong, reason enough for him to lash out at you, but it is the truth that Jurina is always reminding you of. She is First Mistress, the matron of the estate. It is you that is a lowly concubine in comparison to her status as a legal wife. Lord Sukuna bristles at your insolence and you duck your head to receive your reproach. He’s a short distance away, submerged to his waist in the warm water, but Lord Sukuna can move like a striking snake. It would only take half a beat of your heart for him to reach you and tear it from your chest if he so desires it.

Tonight’s admonishment is far less violent. Coming in the form of a disparaging growl before he snaps at you to undress. You do so with the same care that you disrobed your husband. As his wife, you are an extension of him, and you dare not mistreat his items in his presence. Once your clothes are folded you approach Lord Sukuna with hesitant steps. You’ve discovered that drowning and burning are the worst means of death and the boiling water of the hot spring is a combination of both. Still, if tonight will be wasted on death, at least it will come in Lord Sukuna’s arms. He reaches to help you into the water, drawing you close while his second pair of arms stay splayed on the rocks behind him. He moves you as he pleases like a doll being perched on a shelf, positioning you to straddle his thigh.

“Look at me, woman.” His tone doesn’t sound angry, but that has never been a successful way to guess at Lord Sukuna’s intentions. He can execute someone with a smile. You hope he’ll offer you that same cruel grin when he pushes hot beneath the bubbling water.

“I do not care what order I married any of you in. It should be clear by now that you are the woman of this house. First or third, it doesn’t matter. Jurina’s words hold no weight over you. Do I make myself clear?” There’s a franticness to the way you nod your head, chirping out a pinched “yes, Lord Sukuna!” as he holds your chin to keep your eyes on his.

“You’re the only wife that matters to me, stupid woman. The rest,” he scoffs, “I wouldn’t spit down their throats even if their lungs were on fire. Even the new one. Jurina is nothing and no one. I will kill her right now if it will please you.”

And that had been the original crux of Jurina’s jealousy. The priority with which Lord Sukuna always seemed to treat you. There were always rumors about the estate that you are the favored wife, the one that truly matters, but it is hard to believe rumors when Lord Sukuna hardly does anything to validate them. Though his constant quelling of his temper in your presence should be evidence enough. It’s a rare thing for your husband to lash out at you, but you always assumed it was simply because you were careful with your actions. Never giving him any reason to turn his ire against you. It’s plain to see now that the reason for your persisted well treatment is simple. You are his favorite wife.

Possessive as he is, Lord Sukuna has favorites in everything. Cursed weapons that he favors over all others, and servants that he calls on more often than the rest. To know you hold weight among his most precious possessions is dizzying. Of course, to Lord Sukuna, a favorite thing is a useful thing. It’s easy to imagine that you’re the most useful of his four wives. Neither of your seniors have remarkable cursed techniques despite hailing from quite notable families in the hierarchy of the jujutsu world. And any technique they do possess is woefully untrained as is expected of women in the world of sorcery. Women of jujutsu-laden clans are meant to be vessels from which the next generation of male sorcerers are born, not taught to be sorcerers in their own right.

It was only by a terrible coincidence that you were able to train your own technique. A jealous cousin and a well. A harsh push to your back after she whispered about how she should be the one to marry first despite her inferior talents as a homemaker. She got her wish, the husband she so covetously desired. Last you heard she’d been returned to your family’s estate after being set aside for a more fitting woman.

When she pushed you, falling felt like flying and dying felt like burning as your lungs filled with water. In the end you’d spent nearly a week at the bottom of that seldom used well, floundering for your life as your cursed technique kept you in a constant loop of dying and reviving, bursting back to life stronger than when you died. Chrysalis is what your family had taken to calling your ability when you were finally fished out with a bucket of water. Death was something impermanent to you, though the manner of which you passed holds bearing on how long you’ll be stuck in your “cocooned” state. You imagine being killed by means of jujutsu would kill you properly, forever, but no one has been bold enough to try. Certainly not now that you are a treasured wife of the King of Curses. Though you’re sure Lord Sukuna will kill you eventually, when your purpose has been served. For now, it seems your purpose is to provide him with the comforts a wife can offer her husband.

“Kiss me.” He commands, hand on your jaw already pulling you towards him. There’s never been anything delicate about Lord Sukuna as far as you could tell. He’s always had an air of harshness to him, something wild and untamed that bleeds into his every movement. You’ve decided it must be because he lives the same as you, unimpeded by the world around him. The King of Curses bows to nothing and no one, so why should he govern himself by the laws and morals of humanity. Kindness, restraint, it doesn’t seem to exist to your lord husband. The same way fear no longer exists to you. So when Lord Sukuna’s hand–large enough to hold your head in his palm–pulls you towards his fanged mouth, you feel nothing but unadulterated lust. It’s unbecoming of a woman to find herself so lost in her bodily whims but you’re no longer just a woman. You’re Lord Sukuna’s woman, and within the walls of his home, shame no longer exists. You melt against him as his sharp teeth find the softness of your lips. Blood spills between your open mouths, dripping down your bodies before dripping into the water with a soft tinge of pink.

“Sweet,” he hums.

It’s no secret that Lord Sukuna is prone to fits of bloodlust so blinding he’ll tear his teeth into anything soft he can find, no matter the origin of the flesh. Animal or human it’s all the same when he’s tearing his claws through a warm body. He’s mentioned sampling your body once. How he’s thought about tearing off bits and pieces of you to taste. Of course, he told you that he would only maim you in such a way as punishment for misbehavior–it hardly matters when death would only find you mended and made anew–though it hasn’t stopped him from sinking his teeth into you when he’s wrapped up in another kind of lust.

Usually imperceptible if you aren’t looking for it, the only sign of Lord Sukuna’s arousal stands proudly between your legs, so large they breach the surface of the water as he holds you steady in his lap. His upper arms are still splayed out on the stone behind him as he reclines as if he is seated on a throne. He’s shown you what a throne fit for the King of Curses would look like, but only once. In his domain. An infinite wasteland bathed in blood with a single shrine standing at its heart. A corrupted chinjusha of flesh and bone. All gaping maws and cracked skulls. A shrine dedicated to the only higher power Lord Sukuna will ever respect; himself. The strange mouth splitting a seam between his muscles always reminds you of his Malevolent Shrine, of the four grotesque mouths that stand where the four doors of a shrine would be. Its tongue is strangely textured, like that of a cat’s as it lolls out of his stomach to lap at your skin. Sometimes you find yourself wondering if Lord Sukuna has control over the appendage or if it acts of its own volition each time the grainy feeling drags over your body, but it isn’t your place to ask. Who has control or not, it doesn’t matter. Lord Sukuna is your husband and you relish even the smallest touch whether it’s intentional or not.

“Are you going to please your husband?” He asks. The answer is always simple. Yes. It is your sole purpose now that he’s taken you as his wife and torn your world into the smallest pieces until only this single scrap remains. It’s becoming so precious no matter how small and defaced it becomes. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you stepped out of line. Tried to leave the estate, tried to defy Lord Sukuna. In truth, you’ll never know. Your husband is your world and your world is your husband. Of course you will do everything within your power to please him. He seems satisfied with just the look in your eyes as you stare up at him, waiting for his next command. If it would please him you’d slash yourself open, spill your innards into his lap and watch him feast on your flesh. His true wish is far more gentle, something a more humble husband would ask of his bride.

“Touch me.” His clawed hand is already guiding yours to his stiffness, wrapping your fingers over the length of him. It’s so strange that curses can bleed, but Lord Sukuna isn’t exactly a curse nor is he a human. He’s something more but his heart beats just the same. You feel it in your palm as his cock twitches in your grip, thick veins thrumming under his skin. Perhaps it’s the water or more likely it’s something innate to your husband because he always feels hot to the touch, his skin is nearly scalding as you wrap your hands around his twin cocks, fingers spread too wide to touch around his girth. Lord Sukuna looks pleased as he leans back, eyes watching you as if to catch a flaw in your presentation. A rogue frown or unintended scowl that would prove your supposed dedication false.

Even after so long he’s waiting for you to break, to truly realize what you’re doing and be disgusted enough to shrink away. The only thing you feel at this moment is heady arousal. It pools like molten lava deep in your stomach, seeping between your legs and into the water. There’s been no permission given so you remain still, but your hips ache to shift against the strength of Lord Sukuna’s chiseled thigh, to relieve a bit of the tension his lingering gaze has caused. But his hand hasn’t strayed from your hip, in fact his grip has tightened with each stroke of your hands. There’s a stinging bite as his claws dig through your skin, burying deep enough to draw blood despite the composure still set in stone on his face. He is still a man in some regard. Still a husband enjoying the touch of his wife. The thought blooms sweetly in your chest, lifting a soft smile to your lips. Lord Sukuna notices in an instant, four eyes still trained on your face. He snatches your chin up, straining your neck with how quickly he guides your eyes towards his.

“What are you smiling about, brat?” Another attempt to catch you in a lie, to find some falsehood in your contentment. Even your lord husband finds himself questioning if your happiness is true. You thumb over the head of one of his cocks, bringing the taste to your lips. And because he is watching you so intensely you make a coquettish show of dragging your tongue over the pad of your finger, gasping when Lord Sukuna’s fingers bury deeper into your delicate skin. There will be cuts and bruises when he’s done with you. There always are. Then your maid–or, on some occasions, Uraume–will come to tend to your body marked by your husband’s touch. You like the way your body burns when he’s through with you, memories of his touch simmering in your mind. He scoffs when you wrap your lips around your thumb. With a cruel smile he hooks his own thumb into your mouth, talon scraping against your tongue as he pulls your jaw until your mouth is as wide as you can bear with only the slightest twinge of pain.

Drool pools in your mouth, dripping out of the corners as they sting with the strain of Lord Sukuna’s strength. He sneers, looking pleased with the mess you’re making as he leans down to lick it up before spitting it back into your open mouth. You nearly choke and rush to swallow with a rattling cough. It tastes like blood, likely your own though you wonder if your husband sank his teeth into something before coming to you. The blood on his clothes looked dry, though you can never be certain with Lord Sukuna. You banish the thought, thrilled with the way he no longer seems to be dividing his focus.

Before he had looked uninterested, as if his mind was elsewhere even as he looked at you servicing him so happily. Now he’s leaned in close enough for you to see his eyelashes, a rare treat with his immense stature. He’s nearly all you can see, all you can feel and you revel in it as your world shrinks to this tiny pinprick. There’s nothing outside this bathhouse. Only the infinite nothingness that surrounds a domain. The world could come apart outside these four walls and you wouldn’t care as long as Lord Sukuna keeps you in his arms. As if he knows your thoughts, the very deepest desires of your heart, Lord Sukuna drags you up his leg by the hand still embedded in the fat of your hips and the feeling sings through your body as your clit catches against the firmness of his thigh. Your hands tighten around his cocks still pulsing in your hands, though his only reaction is the slightest twitch of his lip.

“Am I doing a good job, Lord Sukuna?” You ask around his thumb, truly desperate for approval. If you were any more pitiful he might’ve pet your hair like a loyal hound. Instead he laughs, something short and sardonic as his teeth nip at your cheek. Warmth blooms then drips down the curve of your face and you know he’s broken skin once more.

“Enough with the stupid questions. If you want my praise you know how to earn it. Show me how badly you want it and I might reward your efforts.” You slip from his lap, mourning the loss of his leg pressing between yours as you kneel in the water. It’s up to your neck as your knees meet the bottom of the pool, steam billowing like a veil in front of your eyes as you center yourself at the apex of Lord Sukuna’s thighs. He’s spread out above you like a proud effigy, a statue meant to be worshiped. You feel a transcendent kind of devotion kneeling at the feet of your lord husband. The taste of him lands heavy on your tongue as your lips tease at the head of his dick, swallowing him in slow increments. Despite the harsh preparation of your mouth, you still wish to savor every moment spent servicing your husband.

His face is clouded in shadows again as he leans back, head tilted towards the ceiling. The lanterns flicker playful shadows across his body, highlighting and shrouding pieces of him as you bow to take him into your mouth in earnest. Your jaw still aches from the way he nearly unhinged it, but it works in your favor as your lips wrap around his length.

There’s nothing dignified about the way you’re swallowing his dick, little focus being allotted to your own comfort as you take him as deeply as his size will allow. His body is strange, of course, but it’s all you’ve ever known of a man. Aside from Lord Sukuna you’ve never seen any man bared beyond his chest, although you know innately that humans aren’t meant to have the endowments he does. His second cock presses against your cheek, dribbling over your skin as you hollow your cheeks until Lord Sukuna’s thighs twitch. Muscles seizing tighter as the head of his cock meets the tightness of your throat. Breathing is far from your mind, a need secondary to pleasing your husband. It’s a messy endeavor and you loathe to think of how terrible you must look. It’s always been a point of pride to preen yourself to perfection because husbands like their women to look beautiful when they arrive home, or at least Lord Sukuna seems to prefer it. Though he never seems bothered by what is surely a horrid display as split slicks down your chin and tears dot along your lash line as you gag around his dick.

Lord Sukuna flicks your forehead after a while, likely drawing another scratch between your brows. It’s a fraction of his power. It’s likely he could take your head apart as easily as squashing a peach under his heel yet he hardly puts effort behind the reproach. Only enough to draw your attention as he drags you, coughing and drooling, off of his cock. They’re both gathered into one fist so he can drag the taste of his leaking precum over your parted lips.

“You know better.” Lord Sukuna does not take things in half measures. His intentions are clear. If you’re going to pleasure him, do it right and do it well. Your jaw pops open again, wide enough to take his twin cocks into your mouth. He stretched and strained your mouth but there’s only so much that can be done with the sheer size of him. And while he does well to shield his thoughts at the best of times, you imagine he must be gleaning a fair bit of pleasure from your messy sucking as his hand remains in your hair. His claws scratch against your scalp, gentle enough to keep your skin intact as he keeps your mouth wrapped around him. A burning type of exertion settles painfully in your jaw but you’ll endure. Lord Sukuna never likes to keep you like this for long. With both of his weeping cocks tangled between your lips you can hardly take more than the head of each. In the end, his preference will always be the wet heat brewing between your legs. Another bout of pain sings through your scalp as Lord Sukuna pulls your mouth away from him, leaving threads of spit dripping between your bodies. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, pressing against the grooves where his teeth bit into your skin until they begin to bleed anew.

He manipulates your body as if you’re merely a puppet dancing on strings. A flex of his arm and you’re lifting off your knees, hips stretched wide to accommodate the width of his body between them. His spit-laden cocks are pressed between your bodies, grinding into the soft expanse of your stomach as he pulls your bleeding mouth to his. He suckles at your torn skin, humming at the taste of your blood seeping onto his tongue. His hands find your hips, pressing into the marks he’s already left there as he hikes you higher against his body. The tongue lolling out of his stomach finds its way between your thighs, lapping at the mess that’s left after the water washed away the first wave of your arousal. It’s nearly too much with how textured the wide appendage is but you welcome any type of relief you can find as Lord Sukuna pulls your head to the side quick enough to send a stinging twinge up the column of your neck. The pain is only intensified as he noses against the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder, as if he’s looking for something.

His tongue sweeps over your skin before his fanged teeth make a home in it. There’s a rippling groan that thunders in his chest as a true taste of your blood spills into his mouth. Before long, your head is spinning from blood loss. Lord Sukuna must feel the change in your pulse as it turns slippery, harder to catch beneath your skin. He pulls away with a satisfied groan as his hands press your hips deeper into the expanse of his lower tongue.

“Enjoying yourself, brat?” Lord Sukuna sneers, and because you have no sense of shame you find yourself nodding earnestly. He’s hardly touched you and what touches he’s shared have been steeped in equal parts pain and pleasure, yet you’ve enjoyed it all the same. It’s awkward and teasing because there’s no tact to the way his lower tongue moves between your legs. It’s like striking a flint without starting a fire, dull sparks of teasing pleasure that leave you wanting more. You’d rather have his face between your legs and a more dexterous tongue teasing you to the edge, but it would be presumptuous to make any kind of demands of your husband especially when he’s a man like Lord Sukuna.

In most regards, your pleasure is incidental. Secondary to his own. So when his teeth snap over his claws, biting the sharp points into flattened nubs, you feel your excitement growing. He’s learned from experience that his rough treatment of your body should not extend to certain places. After only a few times he pressed his clawed fingers inside you, Lord Sukuna learned that it would better serve him if his nails were dulled before he went poking them inside you. And they’ll be grown back to full length by night’s end. He can manipulate the shape of his body as easily as fire melting snow. His hand smooths over the side of your body, sliding against your ribs and hips as he makes his way between your legs. His fingers plunge inside with little warning, forcing you open with a swiftness you could almost call desperation. If something so undignified could ever be said about the King of Curses.

Lord Sukuna is a behemoth, dwarfing you in every regard, and his hands are no different. His fingers reach deep inside you, stroking over the place that has your back bowing as he makes space for himself inside you. He hums at how easily you take his fingers, sounding somewhere between amused and approving. It flutters through your chest and settles atop the arousal already building inside you.

“Give your body to me, woman. Open yourself to your king.” You try to say something as he slips another finger inside you but it comes out as little more than a breathy whine. This is already too much and yet it can’t compare to how full you’ll feel when he gets his cocks inside you. His fingers are a luxury offered in preparation for his true reward and you take it happily. He smirks at the way your thighs strain as you try to grind against his touch. The heel of his hand is pressed tight against your clit and you buck your hips against the feeling. Lord Sukuna’s skin is thick, nothing like the softness of your own and it feels just the right amount of rough against your clit. One of Lord Sukuna’s hands finds your hair again, yanking hard until you’re looking up at him with tears shimmering in your vision.

“There’s my spoiled brat. This is how you act. This is how the wife of a king is meant to be. Take what you want, woman, take everything I give you.” A dark laugh booms through the room as you whine and paw at Lord Sukuna’s chest. He adds another to the litany of scratches decorating your skin as his teeth nip at your neck, distracting you from the sting of another finger finding its way inside you.

“You were made for this,” he reminds you. “Made to be mine. My bride. You can take it.” He sounds almost patronizing, voice softening to a teasing lilt as his thumb presses against your clit. Like with everything, Lord Sukuna is harsh, forcing you to the edge quicker than expected. Each curl of his fingers yanks at the string tightening inside you, pulling you closer and closer to the edge as he moves his hands with inhuman speed inside you. Everything is hard and fast and your thighs start to tremble in his hold, body shivering as Lord Sukuna all but wrings the orgasm out of your body. You clench hard around his fingers, pussy dripping down your thighs as you try to steady yourself with your hands on Lord Sukuna’s shoulders. He allows it, revels in it as he pulls you into another bloody kiss. But even as you tremble in his arms, Lord Sukuna doesn’t stop. His thumb is still circling your twitching bud even as you try to whine out a plea for mercy. It only brings a fanged smile to his lips.

“Take it,” he grunts, “I know you can.” It really feels like you can’t. The tension brought on by your orgasm hasn’t dispersed and you feel like a knot being pulled ever tighter, back curling until your face is buried against his chest. He smells like the bath. Like sweet oils and wildflowers as your nose is buried against his scalding skin. With your forehead pressed against his chest your eyes have nowhere to look but down. Down at the way his cocks are straining to be touched, flushed and leaking just out of reach. You look up to distract yourself with the black markings etched into Lord Sukuna’s chest. Your kisses are sloppy, wet and open-mouthed as your tongue peeks out to trace the shape of each tattoo. It’s not until your teeth begin to nip at his chest that Lord Sukuna scruffs you once more.

“Trying to leave a mark on me, brat?” As if you could. Your teeth are likely no different than trying to pierce his skin with a blade of grass. “What a greedy little bride I have. So eager to defer to another wife’s authority when you’re this possessive of your husband. Isn’t that right, woman?” You try to shake your head. Of course, you aren’t possessive of him, you know your place. You are the Third Mistress. Perhaps you are his favorite but there is a hierarchy that must be upheld in the household. To so brazenly try to claim full authority over your lord husband would be lunacy. There is no higher authority than the King of Curses himself. You’re simply a pebble lingering in the shadow of the highest mountain.

“Yes you are,” he grins. You whine as he pulls his hand from between your legs. “Look at the mess you’ve made trying to mark me up like a bitch in heat.” There’s no sense of embarrassment welling at his degrading words. What sense is there in hiding how well your husband pleasures you? And Lord Sukuna seems proud as his tongue licks up the mess you’ve made on his hand before pressing a kiss to your parted lips. You taste yourself on his tongue. Your blood and your pleasure.

“You’re going to take me so well, aren’t you?” It’s hardly a question. Simply an ordered phrased as if you could deny yourself the feeling of being split open on Lord Sukuna’s cocks. He starts with one, always. Dragging the leaking head through the mess he’s made of your cunt, tapping against your clit until he finally presses inside. His body is a marvel and you’re blessed to be so acquainted with it as the length not pressing inside you grinds against your clit as he makes you take him as deep as your body will allow. Lord Sukuna has been known to be rash and unpredictable, a being of pure chaos when the mood strikes him, but when he’s with you like this everything he does is deliberate.

He’s rough but not destructively so. Yes, you’re bleeding as he bounces you in his lap, drawing a litany of breathless sounds from your lips, but he’s always intentional when drawing blood. You’ve been trained well in these years of marriage to take him. To weather any storm Lord Sukuna throws at you. His hands are bruising on your hips as he drags you up and down his length, hands that could shatter your bones with the slightest bit of effort and yet he only uses enough strength to hold you close. You’re not deluded enough to think that Lord Sukuna loves you, certainly not in the way a lover should, but he cares enough to treat you with a level of gentility.

“Thank you,” you babble it like a prayer, over and over. Worshiping at your husband’s altar for even the briefest thought given to your safety, your pleasure. It can never be said that Lord Sukuna is a neglecting lover, at least not with you. He’s everywhere all at once. Hands on your hips and at your breasts, pinching at the aching peaks of your nipples. His face is buried against your throat, teeth surely raising welts as his tongue laps at the taste of blood and sweat dampening your skin. You cling to him in turn, nails digging into the thick muscles of his arms with no hope of ever drawing blood. Still, he grunts out a laugh as you drag your dull nails across his skin, leaving nothing but the whisper of claw marks behind. An arm slips out from under your grasp, unbalancing you, but Lord Sukuna is quick to steady your boneless body as he reaches between you to take hold of his second cock. It’s thick and straining, leaking against your skin as he presses it in beside the first. The stretch is harsh, a stinging pinch between your legs soothed only in part by his thumb drawing shapes against your clit. He hushes you when your whining gets too loud, hands clamping tight to your hips to keep you from squirming away from taking all of him.

“Be a good wife and accept your reward.” Lord Sukuna hisses as he presses deep inside you. The weight of him settles like molten heat inside you, his hand pressing over the shape of himself through your stomach. “Hush, you can take it.” He hisses, biting at your cheek as tears well in your eyes once more. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a strange feeling to be so full all at once.

“My pretty wife.” He’s only this sweet when he has you close to breaking, teetering on the edge of insanity from the way he’s taking his pleasure from your body. “Look at me, woman. Keep your eyes on your king.” It’s hard to look anywhere else. He isn’t sweating, this is hardly more than a leisurely stroll for him, but the humidity has left his skin beaded with moisture. It makes him shimmer in the torchlight like the divine being that he is, wasting his time on a creature as lowly as you. It’s your blessing that he’s so enraptured with you at the moment. Your eyes slip shut, tears streaming down your cheeks as every corner of your body feels lit aflame, the heat only made worse as Lord Sukuna’s hand finds your jaw.

“I said, eyes. On. Me.” He growls. With a bit of resistance, your eyes flutter open, white light swimming at the edge of your vision as Lord Sukuna drags you to the precipice of insanity. He’s close. Far less careful and coherent as he drags you up and down his lengths with startling strength. He’s pressing against every sweet spot inside you, igniting a thousand flames at once that threaten to swallow you whole. There’s a pitchy mantra of “wait, wait, wait” playing on your tongue but it only seems to further entice your husband.

“You gonna sing for me, woman? Go on, let me hear something pretty when you come for your king.” He’s taunting you, laughing at how shrill your voice sounds. It nearly does sound like you’re singing as you wail his name, back bowing as he rips another orgasm from your spent body. It’s as quick as a lightning strike and nearly as blinding, eyes clouding white for a moment as you fight to keep your eyelids from fluttering. From taking your eyes off Lord Sukuna for even a moment. You feel yourself clawing at him, clinging and grasping to keep yourself grounded as pleasure shatters through your body. Vaguely you can hear Lord Sukuna laughing, something tinged dark with amusement as he works you through your orgasm. He has no patience to wait for you to regain your breath, to see the light of coherence return to your eyes. Instead, his hands grip tighter to your waist, nails biting into your skin as he works you faster over his cocks. His voice dips low, a rasping gravel as he grunts, squeezing every bit of his own pleasure from your body. It’s barely a change, just the slightest shift, but you’ve done this so many times that you can almost sense when he gets close.

Lord Sukuna gathers your loosening muscles back into some semblance of an embrace, holding you tight to his chest as he pushes your hips low enough for your bodies to meet in earnest. The feeling is a wet slide of skin against skin, the mess of your joined pleasure slicking up your bodies. It nearly feels like choking as he holds you still, the shape of him pressing every so slightly against the softness of your stomach. He’s more gentle now, but only by a hair’s breadth, as he thumbs over the shape of his body making a home for itself inside yours. There’s always a hint of softness at the edges of moments like this. A bit of the darkness bleeds from Lord Sukuna’s eyes as he guides your hips to grind against him, thumbing where he sees himself beneath your skin. Lord Sukuna has always been smart, his intelligence far exceeding that of your woefully undereducated mind.

There’s never been a time where you were certain of his thoughts, but in moments like these you think there’s a hint of curiosity sparkling in his eyes. Something desirous of the unknown and intangible. He moves in shallow thrusts, thumb dancing lazily over your puffy clit for only a moment more before he’s spilling inside you with a satisfied groan. But, still, he keeps you there. As if forcing your body to take to everything he’s given you. If it were up to you, your womb would quicken to give him a child; proof of your devotion. But even the fantasy sounds impossible. Lord Sukuna has shed his humanity and with it, you assume, his ability to continue his legacy by way of heirs. Though he hardly needs them.

Lord Sukuna is a shining beacon of the height of jujutsu, proof of what greatness can be achieved when you’re willing to go beyond the standards set out by society. He’s immortal, indomitable. Children would only be another jewel in his crown, more pawns to serve his greater will. And it’s unlikely such children of greatness will ever come to pass. In all your years of marriage, there’s never been a single moment where you thought for even a moment that Lord Sukuna’s seed took. And it likely never will. It’s wasted as he lifts you off of his softening length, everything he gave you dripping out into the spring water. The light flickers and for a moment it almost looks like there’s a spark of disappointment in his eye, then the torches shift again and the shadows are gone.

“You did well, woman.” He hums, running his hands over the length of your body. The heat of his palms and the babbling water works to soothe the aches and pains of being so thoroughly used by your behemoth of a husband. “Who do you love, wife?” He asks after the breath finally returns to your lungs. Of course it’s him. There is no one else. No man could compare, like a pebble being compared to a shining jewel.

“Good girl.” He says when you’ve finished your babbling. Like a true king, Lord Sukuna loves to hear his own praises and you’re more than happy to sing them. Sometimes it’s startling how perfectly the two of you exist together. He’s the sun and you’re a flower turning your face to gaze upon him always. Which of his other wives could ever share in a fraction of your devotion? No one will ever love Lord Sukuna as you do, save for maybe Uraume. Perhaps they don’t love him, but there is a fine line between love and admiration. The loyal servant comes bustling into the bathhouse after Lord Sukuna has had his fill of soft caresses and breathless praises.

The fact that both of you are bare makes no difference to Uraume. They lift you from Lord Sukuna’s arms with startling strength, hands frigid against your skin as they guide you to sit and go about drying your body and combing your hair. It’s always strange to be tended to by someone other than your personal maid, more so when it’s by the hands of Lord Sukuna’s most trusted servant, but it seems Uraume sees you as an extension of Lord Sukuna as much as you do. They dry and dress you, sending you back to your room so that they may speak privately with your husband. Some time later when the bells of the estate are tolling for the Hour of the Dog, the strumming of your koto is interrupted further by screaming. Something bloodcurdling terrified as it rings through the house, echoing into the snow speckled night. Vaguely you think of how the screaming sounds like First Mistress Jurina.

#sukuna ★#sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #★ mine!

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thethingswedotomorrow · 1 year ago

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Crowley has been with humanity since the beginning. The original serpent of eden, he is the first "monster" in humanity's bedtime stories. He is the figurative and literal demon on human's shoulders, always there to guide them one way or another. He's weaved through history itself, and prides himself on an impeccable track record of demonic activity throughout the last 6000 years.

But, naturally, after 6000 years, Crowley finds that he's spent more time pining after a certain Angel than doing any sort of work. Like, an extreme amount of pining.

And it isn't until after the notpocalypse that Crowley realizes that, entirely accidentally and very embarrassingly, he may have accidentally made his pining very, very public.

One of Crowley's favorite ways to waste a day is to take Aziraphale to different museums around the world and watch as the angel wanders around and points out all of the inaccuracies

"Good Lord Crowley, have you seen this painting? Portraying you as a dragon is a tad dramatic, I think. All we were doing were having a picnic. And I have never had my hair looking like that, thank you."

"I don't know Angel, they've got your wings spot on. Wa-Hang on, have they added horns to my head?"

"Oh, I see, suddenly it's only inaccurate when they've got you wrong."

The museums always seem to be miraculously empty, and whenever Crowley mentions this, Aziraphale suddenly finds a new, very interesting piece of art to admire

Crowley admires the lengths Aziraphale goes to to hide the small miracles he's done for Crowley's sake

As if Crowley wouldn't move literal mountains for the angel

*He did, actually, do that once.

In the 12th century, they were having a lovely evening together with multiple caskets of wine, up until Aziraphale complained about the amount of light in his eyes

"Honestly Crowley, all this sun and no shade, it must truly be awful for the humans around here with no shelter. It's a tad much, even for me."

Crowley, even then, immediately recognized this off-hand comment as an underhanded complaint, and knew that would not stand

When the small earthquake passed, Crowley claimed that the nearby church was on a fault line and he was simply doing his demonic duty by damaging holy goods in the area

If Aziraphale realized that the mountain range in the distance suddenly provided much more sun coverage, he never mentioned it.

Currently, however, Crowley follows Aziraphale around, wandering behind him and never truly looking at the things in the museum

In every single place they've ever gone together, there was only ever one thing that deserved Crowley's attention

And it certainly was not an inaccurate model of a 18th century tea set

But when Aziraphale wanders into a hall titled 'Love of the Past', he starts to panic. Just a very tiny amount, basically none at all. A small enough amount of panic that he could deny it, even to himself.

He thinks about the past, towards the beginning, back when Humanity was still getting it's footing and figuring out how to have governments and societies and (the most important part) figuring out the whole alcohol situation

Throughout the years, especially towards the beginning, Crowley began to resent any time not spent with Aziraphale

Everything seemed small and dull when compared to the way the Angel smiled when he saw new type of human dessert, or the way he laughed when Crowley managed to work out a clever comment

And once Crowley experienced those things, he never wanted anything else

He had seen the poetry the humans had written, how much emotion they could pour into a simple piece of parchment or a clay tablet

He never cared for written word, but he was shocked at just how much feeling the humans could manage to pour into words

So after Aziraphale left Rome (after the oysters and the wine and the smiles, for somebody's sake the smiles), he went due east for a new miracle on another continent

Crowley stayed and got well and truly drunk. As he did best.

He had spent a few weeks around the other drunks around the area, most poverty stricken and saddened with some sort of grief of one type or another

It wasn't until a group of poets wandered into his dark corner of the pub that he started to considered writing

Obviously nothing anyone would ever read, he'd ensure that. Every scroll or parchment that he'd touch with a quill would be burnt with hellfire before it left his sight

But, as many of his worst ideas started, he had nothing better to do and too much time to think

So he wrote. He wrote letters, first addressed to nobody, about random thoughts that would pop into his very intoxicated brain. Whether humans would ever find traces of the unicorns they lost on the ark, whether he would ever find a way to count just how many scales he had, whether he would ever reach a point where he didn't have to cover his eyes every day

Slowly, the letters started becoming addressed to 'A'. Whether he was conscious of this or not, he'd never admit.

But he wrote. He wrote to A about Hell, the jobs they required of him, the things they'd have him do. He wrote of the way humans had beaten him to the punch 90% of the time. How they would do things worse than Satan himself could imagine, and they'd never blink an eye while doing it.

He wrote of the way the sun darkened each day that passed without his Angel, the way his wine never seemed to have enough flavor when he was alone.

He wrote of the ways he imagined he could orchestrate an elaborate reunion, a convoluted mess of too much demonic activity in a small area that just happened to have a wonderful new tea, or so he's heard, and wouldn't it be a shame to leave the town without tempting the angel to try it?

He wrote to A about how he was sure he had no heart, no emotions. He was a Demon, for somebody's sake, he certainly had no need for stupid things like that, and so the ache in his corporation's chest when he sees the Angel had to be some sort of malfunction.

Anatural function, surely, that could be fixed with the right amount of aloofness and strong liquor

He wrote of the way the sun always seemed to hit the Angel's hair just right, and Crowley had no faith, he had no God.

But in those moments, with a halo around the angel and that smile aimed towards him, he might consider praying now to a different source altogether, a closer source. One full of life and light and actual proper goodness, not that fake advertised bullshit they plaster on church walls in pretty paintings and sad songs

Crowley wrote for a long while, and found that the writing helped the pain.

Even if only because it brought on memories of Aziraphale, and that was enough to hold him until they met again. It had to be, he had no choice in the matter.

And he wrote so often throughout the ages, and often while he was drunk. And he was so sure, so positive that he had burned every trace of his heart and emotion out of existence.

He had to be. The danger those words could put Aziraphale in was far too great. He couldn't be bothered to care of the danger to himself, but the fact that the very hint of any emotion could come close to hurting his Angel was enough to ensure that they would never come across another being's eyes.

He destroyed every letter and word that described his desire, his pain, his greed. He ripped the words he created out of reality as easily as he had written them. Every time, he burnt the parchment, and every time, it burnt a part of him with it.

And then the Apocalypse had happened. Or, well, didn't happen, he supposed. Really, he wasn't entirely sure if there was a difference.

Because everything had changed, even if the rest of the world hadn't noticed. And he was suddenly allowed to see Aziraphale with no excuse, no half-hearted reasoning behind it. He was allowed to want, and to crave, and he relished it.

And he was allowed to take the angel to museums to watch him fuss over small mistakes humanity had collected throughout the ages

Until he realized that they had, in fact, also collected HIS mistakes.

In a hall. A whole bloody hall. A hall, dedicated to and full of stupid parchment and sappy letters and wine stains over words written so long ago

And honestly who gave them the right? Leave it to the humans to collect other people's belongings and put it on display as their own

And he knew, from the moment Aziraphale read the first page on display, he just knew. This was it. All of it was ruined.

All because Crowley had gotten so drunk and passed out in his room above the pub, and when they'd thrown him out in a drunken stupor, they'd collected his belongings to sell afterwards. And he'd never even realized, so concerned about the next meeting, the arrangement, concerned about anything and everything except the one thing he forgot about and could end them both.

Any moment now, Aziraphale would look up at him, with disgust and confusion and all those emotions that he'd really rather not see on his face, preferably ever, but especially not towards him.

But Aziraphale never looks up. He reads the first page 5, 6, 7 times, being sure to capture every single word. Every wrinkle in the paper, every crease.

Then he moves to the next, and then the next. He repeats this process. Every page, he scours each and every page. Searching and scanning, analyzing every word.

Crowley is frozen at the entrance of the hall, too terrifed to say a word, but too hopeful to leave. He stands there, suddenly feeling the same feeling in his chest that he felt so many years ago, in the corner of the pub, sitting in the dark, wishing for the light that he knew would never come.

He's so panicked, that he doesn't notice Aziraphale finishing the last page, and wiping the tears from his eyes. He startles when he accidentally meets his eyes, and prepares a number of excuses and deflections, all to preserve this shred of peace and safety they had carved out for themselves.

"Angel, I- you really- ngk- humans are so rid- are you hungry? I could eat, I've heard they've got a killer bar around here, and we cou-I can get us there in 10 minutes, ngk actu- scratch that, we could be there in 5, I bet. Museums aren-angel?"

Crowley finds himself stopping the random stream of words coming out of his mouth, when he notices tears in Aziraphale's eyes

"Angel, I-"

That's all Crowley can get out before Aziraphale is walking towards him with a purpose

And suddenly Aziraphale is very close to him

Very very close

And suddenly Aziraphale's lips are on his, and Aziraphale is holding onto Crowley's jacket, and Crowley's hands are just waving in the air back and forth while he processes the last .5 seconds.

By the time he realizes what is actually happening, Aziraphale pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against Crowley's, and laughs.

He laughs. Laughs. Aziraphale is laughing and it's a wonderful, beautiful noise and Crowley doesn't quite understand why, but then he's laughing too and then they are both standing there, arms around each other, laughing and Crowley realizes now that all the words he's written, all the praises he sang of his Aziraphale, the way he wished and prayed for his heart and laugh and love

Not one bit of it is at all comparable to the real thing.

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bumblesimagines · 6 months ago

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The Beasts of The North

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

Summary: While he's meant to be convincing the Wolf of the North to send his men to fight a war for his mother, Jace cannot help but grow enthralled by the love between Lord Cregan and Ser (Y/N).

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, mentions/implied homophobia/homophobic religion (The Faith), slight age gaps, slight suggestive content, Cregan and (Y/N) are head over heels, (Y/N) is not a stepfather he is the father that stepped up, bicurious Jace

I know I said I was gonna focus on UTM but my motivation left as quick as my dad did so here we are 🤷🏻‍♀️

~~~

A low, heavy sigh escaped Jace as he sank further into the tub, the heated water digging pleasantly into his skin and ridding it of the cold that'd sunk into him the moment he flew into the North. His head drooped back, the back of his neck resting along the wall of the tub as he slipped in further until the water brushed against his chin. His palms rubbed along his thighs, massaging away the soreness from riding Vermax for so long.

His eyes glided around his new room, taking in everything around him. It reminded him of his bedchambers in Dragonstone with the stone walls and smooth, warm floor but it was sadly where the similarities stopped. It lacked the salty smell of the sea breeze wafting in through the windows, the sound of the waves crashing with the rocky cliffs, the clinking of metal from guards walking around. Most of all.. it lacked his beloved family. It lacked his precious brothers... it lacked his beloved mother. His skin warmed from embarrassment. He was man-grown and the Crown Prince, yet he desperately wished to have his mother near so he could ask her what to say and do.

Jace pushed himself up and began washing himself, scrubbing his skin clean until he no longer smelled of leather and dragon. He remained in the tub for a while longer, soaking up the heat of the water until it became tepid, before rising from the tub and drying himself. His mind raced as he changed into new clothes, his thoughts surrounding Lord Cregan and what to make of him.

He'd flown to the Eyrie first to meet with Lady Jeyne Arryn and managed to garner her support through promises of protecting the Vale of Arryn with dragons, managed to sway the support of the Three Sisters in their favor through Lord Borrell, and arranged for Lord Desmond Manderly of the White Harbor's youngest daughter to one day wed little Joffery in exchange for his support. But what could he possibly offer Lord Cregan Stark to lessen the impact of his men undoubtedly dying once war finally began?

Jace had no younger sisters to offer as a potential bride to Rickon Stark; no lands or titles that could even amount to the lands of Winterfell and the title of Warden of the North; no dragons that'd be pleased to call the North home; no older female relatives to offer as the new Lady of Winterfell (and he certainly wouldn't wish to upset a Mormont); no riches or coin that'd be worth sending men to die. He had nothing to offer, nothing the lord would care for, at least.

His fingers buttoned his white undershirt, his legs leading him toward the window to peer out to the ground below where he had a perfect view of the training grounds. Ser (Y/N) stood by below, his eyes closely watching the squires and boys given to him for training and lips contorted into a frown. He looked older in certain lights, more mature than the age Jace presumed him to be. His lips quirked when Ser (Y/N) smacked the back of one of the squires with his wooden sword, the exasperated expression on his face reminding him of all the times he practiced with Luke and had to scold the boy.

His concerned, borderline anxious thoughts surrounding his host shifted, recalling the words Ser (Y/N) had spoken before he'd left. The Faith of the Seven viewed relations between those of the same sex to be a sin, something septas and maesters warned young children against. But Jace was no fool, nor was he blind or deaf. He'd heard plenty of rumors in court, seen lingering touches between a noblewoman and her favorite handmaiden or fleeting glances between a lord and his personal guard. His own father, Laenor Velaryon, had been said to enjoy the company of men over women; and looking back on his youth, Jace recalled the times he and Ser Qarl Correy often left together, smiling big and lovingly at each other.

Jace liked ladies, he'd be a fool not to with their beauty. But he'd be lying if he said he'd never looked at a lordling or knight and wondered what it'd be like to be with them. He often brushed those thoughts away and told himself it was simply admiration or envy but something in his heart had fluttered when he laid eyes on Lord Cregan and Ser (Y/N), something that blossomed when he witnessed the adoring exchange between the two.

Lovers.

Ser (Y/N) had said it so proudly, so sure of himself. Jace wondered how many times his father had dreamt of declaring his love for Ser Qarl, dreamt of being himself publically without facing the scrutiny and denial of everyone around him. He wondered then, if the longing stares exchanged between his mother and Queen Alicent meant something other than a desire to rekindle a long-lost friendship.

"Prince Jacaerys," He startled and turned away from the window, noticing Sara Snow lingering by the doorway. She smiled politely at him and entered the room, crossing the distance to stand beside him by the window as servants slipped in after her and drained the tub. The servants collected his discarded clothes and bowed before retreating, leaving the two in silence. Jace turned back to her and returned the smile with one of his own.

Snow. A bastard of the North, yet treated as if she were a full-blooded Stark; perhaps because she looked so much like one with her shoulder-length raven hair and those pale blue eyes that resembled Lord Cregan's. Jace couldn't help the prickle of envy that slipped into his veins. If he'd been born resembling his mother over his real father, nobody would've questioned his parentage nor brought insult to his mother and brother. He'd spent so many years fighting to prove himself to everyone around him that he was Targaryen, that he was meant to be Crown Prince. Everything would've proved much easier if he and Luke had been born with those striking violet eyes and silver locks.

"I hope you're settling in well," Sara's gentle voice pulled him of out his thoughts. She glanced toward what'd captivated his attention moments prior, the corners of her mouth lifting knowingly. His skin warmed, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason why. "I know my brother and (Y/N) can seem... standoffish. They were both raised to be guarded and suspicious, but I can assure you, once they've grown used to you they'll be kinder."

"I cannot fault them for their hesitance in welcoming me. I am the bearer of bad news; a symbol of war after so many years of peace." Jace straightened his shoulders and posture, clasping his hands behind his back as he spoke. He needed to be seen as princely as possible, needed to be someone worth paying attention to. "Lord Cregan's support would mean everything to us."

Her eyes crinkled and her head tilted to the side. There was a warmness to her presence that eased Jace into relaxation. "I could help you convince my brother as he does seek out my advice but (Y/N) is our master-at-arms and the one who trained many of our warriors in the past few years. He will need as much convincing as Cregan. The Starks have never broken an oath but it is better to have a willing commander over one who feels forced."

"I agree." Jace nodded, his eyes flickering back down toward the figure below, hearing the muffled groan that escaped the knight when a squire slipped and fell. "And... how would you suggest someone goes about that? He hardly seemed keen on showing me around." Was keen the right word? Ser (Y/N) had seemed outright distraught at the idea.

"How would you go about taming a bear?" The light, almost teasing tone in Sara's voice made him chuckle softly. "Cregan would know all about that, it seems. (Y/N) came here to Winterfell as a ward under our father many years ago. He and Cregan had been at odds then, bickering and fighting but under all that was the beginning of love."

"What of Lady Arra?" Jace asked. He'd heard how her death had brought much pain to Lord Cregan, how he'd mourned her for many months. Sara sighed softly at the mention and Jace winced, hoping he hadn't overstepped by asking.

"Cregan loved her as much as he loves (Y/N)," Sara told him softly, the glint in her eyes turning distant, her mind drifting back to the past. "Cregan was captivated by both of them, I remember. I was a child, hardly old enough to understand what was so charming about love, but even then I knew he cared for them both, even if (Y/N) occasionally brought out the worst in him. Arra forced them to become friends, for her sake, since she cared for them both. In the end, she brought them together both in life and death."

A comfortable silence settled over them, one that made Jace's thoughts flicker back to Baela. He cared for her, he had since they were mere children, but was it like the love between his father and Ser Qarl? The love between Ser (Y/N) and Lord Cregan? He hadn't minded when his mother announced her intent to marry them. He preferred an old friend over a stranger, and he certainly wouldn't mind having children with someone as passionate and caring as Baela. He believed he'd grow to love her, as many arranged couples eventually did, but what if his love for her remained... friendly?

"There'll be a feast in your honor later this evening. The boys should be in better moods by then." The boys. Jace almost snorted, his lips rolling into his mouth to prevent the noise. He wondered how long it took for little Sara to begin bossing them around, the image of her lecturing them as a child floating around in his mind.

"I look forward to learning more of the North." Jace smiled.

Sara returned it, though it held a hint of both mischief and pity. "And I hope you're a heavy sleeper, My Prince."

When dusk fell, the feast began with all kinds of lords, knights, ladies, and squires filling the Great Hall. A proper welcome to the North, if Jace had to admit, finding ale in his hand and delicious food on his plate that he happily ate. He spoke with those around him, his chest brimming with pride and relief whenever he enticed a hearty laugh from a northerner with a jest or a tale. They considered him a southerner, a boy prince who'd hardly fit in amongst the men who looked more like mountains and ladies who knew their way around axes. But with each laugh, grin, and approving nod, he cemented himself further amongst them.

However, Lord Cregan and Ser (Y/N) paid him little mind, allowing the others around to keep him entertained.

Jace watched them as he slowly ate some of his apple cake, the lovely flavor dancing on his tongue but his attention focused on the two despite the tale Russal, the castle's steward, recounted a tale of a hunt that had many leaning forward in anticipation. Jace had been among them until he'd caught sight of Ser (Y/N)'s vibrant and pleased grin at something his lover had said.

He watched with softened eyes as a fussy Rickon finally ceased his whining once Ser (Y/N) took him into his arms, settling the boy on his leg and sparing the briefly distracted Lord Cregan a glance before he scooped some honey cake onto his spoon and offered it to the boy. Rickon wiggled with delight, his small hands grasping (Y/N)'s wrist as he eagerly ate, accidentally smearing frosting over his top lip and just below his nose. Lord Cregan turned back to them and arched a brow at the mess on his son's face, an amused smile stretching across his lips.

"You know you mustn't have sweets before bed, Rickon." He gave his lover a knowing look, one that (Y/N) responded to with an innocent shrug. Rickon merely giggled and licked his lips, reaching for the spoon once more to lick it clean. He reminded Jace of Joffery, his little troublemaking brother who could sway anyone with just a few bats from his eyes and that toothy grin. Jace watched little Rickon, a longing for home forming in his heart once more.

The table erupted in loud laughter that snapped Jace out of his thoughts, flickering his gaze toward Russal as the man drank some ale and took in the hearty laughs and cackles his story received. He smiled and chuckled, the laughter of northerners amusing by itself, and took another gulp of his ale. When his eyes slid back to the couple, he found Ser (Y/N) watching him and nearly choked on his ale, managing to cover up the coughs with wheezy chuckles.

"Princeling," Ser (Y/N) pulled Rickon further against his chest so he could rest his chin on the boy's messy dark hair. The table largely quieted down, save for a few conversations here and there, most of the attention turning onto the prince and Ser (Y/N). Jace straightened his back instinctively with all eyes on him and gave him a nod to go on. "Tell us of dragons."

"Dagons!" Rickon cheered, drawing soft chuckles and coos from those around.

"Well, uhm," Jace cleared his throat, his mind flickering back to all the lessons he'd received through the years, primarily on the histories of his family. "There are different tales on how dragons came to be. Those who came from Old Valryia claim dragons came from the Fourteen Flames but there are tales that dragons were brought forth through blood magic used on wyverns. Regardless, Valyrians tamed and rode them. It was said Valyrians themselves were descendants of the beasts and were kin with those they rode. Many believe a dragon will accept anyone of Valyrian blood but it is simply not true. A rider does not choose its dragon, the dragon chooses its rider. They will not allow anyone else to ride them for as long as their rider lives and breathes."

"Your dragon chose you, then? It looks quite young." Ser (Y/N) tilted his head. Jace wondered what tales were told in the North about dragons, about his family. Lord Alaric Stark had hosted King Jaehaerys Targaryen and Queen Alysanne Targaryen at Winterfell once many years prior, surely leaving a good enough impression for things to remain amiable between the families. Jace could only hope to leave the same impression.

"The tradition started by Rhaena Targaryen where eggs are placed in the cradle of Targaryen babes allows for a bond to form in youth. Vermax hatched in my cradle so we were raised together as... brothers, in a way. The bond between a dragonrider and their dragon runs deep. It is said a dragon may feel everything its rider feels. They may grow restless when their rider falls ill or is gravely injured." Jace couldn't help the burst of pride in his chest at the curiosity and intrigue in the eyes of those around him. Velaryon blood never ran through his veins but it hadn't made him any less of a Targaryen.

"Interesting." Ser (Y/N) said flatly, and the pride died a little.

By the time night properly fell, the buzz in Jace's veins had been undeniable. Northerners liked their drinks strong, and Jace had never been one to back down when faced with challenging smirks and glints. Drinking their ale and beer had earned him many burning claps on his back and shoulders but as he stumbled through the halls and toward his bedchambers, he wondered if perhaps he should've paced himself. He almost tripped over his own foot and gave a soft giggle at his clumsiness before his eyes shifted to the streak of light pouring from a cracked open door. Against his better judgment, he approached it like a moth to a flame and raised his head to peek into the room.

"Byran thinks we ought to do a hunt soon. The hounds have grown restless, says they could use the exercise." He found Ser (Y/N) first, the many layers of clothing he'd once worn gone, leaving him in loose beige-colored sleepwear. The knight tilted his head up toward his lover, the warm candlelight and peaceful look on his face chipping away at the slight fear that'd gripped Jace's gut when he'd first seen him.

"Aye," Lord Cregan responded, and Jace's face warmed when he raked his gaze over his muscular back and strong-looking arms, a shirt pinched in his hands before the lord tossed it aside. His chest and pudgy stomach were covered in dark hairs, ones that Jace tracked until they disappeared beneath his pants. "We could take the princeling, then. Show him how the North works."

"And how does the North work, love?" Jace's veins bubbled when he heard Ser (Y/N)'s light laughter, when he watched Lord Cregan take a seat at the edge of the bed while Ser (Y/N) slid up behind him. His fingers dipped into Lord Cregan's hair, brushing and pulling back his dark strands gently, a gentleness he hadn't given those he'd been training. Ser (Y/N) tied his lover's hair back into a bun, some shorter strands slipping out and framing Lord Cregan's face.

"The North is... full of surprises." The older man murmured, tilting his head back and ghosting his lips over Ser (Y/N)'s cheek as the knight's arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. When their lips connected, Jace's stomach flipped with a new feeling of longing, surprised by the warmth and sweetness of the kiss.

Lord Cregan's body tiled and his arm moved, sliding around his lover's waist and dragging him onto his lap. Laughter and giggles freely fell from Ser (Y/N)'s lips, a wide smile on his face as he settled happily across Lord Cregan's thighs. They stared at each other, lips curled upward and eyes crinkled with delight before Lord Cregan pressed a kiss to Ser (Y/N)'s forehead and murmured something in his ear. When Lord Cregan's hand dipped into the knight's pants, Jace jerked back, a violent heat darting up his spine and spreading through his veins.

Despite his drunken mind, he staggered away from the door and toward his bedchambers, tossing the door open and slamming it shut behind him. His back pressed against the wood when his legs grew too wobbly to keep him up without help, a shaky exhale escaping him. It was hard to pinpoint what swirled around so violently in his stomach; too many emotions threatening to swallow him whole in a single gulp. He felt them prickling along his back.

Desire, want, longing, mortification, embarrassment.

He was the Crown Prince, Seven Hells! It was entirely unprincely to act no better than a peeping tom, even if the coils around his stomach and heart yearned to be under such an adoring gaze and needy hands. Jace groaned and brought a hand to his face, pushing himself off the door and stumbling toward the blanket and fur covered bed where he collapsed. He buried his face into one of the furs, feeling the soft strands brush against his skin soothingly. He prayed they hadn't taken notice, hadn't realized he'd been watching.

He was a guest in their home. A temporary guest who'd leave once he ensured he'd secured the North's loyalty and support... even if he had to withhold from indulging in his growing curiosity.

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mmogurl · 3 months ago

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Last to Fall Chapter 1 - My Demons

18+ | 10k | Aegon II Targaryen X Female Maid / Dragonseed Reader | miserable, alcoholic, often dissociative, needs comfort Aegon | virgin reader, maiden, emotional abuse, first time sex, P in V, smut, wholesome, fluff, this whole thing is actually kind of sweet compared to what I usually write.

This fic is heavily inspired by the infamous 'Nothing' scene with Aegon and Alicent. Her cold words and the way she lashes out really bothered me and I felt a strong need to stand up for him, protect, and console him. So that's really what this whole fic is about. Enjoy! Also went with a lot of musical vibing for this story. I started off listening to Collective Soul's Heavy, because I imagine it as Aegon's state of mind in the opening scene towards everyone and everything happening. And by the end we transition into Starset's Last to Fall - and the title of the fic. I know, I'm a sappy mf.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 On AO3

Retroactive update 10/29/24: I've also decided that I'm going to try my best to fit every chapter to a Starset song because the whole Series is based off the title of one (Last to Fall) which was originally going to be a oneshot and got extended. I'm enjoying the challenge of finding one that suits each theme/ story! They're not all going to be perfectly aligned, but I'll try my best. This one is Starset - My Demons adding onto the two songs I already referenced here - but this one just felt so perfect!

Complicate this world you wrapped for me I'm acquainted with your suffering

All your weight it falls on me It brings me down All your weight it falls on me It falls on me

~Collective Soul - Heavy

—You

You have worked in the castle for as long as you can remember, always hearing the whisperings of the chamberlain, the laundress, and any other keep staff prone to gossip, that you were the late king’s bastard. There were always underhanded comments of jealousy uttered in your direction, like ‘It must be nice to have a king’s blood runnin’ through yer veins... To have yer needs met for life.’ In truth, you were worried that the Queen Dowager might see fit to dispose of you now that her husband had passed.

So far, it seems your fair looks, expertise, and agreeable demeanor has secured your position, at least for the time being, but you are not so naive as to think that will last forever.

You tended to King Viserys for six summers, and with his death you’ve been reassigned to serve the new Protector of the Realm, Aegon II Targaryen. You are mildly concerned about this development considering the rumors you’ve heard about the young prince over the years. Drinking and philandering to excess, he was rumored to be a true hedonist, only taking satisfaction when drowning himself in pleasure. It is for this very reason, that you’re surprised by your observations of your new lord within the first weeks of your employ as his chambermaid and general attendant.

You find he spends a lot of time sitting in near darkness with barely a couple candles lit in his room at night, kept company only by a carafe of wine and wearing a disassociated look on his face that could be taken for misery if it didn’t appear so apathetic in nature. It was as though he were actively trying to force himself into a mold that he would never fit into. This became even more apparent as you witnessed more of his interactions with his family, especially his mother and grand-sire. It seemed they were constantly trying to orchestrate the ruling of the Seven Kingdoms, nitpicking at every little decision Aegon made, pulling his strings just like a puppet.

You had listened from the sidelines of the Great Hall as the Hand second-guessed the king’s rulings. Even when the Aegon tried to embrace his seat upon the Iron Throne, he was made impotent by those not fit to govern. You could do nothing but stand by helplessly in saddened silence when he suffered the loss of his eldest son to assassins, while Otto Hightower forced him to parade young Jaehaerys’ corpse to the public along with his grief-stricken sister-wife, Helaena.

Day by day, your heart was beginning to ache for the emptiness you saw growing behind his amethyst eyes. And yet still he tried on most days to put a positive foot forward, even if by nightfall he usually turned back to engulfing his sorrows in drink. You couldn’t even blame him really given the complete lack of moral and emotional support the king had to endure.

This feeling of compassion built within you, until one day it peaked to a head as you made your way to Aegon’s chambers with fresh linens in hand, ready to fulfill your afternoon chores. You passed several Kingsguard as you made your way down the hall and paused outside the king’s rooms as you heard voices coming from within. The two white cloaks standing watch at the open threshold glanced at you in warning, so you simply waited with folded bedsheets in hand for the opportunity to complete your duties.

You knew you should not listen, but it was hard to ignore the distressed voice of the king from within, met by the indifferent attitude of the Queen Dowager. Oh no, you think to yourself sympathetically, she is at it again. It really did seem that tearing Aegon down piece by piece was not only a habit for his mother, but something she relished in.

“Do you think simply wearing the crown imbues you with wisdom,” Alicent’s voice echoed out against the vaulted ceiling of the room, her voice patronizing and condescending. “Those men at your council table earned their seats. It was my hope that once enthroned you would honor the burden of your new duties, be silent, and strive to learn from the more studied minds around you. In the hope that you might be half the king your father was…”

You tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat at hearing such baleful words. The king was not responding, and you could just imagine the pained look of agony that Aegon was sure to be wearing under the constant criticisms he faced as of late.

“Tread carefully,” you heard him say, barely carrying enough volume to hear from where you stood. You found yourself holding back a smile at that, happy that he was standing up to her for once. But, that only incensed the Queen Dowager more, her thirst to harm not yet quenched.

“Or what?” she says with venom coating her tongue. “You’ll hang me, as you did your rat catchers? Or have me banished as you did your Hand? I ruled in your father’s absence throughout his long illness, and Otto Hightower was as cunning a statesman as ever lived. You should humbly be seeking our opinions and counsel. You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne.”

You shook your head, unsure how any mother could ever speak to her child in such a manner, let alone to the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it bothered you so because you had never known the tenderness of a mother’s love, but had spent many a daydream imagining what it might be like. With your idealistic and sometimes naive mind, you wanted to think that there was more love out there in the world than this, especially within the royal family. You wanted better for the young king you had grown to feel so protective of in such a short amount of time.

Aegon’s next words break your train of thought, “Wha-“ he started with an exasperated tone, “What would you have me do, Mother?”

“Do simply what is needed of you,” she replied and the frosty chill of her cold voice was evident even from the corridor. “Nothing.”

You feel tears well up in the corners of your eyes and try your best to ignore them. It was important as part of the castle staff to never appear to be listening, to always remain professional, but it wasn’t always possible when one was witness to such cruelty.

Quickly, you wipe the errant tears away as the Queen Dowager exits her son’s apartment, walking swiftly with a scowl on her face. With the king now alone in his chambers, you nod to the guards and head inside, pausing to close the doors behind you lest Aegon had wont of some privacy.

As you turned to face the room, the king sat off to the side of his table, leaning against the back of a chair, his head resting upon his hands in defeat. He did not stir as you entered and so you cleared your throat to let yourself be known. Aegon still made no move and so this time you spoke up.

“Your Grace, might I change the linens? Or should I come back later?” you ask, your voice hesitant, but filled with understanding.

He finally lifts his head, glancing at you for a moment before returning his attention to the nearly empty decanter of wine on the table.

“Fetch me some more wine instead,” he demands sullenly, and to this you nod and hurry off to fulfill his request. After what you’d heard him endure, you’d do just about anything to cheer him up now.

With a speed you did not think yourself capable, you retrieved, not just one, but two pitchers of strongwine for the king and prepared a small platter of snacks for him as well, consisting of cheese, crackers, figs, and grapes. You hoped he’d be pleased with your thoughtfulness, and sure enough, he did perk up a little at the sight of the tray you presented on the table before him.

Aegon got to his feet, walking around the chair he’d been leaning against and sitting in it instead. You filled his chalice and placed it before him, wearing an exaggerated smile upon your face, anything to lighten the onerous mood. The king surprises you when he actually notices, his composure faltering as he looks upon your benevolent countenance.

“Did you hear all of that then?” he asks, his jaw clenching slightly as he peers down at the crimson fluid within the cup before him.

“It is not my business, Your Grace,” you answer softly, not wanting to sound cold, but knowing it is not your place to comment on such things. “But, if I can do anything, or get anything more for you. Please just ask.”

“I never wanted to be be king, you know,” Aegon says abruptly, picking up the chalice and swirling the wine around inside it. “They hunted me down, forced me to be crowned… And yet, Mother tells me I do not deserve it, even though she has placed me upon the throne herself.”

You flounder with your words, uncertain of how to reply. Should you even say anything at all? Perhaps he just wants someone to listen who won’t respond with a scathing rebuke.

“She spoke of the rat catchers, bringing up the death of my eldest son as though it were nothing to me,” he continues without your input, staring into the contents of his chalice as though it might hold some insight. “She treats me as though I am nothing.”

He finally takes a long swig of the cup, emptying most of it in one gulp. Aegon sets it down on the table with a clatter of metal and wood, an almost despondent look on his face as he adds, “Perhaps I am nothing.”

“Your Grace, no! That is not true!” the words slip out, unable to hold back your feelings at his self-denigration. You immediately cover your mouth with startled surprise, knowing that you’ve overstepped.

Aegon halts, his shoulders tensing as his eyes drift up to you and his brow furls downwards in confusion. He regards you in earnest for what feels like the first time ever, his discerning gaze sweeping from your face, down to your skirts and back up again, sizing you up. “What would you know of it?”

You bite your lip anxiously, unsure of how to proceed, even though it seems by now that you’ve already gone past the point of returning to obscurity. Ultimately, you decide that if you’re going to lose your position within the Red Keep, that you’d prefer to let the king know how you feel first.

“I have seen how determined you are,” you say quietly, a lack of confidence in your voice as you address the king. “Even though it is obvious how much hardship you must abide.”

“I am the king. I do not abide anything,” he replies gruffly, but there’s no tooth in the words.

“Of course, Your Grace,” you reply as you cast your eyes downward, your posture stiffening as you stand more upright, waiting for the hammer of discipline to fall.

There is a pervasive silence that hangs heavy in the expansive chamber as you wait for the king to cast his verdict. Does he intend to overlook your impertinence or will he punish you severely?

You hear the trickle of liquid pouring and then the glass carafe clattering against the wood of the table. The sound of swallowing is audible, followed by Aegon’s lips smacking softly as he puts the chalice back down.

“Come here, girl,” he says suddenly in a low monotone.

You look up once more, hesitating; your eyes questioning as you try to understand his intentions, his expression inscrutable.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” he reiterates, his tone a little more firm, yet without the sound of malicious intent. “Come here.”

You gulp and step gingerly towards Aegon, standing before him as he sits in the high-back chair. “Yes, Your Grace?” you ask with an uncertain look on your face.

The king startles you when he turns his chair to face you, his hands wrapping around your waist as he pulls you towards him in one fluid motion. Before you even realize what is happening, Aegon has his face buried against your stomach while his fingers dig into the fabric of your dress at the small of your back.

For a moment you stand there frozen in shock, your arms out as if in surrender, unsure of how to respond or interpret this intimate gesture. But then, you feel his shoulders shake quietly, and it's that movement that clues you in to the nature of the king's actions. He is crying, albeit in his own restrained way.

Slowly, you lower your hands down, one resting on his back as the other smooths his white locks back against his scalp. You can feel him melt into your affectionate touch, his entire body slumping forward even as he continues to whimper quietly into your apron.

“Shh,” you say softly, trying to comfort him in a way that feels somehow natural to you despite the gap in caste. “It will be alright.” You are not fully convinced that it will be, but the young king needs some reassurance and you know you are the only one likely to give it to him.

You have secretly longed for a moment such as this to occur for awhile now, wishing you had the opportunity to provide the king with some semblance of reprieve. When you served Viserys, he never seemed very troubled, and was almost willfully ignorant to the problems that plagued his family. Aegon on the other hand, was tormented not only by his mother, but by the pressure he put on himself to please everyone, which was an impossible feat.

To soothe Aegon now and hold him in your arms, felt like putting one of the many wrongs he’d endured right, even if it was only a small fraction of what the man was owed.

Your fingers rake through his wavy tresses and you feel a surge of raw emotion as you tend to the king’s needs in a way you never imagined you would. Soon, his shaky breaths and silent tears begin to cease, replaced by sniffles as you continue to soothe him in the way his mother should have been for all of these years. You can sense his reluctance to leave your embrace, but there’s also a shame weighing heavy in the air for confiding such weakness in a simple chambermaid.

He nuzzles his eyes against the fabric of your dress, wiping his tears on the brown cloth before he abruptly pulls away and clears his throat. Aegon avoids looking directly at you, embarrassment evident in his now red and puffy eyes. He lets out a heavy sigh and you’re left feeling quite dumbfounded as he turns back to his wine.

For a long moment there is a tense and overwhelming silence, the only sounds present in the room are the soft pouring of wine into Aegon’s chalice and the glass clinking as he sets the carafe down.

You stare at the side of his face, feeling a knot form in your stomach at the growing distance. It’s as if he’s punishing you for witnessing his vulnerability, desperate to maintain the barrier between king and servant. Despite his aversion, you can’t help but feel the significance of what you shared, the way he pulled you in and how good it felt to hold him close.

The quiet stretches on, Aegon now occupied with emptying his cup as if trying to fill the void with drink. He speaks up once more, his tone now devoid of any traces of the exposed emotion you just viewed.

"That will be all," his words are devoid of any warmth or familiarity. "I don't need anything more from you tonight." Aegon’s fingers tremble subtly as he brings his glass to his lips, betraying his cold facade.

“Your Grace,” you say in acceptance of his decision, bowing your head to show deference. You turn and glance at the linens still stacked on top of the king’s bed and fret for a moment that you will get in trouble for not fulfilling your duties and changing the sheets. “Should I change the bedsheets before I leave?”

Aegon doesn’t even turn to face you, his eyes fixed on his chalice. His expression is closed off, distant, as he responds with a simple grunt of confirmation.

“Yes, yes. Do whatever it is you usually do,” he mutters dismissively, his voice lacking any real feeling. He lifts his cup to his mouth once more, drowning himself in the bitter taste of the wine.

You nod with the typical words of respectful assent and begin making the bed as you always do, except this time it feels different. Today you flew so very close to the sun and felt your skin bask in its heat. The absence of that warmth now leaves you feeling chilly, an overwhelming nothing replacing the typical humdrum of your chores. You can feel his presence in the room like a beacon calling you to shore, but you dare not approach him again.

When you finish your task, you leave the king’s chambers without saying a word, closing the door behind you as silently as you can.

For the next few days, the typical royal indifference that Aegon shows you is substituted for complete and utter disregard. He at least showed you a degree of quiet appreciation before, but now it seems he’s going out of his way to make it known that you do not exist to him. Aegon always keeps his eyes turned from you and makes no acknowledgment of your proximity, giving the impression that you are little more than a ghost.

Gone is the care-free spirit that the king usually possesses, always trying to pretend that he is happier than he actually is, at least when you are around him. It seems that Aegon erects a wall of guarded apathy the moment he becomes aware of you, sometimes so severe that you can actually see him transition into a frown at your approach.

You find yourself slinking around quietly whenever you must occupy his room at the same time that he is present. The mornings are especially tense, when you must bring breakfast and fresh wash water for his basin. Sometimes, you feel his eyes on you when you’re preoccupied with adding wood to and stoking the fire, but you try your best to ignore it since you can’t make heads or tails of his behavior.

For the most part, you attempt to finish the majority of your duties once the king has left for the day and not before that point. You hope that in time, the king will forget about what transpired between the two of you, and that everything will revert back to how it was.

—Aegon

Aegon has made a concerted effort to maintain his frosty disposition towards you. It’s a constant battle between his heart, which secretly admires and yearns for you, and his head, which refuses to acknowledge the vulnerability he allowed you to witness. Even still, he can’t help but feel a slight pang of sadness whenever you try to slip in and out of his chambers undetected, nor can he control the surge of resentment when he feels that he might need you in any way.

The king simply doesn’t know what to make of the tangle of emotions that twist inside of him whenever he sees your face. It’s as if the memory of his shortcomings and your comforting embrace is a fresh wound that refuses to heal. He wants to shove you from his mind, but your image is permanently branded on the backs of his eyelids.

Even his nights have become restless, with no amount of drink or pleasure helping to ease his troubled heart. In fact, he’d already tried visiting one of his favorite brothels, dragging along his drunken friends for the chance to brag at how loud he could make the women scream. He was so distracted by thoughts of you that he couldn’t even stay hard and had to call it a night without release, defeated even by the the carefree abandon of a whore’s cunt.

The only thing that helps him drift off to sleep lately is recalling the moment he shared with you, and imagining how it might have gone differently if he had not pulled away from you. His hand enveloping his rigid cock, stroking it eagerly as he envisions what it would be like to reach under your skirts and feel the heat at the apex of your thighs. The resulting climax is strong, but it always leaves him feeling ashamed and guilty afterwards, as though he’s given into an urge worse than the crudest of debaucheries.

It’s becoming more and more obvious, that no matter how much he denies himself, he wants you in an unbearable way. He wants to reach out to you, wants to apologize and thank you for your soothing care. He wants those arms wrapped around him once again, that gentle hand running through his hair. He wants to confess all of his troubles to you. How he is tired of being treated like a child, of being scolded and slapped around by his mother, and never being taken seriously by his own small council. Aegon wants to hear the solutions you might propose to his growing list of problems, instead of relying on the wine that he drinks to excess more often as the days pass, an answer that he knows is mere avoidance.

And so, the king finds himself at a crossroad, facing a decision that can’t simply remain unsettled. He can either choose to embrace his feelings for you and allow himself the chance of experiencing the compassion he so badly craves, or he can continue to repress those feelings and bury them under the weight of his own self loathing and fear.

At the end of another long and monotonous day, he finds himself sitting at the end of his table in the very same chair where he had shared a moment of weakness with you. He sighs as he pours himself another cup of wine, the burgundy liquid not doing much to take the edge off tonight.

He shivers slightly as gooseflesh erupts over his pale skin. Glancing out the window, he can see that the skies are grayer than usual and that autumn is settling in over King’s Landing. Aegon begins to worry as he considers the already dwindling food supply and the civil war that is ravaging what little they have left. His grand-sire and mother both seem to be ignoring the constant plight of the commonfolk, but he’s spent enough time amongst them to know that revolt might loom on the horizon.

The large wooden doors to his chamber suddenly open and his attention is drawn from the window, snapped to the form now entering the room. It is you, his chambermaid, carrying a bundle of blankets. You stop dead in your tracks as you notice him sitting in the dwindling light of the gloaming hour.

“Sorry to disturb, Your Grace,” you offer sheepishly. “I didn’t know you had already retired for the day.”

Aegon turns his chair outwards, sitting sideways as he leans an elbow against the table and lifts his cup to his lips, taking a sip of his favorite sweet Arbor red. He doesn’t acknowledge your apology, and instead regards you with a steadfast gaze as he tries to hide his conflicting feelings.

“What is it?” he asks, his tone tinged with disinterest.

“It’s supposed to be chilly tonight,” you answer with a soft voice. “I wanted to bring you some extra blankets and build the fire up so that you are comfortable.”

“Hm,” he grunts, taking another swig of his wine. He doesn’t respond more than that and simply watches as you begin to lay two massive quilts upon his bed, then approach the fireplace to add more wood and stoke the flames. Even now you were doing your best to take good care of him, doting on him as though he were your very own husband.

He can’t help but discreetly study the shape of your body as you kneel before the mantle, appreciating the way the firelight projects shadows over your kneeling figure. The flickering orange light bounces off your face and he can’t help but notice the softness of your features, the curve of your cheek and lips. As you rise back to your feet and turn to face him, he’s finally made his decision.

Perhaps it is time to lay these fears to rest.

He sighs softly, his shoulders slumping somewhat with the release of breath, as he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Sit,” his word is quiet, almost a whisper.

You look at him perplexed as though you did not hear him properly, an apprehension soon settling in as you hesitate to respond.

There is an air of determination in his eyes as he nods once more, encouraging you to sit. His voice now holds a trace of insistence as he shifts in his seat, sitting upright as he repeats himself. “I said sit.” Aegon points at the empty chair once more, his gesture sharper this time.

You oblige him swiftly at that, taking a seat in the ornately carved high-back chair, your legs are pressed together and your hands fidget awkwardly on your lap. Aegon reaches forward and grabs an empty chalice from the silver tray before him, pouring you a glass of wine.

“Here,” he says, his voice strangely calm in your presence now that he has finally given in to his wishes. He hands you the cup across the table, his fingers brushing against yours for just the briefest of moments. He relishes in the heat of your touch, no matter how fleeting, and offers a clumsy smile. “Have a drink with me.”

You take the chalice reluctantly, the anxiety of such taboo evident in your expression. Aegon knew it was unheard of for the staff to share a drink with members of the royal family, but it was also not typical for the king to be denied anything he desired either.

“T-thank you, Your Grace,” you offer appreciatively.

Aegon settles back into his chair, his posture becoming more relaxed as he spreads his legs. He takes comfort in the fact that no matter how much he has tried to avoid you, that you still humbly show him gratitude. That small act of polite civility has him convinced that what he is attempting will not end in rejection.

He raises his cup and toasts to you, a courtesy which seems so simple and yet holds so much significance when coming from a king. “To your service.” His eyes gleam in the fading light of day, bright with unspoken promise.

“I don’t even know what to say, Your Grace,” you squeak out in embarrassment, your face impossibly red as you direct your gaze away from him.

He can feel his confidence returning as he sees the flush of color bloom on your cheeks. It’s a sign that his attention is not entirely unwelcome, and that thought alone is enough to make his heart beat steadily in his chest.

Aegon leans forward, trying to capture your attention once more, his eyes pleading for you to look at him again. After so much time evading this very situation, he now feels hungry for it.

“You don’t have to say anything at all,” he reassures you, his tone softened but with a hint of authority as he motions for you to drink your wine.

Without wavering, you grasp the heavy brass chalice in your hands and with courage etched in your features, take a long draught of the Arbor red.

As you drink, Aegon raises an eyebrow in mild surprse, watching as you take a rather ambitious swig of strongwine. He finds he’s actually impressed with your ability, and his expression soon transforms into a smirk of amusement.

He takes a sip from his own chalice before setting it back down on the table. “You drink deeper than many of my knights, I can tell you that,” he jests with a good-humored ease, testing the boundaries of this fledgling dynamic.

Your cheeks blush once more although this time it is likely due to the wine as well as your timidity. “This is much better than the swill the staff typically has access to,” you offer almost apologetically, as though it were not proper for you to imbibe in your spare time.

The admission has the corners of his mouth curling into a grin once more, and a breathy laugh escapes his lips. It’s clear now that the two of you are finally making progress, the barrier of propriety quickly falling away as it typically did with drink.

“So you mean to say you enjoy good wine, yes?” he teases lightly, tapping his fingertips against the edge of his cup, his gaze focused on you, eager to see your reaction.

“I am enjoying it, yes,” you say with bright eyes, your guilt beginning to fade away with each sip of sweet wine you take.

Aegon can sense the increased ease in your demeanor, and is delighted by the sight of it. He knows that the alcohol has broken through the tension that’s been building between the two of you for days now and he plans to take full advantage of it, feeling even bolder in his pursuit of you.

“Good,” he replies gladly, feeling content with the newfound freedom he’s allowed himself. “Then have some more,” Aegon adds, his tone light and playful as he pushes the decanter of wine closer to you, encouraging you to fill your own cup. He can feel a pleasant buzzing in his head from the strongwine, and can tell that you aren’t far behind him.

“Is Your Grace trying to get me drunk?” you ask, a surprising riposte that he didn’t expect from you.

The question has Aegon laughing aloud, the sound hearty and full of mirth. He leans closer, sliding his elbow further along the table as he offers you a grin. That little spark of humor you show only heightens his own sense of urgency to be in your arms once more.

The king rests his chin on his fist, and raises a brow at you with a mischievous grin. “And what if I was?” he replies playfully.

“Then I’d have to ask to what aim?” you say holding onto your cup, your finger tracing the circular rim of it.

Aegon’s gaze is drawn to your fingers, following the movement as his pulse quickens. He can hear your question, but it fails to register fully as he’s momentarily lost in a daydream of those same fingers running across his skin. His mouth goes dry and his skin feels hot. He finds he must take another large draught of wine to calm the sudden surge of longing that courses through him.

“Well,” he says, his tone feigning seriousness. “Perhaps I intend to get you drunk so I might take advantage of you.”

Aegon is surprised when you chuckle in response to his daring assertion, having expected more of a demure reaction instead. “You would not have to ply me with wine for that,” you admit, lowering your head slightly as though realizing how direct your words had been a little too late.

His eyes go temporarily wide as he registers your brazen honesty, wondering if he’d even heard you correctly. “Do you jest with your king, girl?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” she offers adamantly, with all the defiance of a loyal hound. “I’m afraid I’d be quite willing.”

“Is that so?” Aegon says more for his own confirmation than to communicate it, his eyebrow raising with dubious intent.

His stiffening cock was becoming uncomfortable in his taut breeches and he couldn’t help but consider the irony that such an innocent encounter had taken on an incredibly sexual nature. The comfort you had offered him becoming like an intoxicating fuel to his loins, making you far more attractive than any other woman could ever possibly be in his eyes.

“And what would you be willing to do in order to satisfy your king?” he prods further, feeling confident that he has the upper hand now. His desire to claim everything you have to offer now undeniable.

“I-I,” you begin to stutter nervously, clearly not expecting such a blunt response from him. “What is it you wish of me?”

Aegon let’s out a sharp huff of delight at the question you pose. To his great joy it seems you truly don’t realize the effect you have over him right now. He stands from his chair, sending it backwards with the backs of his thighs. His legs then carry him around the corner of the table until he’s towering above you, looking down upon your trembling form with a burning hunger.

“The real question is.. What don’t I desire of you?” he poses the question with a lurid tone as he thumbs the neckline of your bodice. “I believe you’ll find me quite insatiable in my needs.”

You’re frozen in his sights, appraising him with frightened doe-eyes, but there is no mistaking the undercurrent of lust also hidden right below the surface. Likely, the only true trepidation you have is the thought of performing such acts out of wedlock, but it seems obvious to Aegon at least, that you should have no concerns when offering your virtue up to a king. And given the poorly state of mind he’s been in as of late and desperate weakness he has for you, it’s possible you might even be assisting in the betterment of the realms.

“You’re speechless,” he hums softly, running the back of his knuckles over your bare collarbone. “Don’t worry, I will do the talking,” he says with a smirk, delighted to hear that he sounds every bit the authoritative ruler he should. “Take my hands,” he commands softly, reaching down as he grasps you and encourages you to rise from your chair.

When you obligingly follow his orders and rise before him, Aegon then guides you, leading you towards the bed. He stops once the backs of your knees hit the wooden frame, which is now padded by many layers of newly laid quilts, and turns you away from him. His hands carefully unfasten your apron, tossing it over the footboard before he starts to work at untying the laces of your dress. He loosens them swiftly until your bodice hangs slack.

He’s very well practiced in the art of removing a woman’s clothing, whether they be a whore, a noblewoman, or even a servant as is your case. Still, he holds a certain fondness for you, a consideration that he does not offer readily to most of his conquests. You have given him something so valuable, a treasure that no other has even thought to bestow upon him, and he means to reward you well for it.

Aegon finally removes your dress, pulling it over your head and placing it on top of the apron. All that remains now is a long sleeved undershirt, a slightly more drab version of the sort all women wore under their dresses. He’d like to rip it from your body, but you’ve stirred up such tenderness within his empty heart that he is loathe to treat you in such a way.

Instead, he turns you to face him once more and takes a step back to regard you. “You truly are beautiful,” he states with a sort of quiet awe. He had never really noticed you before and he most definitely should have. What with your cornsilk blond hair and bright blue eyes. Was he really so oblivious to the people and the world around him that he couldn’t even notice such a stunning, caring maiden working directly under his nose? Had he always been avoiding any state of mental clarity and missed so much in the process of hiding from himself?

You look at him nervously, your body antsy as you shift uneasily, precariously balanced on the edge of the mattress.

“Sit,” he tells you in a hushed tone, not quite wanting to sound as bossy as he does, but trying to relieve you of your discomfort. He takes another step back once you have complied, his gaze now roaming your body, taking in the sight of you, or at least what he can see in that loose potato sack of a frock you’re wearing. Aegon can definitely make out some of your feminine curves though, the slope of your shoulder incredibly pleasing as is the way your breasts protrude noticeably through the fabric, and so too do your wide hips.

He smiles warmly at you, his eyes taking their time to appreciate the woman before him. He can’t help but ponder in this moment, how he’s never felt this way before, a lust that isn’t just physical in nature, but somehow more genuine. Aegon is no stranger to carnal pleasures and strongly desires to claim you in every way possible. But there is something more present in his heart as well, the wish to hold you close and protect you from the entire world, and to in turn be sheltered by you from the chaos of the Iron Throne.

Aegon decides then that he wants your first time together to be gentle, just as it was when you first came together. He closes the distance between the two of you and reaches out with both hands, grabbing softly on either side of your shoulders. Your soft, supple flesh gives pleasingly beneath his fingers as he guides you to lay down on top of the blankets. As you scoot backwards across the width of the bed, he can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction that you were finally in his bed and no longer a fantasy inside his mind.

Once you’ve nestled into the plushness beneath you, he steps back again, his fingers making quick work of removing his woolen doublet. A flush of excitement blooms across his alabaster skin as he makes a show of the action, enjoying the way you watch him with such focused anticipation. He casts the garment to the floor, now removing his boots as swiftly as he can.

With his breeches already half undone and his chest exposed beneath a simple linen shirt, he is gifted with the sight of you lying in his bed in wait. The image is far more pleasant, far more intimate, than any other woman he has ever taken to bed. Your warmth radiates outward like a blazing fire and by now he is desperate to feel your heat directly. He practically rips his undershirt off, flinging it sideways across the covers.

Aegon makes his way back to you, lifting one knee up onto the mattress and crawling over the entire length of your body until he is face to face with you. His hand cradles your jaw tenderly, caressing up and down until his fingers slip up into your long, flowing tresses.

His intense, violet eyes fix upon yours, looking for any hesitation, but he sees none. It was as though you had been given to him as a gift from the gods, you who always gave and never took from him. There is a vulnerability in his expression that is rarely visible, replacing his usual display of smugness.

He maneuvers his breeches down without much effort, kicking them off once they’re low enough. Now fully settled into the valley of your spread legs, Aegon then grips the hem of your shift, lifting it up your thighs until he feels your body tense. He glances up at you and sees a pang of worry present that is perfectly normal, especially for a maiden.

The king asks the question he’s sure he already knows the answer to. “Have you done this before?”

You shake your head no as a blush of pink covers your cheeks and you bite your lip with pent up longing. Even with your inexperience and worry, he can tell how eager you are regardless. Much like he had been warring with his own thoughts about pursuing more with his chambermaid, you seem torn between your fears and your desires as well.

Aegon smiles sincerely, brushing his thumb gently along your lower lip, before leaning down to give you a chaste kiss. It was a bit of a selfish wish of his that you were untainted by any other man, and a part of him was happy to hear that you were indeed a virgin. It made him revel in delight; knowing you were his alone, that he’d be your first and your last if he had any say in it.

“Relax,” he whispered parting from your lips. “I’ll go slowly.” Aegon gazes at you again, wondering if this is perhaps too much for you, too soon. “That is if you still wish to.”

A look of panic crosses your face, as though you’re worried he might stop. “N-No! I still want to!” you affirm urgently. Your hands wrap around his back, pulling him closer to you, seemingly unwilling to let him go.

The king can barely contain his elation as he presses his forehead to yours, chuckling slightly at your eagerness. His hand slips beneath your undershirt and he slowly strokes the soft skin of your stomach, his fingers grazing over the warm plains of your flesh. Aegon’s breath hitches as he travels higher up your abdomen, finding the pliant curve of your breast.

You moan softly beneath his greedy touch, your body writhing with fervor, and your hips rising impatiently to meet him. Any question he had that you might not be fully keen about this joining was now all but diffused by your enthusiasm.

“You make such pretty sounds,” he teases playfully, feeling a sense of satisfaction at how responsive you are to his touch. He gives your breast a firm squeeze, then teases over the sensitive areola before cupping the whole mound again. His cock throbs painfully against the mattress, still bound by his smallclothes and yearning to sink into your heat.

His pulse pounds with expectation, finally feeling a sense of relief from the pent up desire he’s held for you all of this time. Aegon removes his hand from under your shift, propping himself up on the bed as he reaches down to unlace his braie. His hand brushes against your core in the process and he shivers at the feel of how wet you already are for him.

With his stiff length finally freed, he ventures a finger along your folds, growling at the silky slickness of your center. “Gods,” he utters with a groan. His cock twitches with need as he tests the tightness of your cunny, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he imagines thrusting into you with his thick member instead of his digit.

“Are you ready for me, girl?” he asks eagerly, the question a soft inquiry as well as a warning of the impending pain his intrusion is likely to cause. At this point, he feels more like a lovesick boy than the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, his suspense heavy as he drapes your leg around his his hip, opening you more to him. He positions his head at your entrance and presses himself closer to you.

You nod, never taking your eyes off of him as you wrap your hands around his back. Aegon rests his weight on his elbows, covering you completely as he kisses you with tenderness. He tries to express everything he feels for you with actions instead of words, his lips hungrily devouring yours with passion. Without breaking the kiss, he begins to ease into you slowly, immediately feeling the resistance of your still in tact virtue.

His arms slide down, gripping your hips on each side tightly as his chest presses into yours. You let out a whimper into his mouth as he breaches your depths, your thighs clenching against his body at the sharp pain of his invasion. It doesn’t take long for you to relax again, your walls suddenly more welcoming as the sting subsides.

Aegon parts from your lips, pulling back slightly so he can look down at you. A smirk forms on his face as he sees your lurid expression and he begins to move, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. His hands slide down to your thighs, spreading them further apart as he thrusts himself deeper inside you. He groans with overwhelming pleasure at the feel of you, his head falling forward as he picks up the pace.

He kisses you again, forcing his tongue into your mouth as he continues to move inside of you. His tongue dances with yours as he begins to lose control, his hips snapping against you with intensity. Aegon can feel his release approaching quickly, unable to hold back for much longer, he tries to hasten you along to satisfaction. His hand slides up your shift once more, squeezing your breast and tweaking your delicate nipple until it pebbles between his fingers.

You squirm under him, incapable of holding still as he drives into you with increased enthusiasm. The king grinds his hips into you relentlessly, grimacing at the way your walls tighten around his cock like a vice. Aegon’s grip on your tit becomes harder, flipping between gripping and tweaking your sensitive nipple. His lips withdraw abruptly, his mouth searching out your other breast and nipping it through your undershirt.

He grins against the cloth as you cry out loudly, your body rigid as your climax rolls over you and soon he can feel it wash over his length as well. But, he can’t take it anymore, not how tight you are or how creamy your release feels on his tender cockhead. It’s all too much and within a moment he is gripping hard to your flesh and burying himself deep within you, his spend erupting in spurts from his pulsing member.

“Fuuuccck,” he growls out, his hands finding their way beneath your back and pulling you towards him securely, trying to get even closer if that was at all possible.

You pant below him, trying to catch your breath as little spasms continue to twitch throughout your back and your thighs tremble against his hips. A warm, blissful calm settles over him as he nestles his face into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply of your scent. He feels pleasantly dizzy, his heartbeat finally slowing as the haze of lust subsides.

Aegon sighs into your ear, the tone content and relaxed. “That was incredible,” he murmured softly, his voice low as he gently runs his hand along the side of your cheek.

“It was,” is all you can manage to say, your breath still a bit ragged as you try to come down from the high.

Your hand finds its way into his white hair again, brushing up against the nape of his neck and causing him to shiver. He’s once again reminded of the shared encounter that started all of this and he’s overcome with a fondness that makes his chest ache.

Aegon feels closer to you in every possible way now and isn’t keen on the idea of parting from you, but he can feel his cock softening and the mess beginning to pool on the sheets. So he slowly pulls out of you, collapsing onto the bed at your side. He grabs one of his stray garments without looking, probably his smallclothes or maybe his shirt, and cleans up his seed from you first and then himself.

He adjusts towards the head of the bed, resting on his side against the pillows and reaching out for you to join him as he scuttles under the covers. “Come here,” he says softly, pained by the loss of her warmth.

As you get up and crawl towards him, he scoops you up into his arms. Aegon holds you close, his chin resting against the top of your head as he wraps the quilts around your form and presses himself tighter against your back. The king can no longer deny the depth and the power of his feelings for you as you cuddle in his arms. There’s a sense of deep security and comfort welling up within him, but any words seem inadequate in this moment.

Aegon kisses your temple, the doting gesture unlike anything he’s bestowed upon a lover before. “I think I’m going to sleep quite well tonight,” he muses into your hair, still cradling you in his arms.

“Are you sure it’s alright for me to stay with you? In your chambers?” you ask quietly with seemingly no clue how ridiculous he thinks you sound for asking such a thing.

His mouth twitches into a small smile and he lifts his chin to press another kiss into your hair.

“Of course. I’m the king. I can do whatever I want,” he quips playfully, his voice sounding drowsy and relaxed as he settles into the plushness of the bed. “Now, come. Get your rest. You’re going to need it.” There is a gentle warning present in his tone that you do not seem to catch, that he intends to have more of you in the morning.

You nod, twisting your back towards the mattress until you’re facing him. The expression you give him is enough to make his heart melt, those big, blue eyes like deep pools filled with bottomless love and devotion. You wrap your hand behind his neck and pull him close for a kiss, a request he’s more than happy to oblige.

Your mouth is sweet and hot against his and he can’t help but to lick the line of your lower lip before parting from you. Aegon settles you back into place, his chest enveloping your smaller frame as he holds you possessively. He feels such solace in the close proximity of your body, his limbs toasty warm as he falls into a deep state of relaxation. He’s not even aware of when the moment he falls asleep, it happens so quickly.

—Aegon

When the first light of day streams through the window, Aegon finds his eyes drifting open and then closing again, not sure of what time it is, but too comfortable to want to move. His back feels incredibly warm with the slight dampness of sweat and he opens his lids once more to see your arm wrapped over his chest. He can feel your hot breath at his neck now that he’s paying attention fully and your leg slotted between his.

Aegon’s lips curl into a satisfied smile, basking in the near domestic feel of waking up like this with someone he actually cares for. He takes your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours as he rests his own arm on top of yours.

He tries to settle into his pillow once more, nuzzling his backside into you further and bending his knees more deeply. The peace is short lived though as the doors to his chamber fling open and he hears the startled gasp of a woman. It couldn’t be just any woman, like perhaps another maid come to clean his room in place of the one that never showed up for work. No, it had to be his mother, of all the people he did not wish to see this morning.

The king whips his head over his shoulder and squints in the direction of the door. His mother stands there with a hand over her mouth, frozen in horrified disbelief as though she’d just seen a ghost. Aegon grits his teeth, sitting up with a jolt, forced to realize just how compromising this situation must look with the way he was tangled in bed naked with you.

“No, no, no, no, no, Aegon!!” she practically screams at him and the sound jars you from your slumber. He wishes you could have stayed asleep, to have escaped the madness of his family for just a little longer.

Alicent picks up her skirts so she can walk swiftly around the bed and to his side, standing there with a judgmental sneer. “This is just like Diana, isn’t it!?” she cries hysterically. “Isn’t it!?” his mother prods him further.

Aegon looks back, catching your shifting uneasiness from his peripheral vision, then turns to his mother again, suddenly feeling very protective of you. You are innocent in all of this and should be afforded the ability to wake up from your first time making love in some semblance of calm, not to one of his mother’s outbursts. And of course the first thought she would have of him was that he had raped yet another servant girl. His mother was blissfully ignorant of everything he had done as a young man, except for the acts she felt the need to berate him for, even though she had never been around to offer any kind of proper guidance.

He lets out a groan of exasperation, running his fingers through his mussed hair and tries to think of an answer that might satisfy his fuming mother, but he knows this is a lost cause.

“No,” he denies, shaking his head as he avoids eye contact with her. There is no conviction in his tone, but it’s not like she would ever believe a thing he said on the matter.

“So it was consensual then?” the Dowager Queen asks glaring past Aegon and looking straight at you.

He glances to his side and sees you nod, but interrupts before you can say anything more. “You do not have to explain yourself to her,” he says in a much softer voice, trying to shield you from his mother.

“So, she’s just another one of your tramps then!” Alicent hisses with disgust. “Is it so hard for you to keep your hands off the staff? Can’t be bothered to go into the city anymore, you need to make sure you find your pleasure within the walls of the Red Keep?” Her words are vitriolic and hateful without any attempt to understand the situation.

“I should have gotten rid of your father’s little bastard when I had the chance. I should have known better that she would be too pretty for you to resist, but I was assured that the girl’s skills were tantamount to any risk,” she continued on her tirade, barking out every spiteful dagger she could think of.

“What of your wife!? How can you carry on like this!? Oblivious to the people you hurt!?” the Queen Dowager prattled on, not waiting for an answer, but seemingly wanting to preach her conclusions endlessly.

“You know Helaena’s fallen deep into sadness ever since Jaehaerys died. Ever since you forced her to endure that disgusting funeral procession through the streets of the city.. And it’s not like we ever had a deep connection even before that, Mother.” Aegon’s voice was bitter, resentful. He was sick and tired of this farce of familial love when she barely ever showed him any hint of it.

He’s incredibly shocked when he hears you speak up, your voice quiet, but accusing, even defensive, “You’re one to talk, Queen Dowager. You hurt Aegon more than any other.”

“How dare you! You insolent wretch!” his mother didn’t hesitate to bite back, her acrimony potent in the air. “You can consider your employ here ended. Gather your belongings and leave!” she looked at you impatiently, as though expecting you to stand immediately and go. “Now!” she snarled, her nose crinkled with anger.

“No,” the king interceded on your behalf, stilling you with his hand on your hip. “You will not go anywhere.”

“She absolutely will go! This is not acceptable behavior for any chambermaid in the employ of the royal family!” Alicent was insistent, with no sign of backing down, but Aegon had enough of this contest of wills.

“Mother!” he bellowed at her furiously, finally snapping back at her with conviction. “I am the king and you will obey me!”

That finally got her attention, for the first time in his entire life he saw a flash of fear in his mother’s eyes and it only emboldened him to continue.

“You will not do a thing to this girl. She is under my protection,” he added, his ruling absolute. “And if I find that you have touched her, hurt her in any way, then I will have you hung. Just like the rat catchers.”

Aegon’s lips curl upwards in smug satisfaction, finally realizing a fraction of the true power he held as sovereign of the realms. His mother did not respond, regarding him with silent malice, her glare ever testing the limits to see if he truly meant it. When she saw that he did, his mother backed down, her shoulder slumping slightly as she relented, but not before getting one last dig in.

“Very well, My King,” she mocked with false sincerity, giving him a sarcastic curtsy. “I will leave you to your dalliances. I should know better than to interrupt a man having his fun.” She left in a flurry of resentment, slamming the door behind her with a loud thud.

No matter how furious he was with his mother, she still remained his parent, the woman who gave him life, whom he loved and had once revered above all else. Even this victory he had over her felt hollow, and he realized that even when he won, he still lost in one way or another.

He turned to you, his expression a mix of concern and tenderness. Aegon stroked gently at the side of your cheek, wanting to make you feel safe again after you’d been forced to tolerate the full brunt of his mother’s wrath. He found you to be more resilient than he’d ever expected, already sitting up and staring at him with a knowing look upon your face.

“I’m so sorry,” you say softly and almost instantly he feels something within his chest fracture.

It might have been the facade he always wore cracking, how he always projected an image of indifferent merriment so none would know how truly miserable he was. It might even have been the very fact that you had suffered insults by associating with him and yet you were still concerned about his well being.

Aegon can feel tears welling in his eyes and when you spread your arms out towards him, he doesn’t hesitate to crash into you. He buries his face in your comforting bosom and finally allows himself to fall apart in your embrace without shame. It’s probably the safest and most accepted he’s ever felt in his entire life and he knows now that he won’t ever be able to exist without you.

As you rake your fingers through his silvery locks, his tears dwindle until he is left relaxed, sated by your validation that his life is not as easy as everyone might think it is. He listens to your heartbeat as his fingers dig firmly into your back, making sure you can never leave his side. It’s a mercy, that you don’t seem to mind how clingy and needy he is. If anything, you seem born to mend his wounds, a soothing balm to his troubled soul.

You lean back against the pillows and soon Aegon finds himself drifting asleep against you. As his aching eyes begin to close, he can’t help but hope that he never disappoints you. He’s so convinced that he is a failure from the constant disparagements he’s endured throughout his life, that he can’t even fully enjoy you without worrying that he isn’t worthy of you - that you might leave him.

As if reading his mind, your hand massages gently along his scalp, cradling his head closer to your breast. “Don’t worry,” you say reassuringly. “It’s going to be alright. I promise.”

Aegon didn’t know how you could possibly promise him such a thing, but somehow hearing you say it aloud makes him actually want to believe it.

Read Chapter 2

And will you be bold Will you lose control? I could never desert you I could never let go If you fall in line And the zenith calls I'm standing waiting The last to fall

~Starset - Last to Fall

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anemhoez · 3 months ago

Text

Otherworldly…

Boothill/AFAB Reader

tags: @bokukenmakuroo

WARNINGS: unprotected sex I GUESS?? he doesn’t ejaculate and its made of fine grade silicone sooo????

A/N: in where Boothill gets a check-up 🤭 ok ok so the recent quest let us know more about him and this has been in the drafts for a while so there will be inaccuracies hehe and alot left to my imagination, yes im a robot fucker HEHE! also please imagine my man with the prettiest most perfect robot dick you’ve ever seen, lord i just know its big…oh also im not a robotics or programming expert but they’re in space and stuff im sure tech like this exists in their world SOMEHOW loll

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

“Hold still, it should only take a few seconds.” you said to Boothill as he fidgeted under your touch. “I’m ticklish doc,” he said with a sharp toothed smile as you replaced one of the many sensory devices on the metal skin at his shoulder.

“The famous interstellar galaxy ranger being subdued by a bit of tickling? Don’t let your enemies find out.” Once finished, you reattached the cover and made sure it was flush with the other metal parts of his body. He truly was a technological marvel, sleek and efficient with not one line of code or piece of hardware going to waste. You considered yourself lucky to be his technician, a job offer you were pleasantly surprised by.

“You think I’ve got enemies?” he asked with sincerity, not believing that there were people out there who actually didn’t like him, or even targeted him. “I’ve seen the reports Boot.” you quickly pulled up a program on the screen in front of you to begin configuring the new sensor.

“Thats all…alternative facts, darlin.” you simply rolled your eyes and input some commands, ignoring his silly statement. “You say your synesthesia beacon was hacked?” you asked for reassurance, not once looking away from the screen and you heard as he sucked his teeth behind you.

“It sure forkin’ was, you think you can fix it?” You knew you were a great technician, fantastic even. But taking down an IPC virus? That was something you’d need a few days to crack. “I can try,” you cocked your head to the side, your statement causing him to jump up off the examination table in excitement.

“But aside from that and the sensor malfunction, is there anything else you need looking at?” you asked as you typed quickly. “You might as well get everything looked at before you head back out.” He stayed quiet though, not answering your question but instead turning away from you.

“Boothill?” you asked turning to him, realizing he was awfully quiet for someone who just jumped up for joy. He rubbed the back of his neck, “We have, doctor and patient confidentiality right?” he asked in a low gravely voice, as if someone would be able to hear him outside of your workshop.

“Dammit boothill! I’m a mechanic not a doctor!” you exclaimed absolutely sick of him calling you by a title you didn’t have credentials for. “So no we don’t but,” you stood up and walked over to him, turning his body around in a circle looking him over to see if it was something visible on him you could fix right away. “I’m not going to go around and talk about it if that’s what you mean.”

You placed a hand on your hip, “I may not look it cause I’m usually covered in grease and keep my workshop a mess, but I do consider myself a professional you know.” he sighed and looked at you, “Of course you are! You’re one of the best machinists I’ve ever had, it’s just. Aw fudge how do I even say this?!”

He resigned himself to feeling foolish for the worries he had. “I’m uh, having trouble with…intimacy.” he finally said, meeting your eyes. “Well, I’m also not a match maker so…” you looked at him with an eyebrow raised. He sighed and held his head in his hands, “Finding a partner isn’t the issue, it’s when I’m with someone. I can’t really feel it, you understand?”

You tried to picture it in your mind. Could cyborgs even achieve an orgasm? And even if they could, could they ejaculate? The scholar in you was fascinated, but the friend and professional in you was ready to help in any way you could.

You grabbed a tool from your bench quickly and headed back towards him. “Drop ‘em.” you said matter of factly pointing to his pants and he clutched his groin in reaction to you. “You fudgin’ joking? Wait, come on now-“ he stuttered through his words as a blush formed on his face. “Boot, do you want me to help you or not?” you crossed your arms, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, you can trust me.”

He had never had someone besides the technician who affixed his broken body to metal even look down there. He hesitated but given just how important this was to him, he sighed and dropped his trousers after undoing his belt. His cock was…to say the least…impressive. It even bobbed and twitched in a way similar to that of a person made of flesh and bone. Upon seeing it through the eyes of a machinist however, you started to notice just how intricately crafted it was.

“Aeons, just what exactly were they thinking with detail like this?” you asked with a small giggle before taking his appendage in your hand and detaching it from his body. “I’m not a love machine, if that’s what you’re insinuating sweetheart.” He explained almost immediately, as if it’s something that needed defending. He shuffled back into his pants, “This iron body of mine was made for combat, and revenge.” You shrugged playfully and raised an eyebrow, “So you didn’t ask them for this cock then?” you joked, holding it in your hand and testing its weight. “Alright, alright just…see what you can do?” He huffed and pulled his hat down over his eyes in embarrassment.

You began disassembling the object, looking for any visible damage. “You keeping it clean and oiled?” you ask and he just sighs, “This is so embarrassing but yes. I perform regular maintenance on myself weekly.”

“Only weekly?” you teased and he rolled his eyes, “Okay okay, I’ll stop.” you reassembled everything and took the device over to your computer, plugging a wire into the hidden port you found

“Let’s see what…oh wow!” you yelped as you examined the device’s programming. “What an interesting piece of tech!” you said with a smile. Now you were the one blushing. “What?” he said and came over to examine the code with you, only seeing an unfamiliar mess of text. “Is it broken?!”

You input a commend into the terminal and the appendage began thrusting on its own. “Quite the opposite actually, did you know it had this many modes?” You typed away and the device now vibrated so violently it rolled off of the desk and onto the floor. “I should’ve guessed what extreme vibration meant.” you picked it up and held it with both hands.

For some reason, seeing you holding it like you were about to jerk it off made him stare. “No I didn’t, but that’s not the issue I’m having. I’m having trouble really feeling, if you catch my drift?” he said and looked away again while coughing awkwardly.

“You mean having an orgasm?” You placed the metallic phallus on the desk with a loud thud. “I can check if you have any software updates, and maybe come up with something of my own.” you turned to him, “If you don’t mind leaving it here with me to tinker with it.” you said with a playful smirk. That was all he needed to hear as he turned to head out, “I’ve never been without it for long so, just be gentle okay?” he said as he headed out. You immediately turned towards him, “Hey! Just what do you think I’m gonna do with it?!”

************

You had stayed up late the past couple of nights, modding the mechanical cock. If your professor had told you all those years ago in university that you’d be working on an interstellar cowboy’s robotic dick, you probably would’ve screamed. But here you were, losing sleep to help a client yet again. You had reviewed so many lines of code that you were even seeing it whenever you closed your eyes.

“Warming mode?” you whispered to yourself and looked over at the cock half expecting it to shoot off into the ceiling, but nothing happened. You reached out and grabbed it, feeling a light warmth to it. “Oh!” you said out loud as you held it with both hands, the warm appendage oddly soothing in your grip. You rubbed the smooth artificial skin, gunmetal gray in color and detailed with thick veins. The smoothness of it was thanks to the layer of silicone skin that felt so much like the real thing it almost scared you. Not to heavy, but not too light either, almost the perfect weight and girth. A devious fleeting thought flashed in your mind, of how it could possibly feel inside of you.

You shook the thoughts from your head immediately and put it down, finally turning off your computer and heading to bed to get the rest you so desperately needed.

************

Boothill arrived a few days later in much better spirits. “Well? How’s my pecker?” he said loudly with his arms out as he walked over to you. You shook your head and grabbed a tool to reattach it to him. “This thing’s a monster.” you said tiredly and helped him with his pants once the device was back on his body. You observed how he adjusted himself in his pants, he was no different from someone with an actual dick in that regard either. Another one of those debaucherous thoughts came to your mind as you looked him up an down. Thats when you realized just how fucking attractive he was.

“Anyway, I adjusted some things so you don’t accidentally kill anyone.” You explained the various functions and modes, telling him the restrictions you put on certain settings so no one would get seriously hurt while fucking him. “Yeah I’d hate to burn someone’s uh, insides.”

“I also wanna see if I can get your beacon working again.” You handed him a wire and he connected it to a port on his neck. You started the download and waited for the hack to work. You looked at the cowboy who was currently smiling at you.

“I can’t thank you enough doc- uh Y/n.,” You smiled back and waved him off, “It was nothing, I’m happy to help.” you started re-organizing your tools as his software updated. “Bet you’re just dying to see if it worked, I don’t mind testing it out right now.” he suggested and took his hat off, placing it on your desk gently. Of course you’d want to know if your tinkering actually worked, but you knew the only way to test it was for him to…well…pleasure himself.

“Sure, you can use the bathroom and test it out. Let me know how it felt, in detail.” you said as a slight heat crept up your body. He looked in the direction of the bathroom, a smile spreading on his lips. “Actually, I was hoping you’d want to test it out, with me?”

His words shot straight to your core, your stomach jumping with sudden anticipation. Your cheeks went flush and you hoped you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t that be a little uh, inappropriate?” you put down your tools and turned to look at him. You inched closer and closer, knowing you weren’t about to pass up the offer. After all, it was your duty as a scientist wasn’t it?

He chuckled and started moving closer as well, “What’s so inappropriate about making sure your hard work pays off?” He was but a breath away and reached out to grab your hand and you let him intertwine his fingers with yours, his robotic hand surprisingly gentle. “In all honesty, I thought about it while I was working on…it.” He moaned out loudly, “That’s so fucking hot.” he said, stopping when he realized he finally cursed properly.

“Looks like your beacon is fixed,” you pulled the wire from his neck gently, “Don’t go getting hacked again.” you teased and his hands came to rest on your waist. “You’ll fix me though? Won’t ya?” he leaned in, closing the small gap between you two. You moved to wrap your arms around his neck and mumbled a soft “Yes.” into the kiss as he lifted you up.

He walked the both of you to the workbench that was high enough so that you were perfectly fitted in his embrace. His strong yet gentle hands trailed up your back and under your shirt, his mouth hot on yours as the two of you shared an intense kiss.

You allowed him to pull your shirt off of you, briefly interrupting the kiss. “You’ve got such great control of your mobility module.” you said in praise and he moved in to kiss at the exposed flesh now available to him. His tongue licked a trail along your collar bones to your neck, “Can you, taste? “ He chuckled against your skin as he sucked, parting your legs before pulling away. “Sure can.” he whispered gruffly in your ear before bending down and slotting between your legs.

You hesitated a bit when you saw his sharp teeth, worried about your sensitive skin down there. But as soon as he buried himself into your cunt you threw your head back, letting the pleasure take over and the worries fade.

He moaned, the highly sensitive sensors on his tongue allowing him to fully enjoy your taste. You tugged at his hair, moving it out of his face to get a better look at him. He met your gaze and pulled away, his elongated tongue shrinking down to its regular size impressively.

“And you say you’re not a love machine,” you teased and wrapped your legs around his neck. You wiped at the corner of his mouth and he opened it to suck on your thumb, “Mmh, I can be your love machine,” he said before moving back to work his tongue along your folds. You watched it extend in real time as he dove in deeper inside of you, spreading your legs widers to get his artificial tongue as deep as he could. You felt him so deep inside, an unfamiliar but delicious feeling, making you let out a loud whimper at the intensity of it all.

He snaked his arms around your thighs, pulling you even closer while he pulled up on the skin above your pussy. “Ahh!,” you moaned out and dug your nails into his scalp desperately. The cowboy groaned deeply, lapping up what poured out of you and soon introducing his fingers to fuck you while his mouth sucked hard at your clit.

You could feel yourself coming undone as his nimble fingers curved to find your spot, fingering you hard. You soon cried out as you climaxed, writhing under his touch and clenching down on his fingers as he stood to face you.

You immediately pulled him into a kiss, pulling your bra down to finally expose your breasts to him. His hands came to squeeze the soft flesh and he pulled away, staring at them lovingly as he chuckled. “What’s so funny?” you asked looking at him while you held onto the backs of his mechanical hands as he squeezed. “I’ve just…been wanting to do this for a very, very long time.”

He pulled himself from his pants and began sliding his thick metallic shaft against your wet folds. “Fuck, I can feel how wet you are? I can’t believe it.” You patted yourself on the back mentally for your ingenuity. You moved to take him by the back of his head for another feverish kiss. He held you close, his metal abs and chest surprisingly warm against your skin. The two of you pulled away from each other with a huff after making out for a few minutes.

“You’re a fucking genius.” he praised and held your face in his hands, your face heating up at the compliment. “Thank you,” you breathed deeply and looked down at his cock that was still teasing you, desperately wanting him inside of you. “I’d love to see what else I’ve improved upon,” you said as you laid back down, opening your legs wide for him. Your hands went to your folds where you collected your slick and moved to tease your bud, “And if you’re any better than something I can manufacture on my own.”

You saw a glint in his eyes as he smiled wickedly. He took your hand from your cunt and along with your other hand, he pinned them over your head. He grunted as he finally entered you, his long hair cascading down on either side of his face as he moved in closer to kiss you.

Those thick eight inches of his robotic cock finally plunged into you, deep. You whined, the sensation feeling so familiar to the “real” thing but so much better. He growled and nipped at your bottom lip, all the while pushing in and out of you slowly.

“You curious about the modes? Or do you just want me at default?” he asked as he let go of your hands. “Surprise me.” You pulled him back to your lips and he kissed you roughly before leaning back up and pulling you towards the edge of the bench.

You watched as he lolled his head back, his body fully reacting to being inside of you. “This what I’ve been missing?” he asked rhetorically, as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “How is it?” you asked, wanting to know if your improvements worked. “Amazing, It’s so warm and tight darlin’.” he hissed as he moved his hands to grab your ankles.

“I mean- ahh!” you were cut off by a particularly hard thrust, “What are you feeling?” you asked and kissed him briefly before letting him speak again. “It feels like every one of my sensors is activating at once, an overall good feeling? I don’t really know how to-” You cut him off to kiss him again, running your tongue over his sharp teeth before pulling away. “That’s okay, it seems like the program is working, fuck!” you exclaimed as his dick brushed over that oh so sweet and toe curling spot inside of you. You looked at him with pleading eyes, “You’re fucking me so good Boothill.”

Lost in the moment and moaning against his lips, you suddenly felt his cock getting warmer inside of you. The sensation filling you with new feelings of pleasure you’d never felt before. “Risky but, fuck that feels so good.” Your words caught in your throat as he thrust into you harder. “Got somethin else for ya.” He practically growled as his cock started to vibrate inside of you.

“Oh fuck!” his pistoning inside of you sped up as you came hard, clenching down on him and causing him to moan out loudly. The cry that fell from his lips was desperate, “Fuck how did you-?!” he couldn’t stop himself as he fucked into you faster and harder, “Get tighter?!” the vibrations along with the almost brutal pounding he was giving you brought you over the edge again and this time your juices squirted all over him.

He slowed down and pulled out of you, your essence slick on his shaft and spilling out of you onto the bench. You whimpered as he pumped his fingers into you, your cunt still extremely sensitive. “And you think what I’ve got between my legs is dangerous.” He said with a smile before bringing you to stand on your wobbly legs, re-entering you from behind and meeting your lips as you turned to look back at him.

Boothill gained that sane speed from before within seconds, his cock at default as he chased whatever high he could find. “You doin ok doll?” His voice seemed so sweet and gentle against the lewd and messy sounds of his harsh backshots into you. He then pulled you further onto him by grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Yessshmmmmmuhh, its- hmmssofuckiggood.” You babbled gibberish as your response to him, just scratching at the the cold slab below you. He fucked into you faster and faster, your pussy clenching down on him as you lost yourself in the full body euphoria that overtook you.

Boothill chuckled darkly and pumped into you harder, moaning as his peak neared with every thrust. He let out an almost howl, feeling your tightness around him bringing him over into a sweet, delicious bliss that he could really feel for the first time. “Fuuuck!” he sighed and stuttered against you, leaning over and biting down your neck gently as he “came”.

“Your hard work payed off gorgeous, that was incredible.” He praised as he slowly leaned back and pulled out of you. You turned to him seeing his very satisfied and flushed face, “Incredible is an understatement,” you sighed and reached down to grab your pants, “That was, fucking otherworldly.”

You were about to put your pants back on but he stopped you. “What the hell you doin’ darlin? I’ve only fucked one hole so far,” he looked at you with intense eyes as he moved in closer. “For fuck’s sake Boothill, you’re gonna ruin me for other people!” He smiled that signature pointy smile of his and gave you a kiss on the cheek.“Thats the point.” His voice was alot lower than it usually was, a sultry and sensual tone laced within it.

“Now, on your knees.” You obliged quickly, finally taking off your bra so that you were completely bare before him. You took his cock in your mouth eagerly, looking up at him through your lashes as you took him in fully. You were proud of your work, there was truly no technician out more brilliant and luckier than you in this moment.

Now, if only you could manufacture and program a way to have him ejaculate inside of you…

A/N: i think i blacked out writing this………hes sooooooo…..i will never be normal about him thank you so much hoyo for this rootin tootin hottie 🥴 GODDDDD SAVE A HORSEEEEE!!! 🤧 i also think itd be cute to have other scenarios with him like….him learning how to love someone again and- 😭 idk i just want some angssst and like, a life with him?!?!

#honkai star rail #boothill x reader #boothill smut #honkai star rail smut #idk i just picture him as a very sweet lover #like he gives lots of praise and has cute pet names 🤭#ughhhhhhhhhhh #no cause as i was writing these tags i had an IDEA #so stay tuned this aint a one and done!!

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