#i have loved a man before and it was intense

[jjenthusee]

Enthusiasm

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Sometimes the most intimidating can be the most tender.

A/N: HAPPYYY NEW YEAR i give u soft Jason 😌 i’ve been on and off (so sorry about that) but im excited to see what stories will be posted to this account this upcoming year :D so much has happened to end December, but i powered through and i wanted to finish something that was sitting in my drafts. so please ENJOY :) comment if you’re comfortable, reblog if you like the story, and have some flowers 💐

Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, i just wanna kiss his beautiful face fr, reader and jason are in competition of who can out fluff the other

Word Count: 2.5k

previous work linked here

The smell was strong.

Gunpowder and soaked clothes. Jason felt like a wet dog coming home with his tail between his legs. Holding onto the door frames, trying to not bump into the walls.

He had hoped the rain would have washed away most of the blood and burnt smell that radiated from his skin, but no matter how much he tried to rub it off, it was still there. Lingering after his every step, after every breath he took.

Each step into your apartment felt like he was contaminating more of the air, that he was diminishing the warmth you exuded so effortlessly.

His fingertips burned as he tried to grab a dry shirt and some sweats to change into, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

His mind raced and raced as he couldn’t focus enough to grab a single hanger in the closet. He already felt like he was standing underneath a beacon of light from the single bulb illuminating the entire closet and he couldn’t afford to wake you up now, you might smell him and you would find him disgusting until he would beg and beg that he could strip all the smell away.

Jason felt dizzy at the thought of you leaving. He had imagined many scenarios, all kinds of ways you would be gone. Tortured, kidnapped, or you simply walking out the door as he watched because you didn’t want to love him anymore.

It sickened him. A kind of bile that stuck to his throat when he tortured himself with the thought of you leaving him. He rubbed his face, feeling his calloused hands scratch against his skin as he tried to rub more of the smell away.

He could imagine the sound of your voice, screaming his name in fear or even quietly fading as you faded from his arms.

Sometimes the hallucinations felt so real, like you actually left until he found you at home. Living your life, perfectly fine.

“—on. Jason.”

He instinctively grabbed the knife from his utility belt, so quickly and efficiently that it felt like breathing for Jason.

He was still dizzy, but parts of your face were slowly focusing through his lashes, readjusting until your entire face was clear in his vision. He saw your wide eyes, opened because of the suddenness of him aiming a knife to your neck, but what made him feel even more sick to his stomach was the worried look on your face despite the survival instinct overpowering his brain.

It screamed how much you cared about him. The same man that pointed a blade at you.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Jason, it’s me. I’m right here.” You stood still. Watching the intense adrenaline rush from Jason. It had been a while since you’ve seen him escalate this badly.

“No, no. I‘m—you’re not real.” He pleaded, talking more to himself than at you.

“You’re home. You’re back home.” You tried to reach out with your words, giving him something to metaphorically grab onto.

“Please go away.”

Your heart pinched at his broken words.

“Everything is okay. I’m okay. I am right here.” You repeated.

As adamant as Jason was about stopping his hallucination, he couldn’t raise his voice. He was quietly whispering his pleas as you stood at arms length, confusing his reality and mental images. You didn’t waver to call out to him because he felt more wary of you than you did of him.

The blade he held to you was something he hadn’t done before and as frightened as you were in that moment, you stayed calm. Not for yourself, but from how much he shook and his disheveled appearance, Jason was just scared.

You continued to speak to him, giving him tender reassurances, explaining and truthfully telling him how safe he was and how he could relax from the anxiety plaguing him.

Jason’s eyes were relaxing as he listened to your voice, his muscles were loosening his grip from the blade the more in tune he felt with reality, and he suddenly felt all the exhaustion weigh on him. His knife felt so heavy. Every second he was growing more tired as he realized he was safe enough to finally let it go, so he threw it to the side.

The blade bounced to the floor, reflecting and shining the light from the closet back into the dark bedroom.

You took a deep breath watching the blade leave Jason’s hand, then you looked back to him, seeing his soaked hair stick to his face. His armor caked with dirt and blood blending into the fabric.

As much as you wanted to call Alfred, Jason was in no condition to see another person right now.

As you analyzed him, you saw, physically, how much the night had roughed him up. Jason’s hands were limp at his side, his head hung to your feet as you stepped closer to him, testing how close he was willing to let you get.

“Jay? You’re still in your armor, we need to get you out of your soaked clothes.” You gently spoke.

He said nothing to you, focusing on pacing his breaths in a way that didn’t cause him more anxiety. He kept his eyes closed.

“Do you need my help? I can help, but if you want to do it yourself—“

He grabbed one of your fingers, his frozen hand stinging your warm one that absorbed the heat from your blankets not too long ago. His large hand held onto your singular finger, feeling your smooth skin, trying to sink into the soothing feeling of physical touch.

You patiently waited, letting him go at his own pace to grasp that he was safe enough to ask for this much from you.

“I’m glad you made it home.” You spoke. Feeling Jason’s skin trace your knuckles and veins in your hand like he was memorizing and analyzing the living being he cared so much for.

As he continued his small rubs, he eased his touch to a feather light hover over your arm. Feeling up to press his thumb underneath the fabric of your shirt sleeve, mentally talking to himself about the feel of the fabric and its color.

You let him ground himself, taking note of how still you kept your body. All control was in Jason’s hands like a puppeteer over your entire self. He wanted to scream out to himself that he was selfishly touching you, but he was walking a very thin line of losing his mind any second and the feel of you was keeping him focused on something other than his racing head.

He was so tired that he grasp his hand onto your shoulder to gently pull you toward him, resting his head into your hair, smelling how familiar you were.

He thought you smelt so much better than the gunpowder and burning flesh from his body.

He rested his hand behind your back, slowly feeling up to cusp behind your neck, letting his fingers settle onto your pulse. Counting the thumps and feeling the repeated rhythm he memorized numerous times to fall asleep to.

Jason brought you in closer, matching his breaths to yours because if he felt like passing out, he reasoned to himself that it should be completely because he wanted to be one with you.

You settled your forehead onto his neck, taking a deep breath into his skin.

Jason flinched, feeling his skin tingle to your warm breath exhaling to his hair. He hummed before he was about to pull away from you, remembering his stench.

“I’m sorry, I…stink.” Jason apologized, fighting against himself to release you, but also grip you harder.

You pulled him back to you by his neck and arm, leaning his damp hair onto your head.

“You don’t need to apologize. Besides, I love your smell. I think I stink ‘cause I haven’t showered ever since I got back from work.” You lazily smiled up at Jason, appreciating that he was talking to you.

“You don’t smell.” He emphasized, whispering his sincerity into the small space between your bodies.

“I was sweating a lot today, so we can be stinky together if that’s what you’re worried about.” You comforted him, reaching up to cusp his cheeks. Soothing the redness on his face from his harsh rubs. “We can wash up together if you want to. It’s also okay if you want to do it by yourself. I’m always open to what you tell me, no matter what I’ll be right here until you let me know.”

Jason felt the ease in his shoulders, the voice in his head calming. It wasn’t completely silent, but it was a little quieter when you were speaking so gently to him.

“Can we wash up together?” He asked into your palm, rubbing his nose into your warm hand.

“Of course we can. I can get the water ready while you get out of your gear.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed into your touch.

“I won’t make the water too hot. I also got a new shampoo yesterday and I haven’t used it yet, so we can smell like eucalyptus together.” You could feel Jason’s frozen nose on your hands. “Hon, you’re freezing.”

Your worries were unanswered, leaving you to only furrow your brow at the man in front of you. Jason could only look up from your hands, clearly having nothing to say, but patiently waiting for you to give in to his tender gaze.

He knew you would give in, you always did and he wanted to use it to his advantage to not speak about his night.

He removed his gloves and you heard the slightly damp fabric being pulled from his fingers. With free hands, Jason reached out to rub off the furrowed look on your face, in attempt to cover his tired appearance.

“You’re lucky I’m going to be nice about this. I was about one call away to summoning Alfred or I would’ve drove your motorcycle all the way there if I had to.”

Jason chuckled as he kept kneading the line between your eyebrows. Listening to your stubborn worries that felt like music to his ears as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

“Threatening me now?” Jason asked. Amused, but willing to listen to your voice continuously. The way his voice teased you made your heart tingle, enough to distract you for a moment to look at the way his hair fell onto his face. His features were carved by wavy hair, elegantly placed hair strands that made you waver between frustrated and enamored, but unable to stop your heartfelt lecture.

“Maybe you can distract me, but Alfred is too experienced to even consider hesitating with you.” You tried to go move your eyebrows in defiance against Jason’s thumb, not backing down just yet. “I was about to haul you on my shoulders and dump you onto the back of your motorcycle. I didn’t go through all those lessons with you to not use it against you.“

“I knew it, you were always too excited to take it out for a drive. Can’t believe my own student was actually plotting against me all along.” Jason held onto your face, shaking his head as he traced your jaw with his fingers.

“It’s called “enthusiasm,” Jason.” You started to feel for the zippers of his jacket, moving your fingers against the leather as you slowly took it off his shoulders, carefully watching his body language to ensure you weren’t making him uncomfortable.

“Enthusiasm.” Jason repeated. In the same tone you always swooned at, hearing the familiar low roughness in his voice that was only reserved for you. A dangerous combo as he touched your face so affectionately, you could feel your face heat in the dim closet light. “I know all about enthusiasm.”

He leaned in to slightly peck your bottom lip, feeling his own lips barely touch yours. He felt how dry his lips were, but yours were soft enough to drown out his other worries and insecurities. Enough to feel the intimacy, but not enough to solidify something more.

You smiled, clearly won over by Jason’s charm. In one swoop you pulled the jacket off Jason, leaving him in his usual patrol skintight top with his emblem reflecting what little light was in the room.

You couldn’t imagine the fear that red bat symbol brought to the bad people lingering at night, realizing the bad shit they brought on themselves because that emblem was the last thing they would remember.

But you always liked what was beneath it, what it tried to protect. The part of Jason that he relentlessly tried to hide and you had the patience to slowly unveil every bit of it.

“Save that enthusiasm because we might not be able to wash up if you kiss me one more time.” You rubbed your hands into the back of his neck, feeling the tense muscles and wanting to help him relax for a bit with some warm water and rubbing some shampoo into his hair to hopefully allow him to sleep a little tonight. “Clean your gear in the morning, I wanna warm up with a shower and you can help me dry my hair.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed as he kept rubbing your lips with his thumb. You felt accomplished as you felt his hands slowly warming from your physical touch.

“I’ll get us some fresh towels. Grab the new shampoo after you remove your gear.” You released yourself from Jason and made your way to the bathroom. “It should be in the bag by the bed. I forgot to take it out.”

With some soreness, Jason removed his utility belt and picked up the thrown knife to safely secure it back in its place. He felt the weight in his eyelids as he made his way to the bathroom, hearing the water turn on.

When he pushed the door open silently, he watched the way you moved. Adjusting the heat of the water, placing freshly dried towels on the counter, and the way you were so perfectly domestic.

Jason didn’t want to disturb you, soothing himself to the sight of you after he exhausted himself from the repeated torture his mind put himself through.

When you looked back, the look you gave him almost made him melt to the tile floor. That it was unreal he was allowed this.

You pulled him into the bathroom, much like the other ways you introduced him to various simplicities he started to enjoy in his life.

He didn’t want to admit it to you, in case you would be offended, but he cherished how mundane you were. That he could feel as close to ordinary next to you. That the scars that littered him weren’t going to drive you away.

Piece by piece, clothing were removed from the two of you. It was comfortable to bare yourself, to share this intimate experience of bathing together. Washing and holding each other under warm water. Massaging and lathering soap.

The steam was filling the bathroom, slight humidity relaxing your skin and your shared scent radiating off each other.

The night was turning into dawn, but you dried each others hair. You gently laid into the bed to slowly rub at Jason’s head, easing him and yourself into another slumber.

[brooklynnbbg]

Elle my queen please write what it would be like for Lu to take your virginity. Would he be gentle? Imagine this man holding back the urge to absolutely obliterate your coochie but he knows it’ll be about two more times before he can do all that, (I have a feeling he’d tell you about it too) “amore mío, you have no idea how much I wanna pound into right now” I need a visual of the faces and sounds he would make while all of this goes down 😩😩

♡ WARNINGS - Smut! unprotected p in v

♡ A/N -  Guys i actually need him so bad writing this made me want to cry!! Anon ily for this request <3

The room was bathed in the golden glow of the bedside lamp, a soft warmth that did little to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach. Luigi knelt beside you on the bed, his eyes soft and full of adoration as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “We’ll go slow, amore mio,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the racing of your heart.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss so gentle it made your chest ache. His hand found yours, threading his fingers through yours as he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours. “You tell me if it’s too much, okay? We stop whenever you want.”

You nodded, trusting him completely as his lips began a trail down your neck, his hands skimming over your sides to remove the thin tank top that separated you. He took his time, kissing every newly exposed inch of skin, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “So beautiful,” he whispered, his brown eyes dark and filled with reverence. “You’re perfect, tesoro.”

When you were bare beneath him, he paused, taking in the sight of you. His fingers brushed over your stomach, your hips, as though committing every curve to memory. “I’ve got you,” he said softly, his lips curling into a tender smile.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, as he guided you onto your back. His hands roamed your body, gentle and deliberate, coaxing you to relax. When he slipped a hand between your thighs, his fingers gliding through your slick folds, you gasped, your hips instinctively bucking against his touch.

“Shh, I know,” he soothed, pressing kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your throat. “Just like that, bella. Let me take care of you.” His fingers worked you slowly, coaxing soft moans from your lips as he watched you with an intensity that made your cheeks burn.

When he finally lined himself up with your entrance, his cock hard and glistening with your arousal, he paused. His free hand found yours again, holding it tightly as he looked into your eyes. “This might hurt, amore mio. But I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You nodded, trusting him completely, and he began to push in, his movements painstakingly slow. The stretch burned, your body adjusting to the intrusion, and Lu's jaw clenched as he held himself back. “Breathe, tesoro,” he urged, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re doing so well for me.”

His voice was a lifeline, grounding you as he inched deeper. His breathing was ragged, his forehead damp with sweat as he fought to keep his movements gentle. His lips parted, a deep groan slipping out as he moved into you, his hips flush against yours.

“love, you feel so good,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he looked back at you, his gaze heavy with desire and restraint. “you have no idea how much I want to pound into you right now.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his back. He stilled, giving you time to adjust, his lips peppering kisses across your face. “Talk to me, bella,” he murmured. “How does it feel?”

“Full, but good” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Luigi smiled, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “That’s my girl,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

As the discomfort faded, you nodded, and he began to move more. His thrusts were slow and shallow at first, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched for any sign of pain. When your soft moans turned to cries of pleasure, his movements deepened, his hips rolling against yours in a steady rhythm.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice thick with restraint. “You’re taking me so well, amore mio. So fucking good for me.”

His free hand slid down to grip your hip, holding you in place as he drove into you, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The sounds he made—the low groans, the breathless moans, the way he whispered your name like a prayer—only heightened your arousal. He buried his face in your neck, repeating “I love you, I love you.”  His jaw tightened as he bit down on his bottom lip, the muscles in his neck straining as he held himself back, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts.

When your walls clenched around him, his movements faltered, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. “I’m close, bella,” he warned, his voice strained. “But I need you to come for me first. Can you do that, amore mio?”

You nodded, your body already trembling as the coil in your stomach tightened. His hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, your nails raking down his back as your orgasm washed over you, and Luigi followed moments later, his hips jerking as he spilled inside you with a guttural moan.

His face contorted in pleasure, his brows furrowed and his lips parted as his breath hitched, a deep groan spilling from his chest. “fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead against yours. “You’re incredible, bella. So perfect for me.”

He collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as he pressed kisses to your temple. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of awe. “My perfect girl.”

As you lay tangled together, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of the moment, he whispered against your skin, “Next time, amore mio mio, I won’t hold back. But for now, rest. You’re mine, and I’ll take care of you.”

Tags: @nicholaschavezslut69, @ddlydevotion, @italianbabydaddy, @rckerbell, @slavicdolls4mangione, @perfumeaddicted @yeeterang @days12 @v1rtualsalvat10n @bricapellan16 @sleeepytimebear @preiyers @hdh-57jcidm-blog

[writingsbychlo]

daydreaming about the way mattheo riddle fucks. it's not just sex, it's a whole experience. he wants to be sure it's something you're going to fantasise about again, "open those eyes, pretty girl, look at me. remember me so you can picture me properly next time you touch yourself." mattheo likes to take his time, he likes to make it a little messy, he likes to have you gasping and begging, sheets scrunched up in your hands as you leave puddles on his bed because it just feels so damn good. he wants a ring of your lipstick around the base of his cock before he makes you cream on it, he wants your slick on his chin and his fingers and all down the insides of your thighs. he wants to watch his own cum dribble out of you before pushing it back in and smirking at your whines. "hold your legs open, so I can stuff it all back in. you'll keep it all nice and safe, won't you? 'course you will." he wants you shaking so hard your muscles tense up, he wants to come so hard himself his voice is hoarse and he's shining with sweat as his eyes roll back. because he's not a selfless lover, he's just so damn good his selfishness doesn't matter. "fuck, you feel so fucking good, baby. you've got such a perfect cunt." not when edging himself so it feels all the better means multiple orgasms for you, not when watching you cry and whine because it makes him so hard also means he makes you feel things you've never felt before. not when making you scream his name so loud people can hear because he loves to let everyone know means you also get an earth-shattering orgasm. mattheo will fuck your throat and come on your face just to tell you how pretty you look as he lets you suck it off of his fingers. he'd let you scratch your name into his back, or press a sharp heel to his chest, as long as he can inflict a little pleasurable pain too. "would you let me bite you, baby? make you bleed a little, pretty please?" he likes to leave his mark, messy, scratches and bites and hickeys and little fingertip-shaped bruises. he likes to slap your face and your arse and your clit, he likes to push your thighs open so far they ache and bend you into positions you couldn't even imagine before, he likes to press down on your stomach as you some just to make it tighter for himself, and so much more intense for you. mattheo riddle fucks like a man possessed.

[yu-huuuu]

𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯?| 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘴!reader| chapter: 01, (you are here)02, 03,

[🌸] phew-- you guys give me so much love in the last part, thanks <3 , maybe you don't know but you always give me a lot of energy to continue, thank you, I love you.

Summary: Perhaps the most important question is not; "How did you end up in this place?". it is; will you be able to finish the unfinished business that your self from this world left pending?.

...

..

.

The man took another sip of the steaming tea that resided in his hands, "I searched for you like crazy as soon as I first received your call."

You straightened up; however, you did not speak despite your desire to do so. Laura was sitting next to you.

When the man suddenly appeared at the door, the first thing he said was to know why you were in this place, and of course you were surprised by his words.

He had politely asked to speak to you, which you reluctantly agreed to. Laura, on the other hand, had offered to make some tea for the three of you to drink while you talked.

This man's appearance was so strange and unkempt, yet so... familiar, you vaguely wondered where you had seen him before.

"This is probably too sudden for you", he said, without showing any sign of discomfort at your lack of response. He put the small china cup down on the living room table, then pointed at your new old friend, "Does she have to be here?"

You knitted your eyebrows at her unappreciated words. You opened your mouth to reply before he interrupted, "No, forget it. I just remembered what happened last time I asked you that".

You were speechless; what did he mean by 'last time'...?

"Sorry, did we know each other before?", you asked, completely confused. "You speak as if we have known each other for a long time..."

The man frowned at your words: "Oh, right, you're not her".

"Her?" you murmured. You were so confused; did he think you were someone else or...?

He sighed while frowning a bit. His action and expressions were unexpected for you, but to be honest, it was more like he was mentally preparing himself for what he was going to say next: "How much do you know about other dimensions?".

"I...", what did you know? Only what was necessary, that was for sure. I mean, there was never a question like that on a math or physics test in high school. Goodness, it wasn't even a regular topic of conversation.

The man spoke again, not letting you finish your thoughts he murmured your name, "That's your name, right? I guess your last name is not 'Wayne', that would be too much of a coincidence'.

Wayne? Like the last name of that fictional character from the comics? You were going to ask him what he meant when the realization of what he said first hit you, you hadn't even told him your name yet, "How...?"

"So even names don't change in other dimensions," he said to himself without looking at your face. Then the man snorted; it sounded like an almost graceless muffled laugh. When he calmed down, he looked into your eyes. His look was serious— too serious, a little chill ran down your spine from the intensity of his look. "You are in another dimension... one where you died."

"What?" He was joking, right?

The man sighed, almost as if he were preparing himself for what he was about to say, "You were Bruce Wayne's adopted daughter".

As soon as the man finished speaking, you had enough. "Is this a joke!? Do you think it's funny that—?", Laura's warm hand on yours stopped you in the middle of your tirade. You turned to see her confused, only to see her surprised? She looked as if she had realized something.

Why did Laura see you that way? You could feel that your head was about to explode from everything that was happening. This was all too much; it couldn't be real. It was just impossible. This had to be a very well-crafted joke.

The man called out to you once more. "I didn't introduce myself, right?", he sighed in amusement and then raised his hand for you to shake in introduction mode, "You from this dimension probably would be scolding me for my bad manners. I'm John Constantine".

...

You saw the man's back walking away, his hands inside his coat. When he was a good distance away, he turned to you, "If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact me".

You squeezed the special card he had given you while you nodded vigorously, and then watched with complete surprise how what you assumed was a portal opened and then disappeared with John inside. None of this felt real, you were still taking in what happened an hour ago.

'I'm in another dimension', you thought as you, still very nervous, looked at the news magazine in which on the front page was reported about how the "justice league" managed to successfully catch the "injustice league" who threatened to destroy the entire city of Manhattan.

You knelt down, moving and reviewing different magazines from earlier dates that had different characters as protagonists, some better known than others. There was one of the "teen titans", a magazine that perfectly framed "Superman" flying through the sky to catch a plane with more than two hundred passengers on board that was going down.

You rummaged and moved more magazines until you got to the oldest news. One page featured Wonder Woman in particular as the protagonist of a march for Women's Day. Another page featured Flash, who was named the fastest human being alive. Even one of Aquaman gave an interview on how he managed to clean up the oceans by ninety percent.

There were some from Gotham that you were afraid to see for some reason. 'Is what he told me true?'

You sighed, tired; all this was giving you a migraine. 'Of all the possible things that could have happened to me, it had to be the worst...'

...

A sudden knock on the door startled you.

'Is it John?', was what you thought at first. It had been a few days since you last saw John, and the talk you had with him still weighed heavily on your mind.

.

.

.

"I suggest you come with me", he tried to convince you, but he stopped when he saw your distrustful look, "or maybe I could take you to Bruce", he retracted as he raised his hands a little.

"Why?" you inquired uneasily.

"You'll be safer this way", he explained as he got up from the chair. It didn't take long for you to copy his action, "Are you coming?".

Should you really do it? Was it really safe to go with him? If everything he told you was true, then the world waiting for you outside wasn't safe at all, and you knew it. You weren't foolish at all; you were sure that even John couldn't protect you at all times.

What would happen to Laura? Would she be okay?

John, seeing your indecisive state, hums, "Though- this place is good". He spoke, taking his eyes off of you.

You looked up from the fixed point that you were looking at without realizing it, "huh?"

He just nodded to himself and then looked at you, "I mean, this place isn't safe, it's a small town, but no one would think of looking for anything of value in this place", he explained as he gave you a small but warm smile, albeit something very inside you told you that smile was not really directed at you.

.

.

.

The second wave of knocks on the door took you out of your memories. You were about to get up to open the door when Laura suddenly appeared, waving you to stay in your place, which you obeyed.

"Are you sure that she is here?", it was a woman's voice, getting up from the soft chair, you headed towards the door.

You heard John's sudden voice, though it sounded like he was trying to defend himself, perhaps from some assumption, "Trust me, Zatanna is this house, I'm absolutely sure".

"It's better to be careful after last time-", the mockery in her voice trailed off as you stood in front of the door. She was a young woman, her eyes were a pretty blue, she had beautiful black hair that cascaded down her back; and next to her was John.

"See, what did I tell you?" John exclaimed triumphantly, ignoring the stunned woman next to him. "Hey , how's it going-?", the question hung in the air as the woman took a step towards you.

Laura, who was still standing in the same place, gave the black-haired woman enough space to pass. The soft touch of the female's hands on your face made you pay all your attention to her. Her eyes looked sad as she stared into yours, "You're not the same persona I used to know, are you?"

"I...", it wasn't even necessary for you to say anything else, she understood what you meant.

"I see, I understand. My name is Zatanna Zatara," she explained as she slowly moved her hands away from you, almost as if she didn't want to leave your person.

You felt bad for the woman in front of you.

...

:> Would you give me some love by squishing the heart below? Also tell me your thoughts, you can do it in this post or write it in my inbox!

[asvtrials]

I know you said you wanted ideas and I would love to enable the emperor brainrot. I’ve been wondering how Geta would react to women fighting in the games. I know the timing doesn’t quite work out (his father banned them from participating) but they used to, even high class women participated. The movies aren’t exactly right with the real history anyway. Just a thought I have. For someone so… bloodthirsty, I think it would be interesting…

Thank you for the suggestion, I LOVE THIS IDEA OMG! I can see him being so entranced by such a strong woman. I hope you like this <3

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

Emperor Geta x gladiator!fem!reader, minors dni! masterlist

summary: The moment the older Emperor laid eyes upon you, in the middle of the Arena, he was lost. You were encircled by corpses, every bit of your skin and clothing was coated by the red liquid of your enemies yet you looked divine, so divine that Geta wanted you for himself. warnings/tags: Gladiator reader, sub!Geta x dom!reader, ooc, power play, Geta wants to be topped and doesn't even know it lmao, p in v, choking, description of gore, death and blood

tags: @1950schick @longlivemyblues @reformedkingsmanagent @doodle-with-rhy @whimsicalittletrinkets @edsbug @jakesullyswhore @only4thefics @lillissleepmedicine @badbun5656 @cokepowder55 @idolofthewestcoast @www-interludeshadow-com @ellie-luvsfics @cosmorant @believeinthefireflies95 w/c: 3.7k English is not my first language and I'm not used to writing in present tense. Sorry for any mistakes I make.

── ୨ৎ

The moment he laid eyes on you, Geta knew he was done for.

You were breathtaking in every way he could think of, so much so that even Caracalla noticed his breath catching in his throat as they gazed below from their box.

He knew you weren’t meant for everyone’s eyes.

Your golden skin, dark curls, soft lips, and doe eyes were of such contrast to the tight grip you had on your sword and the redness that stained your clothes. It was all too intense to ignore so that same night he ordered your master to bring you to the palace.

He taps his foot against the marble floor the longer it takes for you to arrive and Caracalla's cackle echoes in the vast room at Geta’s boyish behavior. Geta sends him a warning glare but immediately turns when he hears Thraex’s voice.

“My Emperors!” He calls cheerfully as a servant leads him to the twin thrones. 

He almost forgets to regard Thraex as he searches for you but sends a tight-lipped smile before his eyes fall on your figure. You stand behind your owner, eyes refusing to look away from the floor.

“Thraex!” Caracalla welcomes, throwing his hands in childish delight. “Incredible performance today! You never fail to entertain us!”

“My Emperors I see you have been charmed by this beauty! I don't blame you it's not every day that we see female Gladiators.” He boasts, grabbing your face rather harshly and forcing you to face the Emperors.

Gods, you were even more mesmerizing up close. He didn’t appreciate how Thraex touched you thoughtlessly, his brow twitching at the sight of his dirty nails digging into your cheeks.

The Emperor steps forward and with one wave of his hand, Thraex quickly withdraws his hand and steps to the side. 

Geta doesn't even look at him, he is too lost in your confusing gaze. For once he doesn’t see any admiration or even fear in someone’s eyes. It is something different, so foreign and electrifying…

“How shall we call you, warrior?” He asks, his voice surprisingly stern despite his internal feverish excitement.

“Her name is—” Thraex begins but Geta raises his hand, silencing him immediately.

You remain quiet, unsure of what to do. You weren't told you'd have to speak. Honestly, you weren't given much information to begin with. They just hoarded you to the carriage and brought you here.

You give an uncertain glance to Thraex but your eyes snap back to the man before you when speaks again.

“Don't look at him.” Geta reprimands. “Look at your Emperor,” He says and you can practically feel the arrogance as the word ‘Emperor’ leaves his mouth.

“Emperors!” Caracalla yells from his throne but Geta ignores him.

“How shall we call you?” He repeats, dismissing his co-emperor.

“Y/n.” Your voice is strained when you speak but his lips twitch upwards at the sound.

“Y/n… Delightful.” He murmurs as he searches your eyes for something even he isn’t sure.

“Thank you, Thraex. The servants will lead you out.” He tells the older man who frowns. He wasn’t prepared to walk out without a slave this evening.

“My Emperor, um…” He stammers. “She is rather expensive and I-”

“I can see that.” He interrupts and his eyes run down your figure. His hungry gaze sends a shiver down your spine but you try to ignore it.

“She will stay in the Palatine until her next game, that is if she fights again.” He informs the man, finally turning to him, but not for long. His attention was back to you, his finger reaching for one of your curls. “I'll see how she'll do today and I'll inform you. Do not fret, You will be compensated.”

You narrow your eyes, the implication barely hidden between his words.

You didn't look away from him even when the maids hurried you out of the room. It wasn't out of attraction, although you have to admit he wasn't bad, it was because of fear. 

This felt like the beginning of a very dangerous game. Being faced with hungry predator, yet not being eaten. Waiting for the blow, yet never being hit…

Never sure when you’re going to be devoured, broken, and ruined completely until you're tossed to the side.

The maids lead you to the servants' bathrooms. Normally, you would feel revolted at how they touch you and scuff you, but getting clean after so many days silences any negative emotion.

It was painfully obvious that they were ordered to prepare you as fast as possible. The uncomfortable discovery of just how impatient the man was hangs above you as they dress you. As much as you want to pretend you can handle Geta he remained the Emperor of Rome. A spoiled, entitled Emperor who is used to getting his way…

The servants guide you to his chambers with hushed whispers that you don’t bother tuning to. You take a deep breath as you stand in front of the large doors of his bedroom, uncomfortable in the thin dress they put on you.

A servant gives you a light push resulting in you sending her a glare but you do comply. 

Softly, you give the heavy door a few knocks with your knuckles. You don’t wait much until a “Come in.” reaches your ears.

You enter the grand room and you have to pause for a minute to let it all in. The luxurious furnishing and decor of the bed chambers are a stark difference from the muddy cells they provided to you. It is beyond anything you’d seen before. Geta smirks at your astonishment.

“Come, my little warrior.” He orders, his voice honeyed despite his authority.

“What am I here for?” You ask as you approach him, disinterested in idle chit-chat. As much as the venom threatens to spill from your tone, you make a real effort to sound as polite.

Geta doesn't bother giving you an answer. He merely extends his hand, bringing the back of his hand close to your face, expecting you to comply with his every command.

You hate that he is right. As much as you want to spit on his face you want to keep your head, the promise of living long enough to win your freedom was such a flickering hopeful thought but it kept you from making foolish decisions like spitting on your Emperor’s face.

You eye his fingers, the rings that adorned almost all of them shine in the candlelight. Bitterly, your cold hand reaches for his, and the moment you feel his tender flesh against your lips you feel nauseous but he doesn’t seem to notice, or more accurately, care. His fingers twitch at the contact.

Tender and delicate.

If it isn’t clear by his behavior or extravagant attire that he knew nothing about work, pain, or how it felt to beg for a moldy piece of bread, the softness of his hands made it very clear.

He knows nothing about the suffering that he and his brother put everyone through. Gods, you want to rip him apart.

“What am I here for?” You repeat, dragging each word as if you're talking to a child.

“To entertain me. Aren't you an entertainer?” He answers with a small smirk threatening at the corner of his lips.

“I am a Gladiator.” You correct sharply.

“I see no difference.” He chuckles, stepping back to a table filled with food and wine.

He pours himself some wine, offering you some as well. Although you want to act cold and refuse the liquid looked too tasteful. You accept, bringing the cup to your lips without words. It is as delicious as it looks and you close your eyes for a moment to relish the taste.

“Divine isn't it?” He asks, a pleased smile playing on his lips. You snap your eyes open, mentally slapping yourself for giving him the satisfaction. You nod, setting the cup on the table.

Suddenly he steps forward, closing the gap between you. “You must already understand that I didn't call you here to drink.” He says, bringing his hand to sit on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing your collarbone.

“I am no whore.” You warned, pushing his hand away

His eyes darkened at your words “You are whatever I want you to be.” He says through gritted teeth.

As much as you tried, you couldn’t bite your tongue. “That is what you believe, huh?” You begin, a dry chuckle leaving your lips. “You think we are ants in your Empire?”

He tilts his head, eye twitching. He starts at you as if trying to figure out what he should do to you. The taste of defiance from someone like you was far beyond what he had anticipated for this meeting…He isn’t sure why but it left a sweet aftertaste. Intoxicating is the only word that comes to mind.

Soon enough he snaps out of this mind-fogging haze and grabs your arm harshly. You don’t even flinch, it couldn’t compare to the hardship you had gotten through in the arena.

“Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to?” He warns, voice breaking in a mix of surprise and fury.

Something compels you in that moment. Is it anger after seeing the lavish life he has while you were rotting away in a cell? Is it a surge of power after bashing the Emperor himself?

You grab his wrist, your grip tight and unforgiving. His eyes widen, glancing between your hand and eyes.

You can’t help the smirk that falls upon your lips when worry flashes in his eyes. It was only for a second but you have seen it too many times to miss it. You don’t miss the way he didn’t pull away either.

A small breath slithers past his lips as he stares down at you, the darkness in his eyes almost gone in the candlelight.

“You’ve brought me here to claim me…You think you can?” You tell him and his look alone was worth your possible execution.

“You dare underestimate me, you worthless—”

“I can snap your wrist like a twig” You interrupt him with a chuckle.

He raises an unconvinced brow.

You convince him just fine with a calculated press of your thumb against his bone. He hisses in pain but he doesn’t pull his hand back.

“But I think you would like that, My Emperor,” You tell him with a wicked smile. It is barely above a whisper but it’s enough to make Geta’s breath catch in his throat. “All you have to do is ask…” 

You can’t believe it. Emperor Geta, the ruthless and heartless Ceasar looking at you like he was about to kneel and kiss your feet if you let him, have his head if you wished for it.

“Can you—” He begins the words catching in his throat, shame catching up to him faster than his words could leave his mouth. “Join me tonight?” He finally manages to say, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Something warm spreads across your chest and your fingers twitch around his wrist before ultimately loosening your grip.

He lets you guide him to the bed without a word. He doesn’t even look back, his eyes already too foggy with desire. Once the back of his legs meet the edge of the bed, he lowers himself.

Geta’s breath fans your stomach, and the thin material of your cloth barely covers you and you shiver. His hands ich to reach for you, to wrap his hands around your waist and drag his lips all over your skin like a starved man but he restraines, looking up at you through his lashes.

Your smirk grows wider at his obedience. 

Your hand snakes up his arm and rests on his throat and he groans, a sound dangerously close to whimper. Shame washes over you when you find your thighs pressing together at such a pitiful sound. 

“My Emperor, did you know…” You begin and Geta forces himself back to reality at the sound of your voice. “That if you slice this little vein, right here—” You murmur while gently running your thumb on a prominent vein in his throat, your tone soothing completely unsuitable for your words. “Death will find you slow and painful…Such feeble beings we are…”

“Have you ever done it?” He asks, nearly innocently. “Given someone a slow and painful death?”

“You would’ve known.” You sneer, your mocking laugh making his cheeks burn.

So you have noticed him looking at you, even when the fight was long finished and you were resting against the burning sand, bodies gushing with blood surrounding you.

His hand creeps up your arm,  A silent plea for you to give him what he wants. So you do.

You squeeze your fingers around his throat making him gasp in surprise. The breathy moan that escaped his lips tell everything you need to know and you press your fingers tighter, your nails digging into his incredibly soft skin.

He throws his head back, gasping desperately. His hand slides down to his stomach but before he could move any further you grab his arm, pinning it against the mattress.

Has he ever felt this weak, this vulnerable? You hoped the answer was no. How could you imagine anyone else seeing him in such a state?

He snaps his eyes open, half-lidded eyes staring back at you with such desperation that you had to resist the urge to give up on whatever this little game was and just sink on his dick already.

“You are enjoying yourself, my Ceasar?” You mock but he doesn’t notice the ridicule in your voice, perhaps he is too used to his enjoyment being everyone’s concern. His answer comes in an eager nod.

Your gaze travels down his body, your eyes lingering on him longer than you would ever admit.

Your eyebrows shoot up when you notice the tent in his toga. 

You could see he likes it but not that much.

Without much thought you climb the bed, the mattress dipping under your knees as you cradle his lap. 

“Mmm…” You purse your lips to stop the sounds that threaten to spill from your lips when you feel his hardness press against your clothed core.

His mind is too far gone, too deprived of oxygen to understand much; he could only whimper softly at the friction.

His breaths come more shallow than before and his hand grips yours.

It would be so easy to just squeeze. He wouldn’t even scream, how would he when all the oxygen was stolen from his lungs?

Nonetheless, you release your grip no matter how tempting the idea is.

He gasps for air, his hand coming to rub his throat, throwing his head back with a long sigh, desperate to fill his lungs again.

Once he finally realizes the position that you've arranged yourself in, his other hand comes to your thing, squeezing lightly as if to ground himself.

You hate that you welcome the action, his warm hands feel begrudgingly pleasant on your skin.

You let him come back to reality, waiting until his chest moves slowly again. He wet his lips with his tongue as his eyes try to focus and for the first time, you notice the tears that sit on his lash line.

You want to taunt him, to call him every degrading name that sat on your tongue moments ago but you simply can’t. Not when he looks at you like he would break apart at any moment. No—when he looks at you like he wants you to break him apart.

So you do the next best thing you can think of, or more accurately, your body can think of. You roll your hips forward, earning a gasp from the both of you.

Both his hands fly to grasp your thighs tighter as you repeat the motion and again until he shakes under you, throwing his head back with a whine.

“I—I want you.” He rasps between soft moans, his voice soft and pleasing.

You pause contemplating for a moment if you should do it the easy way. You have to laugh because why would you?

“You want me?” You repeat with a taunting giggle, grabbing his jaw between your fingers, and forcing his gaze to meet yours.

“Yes.” The word comes out in a quick, desperate breath, so fast that it makes your mocking smirk falter for a moment.

“How pitiful. Imagine the Senate seeing you like this. Bet you'll lose what little respect they have for you.” You snicker, running your thumb over his cheek. His only response was digging his nails into the flesh of your thigh.

His reddened eyes blink rapidly but you can still notice the blown-out pupils when you untie his robes, deliberately taking your time. You suppress a smile as he shifts uncomfortably.

Once you finally unbit the belt of his luxurious robe, you toss it to the side completely bypassing the worth of the material. You try to ignore the sudden shake that took over your fingers as you carefully move away his robes, revealing his finely muscled body.

His leaking cock springs up, laying against his stomach and you felt even more self-conscious by simply looking.

A small prideful smile creeps to his lips. You send him a warning glare but he seems to gain his confidence rather quickly, not missing the opportunity to gloat over your little slip-up.

He sits up, the cheeky smile never leaving his lips. “Are you enjoying yourself, my little warrior?” He taunts your previous words.

You narrow your eyes, squeezing his face between your fingers in irritation but his smirk doesn’t falter until you move your hands to your own belt. His tongue runs across his bottom lip, nearly salivating at the thought of your naked body.

You pull your dress over your head hastily revealing your naked body to the man. His gaze explores you with a starving intensity. His hands quickly reach for your flush skin but you swat them away. 

Geta is about to send you an irritated look but you are quicker, grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head back. 

He groans and despite his momentary surge of confidence, he doesn’t do anything to stop you but rather bites his lip to stop any embarrassing sound from escaping. 

“So spoiled.” You spit out, pulling harder on his locks.

That little motion seems to break him apart completely as a breathy moan reaches your ears.

“Do you really want me?” You murmur and he nods but that doesn't satisfy you. 

Why should it? You want to hear him beg and cry for you, swallow his pride completely under the promise of pleasure.

You yank his hair harder, making him huff in surprise louder. 

“Yes, I want you. I really want you.” He manages to say through rugged breaths. “...my lady.”

“Good.” You say and you can see something flicker in his eyes at the sudden praise. 

You let go of his hair and rest your hands on his shoulders. With a small push, you lift your bare body from his. Your hand finds his member, aligning it to your entrance and he chokes. You run his tip between your folds making both of you exhale at the feeling.

With a deep breath, you slowly sink down his length. No matter how much you try to keep quiet you simply can't. You can’t help the lewd moans at the burning sensation alongside Geta who hugs your waist, pressing his face between your breasts.

You should've pushed him away, you really tried to make yourself do it. But instead, you run your fingers through his unruly hair, the pleasure too mind-numbing for the both of you to keep up with this game. 

Geta doesn’t miss the opportunity to taste you, kissing and licking your skin hungrily. It started between your breasts, his teeth grazing your skin with every kiss.

His eagerness sends shivers down your spine and a loud moan leaves your mouth when his lips latch onto your nipple, catching it between his teeth and circling it with his tongue.

His hips buckle, drilling his cock deeper into your creamy folds. You moan loudly, grasping his shoulders.

He pauses for a moment, expecting punishment but when all you do is cry out in pleasure his lips curl, his smile mirroring one of a crazed man.

It is for the better that you don’t see the delight on his face. You would never forgive yourself after seeing the pleasure he took in seeing you like this.

Geta’s pace quickly deteriorates into something primal and desperate. Something so uncontrollable that even you couldn't stop. But even if you could, you doubt you would. 

Your nails rake his back with every forceful slam and you cry out when his tip grazes that spongy spot inside you, legs shaking in pleasure. 

“Oh! Oh— Gods!” You moan, sinking your nails into his back.

With a groan, he releases your nipple from his mouth and raises his head, his blown out eyes falling on your face.

You meet his hungry gaze but only for a second before your eyes travel to his spit-covered lips and without much thought, you grab his hair and pull him to you, slamming his lips on yours.

He doesn’t miss a beat and kisses you back with the same insatiable hunger that fills your chest.

You claw and bite and kiss him like he was your last meal. And he possibly is because once the fog of lust wears off he will surely command a public execution.

Your lips part in a silent moan, lost in bliss at the violent orgasm that just hit you harder than you’ve ever experienced. Your walls flutter around his twitching dick and he whines at the feeling. He comes with a loud moan, lips pressing against you as he spills his seed deep inside you. He pushes you close, pressing your chest against his face as you both breathe heavily.

He murmurs something against your skin but you ignore him. You will later find out that it was a quiet promise, not to you but to himself; to keep you as close as he could even if it meant stopping the following games altogether, even if it meant locking you somewhere only he could see you.

── ୨ৎ

a/n: This was a PAIN to write. I was left suffering. I hope you like it and i'm REALLY sorry for delaying this for so long! I think I had such a hard time because 1) sub!Geta feels so out of character and I tried to make this as in character for him and 2) I had no time to write cuz of all the family dinners.

[hisfavegirl]

Chained By Destiny - Aegon Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader.

Summary : Where the realm saw a reckless prince and unworthy heir, you saw the boy who had once clung to you in the dark, his insecurities and fears laid bare. You saw the man behind the title, burdened by a heavy duty as a prince. And when others turned their backs on him, you stood steadfast by his side, offering the love and solace he so desperately needed.

Aegon Masterlist.

Alicent let out a sharp cry as another wave of pain tore through her body, her fingers clutching desperately at the midwife’s hand. Sweat clung to her brow, her usually composed expression now a mask of agony. For the first time in her young life, she truly understood the raw, consuming pain of childbirth.

The chamber was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting shadows that danced across the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of herbs and sweat, the low murmurs of the maesters and midwives a constant backdrop to her labored breathing.

“You must push, Your Grace,” the maester urged from the foot of the bed, his voice firm yet gentle. “The babe is crowning. You’re almost there.”

Alicent gritted her teeth, a sob escaping her lips as she nodded weakly. She summoned every ounce of strength she had left, bearing down with a force she didn’t know she possessed.

The midwife beside her whispered encouragements, her other hand smoothing back Alicent’s damp hair. “You’re doing so well, my lady. Just a little more.”

The sharp, unrelenting pain reached its peak, and Alicent cried out, her voice echoing through the room. Her body trembled with the effort as she gave one final, desperate push.

The maester’s voice broke through the haze of pain and exhaustion. “I see the head! Just a moment more!”

Alicent gasped, her vision swimming with tears as she felt the release—the weight of the child leaving her body. A loud, piercing wail filled the room, cutting through the tense silence.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, lifting the crying infant for all to see.

The midwife quickly took the baby, wrapping him in a soft cloth before placing him gently into Alicent’s trembling arms. She stared down at the tiny, wrinkled face, her heart swelling with an overwhelming mixture of relief, love, and exhaustion.

Her fingers brushed over the baby’s soft cheek as tears streamed down her face. “My son,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice filled with awe. “My beautiful boy.”

The pain of the ordeal was already fading into the background as she gazed at the life she had brought into the world. For all the suffering, for all the fear, this moment made it worth it.

As Alicent handed her newborn son to the midwife to be cleaned, her body tensed unexpectedly. A sharp, familiar pain tore through her, forcing a gasp from her lips. Her eyes widened in confusion as she looked at the maester and midwife, her voice trembling.

“What… what’s happening?” she asked, clutching the sides of the bed as another contraction rippled through her body. “I was told there was only one child!”

The maester exchanged a quick, concerned glance with the midwife before stepping closer, his voice steady but urgent. “Your Grace, it seems there is another child. It is rare, but it happens. The second babe must still be in the womb.”

Alicent’s face paled as the realization hit her. She was not yet done, not yet free from the torment of labor. Her breaths came faster, panic rising in her chest. “Another child?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But I… I don’t have the strength for this.”

The midwife gripped her hand firmly, her voice calm and reassuring. “You’ve already brought one child into the world, Your Grace. You can do this. Just breathe.”

Tears pricked Alicent’s eyes as another contraction gripped her. She threw her head back, a sob escaping her lips. The pain was just as intense as before, her body demanding every ounce of strength she had left.

The maester leaned forward, his expression focused. “The second babe is positioned well. You’ll need to push again, my lady. It won’t be long now.”

Alicent shook her head, exhaustion overtaking her. “I can’t,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve already given everything.”

“You can, Your Grace,” the midwife urged, her voice steady. “For your child. Just one more effort.”

Alicent gritted her teeth, summoning strength from somewhere deep within. With the midwife’s hand steady in her own, she bore down again, crying out as the pain reached its peak.

The room filled with tense silence, broken only by Alicent’s ragged breaths and the murmurs of encouragement from the midwives.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the maester’s voice rang out. “The second babe is here!”

A softer, more subdued cry followed, and the midwife quickly wrapped the newborn in a cloth before placing the child in Alicent’s arms. Her body trembled as she looked down, her heart racing.

“It’s a girl, Your Grace,” the midwife said gently.

Alicent stared at her daughter, her tears flowing freely now. The child’s tiny features were perfect, her cries strong and insistent. Despite the pain, despite the fear, Alicent felt a surge of love that consumed her completely.

“My daughter,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “My sweet girl.”

Though her body was weak and trembling, her heart was full as she cradled both of her children, marveling at the miracle she had just experienced.

Alicent lay back against the pillows in her chamber, her body aching from the strain of childbirth but her heart full as her gaze rested on the two bassinets nearby. Her newborn son and daughter slept peacefully, swaddled in soft blankets. A tired yet genuine smile graced her lips as she watched them, the pain of the ordeal momentarily forgotten in the presence of her children.

Though a small part of her ached at Viserys’s absence during the birth—his choice to remain at the tournament rather than by her side—she tried to push the hurt away. These moments were too precious to be marred by bitterness.

The creak of the chamber door opening drew her attention. Alicent turned her head, expecting the maesters or a midwife, but her breath hitched slightly when she saw Viserys step inside. His expression was a mix of curiosity and faint guilt as his eyes landed on her.

Walking a step behind him was Rhaenyra, her silver hair framing her youthful face. The princess looked hesitant, her gaze flickering to Alicent’s weary form and then to the bassinets.

Viserys approached first, his hands clasped behind his back. “Alicent,” he began, his voice tinged with an unusual softness. “I came as soon as the tournament ended. I… I heard the news.”

Alicent forced herself to sit up a little straighter despite her exhaustion, offering a faint smile. “The children are healthy,” she said quietly, gesturing toward the bassinets. “A boy and a girl.”

Viserys’s face lit up, his earlier hesitation fading. “Twins,” he murmured, stepping closer to look at them. “What a blessing.”

Alicent couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to address the children more than her, but she kept her composure, her smile never wavering.

Rhaenyra hesitated near the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Alicent glanced at the young girl, her green eyes softening. “Rhaenyra,” she said gently, “would you like to see them?”

The princess nodded and approached, her steps light. She leaned over one of the bassinets, her expression curious and a little unsure. “They’re so small,” she whispered, a hint of wonder in her voice.

Alicent chuckled softly, her hand instinctively resting on her abdomen, now empty but still aching. “They are,” she agreed, her tone warm.

Viserys finally looked at her directly, his expression softening further. He reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done well, Alicent,” he said. “You’ve given me two more children. Our family grows stronger because of you.”

Though his words were kind, they didn’t quite reach the depths of her heart. She nodded, her smile steady but her eyes betraying a flicker of the hurt she tried to suppress. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied quietly.

As Viserys turned his attention back to the children, Rhaenyra lingered at Alicent’s side. For a brief moment, the princess reached out and touched Alicent’s hand lightly, her expression unreadable. “You were brave,” Rhaenyra said softly.

Alicent’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “Thank you, Rhaenyra.”

In that fleeting moment, despite the pain and disappointment, Alicent found solace in her children and the tentative connection she still shared with Rhaenyra. Whatever came next, she would face it with grace—for her children, if nothing else.

You walked through the Red Keep’s winding halls, your footsteps light as you made your way to your mother’s chambers. You had just finished your lessons for the day, and as always, you intended to report back to her about your progress. However, as you ascended the grand staircase, you spotted a familiar figure—your halfsister, Rhaenyra.

She was making her way down the stairs, her movements slow and deliberate, clearly strained. Beside her was her husband, Leanor, who held their newborn son in his arms, cradling the tiny bundle with care. The sight of the child, so small and innocent, brought a fleeting smile to your face, but it quickly turned to concern as you noticed Rhaenyra’s pale complexion.

“Rhaenyra,” you called out gently, hurrying to her side. “What are you doing out of bed? Shouldn’t you be resting after the birth?”

Rhaenyra gave you a faint smile, though you could see the exhaustion etched into her features. “The chambers are stifling,” she admitted softly. “I needed to breathe, to move. I’ll return soon.”

You frowned, not entirely convinced. Her resilience was admirable, but it was clear she was pushing herself too hard. Without hesitation, you reached out to steady her, your hand resting lightly on her arm. “Let me help you back to your room,” you said firmly, leaving little room for argument.

Leanor glanced at you and nodded his thanks, stepping aside slightly to allow you to guide Rhaenyra. She hesitated for a moment, but the exhaustion in her eyes betrayed her. With a soft sigh, she relented, leaning on you as the two of you began the slow journey back to her chambers.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance at the newborn in Leanor’s arms. “He’s beautiful,” you said quietly, your voice full of genuine admiration.

Rhaenyra followed your gaze, a tender smile gracing her lips despite her weariness. “Thank you,” she murmured. “He is my little Joffrey. Strong and full of life.”

You nodded, a warm feeling spreading through you at the sight of her happiness, even amidst her fatigue. But there was also an unspoken sadness that lingered in the air, one you couldn’t quite place.

When you finally reached her chambers, you helped her settle into the large, cushioned bed. Rhaenyra sighed in relief as she sank into the comfort, and Leanor placed their son gently in her arms. You stayed for a moment longer, watching as Rhaenyra cradled the infant with such care, her love for him evident in every movement.

“Thank you,” she said softly, meeting your gaze with gratitude. “For always being kind to me.”

You shook your head, brushing off her thanks with a small smile. “It’s what family does,” you replied.

As you turned to leave, you glanced back one last time. The image of Rhaenyra holding her son, her strength and determination shining through her exhaustion, stayed with you. It reminded you of the bond you shared—a bond that would persist, even as the world around you continued to change.

After helping Rhaenyra back to her chambers, you continued your journey to your mother’s room. The halls were quieter now, the lingering echoes of earlier commotion fading into the stillness of the Red Keep. However, as you approached the door to Alicent’s chambers, your steps faltered.

There, on the stone floor, were small, scattered drops of blood trailing toward the entrance. Your heart clenched. It wasn’t unusual for tensions to run high between your mother and Rhaenyra, but this sight sent a chill down your spine. You remembered that you saw Rhaenyra earlier in the staircase, and the thought unsettled you.

Gathering your resolve, you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Your mother sat in her usual chair near the window, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow around her figure. She looked calm, serene even, as she cradled a delicate teacup in her hands. The scent of herbs and spices wafted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of iron that seemed to linger.

Her expression softened when she noticed you, and she gestured for you to come closer. Whatever had transpired earlier, she made no mention of it, nor did she seem inclined to explain the bloodstains outside.

You approached cautiously, taking a seat beside her. “Mother,” you began, folding your hands neatly in your lap, “I’ve come to report on my lessons for the day.”

Alicent’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before she smiled faintly, her green eyes warm but weary. “Of course,” she said, her voice as composed as ever. “Tell me.”

You recounted your studies—detailing the texts you had read, the figures you were learning about, and the progress you’d made in your calligraphy. Her nods and occasional murmurs of approval reassured you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that her mind was elsewhere.

When you finished, there was a brief silence. You hesitated, glancing toward the faint crimson marks near the base of her gown. “Mother,” you asked carefully, “is everything all right? I noticed—”

“Everything is fine,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm, leaving no room for further inquiry. She reached out and placed a hand over yours, giving it a light squeeze. “You’ve done well in your studies. That’s all that matters for now.”

You bit your lip but nodded, choosing to let the matter rest for the moment. As much as you wanted to press her, you knew better than to question her when she wasn’t ready to talk.

Still, as you sat there, the unease in your chest refused to subside. Whatever had happened in this room before your arrival, you were certain it was something your mother would go to great lengths to keep hidden.

You made your way to the training yard, drawn by the sound of clashing wood and the grunts of effort. As you arrived, you spotted your twin brother, Aegon and Aemond, sparring with their wooden swords. Aegon, as usual, swung his sword with a mix of reckless enthusiasm and barely practiced skill, while Aemond’s movements were precise and calculated, his concentration unshakable.

When Aegon noticed you standing nearby, he lowered his sword and grinned, jogging over to you. Without a word, he reached out and ruffled your hair, the playful gesture earning an annoyed huff from you.

“Must you always do that?” you asked, trying to smooth your hair back into place, your tone exasperated.

“Of course,” Aegon replied with a cheeky grin. “It’s my sacred duty as your older brother to annoy you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement.

Aemond, who had stopped to observe the interaction, approached as well. Unlike Aegon, his movements were more composed, and his gaze softer as he regarded you. “What brings you to the training yard?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

“I was passing by and thought I’d see what trouble the two of you were causing,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Though it seems one of you is taking this seriously,” you added, glancing pointedly at Aemond.

Aemond smirked, pleased with your acknowledgment, while Aegon feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me, dear sister,” he said with mock indignation.

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh. “I’ll leave you two to your training, then,” you said, turning to go.

“Wait,” Aemond called out, his expression shifting slightly. “Stay for a while. Watch us.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow at his brother but said nothing, instead lifting his wooden sword and preparing for another round.

“Fine,” you relented, finding a shaded spot nearby to sit and watch.

As the sparring resumed, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle ways Aemond seemed to try harder, his focus sharper whenever he glanced in your direction. Aegon, on the other hand, continued to mix skillful moves with exaggerated antics, clearly trying to entertain you.

Despite their differences, there was a warmth to their dynamic, and as you sat there, you felt a small sense of peace. Even in the chaos of court and family politics, moments like these reminded you that there was still something worth cherishing.

The training yard grew tense as Ser Criston arrived, his presence commanding attention. Behind him, you noticed your nephews, Jace and Luke, trailing quietly, their expressions a mix of determination and apprehension. You hadn’t expected them to join the training today, but you offered them a kind smile as they approached.

As the session continued, Aemond’s focus shifted to Jace. His strikes became sharper, his movements more aggressive, as though trying to prove something. You could see Jace struggling to keep up, his face strained with effort. Finally, with one swift movement, Aemond managed to knock Jace down onto the dirt.

You instinctively stepped forward, your gaze filled with concern. “Aemond, that’s enough,” you called, your voice firm yet soft. But Aemond ignored you, his eye gleaming with triumph as he loomed over Jace.

Before you could say more, Ser Harwin stepped in, his protective instincts flaring. “That’s no way to train with your kin,” he said, his voice steady but edged with warning as he placed himself between Aemond and Jace.

What happened next unfolded in a blur. Aemond stepped forward, his pride clearly stung by Ser Harwin’s intervention. Ser Criston, ever loyal to Aemond, moved to defend him, his hand reaching for his training sword.

Jace and Luke, emboldened by Harwin’s presence, tried to defend themselves as well. In the chaos, you moved closer, hoping to de-escalate the situation.

But everything spiraled out of control. A sudden push from Jace, aimed at Aegon, sent you off balance. You stumbled and fell onto the hard ground, the impact jolting through your body.

The commotion stopped abruptly as everyone noticed you on the ground. Aemond’s eyes widened in shock, and he immediately dropped his wooden sword, rushing to your side. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice laced with worry as he helped you sit up.

Aegon joined him, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with rare concern. “What were you thinking, Jace?” he snapped, glaring at your nephew.

Jace looked stricken, his face pale as he stammered an apology. “I—I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

You took a deep breath, brushing off the dirt from your hands as Aemond helped steady you. “I’m fine,” you said softly, though the sting in your palms and the ache in your back said otherwise.

Ser Harwin stepped forward, placing a hand on Jace’s shoulder. “That’s enough for today,” he said firmly, his protective gaze lingering on you.

The tension in the yard was palpable as everyone slowly dispersed, but Aegon remained by your side, his jaw tight and his expression unreadable. “I’ll make sure no one harms you again,” he said quietly, his tone more of a promise than a reassurance.

You tried to assure Aegon, “I’m fine, really,” but he wasn’t having any of it. His sharp gaze caught the blood on your palm, and his expression darkened. “You’re not fine,” he said firmly, grabbing your uninjured hand.

Before you could protest, Aemond stepped in beside you, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the injury. “Come on, we’re going to Mother,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As they guided you toward the castle, footsteps hurriedly approached behind you. “Wait! Is she all right?” Jace called out, his voice tinged with worry.

Aemond turned sharply, his face set in a cold glare. “Leave,” he said flatly.

“But I just—” Jace began, taking a step forward.

“I said go,” Aemond cut him off, his voice icy and unyielding. The look in his eye was enough to make Jace hesitate.

Jace glanced at you, concern etched on his face, but when he saw Aegon’s steely expression and Aemond standing protectively at your side, he reluctantly stepped back. “Fine,” he muttered, turning and walking away, his shoulders tense with frustration.

The rest of the walk was silent, save for Aegon’s occasional glance at you, his worry evident. When you finally reached your mother’s chambers, Aegon pushed open the door with more force than necessary, calling out, “Mother!”

Alicent turned from her desk, startled, and immediately her eyes fell on you. Her concern deepened as she saw the blood on your hand. “What happened?” she asked, hurrying over.

“It’s nothing,” you tried to say, but Aemond cut in. “An accident in the training yard. Jace pushed her.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line as she took your hand, examining the injury carefully. “Why were you even there?” she asked, her tone a mix of worry and frustration.

Before you could answer, Aegon interjected, “It doesn’t matter now. Just make sure she’s taken care of.”

Alicent sighed, calling for a maester as she gently dabbed at the wound with a cloth. Aemond stood nearby, his hands clenched into fists, while Aegon paced back and forth.

“You shouldn’t let them near you,” Aemond muttered after a moment, his voice low but intense.

“They didn’t mean for it to happen,” you said softly, trying to ease the tension.

But neither of your brothers seemed convinced. Aegon stopped pacing and glanced at Aemond, a silent agreement passing between them. They wouldn’t let this go so easily.

The maester finished cleaning and bandaging your wound before straightening up. “It’s nothing serious,” he said with a calm smile. “A small cut, and it should heal in a few days. Just avoid straining it.”

You sighed in relief and turned to your brothers. “See? It’s just a scratch. You’re worrying too much.”

But Aegon scoffed, crossing his arms. “A scratch can turn into an infection. What if the maester missed something? You could fall ill.”

Aemond nodded in agreement, his gaze sharp. “He’s right. You shouldn’t dismiss this so easily. What if it had been worse?”

You groaned, exasperated. “It wasn’t worse! I’m fine, truly.”

Both brothers remained unconvinced, their concern still etched into their expressions. Frustrated, you turned toward your mother, hoping for her support. “Mother, please tell them they’re overreacting.”

But Alicent didn’t meet your gaze immediately. Instead, she sighed softly, her expression torn, before she finally said, “They’re only worried about you, my dear. And they’re not wrong to be cautious.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re taking their side?”

Alicent placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You are precious to us. To all of us. It’s better to be overly cautious than to regret it later.”

Aegon smirked, clearly pleased with Alicent’s response, while Aemond gave a small, satisfied nod. You felt your frustration bubble over. “You’re all impossible!”

Standing abruptly, you glanced between them before storming out of the room, leaving your mother and brothers behind. As you walked through the halls, you muttered under your breath, “It’s just a scratch, not a mortal wound.”

But deep down, you knew their concern came from a place of love—even if they were absolutely insufferable about it.

You were halfway to your chambers when you heard Jace’s voice behind you. “Wait—” he called out, his tone soft, almost apologetic.

Turning around, you saw him approaching with an uncertain look on his face. His eyes flicked to the bandaged hand at your side. “I… I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said hesitantly, his gaze filled with guilt. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Before you could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted the moment. Aegon appeared, his face dark with irritation. “And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing here?” he snapped, stepping between you and Jace as if shielding you from view.

Jace’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground. “I was apologizing,” he said firmly, though his voice remained steady.

“You’ve done that. Now leave,” Aegon ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stepped forward, intending to diffuse the tension, but Aegon’s hand on your shoulder stopped you. “Go to your chambers,” he said without looking at you, his focus solely on Jace.

Reluctantly, you obeyed, glancing back at Jace as Aegon’s sharp glare followed him until he turned and walked away.

Once Jace was out of sight, Aegon’s demeanor shifted slightly. He turned to you, his expression softening. “You shouldn’t entertain him,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You frowned but said nothing as he walked beside you, his protective nature as overbearing as ever. When you reached your chambers, he opened the door for you, gesturing for you to enter.

“Aegon, you don’t have to be so harsh,” you said quietly, looking at him as you stood in the doorway.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m harsh because I care. He’s too reckless, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you—even if it’s unintentional.”

You gave him a small smile, recognizing the sincerity behind his words. “Thank you, Aegon. But I can take care of myself.”

He smirked, a hint of his usual playful self returning. “Of course you can. But you’ve got me and Aemond to make sure you never have to.”

With that, he gave you a brief nod and left you to rest, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Night had fallen, and the soft glow of torches lit the halls as you finished preparing for dinner with your mother in her private solar. Adjusting your gown, you left your chambers and made your way to Helaena’s room, finding her perched by the window, humming softly as she watched the stars.

“Helaena,” you called gently, drawing her attention. She turned to you with a warm smile, her delicate hands smoothing her dress as she joined you. Together, you walked through the quiet corridors, your steps echoing faintly.

When you reached the solar, the door was already slightly ajar, and the sound of low conversation drifted out. Inside, you saw your brothers—Aegon reclining lazily with a goblet of wine in hand, while Aemond stood near the window, his gaze distant and unreadable. They both turned their attention to you and Helaena as you entered.

Aegon’s face lit up with a smirk. “Finally. We were beginning to think you got lost,” he teased, his tone light but laced with his usual humor.

Ignoring his remark, you walked past the table to where your mother sat at the head. She looked up at you, her expression softening as you leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Good evening, Mother,” you said, your voice warm.

“Good evening, my dear,” she replied, her hand brushing yours affectionately.

Satisfied, you moved to your seat beside Aegon. As you sat down, he leaned slightly closer. “Taking your time tonight, aren’t you?”

You gave him a small, unimpressed glance before turning to Helaena, who had settled on your other side. She began speaking quietly about a dream she had, her words carrying that cryptic charm only she could manage.

Across the table, Aemond’s gaze briefly flicked to you, lingering for a moment before he turned his attention to his goblet. His silence, as always, spoke volumes.

Dinner began, the atmosphere calm but edged with the subtle tensions that always seemed to accompany your family. Still, for now, you let yourself settle into the moment, content to be surrounded by those you cared for, even if the bonds between you were complicated.

As the soft clinking of cutlery and muted conversation filled the solar, your mother suddenly broke the relative calm with a statement that made your breath hitch.

“This afternoon,” Alicent began, her tone measured yet carrying a distinct weight, “your father proposed the idea of uniting our family further. Specifically, he suggested a marriage.”

Your attention, which had been focused on your plate, snapped to her as the words sank in. “A marriage?” you repeated, your voice betraying your unease.

She nodded, her gaze steady. “Between you and Aegon.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Aegon, who had been lazily swirling the wine in his goblet, suddenly stopped, his eyes darting to you. Aemond, seated across the table, stiffened visibly, his expression darkening.

You blinked, struggling to form a response. “Mother… That’s—”

“It’s a sound proposal,” Alicent cut in, her tone soft but firm. “The union would strengthen our family’s claim and ensure stability. It’s what’s best for all of us.”

Aegon broke the silence with a dry laugh, setting his goblet down with a faint thud. “So, I’m to marry my sister now? Is that supposed to sober me up?” he quipped, though his smirk faded quickly when he caught the serious look on your mother’s face.

Helaena, who had been quietly picking at her food, glanced at you with an apologetic expression, as though she wished she could say something to ease your discomfort.

You turned your gaze back to Alicent, your throat tight. “Mother, I…” you hesitated, looking for the right words. “I wasn’t expecting this. At all.”

“I understand,” Alicent said gently, though her eyes held a steely determination. “But these are the realities of our family. You’ll have time to consider, but the King feels strongly about this.”

Across the table, Aemond’s voice finally cut through the tension, cold and sharp. “Perhaps my brother should learn responsibility before a match like this is even considered.”

Aegon glared at him, his jaw tightening. “And perhaps you should mind your own business, little brother.”

The bickering began to escalate, but you barely heard it. Your mind swirled with conflicting emotions as you tried to process what this meant for you—and for your family.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the turmoil in your chest as Aegon and Aemond’s heated words echoed around the solar. Slowly, you reached out and placed a hand on Aegon’s forearm, urging him to calm down. “Aegon,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the argument. “Enough.”

He glanced at you, his anger dissipating slightly as he noticed the worry etched on your face. With a begrudging sigh, he leaned back in his chair, though his jaw remained tight.

You turned your gaze to your mother, her expectant eyes fixed on you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you hesitated, weighing the gravity of your next words. Finally, you nodded, your voice quiet but steady. “If this is what’s best for our family… I will agree to it.”

A silence fell over the room, the weight of your decision settling on everyone. Beneath the table, you felt Aegon’s hand reach for yours. His grip was surprisingly firm, a silent reassurance or perhaps a plea for strength. You glanced at him, and though his face was unreadable, the gesture sent a flicker of warmth through the uncertainty.

Alicent’s expression softened, relief evident in her eyes. “Good,” she said, her voice carrying a maternal gentleness. “Then it is settled. The wedding will be held in one month’s time.”

One month. The words echoed in your mind as you tried to process the rapid pace of it all. You glanced at Aemond, who sat silently now, his jaw clenched as his gaze lingered on the table. Helaena offered you a small, kind smile, though her eyes seemed distant, as though lost in her own thoughts.

As the conversation shifted back to more mundane matters, you barely heard a word, your mind still racing. Aegon’s hand remained in yours, and though you couldn’t quite read his thoughts, his presence anchored you in that moment.

For Aegon, this marriage was more than a mere duty—it was a lifeline, a chance to hold onto the one person who had always been there for him. You were his anchor, the one who saw beyond his flaws, offering him kindness and love when others only judged or scorned him. Your mother’s stern distance, her harsh words, and the weight of his own insecurities had always left him adrift. But with you, he felt seen. Understood.

And you? You loved him, too. Despite his recklessness, his vices, and the moments of doubt that sometimes plagued you both, your bond had always been undeniable. You had shared so many moments of laughter, of quiet confessions, of comfort in each other’s presence.

This marriage was not just an obligation. For you and Aegon, it was the culmination of years of unspoken connection—a way to solidify the love that had always been there. As the days passed and preparations began for the wedding, you often found him at your side. Sometimes he’d be quiet, watching you with a rare tenderness in his eyes. Other times, he’d make you laugh with his dry humor, lightening the weight of the expectations that surrounded you both.

To the court, your union might be seen as a strategic move, a way to strengthen the family in turbulent times. But for you and Aegon, it was more. It was hope, it was love, and it was the promise that, no matter what, you would face the world together.

You walked slowly toward the garden, supported by your handmaiden, as the weight of your second pregnancy made movement more challenging. The gentle morning breeze carried the sound of laughter—bright and carefree—belonging to Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Their giggles were soon joined by Aegon’s deeper, joyful chuckle, a sound that warmed your heart despite the strain on your body.

As you reached the edge of the garden, your gaze fell upon the scene: your two children running in circles, chasing butterflies, with Aegon crouched low, pretending to help but clearly playing along. The sight made you smile, even as a small wave of exhaustion passed over you.

Aegon was the first to notice your presence. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he quickly stood, brushing his hands off before making his way toward you. His usual smirk was softer, more affectionate, as he reached out and took your hand.

“Come,” he said gently, his voice low and warm. “You shouldn’t be standing so long in this condition.

With his help, you carefully made your way to the bench where your children were waiting. Jaehaera immediately ran to you, her silver hair shining in the sunlight as she hugged your side, while Jaehaerys tugged at Aegon’s sleeve, eager to pull him back into their game.

You sat down, your hand resting on your rounded belly, watching as Aegon indulged Jaehaerys once more, pretending to be a fearsome dragon while your son giggled and tried to “fight” him with an imaginary sword.

Moments like these reminded you why you loved him. Whatever storms loomed outside these walls, here, in the garden with your family, everything felt calm. Perfect.

You gently caressed your belly, feeling the life growing within you as you watched Aegon play with Jaehaerys. A soft smile graced your lips, but out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Aemond standing at the edge of the garden, his tall figure poised and observing you silently.

Curious, you turned your gaze to him and called out, “Aemond, is there something you need?”

Aemond took a step closer, his eye fixed on you, his expression unreadable. “I’m waiting for Aegon,” he replied in his calm, measured tone. “We planned to fly with our dragons this afternoon.”

You nodded in understanding and turned toward your husband. “Aegon,” you called, your voice soft but clear, “Aemond is waiting for you.”

Aegon paused his game, brushing the dirt from his trousers as he straightened up. “Flying, is it?” he mused with a grin, clearly intrigued. Before he could respond, Jaehaerys ran up to him, tugging at his hand eagerly.

“Can I come, Father?” your son asked, his eyes wide with excitement. “Please? I want to fly too!”

Aegon glanced at you, hesitating for a moment before smiling down at Jaehaerys. “Alright, little dragon,” he said, ruffling his son’s silver hair. “But you’ll need to hold on tight.”

Jaehaerys cheered, his youthful joy infectious, while Jaehaera clung to your side, shaking her head. “I want to stay with Mother,” she said softly, looking up at you with her big, trusting eyes.

You placed a gentle hand on her head, smoothing down her hair. “Then you’ll stay with me, sweet one,” you said, your voice warm and comforting.

As Aegon and Jaehaerys joined Aemond, the two men exchanged a brief glance—a silent acknowledgment of their shared bond as brothers. You watched them leave, Jaehaerys skipping alongside his father and uncle, his laughter echoing through the garden.

With Jaehaera nestled by your side, you felt a sense of contentment despite the bittersweet ache of seeing them go. Moments like these, when your family came together, were the ones you cherished most.

You remained in the garden, enjoying the peaceful moment with your daughter, Jaehaera, as she played by your side.

As you sat there, one of your servants approached you with a respectful bow, holding a raven’s message in his hand. “A letter for you, my lady,” he said, his voice polite but carrying a hint of curiosity.

You recognized the seal immediately—the one from Dragonstone. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you took the letter, feeling a warmth at the thought of Rhaenyra, despite the tense relationship between her and your mother.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft as you carefully broke the seal. The raven had brought a message from your half-sister, your bond with her still strong despite the stormy waters between her and your mother.

As you unfolded the parchment, Jaehaera looked up at you, sensing the change in your demeanor. “Is it from Aunt Rhaenyra?” she asked, her voice full of innocence and curiosity.

You nodded, offering a reassuring smile as you began to read. The words flowed smoothly as Rhaenyra updated you on the happenings in Dragonstone, sharing news of her children and offering a warm invitation to visit soon. Despite everything, the love she held for you remained clear in every line.

As you finished reading, you tucked the letter away carefully, knowing you would write back soon. You didn’t need to respond immediately, but you were already thinking of how you could plan a trip to see her and the children again.

“Would you like to go see her soon?” you asked Jaehaera, your eyes twinkling with excitement.

She beamed at the thought. “Yes, Mama!”

For a moment, everything felt just a little bit brighter—the connection with Rhaenyra, the family bonds that still held strong despite the complexities, and the love you shared with your children. Even in the midst of everything, there were moments of peace and happiness to hold onto.

With the letter from Rhaenyra tucked safely away, you remembered the promise you had made to your mother to share tea together. Carefully, with the help of your maid, you rose to your feet, steadying yourself with a hand on your growing belly. Jaehaera clung to your other hand, her excitement at seeing her grandmother evident in her bright eyes.

You walked through the familiar halls of the Keep, each step measured and deliberate due to the weight of your pregnancy. When you reached your mother’s chambers, you knocked lightly before entering.

Alicent was already seated, her hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting for you. At the sight of you and Jaehaera, her face softened with a rare tenderness. She rose gracefully, coming to your side to guide you to a comfortable chair.

“Sit, my dear,” she said, her tone warm and soothing. You lowered yourself into the chair as she took her place beside you, her gaze immediately falling to your swollen belly. With a gentle hand, she reached out and brushed over it, her touch both curious and affectionate.

“You’re carrying beautifully,” she remarked, a trace of nostalgia in her voice. Then her hand moved to your face, her fingers brushing against your cheek in a motherly gesture that reminded you of your younger days.

Jaehaera climbed into Alicent’s lap with a giggle, and your mother’s expression softened even further. “And how is my sweet granddaughter today?” she asked, her voice playful as she tickled the little girl’s sides, eliciting more laughter.

The room filled with warmth as Alicent began to play with Jaehaera, asking her about her day and making her giggle with little jokes and stories. For a moment, the weight of politics and tensions seemed to fade, leaving only a quiet, familial joy that you hadn’t felt in some time.

You sipped your tea, watching the scene with a soft smile, feeling grateful for this rare, peaceful moment with your mother and daughter.

After ensuring that Jaehaera was safely tucked into her bed, you made your way back to your chambers. The corridors were quiet, the evening air cool against your skin. When you opened the door, the faint scent of soap and clean linen greeted you, and your eyes immediately found Aegon. He was standing near the hearth, his damp hair falling over his forehead, the fresh tunic he wore clinging slightly to his skin.

A smile tugged at your lips as you stepped closer to him. Hearing your approach, Aegon turned, his violet eyes softening when they met yours. Without a word, he opened his arms, and you walked into his embrace. His hands were gentle as they settled on your back, pulling you closer as his chin rested lightly atop your head.

He pressed a kiss to your hair before murmuring, “Jaehaerys is being cleaned up and sent to rest. He was so eager to fly today. I’ve never seen him smile that much.”

Your smile widened as you leaned into him, resting your cheek against his chest. “He loves spending time with you,” you replied, your voice warm. “He adores every moment he gets to share with his father.”

Aegon pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his expression tender. “And I adore every moment I get to share with all of you,” he said softly.

The weight of the day seemed to fade as you stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence. Aegon guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand never leaving yours as he knelt in front of you. He placed a hand gently on your belly, his touch reverent.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

“Better now,” you replied, your hand covering his. “I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you.”

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “No,” he whispered, his gaze locked on yours. “I’m the lucky one.”

In that quiet moment, with only the crackle of the fire filling the room, the world outside seemed to vanish. It was just you, Aegon, and the life you had built together—a love that had grown stronger with each passing day.

After changing into your nightgown with Aegon’s help, you let out a soft sigh of contentment as he guided you to the bed. The mattress was warm and inviting, and as you lay down, Aegon settled beside you, his arm slipping protectively around your waist.

His hand rested on your rounded belly, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles as if trying to connect with the child within. Every now and then, he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his affection wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” Aegon murmured, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “Do you think they’ll look more like you or me?”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his excitement. “I hope they inherit your kindness and your smile,” you replied, your hand brushing against his cheek.

“And I hope they have your strength,” he said, leaning in to kiss your temple.

You turned slightly to face him, your hand slipping to the back of his neck as you gazed into his violet eyes, filled with so much love it made your chest ache. “They’re lucky to have you as their father,” you whispered.

“And I’m lucky to have you,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Closing the small gap between you, your lips met his in a soft, lingering kiss. His hand moved to cup your cheek as he deepened the kiss slightly, his touch tender and full of love. When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

As the night deepened, you nestled closer to him, his arms tightening around you protectively. With his hand still resting on your belly and his heartbeat steady against your ear, you felt a profound sense of peace, knowing you were right where you belonged.

As you lay together in the quiet of the night, Aegon held you close, his breath warm against your skin. His arms were wrapped securely around you, as though he feared letting you go even for a moment.

Breaking the silence, his voice was soft, filled with gratitude and vulnerability. “Thank you,” he said, his fingers gently brushing against your arm. “Thank you for loving me… for standing by me when no one else did. When Mother looked through me like I didn’t exist, you always saw me. You gave me hope, gave me the love I never thought I deserved.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head to look at him. His violet eyes glistened with emotion, and you could see the depth of his love for you in every inch of his expression.

You reached up and cupped his face, your palms warm against his cheeks. A soft smile graced your lips as you spoke, your voice steady and full of affection. “Loving you, Aegon, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever done. You’re my twin, my other half… but more than that, you’re my soulmate. My husband.”

Aegon leaned into your touch, closing his eyes briefly as if to savor the moment. When he opened them again, they were filled with devotion. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your hand.

“You didn’t have to do anything,” you replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough.”

His lips curved into a small, genuine smile, one you didn’t often see but cherished deeply. Pulling you closer, he rested his forehead against yours. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret loving me.”

You smiled, tears threatening to spill from the sheer depth of the moment. “And I’ll spend mine loving you more with every passing day.”

The two of you held each other in the quiet of your chamber, your hearts beating as one. No words were needed after that; the bond you shared was unbreakable, forged by love, trust, and the unyielding strength of your connection.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @zaldritzosrose @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow @witch-of-letters

[buckbuckbarnesstuff]

I loved Boulevard Confessions so deeply and this is just the sweetest continuation of their love story. It makes me so whole. This is so cozy and intimite. I am always amazed at the way you are able to make me feel! 🤧😍💕💕

Lemme dive a little deeper and buckle up because I'm gonna shower you with all my love:

“Bucky, you’re freezing!” you say with concern and caught off guard by the piercing chill of his hands. How long had he been out in the cold? 

I always love how you make the reader so soft with him. He deserve the best and it warms my heart that he has someone who cares and worries about him, especially when it comes to the littlest things. 💜

“Not anymore,” he mutters a response as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his icy lips pressing kisses into your skin. A shiver goes down your spine as the frost on his lips melts away into a heat that you’re used to. 

Getting so weak at his affection. Love how he is so comfortable. Love how he shows his adoration. I wish I could have him so bad 🥹💕😩

You twist in his arms to face him, pulling him even closer by his wool jacket to kiss the tip of his reddened nose, hoping to bring warmth back to it. Bucky grins at you with a gentle adoration, even more so when you brush off the remnants of winter from his hair and shoulders. His eyes take in your every feature like he wants to commit this moment to memory. 

Loving the fact that he wears a wool jacket. It’s just such a lovely detail and I can picture him looking so cozy and inviting and adorable 🥹 And there we have her softness for him again, it’s so sweet. And him watching her this intensely, making this small moment seem so monumental for him, is so perfect!! I feel my heart swell. 💜💖

Bucky shakes his head, watching as your hands slide down from his shoulders, but before they can go anywhere, he swiftly intertwines them with his own. He uses this small leverage to begin coaxing you out of the kitchen and into the living room with gentle tugs. “Dinner can wait, doll. I want to dance with my best girl first,” he replies, his expression full of pleading affection. 

Best girl always gets me so weak, I'm about to be a puddle on the floor for you to wipe me away. And dancing in the kitchen? Hello? Please tell me where to find a man to do this with me because damn, I'd be marrying him on the spot. Bucky is so wholly romantic, I'm swooning. 🥵🧡💛

“I love you, Y/n. I can’t wait for the rest of our lives to start,” Bucky’s voice is full of devotion, bringing your left hand up to his lips to kiss the spot right where your engagement ring is. You look at him as if he hung the moon for you, “I love you too, Bucky. Forever can’t come soon enough.” Your hands snake up to wrap behind his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss, the kind that consumes as quickly as a spark catches fire. However, before the intensity can reach a boiling point, a loud ringing suddenly breaks it. The timer in the kitchen signaling whatever desires were igniting would have to be put on pause until after dinner. 

This is just the cherry on top! Like this whole thing wasn’t already perfect, you just needed to top it with this. His love declaration, the way he kisses the engagement ring, the way she looks at him, THAT KISS - I can’t handle myself omg!!! I don’t have asthma but I'm definitely gonna be needing an inhaler!!!! 😳❤🥹💕💕

“After dinner, I’m having you for dessert.” 

Not gonna argue with that 👀

Thank you so much for granting us this wonderful piece of art. I tell you that you're amazing every time and I don’t care if you get tired of hearing it because you are so incedibly talented and I adore you and the way your words carve into the deepest parts of my heart in all the good ways. I just want you to hear it as often as possible because you deserve it so badly. ❤👏❤

Thank you so much, many kisses and hugs go out to you!!!!

Dancing Embers

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Reader

Summary: A cozy cabin, the love of your life, and the warmth of a fire. What more could you ask for on a cold winter night?

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. slight insinuation at the end. female reader.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> a crackling fire sets the mood

a/n: This piece is written as a standalone. However, I will link below the pairing this fic is based on in case you want to read more of them. For context, this timeline is one where Bucky made it back from the war safe and sound and is enjoying his life now that the war is over. Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

how their love story began ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

The hum of the radio travels through the air and finds its way into the kitchen where you’re placing tonight’s dinner in the oven. A puff of hot air caresses your face as you close the oven door, the casserole dish cocooned inside by a blazing heat. You pick up the small timer from the counter and twist the dial, setting it for thirty minutes. 

Now, you have to find something to do to pass the time…

You look around the unfamiliar kitchen, its rustic woodsy furnishing a cozy contrast to the one in your apartment in the city. A smile makes its way to your face as you recall how Bucky surprised you with this weekend getaway. It was after you came home from a shift at the children’s clinic—exhaustion heavy in your bones. An exhaustion he eased with a homecooked meal and a plethora of loving kisses. All leading up to the surprise of a weekend trip just for the two of you, presented to you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a handwritten note.

You started packing right away after that. 

While still ruminating on the joy of the memory, you begin to tidy up the mess in the kitchen—the one left from your dinner preparations. There wasn’t much to clean up—bits of leftover ingredients here and a few prep dishes there—but at least it gives you something to do while the timer counts down in the background. 

Out of the blue, a frosty air embraces you from behind. You let out a small squeal as the arms that usually radiate warmth are bitterly cold against your skin. A sharp intake of breath escaping you at the contact.

“Bucky, you’re freezing!” you say with concern and caught off guard by the piercing chill of his hands. How long had he been out in the cold? 

“Not anymore,” he mutters a response as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his icy lips pressing kisses into your skin. A shiver goes down your spine as the frost on his lips melts away into a heat that you’re used to. 

You twist in his arms to face him, pulling him even closer by his wool jacket to kiss the tip of his reddened nose, hoping to bring warmth back to it. Bucky grins at you with a gentle adoration, even more so when you brush off the remnants of winter from his hair and shoulders. His eyes take in your every feature like he wants to commit this moment to memory. 

When it comes to you, he always does. There’s never been a moment with you he doesn’t hold dear in his heart. His time at war taught him to treasure every second he gets with those he loves most. And of course, as the love of his life, that includes you. 

“I’m going to need more than that to warm up, doll,” he claims playfully, before connecting his lips to yours, pulling you flush against him by your waist. Your arms eagerly wrap around his shoulders, melting into him faster than the snow on his body does. The kiss is sweet, yet profound as if the hour spent apart had been entirely too long for the both of you. 

When the kiss has restricted enough air from your lungs, you both pull away only slightly and out of breath, smiling from ear to ear. You collect yourself enough to say, “Dinner should be ready soon.” Bucky, however, has his attention elsewhere as he plants a soft kiss to your forehead, your nose, and then your lips once more. 

“Sounds. Good. Doll,” he mumbles the words between kisses that leave you in a fit of giggles. A sound that almost drowns out the grumbling of his stomach. 

“Someone’s hungry.”

“Mm, chopping lumber will do that to you.”

“Chopping lumber?”

“For the fireplace. I should probably go and get it started.”

Bucky lets out an exaggerated sigh, not entirely keen on going back out into the cold night. He presses a tender kiss to the top of your head before reluctantly detaching his arms from your waist as he heads back outside. He spends the next few minutes hauling in pieces of wood into the living room where he tends to the fireplace. Meanwhile, you get the dining table ready for your dinner for two. 

As you are on the brink of finishing setting up, you notice the radio gets louder—a slow song replacing the previous hum. It’s not long before Bucky comes back into the kitchen, however, this time he’s swaying slowly to the rhythm of the music. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as his hands outstretch to beckon you to him. 

“Dance with me,” he says, taking hold of your hands and placing them on his shoulders. You laugh softly, looking at him with fond mirth. “Maybe later, sweetheart. Dinner’s almost ready,” you mention, glancing at the mechanical timer that would go off in a few minutes.

Bucky shakes his head, watching as your hands slide down from his shoulders, but before they can go anywhere, he swiftly intertwines them with his own. He uses this small leverage to begin coaxing you out of the kitchen and into the living room with gentle tugs. “Dinner can wait, doll. I want to dance with my best girl first,” he replies, his expression full of pleading affection. 

You can never say no when he looks at you like that. 

You throw the image of the timer to the back of your head and follow Bucky into the center of the living room. To your right, the fireplace crackles beautifully with bright embers, cascading the room in an amber glow. To your left, the coffee table, handcrafted in oak, is pushed up against the sofa, giving you enough space by the fireplace to dance. 

Bucky’s hands find purchase at your waist as he anchors you closer. Your hands settle against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Soon your hips and his gradually sway in sync, letting the melody of the song guide you. 

You hold each other close for what seems like a lifetime, the heat of the fire amplifying the warmth that radiates between you. Its flames flicker alongside you as if slow dancing themselves. The serenity of the moment forever engraves itself into your heart. 

“I love you, Y/n. I can’t wait for the rest of our lives to start,” Bucky’s voice is full of devotion, bringing your left hand up to his lips to kiss the spot right where your engagement ring is. You look at him as if he hung the moon for you, “I love you too, Bucky. Forever can’t come soon enough.” Your hands snake up to wrap behind his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss, the kind that consumes as quickly as a spark catches fire. However, before the intensity can reach a boiling point, a loud ringing suddenly breaks it. The timer in the kitchen signaling whatever desires were igniting would have to be put on pause until after dinner. 

“Dinners ready,” neither of you are ready to break apart when you whisper this. A beat passes and Bucky lifts your chin gently with his finger, so your gaze locks with his adoring one.

“One more kiss.”

“The casserole is going to burn.” 

“Just one more?”

There he goes again with that pleading expression you can’t resist. 

“You know it won’t be just one more, James Buchanan Barnes,” you point out and he lets out a hearty chuckle. 

“You know me so well Mrs.Barnes-to-be.” 

He kisses you again anyway—short and sweet—leaving you with a promise for more to hold onto. Your laughter mixes with his as you lead him back to the kitchen. He hugs you from behind one last time as he whispers an enticing promise into your ear. 

“After dinner, I’m having you for dessert.” 

[moonberry69]

Some of the comments about Raf's spicy card make me kind of sad. Of course, everyone is entitled to their own opinion so no hate to the people who share this opinion about his card.

I've seen quite a few people comment on how they thought Raf's new card was disappointing because the spice level wasn't the same as the other guys. Some have also commented on how most of Raf's cards are disappointing overall due to him "holding back" and that's why a lot of people prefer the other guys over him.

I think it all boils down to preference and the guys' individual personalities. Raf's cards, like all the guys, display his personality (one side of it anyway). He holds back because he's afraid due to past events. He isn't boring. He's hesitant, scared, and traumatized and all of that revolves around the woman he is bonded to, madly in love with, and desperately wants. Raf is also a deeply passionate, emotional lover. That isn't boring. It just isn't they type of love everyone wants. His card was emotionally charged, sensual, and romantic. It displayed Raf's spicy love language, which isn't as aggressive as the other guys. He's softer and gentler when showing how much he loves and cherishes her. Despite everything he's done or is involved with, he is a pretty gentle guy. His cold, aloof, and brutal attitude toward others is what he has to maintain if he wants to survive, protect, and accomplish his goals. He went feral in his hotel room once his restraint snapped. He was needy. The way he grabbed MC and carried her before throwing her on the bed. The intense make-out session and his annoyance at being interrupted by the phone call. The way he grabbed her and pushed her up against the window because he couldn't bare composing himself anymore and was desperate to have her. Raf exhibited the entire card how difficult it was for him to hold back how much he wanted MC. Raf is just a romantic and poetic man and he's softer than the other guys when it comes to love making.

That isn't for everyone and that's cool, but to call him boring shows a bit of a misunderstanding of him as a character, I think.

His card also focused on some easter eggs lore, Raf dealing with some heavy thoughts/ feelings about himself, MC, and their relationship, and he and MC deepening their relationship. It also showed MC being so tender, honest, and sincere with Raf and her feelings towards him and the way she kept reassuring him so openly made my heart melt. This card had it all, to me. I love that it wasn't all “smut” but a mix of everything.

I do wish his kindled scene would have been a bit longer and I really don't like how we are shown almost the entire scenes in previews (with any of the guys/banner cards). Overall, though, I thought Raf’s card was perfect.

Again, no hate to anyone that didn't like the card! Just thought I would share my thoughts/opinion.

[giddyfatherchris]

A movie i've seen before III

pairing. bang chan x f!reader

type. not requested, a little fluff and a whole lot of angst

warnings. f!reader, crying, relationships issues, trust issues, angst angst ANGST

wc. 4k

a/n. here we go part 3!! this one will be rough LMAO it took me so long to write it and it made me so angsty when i did buuuuuut i kinda love it and ive been having a whole lot of fun writing sm angst even though im so nervous to post this since its not in my "usual" style… anyway i hope you’ll enjoy mwah xx oh and! i love to listen to music when im writing and reading so here’s a few song i had on repeat while writing this: guilty as sin - taylor swift, ceilings - lizzy mcalpine, i wish i hated you - ariana grande (in this order specifically!)

dont forget to tell me if you want to be added to the tag list for the next part x

part I part II

(pics are not mine! credit to the owners!)

The streets were softly illuminated. Restaurants and little bars were stuffed with people laughing and enjoying the gorgeous night. You looked around and felt a wave of glee wash over you. You loved people-watching, the freedom of the soft wind dancing through your hair, and most of all, you loved being here with him.

Rehearsals had been a flying success. The boys had been so excited to see some of their friends and the day flew by in a second. When you returned to the hotel, you should have been exhausted from such an intense and packed day. Still, all you felt was excitement and energy course through your blood at the prospect of the coming evening. Once you made sure the other boys were settled, they all encouraged you to go out, have some fun, and take advantage of being in the famous French city. Even Felix gave you an encouraging smile as you headed out, Chan by your side.

At first, he had been reluctant about your night out with his leader. He was scared for your heart. At the same time, he knew how hard you always worked and as he helped you decide on an outfit, he realized it had been a long time since he saw you this excited. So despite his reserves, he helped you figure out a cute outfit with a genuine smile. You deserved to enjoy the city and have fun after all your hard work. No matter what would come out of this night, he would be there for you and that's what mattered the most.

Even though you had spent the last few weeks making sure you kept a certain distance between you and the man at your side, you decided not to care about it tonight. You were tired, extenuated from trying to guard your heart. Chan's attitude in the past few weeks seemed different. Maybe Felix was wrong, perhaps he was ready for something more. So tonight you would be yourself, and enjoy whatever happened. You decided you deserved it. So you didn't refrain from doing anything you might have done before or wanted to do now. You let Chan hold your hand as you walked through the city. You let him hand-feed you a bite of his plate as you chatted in the restaurant. You let him take pictures of you as you walked near the Seine, an honest smile on your lips. You didn't hold back from replacing his curls once the wind had disheveled them. You didn't hold back from laying your head on his shoulder as you looked at the magical view.

You hadn't noticed, but every little touch or attention planted seeds of hope in your heart.

In return, Chan seemed to beam at the returned normalcy of your relationship. He was more touchy than ever, a sparkle illuminating his eyes as he made jokes with the sole purpose of gorging himself on the sight of the adorable crinkles around your eyes. He shivered at the feather-light touch of your fingers on him when you made sure he looked perfect for some pictures he intended to post on Instagram for his dear STAYs. You gave a toothy grin as you pinched his cheeks before stepping away for more pictures. He didn't hesitate before asking a stranger with a broken French if they could snap one of you two. An amused light danced in your eyes, and you took a sharp breath when you felt his hand slide on your hips, bringing you closer to him for the picture. You lifted your eyes for a millisecond, a foreign but gentle expression on your face. He looked at you with the softest, most tender smile, before you gave him one in return, and rested your head and hand on his chest. You could swear you felt the thundering beat of his heart beneath his shirt. Or maybe you were mistaking it for your own, reverberating in your whole body.

"Vous êtes très mignons," complimented the stranger with a kind smile and a subtle wink.

You thanked him with rosy cheeks, not daring to comment. Chan came up behind you, asking what the stranger had said exactly, but you barely registered the words as you looked at the pictures on your phone. They were stunning. The lights, the view, but most strikingly, the way you looked together. Your heart skipped a beat as you swiped to see the picture the man had taken when you weren't posed yet. When you were still looking at Chan with that surprised and delighted expression and he was looking at you like you were the most precious thing on earth. He saw the picture and put his hand on your shoulders.

"They're beautiful," he said in a hushed voice as if the emotion currently gripping you had its claws dug deep in him too.

You looked back at him with a smile, trying to slow the fast pace of your beating heart. Ancient fears tried grabbing at your heart, but you pushed them away, holding on to your promise. He nodded towards the street, encouraging you to keep walking. His hand grabbed yours effortlessly and squeezed once before he started to walk. Soon, the Eiffel Tower appeared, and you couldn't hold a gasp from escaping your lips.

It was beautiful, stark on the starry night sky, illuminated like a beacon in the dark. Chan chuckled at your marvel and looked fondly at you as you ushered him to walk faster.

You settled on a park bench, his arm going around your shoulders as you cuddled into his side.

"This is perfect," you whispered after a moment of silent contemplation.

"It is," he answered, his lips so close that if he moved a little they would connect with your forehead.

"I'm really happy to be here with you. Thank you for everything."

The man's heart tightened at your words. "No, thank you," his words felt choked and you backed away enough to face him. "You are so amazing. You're the best at handling us and you’re you're so organized. I don't know how we would deal without you and I don't mean just at work. You're truly such a special person to us... to me." Stars danced in your eyes as you looked at him, so open, so inviting. "Thank you for being in my life. I don't know what I would do without you." Softly his lips touched your forehead in a tender kiss. You closed your eyes relishing in the warmth they spread on your skin. Never before had he been so honest about his feelings in your regard. The little declaration made your heart beat even faster. Seeds of hope were slowly blossoming into small, delicate flowers. Maybe, just maybe your proximity tonight meant more for him than you imagined.

Your eyes stayed closed even as he pulled away, even as he softly stroked the side of your face with his thumb. You were so scared to open them, terrified to know what would happen, what you would read on his angelic face. He brought you closer, so close you could feel his breath mingling with yours. You waited, incapable of opening your eyes.

"Y/n," he uttered softly. "Please, look at me."

You obeyed, softly batting your eyelashes, and felt electrified as the intensity contained in his eyes struck you. His gaze slowly tumbled to your soft lips, slightly opened, puffing each breath. His eyes came back up a second with a silent question. You knew he would not do anything before you said yes and it made your heart bloom as you nodded imperceptibly. And just like that, he linked his plush lips with yours. It was earth-shattering in a soft and shaking to the core way.

You backed away for a second to catch your breath and this time was the one to lift your hand, softly pulling at his shirt as you kissed him once more. This second kiss was still soft, but so deep, so full of emotions. It made your hands tremble. You moved in tandem, both the only people in the world who knew the rhythm of this foreign dance. The kiss made you feel tingly like nothing else maintained you to the earth except for his hands on your cheek and his lips on yours. It grew, both of you wanting, needing more. Your hands went up to his jaw, softly caressing the soft skin there, the skin you had wished to touch so many times. A low grumble echoed in his chest, the vibration almost making you purr back. You separated softly, slowly, stealing little kisses before resting your foreheads together, catching your breaths. His thumb fell on your bottom lip, softly plucking it apart from the top one. He was enthralled by the shallow breath you exhaled. Slowly, but surely you remembered where you were. You remembered you were sitting on a bench in France, and you realized you had just kissed. Panic slowly spread through your gaze, threatening to overpower the feeling of daze you had been previously bathed in. He noticed and a shadow seemed to pass in his eyes but before you could analyze it or say something he kissed your lips again. You had no idea what that little peck meant, and he didn't seem to know either but still, he smiled.

"You want to go back?" he whispered, his head still pressed to yours. You nodded quickly and took his hand as you walked back, your mind racing even as it clawed to stay in the daze it had been in for the whole night.

He held your hand on the way back until you felt its warmth leave yours to replace a few errant strands of his hair and didn't find it again. You tried not overthinking. He was allowed not to touch you at all times even after you had shared a kiss. And the fact that he had been all over you all night and suddenly wouldn't hold your hand didn't mean anything, right? You tried reasoning with yourself but couldn't deny that the sudden loss of his touch made an insidious cold creep into your bones.

As you approached the hotel and entered the lobby, Chan was so very polite and cordial. He kept his gaze straight forward and gave a polite smile to the few staff you encountered but didn't say a word to you. Long gone was the laid-back and giggly man you had spent the evening with. The ride in the elevator was silent, and not the kind of comfortable one you had experienced so many times. This one was heavy, full of meaning. You could feel regret emanating from his every gesture. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes but you held on, not wanting him to know how much this affected you.

Felix had warned you that Chan did not have the space in his life for a partner. You knew it, but still, you allowed yourself to let down your guard, and enjoy your time with him. What happened tonight could never happen again. The way this sole kiss had made you feel was to be used as a warning. If one night with him, carefree, had made you feel such a way... you had to keep your distance and be careful. If you let this go on, it would destroy you. You knew it now. Doing this tonight was a mistake because you didn't just like him. You were incontestably in love with Christopher Chan Bahng. And he wasn't and couldn't be because of everything he was.

He walked you to your room and stopped in front of the door. With your hand on the handle, you looked back at him, trying and failing to hide the pain in your eyes.

"Y/n, about tonight I-..." he started.

"Don't," you breathed out. "I know Chan. It won't happen again. I know it didn't mean anything." He shuffled in place, not even denying your claim. Your heart crumpled in pieces, nausea seizing you. "Don't worry about it," you finally whispered as you closed the door on him, on the possibility of him and everything he meant to you.

The little light of hope you felt earlier had been brutally put out. Delicate flowers ripped from their soil with an all-encompassing pain.

You got up the next day feeling like you had been ran over by a truck. Usually, you were a fast and heavy sleeper, but insomnia had seized you until the late hours of the night. But concert day would show you no pity. You had a job to do, and so you plastered a smile on your face and focused on the tasks at hand. You concentrated on compartmentalizing and acting like nothing happened, telling the boys about your amazing night, while omitting the kiss. The show went splendidly well, the boys gained many new supporters with this performance it was nothing short of a flying success. You struggled to feel anything as they smiled at you and spoke excitedly on the drive back to the airport. Once on the plane, you watched Chan sit down with a sour feeling in your chest. In the next row, Felix signaled for you to sit next to him but you couldn't. You hadn't told him the truth about your night, you weren't ready to face the possible 'I told you so' or worse, his tender compassion. Spotting an empty seat beside Minho, you stopped in front of him. "Can I sit here?" At his questioning look you allowed him to see an ounce of the sadness you carried. "Please, I just... don't want to be disturbed," you shared in a small voice.

Immediately his eyes took on a protective expression, he nodded and patted the window seat next to him. Relieved to know no one would get past your protector, you allowed sleep to swallow you and your pain, only waking up once you landed in Korea.

Cars sporadically zoomed by, their lights blinding you and making your eyes squeeze in pain, which actually wasn't that bad a thing considering how tired you were. The zaps of light were at least keeping you awake. The intense few days had taken a great toll on everyone, and the 12-hour flight on top did not help. Still, being the best one in shape you volunteered to drive. Chan in the passenger seat silently stared out the window while the boys were piled up in the back, sleeping peacefully.

You rubbed your eyes for the tenth time, hoping to finally get rid of the fatigue weighing on your bones that made your eyelids feel so damn heavy.

"If you're tired, I can drive."

You turned your head to find Chan staring at you. "I'm fine."

"I don't think you are. You have been rubbing your eyes and puffing for 20 minutes now. I got plenty of rest, I can drive the rest of the way."

You tightened your grip on the wheel, "I told you I didn't need you to."

"It's dangerous to drive when you're tired."

"Are you done?!" you lashed out. Turning your head to look at him you swerved on the road. Luckily there hadn't been any other cars, but your heart was beating out of your chest and you suddenly felt wide awake.

Chan stared at you with wide eyes for a second. "Okay, that's it. Pull over."

"No-"

"Y/n. Right now you're putting yourself and my members in danger. I can't allow that."

The sternness of his tone and a look in the mirror at the boys made you pull begrudgingly. You slammed the door and avoided his eyes while you switched sides. He tried to get ahold of you to apologize, but you pulled back as if the contact of his hands on your skin burned you.

"Y/n what's going on?"

"What's going on is that I'm tired. I'm exhausted," you sarcastically chuckled.

He wiped his eyes and sighed. "Listen, I get that but we all are."

You tried to bite your tongue to stop the words from coming out of your mouth but in the end, you couldn't. Maybe it was the extreme fatigue or emotional turmoil you had been going through for the past few weeks but you simply couldn't. You heard yourself speak words you never thought you would. "No. I mean that being in love with you is exhausting."

His arms slackened at his sides as his eyes grew big as saucers.

"You heard me right. I am in love with you. I should have known before, but our night in Paris confirmed that."

"Y/n... I can't give you or anyone anything more, specifically because of that. Being with me is exhausting. I already know that."

Irritation lit a fire in your blood. You were so done with this stupid man and his stupid beliefs that made him act like some fucking martyr, like the center of his soul was the problem while it had never been.

"Can you please stop? I'm tired of hearing you whine about how exhausting you are. No. It's not the actual loving you that's exhausting. You are lovable Chris as much as anyone else and to me even more than others. What's been exhausting is those past few weeks, this night we spent together. It's officially knowing you will never be able to return my feelings but knowing you still acted like you could. Holding my hand, looking at me with that smile. Telling me those nice things. Kissing me like I'm the best thing in your life. It's you playing with me that's killing me."

Tears of rage started rolling down your cheeks and for once you didn't want to keep them in. You wanted him to see how much pain he caused you.

"I never played with you I promise. I really do like you and enjoy being with you. That was never fake."

You let out an icy, short laugh. "And you think that makes it better? That is the definition of playing with someone Chan. A minute ago you told me you couldn't give me anything more. Now you're saying you meant everything. You're admitting to doing all those things even though you knew you never wanted more. And don't try to lie and tell me you were doing this for me or to try and see if you could actually be with me. You only did it for yourself, with your interests in mind. You wanted what I can give you without actually committing."

He dropped his gaze to the floor, unable to keep eye contact with you. He seemed defeated and his silence was nothing short of a confirmation of everything you accused him of. For the first time a word you would have never used in a thousand years to describe him came to mind. You took a step closer, forcing him to look into your eyes.

"I'm pretty sure you enjoy being with me. Everyone wants to be loved, and feel they matter but you act like you don't because you're afraid of what it entails. You're a coward," you seethed. "You build this wall around you, pretending you don't want anyone to love you the way you love them because you want to protect them, because you are just so noble and kind." You paused and scoffed, allowing time for your words to sink in. "But the truth is you're just scared. You're scared shitless Christopher. Scared not to be enough. Scared to be rejected. Scared to experience pain and loss. Everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE is scared of those things. The difference is we still try."

You took another step, your hands floating up to his face. "I know it means more to love you than it would mean to experience pain and fear." His face contorted as he tried to keep in tears. Your rage softened for a second and you rested your hand on his broad chest. Immediately his hand covered up yours. He took a breath, on the edge of saying something but you wouldn't allow it.

"At least that's what I used to believe." You slipped your hands from his and backed away. "I don't think I can anymore. Not when I have been shown so clearly that my feelings are not respected and understood for what they truly are. I love you, Chris. All I want to do is support and be there for you. I thought you just needed me to prove the depth of my love and I did so for the past year. I thought it would reassure you and kill that fear in your heart. I always thought you were such a kind and loving soul, that you just needed to see I really did love you for all you are. Now I'm starting to think maybe you are as emotionless as you try to make it seem to everyone." His brows furrowed at the accusation. "And you know what? I could even forgive that. I could forgive you if this was how you felt and you were honest with me about it. But no. You keep acting like you can one day return my feelings. You keep stringing me along." Your voice broke on the last words. It was hard to admit the truth. He had broken you in ways you could never explain. You were vulnerable, pathetically screaming at him from the side of the road. But you wouldn't stop. Now that you allowed yourself to be honest, words kept tumbling out of your mouth uncontrollably. You felt a rush to your head, you felt dizzy, feverish. "And you know what's the worst about it? I know about all of this and still, I can't even get rid of those stupid feelings. I wish I could trust myself not to fall further in love with you but I can't. Every time I see you it all comes back. I can't forget your stupid smile and your stupid dimples and your stupid hugs and that stupid kiss we shared."

A deep breath escaped your tired body. "I wish I hated you."

Those tiny, hushed-out words felt like a direct punch to the gut. Physically incapable of speaking, your words echoed in his head eclipsing any other thoughts.

You drew a painful breath. It was over. You said what needed to be said. And even if it did feel good in the moment, you were left an empty shell. Silently, you both got back in the car. Chan took your place in the driver seat while you sat with your hood pulled up facing the window. In the back, seven boys acted as if they were still asleep even when they had heard everything.

🏷️ list: @httpdwaekki @omgsecretsecret @lovesunshinefelix @luvstaymin @jupire @nebugalaxy @drewsandsebastianswife @whyyougottadothatbro @parisanmorovati @greyyeti @chanssmiles @wildtokay @my-neurodivergent-world @xotinytinaxo @ramadiiiisme @potentialgay

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to someone flirting with their s/o at an award show

Request: I've never sent you a request before so I tried to follow your instructions properly hope this is ok 👀)

seventeen ‼️🫶🏼

Fluff? Angst? Up to you really

Reaction 🌝

hm so in favour of the award season that just past, the idea was how the sebongs would react with someone else flirting with you during awards night (in this case y/n / reader is also a idol/ artist attending and no one knows their together ygm)

like who would be protective and approach right away? Who would just watch giggle and chuckle? Who would try to be nonchalant but be so obvious that they're looking?

Can't wait to hear your thoughts ‼️ sending lots of love and a happy new year 🫶🏼🫶🏼

A/N: I love the prompt! Btw, it might seem like everyone's reacting the same way, but no, they aren't. They just have a common ground, which I think every man should have. Also, I realized halfway through that I should've categorized it, but I was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing again. This would've been a good one-shot sort of thing if I only focused on one member, but I don't think I would be able to write all 13 members with the same prompt. I guess I'll try something like this in the future

Seungcheol: Cheol would exude calm dominance. He'd sit there, pretending to be relaxed, but his eyes? It would be locked on the situation. Wdym he’d do nothing? Absolutely not. The second he notices someone getting too bold with you, he'd make his presence known—not through confrontation, but with subtle yet commanding gestures. He’d accidentally catch your gaze from across the room, his intense stare sending a clear message: You good, babe? Need me to step in? If the flirter doesn’t back off, expect him to walk over, throw a casual arm around your chair, and smile politely, but there’s a steeliness to his tone when he introduces himself. He’s a leader on and off the stage, and no one’s coming near his person.

Jeonghan: Oh, Jeonghan's the king of playing it cool. He wouldn’t move a muscle, letting out a little amused chuckle as he watches the scene unfold. But don’t let his easygoing demeanor fool you—he’s analyzing every single detail. He trusts you completely but also knows how charming he can be. If the flirting escalates, he’d casually saunter over, all smiles, and innocently join the conversation. His honeyed tone would have just enough of an edge to make the flirter retreat. You thought he wouldn’t step in? He’s Jeonghan, the ultimate strategist, and he’ll always protect his love while still being effortless.

Joshua: Joshua would play it cool too but in a way that’s so obvious it’s endearing. He’d smile politely from his table, but his grip on his drink might tighten ever so slightly. He’s a softie, but also your man. If the flirter gets too close, he might find an excuse to accidentally walk by, brushing your arm or whispering something sweet and cheeky like, “Having fun, babe?” He’d never confront anyone outright unless necessary—he’s too classy for that—but his subtle presence would make it clear to everyone in the room that you’re taken. You think he’s just sitting there? Nah, he’s staking his claim in the most elegant way possible.

Jun: Moon would find it hilarious. He’s such a chaotic cutie sometimes, I can’t. He’d nudge the member sitting next to him and point at the scene, whispering something like, “Look at that. They think they have a chance.” But deep down, there’s a flicker of possessiveness. If the flirter keeps pushing, he might get up and walk over casually, sliding into the conversation with a sly grin. His playful charm would leave the flirter flustered and unsure of what just happened. He’s protective in his own quirky way, and I’m crying because he’d never let you feel uncomfortable. I love my man so much TT

Hoshi: Hoshi would be a mix of soft and slightly chaotic, and I love him for it. At first, he’d probably pout from a distance, his face betraying his jealousy even though he’s trying to act unaffected. But let’s be real, he can’t keep it cool for long. The moment he thinks you’re even a little uncomfortable, he’d dart over, all bright smiles, and wrap an arm around you in a totally friendly gesture. He might say something teasing but with a hint of possessiveness. His protective tiger energy will activated.

Wonwoo: Angst King Supreme. He would keep it nonchalant on the surface, but inside? Oh, he’s feeling things. He trusts you completely and knows you can handle yourself, so he wouldn’t intervene unless absolutely necessary. However, his subtle reactions—like a clenched jaw or a quick glance at the flirter—would give him away. He wouldn’t confront the flirter right away, but he’d sit in silence, overthinking every little thing. “Should I have made it public?” He’d question himself, spiraling a little, even though he knows you love him. If things escalate, he might casually walk over, not saying much but standing close enough to make the other person feel the heat of his presence. You think he’s unbothered? He’s LITERALLY fuming inside but hiding it behind that cool exterior, and I’m scared —

Woozi: Woozi’s reaction would be so understated that you might not even notice it at first. He’d sit quietly, watching the interaction with a small, almost imperceptible frown. He’s reserved but fiercely protective. If he feels like the flirter is crossing a line, he’d lean over to a member and mutter something like, “Do I need to go over there?” And if he does approach? Oh, he’s not wasting time on pleasantries. His tone would be calm but firm, sending a clear message without ever raising his voice. He’s your man, and he’ll step up when it matters most.

Dokyeom: Dokyeom would be flustered at first, unsure whether to intervene or let you handle it. He’s such a sweetie. But the moment he sees you even slightly uncomfortable, he’s on his feet, heading over with his signature smile. He’d probably introduce himself in the friendliest way possible, but there’s an underlying protectiveness in his tone. His warmth would make the flirter back off without even realizing it. Wdym he’d stay seated? Nope, he’s too caring for that.

Mingyu: Mingyu would be the most obvious of the group, and it’s honestly adorable. This man wears his heart on his sleeve. He’d try to stay cool, but his constant glances and slightly furrowed brows would give him away. If the flirter gets too close, he’d have no choice but to step in. He’d walk over with that signature puppy smile, but there’s a possessiveness in his eyes that makes it clear who you belong to. This puppy is anything but subtle.

Minghao: The8 would radiate confidence. He trusts you and knows you can handle yourself, but that doesn’t mean he’s not paying attention. If someone gets too bold, he’d walk over, might place a light hand on your back or shoulder, a subtle but powerful gesture that says, ‘This is my person.’ He’s the type to protect you without making a scene, and we should be swooning because he’s so effortlessly cool about it.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan would be dramatic internally but composed externally. He’d whisper to the members, “Are they serious right now?” before shooting occasional side-eyes at the scene. If he feels like you’re uncomfortable, he’d march over, his protective instincts kicking in. He’s fiercely loyal and wouldn’t hesitate to let the flirter know they’re out of line—but in the most eloquent way possible.

Vernon: He would be unbothered on the surface, but internally? He’s watching everything. He trusts you completely and knows you can handle yourself, so he’d sit back and observe unless things got out of hand. If he does intervene, it would be in the chillest way possible—maybe a simple hand on your shoulder or a quick, “Hey, you good?” He’s just subtle about his protectiveness, and he's here for his low-key energy.

Dino: Dino would NOT be the least protective. He’d watch the interaction closely, his brows furrowed slightly. If the flirter gets too bold, he’d approach confidently, standing tall. He might not say much, but his presence alone would be enough to make the other person back off. He’s mature enough to stand up for his love.

[ang3lmoans]

Sitting back on his legs Angel was quiet. He watched Garam who seemed to get nervous. His eyes trailed to his hands that shook as he stepped back. Angel took a deep breath reminding himself the man said he loved him. He wasn’t repulsed by him he simply lost balance. Trying to focus on something else he smiled at how cute Garam looked. Angel was starting to realize he liked seeing his best friend so flustered and unsure. His eyes softened watching the man before him seem so nervous and shy in front of him. It only made Angel want him more. Hearing it has been a while since his friend received head was frustrating. His ex was a a piece of work but the more he heard his hatred for him grew. Angel found pleasure in driving his partners crazy. Pleasing them to the point where they usually pushed him away. He enjoyed going for hours no matter if he was receiving or not. So when Garam offered to take care of him instead his eyebrows stitched together as he frowned. Angel scuffed at the offer to get sucked off. Not that he didn’t enjoy it. He was still human. Seeing Garam struggle to taken him in his mouth-just the thought made his cock twitch. But that wasn’t what he wanted. Garam had been on the pleasing end for too long. “No” Angel said firmly not moving from his position on his knees. He offered his hand looking up at Garam. “Don’t do anything you are not comfortable with. But I have no intention to use my hand” he said softly licking his lips. It was difficult not to take Garam up on his offer. He was hard as a rock as he tried to have this conversation. “But I am willing to compromise.” Angel said as he stood. He kept the distance between them not wanting Garam to feel intimidated, “Where we can both get what we want.” Angel couldn’t help but take notice how excited the smaller man seemed to get at the offer to take him into his mouth. “69, ever tried it? I promise to be gentle” Angel backed up toward the bed and sat down for a moment. His eyes lit up as he got a further view of Garam. “Damnit Garam…look at you” the words slipped out before his brain could catch up. “Baby, I don’t think I can hold back much longer.”Angel climbed back on the bed and laid down, his hand grabbed his cock and began to stroke. The throbbing was driving him mad. His body craved Garam so intensely.

now he wasn't ashamed of his size, he'd always thought he was proportionate to his height. the other men he'd been with had always been bigger than he was, but they were also taller than he was as well. so it made sense that he'd be more on the average size. but just seeing angel's flaccid member, he felt a bit more self conscious. or maybe it was the fact that angel was just so close to him and only grew closer as he removed garam's underwear that made him feel so shy. he was certain that angel would stand back up but he hadn't. instead, he began kissing down his stomach causing his length to stiffen and grow. his face began to flush and he wanted to hide himself but the temptation was too strong to run away from, at least right in that moment. especially since he hadn't had somebody on their knees in front of him, ready to take his member into their mouth, for a very long time.. "be gentle with me." he whispered, unable to find the courage to admit just how long it had been since his dick had been in the care of something other than a hand. it made him fear he'd end up coming too quickly with the added warmth and moisture that angel's mouth would provide. garam took a hold of his shaft, stroking himself twice before aligning himself with angel's mouth. just feeling the heat from the other's breath against his flesh made his knees weak, causing him to momentarily lose his balance and take two steps away from angel. both of his hands began to shake as he just looked down at the other, worry of his inability to satisfy among other self-conscious fears quickly raced through his head. it was unusual for him, he typically didn't care about his inabilities with other people, maybe because he didn't care what they would have thought about him if he couldn't show any stamina. with angel, however, he feared the man would think negatively if he came too quickly, if he wasn't able to maintain an erection after finishing the first time. he was afraid of whatever possible judgment the other would make. "i'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head, "i can't— i'm not—" god, he felt so stupid, so insecure with himself. it was one thing to imagine the deed happening but being brought to reality was something else entirely, at least for garam. it excited him but also made him incredibly nervous. "can you just use your hand? i'm not used to, you know, mouths. i don't even remember the last time someone's done that to me." as his relationship progressed with his now-ex, the more selfish the man grew. he didn't care as much about garam's pleasure than he did his own — which, ultimately, was why garam found pleasure in the pain the man brought to him. he was usually the one on his knees, making sure his partner left satisfied. sometimes his ex would help out with by means of his hands if he was feeling particularly nice but mostly, he left garam to take care of himself in the end. he couldn't hold that against axel, though. it seemed to be a common occurrence with his past relationships, too. it's just with the others, it wasn't a choice made out of selfishness but a choice garam made himself. he was a people pleasure, he got a deeper, more satisfying pleasure out of pleasuring his partners. "o-or if you don't want to use your hand, i can do it to you." he proposed, brows lifting almost as if he were excited by the idea. "with my mouth, i mean. i like doing that, with my mouth. you're really big, much bigger than anyone i've been with but i think i can handle you."

[brooklynnbbg]

ok but imagine telling luigi you’ve never cum before and he makes it his personal mission to make you cum no less than 5 times (you actually cum like ten million and clit is bruised)

♡ WARNINGS - Smut! Oral (f), Unprotected p in v

♡ A/N - Sorry if Lu is too lover boy in this!! Idk why but i was feeling soft lu for this one :) Also guys omg im running out of pictures so if anyone has any please send them!!

You and Lu had been talking for hours, about nothing in particular. He was your best friend, and you confided in him about everything. The time was nearing 1am, and you two had begun talking about sex. You weren't sure how the topic came up, but you were struggling to suppress your obvious feelings for him. When he asked you about your best sexual experience, you weren't sure how to respond. 

“I…” you hesitated, biting your lip. “I’ve never… you know, cum before.”

Lu's expression shifted in an instant. You saw the way his eyes lit up, the way his casual smirk he always wore morphed into something intense and determined. He leaned closer to you, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

“Never? Not once?”

You shook your head, suddenly feeling shy under his penetrating gaze. “Not with anyone else, not by myself… just never.”

His jaw clenched. He swallowed hard. His eyes darkened as he looked at you, and his fingers brushed against your thigh. “Do you want to?” he asked softly, his voice almost a stutter, but you could hear the obvious desire behind it. 

“Lu-” you began, struggling to comprehend what he was asking. “Yes, but it just hasn’t happened.” 

He smiled at you, running the back of his hand along your thigh and creeping towards your underwear. Your breath hitched as you felt your arousal growing. “Is it okay if i touch you?” He asked softly, looking at you as if you were a holy object. 

“Y-yes” you managed to stutter, your breathing uneven, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.  

Luigi's hand moved to your clothed pussy, rubbing slow circles along your clit. The feeling was unlike anything you’d ever experienced, and his name fell from your lips as he touched you. “Lu- m-more, please” 

As soon as he heard that, he laid you down on the plush mattress like you were made of glass. His eyes locked on yours as he settled above you. 

“I’m going to make you feel so good pretty girl” 

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could say anything, his lips were on yours—hot, insistent, and demanding. He kissed you like he wanted to consume you, his hands roaming your body with purpose.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, his fingers trailing down your stomach to the waistband of your pants. “Let me take care of you.”

You nodded, breath hitching as he stripped you bare. Luigi took his time, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of your skin, leaving no part of you untouched or unloved. By the time his lips closed around your nipple, your body was already trembling with need.

“Lu,” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Patience, love,” he said with a sly grin. 

His kisses trailed lower, down your stomach, until his hot breath ghosted over your core. Your thighs instinctively tried to close, but his hands held you open with firm yet gentle pressure.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and rough.

Your eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. He smirked before pressing a kiss to your clit and licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your folds. Your body jolted, a gasp tearing from your throat as he alternated between gentle licks and intense suction.

“Oh my God Lu,” you cried, your hips bucking against his face. He held you steady, his grip unyielding as he devoured you like a man starved.

It didn’t take long before the pressure in your belly coiled tight, tighter than it ever had before. Luigi must have sensed it because his movements became even more focused, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to push you over the edge.

“Come for me, love,” he urged, his voice muffled against your skin.

And then it hit you. The wave of pleasure crashed over you so intensely that you screamed his name, your body trembling uncontrollably. But Luigi didn’t stop. He slowed just enough to keep the sensation from becoming overwhelming, but his fingers stayed inside you, curling and stroking that spot that made stars dance behind your eyes.

“That’s one,” he said with a wicked grin, his lips glistening with your release.

“Lu, I… I can’t…” you panted, but he shook his head, his fingers moving faster.

“What's wrong? Feels good does it?” 

Luigi didn’t stop. He pushed you to the edge again and again, each orgasm more intense than the last. His fingers, his mouth, and eventually his cock worked you into a state of utter bliss. You lost track after the fifth time, your body trembling and your mind hazy with pleasure.

When you thought you couldn’t take anymore, Luigi slowed his pace, his hands caressing your overstimulated body with reverence. But even as you caught your breath, the fire in his eyes told you he wasn’t done.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Completely undone for me.”

His lips captured yours in a slow, passionate kiss, his hands tracing the curves of your body as if committing them to memory. When he moved again, sliding into you with agonizing slowness, your body responded instantly, a fresh wave of pleasure building deep inside you.

“Lu,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his back as he thrust into you with deliberate, measured movements. “It’s too much… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered, his forehead pressed against yours. “You’re doing so well for me, love. Just let go.”

Your body obeyed, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations as he drove you to yet another climax. This one was different—deeper, more consuming—and it left you trembling in his arms, tears streaming down your cheeks from the sheer intensity of it all.

“That’s my girl,” Luigi said softly, brushing the tears away with his thumb. He kissed you tenderly, his movements slowing as he guided you through the aftershocks. But even as your body leaned against him, completely spent, he showed no signs of stopping.

By the time he finally let you rest, your clit was swollen and sensitive, and your entire body felt like it was floating. Luigi kissed your forehead, pulling you close as he wrapped you in his arms.

“You okay, amo?” he asked softly, brushing the hair from your face.

You nodded weakly, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “Better than okay. Thank you, Lu.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “No need to thank me, I've been wanting to do that for years.” 

Tags: @nicholaschavezslut69, @ddlydevotion, @italianbabydaddy, @rckerbell, @slavicdolls4mangione, @perfumeaddicted @yeeterang @days12 @v1rtualsalvat10n @bricapellan16 @sleeepytimebear @preiyers @hdh-57jcidm-blog

[muiitoloko]

Hi, I really enjoy reading your writings. I would like you to write an adaptation of Lionel Shabandar. At an auction he gets Y/N for a date night, for a very high price, the most sought-after girl at the event. I hope you understand what I mean and have heard about this type of auction before, perhaps for charity or something darker. I feel like it would be a promising plot. (It could end up in a hot night) PS: If there is an error in my request it is because I speak Spanish. I keep learning English, your texts contribute <3 Gracias

Title: The Auction of Innocence

Summary: When a reserved woman is thrust into a decadent world of affluence, Lionel Shahbandar spares no expense to secure her as his prized possession.

Pairing: Lionel Shahbandar × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Hola! Thank you so much for your kind words, and I love that you’re enjoying my stories! 😊 I completely understand your request, and I have to say, it’s such an intriguing idea—Lionel bidding extravagantly for Y/N at an auction. The potential for a fiery and intense plot is definitely there! Gracias por leer y compartir tus ideas conmigo 💛 Happy New Year!

Also read on Ao3

Lionel sat in the far corner of the dimly lit room, nursing his whiskey with a lazy elegance that betrayed his sharp gaze. The heavy scent of cigar smoke mixed with expensive cologne lingered in the air, wrapping around the murmurs of anticipation as the next selection of escorts prepared to take the stage. The audience was a mix of suits and silks—wealthy men and women indulging in one of the darker privileges of affluence: buying a night of "luxury companionship."

Lionel chuckled softly to himself, swirling his drink as he observed the bidding. The escorts were beautiful, sure, but none had caught his eye. Not yet. He wasn’t here to settle for some dime-a-dozen arm candy—no, Lionel Shahbandar was a man of taste, discernment, and unparalleled appetite. If he was to pay for a night’s indulgence, it had to be exquisite, something worth his time and his substantial fortune.

As the next group of women sashayed onto the stage, Lionel leaned forward slightly, his hooked nose casting a shadow across his chiseled face. His baritone voice, low and tinged with mischief, muttered to himself, “Let’s see if the good pimp has finally outdone himself.”

The presenter’s voice rang out over the murmurs of the crowd, laced with theatrical enthusiasm. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Stefanini—our queen of dominance, for those who enjoy the thrilling bite of submission.”

The spotlight illuminated a striking woman dressed in daring red lingerie, her curves accentuated by the corset that clung to her frame. She held a whip casually in one hand, her red lips curling into a predatory smile as she surveyed the crowd. A collective murmur of appreciation rippled through the room as she strutted across the stage, her stilettos clicking sharply against the polished floor.

Lionel barely glanced up, swirling his whiskey as if the display were nothing more than background noise. His hooked nose wrinkled slightly in disinterest as bids began flying.

“Ten thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twenty.”

The gavel struck, and Stefanini disappeared behind the curtains, claimed for twenty thousand pounds. Lionel exhaled softly, his baritone voice a low mutter. “All that pomp and leather for a boy with deep pockets and shallow tastes.” He smirked, taking a slow sip of his whiskey.

The next woman stepped onto the stage, introduced with a flourish, but Lionel barely glanced up. He had made one bid earlier in the evening, for Eliza—a familiar face, a comfort more than an indulgence. When someone outbid him, he didn’t bother raising the stakes. Eliza had served her purpose in the past, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who could ignite his interest anymore.

Lionel leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. Most of the patrons had found their evening’s entertainment, their eyes glazed with lust and anticipation. The air was heavy with satisfaction, yet Lionel remained unengaged, his attention returning to his drink.

“This is a waste of time,” he muttered under his breath, though his tone carried no real frustration. He enjoyed the spectacle of it all, the sheer decadence and audacity of wealth on display. But tonight, none of it stirred the lion inside him.

As the auction neared its end, Lionel’s thoughts wandered. He considered leaving early, retreating to his penthouse where he could spend the evening indulging in his own luxuries—ones that didn’t require an auctioneer. But just as he pushed his chair back, preparing to stand, a new voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a final surprise,” the presenter announced, his tone charged with anticipation. “Something truly unique for those with refined tastes.”

Lionel paused, his curiosity piqued despite himself. He leaned forward slightly, his hooked nose catching the edge of the light as he swirled his glass.

The auctioneer’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm as he announced the final offering of the night. Lionel’s gaze, sharp and curious, flicked toward the stage. The lights dimmed briefly, and when they brightened again, there you were, stepping onto the platform. The room fell into a hushed silence, the air thick with intrigue.

You looked distinctly different from the women who had preceded you. Where they exuded confidence and theatrical flair, you seemed nervous, shy. Your modestly styled black lingerie resembled a delicate nightgown, its soft fabric draping over your curves in a way that left more to the imagination than it revealed. Stockings ran up your legs, adding a subtle edge to your innocent appearance. Your hands fidgeted slightly, betraying your unease, and your eyes darted across the room, meeting Lionel’s for the briefest moment before skittering away.

Lionel’s interest ignited instantly, a predatory gleam lighting up his hazel eyes. His lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk, and he leaned forward in his chair, his hooked nose catching the golden glow of the chandelier overhead. This wasn’t just another pretty face; this was a rarity—a prize worth pursuing.

The auctioneer stepped forward, clearly thrilled by the reaction your presence had elicited. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice practically vibrating with excitement. “A true gem, a treasure—our final offering of the night. Allow me to present a virgin.”

The murmurs in the room swelled into a wave of shocked excitement. Virgins were rare in this setting—practically unheard of. And now here you were, standing on stage, looking vulnerable and out of place. The effect was intoxicating.

Lionel’s smirk deepened as he noted the way the other bidders reacted. Eyes gleamed with desire, hands tightened around paddles, and the tension in the room was palpable. But Lionel wasn’t concerned. These were men who played at being lions, their roars hollow. He was the real deal, and tonight, he would prove it.

“The bidding will begin at twenty thousand pounds,” the auctioneer announced, his voice cutting through the chatter.

“Twenty-five!” someone called out almost immediately.

“Thirty!” another voice followed.

Lionel chuckled softly, swirling his whiskey before setting it aside. He raised his paddle lazily, his baritone voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Fifty thousand.”

A hush fell over the crowd as heads turned toward him. Lionel’s reputation preceded him, and the sum he had offered was enough to send a clear message: he wasn’t playing games.

“Fifty-five!” came a defiant challenge from across the room, but Lionel didn’t even flinch. His hazel eyes remained locked on you, watching the way your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling beneath the delicate fabric of your lingerie.

“Seventy-five,” he said smoothly, his tone carrying an air of finality.

The auctioneer blinked, clearly caught off guard by the swift escalation. “Seventy-five thousand,” he repeated, his voice ringing out over the murmurs. “Do I hear eighty?”

Silence. The room was still, save for the sound of Lionel’s slow, deliberate breathing. He leaned back in his chair, his hooked nose wrinkling slightly as he surveyed the room with a look of supreme confidence.

“Sold,” the auctioneer declared, striking his gavel. “To Lord Lionel Shahbandar for seventy-five thousand pounds!”

A ripple of applause followed, but Lionel paid it no mind. His eyes were fixed on you as the stagehands guided you toward the edge of the platform. The faintest smile curved his lips as he rose from his chair, his presence commanding the space around him as he made his way to meet you.

When you stood before him, your eyes wide and uncertain, Lionel extended a hand, his fingers brushing yours with a deliberate gentleness. “You’re even more exquisite up close,” he murmured, his baritone voice low and intimate. “Shall we?”

You nodded hesitantly, allowing him to guide you away from the crowd and toward the private suites above. His hand rested lightly on the small of your back, his touch warm but firm as he led you into an opulent room bathed in soft, golden light.

Once inside, Lionel turned to face you fully, his hazel eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and hunger. “Do you know why I bid on you, my little lamb?” he asked, his voice a velvety purr.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, sir.”

Lionel’s smirk widened as he stepped closer, his hooked nose brushing lightly against your temple as he whispered, “Because you’re rare. Unique. The kind of prize a man like me can’t resist.”

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Tonight,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise, “you’ll discover what it means to be claimed by a lion.”

Lionel gently guided you to sit on the plush velvet couch, his movements deliberate, a predator's calm precision in every step. His hazel eyes gleamed with an amused sort of hunger as he loosened his tie, the silk slipping free with an elegance that only enhanced his air of command. Tossing it onto a nearby chair, he shrugged off his jacket, the muscles of his shoulders flexing under the fine fabric of his shirt.

You watched, your breath catching, your cheeks flushing a delicate pink that made Lionel smirk. He saw your uncertainty, the way your gaze flickered nervously to the door as if weighing your options for escape. But running wasn’t an option—not from a man like Lionel. He was a lion, and you were his lamb, trembling but unable to resist the pull of his presence.

“Lean back, little lamb,” Lionel said, his baritone voice low, almost a purr, as he stepped closer. His hands found the edge of the couch, caging you as you obeyed without even realizing it, leaning back until you lay flat. His weight shifted above you, one knee pressing between your legs, his other hand braced beside your head.

Your hands fluttered to his chest, a feeble attempt to keep distance, but Lionel only chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “So sweet,” he murmured, leaning down until his hooked nose brushed against your temple, his lips grazing your shoulder. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” His fingers slid to the hem of your nightgown, toying with the delicate fabric. “In fact,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, “I’ll make it unforgettable.”

Your breath hitched, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his mouth pressed against your shoulder, his kisses light, teasing. Lionel’s hand slipped under the edge of your nightgown, the roughness of his fingers against your smooth skin making you shiver. He paused, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes, his hazel gaze sharp but not unkind.

“What’s a little lamb like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, his tone almost curious, though the mischievous gleam in his eye betrayed his true thoughts.

You stuttered, your voice shaky as you said, “M-Mr. Gruber told me not to talk about my life… not to tell the customers.”

Lionel’s smirk widened, his fingers still tracing idle patterns on your thigh. “Ah, yes. Gruber,” he mused, his tone dripping with disdain. “Always trying to turn treasures into commodities. But I’m not just any customer, am I?”

Before you could answer, Lionel’s hand tugged at the edge of your nightgown, pulling it higher. You gasped, your hands darting down to stop him, clutching the fabric tightly and pulling it back into place. Your cheeks burned, the struggle making Lionel laugh softly, his head tilting as he watched you with amusement.

“Are we playing coy now, little lamb?” he asked, his voice warm with mockery. He leaned in, his hooked nose brushing your cheek, his lips hovering just above yours. “Shall I take it off myself?” His hand tugged gently at your nightgown again, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your hip. “Or would you rather do it for me?”

You shook your head, your hands trembling as you held onto the fabric for dear life. Lionel chuckled again, the sound vibrating through you as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck.

“Such a shy little lamb,” he murmured, his baritone voice dropping lower, thick with amusement and desire. “But don’t you see, darling? Fighting only makes me want you more.” His fingers tightened on the fabric, his strength effortlessly overpowering your resistance as he began to lift it higher.

“Now,” he purred, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering intensity. “Let’s see what you’ve been hiding from me, shall we?”

Lionel froze mid-motion, his fingers still brushing the hem of your nightgown. His sharp hazel eyes narrowed slightly, the teasing smirk slipping from his face as he registered the panic in your voice.

"My father," you whispered, your voice trembling as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. "He’s in the hospital… he needs treatment." You clutched the edge of the nightgown tighter, as if it were a shield against his piercing gaze.

Lionel cocked his head, his hooked nose catching the golden glow of the chandelier. His expression shifted from intrigue to something more thoughtful, almost calculating. He didn’t move, his broad shoulders blocking the light as he loomed over you, but his voice softened, his baritone rolling like silk. "And Mr. Gruber? What part does he play in this little drama?"

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes for a brief moment before your gaze darted to the buttons of his shirt. "He… he offered to pay for my father’s expenses. For the surgery. He said he’d cover everything if I…" Your voice faltered, trailing off into a strained silence.

Lionel leaned back slightly, giving you room to breathe, though his presence was still overwhelming. He crossed his arms, his expression unreadable as he studied you. "If you worked for him," he finished for you, his voice low and even.

You nodded, tears threatening to spill as you whispered, "I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t let my father die."

Lionel’s gaze lingered on you, his hazel eyes sharp and assessing. He stayed silent for a moment, the weight of it pressing down on you like a storm cloud. You felt your cheeks flush as you looked back down at the buttons of his shirt, your hands trembling where they clutched your nightgown.

"I’ve never… been naked in front of a man before," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "I was saving it for someone special. For my… for my future husband."

Lionel’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, the mischief returning to his eyes. He reached out, his hand brushing your cheek with surprising gentleness. "Your future husband, hmm?" His voice was a velvety purr, laced with amusement. "And what makes you think he’d be worthy of you, my little lamb?"

You blushed deeper, your hands tightening around the fabric of your nightgown. "Please," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Don’t hurt me."

Lionel’s smirk softened into something almost tender, though his eyes still glinted with that predatory gleam. He leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against your temple as his warm breath ghosted over your skin. "Hurt you?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Darling, I don’t want to hurt you. I want to ruin you—for anyone else."

His hands found your waist again, his grip firm but not harsh. "You think I’d take something as precious as this and be careless with it?" he asked, his tone a mix of mockery and reassurance. "No, my little lamb. If I claim you, it will be unforgettable—for both of us."

You shivered under his touch, your breath hitching as his lips brushed against your ear. "I’ll teach you what it means to be desired," he whispered, his baritone voice wrapping around you like a caress. "To be worshipped by a man who knows exactly how to make you tremble."

His fingers trailed down your arm, his touch light and teasing. "But you have to trust me," he said, his voice softening slightly. "Let me show you how good it can be."

You hesitated, your heart pounding as you looked up at him. His gaze was steady, his expression a mix of mischief and something deeper, something almost… reverent.

"Do you trust me, little lamb?" he asked, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down your spine. "Say yes, and I promise, I’ll make it so good, you’ll never want to leave my arms."

You hesitated, your mind racing as Lionel’s hazel eyes locked onto yours, waiting. His expression was expectant, confident, and unyielding, and you knew there was only one answer he wanted to hear. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you whispered, “Yes.”

The moment the word left your lips, Lionel’s smirk deepened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He shifted his weight off of you, surprising you as he effortlessly scooped you up into his arms. You let out a small gasp, startled by the sudden movement, but he merely chuckled, his baritone voice rumbling through you.

“Relax, little lamb,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement as he carried you toward the grand king-size bed draped in rich, silky sheets. “I’m going to take care of you.”

He placed you gently on the bed, his movements deliberate and careful, as though you were the most precious thing he had ever held. The mattress was soft beneath you, the scent of expensive cologne and whiskey lingering as he leaned over you. His fingers brushed against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Lionel’s sharp eyes never left yours as he knelt by the bed, his hands sliding to your thighs. Slowly, he hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your lingerie, tugging it aside with unhurried precision. He watched every flicker of emotion cross your face, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his features as his lips quirked into a smile.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice softer now, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. His fingers slid down to the tops of your stockings, hooking them with ease as he began to peel them off, one by one. His lips brushed against your knees, his kisses warm and lingering, as though he were savoring every inch of you.

You exhaled shakily, your body trembling under his touch. For the first time, you allowed yourself to relax, to let go of your nervousness and simply feel. Lionel’s hands were steady, his movements deliberate, and for the first time, you felt worshipped—truly worshipped—by a man.

Your gaze flickered to his face, and for the first time, you noticed the sharp lines of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his hazel eyes, the way his hooked nose gave him a uniquely commanding presence. Lionel Shahbandar, you realized, was handsome—devastatingly so.

He smirked as he caught you staring, his voice a teasing purr. “Finally seeing me for the lion I am, hmm?”

You flushed, your breath catching as his fingers trailed to the edges of your panties. But before he moved further, he paused, his expression shifting to something more serious.

“Do you know the color system?” he asked, his voice low but calm.

You blinked, confused. “No,” you admitted softly, shaking your head.

Lionel’s smirk returned, though his tone was patient as he explained. “It’s simple, darling. Green means keep going. Yellow means slow down, maybe adjust. And red?” He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he finished, “Red means stop. Completely. No questions asked.”

You shivered at the intimacy of his voice, the low timbre curling through you. “I… I understand.”

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers resuming their descent. “I need you to say the words, little lamb. Green, yellow, or red?”

“Green,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Lionel’s eyes darkened with approval, his smirk widening as his fingers slid your panties down your thighs, exposing you completely. He let them fall to the floor before settling between your legs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His kisses were slow, deliberate, and maddeningly teasing, each one sending a spark of heat through your body.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his baritone voice thick with amusement. “Are you nervous, little lamb?”

“Yes,” you admitted, your voice shaky.

Lionel’s hands gripped your thighs gently, his thumbs brushing soothing circles against your skin. “Good,” he purred, his hooked nose brushing against you as his lips hovered just above your most sensitive spot. “You’ll be begging me for more by the time I’m done with you.”

Before you could respond, his mouth descended, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of warmth and pressure that sent your head spinning. You gasped, your fingers tangling in the sheets as Lionel worked you with expert precision. His hands held your hips firmly, keeping you steady as his mouth moved against you, his tongue and lips coaxing sounds from you that you didn’t even know you could make.

“Green,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

Lionel chuckled against you, the vibration adding to the sensation. “I know, little lamb,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

His tongue moved in deliberate, skillful strokes, his baritone hums sending shivers down your spine. You felt yourself unraveling, your body arching into him as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. When you finally cried out, your release washing over you in waves, Lionel’s smirk only deepened.

Lionel pulled away, his lips brushing one last teasing kiss against your sensitive folds before he straightened, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Sweet as honey,” he murmured, his baritone voice rich with amusement. “You’ve been indulging in fruit, haven’t you? I could taste it. Or perhaps that’s just you, my little lamb. Pure, unspoiled, and utterly addictive.”

You blushed, your chest still heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. The nightgown clung to your damp skin, bunched around your waist, a silent testament to the intensity of what you had just experienced. Without realizing it, your thighs pressed together, seeking friction in your haze of sensitivity and lingering desire. Lionel’s hazel eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk as he observed your unconscious movements.

“You’re insatiable already, aren’t you?” he teased, his voice a velvet purr as he began undoing the buttons of his shirt. “I must be doing something right.” His fingers worked the fabric with deliberate precision, his sharp eyes never leaving your form as he exposed his chest, the fine lines of muscle and a faint dusting of hair adding to his commanding presence.

You shifted on the bed, the silk sheets cool against your overheated skin. Lionel’s gaze was predatory, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his smirk as he kicked off his shoes and reached for his belt. The sound of the leather sliding free was deliberate, almost calculated, a symphony of dominance that had your heart racing anew.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he unzipped his pants, “most women would be trembling with nerves, but not you, my sweet lamb. No, you’re trembling with anticipation.” He stepped out of his trousers, standing before you in nothing but his boxer briefs, the bulge beneath the fabric unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

You pressed your thighs together harder, the friction sending a small shiver through your body. Lionel noticed, of course—Lionel noticed everything. He chuckled, the sound deep and rich as he slid a hand into his briefs, pulling them down and freeing himself. His arousal was as impressive as the man himself, and the confidence with which he reached for a condom only added to his aura of control.

“Look at you,” he said, rolling the condom on with practiced ease. “Legs pressed together like you can’t decide whether to hide or beg for more. Which is it, little lamb?” His tone was playful, but the heat in his eyes betrayed the intensity simmering just beneath the surface.

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting between his face and the way his hand stroked himself slowly, deliberately. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling.

Lionel climbed onto the bed, his presence overwhelming as he settled between your legs. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart with gentle but unyielding force. “I’ll decide for you,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re mine tonight, and I intend to ruin you for anyone else.”

He shifted, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “No man will ever satisfy you the way I will,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ll remember this night every time you close your eyes. Every time you touch yourself, you’ll hear my voice, feel my hands, taste my kiss.”

You gasped as he aligned himself with your entrance, his hooked nose brushing against your temple as he pressed forward, slow and deliberate. The stretch was intense, almost overwhelming, and Lionel’s baritone voice rumbled with satisfaction as he sank deeper. “That’s it, my sweet lamb,” he murmured, his lips grazing your jaw. “Take me. Every inch.”

As you grabbed Lionel's shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, a sharp cry escaped your lips. “Yellow!” you screamed, your voice trembling with a mix of pain and panic. Lionel froze immediately, his baritone voice softening as he whispered, “Easy, little lamb. I’ve got you.”

He paused, holding himself steady within you, his sharp hazel eyes scanning your face. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, your face contorted in discomfort. Lionel’s hooked nose brushed against your temple, his lips grazing your cheek as he murmured, “Breathe for me. Just breathe.”

His hands shifted to the sheets beneath you, tightening them around your trembling body, grounding you as you adjusted to his size. He groaned softly, his control evident in the way his muscles tensed. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with awe and lust. “You really are a complete virgin, aren’t you?”

You nodded faintly, your body trembling as you clung to him. Lionel’s smirk returned, but it was softer this time, tinged with pride and something more primal. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice dropping lower. “I would’ve thought… maybe a toy, at least. A little rubber cock to ease you into this.” He chuckled darkly, his fingers brushing against your hair. “But no. That delicious little pussy of yours is completely untouched. Pure. Mine.”

You whimpered softly, your breath hitching as your body adjusted to him. Lionel leaned back slightly, his hazel eyes blazing as he looked down at you, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his face. “Look at me, little lamb,” he commanded, his voice a mix of velvet and steel.

You opened your eyes hesitantly, meeting his gaze. The intensity in his expression sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s it,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down your cheek. “Good girl. You’re doing so well.”

His hips shifted slightly, testing your response, and he groaned as you clenched around him instinctively. “Fuck,” he muttered again, his hands tightening on your hips. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight. Feels like you’re trying to keep me out and pull me in at the same time.”

Lionel’s gaze softened for a moment as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll give you a moment, darling,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Let you get used to me. But know this—once you’re ready, I’m not holding back.”

His lips found yours in a kiss that was both tender and possessive, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered against your lips, “You’re mine now, little lamb. And by the end of this night, you’ll know exactly what it means to be claimed by a lion.”

You adjusted slowly, your body trembling as Lionel remained perfectly still, an unusual act of restraint for a man of his ego and insatiable appetite. His sharp hazel eyes scanned your face, watching every flicker of discomfort and hesitation with an intensity that bordered on reverence. His hooked nose brushed against your temple as he murmured, “Breathe, little lamb. That’s it. Breathe for me.”

His hands were warm on your hips, firm but gentle, holding you steady as he pressed the faintest kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, the corner of your trembling lips. His baritone voice softened, low and soothing, as though coaxing you through the moment. “You’re doing beautifully,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “There’s no rush. I’ll wait.”

Lionel’s shallow thrusts were deliberate, almost teasing, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him. Each small motion sent a ripple of warmth through your body, the tension in your muscles easing bit by bit. Your breath evened out, the sharp pangs of discomfort melting into something else—something deeper, more intense. Lionel’s smirk returned, faint but unmistakable, as he felt the shift in your body.

When you whispered the word, your voice trembling but clear—“Green”—it was like a spark igniting a fire. Lionel’s hazel eyes darkened, his smirk widening into something predatory, and his hands tightened on your hips. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice a velvet growl. “Now let’s make this a night you’ll never forget.”

He began to move with deliberate precision, each thrust slow and deep, dragging a soft cry from your lips. Lionel’s gaze was locked on you, drinking in every sound you made, every flutter of your lashes, every arch of your back. “God,” he muttered, his voice thick with awe and lust. “The sounds you make… magnificent. Where did Gruber even find you, hmm? Did he dig you up from some untouched paradise just to torment me?”

His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. His hands slid higher, tugging at the bunched fabric of your nightgown. “Let’s get this off, shall we?” he purred, his hooked nose brushing against your collarbone as he helped you lift it over your head. The nightgown slipped free, leaving you bare beneath him.

Lionel paused, his breath catching as his gaze roamed over you. “Christ,” he muttered, his baritone voice dropping lower. His hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples with maddeningly light strokes. “You’re perfection, little lamb. Absolute perfection.”

He leaned down, his lips closing over one of your nipples, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your hands flying to his shoulders as a soft moan escaped your lips. Lionel chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So responsive,” he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. “I could devour you, piece by piece, and never get enough.”

His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he moved within you, his pace increasing slightly. Each thrust was deliberate, his movements calculated to drive you higher and higher. “Do you feel that, little lamb?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “That’s what it means to be truly desired. To be worshipped by a man who knows exactly how to make you sing.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as the pleasure built, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you. Lionel’s smirk widened as he felt you clench around him, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it. Let go, darling. Let me hear you.”

Lionel tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you closer with a possessiveness that sent shivers through your body. “Look at you,” he murmured, his baritone voice rich with desire, “a goddess among mortals, trembling beneath me like the most exquisite prey.” His hooked nose brushed against your temple, his lips ghosting over your skin as he whispered, “Do you know how rare you are, little lamb? Seventy-five thousand pounds was a pittance for something—someone—as divine as you.”

Your breath hitched, and you tried to stifle your moans by pressing your mouth against his neck. The rough stubble along his jaw scraped against your lips, a delicious contrast to the heat of his skin. Lionel’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, a low and mischievous sound. “Oh, no, darling,” he purred, his voice dropping an octave. “None of that. Don’t you dare hide those sweet sounds from me. I paid for every moan, every cry, and every whimper you make tonight.”

His words sent a bolt of heat through you, and your nails dug into his back, leaving red trails down his skin. The bite of pain seemed to spur him on, his hips snapping forward with renewed fervor. The rhythm was relentless, each thrust deeper than the last, forcing you to arch into him, your body molding perfectly to his. “That’s it,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “Give in to me. Let me hear how much you love being mine.”

You gasped, your moans growing louder despite your attempts to keep them in check. Lionel smirked against your shoulder, his hooked nose brushing the curve of your neck as his teeth grazed your skin. “There it is,” he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl. You sound so fucking perfect when you’re lost in me.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer, and Lionel groaned, the sound raw and primal. “Fuck, you’re incredible,” he muttered, his hazel eyes dark with lust as he gazed down at you. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? How badly I want to ruin you for anyone else?”

You couldn’t answer, your voice lost in a cry of pleasure as his hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves through you. Lionel’s smirk deepened as he watched you writhe beneath him, completely at his mercy. “That’s right,” he murmured, his voice a velvet growl. “Let go for me. Scream my name if you have to. I want the whole damn world to know who owns you tonight.”

Your release came crashing over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Lionel followed close behind, his groan of pleasure muffled as he buried his face against your neck. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sounds in the room your ragged breaths and the faint rustle of silk sheets.

But Lionel was far from finished.

As you lay beneath him, your body still trembling, Lionel’s smirk returned, cheeky and mischievous. “Don’t think we’re done, little lamb,” he said, his baritone voice laced with playful menace. “We’ve barely scratched the surface.”

He rolled off you, standing to retrieve another condom from the nearby nightstand. His sharp hazel eyes glinted with mischief as he turned back to you, his hooked nose casting a shadow across his face. “You didn’t think I’d stop after just one round, did you?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock disbelief. “No, darling. I paid for the whole night, and I intend to savor every second.”

You blushed, your breath catching as Lionel reached for you, pulling you to your feet and guiding you toward the plush velvet couch. His hands were firm on your waist, his touch possessive as he turned you around and pressed you against the armrest. “Knees up,” he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. “I want to see you stretched out for me, trembling and begging by the time I’m done.”

Your pulse quickened as you obeyed, your body arching against the soft fabric. Lionel’s hands roamed over your skin, his touch sending shivers through you as he positioned himself behind you. “So beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “Every inch of you is a masterpiece, and I’m the only man worthy of worshipping it.”

The second round began with the same deliberate intensity as the first, Lionel’s thrusts slow and deep, each one calculated to draw every ounce of pleasure from you. He leaned forward, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered dirty promises that sent your mind spinning. “I’ll have you in every way tonight,” he growled, his hands tightening on your hips. “On this couch, against that wall, maybe even on the floor if we run out of furniture. And every time you cry out, I’ll know it’s because you’re mine.”

You moaned, your voice muffled as you bit into the velvet cushion, your hands clutching at the armrest for support. Lionel chuckled darkly, his hooked nose brushing against your shoulder as he murmured, “Don’t hold back, darling. Scream if you need to. I’ll only make you scream louder.”

The night stretched on, a blur of heat and sensation as Lionel claimed you over and over again. By the time the final condom was used, your body was exhausted, your voice hoarse from crying out his name. Lionel lay beside you, his arms wrapped around you as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Seventy-five thousand pounds,” he murmured, his baritone voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “Worth every penny. And I’d pay it again in a heartbeat for a night like this.” His smirk returned, playful and wicked as he added, “Next time, maybe I’ll buy out the whole damn auction, just to make sure no one else can touch what’s mine.”

You blushed, your heart pounding as Lionel’s words sank in. For tonight, you were his—and Lionel Shahbandar was a man who never settled for anything less than perfection.

[rainbow-sunshine-unicorn]

A long time ago, after I posted my Neddy learns about Anthony’s Dad Lore drabble, I got an anon ask for more “grown ass Kanthony”. I can’t find the ask now and this soooo late, but I hope you still enjoy some geriatric Kanthony!!!

Anthony couldn’t quite remember how it started. He didn’t know when he began collecting them like tokens. The creases next to Kate’s eyes deepening when she smiled, the hints of grey peaking out as he ran his fingers through her soft luscious hair. Signs of a life well lived, a happy one, a long one. And he collected each bit, every time he managed to catch a glimpse, he stored them in his heart, to thank the lord, the universe, or whatever divine entity had granted him the privilege of not just growing old, but growing old with Kate.

Once upon a time, before Kate, when his life was just somehow… less, less vibrant, less joyful, less worth living, he remembered panicking upon finding a singular strand of grey hair sprouting right at the crown of his head. It had seemed like an ugly reminder that the finish line was approaching and he was not fast enough to outrun it. He did not have his affairs in order, the arrangements for the estates were still incomplete and his plans for his tenants were still unfinished.

But now, much like everything in his life after Kate, including his own self, it was different. Nowadays, the white hair was an excuse for him to tease his youngest son that his mischief was turning his father grey. Every ache was an excuse for his daughter to offer to kiss it better. Every ache was an excuse for his oldest to playfully rib him. Signs of a life well lived.

However, he still knew that his wife carried them off much more gracefully.

Which is why when he came upon Kate laid down in the middle of the day, with a physician at her bedside, he felt the once familiar fear creep through him, numbing him from fingers to his toes, chilling his heart. He couldn’t help but wonder if his gratitude had come across as gloating and now Kate was being punished for it. He felt frozen, unable to move, step over the threshold of his bed chamber and face whatever grotesque reality he met there.

His eyes were trailing frantically around the room when his gaze collided with Kate’s. The hum of panic in his brain cut off abruptly.

Because his wife was blushing. A fascinating shade of purple under the warm brown of her skin. He had seen it before but each time, he still felt as fascinated as he had the first time he’d seen it.

A few weeks after their wedding, after many letters to Mary and an unreasonable amount of visits to an ambassador from India, he had finally learnt to say I love you in Kate’s native tongue of tamil. One day, as they lazed around their favourite drawing room at Aubrey Hall, after supper, he’d said it, rather abruptly, clumsily forming the words just as he’d practiced. And then Kate had giggled, the sweetest little laugh he’d ever heard, flushed that beautiful hue of purple he would swear was his favourite colour till the day he died, and, buried her face in his shoulder. He felt thrilled, fascinated, enchanted. He finally understood the concept of eureka his philosophy professor at Oxford had tried so hard to teach him.

Later, when his chest was no longer so puffed with pride that his waistcoat was in imminent danger of bursting open, Kate would tell him that it felt more intense when he said it in tamil, excessive in its devotion. And he’d rush to assure her that he meant it in an excessively devoted and besotted manner, and then Kate would smile in a way that made her eyes shine and made her lips look kissable.

Shaking off that pleasant memory of one of the best days of his life, he blinked at Kate.

The physician, a crotchety old man who’d tended to all the Bridgertons at Aubrey Hall, for many years now, simply cleared his throat, bowed to him and walked out with remarkable speed. Momentarily distracted from Kate, Anthony frowned at his retreating figure.

But then as always, he turned back to Kate. Who was now smiling a secret smile at him, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“You’re going to have to buy 50 more dolls to keep things fair ”

And just like that Anthony’s list of signs of a life well-lived, his forever with Kate, grew exponentially longer.

[littybittys]

Just analyzing Ilario and Lucanis’s relationship and it’s got me thinking…I know Lucanis makes at least one comment in game that Ilario has always been a better flirt/much smoother in that area than him. And yes while Lucanis is naturally more reserved than his cousin, I’m wondering if some of this wasn’t put into his head by Ilario. Because yall that jealousy for Lucanis did not just manifest overnight. That has been building for some time. I’m barely into the Wigmaker Job and Ilario’s already made a comment about not being the favorite/the lesser Dellamorte/etc. Besides, Lucanis isn’t bad looking in the slightest and, according to Teia, has a heart underneath the intense exterior. I imagine people have crushed on him before, even if it’s secretly.

ANYWAYS, what if anytime Lucanis dared to admit to liking someone (and his crushes may have already been few and far between) Ilario got in the middle of it and ruined it? Not an “in your face” ruined it (since Lucanis still doesn’t see him as a full fledged problem until we discover the betrayal with Zara) but making little subtle “teasing” put downs that keep Lucanis from really trying for it? Joking like what Lucanis would even talk to them about if it’s not his job or wyverns. What gifts would he get them since he’s such a bad gift giver (hello knives to Viago). Etc. Just things that could be passed off as teasing but with hindsight, were actually little points of sabotage that kept Lucanis from trying further. (We see how he is in Lucanis’s mind prison and how he is on the coffee date trying to play that Lucanis is unreasonable and irrational after Caterina’s apparent murder. AND how Ilario portrays Lucanis to the rest of the Talons when Ilario tries to seize power. Not to mention that letter he writes Lucanis after Zara is taken care of).

THEN on top of mentally sabotaging any romantic chances for his cousin, maybe Ilario even dares to seduce whoever Lucanis liked just for the fun of it, just to prove he can have anything Caterina’s favorite has or wants. Not saying it happened every time butttttt it would add another interesting layer to their dynamic. And we know it’s likely Lucanis would have overlooked it since he’s got such little family left and man just wants to be loved.

[sapphicides]

long post but i needed to make it because I Have ThoughtsTM

something i loved so much about nosferatu (2024) was ellen’s inner conflict and the way it so perfectly symbolizes being abused but feeling unable to let go of your abuser.

the whole film centers around the push and pull of ellen and count orlok’s intense spiritual connection, a connection that was created by orlok when ellen was only a child. her entire life, she was treated by the highly religious regency-era society she grew up in as a monster for this connection she had to the occult, and, later, as a burden for the night terrors and fits of hysteria she endures because of it. she is raised to hate this part of herself, not because of the terrible thing that happened to her, but because she is deemed cursed because of it.

but don’t misunderstand, her anger towards count orlok does come from a place of genuine recognition of the wrongdoing he has committed against her. when she finally interacts with him face to face, she understands that he has violated her, and that his demand for consent to becoming his bride is woefully ironic. so not only has count orlok tarnished her reputation by virtue of society so often treating the abused as “dirty” or “damaged,” but he has damaged her psyche immensely.

still, she cannot sever the tie that exists between them. she is drawn to him not only in spite of the violation she suffered at his hands, but because of it. she knows he doesn’t want her because he loves her, she even says right to his face that she doesn’t believe he can love, and he agrees. but she just can’t get him out of her head, and she hates herself for it (even though he has literally forced his way in, a perfect example of a victim blaming themselves for the trauma their abuser inflicted upon them).

during her fits, she goes through a rollercoaster of emotions, especially towards her husband. earlier on in the film, she says how thomas’ presence in her life stifled her night terrors almost completely, and when he leaves they return in such force that anna immediately assumes it stems from the stress of his absence. she loves him wholly and depends on the stability he offers her, but when he finally returns and she’s being afflicted by count orlok yet again, she lashes out at him, even says to him, “you could never please me the way he can,” before having wild, rough sex with him, only for it to end in tears. she loves thomas, she loves the safety, but she desires the danger and passion because it’s what she’s become accustomed to with count orlok’s mental games. she, like so many victims, reacts to this unhealthy desire with hypersexuality in that moment.

she even tells thomas, “show him how we love,” as if to give in to some need to prove count orlok that she found a love deeper than his abuse, in spite of his abuse. only to break down because she realizes that her carnality comes back to that very abuse. she cries and begs thomas to just go, that her curse will only bring him pain, and he holds and her and says, “never.” and he holds onto her right until the very end.

the tragic part about ellen, though, is that her end is one defined by count orlok. she had finally started to break free of the notion that orlok’s abuse defined her, finally started to stand up for herself when she was treated as burdensome, finally had a man in her life that truly loved her and defended her throughout it all, just to be told that she must sacrifice herself to orlok in order to be free of his curse.

but that’s not really what her sacrifice was about, not to me, anyway. to me, her choice to let count orlok make her his bride and literally eat her heart out didn’t come from a place of self-loathing, it came from a place of love. she is told by the professor that her ability to connect with the occult is a blessing, not a curse. she refutes this, still carrying the belief that she must be evil to have such a connection, but when she hears thomas’ voice call from behind her, telling her it’s time to go, she makes the choice to succumb to that connection that she has hated for so very long in the name of protecting him. the very same way thomas vows to end count orlok’s life himself (despite the clear physical imbalance between them) in the name of protecting her.

her death is not justified or sweetened in any way because of this, though, because, though we are led to believe it was necessary to eliminating count orlok’s plague on the town, thomas himself points out that there could have been another way. we don’t know because the professor discovered this way in the ancient tomes and just ran with it, in part due to the severity and urgency of the situation and in part due to the observable madness of his methods. it’s interesting because the professor is the one who frees ellen from her literal restraints when he sees her tied up in her sleep, the one who paints her abuse not as a burden but a terrible thing that happened to her, and yet is also the one who strengthens the tie she has to count orlok and inadvertently places the responsibility of his reign of terror on her, ultimately leading her to her death.

there is one man who really understands ellen throughout the film, and that is thomas. he’s been touched by count orlok, too, though in a different way. notably, he reacts to this much differently than her, veering in the direction of pure hatred of the man because he frames the situation in an empathetic light. he understand ellen’s trauma, her pain, and he is sickened that anyone could inflict such pain upon the woman he loves. i believe ellen feels this, too, when she realizes the danger her husband is in at count orlok’s hands. she doesn’t want anyone else to suffer his abuse, so she lets herself be abused by him, instead. such is the way of the connection between two victims at the hand of the same monster.

i’m so many ways, nosferatu (2024) is about trauma bonds. the bond ellen has with count orlok exists because of the abuse he inflicted on her, and she cannot sever it even in death. the tragedy of her character is not the abuse she suffered, or the end she met in the name of it, but how hard and valiantly she fought against it and still lost. it’s a far too common experience that many victims share. it’s one i experienced for a long time until i was finally able to break free. seeing this represented in the film was heartbreaking for me, but so, so important.