#honor upon the sands

[theconjurervfx]

[sundrlands]

‘below the mouth’ j. sunderland x fem reader

minors dni

cw: in the dark, shoe riding/humping, light oral fixation/spit play, slightly messy, james is depicted as a pervert, sub leaning james with him being dominant at times, obsessive(j.), mutual masturbation(?), squirting, breeding, james is in his mid to late thirties. reader uses she/her pronouns.

summary: james… your coworker. the man who seems so hardworking, headstrong and devoted to his work… is nothing but a pervert enticed with the very being that you are… he can’t help but to see you as art— a canvas to paint on… as if his hands were paint… and his fingertips as the bristles, sketching out his greed with his lips and his words.

a/n: more porn than plot, forgive me. not too fond of this one and kept eyeing it over and over over and ended up truly hating this… nonetheless i hope you find some enjoyment in this one. i did not proofread…

oh james… what ever shall he do?

poor thing, constantly wrapped up in his own mind… unable to tame the growing thoughts that mutated within him. being lonely does things to a person… the years of suppression only made his longing for intimacy fester in the darkness of his greed.

in the beginning… it had been alright— good with his composure, carrying a kind of elegance through his actions and words. he wore ‘respect’ like an honorable man— button down shirts, tucked nicely in his well ironed pants. every day he’d come in dapper, not one thing out of place. it would be impressive to notice his true desires when he hadn’t worn them out on his sleeves.

though now… it was a different story. there’s only so much he could take… seeing you in your work outfits every single day or hearing your voice… the song you sung that never failed to make him treasure your being and feel every vowel that spewed from your lips filter and sprawl all throughout his veins. james tried to keep his need low, always being so gentleman like— kind, thoughtful and charming, but his thickening puddle of lust seeped through in the growing void that rests in the center of his eyes… being far dirtier than what meets the eye, disgusting even.

it was cute once you picked up on it… or at least the extent of it— his shyness and ability to lose all self, unable to maintain professional eye contact or a flowing sentence without randomly clearing his throat. a man well into his thirties— one that was valued by your shared boss, exceeding work ethic, always saying ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘yes sir’, not blinking an eye to the rule’s code— felt the need to act so foolishly enticed when it came to you.

for him, the absence of touch— one that he never felt come from your hand — drove james into a constant state of lustrous want… it ate within his being like a hungered cannibal digging its fingers through every fiber of his flesh. it prodded and ripped in the center of his chest like a wolf's canines as he sat at his work desk, drained… lifeless… thinking about everything he wanted to do to you… or whatever you’d do to him.

the inside of his body grew hot at the thought of you— dry throat, racing heart, fumbling words… his eyes, lingering all over your body longer than they had the day before, trying to see how much he could get away with… letting every second store itself in his photographic memory.

infested with carnality, day and night. james’ mind couldnt escape his perverted thoughts; as if it was the horrid and angry deep sea, crashing against the softness of the hot sand, in need of something to fix prurience, and the heightening want to be underneath your skin.

it started off with a hello, you being new and him well within the company’s community by a decade or two. a sweet exchange of a firm gripped hand shake and small talk before you went on your way. upon his sight, he was already fond of the beauty you blossomed. he wasn’t able to stop himself from looking… and as time continued, each day you met with him, it caused him to be in his head.

whenever you agreed to go out with your coworkers to local bars and restaurants, he’d ask around, passively, wanting to know if you’d be there to join. any chance he’d get, he’d sit next to you or across from you, thinking that the lack of lighting would hide the fact that he sat there to study you— his gentle hazel eyes, staring with eagerness… tattooing you into the grooves of his brain. each time you all went out, it was as if he tried harder… or lost the ability to care if you noticed or not. catching his eyes… for the first few seconds he didn’t even realize your attention on him until you’d call out his name a few times or lean towards him, breasts spilling from your top.

he’d go home, all eager. undoing his tie and his belt, slamming his door shut and making his way towards his bed, muttering: “just this once…” to himself, staring down at his hardened dick after thinking about the way your breasts sat prettily in the top you wore.

with his eyes squeezed shut, his wrist rippled in fast motion with whitening knuckles. he’d call out your name. each whinier than the last… feeling the weight of your name kiss the head of his cock— irregular breathing, toes curling into the thick of his comforter— whines that turned into a chants. over and over again he moaned your name, not even lasting three minutes until he let himself go… ribbons of his hot cum falling down onto his chest.

shame filtered his body almost instantaneously, not understanding how he was able to let himself go just from a simple top you wore… he swore to himself that that would be the first and only time he’d ever do something like that— to rush into his house just to relieve the growing hard on that you, without much acknowledgment, gave him.

and for a few days, he hadn’t. it didn’t stop the stares or the way his cock jumped upon hearing your voice… he’d just fall back into the same perverted state, clutching onto the arm of his work chair while you talked to him about something he couldn’t even pay much attention to. he saw the outline of your body against your work outfit thinking about how you’d look if he ripped it off.

his breathing quickened as he tried to direct his gaze on something else, his computer… maybe his paperwork? it didn’t help because he could still hear you fucking speak.

a sharp gulp and a shaky sigh— it was the most obvious he’s ever been, sensing the way he was unable to sit still. “james?” you called out, amusement lingering in the tone of your voice.

“uhm.” he huffed, a faint smirk curling at the side of his lips, trying to keep his composure as much as he could. “sorry… im not feeling too well.” turning his head to you, seeing a warm, devious yet alluring smile rest on your lips. almost immediately, he reacted. swallowing hard and clearing his throat.

walking towards where the man sat, you placed your hand at his shoulder, feeling the softness of his suit glide against your palm, finding his averting eyes, “do you need me to… get you anything?”

he shook his head, flinching upon touch, dropping his attention into his lap where his hands bunched to cover the obvious dent. “it… it’s fine. i just have to use the restroom… excuse me.” his voice quick and slurred, body immediately jumping up from his chair as he made his way to the men’s bathroom.

the beat of his heart ran heavily in his ribcage, causing his body to burn and wither as he laid himself limply against the bathroom’s door. each inhale was harder to stabilize— the air feeling heavy and clunky as it lumped and fell down his throat. with the soft jingle of his belt, he pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees, “god…” he sighed, wrapping his hand around his cock— hot and tortured, “why do you… why do you turn me on so much?”

soft chokes and mutters fell in the echoing bathroom’s walls, covering his mouth creating muffled whimpers to exude and swell. his body churned and trembled, hearing the loose hinges of the door combat with his movement. “fuck… fuck…” he whined, his eyes traveling up to see the mirror across the way.

the sight of himself… it almost looked like his own reflection was a stranger. no person has ever made him have the need to run for a quick release… at least not from their voice alone. it was just how eager he was— how eager you made him— the look of his knees buckling, the pace of his pumps, the skin of his face shake and the way he desperately tried to keep himself quiet… he looked so pathetic to himself, never seeing that side or noticing how much you made him that way just from the sight of you.

in a way… it turned him on, getting a better picture of what you’d see if you were to stand in this very bathroom. thoughts grappled through his visionary mind, his vision shooting towards different places in the bathroom, looking at the sink: how pretty you’d look, pants down your legs with him fucking up into you, your own eyes in the mirror, watching yourself getting fucked by him. or in the stall: your fingers clutching harshly at the stall’s door with his fingers deeply plunging itself inside of your cavern.

a million and one things infiltrated his desires until he couldn’t find himself to stop even after the first time he came onto the bathroom’s floor. his wrist burned with the consistent motion, after his cock hadn’t let up its hardness, moaning as quietly as he could to have himself go limp.

thirty minutes he spent in there… and for him to be known to cum quick… it only meant that he rung himself dry. he couldn’t even walk straight— you knowingly understanding the weight of power you had over him after you timed his absence and him finally waddling back into his chair.

“you alright?” you laugh sweetly, being as oblivious as you could possibly be within his perspective, trying not to stare at the small wet spot that circled at his crotch.

“yeah…” his voice trembling, still in a daze from his multiple orgasms, “must’ve ate something funny…”

after that day… jerking off in the office’s bathroom, there was no turning back— as if that was the only reason that would’ve been true. there was no way he’d be able to contain the continuous passion that resonated all throughout his body— as if you talked to him through your idle.

days would pass and he’d show himself more and more obvious, losing the care to show off his usual persona. he’d take one of your handkerchiefs you left on your desk when you hadn’t been around, tucking them in his pockets only to inhale the left over scent that interwoven itself into its soft cloth, using it almost every night until all he could smell was his own scent. he’d hold onto your wrist when trying to grab your attention, clutching it until he felt the gentle pulse, syncing with the growing hard on he’d feel build and tighten at the crotch of his pants.

on random days, he’d listen when you spoke to other’s about the dates you’ve been on, hearing how they werent satisfying you— filling his brain with possible ways he’d make you feel good. taking you out to eat with good food and wine with an even better conversation only to have him balls deep inside of you just for you to remember nothing from anyone in your past and only form yourself at the outline of his cock.

on a sunny afternoon, you had a held a party for your birthday— all the coworkers you found as friends, including james— in your house for drinks, food and good music. you kept your eye on him as much as you could without making it obvious that the only reason for the party was to see how he’d react now being so close to you.

he showed nothing but nervousness, almost never leaving the cushions from your couch, not even drinking or eating for that matter. he looked uncomfortable… or maybe he was just deep in thought. it only took one look away for him to disappear, his lack of person and the indent of where he sat on the couch to be shown.

james decided he needed more… that handkerchief wasn’t enough since your scent was gone and his imaginations made his want physically hurt considering he wasn’t able to touch you like he wished he could.

finding his way to your room, he rummaged through your dirty laundry, finding a pair of black panties, keeping it to himself. in a cold sweat, he knew that he had time to spare, whipping his head back and forth from the cloth towards your bedroom door before he sat on your bed, rolling his thumb at the crotch of your underwear.

deep and staggered breaths, he rose it up to his nose, smelling the soiled cloth, noticing how these pair must’ve been worn during your arousal, his cock reacting like wildfire— choking at the lack of air he gave himself from the constant huffing he did. each inhale was like heaven. god… your pussy smelt so good… better than he could imagine. the muscle of his tongue sliding at the left over cream marks left, his moans staggering, almost in need of crying at how good this action made him feel.

placing the underwear in his mouth, he grabbed what was closest to him— your pillow— angling his body to get himself off. luckily with how loud the music had been outside, no one would be able to hear the brash creeks of your bed as he humped himself to oblivion. hips snapping, fingers curling into your bed’s unmade sheets with his face planted deep within them as he sniffed whatever your body’s scent leftover.

this is what he wanted… this is what he feened for. only orgasming once, he fixed your bed trying to replicate as if he had never been on it, tucking the panties… and one more in his pants pocket and walking out of your bedroom.

met with him, you smiled, noticing the lust that fumed off of his person, not making it seem as if you knew, “what’re you doing in there? the parties out there silly.” you laughed.

“yeah! i was just looking for the bathroom.” he gulped.

nodding, you ran your tongue over the bottom of your lip, eyeing how his hair wasn’t as neat as it had been before and his shirt wasn’t tucked in as it usually was. “it’s just down there.”

“thank you.” scattering down the hall.

upon entering your room, all you could smell was the foreign aroma of his arousal, smiling at how you didn’t even had to do anything to him physically let alone verbally and he got so worked up. riddled with temptation, you knew you had this man wrapped around your finger, obliging with his action and giving him more with your seductive nature.

it was more noticeable now— how you both operated whenever with each other. anyone could just sense it, feel it, cut it in the thickening air of their razor nails. the body languages, the way you both spoke, the way your eyes spoke with extreme intent.

the tingling sensation rose within your body, almost electrifying you whenever you heard your name being called by him— his natural rasp that croaked from his throat, huddling over your eardrums with bliss. you could only guess what he did that day when he bolted off into the bathroom. it was obvious. feeling your attraction grow by his attentiveness and the willingness of him trying so desperately to be beside you… just thinking about him got you so worked up.

it was fun witnessing his obvious need to separate himself just to get off… but the poor boy needed solace you thought to yourself.

he was being such a good boy, trying so hard not to put himself onto you, being respectful enough, kind and excusing himself but you decided to take charge— have him finally able to get what he wanted and what you were curious about.

one night, you took that advantage as everyone else had dispersed from the office, it had only been you two, him hunched in his chair, face glowing from his computer screen and you packing all of your work to go home. he usually stayed overtime, having his own set of keys the boss left because of his repetitive stay.

now you stood within his space, the office dark, a low hum coming from james not even noticing your silhouette that stood just at his cubicle. “you going home?” you spoke out, your voice lulling out.

startled, he turned at his chair, swallowing down the large lump that rested at his throat. “oh!” he chirped, looking back and forth at the shadow that made up of you and his computer screen. “uh not yet… there’s some things i have to finish.”

“could it wait? just for a little?”

furrowing his eyebrows, he sat confused, noticing the tone of your voice, feeling his palms dampen, rubbing them roughly at his pant legs.

oh how cute he was acting.

“sorry i..” he chuckled nervously, “im confused.”

sucking at your tongue, you stepped forward, the screen’s light falling at your outline, exposing the lust that mixed in with the devious expression that wore on your face. “don’t give me that look,” you cooed, closing the distance between you both until your feet planted themselves just before him. “tell me, what has you still in this office this late at night?”

“uhm yeah…” he chuckled again, his words slow as he spoke about the finishing touches of a project that had been due in a few days. quite honestly, you hadn’t cared much to know, you just enjoyed the random inhales of breath in between his words as he tried to keep his composure at bay.

“such a good man you are. i take it your work ethic is better than all of us combined?”

he cleared his throat, tilting his head in nervousness at the choice of words that trickled down, aiming at his spine with him tensing in his chair. “th… thank you.”

“but you should take a break, you seem all pent up. that isn’t healthy, don’t you think?”

“what do you purpose?” he asked with you humming in response.

the silence between that fell in the air was loud, burning against your eardrums until you heard his breathing coming in shallow wheezes, his chest tightening as his heart hammered at his ribcage. he couldn’t even look at you… his head couldn’t lift itself from his hands, fingers tangling with themselves.

“can you look at me?” you soothed.

no response was given, just the raise of his body at every heavy inhale.

“look at me james…” your voice now coming out as a whisper, using your hand to curl at his jaw, feeling the roughness of the stubble that ran alongside it. at a gentle lift, his face rose, his eyes staggering to follow until you saw the gentle, puppy-eyed man lock himself onto you. “that’s it..”

at the tilt of his head, his body hiccuped in a trickling gasp. every memory of him being by himself, jerking his hardening cock, the sounds of his own pleasuring cries echoed in his brain. it burned at his cheeks with a peach strain— embarrassed but enamored by the sway of your lulling voice and kind eyes. the cold that emitted from your hand felt like static, almost foreign, unable to comprehend that you where here, actually touching him and it wasn’t just his perverted mind conjuring up a scene of you having your way with him.

just by your simple touch, it felt raw and ravenous—body stiffening like tainted brittle bones… his spine slowly contorting in a fidgeting arch, like christ himself pressed his jellied pierced palms across the flesh of an aching wound. “fuck…” he breathed, giving up on his lose of current reality, placing his own hand on top of yours, sliding it more onto his own face. he buried himself in it, eyes closing, falling into a blissful state, feeling the warmth that blossomed and coddled at his skin.

his mind and his body was starved… in need of you as if the only sin he knew was nothing but greed— believing the palms of your hands was magic, a bandage to a scab, an antidote to a sickness. you did nothing but stand there, watching him revel in pleasure just from your hand now stroking his face slowly and delicately, admiring the sweet yet sorrowful pout drawn at his lips.

“follow my words.” you spoke, interrupting the silence between you both, “can you do that for me james?”

his eyes dilated, feeling his stomach drop hearing his name being called. it drove him mad and it only was because of your voice— so gentle and sweet, thick as if he could gnaw on it. “yes…” he finally answered.

standing behind him, you let the pressure of your hands massage his back, feeling the tension reside in his shoulders. you could feel his irregular breathing at every push your fingers gave, knuckles whitening at the clutch of his pant legs. “oh wow you’re so tense… why is that?”

“just… all the work is getting to me.”

“yeah?” your voice obvious in sensuality, hearing his grunt when you let the pressure fall a little rougher. a quiet exchange of noises bounced back and forth with comforting and pent up sighs, spending a good few minutes, trailing your hands down the sides of his arms, “you’re pretty built underneath this suit.” you teased.

clenching his eyes tight, he screamed at himself internally, trying to speak to his cock to not harden but it failed, looking down at his lap and seeing what the computer’s light was able to show, letting out a quiet laughing hum. you had him now…

“stand… and kiss me.”

and so he stood, his arms awkwardly at his sides, broadcasting his awful posture as he waited for your next move. from a simple swift movement, your hand met with the back of his neck, pulling him in, pressing your lips against his. the sync of your lips were soft and slow but quickly it changed by the lead of his tongue that cascaded along the bottom of yours, inhaling the hitching breath as his fingers played with the bottom of his suit jacket.

gentle grunts hummed against your flesh, opening your lips to oblige by his speed, noting the way he drank your existence in the exchange of your mouths. his tongue fluttered against yours, rolling the tip of his muscle against the ridges of your teeth, spit spilling down one another’s chins as your bodies fell closer into one another feeling the pattern of your breathing fall as one.

your leg pressed in the middle of his, feeling his bulge rub against you with a higher pitched moan being a gift of your sudden embrace.

the air was hot and heavy despite the chill from the office that hugged you both, "ride it.." you moaned in between the kiss, moving your leg in slow grinds, feeling the heat that emitted from his clothed cock weave through your work pants.

“okay…” he answered back, removing himself from the kiss as his hips started to buck forward in motion with your leg’s movement.

his body couldn’t keep up with the burning passion that continued to spread through his body, starting with the aching sensation that rested at his cock.

no words had been exchanged, only moans as if it that was the only language you both understood— the lack of light only being laminated by the moon that fell through the windows and the computer screen. your hand strengthened its grip, foreheads pressed against one another, feeling his leg fall in between your leg in the midst of his grinds.

both of you fell in lust with the eager grinds you shared, hearing the rut of clothes being rubbed against one another, his unknowing hands, placing its purpose at your hips, gripping incredibly tight, pulling you closer at every hungered thrust, your eyes gulping the color of his.

he moved his body, you whining quietly at the empty feeling of his knee. he dropped down, leveling his face at your legs, pressing kisses starting at your ankle and to your knee, moving his lips as his tongue peaked through, letting spit form and absorb in the cloth of your pants until he reached your waist.

"may i...?” he whimpered, a smile curling at your lips, nodding with his fingers making its way to your shirt, yanking it upwards which made you gasp at the sudden movement. he continued his kiss, the cold inhale of his breath washing against your skin as he pressed his lips at the lining of your peaking underwear, running his tongue alongside it.

with a deep press of his lips, he left wet marks, pressing his face into your stomach, his head dragging all the way up your torso, inhaling the sweet smell of your detergent as well as the soap that coated your skin, until he stood once again, finding your neck, taking a bite without much warning— feeling the flesh sink between the spaces in his teeth. 'so soft', he thought, letting his lips latch and suck roughly, as he used his unoccupied hand to pull your body closer to him.

his tongue rippled and rolled against the aching bitten part of your neck, popping himself off before he pressed a kiss at the hem of your ear, "is this real?" he whispered, pressing more kisses at the side of your face. it felt prosperous, feeling his lips scatter the smooth surface of your face, neck and ear— fingers prodding the side of your waist.

"can you say it… please?” releasing a sharp gasped whisper, his nose dragging along your cheek, sighing out a moan. "say…my name... i need to hear your voice.”

"james..." you exhaled, enjoying the way he wanted nothing but your time and your attention. he made you feel sexy.. desirable, like his own drug that he was unable to let go or take control of. every touch felt purposeful, hungry… soft with a strain of roughness.

"no... louder. say it... please say it louder." his words breathless, cracking each time his voice dipped in register, letting open mouthed kisses to gently press onto your skin.

"james!" your voice rose, saying it over and over at every press of his lips you felt, his moans talking back to each time he heard his name flutter from your throat. your voice felt like it was running down his spine and settling itself right at his cock. you adored how cute he was without even knowing that you wanted to devour him— the sharp want to have him crumble in your embrace.

“fuck..” he cried sweetly, his voice breaking down in harmony. you placed your hands at his shoulders pushing him down as he obeyed your forceful action, him now on his knees.

without a thought, you pressed the bottom of your shoe at his obvious bulge, pressing your weight on it, his body shuddering with his lips ajar. “tell me…” your diction sounding breathless, feeling the outline of him through the sole of your shoe, “do you think of me… while you touch yourself.” his eyes growing, surprised and slightly worried— not as if it wasn’t telling he came at the thought of you.

he couldn’t answer, only giving a harsh swallow and swiveling hips, humping into the sole of your shoe.

“come on pretty boy… answer… i know you do it.”

“yes…” he gulped, “i do… i do. all the fucking time.” he admitted, his words flowing fast with his hips coming at the same speed.

placing your foot down on the floor, he immediately straddled, hands grabbing onto your calf for support as his hips rippled and rutted deeply into you like a horned dog. whimpers roared through the office’s enclosure. he felt dizzy, drunk within the lust that spewed between you both. it was pitiful but cute— losing all forms of self just to hump on your shoe.

grasping his jaw, he looked up at you, eyebrows knitted in pleasure as his hair bounced in movement, leaning down the gather spit, letting it fall into his opened mouth. he drank it instantaneously, nodding at the new action he had never done before. your spit tasted sweet, filling his mouth with an extended tongue in need of more.

and so you did, this time more forceful, some falling at the side of his lip, falling down his jaw and chin.

something about how he acted, the way he presented himself and the way his nervousness wore him so brightly. you could hear it his voice, in his moans, see in his eyes, face and body— nothing he had in display for you showed you otherwise. cupping the side of his face as your thumb gently stroked the warmth of his cheek, making his cock jump more than it already had.

“you like that don’t you baby?”

“uh huh…” he breathed, frantically nodding, letting his eyes drape towards your lips, seeing his tongue peak through, pressing your thumb at his plush lips, dragging them loosely, until his lips would tug, allowing his teeth to peak through before leaning in closer to his until being inches apart— irregular breathing brush against your mouth, as his nose nudges gently the side of yours, kissing you roughly… wet and raw. more spit escaping, coating all over.

“can i…” he spoke in between, “can i taste you?”

and with an accepting moan, his body rose, grabbing you until you sat on his desk, the light of his computer now black and the moon being the only source of light.

opening your legs, he leaned in, his middle finger ran between your clothed, wet slit. raising his head, he looked down at you, “holy fuck… how’re you so wet? i can feel it through your pants,” he taunted, gaining a small glint of confidence.

he lifted your shirt once more, just enough to show your full stomach as he held onto your waist, pressing his lips right beneath your breast, leaving slow, teasing kisses down your body with his eyes staring right up at you. his face met up in between, spreading your thighs apart more as he let his face set right in center, pressing his nose right in the indention where his finger once was, inhaling your sweet smell before rolling his tongue over her clothed pussy. “your pussy smells so sweet.” he breathed, his fingers curling at your pants and yanking them down until you were only left with them puddled at your feet and panties hugging your waist.

his mouth latched onto your clit, slowly sucking you right over your panties, feeling your throbbing bud feather against his tongue.

sliding your panties to the side, he saw the wetness connect from your pussy lips, to your clit, running all down your slit, immediately spreading your lips apart, seeing your whole view.

“so… pretty... god i wanna fuck it with my tongue. have my tongue so deep inside you, i can feel you clench yourself. can i… can i do that?” his eyes not leaving your face, seeing the limited and minimal expression the moon’s light allowed him to see, letting his tongue run up your slit as his mouth latches on.

nothing felt more pleasurable than to see the other pleased. his fingers trembled and ached to take you all in one go, but he believed you deserved more than that, you deserved to feel it run through every inch of your body. he wanted to prove that there’s levels you could reach that’ll make you feel like ecstasy.

his body burned as if he was on fire, feeling himself twitch at every small sound that exuded from your throat. “your voice, it turns me on so fucking much...” gripping onto your thighs, his nose nudging at your clit, mouth hovering over your cunt, drawing ribbons at the entrance of your pussy. he shook his head from side to side, your sweet scent filling his airway as he felt your slick coat the sides of his lips and the tip of his nose.

his tongue plunging itself into you, feeling your cunt pulsate alongside the bud of your clit. as his tongue worked along your slit and hole, repeatedly lapping at each entrance with the flat of their tongue. your scent and flavor enveloping his entire face, like a drug, and erotic perfume that he’d gladly wear if possible. his eyes drooping into a squint, his body loosening— expect the core of his tightening abdomen from holding his breath and their increasingly hard cock. thrusting his face as he began to fuck you with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, continuing to pay close attention to your clit. pulling back, he licked his lips, gathering spit as he spat right on your cunt, followed by a little slap, rubbing with the palm of his hand against the new tingling sensation, “was that… was that too much?” he slurred, not thinking of the impact of what he had just done with the pleasured yelp you let out.

“you’re such a dirty boy…” you laughed, your hips breaking down as it planted itself more into his desk. “keep going… show me what a horny little thing like you thinks about while you touch yourself.”

drunk of you— the taste, the smell, he could feel a pit of sensation fuel right at the bottom of his abdomen. “hump my face baby, please…use me.”

with his tongue, he lifted your clitoral hood, centering his tongue right at your clit as he fluttered it as fast as his tongue allowed him too, feeling your expose bud jolt. using his other hand, he slid one finger in, curling it slightly as he slowly let it slide in and out, feeling your walls close. the sounds you let out couldn’t be controlled, admiring how he used your body like an art piece, finding his way to use every fragment of your being, getting off to your pleasure. each knuckle falling deeper, as he started to bring up his pace. so wet, you could hear it at each pump, and god did that turn him on. “listen to your pussy baby. my god you’re so wet..”

loving the feeling of your fingers that now laced in his hair, tugging at it whenever you felt so, feeling the tingle wash from down his scalp and spine, making him groan deeply against your, feeling it almost itch his own throat. his other hand pressing firmly against your stomach, rolling it up your body as he dragged the pads of his fingers down your torso, then thigh, letting them create small indentions in your smooth skin.

he watched as you squirmed as you watched how pathetically invested he looked hooked in pleasure— him yearning for this type of attention, as if he cried for it. his eyes begged and begged, his actions looking less and less sense and out of touch of reality. your hips, not having a rhythmic move to them, just rolling and humping as his face kept up with your sloppy hips.

he slide one more finger inside, curling that one as well as his others as he turned his wrist in a circular motion, almost drilling your cunt, pushing it in and out, trying to find your sweet spot. he lifted his head, letting a string of spit and slick connect from his lips and your pussy. “keep looking at me… please don’t stop.” the sting burning at his forearm— veins now prominent running from his fingers and down wrist. your pussy making the most loudest and obnoxious noise, syncing with the pacing of his hand and mouth.

his face traveled up, his face now hovering yours, paying close attention to your expression and the way you moaned for him, furrowing his eyebrows, “yeah? does it feel good right there?” he cooed, singing with your moans which filled the space that surrounded you both. he gathered spit in his mouth once more, letting it go straight into your mouth— your hand out of his hair and to his face, holding his jaw and feeling the grooves of his teeth by how hard you held it.

“god you’re so good for me.” you grunted, eyes almost rolling at the feeling of his fingers plunging at your cunt.

gritting through his teeth, “and you drive me insane…” pressing his mouth against yours once more as he started to sloppily kiss you— your slick already coating his mouth and tip of his nose, now swallowing your moans. his breathing was erratic and his demeanor changed, feeling a sense of lustful malice grow in his body.

hurriedly, you undid his pants, slipping your hand in his underwear, taking out his hot heavy cock, his body immediately reacting with his hand holding the desk beside you for support. without hesitation, you jerked his cock, finding the same speed of his plunging fingers.

shared and eager moans radiated from you both, whiny and pathetic, desperate and conjoined— the sweet sounds of your wet slick and his skin being tugged at his cock.

“don’t stop.” he strained, already feeling himself in need to release, never being one to last longer than he wished to.

spit dripping from one another’s mouths, the tension continued to rise, the familiar sensation cradling at your core as well as his. clenching around his fingers, your thighs started to close themselves, him quickly opening them as he breathed in a choked gasp.

“are you gonna cum for me?” you teased, knowing you were right where he was, his body twitching as he nodded in response, “cum for me… do it james.”

a loud groan crept as he removed your hand, replacing it with his as he jerked his cock in a speed you had never seen from another man, directing his slit right at your clit. spurts of his cum fell right at your clit, the sight being too much for you to handle— the head from it, sliding down to his fingers as he continued his hungered pumps, an orgasm ringing around it. it creamed thickly, white cuddling at his knuckles.

both of your bodies fell weak, the speed now resting slow as you tried to gather your breaths, eyes connecting as one as you recollected all the passion that infiltrated.

“my god…” you breathed, his fingers coating in your natural nectar and his cum, inhaling your womanly scent which sent waves of pleasure directly towards his cock that started to rise again. god… did he love the way your fucking pussy smelt. it didn’t compare to your handkerchief… your bed… even your used panties. his fingers slipping out as he placed them in his mouth, each finger being sucked clean. “you’re so fucking hot…”

the intensity that fueled you both was too much to comprehend. no words being able to be spoken— james blinded by the beauty and the smell of sex that fumed in the air. after all the days of him tugging his cock, the thoughts became real.

his face hovered yours, hands cupping your cheeks as he pressed gentle kisses across your lips, “can i...” he gasped in between each kiss, heavy air pushing through his nostrils as he tried desperately not to pass out from the adrenaline and the need to feel you, overwhelm you and just make you cum from his dick. “can i fuck you…? please… please… please please please please please…” his voice cracking in between.

the need that laced in your whine transmitted through the thick of his burning skin. it was hard to contain steady breathing. mine, he thought. you were all his for the night, and it signified that you were in this very moment.

lips feathering against your chin, each kiss longer than the last, with his nose nudging up into your cheek. just from the quiet sounds you let out, your consent, your ‘okay’ to put his dick inside of you made the way he felt more intense than it already had. his fingers wrapping around the start of his shaft as he started to pump himself.

“you can tell me if you want me to fuck you slow…” he continued, cupping his hand to his lips and spitting in it, making a small puddle to coat his dick. “or if you want me to fuck you fast… tell me… tell me to keep fucking you… tell me… just talk for me… please.”

his eyes jolted down as his cock angled itself right at your opening pushing himself inside. just half of what would be his tip, focused only on you. sucking in harshly at how big he was and how he wasn’t even all the way in. with his other hand cupping the side of your face and neck, his thumb rubbing gently.

“you okay baby…?” his attention still on you, analyzing each expression you gave to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you in any shape or form, pressing a long kiss at the side of your cheek beside your ear, “im going to keep going okay…? just breathe for me…”

they pushed more, his tip fully being in your cunt. his body shuttered… you were so warm, you were tight and held him so comfortably, if you wanted him to stop right there, it’d be enough for him to cum. anything for you was enough for him. bodies slowly enveloping on another as he tried to talk to your body in a way that gave you comfort and pleasure. “more?” he breathed, it hitching as he mindlessly held his breath, pushing more of himself into you— your hot walls holding around the start of his shaft, textured and wet, with a heartbeat that almost felt as if you were sucking him in without his go.

a pornographic moan being spewed from james’ lips. the way your cunt grasped onto him, it's textured walls massaging his cock into heaven. you felt full, his dick thick— leaning towards girth— your breathing picking up in pace. you molded his cock perfectly, his hips slowly pressing himself deeper until his hole cock was enveloped in you. "goo...good boy." you tried to praise, hiccuping as your hands fell onto his shoulders.

the thrust started off slow, hiccuping almost similar to his rut against your shoe. it took a few thrusts until he finally was able to find himself— barely. each inward thrust, the desk shook, your body sliding upwards against his paperwork that scattered and crumpled.

“is this… is this okay?” his voice broken, hearing the new diction in his tone.

“faster… don’t be shy…”

you didn’t have to tell him twice, his hips momentarily stopping as he planted his feet firmly on the ground— animalistic groans combating the way his hips started to snap. each thrust, your rear puckering hole was abused by james’ balls. again and again, the loud rhythmic sound of your skin slapping. "good boy, keep fucking me. make me cum."

the tip of his dick angling in a place you were unsure about. what was this? you thought. your body was excited and you didn't know why— you didn't know how to prepare yourself. your body unable to stay still or find a place where you felt the best in stabilization, screaming his name as he finally hit that spot, your good spot.

"don't stop! don't stop! don't stop! don't—" you chanted, him hitting your g spot over and over with your pussy sucking him in deeper and deeper at each outward thrust.

"i wish i fucked you sooner, why does this feel so good?!" already having the need to cum with no intention of holding it.

you as well. you needed to cum, but you felt something new as well. the similarly feeling of you needed to 'go'.

"waitwaitwaitwait!!!" you moaned out loud, his cock slipping out with an unexpected gift being brought to both of you. you squirted. it spilling from your cunt and drenching on the both of you— your face, his work clothes and your work clothes. you had no time to react, your legs violently shook, with james hurriedly slipping in again with the same need to release centering at the opening of your cunt.

"ineeedto... i... fuhhhcking" you slurred, eyes rolling each time james pulled out, your pussy let out small spurts of your squirting cum.

"that is so fucking hot... you're so hot." james cried, tears rimming in his eyes, feeling himself having the need to cum.

one leg wrapped his waist pushing him down, rolling your hips upward even though it was all too much, but your cunt wanted more, it felt like it could cum at least one more time. grabbing your face, your lips forming a squished 'o'.

"fuck...fucking good boy." your voice fucked out.

"it feels too good… i can’t take it." he continued to wail, tears started to stream down his face. "im gonna—" he announced with one finally thrust, james let his hot load rest deep inside you.

one could say his dream was now complete, but a new question shall be asked; how will this continue? from being ‘friends’, horny individuals to fuck at work. but for now, you both continued to calm down from your high, kissing each other sweetly.

“this won’t be the last time.” you smiled triumphantly, trying to catch your breath.

a/n: i never know how to end these… but maybe there will be another part…

[leclerc-hs]

can't get you outta my head - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends to lovers!) summary: in which you and charles are in the same friend group and find solace in one another OR you and charles fuck and can’t forget about it warnings: smut under the cut! oral (f-receiving!), outdoor sex, p in v, angst, pining, badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD word count: 5.4k! (lengthy) author’s note: IN HONOR OF HITTING 1,600 FOLLOWERS I AM POSTING THIS TODAY!!!! double-postings today!!! i wrote this SOOO fast so sorry if there’s any mistakes. loved writing it tho and i know i was going to make it more enemies originally but making him softer and cutesy just felt right for now. i can always do another one if you guys want!! just let me know what you think! love hearing from you guys!!! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

BENEATH THE BRILLIANT canopy of the sun’s golden embrace, you recline comfortably upon the plush cushions of the lounge chairs, creating a sanctuary of comfort amidst the vast expanse of sand. Around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and textures unfold: vibrant beach towels strewn around carelessly, the glistening ocean stretching endlessly before you, and the verdant palm trees swaying in rhythmic cadence against the bright blue sky.

The sound of the ocean’s embrace upon the sandy shoreline murmurs in the background, a subtle undercurrent beneath the symphony of voices of your friends that fills the air. Your gaze drifts towards a cluster of your friends cavorting in the embrace of the water. Their figures, silhouetted against the shimmering expanse of the ocean, exude a carefree vitality. Like playful spirits unleashed, they tumble and wrestle amidst the crash of the waves, their laughter echoing.

You smile softly listening to a few of the girl’s banter over last night’s drunken escapades, flipping a page of the cheap magazine you purchased earlier.

“Joris a pratiquement mange de la merde hier soir.” Joris practically ate shit last night. Your best friend, also Joris’s girlfriend, to the left of you says in between laughter, as you all careen over with a laugh. 

“Au moins, il va bien.” At least he’s fine. You say with a soft smile, turning another page of your magazine. “Can we talk about Antoine shooting a firecracker out of his ass?” The words spark an immediate eruption of laughter, tears threaten to fall from your eyes from the sheer hilarity of the memory.

“Qu’est-ce qui est si drôle?” What’s so funny?

You turn your head and find yourself locking eyes with a pair of captivating green. In that moment, your heart skips a small beat, and a soft smile graces your lips as you gaze warmly at him. “Making fun of Joris and Antoine, bien sûr.” Of course.

A smile plays at the corner of his pink lips, and you can’t help but envy their perfect hue. You can’t help but notice the subtle dimples that grace Charles’ cheeks as he smiles. Did he always have those? With a casual grace, he raises a hand to scratch the side of his stubble before reaching for a towel casually draped over your lounge chair. As he leans over, droplets of water cascade onto your warm skin, a gentle reminder of the ocean’s embrace. You steal a moment to admire the bronzed glow of his skin, the sunlight dancing upon the small beads of water that cling to his sculpted muscles with a tantalizing allure.

A peculiar aura envelops the relationship between you and Charles. You didn’t speak often, although you were in the same friend group, and have known each other for forever. However, in the recent weeks, a shift has occurred. Perhaps it’s the shared experience of a newfound singleness has drawn you closer together, prompting conversations to flow more freely than ever before.

A delicate blush creeps onto your cheeks, a fleeting flush of warmth that you hope goes unnoticed against the backdrop of your sun-kissed skin. You feel a jolt of electricity shoot through you as Charles’s fingers brush lightly against your shoulders while the grabs the towel, igniting a subtle spark between you two.

“Allons-nous au club ce soir?” Are we going to the club tonight? One of your guy friends asks, sinking onto a sandy towel with a groan as he collapses onto the soft grains. 

For a moment, maybe a few seconds, silence hangs in the air. As if each person is lost in contemplation, weighing the prospect of the evening’s plans. Then, in a synchronous chorus, a resounding chorus of “yes” erupts from the group, breaking the silence with unanimous enthusiasm.

You remain silent, immersed in the pages of a trash magazine, each turn revealing scandalous tales that undoubtedly blur the lines between fact and fiction. Charles watches you intently from his position in the beach chair across from you, though not directly opposite. Positioned slightly to the right, his gaze lingers on you with a subtle curiosity, his expression betraying a hint of contemplation as he observes you amidst the circle of friends. Always in your own world.

“Lovie, tu participes?” Are you in? Your best friend beside you seems to notice your lack of response. Her arms stretch across the gap between your chairs, and she gently squeezes your wrist, a silent gesture of reassurance and solidarity. 

Lovie. You don’t exactly know why you got that nickname, but it stuck. And it carried over to most of the friend group calling you that since childhood.

You lifted your head up, the sun beading down on you causing your eyes to slightly crinkle, as you gave her a look that said duh!

Your friends smile widens as she claps her hands together, her excitement palpable as she sits up from her previously relaxed position. Her enthusiasm is infectious, casting a warm glow over the group as they all eagerly cheer in happiness with her. “Mon dieu!” Thank God! It was a squeal of relief. “Maybe you’ll meet a sexy man and fall in love and have his babies so you can forget all about that loser.”

Your heart clenches at the mere mention of your ex. The smile on your lip’s falters just slightly, but you quickly regain composure, determined not to show a hint of sadness surface while on vacation with your friends. With a subtle effort, you smooth away the brief flicker of vulnerability, masking it beneath a façade of cheerful resilience. 

You roll your eyes, “Nous verrons.” We’ll see. Your tone carries a hint of mystery as you look back into your magazine, letting the conversation of your friends flow into a different direction.

-

“Es-tu sûre que tu devrais en prendre unautre?” Are you sure you should have another? Joris says into your ear, making sure you’re able to hear him over the pulse of the music, his arm slung over the back of the booth behind you. You lean into his body, a drunken smile pulled on your lips.

He harbored a slight concern for you. While you were his girlfriend’s best friend, your friendship dated back to childhood, long before his relationship with her, and he held you in high regard. His care for you ran deep, and ever since your break-up, he knows that you haven’t been the same.

“Arrête de t’inquiéter pour moi.” Stop worrying about me. You shove his shoulder gently, before pointing to your best friend on the dance floor. “Inquiéte-toi pour elle.” Worry about her.

You let out a soft laugh as you witness Joris’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of his girlfriend standing on the stage. With a knowing smile, you begin to slide out of the booth with intent to make your way to the bar, sensing the need for a fresh drink to accompany the unfolding spectacle.

Before you can even slide out of the booth, a fresh drink—scratch that, a refill of your drink, is placed in front of you. Your gaze follows the masculine hand holding the glass, adorned with an expensive watch at the wrist, tracing its path up the arm until your gaze meets Charles’ intense stare. His eyes, dark and captivating, lock onto yours, already filled with questions and a silent understanding.

You slide back over, silently signaling him to sit beside you. As he eases into the spot beside you, the proximity of his body sends a shiver down your spin, the heat radiating from him igniting a primal longing within you. Your bare skin tingles with anticipation as his presence fills the air with an electric charge, a silent dance of desire playing out between you in the dimly lit confines of the booth.

In the midst of the pulsating club music, words between you two remained scarce. Yet, you both found solace in the quiet companionship that enveloped you both. The energy of the club swirled around you, but the warmth of each other’s presence, you felt a profound sense of ease settle, much like a comforting blanket.

-

It wasn’t unnoticeable to the rest of the friend group. In fact, it was very noticeable. The way you and Charles seemed to find a connection with one another, especially post break-ups. 

It’s not that you were never friends, you just were never as close. So it came as a slight surprise to a few of your friends as they picked up the little changes that were made.

Like when Charles refills your drinks for you. Or when he notices that there is coconut in your meal, which you’re very allergic to, and sends it back to the kitchen. 

Like when you remind him to put on sunscreen, knowing he tends to burn easily. Or when you find yourselves sitting out by the fire at night, long after everyone went to sleep, just talking about the most random things.

“The CGI in that movie was terrible!”

“It’s a classic! You can’t hate a classic!”

“That doesn’t make the CGI better!”

Or

“I’ll have you know I’m a culinary expert.”

“Charles, I’ve known you for forever. Don’t lie!”

“I’m an innovator! Who else could turn pasta into charcoal with such ease?”

No matter the topic at hand, you and Charles always found yourselves engulfed in laughter, the gentle sound filling the air with warmth and camaraderie.

-

You didn’t want sadness to cloud your vacation, but sometimes emotions have a way of washing over you like relentless waves. One of the evenings, while your friends made plans to dine out, you made the wise choice to stay in. Although you didn’t want to miss out, you felt that you were not in the right mindset to be out with everyone. Some protested your decision, expressing concern, but you assured them that you would be fine on your own and ready to party it up all day tomorrow.

Charles shot you a funny look as he slid his hands into one of his pockets, leaning casually against the kitchen archway. His white linen shirt, barely buttoned and snug against his muscles, accentuated his tan, making it seem even more vibrant against the stark contrast of the fabric. A single glance from him stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you as you perched on the bar-stool chair, clad in nothing but a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a well-worn t-shirt. It was your ex-boyfriend’s shirt, a garment you should have long discarded, but its comfort proved too irresistible to part with. Despite the pang of guilt that tugged at your conscience, you found solace in its familiar embrace, a reminder of the past you couldn’t quite let go of yet.

The villa you currently stayed in was beautiful. Its whitewashed walls and wrought-iron accents blended modern and luxury all in one. Inside, the warm glow of the setting sunbathed the spacious rooms, casting an ethereal orange hue over the abundance of white and wood-colored furniture. As the click of the front door echoed through the villa, the chatter of your friends faded into near silence as they departed for dinner, leaving you alone in complete silence.

-

You find yourself eventually nestled in the corner of the oversized couch, cocooned in the warmth of a fluffy blanket draped over your body. With the television remote in hand, you flip through the channels, searching for something to capture your interest. Nothing quite grabs your attention, until you stumble upon a cheesy rom-com you’ve seen hundreds of times.

Lost in a trance, you’re oblivious to the world around you, the gentle breeze whispering through the open windows. The creak of the front door opening barely registers, and it’s only when Charles’ silhouette materializes in the archway beside the TV that you snap back to reality. A soft smile tugs at the corners of Charles’ lips as he gazes upon you, nestled comfortably on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. His heart skips a beat at the sight of you, at the sight of your eyes looking at him with such softness.

“Que fais-tu de retour?” What are you doing back?

He shrugs nonchalantly, pushing off from the wall’s archway and making his way toward you. With an easy grace, he plops down beside you, propping one leg up on another couch cushion and allowing his shoulder and head to half-lean against you.

You both settle in a comfortable silence, the sound of the movie filling the air around you with a comforting ambiance.

“Penses-tu jamais que tu le surpasseras?” Do you ever think you’ll get over him?

The words send your stomach into a frenzy of somersaults, and a tightness forms in your throat, making it difficult to swallow.

You don’t answer immediately, instead you stare ahead at the television, your fingers fumbling with the fabric of the blanket nervously.

“Je l’espère.” I hope so.

His eyes are solemn as you look at him. “Parfois,” Sometimes. He begins, straightening his posture so he can fully look at you. “I think I’ll never get over her.”

His words hang heavily in the air, and though they sting a bit, you understand. You share the same sentiment.

“Mais toi,” But you. His hand reaches to yours, the one fumbling with your thigh. His eyes dart between both of yours, like he’s struggling to formulate his next words. “You just,” He starts before squeezing your hand in his. “You just make my days feel easier.”

You nod slowly, knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “My pain, my heartache, just disappears whenever I’m with you.” Your voice is soft as you speak the words. The truth of them daunting.

“Sometimes I just wish I could turn my emotions off.” You say, unwrapping the blanket from your body, so that it only sits underneath you now. “Like I could just fuck someone and move on.”

Charles’ eyes widen slightly as the word ‘fuck’ slips past your lips. He nearly lets out an audible groan, his eyes tracing the contours of your collarbones peeking out from the oversized shirt that slips tantalizingly of your shoulder.

He licks his lips, swallowing a pronounced gulp, as his eyes trail back to your face.

“Yeah.” 

You could feel the tension in the air, like the both of you were considering fucking each other here and now. Charles couldn’t escape the thoughts of spreading you out on the cushions right here, spreading your legs and fucking you with his tongue.

As he locks eyes with you, you feel a flutter in your stomach, your thighs clenching involuntarily as his gaze lingers on your lips. You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter another word, a loud burst of commotion erupts through the front door. No doubt your drunken friends, clamoring for the fire pit.

-

You and Charles find yourselves in an awkward dance since then. Not too awkward, but the idea of you fucking each other escaped neither of your minds.

It was honestly twisted. The fact that Charles couldn’t stop picturing what you would look like beneath him, what your moans would sound like in his ear. He had fucked his fist twice to the though of you since he even heard the word ‘fuck’ slip past your lips on the couch the other night. It was honestly pathetic.

You couldn’t handle it either it seems. You found your eyes lingering on Charles way longer than necessary. The flex of his muscles as he enjoys a morning workout by the villa’s pool, the small smiles he gives you from across the room, and the small touches he gives as he walks by you has you driving yourself up a fucking wall.

So, when your friends decide to head out for a spa day, you and Charles hang back sitting across from one another a tad too far apart on the outdoor couch for it to be normal. It was as if you needed the space to stop from jumping each other’s bones.

The skimpy red bikini you wore did little to ease Charles’ thoughts. But he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the first time in weeks he isn’t thinking about his ex-girlfriend. No, he’s too engrossed in the idea of fucking you. Hearing your sweet little moans he just knows you would have. Feeling your smooth skin beneath the pads of his fingertips.

Charles could feel himself harden just by glancing at you lounging comfortably on the outdoor couch, the clouds covering the sun engulfing you guys in a moment of shade.

Across the couch from him, you tried to do everything but acknowledge Charles’ longing stare. But you couldn’t. Your body was all tense, in need of a release. 

“Charles, will you—”

Before you could even finish the sentence, Charles was standing over your figure on the couch. His hardened cock visibly noticeable in his short swimsuit. The muscles of his thighs flexed before you, as he visibly gulped at the vision of your breasts spilling out of the top.

“Assieds-toi droit.” Sit up. He murmurs softly, his voice carrying a gentle command as he shifts, prompting you to straighten your posture.

Was this really about to happen? You really hoped so.

It was as if Charles can see the desire in your eyes, answering the question of if you wanted this in his head almost instantly.

“Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” Can I kiss you? His thumb toyed with your bottom lip, tracing it as he licked his own.

You nodded your head before his lips pressed down onto yours, capturing them in a sweet embrace. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it firmly near your scalp as he deepened the kiss, igniting a surge of warmth and longing between you.

A soft moan escapes your lips as he slips his tongue into your mouth, pressing it hotly against yours. He pulls away for a moment, still standing above your sitting figure, as he takes in your blown out pupils.

“Ça a un gout si doux.” Tastes so sweet. His hand remains in your hair, holding your head in place to look at him. His eyes stare at your sightly swollen lips, a clench of need forming in the pit of his stomach.

He falls to his knees before you on the couch, kneeling between your two legs, as his other hand presses against your chest, forcing you to lean back against the cushions of the couch. The sun peeped through the clouds momentarily, allowing you to drink in the sight of just how light his eyes were.

His thumb grazes your bikini cladded core, rubbing light circles in a teasing manner. The pressure of his thumb wasn’t enough, but it was everything you needed.

He looked at you from between your legs, a smirk on his face like he knew just how crazy he was driving you. It was an image you never wanted to forget. 

“Touch me.” You begged, a breathy moan leaving your lips as his thumb pressed harder onto your swollen clit. 

It was all he needed to hear before sliding your bikini bottoms to the side and shoving his tongue to where you needed him most. The cool air of the outdoors was a stark contrast to the heat you felt between your legs. 

He took his time with you, like he wanted to savor every sweet moan you gave him. His tongue flicked around your clit a few times, before wrapping his lips around it. Your hand slid into his brown locks, slightly lightened form the sun over vacation, and pulled as you rutted your hips against his face.

“Mm, that’s it,” He groaned into your cunt, his words vibrating against you, sending your hips into a faster frenzy. He slipped two fingers into you, lifting his head to watch as you lulled your head back against the cushion and took your hands from his head to your breasts. You stretched the bikini top slightly, until your breasts spilled over the tiny triangles, your nipples already hardened from the need that burned within you.

Charles slipped one hand up to your breasts, taking one of your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger and pinching.

“M’god,” You half-shouted, biting your lip to prevent yourself for being too loud.

“Don’t deprive me from your sweet little moans, yeah?” He pulled his lips off your clit for a few seconds, giving you ample time to look at them glistening in you. You nearly came at the sight of it. 

He dropped his head back between your legs, flicking fast kitten licks to your clit, which had you careening forward with a cry of pleasure.

He sucked hard on your clit, eliciting loud mewls from you that were like a sweet melody to his ears. Charles could feel his cock straining against the tightness of his swim suit, he flexed his hips into the couch before him, in need of some sort of relief. 

He could feel you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, shoving his face deeper into you, his tongue slipping in and out of you at a fervent pace. It hit you hard. Your hips had a mind of their own, as they rode his face, the bony structure of his nose pressing against your clit sending you into a frenzy.

Charles replaced his tongue with his fingers and watched as you came down from your high. His fingers still working you over as he coaxed you through your orgasm, not letting up.

“I knew you would taste like heaven,” He smirks, finally removing his fingers, before slipping them into his mouth, and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue.

You groaned, your pupils blown out as you looked at him, your legs still spread and cunt fully exposed to him and the outside air. 

“Need more,” You practically begged.

“Need my cock, hm?” You nodded, wasted no time in answering. He pushed himself up from his knees, sitting beside you on the couch as he pushed his swimsuit down enough to free his cock. It was hot and heavy in your hands as you reached for it, precum already dripping from its tip.

You straddled his waist, raising up just enough for him to slip his cock into your already saturated core. Your hands grip the back of the couch behind Charles’ head, your fingers clenching it tightly as you take in each inch of him. His hands grip your waist, large fingers sprayed across as he guides your movements over his cock.

The squeeze of your cunt on his cock was better than Charles could ever imagine. The fact that he had to use his fist before you was honestly a punishment compared to this.

“Mon dieu,” My God. You groan as his cock stretches your walls. You waste no time in working yourself over his cock, the pleasure of it too good for you to do it slow. You chased that second orgasm as it teetered on the edge. You were already so close.

“That close already?” His smirk was permanent on his face as he flexed his hips up into you, hitting you deeper than before.

You nodded, soft mewls escaping your lips constantly. It was as if you couldn’t shut up now. His hands grip your hair tightly, pulling your head back to look up at the sky, as he pulls one of your hardened nipples in between his teeth.

You didn’t have time to tell him you were coming again, but the clench of your walls on his cock was enough of a warning for him. Your walls fluttered around him repeatedly, as his name fell softly from your lips followed with a string of curses.

As if he couldn’t hold back his orgasm any longer, he lifted you up off him and placed you to the side, his hot cum spilling over his cock and stomach in stringy spurts. Your body was limp against the cushion, your bathing suit covering nothing.

Still hazy from your climax, you look from the blue cloudy sky to Charles beside you. His eyes were glossy as he smiled, like he was fully content.

“Merci,” Thank you. You said softly, an acknowledgment for him giving you what you mentioned the other night.

He nodded once, giving a small smile as if to say thank you back.

-

It’s been weeks since you and Charles fucked on the outdoor couch of the vacation villa. You haven’t seen each other much since, not that you expected it. You were thankful it helped you forget about your ex-boyfriend just a little bit more. Like you could bare the idea of meeting other men. Which you were.

You claimed that Charles was a one-time thing. Although it was probably the best sex you’ve ever had, you knew you couldn’t do it again. It was a mutual one-time thing.

So, when you found yourself pressed against the bathroom door of the five-star restaurant, your short little sundress bunched up at your waist, and Charles’ cock buried deep in your cunt, it was a little unexpected. Not completely.

It was hard and quick, nothing but a string of breathy moans between you two as he pressed your chest forward into the door. You both came quickly, your chest flushed red and his cheeks slightly pink as if he just performed a hard workout. 

“Who’s your date?” He asks, the words slip out fast, like he’s trying to act like he doesn’t care.

You furrow your eyebrow for a second, before looking at yourself in the mirror, Charles standing tall behind your figure. “Just met him last night,” You flattened your hair as much as you could to make it seem normal. “I’m trying to get back out there.”

Charles smiles at you, although it seems slightly pained. “Good. Your ex-boyfriend didn’t deserve you.” His words were kind, and it made you smile that he even bothered to say it. 

“I should get back,” You begin, turning to face him. His eyes look at your lips one last time, like he’s contemplating kissing you again. “I’ll see you next week at Joris’s, right?”

He gave you a small nod.

-

Charles Leclerc is a liar.

Well, a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you sexually. The way you feel around his cock. The way your breathy moans turn him on to no end. The way your breasts bounced with each thrust of his cock. The taste of your cunt on his lips. 

He’s a liar if he says he doesn’t fuck his fist almost every night to the thought of you.

But he was also a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you not sexually. The way you loved to read trashy magazines, the way you always fidgeted with the rings on your fingers when you were nervous, the way your eyes glowed whenever you laughed. 

So, when Joris mentions you and a new potential boyfriend, he can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at the idea. The clench of Charles’ jaw at the sight of you and this ‘potential boyfriend’ across the yard at baby shower, does not slip past Joris’s eyesight.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two?

Charles clutches the neck of the beer bottle in his fingers, bringing it to his lips, before straying his eyes from you to Joris beside him.

Charles’ eyes gleamed like he didn’t know how to answer this without admitting feelings he hasn’t even admitted to himself. He shook his head. No. Because there wasn’t.

“Vous étiez proches en vacances.” You guys were close on vacation.

It was just a statement, as if he wanted to see Charles’ reaction. Charles didn’t know if Joris was trying to insinuate anything, but Charles didn’t respond. Not as Joris’s girlfriend, your best friend, popped up behind you both, a tray of cupcakes in her hand.

You sat across the yard, deep in conversation with Theo, at one of the many heavily decorated picnic tables. The short purple sundress that adorned your body is a vision of effortless elegance. Delicate straps grace the shoulders, framing your breasts with a feminine charm. The skirt flows gently with every movement, swaying gracefully in the warm breeze.

You both knew it wasn’t anything serious, at least yet, but he had a way of making you smile, nonetheless. Despite only knowing each other for a few weeks and sharing a handful of dates, he made a point to take his time with you. He was considerate, never pressuring you into anything, especially after you had confided in him about your previous messy relationship one night.

“Tu es belle.” You’re beautiful. Theo whispered into your ear, his fingers toying with the fabric at the ends of your dress, resting right above your knees.

You blushed, your cheeks flaring a light shade of red, as you smiled into your lap. You lifted your head slightly, looking across the yard, where your eyes met with Charles. His eyes already watching you with such heat in his eyes it made your stomach do a somersault.

He felt an intense surge of resentment towards the guy who dared to lay his hands on you, his anger boiling as he watched him lean into whisper into your ear. Your cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of crimson under his gaze, betraying the effect of his words.  What could he possibly be saying to you?

It was just his cock you were coming around last week. So, why is this fiery sense of jealousy threatening to consume him entirely?

It didn’t make sense. How could he feel such intense jealousy over someone he never even had a real relationship with? He never even felt this jealous over his ex-girlfriend.

It was just sex.

He told himself repeatedly. It was just sex. But it only made the burn in his chest only grow more.

-

You were a liar if you said that Charles Leclerc is never on your mind. You were a liar if you said that it was just sex.

Because, for some inexplicable reason, you can’t seem to get Charles Leclerc out of your mind. You remember how he made sure none of your dishes contained coconut, how he bought you those trashy magazines he knew you loved so much, and how he always made sure that you were smiling.

So, when Charles Leclerc stood silhouetted in the doorway of your front door, the moonlight casting a soft glow around him in the middle of the night, you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat.

You took note of his hair in disarray, as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times, and the soft grey sweats that hung loosely on his hips. The taut muscles of his arms peeked out against the seams of the black t-shirt he wore. 

“Je n’arrête pas de penser à toi.” I can’t stop thinking about you. He utters the words with a look of anguish etched on his face, each step carefully navigating around your figure as he stands in the foyer of your apartment, a space he’s been in countless times over the years. But never alone. Never without friends.

You close the door and turn to look at him, not realizing just how close he was to you. “It’s like you,” he begins but freezes, taking a step closer toward you. You take a step back, the tight tank top you wore did little to hide your hardened nipples from the cold air, and your back hit the front door. “It’s like you possess every thought I have. Every single thought. You. You. You.”

You sucked in a breath as you looked into his eyes, more darkened than normal, almost as if he was angry at you.

“Qu’est-ce que tu m��as fait?” What did you do to me? His fingers trail up your arm to your collarbones, a trail of goosebumps following in their wake.

You gulp audibly, your lips slightly parted from the feel of his fingertips on your skin for the first time in weeks. You struggle to find the words until Charles is pleading.

He laughs slightly sarcastic, like he can’t believe this is happening to him. “I even bought those trashy magazines that you like so much, a whole stack of them at my place, because I cannot get you out of my fucking head.”

“Dit moi, it’s not just me.” Tell me.

You would be a liar if you said it’s just him. Your hands trail up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing them in comfort as you stare into his eyes. His breaths getting heavier as your fingers trail his t-shirt classes skin, like he was yearning for it so much, like it burned him.

“It’s not just you.”

He doesn’t give you time to say much more, not until his lips are crashing down onto yours again. Like he couldn’t last one more second without your lips pressed to his.

[luminnara]

Gladiator | Feyd Rautha x Reader

REQUEST: Feyd-Rautha fights in the arena, hoping to win your favor and maybe even your hand.

Warnings: violence

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Feyd-Rautha didn’t know why your face was the only one he seemed able to pick out of the crowd. Out of all the eligible daughters the Houses had thrown at him, you were the one he couldn’t get out of his head. Deep down, he knew he should consider himself lucky for the privilege to have a say in his marriage, but most of the heiresses he had encountered did little to interest him and he had grown more than bored of the whole ordeal.

Until he was presented with you.

He had known little of your family, and he hadn’t cared to learn more. You had been from far away, and your culture was probably far different from his own. Perhaps it was arrogance that had fueled his initial disinterest, his ego rearing its ugly head. He had seen you and assumed you were boring and prudish, based on your style of clothing, and had initially been beyond irritated when you were offered up before him. He had cursed his uncle the Baron, and nearly killed the nearest servant. He had wanted nothing more than to be as far away from you as possible, exhausted and annoyed after a week of meeting princess after princess, all of whom he had rejected.

Why, then, had he become intrigued by you? Had it been the way you looked at him with such boredom, as if he had nothing to offer you? Had it been the information that he was simply one in a long list of suitors you were slogging through, much in the way he had been for what felt like an age? Or had it been the sudden revelation that you had more in common with him than he had thought possible, and the sudden knowledge that if he wished to catch your eye, tradition dictated he must show you a spectacular fight and defeat every other man whose goal was your hand in marriage?

“It is the way of her people,” Rabban had shrugged, oblivious to the way Feyd’s world was slowly being turned on its head. “I have heard that they were fighting long before House Harkonnen built our first arena.”

Now, Feyd-Rautha was stalking back and forth through the sand, thinking of all the ways he could slaughter his competition. He was one of ten, ten suitors, none of whom were drugged or weak from starvation the way his quarry on Giedi Prime always was. As he glared at the opponents around him, he knew that you were watching from the stands, in a luxurious box with your parents and ladies in waiting, and when a glance in your direction confirmed his suspicions, he was overcome with the desire to kill for you.

He had never felt that before. He was plenty familiar with the urge to maim, to slice and tear, to take lives—but he had never wanted to do it for another person. His darlings, in a sense, garnered that from him when he killed servants to feed them…but this was different. That was a life taken as a gift and a means to spoil them. This was a fight to the death, a way to prove himself to you…and for some strange reason, he wanted—no, needed—to succeed.

“Today we gather in the ancestral arena of our great House to honor a tradition which we have kept alive for one thousand generations!” A voice boomed. “Today, the Great Houses send their sons to fight for the hand of my daughter, and should they be so lucky, one will win her favor!”

Feyd-Rautha glanced at his nearest competitor, a round-faced man who was far too old to be marrying you. He knew the man thought he was safe; they had all received a speech on the importance of not actually killing each other, but Feyd had had no interest in listening nor adhering to the rules. If he was to truly win your hand, he knew he must make a grisly spectacle of himself. He had gone so far as to fight shirtless, so as to show you his smooth, unscarred skin, and display his enemies’ blood upon his flesh.

“Now, warriors…do battle!”

You watched from above as the fight commenced.

“I like the looks of that Halleck boy,” your mother commented as she peered through her positively ancient opera glasses.

Your eyes found the one she spoke of and you sighed. “He favors his right leg. He will not last.”

Your father plopped down in the throne next to you, a hearty laugh booking from his chest. “That’s my girl. Ever the strategist, with the sharpest eye in the known universe. Tell us, then, who do you predict will win? We can make a bet on it.”

“I hardly think gambling is appropriate on today of all days.” Your mother shot him a glare.

He only laughed louder.

“I like the Harkonnen.” You said, watching as Feyd-Rautha drove a blade into another man’s shoulder.

Your mother made a tutting noise. “He is…”

“Bloodthirsty,” your father offered.

“Yes,” you said, somewhat transfixed. “He is.”

Your eyes followed Feyd-Rautha’s every move, glued to his form as he lithely parried and dodged his opponents’ attacks. He was a surprisingly welcome sight after the many suitors you’d turned your nose up at, and while he had initially bored you just as the rest had, there was something in his demeanor that had piqued your interest.

Upon meeting, you had both been irritated and more than ready to stay unmarried forever. You had heard that Feyd-Rautha had also been meeting potential suitors, and if the rumor mill was correct, he had nearly killed more than one of them. When you had first laid eyes upon the pale, hairless Harkonnen heir, you had immediately decided that you might give this one a chance; many of the others you had met had seemed ill suited, abhorred by the concept of fighting for your hand in an archaic ritual. Feyd-Rautha, however, had changed when he had heard, shifting from disinterested to focused, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement at the prospect of a duel.

Now, he was stalking through the sand below you, wielding wickedly sharp hunting knives as he attacked a competitor from behind. He wasn’t above fighting dirty, you noted, his blackened teeth bared as he head butted another man. Only six remained including him, the other four having given up or lying unconscious at the feet of their opponents.

“He’s going to kill someone!” Your father exclaimed, his voice gleeful.

“And what a diplomatic nightmare that will be,” your mother mumbled.

You weren’t sure if Feyd-Rautha had truly taken any lives so far that afternoon, but as he drove a knife into the gut of another fighter, you surmised that your mother may be spending the rest of her day smoothing things over with and paying off the families of some of these men.

You watched, smiling to yourself as they all fell, one by one, into groaning, bloodied heaps in the sand, until only one remained on his feet. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was the victor, as you had hoped he’d be, and as the crowd erupted into a roar of cheers, you stood.

Your parents watched you carefully.

“Are you certain?” Your mother asked.

“Do you have any objections?” You countered.

“…none whatsoever.”

You turned to your father. “And you, Father?”

He shrugged, leaning his chin on his hand. “I quite like the boy. He will make for an interesting match.”

“Then it is settled,” you sucked in a breath, steeling yourself before turning and walking to the stairs.

In the arena, Feyd-Rautha was drinking in the sounds of an entertained crowd. He could put on a show anywhere, it seemed, and if he had been at all concerned by leaving Giedi Prime to fight on your planet, they were long forgotten. His blood was still boiling, chest heaving as attendants began collecting his fallen foes, of whom more than a few sported serious, possibly life threatening injuries. And after he had struck each one down, he had glanced up to find you there, watching him.

The crowd hushed suddenly, and Feyd-Rautha saw that it was because you were approaching him, stepping over your battered suitors without so much as a glance down at them. Your eyes remained focused on him, never leaving, boring into his form as he straightened up and faced you.

“Feyd-Rautha,” you greeted him.

“Princess.”

“You fought well.”

“Thank you.”

You smirked at him. “You hope to gain my favor, do you not?”

“I had hoped for your token, yes,” he admitted, watching you with those dark, intelligent eyes.

“A token, or my hand?” You asked.

“I will take whatever you see fit to bless me with, princess.”

With a sly smile, you closed the gap between you, pressing a hand to his chest. He felt warmth there, and when you pulled away, the roar of the crowd returned and he looked down to see a crimson handprint on his skin.

“Congratulations, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you said, your voice cutting below the cheering of your people in the stands above. “We are now engaged.”

With that simple statement, you turned on your heel and left.

It was foolish to turn one’s back to a Harkonnen, especially Feyd-Rautha, but you both knew he would never do anything to you. Not now. Not when his eyes refused to leave your retreating form. Not when his heart thudded in his chest excitedly. Not when he knew he suddenly had a wife, one for whom he would kill anything and anyone.

[seafoamsister]

you were created out of sand from the palm of aphrodites hand. she formed your body, your soul, your life out of bits of the sea & shells. every curve, every hip dip, every dimple, & every freckle she placed upon you for the goal to show beauty in various ways. the back rolls you loathe every time you look in the mirror was once a pebble from the ocean that aphrodite saw beauty in. the mole on your cheek was once a grain of sand aphrodite walked in. you were made with honor honey, you were made with a purpose from blessed lady aphrodite. do not be harsh on yourself. love yourself, treat yourself as a sanctuary. so mote it be

[swordgrace]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE — RISK OF GETTING CAUGHT.

⤿ pairings: (S1) jon snow x fem!reader

⤿ word count: 3.4K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), public sex, risk of getting caught, experienced reader, sub!jon, reader is definitely more dominant, heavy kissing, teasing, mild praise kink, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, descriptions of cum, soft ending

⤿ note: lowkey I churned this out pretty quick, this was so so fun to write! honestly this is also dedicated to @dipperscavern , a lot of their jon snow content fuels my inspo for him, so thank you!

“You’ve got to be mad.”

Jon Snow’s bewildered, sour Northern timbre rattled throughout the stables, twisted with palpable uncertainty as you led him back toward bales of hay. His stomach was coiled into knots — knots of excitement, but nerves seemed to prevail.

Ever the honorable one, he often cautioned you against these hasty, secret meetings you orchestrated. A sliver of him thoroughly enjoyed the exhilaration of it all, the thrill of being with you between corridors and in darkness.

Trysts like these were exceedingly dangerous — if any question came into being regarding your virtue or his honor, Eddard would have his head for it, and you would be scorned.

“Yet you willingly partake,” A quip as sharp as a longsword dug into his side, prompting him to huff in response. “If this is madness to you, Jon, you have not yet lived a life.”

“Here, of all places?” Jon countered, tone bordering along exasperation and subtle excitement. The stables weren’t exactly the most conventional place to couple, but your options were thin. He feared someone stumbling upon the both of you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you peered at your brooding paramour through a half-lidded gaze, head canting to one side. “Here, of all places.” You parroted, tone dripping with amusement.

Gods, you were such a temptress.

It was difficult to resist you, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, the hem of your dress shamelessly steeped in several inches of mud. Even the Northern chill could not ice his bones in your presence, as warm as the sands of Dorne.

The both of you were caught within the throes of youthful affection and what he called it, love. It pained him all the more to consider the Night’s Watch when he had you at his side.

“You do not have to follow me, Jon,” You countered, one hand twined with his, steering the doe-eyed boy back into the stables, enough for partial concealment. This was as reckless as it seemed — but you cared little for it. “You can always turn around.”

A pleading groan rippled from his throat, yet Jon relented, chasing after you like a wolf nipping at your heels. “What happens if we’re discovered? Your brother would take my head for this.” He murmured.

The thought of Jory Cassel dismantling his head from his shoulders was a gruesome thought — but not before Eddard Stark got to him first. Jon shuddered, dark brows creased with permanent frustration.

“Gods, you worry like an old crone,” Your bubbling laughter made his chest stir with warmth, the sensation spreading toward his stomach. “Why, you don’t trust me?” You suggested.

With furrowed brows, Jon’s countenance told a different story, one of incessant fear and boyish nerves, ones that only flourished in your presence. He seemed to accept defeat. “I do trust you.” He insisted.

Inching closer, you pressed a palm against his chest, nail picking at the finely-crafted leather. “We don’t have long,” You murmured, tone betraying your playful facade. “I wish it weren’t always like this.”

Jon exhaled, a somewhat trembling noise that finally evened out as moments ticked by. He reached to cup your jaw, calloused thumb soothingly stroking at your cheek. “Someday, it won’t be. I promise.”

The constant sneaking around had become exhausting — Jon was shocked that no one had discovered you yet. Even then, as much as he fought against brash decisions like these, it was all you had, and he would seize the moment.

With a cheshire smile, you rocked up upon your toes to kiss Jon, reveling in the sensation of his weeks-old stubble scratching your skin. You enjoyed his rugged appearance more than that of a freshly-shaved boy.

Sometimes you forgot that he was nine-and-ten, more a man now than boy — but that was who you’d fallen in-love with, the boy. Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell.

He could’ve been anything and nothing, and your feelings wouldn’t have changed. A bastard or not, Jon meant more to you than most. He was kinder, not spoiled or surly, yet still protective when it mattered most.

Jon very nearly buckled beneath the saccharine warmth of your mouth, absorbing every scrap of heat from you. Gods, you were the first woman he’d ever touched, ever laid with — he hoped that you would be the very last.

Your experience before he truly became your lover never soured him to you — in fact, it made him jealous. If Jon had it his way, he would’ve been your first for everything, but there was no use in dwelling in the past.

Fortune favored him, knowing that he had you now. His hands, initially hesitant, finally made their perch against the swell of your hips. The lovely outline of your body molded itself to his palms as you kissed him, digits toying with his dark curls.

“You could change your mind,” Your softened voice drifted between the both of you. “About me.” It was a gentle sigh in between kisses, your countenance becoming a touch melancholy.

A look of complete and utter shock made residence upon Jon’s features, lips agape at such a statement. “I wouldn’t,” He insisted, hooking an arm around your hips. “You know that I wouldn’t.”

Jon knew your being like the scrawlings of a map — every fine line, every landscape, the valleys and dips of your heart. You knew him just as much, and you knew that he was certain about you. It gave you comfort, placating reassurance in the face of insecurities.

It brought you solace to know that Jon intended on being with you, even if your union was somewhat unconventional. It was a love whispered between corridors — stolen glances, a yearning that transcended duty, touching behind hay bales.

“Good,” Your assertion made his belly erupt with fire, stoked by your constant teasing and prodding. Jon savored it nonetheless, even if it did make his features burn with scarlet. “Are you blushing?”

Seven Hells — Jon nearly tossed you into the hay for your inquiry. He huffed, playfully pinching the pliant part of your haunch. “No,” He grumbled, silently commiserating over your observant nature. “But you don’t make it any better.”

With a laugh as bright as the first inkling of springtime, it prompted Jon to smile too, even if it was threadbare. A comfortable silence drifted between you both, simmering with a thinly-veiled tension, wreathed in desire.

Desire was a perilous thing, especially for Jon.

He was still somewhat clumsy during your lovemaking, inexperience glimmering through, but he was an adept learner. Jon thoroughly enjoyed learning your body as one would learn to wield a broadsword.

The ardor that glistened within your hues made his heart pound like a hammer against an anvil, steel to be molded by your capable hands. He was often the more subservient one in your union, not that he minded it.

Jon seemed content to become lost within your gaze, reduced to a mere pup. Swallowing the growing lump within his throat, he bent to kiss you, disarmingly gentle as he squeezed at your hips.

A beat fluttered between the both of you; love blossomed, yet lust flourished like a swiftly-spreading fire. Soft fingers found their purchase against the nape of his neck, preening through his dark curls.

Beams of a dying sun pooled in from the gaps in the wood, painting your features with burnished gold. It was nearly dusk, and the castle would be settling — Jon’s incessant worrying began to diminish altogether.

Lips tangled together, a sweet dance that stole every wisp of air from his lungs. Jon felt your palms glide downward, planting themselves against his chest as you wordlessly directed him to the firm bales of straw.

“Wait,” Jon rasped, voice hoarse with desperation. Before you could slip into his lap, you ceased, head cocking to one side. “I want to taste you first.” He wanted it more than anything else.

A coy smile caused your lips to quirk, and you sauntered backwards a step or two, back hitting the wall of the stables. Brazenly, you gathered the material of your dress in one hand, slipping it up along your legs.

Jon did not waste a second, moving off of the straw and onto his knees, crawling to you like a starving animal; a wolf on all fours. Those dark hues of his sparkled with affection, even as he parted your legs with his shoulders.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, greedy laps causing you to shiver in delight. Nimble digits found their way to his crown of curls, coaxing him closer. “Jon.” You sighed his name as if it were a prayer.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, the sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Jon sloppily lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into your tattered skirts, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Jon wasn’t tactful nor graceful, but passion and enthusiasm was all he really needed to please you. Each kiss he placed against your cunt drove you to madness, arching into the eager ministrations of his mouth.

If he were to perish, let it be between your thighs, exactly like this. An aching sensation throbbed along his length, straining against his leather trousers. He gripped your thigh, letting you rest one leg atop his shoulder.

The scratch of his stubble caused friction between his cheek and your thighs, yet it was a pleasant sting. You sang Jon’s praises, a myriad of hushed whines and wanton moans between the distant whistling of the Northern gales.

Warmth blossomed throughout your body, a familiar coil of heat unfurling within the pit of your stomach. A stab of pleasure struck at your nethers when Jon’s tongue briefly rolled over your clit, prompting you to tug on his curls.

A low groan rippled through his throat, reverberating as a grunt throughout his chest. He savored your taste, each twitch of your thigh, brusque tug of his tresses from your greedy hand.

Jon cared little for the mess, content to drink you in, rougher palm caressing against your thigh before trailing down to your calf. He squeezed again, to ensure that you were real and not some lascivious fantasy he’d dreamt of.

You were everything — flesh and blood, the lament that echoed his name, a lover so beautiful that he dared not look away. Jon did not consider himself a romantic, but he found himself putting in the effort with you.

He devoured you like a man starved, a hungry wolf, seeking its final meal. Jon continued to trace your cunt with his tongue, kissing you wherever he could. Your little tugs of his tresses often coaxed him further into your heat.

As his lips rolled over the pearl of your cunt again, your knees buckled, ecstasy mounting, electrifying your very veins. He did not cease, tongue stoking the fire, delighted to lap at your core until you forced him to stop.

Tugging at his tousled curls, you pried Jon away from you, flushed with a delicious shade of scarlet. Warmth permeated your skin, a heat that sank into your bones, kept you oblivious to the growing cold that came with dusk.

His chin glistened with your slick, pliant lips seeking your mouth. “You are so handsome.” You purred, watching Jon preen beneath the softness of your compliment. You thought him to be perfect in every way imaginable.

Rising to his feet, Jon did not resist when you began to push him back toward the bale of straw, palm planted against his chest as he sat. He was more than willing, peering up at you through thick lashes.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon reciprocated your kindly words, timbre steeped in an awestruck appreciation for you. His breath hitched within his throat when you slid into his lap, hitching your skirts up towards your hips. “Seven Hells.” He groaned.

Excitable hands grasped your hips once more, brazenly sinking towards your derrière as you kissed him. Jon’s sigh was audible as he returned such a heated kiss, brows creased in concentration.

There was a lack of uncertainty in his actions, and in the beginning, he was often unsteady and hesitant. Now, Jon touched you greedily, wanting more of you, savoring the sensation of your body pressed so closely to his.

Able to taste your own nectar upon his tongue, you allowed one hand to clasp at the nape of his neck, the other slyly working to slip beneath his tunic. Jon was growing in muscle, flesh as pale as a moonlit snowfall, broad-shouldered and comely.

Your dress would be riddled with pieces of hay in the aftermath, but it was all worth it. Your kisses were rather domineering, but disarmingly gentle. Perhaps your desire to take initiative always lingered in your entanglements, but your love for him never faded.

Jon let his kiss linger, lips pressing to your jaw, and then to your throat. A shiver iced your spine with anticipation, hand traveling from beneath his tunic toward the laces of his trousers.

It was then that you scanned his features for any hints of hesitation or uncertainty. “Do you want this, even still?” You uttered, lips tugging into a reassuring smile. He did not seem as nervous as before.

With a nod, he reached to cup your jaw, pressing a chaste kiss to your brow. “More than anything.” The rasp within his tender tone filled your stomach with an eruption of butterflies, gooseflesh tingling along your skin.

There was certainly no rush, but with daylight burning and Jon expected to be in his quarters soon, you began to act with haste.

Eager fingers unraveled the coase ties of his breeches, with Jon attempting to aid you wherever he could. With bated breath, you looked to him, brimming with a thinly-veiled adoration.

His hands held your hips, allowing you to maneuver yourself as you saw fit, freeing his cock from its confines. You hovered, soft palm guiding his length to your slick cunt. Jon inhaled — a sharp, poignant noise that signaled relief.

“Jon,” You moaned, grasping for his broad shoulders, still shrouded in leather. Gods, you wished you could see him bare, unobstructed — he was surely a ravishing sight. “Gods, I missed you.”

Jon groaned at the sweetness of your words, spoken through a wanton moan. He held you close, hands tracing the outline of your curvaceous physique through your gowns.

Twilight painted the skies above Winterfell, bringing with it the bitter bite of nightly chill and a canvas of stars above. Darkness settled in throughout the stables, save for the burning of dying braziers within the stables.

Even through such slim illumination, Jon could make out your countenance, a picture of beauty, contorted into a look of bliss. He was at your mercy, slumped back against some of the bales, letting you ride him as you would a broken gelding.

Intermingled noises of breathy moans and strenuous pants reverberated in the space around you, heat prevailing where the cold could not.

Jon shuddered at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of your hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together.

It was a sluggish start, agonizingly so, bodies finding moments to adjust to one another, grow accustomed. You drew yourself up, his cock filling you in such a pleasant way, nothing discomforting about it.

The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

The very image of grace, tarnished with lust; a maiden worth worshiping. Jon huffed, chest erupting with a string of pants and soft groans, lips agape as you adopted a steady rhythm.

His hands caressed circles into your hips, dark hues wide and mesmerized, doelike in their silent appraisal of you. Through the moonlit dusk of the stables, you met his gaze, blushing beneath the intensity of it.

A whimper of bliss bubbled from your lips as you became invigorated in your pace, rocking yourself up and down along his cock, aided by his grasp upon your hips.

The lewd, crass union of flesh against flesh joined the ambiance, yet all he could focus on was you, the lovestruck look within your eyes, exuberance glittering beneath. He kneaded along your thighs, squeezing when the pleasure mounted.

“Perfect,” A soft sputtering between exhilarated breaths, enough to ensnare Jon’s attention. “Gods, Jon, you’re perfect.” Such wanton praise nearly made him spill his seed into you then and there.

His hips stuttered, bucking off of the bale and right into you, cock reaching new depths. It made you moan, significantly noisier this time, enough for Jon to become mildly concerned about someone investigating.

A familiar coil of heat began to unfurl within the pit of your stomach, just as it did his own. Jon sat up enough to seize your lips in a kiss, one that blossomed with passion, letting his affections bleed through.

Your pace was tantalizing, nothing too swift to let it feel sloppy and rushed, yet fervent enough to make his head swim with the haze of desire. Jon’s mouth did not part from yours until you drew away, only to release another moan.

Jon fought against his release, not wanting it to end so quickly, stomach tight as could be. He let out a string of sighs, vocalizing your comeliness, digits squeezing into your hip once more.

“Don’t stop.” He huffed, and if he could plead with you, he would’ve. Your current rhythm was perfect, made to torment him as you sank yourself down upon his cock again.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, crying out to the heavens.

It was your release that came first, and it was swift — the intensity of it nearly blinded you, white-hot and sticky as you began to still. The tightness of your cunt sent Jon cascading over the edge.

Jon’s swift thinking caused you to move off of him, with seconds to spare as he spilled himself across your thighs, ropes of seed painting your flesh. Embarrassment rippled through him, but you understood why he didn’t come undone inside of you.

Chests rose and fell with labored sighs, basking in the aftermath of your tryst. Pieces of straw had stuck themselves to your dress, to his clothing, to his dusky curls.

It was difficult not to let your seriousness diminish in the wake of your orgasm, body tingling with such bliss. You couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of this — the stables, the disheveled hay, your recklessness.

He found himself smiling with you, dutifully assisting in cleaning his seed off of your thighs with the handkerchief tucked away within his tunic. Your shared joy brought him comfort.

“What will Lord Stark think of your unkempt state?” You teased, plucking golden twigs of hay from his hair, nose wrinkled with mild amusement. “Romping around in the hay?”

Jon huffed, eyes crinkling with mirth as he pulled you in for a kiss, allowing it to linger, knowing that he would be parted from you soon enough. “If I’m lucky, Lord Stark won’t see me.” He mused.

You would pray to the Old Gods that Jon was not accosted by his stern-faced father. “If you’re unlucky?” It was not something that Jon wanted to consider, but he did for the sake of your playful inquiry.

“We’ll have to find a different location.”

[ezrazone]

i was so frightened when i saw the fires outside al aqsa martyr’s hospital in the center of the strip. a hospital still standing, one of the last, named in honor of the palestinian dead.

this is where my dearest friend mohamed, his wife manal, and these three beautiful children have been sheltering. i waited in dread and fear to learn if these children were among the human beings burned alive. i couldn’t eat. i paced and shook.

when the intensification of the genocide on palestine began on october 7th, 2023 (a continuation of the nakbas, “catastrophes” “disasters” that the illegitimate entity has visited upon the people of the land since its inception less than a hundred years ago), i struggled to pray.

god seemed all around in the silence, but i felt insecure at the prospect of shouting into that darkness with all of my heart. it seemed petty, somehow - what did i have to pray for? my ancestors escaped a catastrophe in europe. many, many died, but enough survived to drop me in this white skin in the richest country in the world. what does a winner in a global bloodsport have to pray for?

as i have watched israel’s unmasking, it is as if the scales have fallen from my eyes with hashem. i know now that i cannot gaze upon the lord god’s silent face in the abyss but look instead upon my muslim brothers who are my own family. my own flesh and blood.

when i finally received a text from mohamed, i quietly left the room i had stood in and dropped to my knees in the quiet dark. there, i made god. here is god’s face:

how we care for these children. look into their eyes. how will you honor them? do you have a skill? will you write a song for them? draw a picture for them? so the world knows their story and loves them enough to tear this wretched world open and build one that keeps them safe?

my favorite drawings i have ever made are my drawings for mohamed’s family.

how do we meet what empire is doing to our family?

throw sand in its gears by any means necessary. love the living with all of your heart.

give your money away. it’s only money. give your time away. that’s what time is for. give your heart away. that’s what that’s for too.

Y'varekh'khah Adonai V'yishm'rekha; a free Falastin, B’ezrat Hashem, Adonai Adonai Amen.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Silk Ribbons

maegor x niece!reader

Summary: Maegor crashes Aenys name day tournament which turns into more blood. He shows up unannounced to the feast where he gives all of his attention to Y/n before taking her back to Dragonstone.

Warnings: 18+ death, blood, blades, swearing, wine, bondage, oral (f receiving), p in v, it’s a maegor the cruel fic like wtf else can i say

Authors Note: this was a request from my bestie 🫣😮‍💨, pls i’ve never really read maegor ff so i hope i did him justice

Word Count: 4.2k

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Servants rush around the Red Keep trying to get everything in order for the feast being held later this evening in celebration of my father’s name day. I’m whisked out of the castle followed by guards who escort me to my carriage. There’s three raps on the wood before we jolt forward venturing into the city.

My father insisted I come to the tourney even though I personally have no taste for it. Instead, I would have been content to host a great ball that lasted days. I sigh and look out the window watching the common folk slowly make their way to the tourney grounds. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what all these people see in such brazen acts of violence, and in the name of my father of all people.

The carriage slows as we push through the tourney grounds opening gates. We come to a stop near the entrance and my door opens. My guard escorts me through the doors and up the stairs to find my seat.

“Come, you’ll sit in front of me and your father.” my mother waves her hand to me.

I sigh as I make my way to the front row of chairs. I know these are the best seats but I have no idea why my parents would think I would want them. I look across the arena and see the seats quickly filling up. My father pats my shoulder on his arrival as he places his hands on the rails to begin making the opening announcement.

“Welcome and thank you all for joining the celebrations for my name day. Good luck to the brave knights, may you fight and win with honor!” my fathers raises his hands and the crowd begins to erupt.

As my father makes his way back to my mother the first two knights are called to the sands. After I hear him sigh and take his seat I allow myself to look off into the clouds and daydream. I lean back in my chair and to anyone else I look as if I’m enjoying the fight but instead I’m dreaming of flying through the clouds on dragonback.

The duels continue as I let my mind drift away. The clashes of swords are turned into dragon songs and the shouts form commands. The announcer calls two new knights to the sands and the crowd goes hushed as a third knight enters the sands.

“Is he mad for coming here?” my fathers voice breaks through as he speaks to his guard.

I shake my head and scan the sands in front of me. The only thing that seems to be happening is the announcer speaking to the third knight. I tilt my head studying them as my father hushes his quick words to the guard. I gasp and grab my chest as the knight strikes the announcer in the face, who falls to the sand not getting up. Guards rush to the announcer as the knight stalks over to us.

“Brother,” the knights deep voice carries up to us. “I will have a place at this tournament.” he points his sword up to the box.

“Go back to Dragonstone, Maegor.” my father calls down to him.

I scoot up to the edge of my seat to try and look upon my uncle. I haven’t seen him in ages but it seems if his temperament hasn’t changed. I lean forward and peek over the rails at him as he rips his helmet off and throws it up at my father. My father ducks barely escaping the flying metal but trips over me in the process.

“Guards, get Y/n out of here.” my father fumes as he rises once more.

I’m pulled up by my arms and I quickly turn to look down at Maegor before they hide me away. Our eyes lock on one another quickly before the guard harshly pulls my arm, jerking my body. Maegors eyes narrow on the guard who’s currently tugging me away from him.

“You let that man handle her like that?” Maegors voice rumbles against the walls.

The guard pulls me down the stairs and we hear continued shouts coming from the hall. Loud footsteps stomp down the stairs and the guard begins to pull me away even faster. I sigh in relief as my carriage makes its way into my sight and I practically sprint to it. The guards hand loosens as hear a slash of metal through bone.

For a moment my breathing stops as I think I’ve been struck as I felt the shutter of the blade. My eyes widen as I turn and take in the scene. Maegor is standing there holding Blackfyre with the guards blood dripping off of it. I look down to my arm as the guards dismembered arm falls to the ground. My eyes then travel to the guard who is on the ground in a state of panic and shock before he goes completely still.

“He should not have touched you like that.” Maegor sheaths his sword, looking to the body at his feet with disgust.

“Uncle,” my voice trembles as steps over the guard and comes to tower over me.

“You’ve become so beautiful, Y/n.” he brings fingers to ghost over my cheek.

My breathing intensifies at his gentle touch after he showed such violence. My eyes dart to the body behind him and he grabs my chin and forces me to look to him. His smile borderline predatory as he begins to lean down. My eyes go wide the closer his mouth comes to mine until he turns his head quickly to whisper something into my ear.

“Maegor you bull, what have you done?” my fathers voice booms behind us as he looks in horror at the guard.

“Did you not see the way your own guard was pulling her. She’ll have bruises come morning. Is this how a Princess should be treated?” he turns to my father tilting his head.

“Please do not use my daughter as an excuse for your wanton brutality.” my father storms over to him.

“Aenys, you don’t want this fight.” Maegors hands go to my father’s shoulders.

I don’t know what leads me to do it, but I place my hand on Maegors arm. He turns and looks down to me curiously as he allows me to remove his hands from my father. I turn to my father who looks from where my hand is placed on Maegor to me.

“Daughter, step away from him.” my father warns.

My hand slips from his armor as I slowly step back to my carriage. Maegor watches every step I take as my father watches him. I slip into the carriage and shut the doors behind me. I sigh out in relief and slide down into my pillowed seats.

The carriage begins to move and I look out my window to see Maegor watching as I’m pulled back through the city. I begin to fan myself off hoping the adrenaline will start to wash away. I find myself blushing at his words of calling me beautiful even though I shouldn’t. I’ve always secretly wished he would see me in that light instead of a child. His temper terrifies me, but Gods he is so handsome.

Once we make it through the gates of the Red Keep I’m escorted directly to my chambers. I huff claiming a chair not wanting to be sequestered here all day. After an hour I pick up a book to hopefully lose myself to another world until the feast begins.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

“Princess,” my mother’s soft voice lulls me out of my nap.

“No, did I miss the feast?” I quickly rise from the chair in a panic.

“I’ve come to check on you and to see if you still wanted to attend after today’s events.” she grabs my hand to rub soothing circles on it.

“Of course I want to go to the feast. They have been making my gown for almost a full moon.” I whine.

“I figured as much.” she chuckles as she goes to the doors to allow my handmaidens flood in.

I’m quickly stripped of my dress and lead over to the bath. Lavish oils and soaps are brought out and I hum in relaxation as I’m pampered to. My hair begins to be brushed and secured out of my face by a pale pink ribbon. I rise out of the tub when the water turns tepid and begin to dry off. I’m offered a new slip that seems to be made of the same silk as my ribbon.

I gasp as my gown is brought in for me to finally look upon. The gown is white but with all of the beading it looks as if it’s the soft pink of a morning sunrise. It fits closer to my body than I had originally thought but when looking in the mirror I admire it even more. The beads fade into crystals that flow up the neckline. They offer me a close fitting crystal necklace that brings out the rest of the details in the gown. After they place my earrings I’m guided out of my chambers and down to the dining hall.

“You look absolutely lovely.” my mother smiles as I join her on the dias.

“They outdid themselves with this gown.” I look down to admire it.

I take a sip of wine and take in the life and merriment around me. I look down to my father who seems happy enough but I can still see the lingering frustration. Servants come out and fill our plates once everyone has found their seats. The doors to the hall groan open and my father’s face turns red as Maegor saunters in.

“May I sit next to you, Y/n.” Maegor licks his lips looking down at me.

I nod my head as he pulls the chair out loudly next to me. Servants rush to fill his cup with wine as he continues to look at me. I feel my cheeks heat and I quickly turn back to my plate. I can feel my father’s eyes on me but I don’t have the courage to look anywhere besides my plate.

“You look ravishing in this dress.” Maegor purrs lowly.

“Thank you,” I murmur willing my cheeks not to tint as I take a sip of wine.

“Will you let me take it off of you later?” I cough at his low his words.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” my fathers voice laced with worry at my sudden coughing fit.

“Yes,” I nod clearing my throat attempted to offer him a smile.

My father huffs as we return to our meal. It seems as if the whole hall is blind to the tension radiating from our table. Laughter and toasts are shouted across the hall and all I can think of is Maegor who has slowly been inching his chair closer to mine. I try to ignore his closeness until his thigh is pressed against mine.

“Is there something you needed?” I turn and blink up at him.

“You,” his voice low as he looks down at me with dark eyes.

“Maegor-“

“Come, let’s dance.” he rises above me and offers me his hand and I can see my father turn to us with a scrunched brow.

I place my hand in his palm as his fingers engulf mine. He pulls me down to dance as a new song begins. He pulls me flush against his body and I squeak in surprise. His hand continues to hold mine while his other goes firmly to my lower back. My hand rises to his chest as I look up to him.

He holds me possessively as he stares down any man who looks too closely. My eyes land on my father who is currently seething next to my mother who looks worried. I squirm in Maegors arms as his fingers trail up my spine and bury themselves into my hair. He tilts my head so I’m looking up at him as a smirk spreads across his face.

“You’re going to ruin my hair.” I whine breathlessly.

“Apologies,” he chuckles as his hand slides down to rest on my neck.

We continue to sway to the music and I allow my hand to travel across the expanse of muscle that is his chest. I can feel the dips and definitions through his doublet and can’t begin to imagine what they look like in all their glory. I feel his laugh rumble in his chest before I hear it. I tilt my head as I look up to him.

“Do you enjoy my muscles?” he smiles down at me.

“You’re just so strong.” I whisper as I squeeze his bicep allowing my hands to travel the muscle hidden beneath his sleeves shamelessly.

I gasp as he lifts me into the air as my hands wrap around his neck. He begins to walk towards the main doors while I look over his shoulder and see my father shoot to his feet. He looks to us in confusion and doubt until he sees our path is to exit. He shouts to the guards but it’s too late. I can’t help the excitement and adrenaline that flows through me.

He gets us out of the Keep through a back way I’ve never seen or heard of. Before I know it he’s pulling us on a horse and racing us to the outskirts of the city. I feel the low grumbling of the ground before my feet even touch it as Maegor lifts me back to the ground. My breath escapes me as I behold Balerion.

“Maegor,” I look to him with wide eyes.

“You’ll always be safe when you’re with me.” his words are soft as he begins ushering me over to the rope to climb his massive dragon.

He climbs directly behind of me which offers me some semblance of comfort. As I reach the saddle my head spins as I look down. Maegor settles behind me and quickly grabs the reins. Balerion rises to his full height as I tremble in his arms. He begins to break into a run as we start to take flight.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

We are soon circling Dragonstone as Balerion lets out a fearsome growl. As he descends on the rocky shore some of them begin shaking in his presence. Once we settle I soon realize he wasn’t just shaking the ground, he was waking Vhagar. Gods these dragons make the Red Keep look like a cottage.

Once we make it to the sands he grabs my hand and we begin our walk into the castle. As we make it to the main doors I begin to make out the image of Visenya. She smiles to me but glares to Maegor.

“What have you done, you fool?” she looks to him.

“Found a bride. You told me I should marry and secure my line.” he shrugs as I gape at him.

“It seems as if this is the first time your bride is hearing of this.” he replies curtly.

“Well I planned to woo her with my tongue for a couple of hours before I asked.” his words cause a blush to creep up my neck.

“Must you be so foul?” Visenya scoffs at him. “What is your plan for when Aenys comes to get her?” he raises her eyebrows.

“He’d be a fool to face me. We will be wed on the morrow. He can’t take my wife away from me.” he pulls me closer to his side.

My head is spinning with this discussion. I feel as if I don’t have a say in the matter but I’m not upset at the outcome. I worry for what my father and mother will think but they’ve been asking me to marry for years. I shake my head trying to bring myself back to the present as Maegor begins pulling me into the castle.

He rushes us up the stairs and seals us behind a set of double doors. He turns and stalks over to me grabbing at my waist and pulling me to him. He looks down to me as his hands move to the back of my gown.

“Do not rip this gown Maegor. It took almost a moon to make.” I try to make my voice sound firm.

“Mm,” his fingers begin to slowly unlace the back of my gown.

His fingers ghost along my back as he loosens the gown. He steps back and pushes the gown down my shoulders causing it to pool around my feet. I’m left in my silk slip and I begin to feel as if I’m left in nothing by the way he’s looking at me. One of his hands goes to my hair and pulls the ribbon out causing my hair to cascade down my back.

“Do you always match your hair piece with your slip?” he asks lowly as he trails the ribbon along my arm.

I shake my head not trusting my words as I shiver under his touch. His hand travels back down to my waist and splays across my bare thigh. I look up to him with low lids as his hand begins to move to my inner thighs. I grab on tightly to his arm as he trails a finger along my slit. My breaths come out in pants as he continues his journey through my wetness.

“On the bed.” he looks down to me as he removes his hands.

I compose myself enough to turn and walk to the bed. I crawl to the middle of the bed and lay on my back as he begins to crawl over me. His hand trails up my body with my ribbon following. He dips down and when I think he’s finally about to kiss me he whispers into my ear.

“Hands above your head.” I whimper at his words and do as I’m told.

He brings my ribbon up to my wrists and secures them to the headboard before he rises above me. He looks at me with a sinister smirk and I clench my thighs in anticipation. He hums as he looks at me completely at his will. He stalks around the bed looking at me before he settles next to me.

His hands trail up my bare leg as he lifts my slip with his hands and bunches it up above my breasts. He groans as he takes in my body and his hands begin to travel over every inch of skin. My eyes shut as his hands continue to snake around my body pulling soft whines from me.

“Maegor,” his name falls from my mouth as he pinches one of my nipples between his rough fingers.

“Mm, you like a little pain?” he coos as his other hand cups my other breast roughly.

A moan tears through me as I squeeze my legs shut. He chuckles lowly as I begin to feel his beard across my chest as he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. My chest arches up into his mouth as his teeth tease my sensitive bud.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun.” he says arrogantly as he blows on my nipple.

He trails sloppy kisses down my torso and begins to pepper kisses along my hips. My hips jerk up as his tongue begins to dance on my hot skin. He spreads my thighs and groans as he’s greeted by my wet core. He dives down and his tongue begins to lap at my clit. My hands tug at the headboard causing it to groan as he chuckles into me.

My hips grind against his face seeking more pleasure until his hands land on my hips stilling me. He attacks my clit with his tongue as a moan tears through me as pleasure bursts through my body. He looks up to me from between my thighs licking his lips.

My chest is rapidly rising and falling between us and he dips back down to my sensitive core. He offers soft licks at my clit sending jolts through my body as he teases a finger at my entrance. He slowly pushes a thick finger into me ripping a moan from my lips.

“Maegor, please,” I whine as he slowly starts to pump his finger slowly.

His tongue swirls against my clit as his finger starts a fast rhythm. My thighs try to close around his head again but this time he ignores it as he focuses on my pleasure. As my whimpers fall faster he slowly starts to add a second finger. I cry out as I clench around his fingers and allow him to pull pleasure from my body.

His name is the only word that falls from my lips as I come undone around his fingers. He continues pumping into me as my legs quake around him. He pulls back and hoovers above me with a wet beard. My legs shut once he rises off the bed and I look to him with low lids.

“You will be my wife.” It is a statement as he pulls off his shirt.

“Yes,” I nod still trying to catch my breath as I drink in his bare chest and the muscles that he’s showing off.

“Say it.” he says lowly as he begins to unlace his trousers.

“I will be your wife.” my voice unwavering.

He pushes his trousers the rest of the way down and crawls above me on the bed. His hands spread open my thighs once more as he settles between them. I gasp as I feel him glide through my wetness. He dips down and I crane my neck hoping to finally kiss him. He smiles and pulls back much to my frustration.

“Maegor,” I whine.

“Yes?” he chuckles as he kisses across my chest and makes his way to my neck.

“Untie me, please, I want to touch you.” my voice needy as I arch my body into his.

“Since you asked so nicely.” he sucks on my neck as he slowly unties my wrists.

My hands fly to his bare skin caressing and feeling every muscle I can reach. His hips slowly rock into mine causing him to slide against my clit. My nails dig into his shoulder as he bites down onto my neck. He raises his head above mine and I move my hands to his neck to hopefully pull him down into a kiss.

The second his lips touch mine I melt into him completely. My fingers travel to his short locks as I pull him closer to me. Maegor groans as he slowly begins to push into me as a sigh falls from my lips. I’ve never felt this full before. He looks down at me with a furrowed brow and I can tell he’s holding back until I can fully adjust. Once it becomes tolerable I move my hips and he snaps his back into mine.

His pace is brutal that has my eyes rolling into the back of my head. Moans and whimpers fall from my lips as he pounds into me seeking pleasure. His lips find mine again and his tongue begins to lash against mine. He pulls back and looks at my face as his fingers begin to circle my clit.

“Maegor, Maegor please,” I sob as I come around him while he continues to push into me.

His lips crash to mine roughly as his hips repeatedly snap into mine. His teeth catch my bottom lip as I cry out. My fingers claw at his arms for support as he continues to pull pleasure from me. His trusts become sloppy as his fingers make their way back to my clit again. My vision blurs as I explode around him once more. He settles deep in me as I feel him begin to fill me.

“So fucking good for me. My perfect Princess.” he grunts as he continues to grind his hips into mine.

“My husband,” my words barely audible as I continue to cling to him.

He flips us over remaining in me saying he wants to be as close as possible. My body and mind too tired, I simply let my eyes flutter shut as I drift off to sleep.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist 🔌

[xoxo-surfergirl]

dawn of winter

aemond targaryen x fem!stark!reader

abstract: just moons ago, the realm was at peace and you were stealing kisses with aemond in the red keep. now, the dance of the dragons has begun, aemond has arrived at winterfell knowing your brother would bend to rhaenyra, and nothing feels certain. themes: winter vibes, lovers to enemies to lovers, light smut, romance, angst (because they enemies!), forbidden romance if you squint, hand stuff, you are lady stark, aemond goes for what he wants, the northman not being happy abt it

lucy's notes: ao3 link. just a little something for the new year :) the north is cold and that is my holiday connection 😤 (that's what i'm telling myself because I really wanted to write SOMETHING for this time of year but didn't fully know what). jacaerys did not leave for his mission quick enough and aemond beat him to winterfell 🫢 cregan still hates him tho. and since aemond didn't go to the stormlands lucerys lives too. this will probably be a one shot, though I started a short epilogue which might be posted. it's just an excuse for romance and vibes. i hope you enjoy this story! any interaction is deeply appreciated <3

word count: 7.2k

What little sun there was fettered a white glow in the ever-churning snowfall. The winds of winter had begun their journey south from beyond the wall just a few moons ago, but their strength had built furiously since then. The treetops hadn’t seen a pale morning’s dawn in over three moons, and the wolf’s choir had grown in numbers near Moat Cailin. The elders of Wintertown had spoken of a harsh winter then, noting the heavy fog in late summer, thicker tails on the burrow rats, and tougher skins on the onions. 

It had certainly come. The storm that had hung low over Winterfell, carrying all the way from Castle Cerwyn to Deepwood Motte, had settled thick winds and heavy snows on every stone, tree, and fort. And to mark the special occasion, the Great Hall of the castle would be set alight for winterfest. 

All families of bannermen were being called to share in the centuries honored tradition of hosting a great feast and celebration in honor of the coming snows. And, as happenstance may have it, there was urgency to discuss the matter of succession in the south. 

As if the usurpation of your Queen wasn’t enough, unexpected guests had descended upon Winterfell. One of which had bronze wings as wide as a small keep, and another bearing a halo of Targaryen silver hair. 

Upon your return home, you had dreamed of a moment like this: Vhagar bared in the snow, each frozen flake blistering against her scaled skin. A mountain of her own, even the closest ground to her steaming from her eternal heat. 

But things were not as they were those moons ago, hands and touch lingering under the beat of the southern sun. The water there had been warm enough to swim in, ankles brushing against the lapping tongues of the break and toes worming through the sand. There was no snow, and the realm was united. 

The men had armed themselves at the sight of her shadow, hands gripping their weapons tight. Movement in the castle was always a flurry of feet, but now all were either frozen or frenzied at the arrival. All the feelings of summer pooled in your belly, the taint of winter now upon them. Shouts of men filled the battlements, calling for the warden of the north to meet the crown prince of the realm, the unspoken part following in silence: brother to the usurper. Your belly sank, dragging your heart with it. 

Any pleasant thoughts of Aemond’s arrival had long faded the moment a raven had arrived from White Harbor. Things were different now. Vhagar’s proximity to the gates of the castle had to be an intentional act of dominance, her wings spread to their fullest length in a show of size and prowess. The thought certainly soured things more than they already were. 

Men in heavy blue wools and leathers ran past you, gathering at all posts. Servants gathered the young children and corralled them inside. Your feet caught on the ground, unsure whether you should run or join the entourage gathering to meet him. Watching from above, you could see the doormen heeding orders to open the gates to the castle, hesitation in their every crank of the pulley for what awaited them on the other side. As the gate lifted, so did what felt like your last defenses, no matter how meager they felt against a dragon. 

The Umbers and Flints flanked your brother on their exit from the Great Keep, and you knew you must act now. It calmed you to watch them: each northman walked with pride, furs sitting as a second skin against their long dark hair. It was a show of strength you needed, though you were sure you were not alone. 

Your boots clicked in a scurry down the steps of the battlements, pushing hurriedly past any servant or workman that stood in your way. Ultimately, you decided that if Aemond did have any care left for you, your presence might de-escalate any arising tension. By the time you had entered the courtyard, the east gate had opened and Aemond stood as one against many in greeting. 

A black fur sat wide on his shoulders, but the large cloak that fell beneath it hardly concealed the hilt of the swords he carried at each hip. He looked every bit as lethal as his dragon’s head rearing over the gates. Your heart ached against your rational judgement at the sight of him, and you slowed your movements. 

A figure made in the image of Gods, you were sure of it. Imagining his silver hair and sharpness in your mind’s eye did no service to the beacon of beauty he was in the flesh. For a moment, it was summer again, and your stomach bubbled in cheerful anticipation and not caution. 

Tentatively, you emerged from behind your brother’s side, snow crunching lightly beneath your boots. The moment he noticed you, the air turned warmer. 

“My Lady Stark,” he bowed to you, his eye fixed loyally to yours. 

It was beneath him to honor you with a bow. Your belly twinged at the thought of him being so brazen, and the eyes that gazed upon you with a new peculiar interest. 

The formalities felt foreign and out of place, but arising more suspicion with familiarities felt worse. “Prince Aemond, I welcome you to my home.” 

Before another word could be spoken, Cregan placed a firm hand on the back of your shoulder. “The prince is here to talk over some official matters. Come, let us get warm inside.” 

Introductions were passed away from you, Cregan continuing his tight lead on your shoulder. 

Northern furs suit him quite well, you thought.

—

The sun had long descended over the hills, the icy night’s breath beyond the wall welcoming anyone who stepped outside. The Great Hall was adorned in pine wreaths and winter berries, and cedar cones and noble fir dressing for the festivities. Candle holders layered upon another to flay light across the walls, the wax of days upon moons dripping down the sides of the holders like heavy icing on cakes. 

It felt like ages since all of the Stark bannermen had been together, and old friends across families traded stories and card games over spiced ale and honey mead. The raucous had already begun, the succession crisis and Aemond’s presence be damned. 

But you were less immune than the others to southron matters. If it was any other night, you would have abandoned your seat to join the Mormonts the moment dessert had been served. You had hardly flinched from your seat, Aemond sitting on the other side of Cregan. 

It wasn’t just you that struggled to enjoy the festivities. Rickon sat solemnly, and though you couldn’t see her, you could feel Alysanne’s itch from across the table. In your memory, there had not been a sup as tense as the one before you now. Not even during the most raucous moments of Bennard’s regency. 

From what you could see, Aemond sat chin up at your brother’s right hand in the Great Hall, daring to meet the eye of anyone who looked directly at him for too long. 

Did he remember? Joining in the merriment felt far as Aemond’s closeness held your mind and heart in the great bind that you had all fallen into at the defiance of Aegon’s coronation. Between the warmth of your southron days in a peaceful realm and the uncertain tidings of the inevitability of your families splitting across enemy lines, your stomach turned at the matters in Aemond’s head. 

Cregan stood, the jolly room following the attention of their liege loyally. “Prince Aemond Targaryen has graced us with his presence for our winter festivities.” 

“The honor is mine to be in the north at such an important time.” At his own recognition he stood, raising his cup. 

“Hear, hear!” Cregan cheered, the tension in his jaw visible to no one but you. Cups flew in celebration, horns clattering and ale spilling. With a signalling of his hand, the bards began fiddling with strings and bells. 

Dismissing himself from the table in what you knew was an act meant to soothe himself before he swung Ice at the nearest unlucky post, your brother stepped down to greet the Reeds. Mulled wine danced in your cup, the dark purple echoing cinnamon and anise. There was now nothing between you and Aemond besides the empty chair of the head of house Stark. The hearths were lit—the giant towering stone was hardly cold—but there was no stopping the twinge of a shiver. 

So many words had been shared before Aegon had stolen the crown, and you wondered if he remembered all of them. It had been moons since you had seen each other last, and there was no promise of what played in his intentions anymore. 

Your mouth was in front of your head. “These are curious times, but winter comes anyway. The one force we must all bow to.” 

“And you celebrate instead of damning it?” 

You had imagined begging the gods to bring you two together again. But winds can switch within weeks, days even. It was a child’s folly, or a wish upon a monkey’s paw—you couldn’t decide which. 

“Aye, we do. The longer nights, nature calls us to rest and gain our strength,” you paused.  “We could stare at it for the death it brings, but it’s more than that.”  

“Hmm,” his eye washed over the scene below: jubilant dancers shedding their furs, others shoving their faces with cranberry roast goose while the songs bounced in the high halls of the winter kings. There was a carefree nature of your fellow northmen that you had never seen in the south, and you wondered if the warmth built up more layers than it shed. 

“I know you southerners don’t understand our ways. I’m sure this is very new to you.” 

He turned, eye dancing over your face. “I find it interesting.” 

Dragons rarely came north. Aemond stood lone. 

Perhaps it was the merry presence of all those you loved dearly, or the choke of death you could sense from miles away, but the distance between you and Aemond felt treacherous. Or worse, traitorous. 

You met Aemond’s eye. For so long, he had been a figure in your mind, his presence almost a hypothetical. He existed in a warmer land, one where the sun and sea sparkled off of one another and the dirt sprouted grass and red brick rose the heights of the cliffs to the heavens. Crisis in the south were always so far away, great rivers and mountain passes requiring over a moon’s journey lying between. But he was here now: skin flickering in the flames burning not for light but for warmth as well, Targaryen silver hair feathered down his back like the hands of a ghost, scar dividing his face, as beautiful as the day you had first seen him. 

He studied you just the same. Between you, wintry tunes twiddled by the practiced fingers of the musicians sung of the kings of winter, slayers of skinchangers and defenders of what lies beyond the wall, the keepers of knowledge that southerners can not begin to grasp find their home here carried through your blood. 

This was your time to share those stories, celebrate the old kings and the promise of winter’s darkness with the singers and all of those that had gathered here for what is thoroughly a northerner’s celebration. Yet here you were at an invisible crossroads with the prince of the realm who would not stand to be denied in mind or matter. His royal blood continuously pulled at you to attend as if you were still in the Red Keep and not in your very own halls. 

A Targaryen or two had visited Winterfell once, though the last was under much less grievous circumstances. Alysanne’s was the last dragon to brave the frozen lands, her and Jaehaerys on a true diplomatic mission with no threat of doom hanging over their heads. 

You lot were wolves, fur thick and jaws tight, sturdy and hard enough to endure the ice—and yet dragons cowed the winter kings. Aemond’s presence was a cold reminder of that. Dragonfire had never teased Winterfell with ash, but the threat of it lingered now like a stubborn ember in the hearth ready to erupt if a nasty draught came through. 

Cregan settled back to the table, his face stern and carrying judgement. He took his seat between you once more, dissolving your attentions.

“My father swore an oath to Rhaenyra,” he began, unbreaking of his eye contact and at a level only detectable by those sitting closest to him. “A Stark never forgets an oath. I would have assumed our reputation would be well met.” 

“I understand this, Lord Stark.” Aemond began. There was no hesitation spared from the proud dragon prince. “I simply wanted to make our stances official in the name of the crown.” 

Apprehension and distrust hung in the low firelight. The bells beat on behind the attention of the table, singers caroling the haunt of winter between the silence of the prince and the lord. 

“Your dragon may be fierce, my prince, but we will not be intimidated.” At Cregan’s declaration, you could feel the ears of the northmen sitting the closest to your table perk up, straightening their backs and harden their own faces—an assertion of pride and a foregoing of the fear that painstakingly had etched itself in their movements at Vhagar’s every grumble. 

“I do not seek to intimidate you. Only to draw our lines.” Aemond sat back in his chair, eyeing you. 

“Very well then. Our lines are drawn.” Cregan’s brow tensed, and you knew he was biting down hard in restraint. 

The singers sang their songs of winter’s past, and the promise of an eventual spring. 

—

“He wants us to see that fire breathing monster—

“He’s come to sabotage our army, or count our numbers, or—” 

“Aye, I don’t trust him. There’s something not quite right, the Targaryen madness—” 

The hour was late. Spittle had spattered across the table, fists flying, heads nodding, voices climbing higher and higher to be heard. The bards had returned to Wintertown, and all the celebration left with them. The northmen were restless, and understandably so with bellies full of too much ale and a dubious dragon prince lurking in the halls.  All you lot had prayed the days of clandestine meetings were over once Cregan took the seat of Winterfell, but it had been too soon to hope. 

Volleys of theories here or there made their rounds back and forth from all ends of the table. A pack of barking dogs was no better than the fur cloaked rowdy men who were in the heat of spitting at each other now. Cregan’s fist slamming on the wood was enough to draw quiet. “Enough. I demand order to this conversation.” 

The hounds had been admonished, tails sinking between their legs at the scolding of their master. There was a moment of reprieve, where sensibility was able to override unordered chatter. 

Satisfied with the settlement, Cregan nodded. “Aye, let us speak about this reasonably.” 

It was most prudent to speak quietly anyways, considering the halls reeked of dragon. The candle marks were ever shrinking and your energy with it into what had to be the longest night you’d endured in ages. No amount of shouting could awaken you, though you prayed a reigned conversation would allow you to slip into your chambers faster. 

Until the words spilled from Wylis Manderly’s mouth and promptly stole not only any draft of sleep in your body, but the breath in your chest as well. 

“I know why he’s here,” Manderly started. “Her.” 

It wasn’t supposed to be an accusation, but it sure did feel like one, the way it made your chest nearly cave and your defenses rise. The finger he pointed at your forehead felt like an arrow finding its target: lethal and sure of itself. The rest of the eyes at the table followed suit, curious. 

“He’s here for her.” Manderly repeated, as if his pointing wasn’t enough. 

There were very few times that you had been the subject of a council meeting, and you preferred it that way. It was no fun to have yourself torn apart and examined, no matter the purpose. Your eyes found those of your brother’s reflexively, breath catching in your throat in disbelief. 

He returned it carefully. “Explain, Wylis.” 

“His eye finds ‘ers. I know the look. He fancies her.” Manderly cocked his head. “She spent more than a few sun’s turns in the South. ‘Twas not more than about seven moons do I remember you comin’ home. Enough time to court our fine lady of the north, don’t ya think?” 

The Lord of White Harbor might as well have stripped you bare, prying each layer of your dress with his claw-like hands to leave you exposed in view of the table. It wouldn’t feel any different.

“Is it true, sister?” 

Fingers danced across your flesh, platinum hair sliding through your fingers. His thick, masculine moan vibrated on your tongue as his hands tested the weight of the flesh of your hips through squeezes and shakes. It wasn’t a sennight before that when your own fingers twirled your bud and you discreetly thought of him, despite everything. 

“Prince Aemond and I were acquainted as friends. Nothing more.” 

There was hesitancy in the way the men looked at you now, men of your own blood and land. A separation only possible between those with a cock and those without: the innate distrust that comes with the potential of reaching across enemy lines for the sake of living in a singer's tale.  If you could sink down between the floorboards, you would have. 

Cregan furrowed his brows, eyes never leaving you. “To you, maybe. The prince may feel differently.” 

A bow of your head was all you knew to do. There was no need to deny anything further and spin a mummer’s tale. Lies never sat well in your stomach, to your brother no less. 

The lords were dismissed per the late hour and the dreadful sense that Manderly was right. The back of your chair scraped along with the others, but your leave was halted. 

“Not you, sister.” 

It felt like being a little girl again, and your shoulders tensed to be scolded. 

Voice small, you obliged. “Yes, brother.”

He walked towards you, placing his hands on your shoulders. Cregan’s grey stormed eyes passed through yours in a knowing, but you dared not say a word. Once the door had shut behind the very last man, he exhaled. 

“He’s a dangerous man.” You could see the other words on his tongue, but you never heard them.

“I know.”

He held you there for a moment, and you wondered if he would tell you what was on his mind, what exactly he believed, and you wondered how you would react if he did. All you needed to spill yourself was one more weak push. One more word and he would know how you knew Aemond cared for you, he had promised several moons ago that he would come see you. 

But he never asked, and the truth stayed buried in your throat. 

—

In the darkest cave of the night, silence was unyielding. Every wolf’s howl was clamped over the mouth by  snow, each sound buried alive in the cold white. It made each scurry of a mouse or crackle of a hearth in the castle stiffeningly louder. 

Including your footsteps, which you were carefully navigating for discretion all the way to Aemond’s chambers. There would be no sleeping without putting your own matters to rest.

Unthinking, you reached for the door handle and rattled against the lock that held it tight. Your urgency felt out of place in the quiet tranquility of the night. His footsteps within were hesitant and slow. When the door opened, Aemond stood dagger pointed. For a moment, you felt what it was like to be on the other end of his blade, neck laid for the slaughter and his own eye hardened at the intruder who dared seek him at this hour. 

At your wide eyes, he softened. 

“Lady Stark.”

You didn’t want to waste any time. “Why are you here?” 

“Hmm. I think you know why I’m here.” Aemond stalked closer. “I told you I’d come, little wolf.” 

“They know.” 

“Do they now?” a faint smirk played on his lips now. He stepped aside to welcome you in. “And what did they say about their fairest maiden and their newfound enemy?” 

You stepped inside, unable to meet him. “I did not tell them.” 

Aemond’s movements stopped. “Why not?” 

For all the time you knew him, Aemond was supposed to be smart. A learned man who you could count on not just for knowledge but strategy and cleverness. His stubbornness to see your reasoning surprised you.

“It’s too dangerous. We’re entering war times.” 

He scoffed. “If Winterfell wasn’t the safest place for you to be, I’d drag you on dragonback to King’s Landing. The second most safe place to be is by my side.” 

“My father swore an oath to Rhaenyra.”

Aemond hardened then, cocking his head. His silhouette reflected that of his warrior nature. 

“Are you sure you Starks are strong in your word?” His glare tore through you and you knew the memory he had held on so tightly to come all this way. So he did remember everything. 

“I never promised my hand.” The moment the words left your lips, you felt their harshness. Guilt crept in, sinking in your heart. 

Aemond exhaled sharply. “Did you have to? Was a pledge of your feelings not enough?” 

“Aemond,” you warned, a careful hush of urgency in your voice, “I can’t.” 

He burned. You could see it plain. “War is coming. You will stay here in Winterfell.” 

It wasn’t as if you wouldn’t—he had told you nothing you were not already beholden to. But you saw Cregan and the others, thick in furs and heavy swords strapped to their backs marching south. Every further thought sickened you: dragons overhead, iron-melting flames casting over them. 

There was a promise in his words, unspoken but just as present in the implication of safety. I will not bring war to Winterfell. 

“I don’t want this.” The words slipped mindlessly. It was helpless to speak aloud. Aemond knew it, as did you. 

He stalked towards you, face solemn yet set in the firmness of him. Gently, he took your hand in his, raising it to his lips. “I will come for you when the war is done.” 

“But my brothers—” 

“I don’t give a shit about your brothers.” 

“Aemond,” you scolded. 

“Do you not want this?” Aemond said in both query and anger, as if he could not fathom the idea of not being with him.

In truth, you couldn’t either. Memory melted in the sun, the cold that knocked on the gates of the castle chased away by the bright burn of a summer’s passion. Days watching the sweat on his brow as he swung his sword at Ser Cole, using the trivial training yard victories as reason to celebrate with your hands on his chest and his on your waist. Feasts spent sending cheeky looks to each other in a tease as he sat on the high table with the royal family, until he could come down and join the likes of you.

There was something precious between you, far beyond drunk desire in flesh. It made each kiss you shared all the sweeter. 

You enjoyed it, the way that at first, he pretended like he wasn’t desperate for your affections. It made things fun, because the truth rested in his eye the moment of your first meeting. Over time, the mask melted and the truth was in his words, actions—and nothing he felt for you wasn’t returned. 

At the time, your secret tongues and lips found themselves in the only shadow that you knew existed. but there were many more beyond your knowledge, whispering about what you had believed to be a decided matter of succession. 

Winter had come and things were so, painfully different now. 

“I want this, but I can’t.” Every bit of what you felt was evident in your voice. “How can you not see that?”

“You’re being ridiculous.” 

“We are on opposite sides, Aemond.”  

He shrugged. “You’re a lady. It’s not like you’re going to fight.” 

“My brothers are. My men are. They will be on the battlefield, as will you.” 

He pursed his lips, looking away from you in resignation of the truth. “Let us hope that our paths do not cross.” 

The sink of your stomach was heavy enough that you took small steps backing away. The depths of the winter night whipped at your window. The wind sang a deathly tale, a warning to any who may try to brave it. Or maybe it was for you, the old gods finding a way to tell you that you were damned, as was he, as was whatever it was that lay between you both. Aemond stood, all of the fire in the hearth catching in his long starlight hair, the determination of the warrior he was—and would soon become—deep in his being. 

“Don’t look so afraid of me.” 

“Why shouldn’t I be? You’ll be commanding armies against mine. And you have a dragon.” 

He took careful steps towards you, reaching a tender hand towards your face. “I would never hurt you.” 

Words came to your tongue, but the feeling of his skin on your cheek dissolved any refute. He was even nearer now, the bend in your neck needed to find his eye. Aemond’s other hand found your bare cheek, and you stopped yourself from melting in the comfort of his gentle hold. 

“Let me just be Aemond, not a prince,” his thumb caressed the pillow of your cheek lightly. “Let yourself just be you, not Lady Stark. Just this once.” 

It was a nice thought: an escape from the lurking turmoil of metal on metal, metal on skin. The sword at his hip pressed into the side of your belly, the very thing that by winter’s end will have the blood of hundreds soaked through. Prince Aemond Targaryen, the deliverer of souls to their eternal sleep, whether it be damning them for choosing black or for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dragonflame was like that, wild and uncontrolled.

And you, Lady Stark, sister to the keeper of the north who had chosen black, who must follow in the steps of your kin for the sake of upholding honor. Who will sit in the dead of the north by the weirwood each day and pray to the gods that her brother will return, that her burly friends will join her by the fire once more to shoot the shit, that no one will be so unlucky to be caught beneath the wings of the beast that lay outside the castle walls or under the blade of the man in front of her. 

No, you couldn’t be her. Not right now. Your lips parted in a pitiful protest—the very last you had in you, you knew—but his desperation silenced you. 

“Please,” he nearly panted. His lips came closer, breath hot on your lips. 

Was it honorable to feel the tongue of someone your family had sworn against? No, perhaps not. But—you reminded yourself, in a sorry attempt to make excuses—for now he was just Aemond. 

And ‘just’ Aemond had delightfully silky locks to lightly twist your fingers in as your kiss deepended. 

His doublet was thick and you wondered if he had it made for his visit. His visit to you. Running your hands along the sides of him, you felt the daggers at his hip, subtle but ready. Aemond was already feeling through your own dress, sifting through the layers to get to your skin. Each of you searching for one another’s flesh. 

The heel of your foot lifted out of your slipper with the help of your other toes. Aemond was reaching to unclasp the buckles of his doublet, the both of you doing your own part while keeping your mouths on each other in your climb to get close. 

Of all your frolicking, you had yet to see each other so bare. Your time in the Red Keep hadn’t allowed for many private moments. Kisses were frequently stolen between training sessions and feasts, but the risk of being found in Aemond’s chambers—or him in yours—could be far too incriminating for your reputation. The one or two moments where you did find yourself alone in his chambers solely to see a book or another in his favor, and you were never there over a candle mark. 

Winterfell was different from the Red Keep. There were far fewer vipers and spiders on the hunt. The hour was late, even later than any potential vipers may burden themselves to stay awake for.  If one happened to see you, they served wolves and not dragons anyway. It was freeing to have him like this, a moment you had been long waiting for. 

Aemond’s kiss was a seal of your condemnation, for from the first touch of your tongues those moons ago, you knew that at no point after tasting such a sweet nectar would you not seek it out over and over again. It was just as mind bending as it had been every other time: soft at first and leading into fullness. You had dreamed of his tongue on yours again, down your throat and lips on yours to consume you. He was hungry and you gladly fed the beast within him. The blood beneath his flesh burned hot, and the buds on your chest hardened at the feel of your bareness against his. 

Long platinum locks lightly brushed over your shoulders in a sensual dance. Your hands roamed his body in curiosity and a thirst for closeness. It was hardened and soft all at once, the shape of him only feeding the burn of your desire. 

It was difficult to admit to yourself how much you had needed this, having pushed it down when the sun set day after day and you struggled to remind yourself that Aemond was now a traitor to your queen and therefore your honor. His hands in your hair, feeling the dips and curves of your own body. Now, such things dissolved in the spit that passed from your lips to his, the animal of desire breaking through any code you clung to. 

Holding you by your hips, Aemond backed you against his bed. His hands urged your thighs upward so your back may rest on the bed, as if he was preparing you for himself. You followed his lead dutifully, each graze of his fingers along your bare legs sending your belly alight. 

Aemond leaned above you now, having joined you on the bed. “You’re all mine.” 

“Yours,” you replied, rejoining your fingers to lace in his locks, holding his face as if it were a holy grail.

His fingers trailed lower across your stomach, past the heat between your legs and the dip where your leg met your hip. At their slight movement, you could feel more wetness begin to drip out of you, the teasing motion of his hands feeling so close…yet so far. Wide palms and lithe fingers moved to caress the skin just deeper than the inside of your knee. Featherlight touches on your skin reached outward towards your 

Aemond moved patiently over your wetness with time to spare, despite your squirms and soft moans telling him that you were more than ready to feel the pads of his fingers. Soft kisses lined your cheek before dipping his lips and tongue into your mouth in deep union. His cock, covered by the cotton of his small clothes, sat heated and heavy on your leg. Every feel of him made you want him more. 

Breaking you free from your prison of desire, his fingers finally brushed over your center. They most delicately gathered the nectar at your lips, playing with it against the flower of your entrance. The simple movement, yet another tease of his touch, weakened you into a puddle beneath his hand. His thumb found your clit, beginning slow circles there. 

He was winding you up like a toy, playing you on his hand to make pretty noises. If he had asked you to do anything at that moment, you would have said yes. 

Aemond’s other had reached up to meet your bottom lip, letting the pad of his thumb rest there. With wide eyes you accepted it to sit on your tongue, drawing it softly into your mouth before pulling back once more. 

“That’s it, my little wolf” he said, releasing your lips their fixation.

There was little else you cared for, sitting on your bed in the humble guest chambers, hearth warmed and Aemond’s fingers sinking deep into your core and curling deliciously. 

“Shh. You don’t want your northmen to hear, do you?” He said it, punching his words with another tight movement at the perfect place deep within you in a smug maneuver that he knew would have a moan choking from your throat despite the deep silence that surrounded you. 

He was right, you didn’t, but you hardly cared if it meant his hands continued their sync. Every drop of hesitation and secrecy you had so desired earlier had been drowned out by the tight wanting of your core, wetness slipping down his fingers and coating the very inside of your thighs. 

When your pleasure peaked into ecstasy, your honey soaked walls squeezed and fluttered around him, arms looped and holding him tight to you in breathy moans that were meant for him only. There were truly no boundaries wrapped between you now, even if just for a moment, the long absence of his touch and feel sinking deep into your essence. 

Humming in satisfaction, Aemond slid his forefingers coated in your syrupy sex into his mouth. “I didn’t know the honor of a Stark tasted so delicious”

All the furs that had once sat heavily on the bed had slid off. Flesh against flesh, you were content in your afterglow, pushing away thoughts of tomorrow or the day after. Aemond’s hands were hungry more, his own desire hardly satiated. His cock weighed on your stomach, hips needily pressing into yours. 

“Baby, you’re so soaked. Your body needs me inside you,” Aemond brushed his nose with yours, cock sliding over your pillowy lips. 

He must have been a devil of some kind, the enemy, for trying to convince you that your maidenhead could be sacrificed while he was on a diplomatic mission. 

Sensing your hesitation, he hummed into your mouth, drawing you into another kiss. 

“Who would I be to leave you like this? You need to be fucked.” he purred into your ear, and your own hips flexed in release. 

It was tempting. It was. But your virtue remained imperatively prudent, and no amount of Aemond’s want would change it. “I’m a maiden. You know this.” 

“Does it matter if I want to marry you anyway?” His voice was lust-drunk, buried in your neck and leaving traces of kisses there. 

You giggled, shifting under him. “Yes, Aemond.” 

“Hmm.” He grumbled, lifting himself onto his elbows to look you in the face. “Guess I’ll just have to do it now then.” 

It passed between you then, a faint look of heartbreak at the reality of what such things would mean, or what they would take. The betrayal of your brother, of your fellow bannermen—the question of Aemond’s truest allegiances, marriage or not, always sitting in the back of your mind. Roiling dragonfire and singing blades sliding against another in strain. 

“I don’t care where we stand. You’re mine, Lady Stark. Nothing will ever change that.”  

A kiss was your only reply, caught in the trouble and pleasure of his words, a sentence that fulfilled everything and nothing that you wanted to hear. Desperate and searching it was, searching for an end to the madness you were both inevitably walking towards and away from your unity. 

With your limbs intertwined, heart to heart, each of you felt all of the possible flesh you could. You let yourself close your eyes in his embrace, candles dying in the latest hours of the night. Maybe, you thought, this moment could be eternal if you let it: if you were truly present in his warmth and flesh, it could anchor you both in time, allowing you both to feel and hold each other for centuries. No blood would soak into the dirt nor stain your hands. Never had you clung to an idea of peace so hard. 

In another world, Rhaenyra ascended the throne just as the realm had thought. Your journey south would have been fulfilled just the same. Someone of importance would take note of your affinity for each other, and given that you were not being clearly stowed away for one dragon versus another, a marriage proposal would be signed and sent to your brother north. He would read it and scowl at the thought of his sister being tied to the Targaryen blood almost all Starks were partial to hating, but at the sight of your ease, he would relent. A wedding would be hosted in the Great Sept to please your prince and southron overlords, and another at the heart tree of Winterfell’s godswood. 

You clung to your fantasy in the low hours until your knuckles turned white, Aemond’s soft breathing warming your cheek. But clinging to anything fleeting often meant bloodying your hands or being dragged until you let go. 

Those in the south lived in an endless summer, whether they realized it or not. Many would claim a chill or swear they felt the winds change. Perhaps snow even fell occasionally—but such a faint dusting would cower in the face of the fronts from beyond the wall. Such a front scratched at the window of Aemond’s chamber now. It was a most cruel master to any bare skin unlucky enough to bear it, beating it raw until cracks formed and blood spurred. A similar iciness was threatening to drown you from the inside, only made stronger by the beat of Aemond’s blood in your ears. 

No matter how much you wished it not be true, your honor could not allow you to stay in his arms for another moment. Especially not after you had indulged yourself on his fingers and lips. 

Sloughing off the furs, you crept carefully to the mess of layers of your dress on the floor. It was late—or early, put differently—enough that you could do your best to get away with not wearing your full dress back to your room. As long as your previous state of savagery wasn’t obvious, the essentials would do. 

When your eyes awoke once more in your own bed, it was to the ancient cry of a dragon. Your heavy legs and eyes ran to catch up with what you knew was happening, what you must confirm quickly in a hazy winter’s light. From the window, you could see Vhagar lifted her bronze head into the sky, fire threatening to leave the cavern of her throat. Her solemn grumbling echoed through the valley, swirling with the wind singing through the trees. 

Cradles of snowflakes fell as falling stars, silver embers burning in the early light. It was still night—constellations just barely beginning to fade. Grabbing your furs to quickly wrap around your shoulders, you rushed out of your chambers. The torches in the hallway burned low. It was the last hour before they would be re-lit for another day’s warmth. Flames flickered past you in your hasty steps to the outermost walls of the castle. 

You caught sight of Aemond, stalking into the arms of the frosted northern wild, a sickened determination—or resignation, you didn’t know which—in his steps.  The black of his furs cradled his silver hair, a delicate, feathery mix of dark and light. 

A goodbye wouldn’t have been wise, for you knew if you hadn’t left his chambers you would both wake up and refuse to leave each other’s side—or rather, he’d refuse you to leave his. If he was in front of you, he knew he could convince you of anything. There was too deep of suspicion for the prince to arouse the maiden Lady Stark, and Aemond was a smart man.

Or at least you told yourself so, hoping that he wasn’t bitter like he was in your fears, and that he understood. 

The battlements on which you stood were tall enough to rise over any enemy that Winterfell might face. Thousands of years had seen enemies fall in front of the stone giants that guarded the innermost castle. Enemies of centuries past faltered against all kings of winter, sound in their defenses and strong in their charge. Any enemy but Aemond. 

Heavy wings wafted through the north wind, the shadow of Vhagar draining the moon and snowlight from the sky in the shape of war-torn wings. With a large curl of her body, she turned to the walls on which you stood. Muscled and bronzed, Aemond and his beast came closer. You had never seen a dragon in flight so near to you. Her heavy legs hung in the air, the claws themselves thicker than your largest studs. 

A few men below began howling in fear, but you knew something they did not. Even as she drew nearer and her wings covered Winterfell in shadow and her maw roared close enough you could see her blood soaked teeth and feel her boiling breath in the chapped air. It was warm against your cheek, a balm against the pale morning’s frost, comfort blooming where it touched. Near everything but the foundation of the castle itself shook against the dragon’s cry, mountainous wings curling wind through your hair. 

There was a time when Harren the Black had seen a similar sight: the interchange between day and night, a beast larger than a small keep looming over his home, an impenetrable castle. Fire had burned deep in Balerion’s chest, and his black teeth were the gates of hellfire to all those who rested in Harrenhal. Aemond and Vhagar loomed above Winterfell now in a fierce stand, leaving you and all of your men as nothing but ash in the wind if he so desired. 

You knew he didn’t. 

Vhagar roared again, something painful desperately clawing from her chest, and you could feel the solemn echo of Aemond’s own turmoil. Her wings lifted higher through her cry, large body clawing through the sky until the darkness of her ascended into the heavy snow clouds. 

The next time you saw the prince, the crown of the conqueror sat on his head as if it was made for him, and winter had licked your skin raw. 

[hyvyinjie]

hi! Can I ask for a headcannon about Minamoto teru x childhood friend reader? Where teru is really over protective and gentle towards the reader. Reader is a lazy person, and often sleepy, the things he likes are reading comics and playing game in their phone. They also refuses teru's invitation to join the student council. Thank you! :)

why of course! it’d be an honor to grant such an ask. apologies for taking quite a while to do so—though i hope my work meets your expectations, wonderful nonie!<3

—LOST IN THE HAZE OF YOUR DREAMSCAPE.

featuring ; minamoto teru & you as our star.

+ small akane & aoi mentions.

ah, minamoto teru; the very embodiment of perfection—as he was hailed and as he carried himself with utter conviction.

a master of powers, a paragon of academic prowess, and a maestro in all things extraordinary. could there be anything he did not conquer?

yet, his persona, a labyrinth of complexities, as if harboring a multitude of souls within his very being.

now, here you arrive in his peculiar life—meeting with the intricacies of his existence.

when your paths converged, it ignited a tempestuous collision, a clash of peculiar forces.

initially, your mere presence held no sway over him. in truth, he perceived you as an encumbrance, burdened by your languid nature. for he, a relentless pursuer of flawlessness, demanded nothing less.

but lo and behold. fate—that cunning trickster—wove its intricate threads, meticulously mending the frayed tapestry of your connection.

through the passage of time, a tapestry of happenstance encounters and the subsequent flourishing of interactions—a nascent camaraderie took root. he slowly, but surely grew attuned to your idiosyncrasies, harmonizing with your rhythm. while the power to surmount every obstacle at your side eludes him still, he persists, striving to offer his utmost.

oh please have mercy on this young man—forever enmeshed in the whirlwind of his exorcist duties. and yet, even amidst the chaos, his devotion knows no bounds when it comes to those he holds dear.

one might assume that quality time would be sacrificed for the trivial, but fear not, for you found yourself on the fortunate side—the one he’d willingly carved out moments to be with.

initially, your encounters were fleeting, brief snippets of time. however, as the sands of time trickled down, these fragments transformed into meticulously planned sleepovers. he meticulously orchestrated these occasions, ensuring they did not encroach upon his demanding schedule.

your bond thrived during these cozy gatherings, or tranquil rendezvous, where he wholeheartedly immersed himself in your passions—comics and video games.

though not extensively versed in these realms, one might imagine that you—with your infectious enthusiasm to the field—was the catalyst for his exploration and understanding of the realm of entertainment. this was evidenced by the gradual increase in invitations to game nights and his newfound willingness to engage in discussions about captivating narratives. perhaps, you both even exchanged recommendations for comics, as kindred spirits often do.

as the both of you and the world grew older—it became evident that he honed his social skills; presenting himself as a complete package. every aspect of his being held an irresistible allure, captivating the hearts of women, and even some fellow men. many yearned and openly expressed their desire to be the chosen one by his side.

however, even amidst the clamoring crowd, his gaze remained steadfastly fixed upon you.

of course, as the old adage goes; with great power comes great responsibility—the price of his popularity gradually revealed itself.

certain students, teetering on the edge of obsession, noticed the distinct tenderness he displayed towards you, surpassing his general kindness towards all. seizing upon this perceived vulnerability, they occasionally resorted to devious methods, seeking to eliminate you from the equation, taking advantage of moments when slumber claimed you.

naturally, he swiftly uncovered their plot, intervening before they could execute their nefarious intentions.

needless to say, the number of such audacious attempts dwindled significantly. what exactly he did to deter them remains a mystery known only to him and his would-be victims.

still, worried that the possibility of a recurrence and his absence to intervene, he took it upon himself to practically implore—some might even say beg—you to join the student council. this would ensure that he, or even akane if needed, could keep a watchful eye over you with greater ease.

however, true to your nature, you steadfastly rebuffed each futile attempt to persuade you. despite his persistent efforts, you remained resolute in your refusal.

eventually, your golden boy relented, recognizing that his endeavors were in vain…but that was just because he found an alternative solution.

he encouraged—forced—akane to be the one to look after you discreetly whenever he couldn’t. only choosing to partially reveal his intentions to avoid alarming you at the time, as you were unfamiliar with akane’s existence.

or so it had been until he observed that you and the school’s vice president shared a rather unique bond.

although akane would occasionally scold you for being so excessively somnolent, mistaking it for you being irresponsible, hence, occasionally comparing you to the greatness of his lady aoi—teru—ever vigilant and mindful of akane’s every interaction with you, ensured that his usual brutal tendencies were significantly tempered. still—it remained a part of the deputy’s essence, defining his very being, just albeit subdued in your presence.

it could be surmised that akane once attempted to tease—or rather, foolishly inquire, about teru’s subtle yet perceptible shifts in behavior whenever you were involved.

“it’s almost as if you like them.”

in an almost immediate reaction—the president paused, slowly turning his head to gaze at akane, a shadow casting a smile that concealed the upper portion of his closed eyes.

the ginger-haired vice executive, feeling an ominous presence despite the absence of visible eyes, found himself sweating profusely as he cautiously added,

“—to the point where anyone could mistake you for family!"

sensing the gravity of his words, akane mentally vowed to never broach the subject again. he restrained himself from ever mentioning it whenever he witnessed the two of you together.

curiosity gnawed at you as you noticed his all-knowing gaze transform into one of horror whenever you turned your head, as if peering behind you; at none other than the pretty blonde himself, who seemed to be doing nothing wrong, merely proven to have been innocently smiling the whole time, or so he put up whenever you looked back at him.

oblivious to the truth, you always dismissed it as ‘akane’s peculiar moments of ptsd flashbacks’ whenever he saw teru.

however, let me share a little secret with you.

did you know the true reason behind teru’s death stare? no? well, do you wanna know?

then do allow me to spill it for you.

it was simply because akane, using the keyword; "like," insinuated that teru had a ‘liking-only level’ romantic feeling for you. the misconception provoked such a reaction from teru, for he wanted to correct that statement because he loved you, not just liked you.

seriously, can’t people let him finish what he’s saying?

[theconjurervfx]

[dooberific]

Hello~! I love reading your work so much hehe, I'm not entirely sure if you are open for requests so please disregard if you aren't. Can I request Harumasa and reader that they first met in the hospital as kids due to having the same disease and once they were discharged they simply forgot about eachother. Then one day, they met again (pure coincidence) and had a happy reunion. Maybe throw a childhood friends to lovers, fluff hehe. Thank you!

Subjecting reader to Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome is a more popular thought than I anticipated.

Still working on other requests as I have time, it took me way too long to do this but in my defense I’m back in the dregs of Uni.

❝ 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴 ❞

harumasa x afab!reader

genre: slice of life ig?? Reads pretty platonically imo, runs vaguely parallel to his agent story largely without reader interference (we keep it as canon as we can). Reader has ether aptitude regression syndrome.

summary: He didn't think ghosts from the past were so bright or so loud as the one that finds him at Port Elpis.

wc: 4.8k

Port Elpis was a lonely place. 

But that was just his opinion on the matter. 

Maybe in the eyes of the children that sat joyfully chattering next to their grandfather as they fished off the pier it would be a place full of happy memories, or the perfect backdrop for a romantic encounter for the lovers who walked wistfully along the seaside. 

But he had neither a family nor a lover to enjoy such memories with, and with his frail body perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. “To live with no regrets” felt like an honorable way to go. There would be no one deeply hurt by his loss, no one to leave flowers at his grave, and just as briefly as his time was slated to be on the earth the memory of his existence would fade into nothingness. 

So he would quietly enjoy his solitude, savor the time like it was sweet on his tongue, and pretend for just a moment that life wasn’t as abbreviated as fate demanded it to be by capturing it through the immortal lens of his camera. 

The birds that floated in the sea breeze. Patterns of stone left in the sand by a previous visitor. The view from the top of the lighthouse. Colorful boats bobbing in the sea. The lights over the water at night. 

The scenery rarely changed but that didn’t matter, it was an excuse to feel the warm kiss of the sun on his skin and feel the whisper of the sea air tickle his weakened lungs, to pretend that once he returned to the quiet of his apartment that every image he took wouldn’t be doused in a deep greytone as if some secret melancholy bared its teeth and drained his day of its vitality. 

He still got the images developed but he stopped looking at them. They felt too much like having one foot in the grave, the hazy discoloration something he associated more with the burning dread that buzzed in his veins and prickled at his eyes when the ether became too overwhelming. He could save himself the money and the effort, stop taking photos he would never want to look at again, but it was never so peaceful for his troubled mind in any other place.

The sky was overcast, heavy clouds threatening to rain their contents down upon the world as the wind nipped viciously at his skin. The normal residents of the Port were nowhere to be seen, all the buildings neatly closed in the anticipation of inclement weather. 

He could have taken it as a sign to make himself scarce as well, return home and curl up on his couch while the weather passed and not risk catching a cold, but if his day was meant to be spent in dreary solitude he would rather take the moment to feel it against his skin than hide away with no company other than his own thoughts. 

Being soaked to the bone and riding the high of his careless actions would be a better fate than sitting with his thoughts that seemed more heavily laden with dread as the days passed. 

So he stayed. 

He stayed as his hair matted to his skin, heavy with rainwater that soaked through his clothes and stained his camera lens. His camera would be ruined for sure, it wasn’t waterproof after all, but he could buy a new one. He wasn’t good at saving money for a long time anyways.

The pictures would be terrible and blurry, all doused in their own dreary grey even as he continued to take photos. There was no warmth to be found in the once pleasant landscape, and he was prepared to give up all hope for salvaging his mood which was now as waterlogged as his sneakers before a vibrant color flashed to life across his streaked lens.

He lowered his camera, squinting into the onslaught of rain that rolled the waves viciously against the pier. It was an unfamiliar boat bobbing on the waves, outriggers neatly folded to attention. The vessel itself lacked any colorful ornamentation, the flash of color he had seen belonging instead to the figure that worked diligently on the deck. 

A bright orange pair of overalls.

He wasn’t expecting to see the boat again the next time he returned to the Port, but there sat the trawler at the end of the pier accompanied by orange overalls. He could put a face to the choice of colorful outerwear now, or the beginnings of one from where he stood. He had no reason to get closer, he wasn’t on particularly warm terms with anyone at the Port, so it took him by surprise when your face appeared so suddenly within the viewfinder one day. 

“Excuse me?” 

He startled, quickly dropping his camera from where he held it. 

Orange overalls.

“Have we met before?”

The question was innocent as it rolled from your lips, the rubbery exterior of your overalls squeaking as you shifted on your feet. Your gaze was intense but non threatening, more brimming with curiosity than anything as you studied his features closely.

“Sorry if it’s sudden,” your laugh was awkward. “I’ve just seen you around here a lot and couldn’t shake the feeling.” 

There was no need for you to apologize, he had also been struck with an uncanny sense of recognition the longer he looked at you as well.

“I get that a lot.”

 Your question was genuine but he couldn’t help the lie that pushed past his teeth. It was rare for him to be mistaken for someone else, especially when he was in the city. If you detected his deception you didn’t show it, clicking your tongue thoughtfully as you pointed at him.

“Middle school?”

Oh, so you were still convinced you had met before.

He shook his head. “No.”

“University?”

“Nope.”

“The grocery store?”

“You remember everyone you see at a grocery store?”

Your brow furrowed. “Guess not.” 

He was confounding you at every turn it seemed, but the nagging feeling of familiarity had yet to leave. You had grown quiet, gnawing your lip thoughtfully.

Your fingers snapped suddenly. “I’ve got it, were you… in the hospital for a while as a kid?”

“I was.”

Before you answered a distant call floated over the waves. He couldn’t make out the words but your head quickly whipped around, arm raising above your head with a dramatic wave.

“I’m coming!” You yelled back before shooting him an apologetic grin. “Sorry for bothering you, I guess I’ll see you around.”

He watched your figure recede down the pier, the thumping of your boots on the wood fading as you rapidly went out of earshot. 

Your next interactions were cyclic, short conversations with speedy exits as you would run back to your boat. He had some inclination to believe you had a homing beacon centered on him, as you managed to find him despite his frequent location changes, beaming at him with the same warm expression that nearly rivaled the brightness of your orange overalls.

You never mentioned your first conversation again nor asked his name, instead asking him random questions as they seemed to strike your fancy. About his favorite food, his favorite color, movie recommendations, if he had any pets, what he liked taking pictures of so much that he returned almost daily. It was largely nonsensical, and he found you harder to read with each passing day because your eyes seemed to sparkle as if the tiny bits of knowledge he divulged had painted some elaborate picture of him in your mind. 

Even with you sharing little tidbits of your own monotonous life you had tied his mind into intricate knots. Your father was a fisherman, more precisely a shrimper you had proudly proclaimed as you undid the straps of your overalls to show him the pink shrimp decal on the back of your sweatshirt. You never mentioned a mother or any siblings, nor any friends. You liked to swim but couldn’t do it often. Your favorite color was a very precise shade of pink, and you liked to read books about personality types and astrology when you weren’t busy. Mindless details that gushed from your mouth with absurd passion. 

Somedays he wasn’t sure if it was the sun or your vivacious personality that warmed him more, your happy-go-lucky mood infectious as you chattered away. You were quickly becoming part of his routine, strolling alongside him spewing silly facts about sea animals or begging him for little details on his day. 

Your characteristic orange overalls had been featured in some of his photography as well, cheerfully adding a splash of color to even the dreariest backdrops. You made shrimp nets look pleasant and the creatures even more so as you ran up to him, pulling one from your pocket as you waved it at him like a child with a centipede just to sneak it into his own pocket before he left. 

For once everything seemed dripping with color, the thrill of seeing your glowing visage as you waved at him from the deck of your father’s boat turning his stomach in a pleasantly warm manner. 

He broke his own rule. He got comfortable with someone else, comfortable in his limited time, in his own skin, and he missed the little signs until it was glaring in his face. 

The sun was warm enough that the sound of the waves was nearly sufficient to lull him to sleep as he sat dangling his legs off the pier, the water teasing his soles in a silent ploy to drench his socks. The day was quiet, almost uncomfortably so and he wasn’t sure why. Port Elpis was always lively when the weather was pleasant, but there was a nagging sense of unease that drew his lips into a firm line.

You weren’t around. 

He felt silly. The two of you weren’t close by any means, acquaintances more than friends. There was no reason to miss you, you were nothing but a loud disruption to his day. He didn’t even know your name. 

But if that was really all you were to him he shouldn’t have felt his gut twist unpleasantly when he realized your absence, nor when he finally saw you and realized you didn’t look well.

You looked haggard and pale, movements sluggish as if it demanded too much energy to fully pick up your feet. There was a constant grimace painted across your face, like each movement was laced with pain. You scarcely looked his way as you approached, eyes sunken. 

“Oh, hey,” you spoke through gritted teeth as your eyes wavered weakly. Even now you did your best to wave, hands trembling fiercely. “I can’t hang out today, sorry.”

“You’re sick.”

It was a matter-of-fact statement, no longer an observation. He would recognize that look anywhere, he had seen it a thousand times growing up. 

“Were you… in the hospital for a while as a kid?” 

He shouldn’t have been thoughtless. It was out of character for him to not pry into every tiny detail of the life of a stranger that had so unceremoniously pushed into his life, like a flower sprouting from a sidewalk crack. With a little effort he was sure he would have unearthed a medical history as extensive as his own, all starting from the same place with a name he tried desperately to forget. 

He rubbed the choker at his neck. He’d never seen your nape either, strategically covered by the hood of your jacket or a high necked top. He’d never questioned you on the days when you lied poorly to his face about why you had a limp, or why you looked so tired, always claiming it had been a long day and nothing more. 

Some highly trained intelligence officer he turned out to be.

“Let me help you.” The words came out faster than his body moved, swinging his legs back up onto the pier. 

“It’s okay.” You reassured, weakly attempting to wave him off. “It’s not that serious, I’m just tired.”

“Tired my ass, you’re sick.” He hissed. “This isn’t something you can play around with, now let me help you.”

You were lighter than he thought you were, but maybe he had anticipated more muscle to be hidden under the frumpy layers you wore daily. You smelled like a fishing boat but not in a way he found unpleasant, your arms wrapped around his neck as he carried you down the pier on his back. He could feel your body trembling. 

“I’m sorry.” You muttered regretfully, forehead pressed against his shoulder as he stepped off the pier and onto your boat, his step wavering for just a moment before he regained his balance. 

“Stop apologizing.” He chided as you directed him to where your room was under the deck. The space was awkward to navigate with you on his back, but if he experienced any difficulty he didn’t verbalize it, dutifully depositing you on your unmade bed. 

“I really am sorry though.” He wouldn’t be able to convince you it was fine, but he would be able to shoot you a disapproving look as he grabbed the heel of your boot and slid it off before giving the other the same treatment. 

You frowned, shifting as if you were uncomfortable in your own skin. “I’ve bothered you on your time off.”

“You’ve never bothered me.”

He tugged on the leg of your overalls, he would have to commend you on your dedication. As if interpreting his cue you unlatched the shoulder straps, allowing him to help you slide them off before he discarded them on top of your boots. At least you dressed comfortably beneath them, though he would let the ridiculous sparkly fish patches on your sweats go this time. 

He tossed your comforter over your head. “But you will bother me if you don’t rest.” 

You didn’t protest, flipping the fabric off your face with a huff. You knew he was right. 

“Hurry up and get better, I’m not going to wait forever.” He said curtly as he stepped into the hallway, pulling your door shut behind him.

“Wait!” 

He paused, the door hanging ajar. “What is it?”

You swallowed thickly, tongue fuzzy. “(Y/n). My name is (y/n).” 

His hand tightened on the doorknob. 

“Harumasa.”

The door shut, but Pandora’s theoretical box had already been opened.

He remembered you.

They called you the luckiest unlucky child in the world. It was a ridiculous name that you seethed at because you found nothing of your situation lucky. Your mother had claimed the record for longest lived patient with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome, but such distinction meant very little when your father stood over her grave cradling you in his arms. 

Within a few years you would look just like her, idle in a hospital bed with numerous lines running from your thin, veiny arms as they kept you so sedate the childish glow in your eyes had faded into a drug induced stupor. 

You were lucky to be born, and unlucky enough to survive.

Most days were good, you were strong and vital as if the ugly veins of your illness didn’t lurk just below the skin. You ran through the halls, constantly attempted to escape to the lush yard of the hospital, sat with the other kids after they got out of surgery to give them offerings of crude crayon drawings and wild stories of swimming in the ocean and the creatures within it. 

But your bad days were palpable, the halls silent without you there to fill the air with wild stories and laughter. No one visited you when you had a flare up, tears and snot streaking your face as you silently cried through the pain that ignited every nerve ending in your body in such a way that even the act of breathing hurt in a near unbearable manner. 

Your father would sit in your room for hours at a time in those moments, anxious over your worsening condition up until the moment they barred him from seeing you. Before the week was over he had a court order that relinquished you of their care and returned you to him. 

The day you left, Harumasa had resigned himself to the fact that he would never see you again. The likelihood of either of you surviving childhood was slim enough, but to dream of meeting in a place outside the walls of the hospital was an idea even he didn’t dare consider. 

Seeing you now, seeing you grown, was almost enough to make him believe some good deity watched over the world and deemed you too kind to die young.

He would have to find a new place to seek solace, Port Elpis was becoming something dangerously close to the memories he sought to repress, but his body acted on autopilot and brought him back every day without fail.

One week turned into two, and just as the third was cresting you reappeared with a smile on your face.

You were stupid to take your health so lightly.

He was stupid to let himself become invested.

“I remember you!” Were the first words you said after reuniting with him, swinging your legs off the pier as you sat so close beside him your shoulders pressed together.

“It’s just been a few weeks, I’d be concerned if you didn’t.” 

You pouted, elbowing his side. “You know that’s not what I mean. I remember you from before, from the hospital.”

“Looks like we both grew up well, huh? But I guess you did better than me. Is it creepy to admit that I searched your name on the InterKnot?” If you were truly embarrassed it failed to show, a low whistle passing your lips. “Section 6, you went and became a real bigshot.” 

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

You swung your head low, teetering dangerously on the edge of the pier as you jutted your face into his line of sight. Your eyes sparkled with the same mirth that curled the corners of your lips. “Says the guy that doesn’t work on a shrimp boat. Take the compliment, even I’m proud of how far you came.”

You kicked at his ankle. “Not many of us have the chance to say that.”

Ah. There you went again, reminding him of a twisted past he couldn’t shake. Sure, his therapist thought it would do him good to confront the ghosts of his childhood, but he liked to disagree (if him promptly claiming he was “done with therapy” and “thanks for your time, doc” before walking out and never returning their calls had anything to say about it). There were too many things he wasn’t ready to face head-on, even if they crawled from the pits of despair and grasped at his ankles so fiercely that the thought alone slowed him down. 

But it did stir back the embers that burned his gut with unease from an interaction he had not that far in the past.

“Has anyone from the hospital tried to contact you recently?”

“Well yeah, they are all worried about my condition after my flare up.”

“Not that hospital.” He clarified. “The old one.”

Your eyes danced across the scenery for a moment, lips pursed in thought before you shook your head. “Nope, not that I can remember. Why?”

He left out a relieved sigh, shoulders slouching momentarily. He still wasn’t sure what his Master’s assistant wanted, or why he suddenly appeared before him now trying to toy with his feelings using other sick children as emotional leverage, but at least he hadn’t found you yet. He fished his phone from his pocket, unlocking it as he handed it to you.

“Put your number in there. There’s no reason for us to be strangers.” 

He was blatantly evasive, and you could certainly tell but you didn’t raise any qualms as you typed in your phone number. “Signal is spotty when we go out of the Port, so if I don’t answer quickly don’t get all worried thinking I got kidnapped or died or something.” You warned as you passed his phone back before puffing out your chest proudly. “I like to think I’ve still got a few good years in me.”

His smile when he looked at you was so sincere you nearly toppled off the pier in shock, one hand quickly planting against his cheek as you forcefully turned his head away while the other gripped the fabric of your shirt over your heart.

“Those interknot forums weren’t kidding,” your tone was distressed as you looked away from him, “your smile really is a deadly weapon.”

He laughed. He laughed at you, at the absurd way you managed to turn a rapidly darkening conversation into something ridiculous and sugary sweet. It was as novel as a syrupy popsicle on a hot day, the aghast and shy way you—the natural enemy of public embarrassment—had now turned. 

It was bright, vital, blooming with a color he didn’t think he could find in the world anymore.

Then it all grew violently dull.

[ Shrimp Girl ] Someone from the old hospital came to see me today

[ Shrimp Girl ] I think he said his name was Kirishima?

His stomach plummeted as he read your message in the wee hours of the morning, and it didn’t abate until he laid eyes on you working diligently at the Port a few hours later. The morning sun had yet to crest the horizon, the air hanging thick and grey with morning dew. You stood out like a traffic cone, bundled in a few extra layers to fend off the cold as you worked. 

It was his hurried footsteps down the pier that alerted you to his presence, a smile on your face as you waved at him. “You’re here early. What’s with the serious face?”

The scent of the sea and the creatures you had skimmed out of the water was almost noxious to his sensitive nose. He was afraid he only tolerated the smell when it lingered on your clothes. His nose wrinkled as he nonchalantly lifted a hand to it as if it would help the smell abate.

“I just needed to make sure you were alright. What did Kirishima want?”

“Nothing.” You said with a shrug. “He didn’t ask for anything, just the usual small talk you get from doctors. You know, “can’t believe you made it this long” and “you look great”, stuff like that.” 

He was beginning to question your survival instincts, anxiety bubbling in his gut. Kirishima may not have shown his true colors yet, but it was suspicious that he showed up looking for you after years of radio silence. His own personal connection to Kirishima made it less surprising, but his link to you was still vague and incomplete.

“Now that I think about it, he did mention that he’s working on some new drug, said he might open a trial for it soon.”

His blood ran cold, a hand quickly wrapping around your wrist. The serious expression he wore was new for you, his features usually relaxed when you ran into him. 

“Please don’t take anything he gives you.” 

You nodded slowly, feeling his fingers firm against your pulse.

“I’m going to be busy for a few days, so don’t look for me.” His grip faltered, slipping from your wrist to hook around the crook of your fingers. They were cold, not unlike his own. 

He didn’t owe you an explanation or some promise of a timeline. He could walk away from the Port and never turn back, find out what Kirishima wanted and pretend seeing a ghost from his past never occurred, but seeing the concern that knitted your brows at his words was enough to make him regret the sharpened tone he had used. He toyed with your fingers.

“I’ll buy you a nice meal when I get back, so don’t get worked up thinking I’m never returning or something.” 

You hooked his pinky around your own. 

“I’ll hold you to it then.” 

He was grateful your boat wasn’t in the Port the day he separated the children from Kirishima, something about the idea of you being far away from that place coming as a welcome relief. The kids would have liked you, loved you even. While he could put on a brave face and lie through his teeth you were so charmingly real that he had little doubt you would have been an inspiration, but you were too soft and there were too many hands yet to be revealed. 

You would have been another worry to plague his mind, and with the Proxy breathing down his neck it would have been hard to focus on navigating the current mess he found himself in. 

It was a mess indeed, like watching a carefully crafted tower crumble as the top became unsteady, unraveling in a glorious display of dust and ruin. He knew it would be the case before he agreed to meet Kirishima at the Port to look for where his Master hid his research, but he wasn’t expecting to see you there.

Maybe he should have expected it, you had seemed anxious at his curt communication over the past weeks while he gathering what information he could before an inevitable confrontation with his Master’s assistant. Maybe he should have expected whatever ugly connection with Kirishima that was woven into your past to rear its head at some point. 

Your expression was harsh, the edges of a bandage showing around the sides of your neck. There was a vial in your hand, your knuckles white from how tightly you gripped it.

“I did what you asked, now back off.” You hissed between your teeth as you tossed the vial at Kirishima, the man laughing as he caught it with infuriating ease.

He flipped the vial up to the light filtering from the industrial fixtures that shined from the shipping containers, a clear and colorless fluid washing within. Spinal fluid.

“I knew you would come around to my way of thinking. Why don’t you join us for a moment, an extra pair of eyes might be useful.”

Your gaze wavered to the blackened edges of the hollow behind him, taking a half step back as you shook your head. 

“Come on now, don’t tell me you’re—,”

Harumasa’s hand was heavy on his shoulder, Kirishima pausing just to glance back at his guarded expression, eyes flickering back to you for a brief instance as a impish grin tugged at his lips.

“Fine, I guess it can’t be helped.” He fished in his labcoat pocket, producing a folded stack of papers before he tossed them at your feet, the papers soaking instantly as they hit the wet pavement. 

He waved the vial at you tauntingly before he pocketed it. “Thank you again for your service, the children will be so appreciative.”

Your guilt ridden expression was the last thing Harumasa recalled seeing as he stepped through the barrier of the Hollow, the Proxy hot on his trail.

He didn't see you for weeks, his condition too fragile in the wake of the high ether levels he subjected himself to in the hollow. Whether it be Section 6, the proxy, or even the kids from the sanatorium it was hard to find a moment of quiet, though he couldn’t deny that it was a welcome change from his normal solitude. 

Everything had quietly pieced itself together. His master’s ultimate purpose with his research, Kirishima being prosecuted for his crimes, the children being given another chance at having a childhood instead of existing as human experiments. 

It felt…nice for once, the sun comforting on his skin as the sea breeze toyed with the tails of his headband. Everyone had long gone home, leaving him in silence once again. His eyes fluttered shut under the intensity of the setting sun, his lungs filling with salt-laden air as the inside of his eyelids stained a brilliant orange.

Orange.

Like the color of your ridiculous overalls, or of the novelty candy you insisted he try with you. Orange like the canned drinks you were fond of when you decided to treat him and yourself to a greasy snack from the stand back at the parking lot. The color of your nails when you decided to paint them on your day off, proudly waving them in front of his face. The same orange of your swimsuit the day you shucked off your normal wear and dove off the pier into the frigid water. You actually were a strong swimmer when your body wasn’t trying to destroy itself thanks to your shared disease.

Orange like the stripe painted on the side of the shrimp trawler that drifted by in the distance when he reopened his eyes, a hand raising to shield them from the harsh rays of the setting sun. 

“Ahoy there!” You shouted through cupped hands. He couldn’t see your face from where he stood squinting into the light, but he knew you were smiling, framed in a halo of vibrant orange.

"I'm ready to cash in on that meal you owe me!"

Port Elpis was a lonely place.

Was is the real curiosity if you asked him.

Rey 2025

[withleeknow]

seasons of you.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff or at least i hope so lmao, not v edited and literally no one is surprised lol i sound like a broken record atp just adding that into every post word count: 0.7k note: inspired by a highly fucked up thing that @matchannie said to me yesterday lmao it has not left my brain since you said it you absolute monster

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

minho falls in love with you four times a year.

minho falls in love with you in the spring, over blooming cherry blossoms and vibrant daffodils that greet you on your weekly sunset walk. over the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his own without soft fluffy gloves getting in the way, now that it's finally warm enough to retire that extra layer of protection for the season. over the sun coming out of hibernation and filling your days with golden light, falling upon your face and casting you in a magical hue. over the remnants of winter that still leave behind a palpable chill in the air early in the morning or late in the night, that has you reaching out for the comfort of his warmth. over your delighted smile when he brings home a bouquet of tulips after a long day at work. over your glassy eyes, reddened nose and flushed cheeks as he takes care of you when the seasonal allergies kick in.

minho falls in love with you in the summer, over picnics in the park where you both lay on blue gingham picnic blankets, your head on his chest, as you watch the clouds overhead drift peacefully. over watermelon gelatos passed between teasing lips, the confectionary melting too quickly for your liking under the blazing sunlight. over spontaneous drives to the beach even though neither of you can swim, but you go just for fun, just to build sand sculptures in the shape of your cat babies and stand on the edge of the water to splash at each other. over long naps on the couch on days where you're too lazy to venture into the outside heat, preferring to stay cuddled up together under the air conditioner with niki playing in the background.

minho falls in love with you in fall, over shared slices of pumpkin pie as you watch the leaves turn yellow and red right outside your window. over the adorable way you hide your face behind your hands on nights where he puts on a horror movie because he insists on honoring the halloween spirit. over your off-key rendition of taylor swift's all too well (the 10-minute version) for most of the season because you adamantly claim that it's autumn's official anthem. over weekends spent attached at the hip, baking sugar cookies for hours on end. over your crestfallen pout as you take note of how the days keep getting shorter and shorter, already missing warm sunny weeks with all your heart.

minho falls in love with you in winter, over matching scarves and beanies, even though he often has to carry them for you because you have a bad habit of forgetting them before you go out. over the first snow of the season because they say that if you witness the first snowfall with the person you love, then you will stay together for a long, long time. over sweet cuddles in bed as a bad christmas movie plays on tv, and you fall asleep on his shoulder about half an hour into the movie despite being the one to select the movie in the first place. over your return from a shopping spree with your girlfriends with nothing for yourself but everything for soondoongdori, from christmas themed clothes to treats and toys.

but then again, maybe it's not entirely accurate to say that minho falls in love you merely four times a year. if he wants to be precise, then he would say that he falls for you anew every morning he wakes up and sees you asleep in his arms like a delicate miracle granted by a star he once used to wish upon. if he wants to get technical, then he falls in love with you with every smile that you send his way, which is a terribly sappy thing for him to admit but it doesn't make the statement any less true.

minho loves you every day of every week, of every month, of every year. he's loved you before he even met you, when you were just a romanticized idea in his head and hadn't yet walked into his life like the angel he was always meant to find. he loves you every minute of every hour; there isn't a second where you're not on his mind, not a single beat of his heart that doesn't spell out your name. he loves you throughout the seasons and a million times in between.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki @astronomicallyyy @alm334 @lashaemorow

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.04.2024]

[yu-huuuu]

Genin Sasuke, Neji, Gaara, Naruto, Rock Lee, have a crush on the reader and the reader pretends to be a boy like I am they react when they discover that the reader is a girl?

[ 🌸 ] This really got me excited so… thanks anon <3

characters: sasuke uchiha; neji hyuga ; gaara of the sand ; naruto uzumaki; ; +itachi uchiha ;

genre: fluff ;;

warnings: none;;

...

..

.

sasuke uchiha

Sasuke, usually distant and distrustful of other people's emotions, would have a somewhat neutral reaction on the surface, but with a slight hint of internal confusion. As someone who keeps his feelings under control, the fact that the person he likes is a girl would not radically change his feelings. However, he would probably feel a mix of surprise and frustration for not having realized it sooner. At first, he might think he was tricked or that, somehow, something about their relationship had been a lie, but those thoughts would fade quickly.

"It doesn't matter if you're a boy or a girl... Why didn't you tell me from the beginning?" he asked, his expression serious but curious.

neji hyuga

Neji has a serious personality, but he is also very aware of the importance of fate and the destiny of the people in his life. Upon learning that the person he likes is a girl, he might feel a little taken aback at first, as the deceptive nature of the situation challenges his sense of control and rigid perspective on the rules. However, once he reflects on it, he would feel ashamed that he hadn’t noticed it before. This wouldn’t change how he feels about her, but the initial shock could be significant.

“I never imagined that someone could hide something like that…” he said with a serious look. 'But that doesn’t change how I feel', he thought to himself.

His emotions doesn’t change.

gaara of the sand

Gaara, who has a somewhat gloomy worldview and is extremely introspective, would likely be the most surprised, as he has never had a deep connection with others. The idea that the person he likes has been pretending to be a boy might make him feel even more isolated or confused, but he wouldn't take it personally. After all, the emotions of others have always been a mystery to him. However, upon discovering the truth, he would probably feel a sense of relief and happiness, because, in his heart, his affection for that person wouldn't change, and he would also learn something more about her.

"Why lie? But... it doesn't matter. It's you, in the end." He said with a soft and slightly more relaxed expression—something he doesn't often show.

naruto uzumaki

Naruto, always a bit clumsy and emotionally honest!, would likely have a reaction ranging from total surprise to shock. Although he might initially feel a bit offended by the lie (feeling deceived), his love and affection for that person would not change. He might make embarrassing comments or joke about it to ease the tension, but deep down, the important thing is that what he feels for her is genuine. In the end, he would probably be happier to know the truth and would continue to have feelings for her.

"Eh?! Wait, really?! That means that...! I like you because you're pretty, not because you're... uh, a boy?" he exclaimed. When he realized what he had said, he smiled with some embarrassment and scratched his head.

rock lee

Rock Lee, a pure-hearted guy, would be greatly surprised, but he would likely feel even more excited to realize that his feelings are reciprocated. He might be a little confused at first, as the idea of his crush posing as a boy would challenge his view of sincerity and honor. However, after the initial shock, Lee would probably embrace the situation with positivity and determination. Being an incurable optimist, the revelation would make him see things in an even grander light.

"The true essence of love is not seen with the eyes, but with the heart! No matter if you're a girl or a boy, I love you just the way you are!" he exclaimed with a bright smile and raised fists in excitement.

(+) itachi uchiha

Itachi, who has lived with so many secrets and regrets, would have a more controlled and observant reaction. His analytical mind would likely lead him to believe there were reasons for keeping the real you hidden, and the first thing he would do is try to understand why that person felt the need to hide their identity. His reaction would be calm and thoughtful, not showing much surprise. Given his calmer and more mature nature, he would not be upset by the revelation at all. Instead, he would likely see this moment as an opportunity to deepen his understanding of the person he cares (and that he loves) for.

"I understand. There are many reasons why someone would hides their identity. It doesn't bother me", he said with a deep calm, his gaze still as penetrating as always.

He literally said: 'gtfo, my feelings for you remain the same.'

literally, nobody the reader:

[storiesoflilies]

poseidon!suguru was a breathtaking vision of the boundless beauty and splendor of the seas he ruled over.

she was staring at him now, beached upon the shoreline; leaning back lazily in the sun with his ink-black hair carelessly cascading down his bare back. his skin was beautifully bronzed, with water droplets tracing the chiseled ridges of his body as they dripped down onto the sand. his lower half was hidden beneath the teal waves, a strong mauve tail occasionally flicking above the surface.

the god was perfectly serene, like the soft lap of waves gently breaking against an anchored ship. how could this be the very same being whose wrath was known to mercilessly drown hundreds of sailors and ravage seaside towns?

with his eyes closed, he tilted his head in her direction, a long strand of wet hair brushing against the sand. “i sense you, mortal. do not be shy, you may approach me.”

she hesitated, then tepidly tiptoed towards the god of the seas. as she approached, he cracked open an eyelid, a lilac eye peeking out like a glimpse of a pearl in an oyster, taking her in. perhaps it was foolish to have been spying on him, but she couldn’t help it. it wasn’t often that he was known to reveal himself, being an elusive and slippery god at the best of times.

“what are you hiding behind your back there, sweet little thing?” he asked so very sweetly, as soft as sea foam, a beautiful, easy smile gracing his features.

with her lip bitten, and reconsidering all her life choices that led her to this very moment, she kneeled before him and presented her gift as an offering, holding it in outstretched palms. it was a necklace made of seaglass, a mosaic of blues and purples, with white shells dotted between them like gems.

he reached out to touch the necklace, humming happily, his still-wet fingers brushing hers, sending a sensation as if she were incredibly warm and then suddenly doused with a bucket of cold seawater. she was even more surprised when the god placed the necklace over his head and slid it onto his graceful neck.

“what a wonderful gift,” he complimented smoothly, his eyes of purple coral gazing at her with an almost detached sort of adoration. “and what, pray tell, would a loyal follower of the sea wish to ask of me?”

she gulped. “n-nothing at all. only the honor of being in your company, great ruler of the seas.”

the god’s eyes widened playfully, and the waves beat a touch faster against the shore as a mischievous glint sparked deep within his irises. the deep purple fins of his tail broke the surface of the sea as the whole appendage slowly rose out of the water, curling backwards towards his face, his toned abdomen flexing deliciously.

“you seem quite interesting,” he mused, the corner of his lip curling upwards, as the tip of his tail fin touched the edge of her mouth somewhat affectionately. “i think i will visit you more often.”

she didn’t know whether to be scared, exhilarated, or both.

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[written-with-clouds]

I Found Love (Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be) Pt. 2

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/ Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You and Aemond had always been close, even after he lost his eye and your mom moved your family to Dragonstone. What will happen when your grandsire dies and Aegon takes the throne from your mother? Will you and Aemond be able to stay together? Or will family drive you apart?

Authors Note: Cross posted on AO3, Aemond and Reader are of legal age during all spicy scenes.

CW: Uncle/Niece, Secret Relationship, Minor Character is badly injured

Part 1 Part 3

You stand alongside your brothers, watching as your mother and Daemon burn your dead-born sister. Joffrey clings to your legs, unsure of the sadness that permeates the air, and you pet a hand soothingly through his mop of brown hair. A few stray tears running down your cheeks. 

The wind carries the sound of armored footsteps approaching. You turn, seeing a lone Kingsguard, not one of your own, carefully approaching your mother where she stands atop a small rocky hill. He bends the knee before her, holding out your late grandsire’s crown.

“I swear to ward the Queen, with all my strength… and give my blood for hers.” The Kingsguard starts, Daemon approaches him, taking the crown from his hands, as he continues. “I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

 You hold your breath, watching as Daemon slowly returns to your mother and gently places the crown upon her head. He kneels before her and you watch as the other inhabitants of Dragonstone follow, kneeling down before her in a show of fealty. You and your brothers follow suit, bowing your heads to your mother.

The next days go by in a blur. Jace is sent north to secure the support of House Stark and the Eyrie, Luke sent to Storm’s End. Rhaenys leaves on Meleys, to patrol over the barrier made to cut off all sea trade to King’s Landing. Beala patrols over Dragonstone with her sister, Rhaena, on their dragons. 

You, on the other hand, are left to watch your youngest brothers. You spend your days trying to entertain a seven year old Joffery, corral a four year old Aegon III, and keep a two year old Viserys II from eating loose stone. And even with the help of the wetnurses and maids, it is a daunting task. 

During the night, your mind wanders to Aemond. At first you were angry, fuming, at the fact that he could stand aside and let his brother usurp the throne. That he would then, in turn, ask you to leave your own family behind. Then, you were sad. You would sit in your bed night after night and reread all of the letters he had sent you over the years. From the beginning, when you had first moved to Dragonstone. When he had first asked to meet with you in private, in the very same spot you had just days ago said goodbye to him. To the few letters he had sent in the days following your last meeting. 

Meet me at the island, please. I need to see you one last time. 

I waited for you. I will wait again tonight. Please come.

I am to leave King's Landing tomorrow, please meet with me tonight. Kostilus, ñuha jorrāelagon, (Please, my love,). I will be waiting, as always.

I leave today. Avy jorrāelan (I love you)

Luke was the first of your brothers to return. 

He had been badly burned. The right side of his body had taken the brunt of it, the skin peeling and red. Arrax was only slightly better, his wings and scales singed and ash covered. Luke’s screams echoed throughout the whole of Dragonstone as the Maester’s worked to help him. After hours of listening to him cry and scream, you had had enough. 

You walked along the coastline, fighting to keep your composure. In the end, it was a losing battle. You screamed, chucking rocks into the ocean and kicking sand around until you exhausted yourself. Collapsing to the ground, you wailed. For you or for Luke, you couldn’t tell. You cried for what must have been hours, every frustration and tension leaving your body. Over time you tired, curling into yourself, your eyes drifting closed.

You woke up in your room, laying overtop the blankets of your bed, still clothed for the day. Glancing outside you could see that night had long taken over, the sky filled with a crescent moon and glittering stars.

“You’re awake,” you turn to find your mother sitting in a lounge chair by the hearth. Rhaenyra stands, walking over to you and placing the back of her hand against your forehead. “Are you feeling alright, darling? We hadn’t seen you for hours and then Ser Erryk had carried you inside. He said he found you on the shore, asleep and trembling.” Her voice was laced with worry. 

“I went for a walk to get some fresh air and grew tired.. I must have fallen asleep.” You say, “I’m sorry to have worried you.” 

She sits next to you on the bed, pulling you against her in a hug and petting your hair. “It’s alright darling, I’m just happy you're safe.” The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the night. 

Rhaenyra speaking breaks the silence. At first, you don't realize she had asked you a question. But when she repeats herself, your blood runs cold. 

“You were close with your uncle Aemond… weren’t you?” You pull back from her, sitting up to look at your mother. 

“Why do you ask?” You inquire, heart beating loudly in your chest. 

“In truth, I’ve noticed that something has changed in you. I had no hope of knowing what it was without you telling me and had long resigned myself to not knowing… until tonight.” Your mother paused, standing from your bed and walking over to the small table next to the lounge she had been resting on. Your heart beats impossibly louder inside you as she picks up the letters Aemond had sent you. You had forgotten to put them away. “I read some of them… it’s nice.. that you had formed a good relationship with your uncle. You are perhaps the only one of us that could…” 

You watch as she measures her next words, thinking over the best way to say them. 

“But, I hope you will understand that this cannot and will not continue.” 

You stand abruptly, “What! Why? Because of Aegon? Because of this fight between you and Queen Alicent?” 

“Not just that dear.” She walks over to you, running her hands down your arms and grabbing your hands gently, “It’s–“ 

Interrupting her, pull your hands out of her grasp, walk out onto the balcony, and cross your arms over your chest. Turning to face her as she follows you, “It’s what? I need a reason, an explanation. A good one, not just some excuse about who his family is.”

“Aemond is the one responsible for Luke’s pain,” she says calmly. 

Whatever anger you held in that moment shattered. “He… n-no.. you’re lying! He may have had his problems with Luke when they were children.. but he’d never give that sort of command! Aemond wouldn’t do that!” You wrap your arms around yourself as you begin to pace. “It isn’t true,” you whisper as if trying to comfort yourself. 

Your mother stands in place, watching your inner battle. Her expression shows nothing but sympathy as she speaks again, “He didn’t just command it, dear..” Her words are gentle. 

You abruptly stop, facing away from your mother. “You don’t– He didn’t–“ you struggle to find the words, tears clouding your vision. 

“He… Aemond was the one to burn Luke.” Your mother’s words are drowned out by the ringing that fills your ears. Letting out a sharp cry, you drop to your knees sobbing. You jerk away from your mothers touch when she tries to console you with a hand placed on your shoulder. “Leave.” You whisper, crying into your hands. You listen as Rhaenyra’s footsteps recede and the door to your room opens and closes.

You didn’t leave your room for days… maybe even a full week. Servants brought food to you, even if most of it didn’t remain in your stomach. Most days you didn’t dress, remaining in your sleepwear and staring blankly out across the sea. When you weren’t transfixed on the water, you were sat at your desk. You wrote what must have been dozens of short letters, none of which would ever be sent. 

How could you?

Did your hatred for Luke outweigh your love for me?

Why did you do it? 

I hate you. 

I’ll never forgive you. 

I still love you.

It’s when Jace returns from the North that you finally decide to leave the safety of your room. Dressed for the first time in days, you join the council to welcome your brother, much to your mothers surprise. 

“Welcome home, Prince Jacaerys.” Your mother spoke warmly. “What news do you bring us?” 

Your brother bowed his head in greeting, one hand resting over top the hilt of his sword. “The Lady Jeyne Arryn has pledged her support to you. In return, she requests a dragon be sent for protection.” 

Your mother nods approvingly, “and the North?” 

“Lord Cregan Stark has promised two thousand men…” Jace hesitates slightly, glancing to you and then to your mother. 

“Does he request something in return?” You ask.

He nods, answering. “Yes, He asks for (Y/N)’s hand in marriage.” 

Your eyes widen and you watch your mother. Nothing in her expression gives away what she is thinking as she replies with a gentle, “Please send a raven North. Let Lord Stark know we will accept the terms of his offer.” 

“What?” You say loudly, “Mother you can’t be serious!” 

“We need to secure-“ Your mother starts, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“-Secure all the support we can.” You finish for her. “I know. But marrying me off to someone… a stranger at that? Sending me North? You’re okay with that?!” 

She sighs deeply, placing her hand against the table. “Give us the room.” At her words, everyone in the room left. All but you and Jace, who hovered by the door, unsure of what to do. “Jacaerys, you may leave as well… go get cleaned up. Visit your brother.”

“Mother I–“ You start to say. After the door thuds shut behind your brother.

Rhaenyra shushes you, standing and walking over to you. Her jaw is clenched as she takes your hands in hers. Exhaling sharply through her nose and closing her eyes briefly to gather her thoughts. “I don’t want to send you away. I don’t want you to be seen as a prize or bargaining chip.” She reaches up to cup your face, “You are my daughter.. My first born… But I have to make choices I don’t want to make.” 

Her voice cracks and you can see a tear fall down her cheek. Your brow furrows as you step away from her, shaking your head in disbelief. “No…” you say softly, almost in a whisper. 

“We need the men,” She follows after you carefully, like you’re a wild animal that she is trying to tame. “The Starks are good people… they’re loyal and just… you’ll be safe there… protected.” 

“But I won’t be happy.” You spit. 

“You don’t know that..” Your mother bargains. 

“I will be miserable. I will be nothing more than a trophy won in a war. A bargaining chip. A piece of the puzzle. A pawn in your game to move as you wish!” You scream at her. 

She eyes you sympathetically, her expression holding nothing but pity. She sighs deeply before calling for Ser Erryk. “Take her to her room. She is not to leave Dragonstone until I have given explicit permission. I want one guard posted outside her door and her dragon is to be supervised at all hours. She goes nowhere without a guard or me. Am I understood?”

“Mother–“

“Yes, My lady.” Ser Erryk grabs your arm firmly, not enough to hurt but enough that you can’t twist out of it. He escorts you back to your room. Muttering a quiet apology before shutting the door.

You spent the next week pacing in your room. Throwing things against the door while screaming until your throat was raw. At first, your mother would try to visit only to be turned away with insults or ignored completely. Jace would sit with after night had fallen and update you on Luke’s recovery. The only happiness you felt was in hearing that Luke was fine. He would scar, but otherwise be okay. Even his walking was expected to recover nearly completely over time. These conversations were possibly the only reason you hadn’t gone insane. 

On the seventh day of your confinement, you overheard the guards outside your door speaking with each other. 

“How long do you think this’ll continue? I’m gettin’ bored of standin’ outside a door for hours.” One whispered. 

“Not much longer I think,” There was a long pause where all you could hear was the slight shifting of metal. “I heard that Lord Stark is sailin’ here to claim his prize.” The second guard jokes, groaning after what sounds like he got hit in the stomach. 

“Don’t speak about the Princess like that.. she could hear ya.” The first guard whisper-yells. 

At the mention of Stark, you paled. Your heart stuttered and your breathing increased. Stepping away from the door you rushed out to the balcony, hands gripping the short stone wall so hard you cut your hand in a few places. You can’t feel the pain though, as you struggle to catch your breath. Tears cloud your vision for the thousandth time in the past three weeks. Slumping to the floor as your legs give out, you draw them towards your chest. Wrapping your arms around them tightly. 

You sit there, gulp down whatever air you can for what feels like forever. You distantly hear a knock at your door. And another when you don’t answer. A few moments pass silently before the sound of a door opening startles you. You quickly push yourself backwards, attempting to hide within the shadows of the setting sun. Fearing that Lord Stark was closer than you assumed, that he had arrived at Dragonstone to take you. 

Instead, in the archway leading to your balcony stood Luke. He walked with wooden crutches to support his weight and he had bandages adorning his right leg and most of his right arm. He carefully made his way to you. Unable to crouch or kneel, he leans back against the short wall. 

Looking at you with concern and confusion, “What’s wrong.. am I so horribly disfigured that you hide from me?” He tries to joke. Hoping to lighten the mood and set you at ease.

You don’t move, only lifting your head to meet his eyes. “I can’t stay here…” you whisper, it’s barely audible over the breeze that passes through. When Luke doesn’t respond you speak again, “I need to leave… please Luke, I need help.. I can’t be forced into a marriage.. please– please help me..” you beg. 

Luke considers you for a moment, deep in thought, before he speaks again. Sighing loudly, “Fine…” he says finally. “Tonight, after the guards last check, tie your sheets together and anchor them to the balcony. Climb down them and get to the shore line on the far east, there is a small boat tied to some rocks. No one will see you with how dark it gets, and by the time they do you’ll be gone.” 

You take in his words, committing them to memory, before standing slowly. “Thank you, Luke..” You hug him, mindful of his wounds. 

By the time Luke leaves your room, the sun has set completely and the moon is visible. As he leaves, you thank him one last time and ask how he knew of the boat. Luke simply turns to look at you over his shoulder and mutters a quiet, 

“I have my secrets like everyone else.”

The moon was at its highest by the time you reached King’s Landing. You pulled the hood of your cloak over your head to conceal your face as you carefully walked through the streets. 

Quietly you slinked through hidden hallways of the Red Keep, following the same winding path you have for years. Stopping only once you stood in front of the familiar backing to a painting. You strained your ears, listening for movement in the room on the other side of the painting. When you heard nothing after several minutes, you slowly pushed the painting away from the wall and climbed out into the room. Before you can put the painting back into place, you’re shoved against the wall with a dagger placed at your throat. 

“I thought you’d be happy to see me..” You joke weakly. The dagger hits the floor with a loud clink and your hood is yanked off of your head. Hands grip your biceps tightly, as if afraid that you’ll run the second their grip loosens. 

“Is it– Are you really here?” Aemond whispers into the space between you. He isn’t wearing his eyepatch, the sapphire gem reflecting the light from the fireplace. 

You reach a hand up and gently trace along his scar, just as you had so many times in the past. You give him a small smile as tears well up in your eyes like they had so many times these past weeks. Although, unlike the other tears you’ve shed, these are tears of joy. 

“I’m here…” you reassure Aemond, resting your forehead against his. “I’ve missed you..”

Aemond breathes a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he relaxes. His hands move from your biceps, one cupping the side of your face and neck while the other rests against your hip. The two of you stand in silence, enjoying the peace of being near each other. Of being in the other's embrace. 

“I wrote to you…” he whispered.

“I know.” You respond equally as quiet. “I wrote many responses.. and even more questions… none of which I could bring myself to send.” 

Aemond took a shuddering breath, pulling back to look you in the eye. He cupped your face in both hands, his thumbs rubbing against your cheeks, “I’m sorry… about Luke, I– I didn’t mean to hurt him…” 

You shush him, bring your hands to rest on his forearms. “I believe you,”

He swallows, Adams apple bobbing, carefully asking “Did– is Luke… dead?” 

You’re shaking your head no before he finishes his question. “Luke is alive and healing. He will be fine.” 

Aemond nods. It’s a small, barely there, movement that had you not been so close to him you wouldn’t have seen it. 

As silence falls over the two of you once again, you gently remove his hands from your face. Releasing them only to remove your cloak. You grab one of Aemond’s hands and guide him to his bed, softly instructing him to lay down. You climb into the bed after him, curling up alongside his body with your head resting against his chest. He holds you against him with an arm around your back that rests on your hip. His other hand lays flat against his stomach. 

“Why did you come here?” Aemond asks. You can hear his heart beating against his chest, a dead giveaway to how unsure he is. “Why return to me? When I waited for you… I was sure I’d never see you again..” 

“I needed to leave…” you say simply. Your hand traces nonsense along his torso and over the back of his hand. “Dragonstone was becoming a prison…” 

You feel Aemond tense beside you. “What do you mean?” He asks carefully. 

You sigh deeply, “While my eldest brothers were off on their dragons, securing allies for our mother, I was stuck on Dragonstone babysitting my youngest brothers…” as if he can sense your hesitation in continuing, Aemond squeezes your arm reassuringly. “When Luke returned… my mother practically doubled the workload of the guards. Especially those that protected my brothers and I.. it was all very suffocating.” 

“And this caused you to leave?” He asked carefully. You shifted in his arms, propping yourself up on one elbow. 

“Yes… but not just that…” You trail off again, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Aemond watched you worriedly as you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. “What is it, Issa jorrāelagon (my love)? What happened?”

“Lord Cregan Stark asked for my hand in marriage… and in return, he promised two thousand men. My mother accepted and, when I refused, she locked me inside my room.” Your jaw clenched as anger welled inside you, Aemond’s arm tightening around your waist. “I sat there for a week… trapped and miserable, with guards outside my door and under my balcony all day and all night. I could do nothing but sit and wait. When I heard that Lord Stark would soon be arriving.. I decided, for sure, that I needed to leave.. funny enough, it was Luke who helped.. whether or not he knew of us I couldn’t say…”

Aemond was quiet for a moment. Taking in what you had experienced, the fact that your own mother would do this surprised him. He expected it from his own mother… but he always assumed yours cared more for her children than Alicent. “What matters is that you are here now. And I will not let you go again.” Another beat of silence. “Marry me, Issa jorrāelagon (my love).” 

You breathe out a quick laugh gazing down at Aemond. “That alone would start a war, Aemond… our families would never allow it…”

“Then we won’t tell them.” He sits up hastily, nearly knocking his forehead against yours in the process. “We can leave. Leave Kings Landing… leave Dragonstone.. hells, even lease Westeros if need be.”

“Aemond–“ he continues to speak, cutting you off.

“We can start a new life together.. just us, our dragons… maybe a kid or two somewhere down the line..” 

“I–I would really like that..” you say, smiling dreamily as you imagine it. “We should leave soon.. they’ll notice I’m gone come sunrise..” 

“Then we will leave before that..” Aemond guides you to lay back against the bed, smirking as he kisses along your jaw.

“We should leave now.. no one is awake… no one would notice.” You whisper. You gasp as he licks along your neck. Your skin heats up from the warmth of his breath as he sucks against your pulse point, likely leaving a mark. You feel him hum a ‘no’ against your skin as he continues to kiss gently along your neck and collarbone. “Aemond~” you drawl. 

Stopping his assault on your neck, he lifts up to meet your gaze, “We will leave… as soon as I’ve had a taste of you..” 

Aemond returns his attention to your neck as his hands work deftly to remove your dress. The feel of the soft fabric sliding down and off of your body elicits goosebumps and the chill of the room hitting your skin causes you to shiver. Aemond kisses every newly exposed part of flesh, marking his way down your body. Sitting back in his heels, he tugs the dress off of your legs and tosses it aside. Your underwear follows suit. 

“This feels a little one sided,” you joke, looking through half lidded eyes. 

He simply laughs to himself, tugging his own shirt up over his head and tossing it to join your dress. His pants follow soon after along with his underwear. Quirking an eyebrow he smirks at you, “Better, issa jorrāelagon (my dear)?” He teases. 

Aemond hooks his arms under each of your thighs as he makes himself comfortable between them. He lays his hands flat against your stomach and gently kisses your inner thigh. You watch with bated breath as he sticks out his tongue and runs it through your folds. The tip barely manages to push inside you before it is removed again. He groans against you, the vibrations causing your hips to stutter. Aemonds hands held you in place, trapped against him as he devoured you like a starved man. 

“Aemond! Fuck.. oh gods, it feels good!” You moan. Despite the hold he has on you, your hips manage to grind against him with small circular motions. One hand fists the sheets below you as the other tangles into his hair. 

Aemond lifts his head to look at you, licking his lips before saying, “Nyke jorrāelagon se sylutegon hen ao, issa dōna (I love the taste of you, my sweet),” One of his hands shifts down so that his thumb lays overtop your clit. You gasp as he begins to circle his thumb around it. “It’s sweet and far more addictive than any wine in the whole of Westeros.” 

Your breath catches on a moan as Aemond continues to ravish you. He thrusts his tongue into you as far as it will go while his thumb quickly works over your sensitive clit. You writhe against him as you bring your hand up to cup your breast, flicking and pulling at your nipple. Your eyes shut as your head falls back against the pillows, back arching, as two fingers join his tongue. His fingers curl inside you, coaxing moans and shuddering gasps from your mouth. Heat pools in the bottom of your stomach as your climax rapidly approaches, Aemonds name falling from your lips like a prayer, begging for more. His tongue and fingers working in earnest as you writhe against him feverishly. The hand in his hair gripping and anchoring him against you. Your thighs tremble on either side of his head as your orgasm explodes through you. Your eyes rolling back and head falling limply to the side with a drawn out moan flowing from your mouth. 

Aemond works you through your climax, thumb gently rubbing over your clit as his tongue and fingers slowly continue to stretch your entrance. It isn’t until you’re whining and struggling against him from overstimulation, that he stops and pulls back. Making a show of sucking his fingers, soaked with your release, into his mouth and moaning around them before pulling them out with a pop. 

He looks over your body, skin glistening in the candle light. His eyes darken and he smiles. You meet his gaze as he crawls up the length of your body and captures your lips with his own. You moan into him, your tongues dancing against each other and you can taste yourself on him. Your arms wrap around his middle, hooking up to rake your nails down his back. You smirk into the kiss, hearing his sharp intake of breath and feeling his muscles spasm under your hands. You break the kiss, pulling his bottom lip with your teeth gently. He growls, chasing after your lips. You smile, chuckling lightly at his failed attempts to recapture your lips as you turn your face away from him. You position your mouth next to his ear, biting the lobe gently.

“Nyke jorrāelagon ao isse issa, sir (I need you in me, now).” You whisper into his ear before licking the shell of it. “Kostilus gaomagon daor mazverdagon issa umbagon (Please do not make me wait).” 

Aemond shifts above you reaching a hand down and running it through your folds before quickly fisting his cock, using your arousal to slick himself. He guides his length to your entrance, prodding against you. “Skorkydoso kostagon nyke vestragon daor skori ao epagon sīr sȳrī (How can I say no when you ask so well)?” 

Slowly, He pushes in. “You’re doing so well, issa jorrāelagon (my love).” Aemond praises. He runs his hands soothingly over your body, trying to help you relax as you adjust to his size. “You’re taking me so well… sīr vok (so perfect)... made just for me,” He groans, bottoming out inside you. 

He remains still, placing kisses against your shoulders, your jaw, your temple, any part of you his mouth could reach. Whispering praises into your ear and against your mouth as he kisses you softly. 

After a few moments of his gentle kisses and featherlight caresses, you shift your hips against him. “You- you can move now…” 

Aemond sets a slow pace. Languidly thrusting into you as he continued to kiss the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder. Your hands roam over the expanse of his torso, feeling the muscles shift under your touch with each roll of his hips. You move a hand up to cup the side of Aemond’s face, pulling him to you. You lightly press your lips to his scar before kissing his lips. Pulling away from the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours. His forearms, placed on either side of your head, support him as the two of you enjoy the feel of being so closely entwined. You roll your hips to meet his with every thrust in, moaning as you feel him sink deeper into you. 

As Aemonds arms tire, he repositions the two of you. He now lays behind you with his arms wrapped around your torso as he rocks into you from behind. In this position Aemond can freely run his hands over your body. One hand coming down to work over your clit, matching the speed of his thrusts. You cant your hips back against him as best you can, growing closer to release and seeking out more pleasure. The sound of Aemond’s breathy groans next to your ear only spurring you on. 

Aemond finishes first, hips stuttering as he releases inside you. His breath is hot on the back of your neck as he groans before panting against you. You follow soon after, climaxing around his cock as his hand still works over your clit. As your body relaxes into his, Aemond pulls out. 

He untangles himself from you, standing from the bed with a hushed promise of returning as your whine. When he does return, it’s with a rag and sleepwear. Aemond gently cleans his spend from between your legs before cleaning himself off. He tosses the rag into a wicker basket, quickly dresses himself and then helps your sluggish body into the garments. Finally, he climbs back into the bed behind you, pulling a blanket up over your bodies. 

You turn to face Aemond, tucking yourself against him as he wraps his arms around you once again. He kisses your forehead, whispering promises of the future you two will have. “Rest for now, issa jorrāelagon (my love), We’ll leave soon.” He whispered to you, his own eye feeling heavy. It wasn’t long until you both had drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

You stir slightly at the sound of a door opening and armored footsteps rushing into the room. In your sleep dreary state, you think nothing of it. Snuggling back against Aemond. 

It isn’t until you are being forcefully pulled from the bed that you comprehend that something is wrong. You scream and thrash against the man that is holding you, kicking your feet wildly and twisting your body to try and loosen his grip. The man's grip remains secure throughout your flailing, and eventually you give up.

Aemond is on his feet in seconds, dagger in hand, as he watches the men that had entered his room. Kings Guards. He scowls, taking notice of the several fully armored guards now standing in around him. His gaze shoots to where you stand when he hears you whimper. Shackles had been placed tightly around your wrists. Aemond starts to walk towards you, but is stopped by two Kings Guards as they each grab an arm. He fights against them, trying to pull his arms free only to stop at the sound of heels entering the room. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Aemond snarls, fighting against the guards' hold. 

“She is a traitor to the crown.” Queen Alicent responds calmly, her hands clasped in front of her. “We have it in good faith that she is here to either spy or harm the king and his family. Neither are risks I am willing to take.” 

“She is of no concern to you.” He manages to free one arm, “She will not harm anyone here, you have my word, mother. Let her go. She will leave Kingslanding and not return. This need not go any farther.” Aemond bargains, pleading with his mother with more emotion than Queen Alicent had seen from him. 

Queen Alicent considers her son for a moment, watching as his gaze shifts to yours. His eye softening as he tries to reassure you silently. The hand he had pulled free twitching at his side as if fighting to not reach for you. She turns her gaze to you, shaking slightly in fear but trying not to show it. Your eyes, wide as a doe, never leaving Aemond’s as you take in rapid breaths. 

“Take her to the dungeons,” She spoke authoritatively. 

“No!” Aemond roars, fighting harder against the guards trying to restrain him. 

“Aemond!” You say, panicking as the guards force you out of the room. Aemond yells, just barely managing to free his second arm before a guard punches him in the stomach. He doubles over with a groan, coughing roughly. 

Queen Alicent calmly walks over to him and places her hand against his cheek. “This is for the better, my dear. This will pass with time.” She quietly says before turning and leaving the room. The guards release Aemond and he drops to the floor. 

When the door to his room shuts, he slowly stands. Grabbing the nearest object, a vase of black and gold, he throws it as hard as he can. It smashes against the far wall of his room, shattering to pieces before it can even touch the ground. Aemond continues his rampage until there is no part of his room left untouched by his rage. Until he sees something laying on the floor.

Stopping dead in his tracks as he goes to smash another object, there on the floor lays your dress. Discarded carelessly earlier in the night, when Aemond still held you in his arms. 

The object clatters to the floor as Aemond follows, his knees giving out beneath him. Gently and with more care than he has ever shown to anyone but you, he lifts the garment in his hands. Bringing it to his face, he inhales. He can still smell your perfume, the hints of rose intertwining with the scent of ash wood from Dragonstone. 

Silent tears soak the fabric as Aemond cries, still holding the garment to him. He never thought himself a religious man, but in that moment, Aemond prayed. He prayed, to any god that would listen or care, for your safety. And that you would return to him.

Aemond stood on shaky legs and walked to his bed, uncaring in shards of glass cut his feet. He lay on top of his sheets, curled around your dress protectively. Aemond remains there, on the bed, crying silently until he is unable to keep his eye open.

Part 1 Part 3