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fear-is-truth · 2 months ago

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❝ 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐕𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒. ❞

— charlie mayhew x f!reader

summary: you’re a college student who haven’t confessed in ages. tags: mature content・mdni・blasphemy・unprotected p in v・fem!reader・not proofread

♱ a/n◞ english is not my first language

it’s been far too long since you last stepped into the confessional. guilt weighs heavily on your soul, gnawing at the edges of your conscience like a relentless rat. father charlie mayhew sits in the adjoining room, just beyond the closed door. you feel like a convict marching to the gallows or a witch being led to the stake. the air is thick with the scent of incense and remorse as you push open the wooden door and step inside, taking a deep breath,

“forgive me, father, for i have sinned.”

“how long has it been since your last confession?” you pause, fingers twisting in your lap. seven months? eight?

“…too long.” you finally settle for that answer. he hums softly in response, encouraging you to elaborate further.

“i’ve been… neglecting my prayers,” you blurt out, the words tumbling out like a spew of vomit. “i’ve been lazy with my duties, with my work.” a flashback to your half-finished papers, ignored for days, weeks. the familiar frustration and self-loathing settle in again.

“sloth,” the priest says softly, but not unkindly. you nod, even though he can’t see you. “and… wrath,” you continue. “jealousy, really. i’ve been… envious of others. their success, their accomplishments, while i’ve just been… stagnant.” there’s a faint rustling from the other side of the partition. “envy can eat away at the soul,” he says quickly. “but it’s the admission that brings healing.”

“and lust,” the word slips past your lips like a dirty secret. “mastur- sorry, i mean. self pleasuring. and there were… party hook-ups. frat boys. things i shouldn’t have done, things i knew were wrong.” you can feel father charlie’s attention on you, even though you can’t see him. he pauses, and you hear the soft rustle of cloth and creak of wood again. “lust,” he repeats in a gravelly, conspiratorial tone. “is a sin we are all vulnerable to.”

“even you, father?” the question slips out before you can think better of it. the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating like a poisonous fog.

there’s a soft sigh, and you hear the faint rustling of fabric again. “oh yes,” he admits, but he doesn’t sound as ashamed as you’ve imagined a priest should be. there almost seems to be an air of self congratulation.

“especially that.”

your fingers curl tighter around the edges of your skirt. a single beat of silence. then—

“sins like these require penance. penance,” he repeats, slowly, savouring the word on his tongue, “is meant to cleanse the soul. to discipline the flesh.” another rustle of cloth—and you wonder what the hell he’s doing behind the wooden barrier.

“are you prepared to accept the form of penance i offer you?” the way he phrases it, like a double entendre you can’t quite place your finger on.

and yet, something possesses you to reply:

“yes, father.”

“good. now step out here.”

your heart pounds as you obey, stepping out of your side of the confessional. when you turn to face him, your breath catches in your throat.

father charlie is not dressed as a priest should be. gone is the cassock, the traditional garb of a man of the cloth. instead, he’s wearing a white translucent smock, the fabric so sheer you can see the hard planes of his chest, every muscle defined. his tan skin gleams in the low light, and your eyes drift downward, catching the black leather chaps and, beneath them, a jockstrap that leaves little to the imagination.

you simply can’t tear your eyes away from him.

the cocky bastard must be fully aware of his effect on you, the way his eyes gleam as he takes another step toward you, the leather of his chaps creaking softly in the quiet room. the smirk on his lips deepens, and he raises a hand, resting it lightly on your shoulder.

“recite the act of contrition.”

your throat tightens, pulse quickening at the contact. he’s standing so close now that the scent of incense and something distinctly masculine fills your senses, clouding your thoughts. taking a shaky breath, you start, voice trembling slightly,

“o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended you…”

his fingers graze your arm now, trailing lightly down to your wrist, but you don’t stop. you can’t. his presence demands obedience.

“…and i detest all my sins because of your just punishments,” you continue. he hums softly, a sound of approval, thumb rubbing slow circles against the inside of your wrist.

“…but most of all, because they offend you, my god,” you falter for a moment as his hand moves down, skimming the curve of your hip, lingering at your waist, “who are all-good and deserving of all my love. i firmly resolve,” you choke out, forcing yourself to finish the prayer, “with the help of your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin.”

a pause, thick with ominous tension. you look up at him, unsure of what comes next, warm, honeyed lust dripping through your loins betraying the pious words you’ve just spoken. fingers still at your waist, he leans in.

“beautifully done, beautiful.

the priest whispers, and there’s something unexpected in his voice. emotion. when you look back up at him, there are tears in his eyes, like the words had truly moved him. for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to say something, maybe pull back, remind you both of your places.

but then his hand slides into your hair, fingers tangling gently at the nape of your neck, and before you can catch your breath, he’s guiding you with firm, practiced ease into the tight space of the confessional’s compartment. his grip is strong, sure, as his hands settle on your waist, pulling you flush against him. your back hits the wooden wall with a soft thud, the creak of old wood reverberating through the silence, amplifying the intimacy between you.

he leans in closer, his body pressing into yours, the booth feeling impossibly small now. his lips find yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, soft at first, then deepening with intention. his tongue slips past your parted lips, exploring the inside of your mouth, grazing your teeth before sweeping across your hard palate in a way that makes you shiver.

a moan escapes you when you feel his erection rubs against your thigh.

•••

god, you’re going straight to hell.

you moan in unison as he pushes the tip inside you in one, smooth motion. pleasure riddled with agony shoots up from your aching quim to your entire body, the sheer girth of him straining at your velvety walls; filling you up in a way that nobody else has ever done before.

“mghmm— oh fuck… you feel so good,”

charlie grains into your shoulder as he bottoms out, features twisting in sordid rapture when you clench around him involuntarily. your insides are so sensitive and raw that you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock pulsating against your walls as you struggle to accommodate him. he pauses, giving you a second to recover before rearing back his hips slowly, almost pulling out but then to slam back into you completely. the wooden wall of the confessional box creaks, but all you can focus on is the tip of his cockhead kissing— no, fucking your cervix. stretching your cunt in a way so sinfully good that you’re certain that even though you’ve booked a one-way ticket to the second circle of hell, it’s fucking worth it.

it’s not long before the hot coil finally snaps, and squeezing your eyes shut, you dig your fingernails into his shoulder, leaving crescent indents as your orgasm crashes over you.

waves of white-hot pleasure ripple through your veins, and you throw head back to scream out his name. through your post-orgasm haze, you watch as charlie continues to pound into you. a raw moan rips from his throat, accompanied by a final, deep thrust. burying himself to the hilt, he comes inside of you, thick, hot spurts of come filling your womb as a string of indiscernible curses tumble past his lips.

he doesn’t pull out immediately, his cock twitching with residual spams as he continues to thrust his hips lazily, grinding his seed inside you as deep as it can go.

father charlie pulls back slightly, chest still heaving as he gazes at you with that same smug, satisfied smile. he brushes a thumb over your swollen bottom lip, his touch lingering, almost tender.

“well,” he muses, “i think that’ll do for your penance… for now.” his eyes gleam with something darker, something that promises this isn’t over. “though, if you feel the need to… atone further, you know where to find me.”

“same time next week?” you nod in response, eyelids fluttering shut as he threads his fingers through your hair, before pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

m.list

#𝐅.𝐈.𝐓 #charlie mayhew #father charlie mayhew #Charlie mayhew x reader #charlie mayhew x y/n #grotesquerie #charlie mayhew smut #Nicholas Chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #Nicholas chavez smut #Nicholas chavez imagine #Nicholas chavez x y/n

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insufferablelust · 4 months ago

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GEVĪ [BEAUTIFUL] Aemond Targaryen x F!Sister!Reader

This work contains mature acts, Minors DNI. 18+ Only.

Two dragons, hatched from the same womb, nurtured by the same hands, yet bestowed with different fates— how do you, rekindle your love for Aemond after he has left you to pursue your mother and brother’s wishes? well he will show you how.

Words counted: 7.2k

Content include: 18+ MDNI! Targcest (canon incest practice of the Targaryen house), Smut, Sex, Oral sex (F receiving), Heavy corruption kink, breeding kink, Slight exhibitionism (Sex next to window), Choking, Claiming of maidenhood, Manhandling, Slight degradation, Reader has the attributes of the Targaryens (silver hair, purple eyes etc), Mention of blood (nothing graphic), Slight angst (mention of fidelity and arguments nothing heavy), Mention of usurping the throne (half-canon), LOTS of pet names (i’m a sucker for those).

Hello! this is my second HOTD character fic, yes this one is smutty too lol, its a filler i wish to post before posting the completed requests, this is NOT BETA’d, because i’m slammed with work so I apologize, however, a friend of mine will try to beta this soon (so it’ll be revised). Remember that english is not my native language so bear with me. My request is always open for HOTD characters. Enjoy and let me know what you think! thank you my loves.

Masterlist

The soft pitter patter sound of your nieces and nephews makes you giggle in delight, their tiny puffy hands clutching the dragon figure, making gestures of flying them around, as they make sounds to imitate the giant beasts. Jaeherys and Jaehaera were playing on your personal chambers, as you hand invited your older sister, Helaena, to have a chat. You have always try and take care of Helaena, even when she is the older one, you hold a strong contentment to make sure she is alright, especially knowing her hardened path with that of your older brother, the King himself.

“Do you have a name for this one, sweet Prince?” You tenderly asked Jaehaerys, taking one of the dragons on the soft fur carpet up ahead of his line of sight, “Sunwyre!” Jaehaerys exclaimed excitedly, making you throw your head back and laugh softly, his mispronunciation have always warmed your heart, the innocent nature of children, their pure conscience, not yet tainted by royally duties, nor know the taste of power, their world filled with imaginary tales, and make-do creatures.

“Your father’s dragon hm? and what about… this one?” You hold another dragon figure now, a bigger one than the last, this one has the color of dark green, oddly reminding you of a certain someone’s dragon. Ah. “Vhagaw!” it was Jaehaera’s turn to answer, a shy quiet little girl just like you once were, but bright and intelligent nonetheless. Your lips curled into a warm smile, eyes crinkling at the adoration of your niece and nephew. You had hopes for them, even through this impossible times, that they uphold the values of their mother, Helaena, more than they do that of your older brother, Aegon.

“Vhagar? uncle Aemond’s dr—“

“Hm, the most powerful one, isn’t that right, Jaehaera?”

Your head snapped backwards as you heard his velvety voice, gulping quickly at the moment you caught sight of his figure, standing tall, leaning against the entryway of your chambers, head tilted, eyes darted to you, and lips stretched in a knowing grin.

“Aemond…”

It has been awhile since you saw him last, having been too angry to bid him farewell when he went on his way to propose a marriage deal between he and one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters. He sought you out for hours leading up to his leave and the days afterwards, yet you always manage to elude him, breaking your regular routine of breaking your fast with him, and retreating to your chambers at the earliest convenience, even strictly telling the guards stationed at your door to never let anyone in, even the Prince himself, not that they can say much if he insisted, but you know if he heard of your hardened resentment, he would never push you. No, not his little sweet sister, the delight of his days, the beacon of his visions, the only decadent part left from his viscous life.

You had spent your days crying inside your chambers, for you know it was selfish of you to be mad at him for doing his duty, but the pain had eaten its way through your heart, gnawing ever so brazenly through your sanity. You had refused to talk to your mother, only limiting few chosen ladies of your maids to be of assistance to you— once telling Alicent that you have no desire with entangling yourself in her business to Aegon’s crowning.

You see, Aemond and you were always inseparable, from the day you were born, he had been so infatuated by the small babe cradled by his mother, someone other than Helaena that he saw his mother doted on, he admitted that he was jealous of the treatment both you and Daeron received, something he never felt from his own mother, but alas your soft velvet nature is incredibly difficult to resist, not by his mother and well, certainly not him. A pretty little thing you are. Always so gentle, docile, never fuss much even as an infant. He would always play with your babbling lips when you talked about your lessons, or how you have dreamed on claiming a dragon of your own.

Your silver locks of hair as the curtain to your beautiful supple face, eyes alike his— lilac with tinges softer, your pink dewy lips… oh the stuff of dreams to him, curve of your neck which usually adorned by the various jewels your mother sought out for you, your enticing figure— growing into a grown Princess that bewitched him beyond belief. You are the epitome of everything he was not and never will be, an angelic dew scented nymph, to his raging soulless dragon.

Growing up with you alongside him was what made his life bearable, even through all the bullying he has suffered by the hands of his own brother, and nephews as well as the petulant ignorance of both of your parents, you made it all somehow possible. You would tend to him, fill his days with the stories and knowledge you have learnt from your Septa, blabbering about the story of the Conquerer’s war in the Dornish region, and fluttering his heart when you speak of your pious upbringing, obviously influenced by his mother.

It was you who cleaned his wounds when Aegon had pushed him too far, it was you who always listened to his heart’s content— during his darkest depleted epoch, it was you who wiped his tears after he was presented with a pig by his brother and nephew, sweet you— who have claimed yourself a dragon, one gentle hatchling when an egg was placed on your cradle. He was wary then, that you too, would cast him away, make him feel small— but alas he had judged you too quickly, for you never do any of his blackest imaginations, instead you would warm him up to your little dragon, a gesture which granted him confidence to later tame the beast herself, Vhagar.

But he had left you. For some other Baratheon girl. He left you to crawl into your hole of despair and insecurities. Damning yourself on what had you done for fate to be so cruel to you. What had you done for the Gods to banish his hands away from your own.

“Sister…”

His tone had been gentle, you looked away as you could not even peer into his eyes for you know he would be able to see the looming tears on your gentle violet eyes, one he had seen in his dreams each night since his return back to the Keep.

“Here, Jaehaerys, how about you play with Sunfyre, hm?” Your voice was shaky, eyes fleeting everywhere but at him, you are desperate to run away, anywhere but here, “Jaehaera, come, accompany your brother with Vhagar, yes?”

“Yes, auntie.”

“Good girl, Jaehaera, my sweet princess.” You kissed her temple lovingly, feeling saddened that you had to pry away from your niece and nephew so soon, but you had to go away, “Helaena, I must go, I shall catch you later during supper, yes?” Your eyes met that of your older sister’s distant ones, who just hummed, as she continued to draw some sketches on her brown paper. You were always grateful for her inquisitive mind, now more-so. Pecking a small kiss to her temple before standing up.

“Little one wait—“ You felt his hands graze the peeking flesh underneath the slit of your gown, the touch was— exhilarating, igniting that dragon fire inside of you once more, yet you paid it no mind, not now, you thought. Heels walking past him, making a beeline towards your reading chamber, the only place where you can escape.

Sighing softly, your eyes shut tight, the memory of his voice, his touch, his look, and even the feeling of his breath so close yet so far away, it makes you shudder. Gods, you think. Even after leaving you astray for days, he still leaves such an imprint on you, as if he had claimed you from inside out, and you have naught but a small grasp on your will to deny him.

You moved aside, setting yourself beside the door as you slowly drop to your knees, head thrown back against the wall— heart beating way too quick for your own comfort, what in the Seven hells—

“I thought I’d find you here…” You jumped slightly at the sound of your chamber doors opening as well as the sound of his voice again, of course he’d find you here, you thought, he was the one that had begged your mother to designated this place to become your safe haven in the first place, he always found your love for Old Valyrian literature to be as magnificent as you are, and had wished to accommodate you with all there is to know— a tutor, the ancient tomes, and the room itself.

“I do not wish to see you.” You stilled your gaze to the balcony far ahead of you, distracting yourself from his overwhelming presence— his voice, his tall lean figure, his musky smell that strongly resembles home for you, and his oh so devoted attention. “You do not mean that…” There’s a pang of guilt when you heard the softness of his voice, yet you ought to scoff and bit your lip instead.

“You know nothing of my wants or desires, brother.” You cringed at the shakiness of your own tone, scolding yourself at your constant reverie of him, making you lost inside your own thoughts, with tongue too numb, and throat too tight, “Why don’t you fly back to your Baratheon girl on Storms End? you ought to be excited to wed her, are you not?” Venom laced your voice, nails digging onto the soft lilac ensemble you had worn today. He chuckled.

How dare he.

“Little one…” He trailed, crouching down beside you, his thumb and index finger reach out to grip your chin softly yet demandingly all the same, you struggled against him, “Ah ah, do not fuss now.”

“Let me go.”

“Look at me, sweet girl, please?”

Sometimes you wish that the Seven could just curse your brother out for a bit, so that you do not have to be subjected to your own weak will against his own domineering charm, you looked up at him albeit reluctantly, oh how have you torn him to pieces with that look alone.

Your eyes are glistened with unshed tears, lips flushed and slightly pouty just as you used to do when you were a child— begging him to stop studying history and to play with you instead, Aemond does not know how does one capable to hold his life in the gentle crook of their palm, but here you are… his precious little sister, the core of his being.

“There you are, pretty princess..” He gently trace his knuckles across your cheek, then down your jaw, neck, and move to tuck strands of your silver locks behind your ears, softly caressing your hair, “What is it that makes you so restless, hm?” You scoffed at his pathetic attempt to sound dumb to your dilemma, knowing he is far too smart to not know.

“You left me, lēkia.” Brother. Your eyes darted away again before he tuts and tugs at your chin once more, “You know I only do what is asked of me, gevī, to help Aegon secure his throne…” Beautiful.

“Yet, you could not have proposed a better deal?” Your gaze sharpened at him, heart tugging tight at your ribcage, suddenly remembering his promise to you when you were once only seven, and then again during every single one of your name day.

I will never leave you, dōnus ñuhys, you are destined to be my queen, for all the Seven can never deny us.

“Tis’ my duty, sweetling, you know I—“ You rolled your eyes at that, tugging your chin free from his hold but remain your gaze at his own, “So it seems that you have chosen your duty over me then, brother, I should have known I was never more than a vessel to fill your desires with.”

“Left you for a few days, and you run your tongue as you please hm?” You shivered, flush heat spreading through your skin, down to the apex of your thigh, Gods, “Do you deny it, Aemond?” You gulped down your nerves, eyes finding his lips tilted in amusement, his little endeavor has left his sweet girl went feral, it seems.

“A vessel for my desires, you say… little one, how can you be just that when you have me wrapped around your little fingers—“ You were about to retort back, “Ah ah, let me speak.” He grabbed your fingers in his, tilting his head like how he did when you were kids. “All of this, I do for you, as to keep you safe, if that takes me to wed some girl to put you on the throne as My Queen, then tis’ a sacrifice worth my lifetime.”

“How come you do this for me if we shall never be together?” A tear fell from your eyes at last, unable to form other ways to express your distress, “If it is the throne that takes you away from me, I never want it.” You averted your gaze for you know that your brother has always desired Aegon’s throne even before it was bestowed upon the eldest, and he will do whatever it takes go get it as it was his birthright.

“Pretty girl with such pure wishes, you are.” He mused, both hands come up to cusp your jaw, directing your eyes back at him, clicking his tongue, “I will not let you get any less than what you deserve, the realm at our feet with you by my side.” For sure you could never conclude which is sharper, his stare that makes your spine tingle, or his words— full of high promises, one that is dangerous to talk aloud, one that would grant him a harsh slap on the cheek from Mother, one that can cost him his tongue.

“But… Aeg—“

“Do not let that worry your pretty head, little one, just trust me like you always have hm?” His promises were too sweet to resist, the temptation to breach what is beyond the comprehension of your family is too ripe for the taking, you are sure that if either your grandsire or mother have heard of this, you both will never set foot in King’s Landing again, but alas your childhood fairytale always clung to him, his words are inescapable… and well, if he will be damned as the consequences, then you may as well join him, for the world is a dull one without his devotion.

You crack out a tiny smile, one he always cherishes, once it was the center of his boyish infatuation, then it became the only thing other than Vhagar rumble or the promise of the cold hilt of Blackfyre that enlighten his youth, then it became his end goal, your smile— your beautiful oh so sweet saccharine smile. Fuck.

“You know I will always tru—mm!”

The declaration has yet to leave your lips, barely through your tongue when suddenly his breathing fawns over your cupid’s bow, the feeling was exhilarating, his lips—warm lips engulfing your own, gentle at first, like how he had kiss you once, twice, thrice when you were younger— the last one being the night before your sire had died, a day before he set out his proposal to the Baratheons, oh how you’ve missed this— him.

His palm hold a strong grip on the side of your neck, making you gasp and bringing you back slightly down to earth, you didn’t even realize you were floating in the bliss this whole time, “Aem—“ Your sweet voice, he thinks, so soft whimpering his name that the sound is enough to make his breech tighten. Aemond cuts you off by kissing you harder this time, tongue prodding against your lips so you may grant him an entrance to your wet cavern.

When you showed a little resistance through your teasing giggle he bit the bottom of your lip— now red and raw from his ministrations, you mewl deliciously, as he takes his chance to slip his tongue inside, oh, you think, the pressure is so immense, the swirl of his tongue tangling with your own overwhelms you. Aemond explores every inch of you, his thumb grazing at the pulse point on your neck, making you shudder and slightly arch your back to reach out for him, before he parted you both.

“Uh what—“

“Stand up, Princess.” He commanded, holding his hand out to help you up, you tried to stand as steady as you could but there is no mistaking the way your knees wobbled ever so slightly— damn him for making you so weak, Gods.

He spared you no time to muddle with your thoughts before pressing you to the wall beside the door, you whimpered at the sudden force, but he is careful on placing his palm behind your neck to protect your delicate head from the intrusion with the wall. “Aemond, what are we doing?” You asked, eyes glimmering with adoration, admiration, love, lust, fear, anticipation, and everything in between.

He smiled at you, scorching hot sent right to the core on the apex of your thighs, his eye flutter shut before pressing his forehead against yours, his nose also nudged into your own, lips flushed against your quivering one, “What we should have done a long time ago, sweetling.” Aemond moved his fingers to graze against the column of your neck, “Making you mine, in every sense there is, wholly.”

You trembled at that, if it weren’t for his strong grip on your hips and neck, your knees would have buckled and fell then on, you take a deep breath— closing your eyes before entangling your hands around his neck, pressing your lips back to his awaiting red, now tongue and teeth battling in the midst of pure pleasure, hot white whines, and mewls escaped your throat.

Aemond’s arms slipped from his grip on both your neck and hips, crouching down slightly— lips still interlocking with yours ferociously, he hooked them up under the back of your knee before pulling you towards his hips, you moaned through his lips, “Ah!” Wrapping your legs around his back, he effortlessly carry you to the nearby table— places you on top of it, one that so conveniently sat beside the oh so grand window overlooking the surrounding area of smallfolks outside the Keep.

“I have waited years to do this, riñītsos.” He grunts against your lips, you claw at his neck seeking him closer and closer to you, for any space between you felt like a void of infinity— fearing that it, too, will take him away from you again, “to devour you as I please…” He trailed, lips canvassing your skin with heated marks, first the corner of your lips, then to your jaw— oh and your most sensitive part, on the column of your neck. You shivered and let out a wanton whine. Little girl.

“To take you as I want to…” His teeth graze against your pulse as you arch your back, eyes sewn shut, pretty girlish pink lips parted with melodic whimpers escaping them, your skin heated— hands grabby for him, “To make you mine, my little petal.” You gasped as he bites down at the exposed skin, “Aemond!” Your cunt is surely drenching your smallclothes by now, but you spared it no thoughts, for you are too meddled in your blissful paradise.

“When the time comes,” After making his mark, albeit the color is a gentler one than he’d hoped, he grazes his fingers along the silk of your white dress, right atop of where the fabric seal the supple flesh of your breasts, the delectable bud that begs to be caressed, sucked, and worshipped, “Will you let me, hāedar?” His eye glinted at you, so gentle yet ravenous all the same, “Kessa, lēkia.” Yes, brother.

He passionately grunted, pressing his forehead against yours as his nimble fingers unlaced the intricate details of your dress, you are glad that you wore a rather relaxing dress today, for it is not so hard for him to loosen the laces and let it gently fall from your body— the silk pooling at your thigh against the desk, “Gevī.” He muttered as his eyes scanned through your ever so soft skin, from the way your neck is slightly arched backwards from your heavy breathing, your exposed collarbone, to the oh so mouthwatering swell of your breasts. He can feel his breeches tightening to the point of painful tugs, not that he cares much. Beautiful.

“Kostilus, Aemond…” You whimpered when his lips ghosted over your collarbone, “Ah ah, quiet, Princess.” His deep amber voice rattles your spine like no other, “Let me taste you.” He whispered, fingers moving to tug a gentle grip at the reddened and darkened bud on your breasts, “Mmnh!” You moaned delicately, arching your back with your palm flat against the desk behind you, your figure enticing and inviting him even closer. Please.

You bit your lips hard— harder than you should when Aemond engulfed the blood filled buds up to his lips, he goes gentle at first, suckling like small babe would but then he grows ferocious— “Gods!” You yelped as he bit at the hardened flesh, causing you to shiver once more, bucking your hips to try and assuage the building pressure at your cunt, now wet and weeping to be filled. Him… by him.

Aemond did not dare stopping his ministrations, one hand tugging on the other one as he continues to suckle on your nipples greedily, your nails dug through the hard material of the desk but you have naught care to it, for your brother is keeping your nerve ends alive— lit with fire and blood.

“Your purity has always been mine to corrupt, little one…” He trails as he moved to crouch down, his lips also trailing a soft kisses path down your tummy, to your navel before tugging at your dress a tad bit forcefully, as it fell to the floor below, he makes a quick move to release you of your smallclothes, wasting no time to stare intensely at your now exposed fluttery soaked cunt, “My my, Princess… look at you…” He groaned, making you mewl.

“S-stop looking at… me like that.” Your hand moved downward in a shy attempt at covering your now exposed flushed mound, which he clicked his tongue at— as if he is scolding you, and grip your wrist tightly, “You will not deprive me of seeing what is mine, sweetling…” He keeps a hold of your wrist, as you wiggle about, “Your cunt is mine, to taste, fuck…”

“Aemond…” You can no longer hold the wanton sounds originating from your bewildered state, body so flushed with heat and desire that your mind has reduced to blank fuzzy space of just him, him, him.

“Mine to own.” His other thumb move closer to your heat before pressing it softly against the throbbing bud that is your pearl, “I— ah! w-what…” Mix of confusion, thrilling pleasure, and indescribable rush flows through you when you feel the blissful pain from his fingers that had pinched your pearl, you desperately try to keep your moans and tears at bay, however, that proves to be fruitless when Aemond decided to replace his fingers with his mouth. You were done for.

“Slow down! mmnh!” You writhe in his hold, feeling his tongue slide from the fluttering of the silky entrance of your cunt and drags your sweet nectar up against your pearl, the bud thrumming in attention, relishing in the licks and suckle of his sinful lips, “Seven hells, riñītsos…” He let out an sadistic chuckle against your dripping petal, making you shudder, “You open up so beautifully… for me, tastes better than any Westerosi wine.” You clench tightly on nothing, he hummed at the sight. Little girl.

“Please please!” You begged, your body folding, grasping his silky locks on your hand, Aemond looks up at you with so much vigor as he continue working his tongue and lips on your cunt, the constant ah-ah-ah leaves your mouth, filling his ears. Aemond pushes a finger past your flushed opening, “Relax, sweetling, let me in.” He said with faux gentleness.

“I—oh!” Your peachy lips drops and your tongue lolls out at the intrusion of his index finger, curling it up as he inches in, your cunt is tight, tighter than anything— and you are not just any maiden, he thought, you are his sweet little maiden of a sister, “Syz riña.” He hummed against your nub, continuing his earlier work of suckling on your pearl as his finger eases in and out of you. Good girl.

You can only gasp and let out strings of mewls at the feeling, it’s so good, you think, so so so good— it feels better than being intoxicated in goblets of wine, it feels better than any gifts you have ever been given as a Princess of the realm, it feels better because it is given by Aemond, you concluded.

Your lips curled in pleasurable tandem, feeling your cunt clench like blooming flower around him, his lips leave you no choice but to submit to both him, and your upcoming peak. There is a strange yet powerful tugging at the base of your tummy, something about to snap— “Aemond.. I.. Gods, I think—“ You mewled desperately.

He looked up to you then, smiled and chuckled deeply, “Tis’ okay, little one, peak for me.” He urged you, mouth suckling around your peal, biting at the nub almost mockingly, combining with how the tip of his finger right on the spongy part inside you, curling them with purposeful jabs— your only response is a high pitched scream of his name followed by strings of girlish pet-like mewls as your cunt gush around his fingers.

“Good girl, my good Princess.” Aemond cooed, his tongue greedily lapping up the sweet saccharine nectar from the now fluttering oversensitive tightness of your cunt, “Mmh.. c-can’t..” You wiggle from his hold, shaking your head as your body shake with the aftershocks of your heightened pleasures— the feeling is akin to that of when you rode your dragon, Valyx, the majestic red winged creature that bonded with you.

“Shh, I know, too much hm?” Aemond hummed, releasing his finger out of you as your opening winked at him— what a petal of a slut you are, made just for him, pure and ever so decadent—“What did.. what happened, Aemond?” Oh you looked at him so so softly, demure and skittish, shy. Just like a kitten would. He suppressed the way his cock is begging for release just at the sight of your corrupted flushed face, and shivering body.

“You peaked, sweetling.” His voice deepened considerably, as does his lilac eyes, “Peaked? oh… like..” Your hands went to cover your face as you heated up, only for him to click his tongue and grip your wrist tightly, “Ah-ah, no need to be shy, little one. It felt good, didn’t it?”

“Yes but—“

“But no, Princess, from now on you should expect to feel like that from me, understand?” His voice is soft, although strained by lust and his desire to just fuck you then and there, he had to wait though, anything to make you feel more at ease with your body and the pleasure he brings to you. His innocent little sister.

“I suppose that’s okay…” You whispered timidly, which causes his heart to flutter, Gods, he will give you the fucking moon and rebuild Old Valyria from its ashes if it so pleases you, “Did you— did you do that to Floris too?” You asked, eyes are darted to anywhere but him.

He sighed, “Poppet, what are you talking about hm?” You shrugged, oh his sweet angel, always such a possessive little thing you are, knowing what you want yet restricted by your gentle nature, “I have not and shall never give that to anyone but you, my sweet, t’was a deal I myself never planned on following through.” He said, looking up at you— his eyes glinted with nothing but honesty and love for you, you’d know because of the numerous time he had lied on not being in pain after the torment he had suffered at the hands of your own brother and nephews.

“But what about Aegon, and mother?” You whispered, now looking at him, “Won’t they be furious if they knew? wouldn’t it be… treason?” The word leave an acid feeling on your tongue, it feels like you’re accusing him, Aemond knows you better than anyone else though, he knows you mean no foul— it showed you care for him.

“They can voice out their complaints to me when I am King, little one, it matters not.” Your wyes widened at his implication, excitement and thrill oddly runs through your blood at his declaration, Gods, you have no more care for formalities or ideals, not when he is here— not when this is what you can have.

“Brother…” Both of your palms come up to cusp his face, your finger gently peel the eye patch he wears— the movement has his eye fluttering, yet he bears no resentment to your action, only affection, “I want you, take me as you wish.” You are many things, hesitant in your steps— that innocence shines through most of the time, but none came when you said that, only truth and love. Solely devout to him.

Something animalistic flashes through the glint of his eyes, something feral, so driven by passionate affection, devotion, and lust—eternally for you, “As my Princess’s wish.” He muttered before standing up fully to his height, making you crane your head up to look at him. You watched as he tugs his coat and sleeves off, your eyes danced on his pale skin— his sapphire that taunts you with promise of unnerving fealty, and overwhelming dominance.

Exposing his upper body to you, your finger trail a feather light touches to his skin, a tad of your innocence apparent in the way you felt him yet you’re also teasing him with how you press on certain spots, in which he only smiled and chuckled at you—his wanton little slut wrapped in a saint goddess bodice of a Princess— admiring the way his muscles tense, the way his masculine musk penetrated your senses— so his, so so his.

Aemond then tugs his breech loose, letting it drop to the stone floor below— there he is, permeated by the sun shining through the slit of window, all in his naked glory— so enticing, your mouth waters as you gazed him fully— mouth agape, a loud gasp slipped from your mouth as your eyes focuses on the throbbing length of his cock, oh you almost cooed, he is hard—length so full with blood and tension, it looked like it was going to burst, the veins protruding on his shaft, darkened and angry, his tip is flushed a reddish color— thick and inviting, with the opening dripping with his arousal— oh how you would so easily taste him.

Your fingers swiftly went down to grasp his length, thumb about to swipe away the spend on his tip before he holds your wrist—you looked up at him like a child would, he was vastly reminded of a face you’d make as a little girl when he had taken away your lemon cakes just for fun— oh your pouty raw and bitten lips, your puffed out cheeks, your eyes that radiates want want want, silently begging him, Gods, you’d be the death of him.

“Aem—“ You whined like a spoiled little brat you are, oh he’d have so much fun taming the living soul out of you, later though, he thought, “You will get your taste later, little one—“

“But!” You and your stubbornness, he thought, oh but he’ll relinquish in the joy and thrill to break you fully— mould you just for him, “Ah ah no, behave, sweetling. Pouty mannered little girls will not get anything other than denied of their peaks, you do not wish for that, do you? hm?” Your spine shivered at the tone he used, so mocking, making you so small, especially with his fingers on your wrist and the other on your chin— scolding a child—yet the only sound that escaped your pouty lips are soft desperate mewl and whine.

You are so fucking sweet, he was ready to come then and there.

“N-no Aemond… I will be good for you.” You whispered, eyes glassy, lips trembling, he breathes heavily, “Oh sweet dove, shh you will get what you want.” He hummed, moving his fingers to gently run through your luscious silver hair, lips leaving an oh so sweet peck to the crown of your head.

When you nod to his words, he leaned in to kiss you ferociously, his palm move to your hips, bringing you to the edge of the desk as your tongue dances in a fiery battle— well less of a battle when you consider that he dominates you— “Uh!” You moaned as his thick shaft touches the soft pulsing wet folds of your cunt, you’re incredibly soaking the table beneath you by now.

Aemond groaned at the way your cunt is opening up to him, fluttering around the very top of his tip as if inviting— daring him to just slide in, though he restrains himself because this is your first time, he will go gentle, there’re plenty of times to break you later, he mused. “Syz, riñītsos.” Aemond purred deeply, “Ready?” He sweetly gaze down at you and your quivering form, pressing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose. Good, little girl.

“Mhm.” You nodded, voice naught but a small whimper, one of Aemond’s palm reach down to grasp yours in his, intertwining your fingers to his— his other hand grip the base of his throbbing length—You let out a loud gasp as you feel him breaching your wet entrance with a swift motion, the tip is in and you cried.

“I-it hurts…” Tears dropped down from your eyes, “Shh, doing so well for me, sweetling.” Aemond cooed gently at you, holding him back from indulging in the feeling of your unimaginably tight tight tight warm wet flowery cunt grasping the tip of his cock— Gods has to reward him for his resilience for he can wait little longed than to come right then and there, you’re intoxicating, too sweet for him and way too fucking tight.

The Prince kissed your lips gently, lovingly as if to ground both you and him, the softness of his lips bringing you back to earth slightly— but mayhaps it was to distract you for what comes next, you wailed loudly as he pushed in more of his length, your cheeks now drenched with tears, chest heaving, and cunt clenching around him ever so torturously, both of your fluids mixing below you, feeling the wetness help him to push in yet more inches, filling you to the brim.

“Full Aem… so full, too big…” You truly ought to send him to an early grave, he thought, “You can take it, my sweet girl taking her brother’s cock like the perfect girl she is.” Aemond cooed against your ear, the praises consuming you whole, the pain from your core gradually subsides as you feel him waiting— you heart warmed at the gesture— he’s waiting for you to be comfortable.

“Please… please continue.” You whimpered, craning your head backwards as he pressed his thumb against your swollen pearl to relieve the pain, “I-ah! fuck me, Aemond.” Your comment might’ve been brazen but he doesn’t miss the way your body shivered at your eyes drooped, lips curled just as you did whenever you revert back to your girlish demure self. Oh his sweet little girl, being brave just for him, his little dragon.

He shushes you all at once, both palms on the either side of your hips as he slowly experimenting by moving his hips backward so that only half of his length is inside of your tight haven, before thrusting back in, deep deep deeply, you both moaned loudly at that, the feeling of his cock in and out, in and out, in and out of you is heightened— you can feel his veins against your walls, clenching tightly— holding him in a vice grip.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” Aemond grunted, his hips faltering a bit but keeping a nice steady pace as you mewl, cunt gushing his cock with the pain now dulled and replaced by pure white pleasure, you swear you can feel your ear rings, “Perfect little cunt for a perfect little girl.”

“For you! ah!” The plethora of moans and whiny gasps that left your lips has his head spinning, “Gods made you for me, to be mine.” He possessively growled, increasing the pace of his thrusts as he leaned down to capture the sensitive part of your skin just below your ear and leave a reddish purplish mark.

You can do naught but to take the way he thrusts thrusts thrusts in and out of you, his curved tip always hitting that spongy spot inside you, making you dizzy and drunk— cockdrunk and dumb on him, your lips agape as he continue to nibble marks on your skin, you could care less on how you will conceal that later, too wrapped up in bliss of his grunts and the feeling of his cock inside of you.

“One day you will bear me an—fuck! heir, you hear me little girl?” His thrusts are borderline mean now, hips rutting inside you as if you’re his drug and he cannot deprive himself from your sweet intoxicating cunt, “Yes! Gods yes! as many as you want.”

The sound of the skin slapping inside the room will for sure frighten anyone, especially guards outside the door, but you had hoped that mayhaps someone from the council might able to hear, so that they know Aemond is irrevocably yours— and so that they know you will bear his babes, heirs— none of that arranged marriages for political gains, just you and him, thrumming with the strong bond of Old Valyria, the dragon’s blood danced and merged.

Aemond pulled away from your neck as he looked at you with eye full of love love love, lust lust lust, and adoration, like he would worship the ground you walked upon, and even you knew he would if you asked. At one of your loud mewl, he bring his thumb to rub harsh circles on your pearl making you grip him as you soak him and your thighs even more.

“Mmh Aemond…”

“I know, close aren’t you, Princess?” He taunts you, all the while you do not have the strength anymore to care, for you are so so so close to reaching your peak, utterly desperate for it, “Uh huh, please please please.” Oh you sweet sweet dove, begging him like that, how can he ever refuse you? his beautiful little sister? he might be mean but not so mean to deny you of your peak.

“Shh, little one, I know what you need, you trust me don’t you?” His tone is sickly sweet, mocking and genuine at the same time— your mind having been too fuzzy to comprehend it only let out a muffled whimper, “Mmhm..” He laughed at that, finding you so unbearably cute, just his little dragon wanting to come so bad, it makes him wanna fuck his seed into you more.

“C’mon my sweet, i know you can do it.” He urged you, all of it— the hot breath against your skin, the nibbling, the way he circled your pearl so sinfully, the way his cock impaled you open— all of it is just too much, addictive. “Peak for me like the good little whore you are, hm?” His voice is rough, hips faltering in his pace— obviously holding himself back from releasing into your womb.

“Nnmh, not a- not a whore.” You hiccuped in a high pitch, oh his sweet little girl, he chuckled at you— looking at your pathetic teary eye, cheeks drained— as drained as your cunt is soaking his length, “My little princess, the purest of maidens, the finest of whores, mine, nobody else’s.”

“I- ah ah ah! Aemond!” You clenched your cunt so tight around him as something snap inside of you, the dam broke and once more you can feel yourself hitting that plethora of pleasures— brain fuzzy, only Aemond, only him him him. You peaked— body trashing, and flushed all over for you are unable to control the movement of your limbs and muscles anymore— too drunk on his cock.

“Good girl, shit, my good fucking girl.” Aemond cooed but the harshness of his voice indicates that he, too, is close, “Gonna come too now hm? want that little one? my seed inside you?”

“Yes yes yes, uh huh, give it to me please.” You begged him so sweetly, how can he refuse? after all you’re his little sister, his Princess, he never gave you less than what you deserve, even that one time when you asked to take the remaining berry tart that he wanted so bad yet he let you have it, or that one time you begged him to show you the tunnels inside the paintings, the one that holds Balerion’s skull knowing he’d have to evade Ser Cole, or that last time you asked him to kiss you before he went to Storms-end, anything for you. Everything for his Queen.

“Fuck! Gods you’re perfect, going to make you my fucking wife, I swear it.” He possessively muttered, or more like babbling now— too obsessed with the way you hug him so tight like he’d disappear, or the way your cunt clutch him in a come come come motion. “Give it t’me.” You pleaded, voice so soft it makes his head heady— He simply can’t resist you, “Seven fucking hells.”

Aemond shuddered as he released his spend inside of you, the tip of his cock right against the opening of your cervix, enough to make itself known but not enough to hurt you, never to hurt you, not when it does not bring you pleasure. “Thank you thank you thank you…” Your voice is barely a whimper now, your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parted with your lips lolling out. Sight to behold indeed.

“Shh good girl, my good little girl.” He hummed against you, looking at you with adoration as he slides out slowly— you whined at the loss, already accustomed to being stretched by him, he shushes you one more time as he hold you— seems like you’re a bit gone inside your fuzzy little head.

“My little dragon, so good for me, hm?” He cooed at you, one hand holding you close to him, as his other palm cups your cheek, rocking you slightly, “Come back to me, little one, c’mon, I’m right here.” He whispered, grounding you back down as you hiccuped slowly.

“Aem…” Your voice is barely there but its there, it’s you, and Aemond smiled knowing you are alright, “Here, Princess, did so good f’r me.” He kisses all over your face, making soft pecking noises that has you giggling softly and make an attempt on nudging him away, “Stop.” You whined adorably like a little cat, which he laughed at, “There’s my girl.”

By the way you smiled and blinked at him, he just know that he would give you all 7 realms if you asked, make you his Queen, and demolish all your enemies, so that you shall rule with him— as it always meant to be. The dragons that lived through the dance.

#deva writes #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fic #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #smut #hotd x reader #hotd smut #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfic #unbeta'd #gevī

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wonryllis · 8 months ago

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✶ 𝟭𝟳𝟳𝟱 (𝓥 ) SATAN'S IMAGINATION, AGENT ENHYPEN.

╰ 𝖠𝖫𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖭𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖤𝖫𝖸, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗋.

THE ATELIER. agent!enhypen hanging on that line between act and reality with agent!reader. word count 1261 CONTAINS— fluff, suggestive, fem!reader. ( ARCHIVE? ) pls reblog!!

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 he feels his breath caught in a dangerously thin line between staying professional and kissing the hell out of you, your body pressed against him between the narrow shelves.

he's probably at fault for blowing your cover earlier but all he can think about right now is the way the light through the windows make your glossed lips glow and your messy hair look sensual.

each inhale and exhale a battle against his self-control.

"do you think they noticed?" your voice sounds more tempting than ever in the low whisper you let out against his chest and heeseung swears he's fighting demons right now. "i hope not," he sighs heavy, feeling himself leaning into you, getting carried away as his conscience slowly slips and cracks.

lips almost brushing when you suddenly look up, wide eyes boring into his,"i think they just walked past," unaware and painfully oblivious of what your partner was about to do to you. of how he was ready to devour you.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 with the biggest lovesick smile ever, jay watches you act coy in your character, gently excusing yourself to the washroom.

"act like you want me, but more like you love me," your soft words tingle his ear as you discreetly whisper to him just before you leave the dinner table. are you dense or are you just too professional? there is no way you think the look on his face isn't already giving away his feelings to all these people around the table you're supposed to fool.

he chuckles deep and smitten as he stands seconds after,"i apologize gentlemen, but my love needs my help," excusing himself as well.

with each step he takes towards you, he realizes the wicked idea you have in your wicked little brain.

his heart skipping beats and blood rushing everywhere when you throw yourself at him, dragging him to bathroom with your lips hovering over his making sure the targeted people get a glimpse of it and get the wrong idea.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍 jake grins wider as your palm presses flat against his chest first and then fingers curl to mimic a gun, your tips emulating a spark of electricity through his veins, feeling the blood pump harder in his heart.

"you better not take advantage of our cover to steal kisses, sim," it is crazy how he feels disappointed yet amused at the same time, you doing this right now is the hottest thing ever but you refusing to let him kiss you later is a tad bit upsetting plus you knowing he loves to do that has him dazed.

"can't promis—" his breath gets knocked out mid sentence as you grab him by his tie and smash your lips together in a sloppy and short kiss.

"that's is all you can have for the night, focus on the mission agent three,"

now that was hotter than the hottest thing you could have ever done to him, and you decide to do it right before work. oh how he wishes he had kissed back harder and show you just what you'd be missing out on later.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 his eyes scan across your rather overly feminine dressed figure amble over to him, stance seductive and alluring in the red cocktail gown he helped you pick hours ago.

"that was disgusting," he says as soon as you stop beside him.

he was glad the mission was successful and he was so glad he picked this dress for you. feeling a sense of pride that he has always been the first one to see you dolled up and that he has always been your date and that he has always been gotten to take you home at the end of night.

the only thing he feels jealous about right now is that while he has always been all that, it has always been the targets who get to feel you all up and who get to see your siren side showing them how it would be if you were interested in them.

"well it wasn't for you anyway, mr hotshot," you bite back and sunghoon almost breaks on the verge of exposing that he'd die for it to him, for you to seduce the heck out of him.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎 the hawk-like focus sunoo had on you seemed so normal to you both, you didn't even realize when it turned into something possesive and unfitting for agents just working together.

perhaps it was for the reason that you two had been paired up together for couple missions, or perhaps it was because you both trained together everyday. there was this sense of belonging you had developed, unaware of how it was changing things in your work dynamics.

"your gaze is so fake, come on baby i know you can give a more sultry one, remember our practice?" sunoo speaks through the in-ears, his eyes locked with yours across the other end of the vip club, watching you try to seduce the target.

the sparkle of tension crackling in the air as you held the eye contact, sunoo's ego blasting at the back of his mind knowing he's the only one who's seen the real thing.

"just imagine it's me, and finish it up so you can actually come back to me,"

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 his gaze is envious and bitter, feeling his blood boil over the revelation you just made. "so you know him well?" the tone being one of grudge and spite, he continues to watch you strap on the weapons around you body. places under your dress where one would probably not have the chance to touch, unless it's him.

which amplifies his jealousy to a staggering height at the realization that the target you are chasing this time probably has touched you in those places before. maybe even more than he has.

the dismissive nod you respond with, makes jungwon's impatience fly through the roof, walking closer to trap you against the table where the weapons laid. "better than me?"

the air thickens with implication of his words, jungwon himself is unaware what the undertone of it means.

if it's how well you know him or if it's something entirely different, something that makes him want to leave kisses down your neck like he did the last time.

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 his breath is laboured as he helps you rush out the pool, your fancy dress drenched and heavy weighing you down more than he'd anticipated. quickly you both find a spot in the showers to hide, squeezing into a single booth.

he's brisk and sharp, giving you a hand in stepping out your wet dress into the latex suit underneath. letting you put your weight on him, your hands holding onto his body while you undo the strings and sleeves. the possibilities of getting caught are on high alert yet riki can't find it in him to focus on anything besides you.

the way you look so hot in your agent attire, your hair wet and sticking to the sides of your face making you appear so cute in contrast to you getting ready to fight men a step outside the door.

he has always found it so attractive, and the thought of admitting it openly just makes him more dazed.

his fingers reach out to push away the strands around your eyes and lips, thumb brushing a second longer on your lips, "i really wanna kiss you right now," he whispers into your ears, lips grazing against it softly.

taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @potato0579 @enhastolemyheart @belowbun @ro-diaries

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randomgurl2326 · 17 days ago

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Next To My Wife

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: The one time Azriel let his two worlds collide…ALSO…Based off of this quote from EPIC The Musical: After everything you’ve done, how will you sleep at night/Next to my wife

Warnings: Blood, Torture

The dungeon is cold. Second only to the Winter Court. The sounds of a male’s cries and screams are music to the spymaster’s ears.

The cobalt siphons on the Illyrian warrior’s leathers shine bright down here. Like they knew what he’s doing and that he takes pleasure in it.

The male doesn’t let the guilt creep in. Not yet. Guilt is for the conscience. Conscience is for home. He can’t afford conscience at work. That’s a luxury only innocence can have…. His sweet girl, innocent—

No, he can’t think of her now. Never let the two worlds touch, is what he tells himself. Keep the innocent innocent. Keep the bloody bloody.

Never let them touch.

Azriel’s shadows envelop the faerie. The whisps talk animatedly as they watch their master work. Suggestions ring through his ears from the tiny shadows.

The whip, master, the whip.

No! No! Truth Teller, Master. Surely that will get the job done.

The shadowsinger grits his teeth and lets out a grainy, “Quiet.”

The shadows whispers lessen to a dull roar. Azriel’s shoulder’s tense as he speaks, “Tell me what you know about Beron Vanserra’s dealings with Hybern.”

The faerie hesitates for only a second before hardening his gaze and answering, “Fuck. You.”

The spymaster breaks two of the male’s fingers as a result of his defiance. Azriel tightens his grip on the faerie, “Wrong answer. Tell me before I rip out your fucking veins one by one.”

The faerie male cries out in pain. Finally submitting to the spymaster, “Alright! Alright! I’ll tell you!” The next one quieter, “I’ll tell you.”

Azriel presses down on the other male’s jugular, “I’m listening.”

“T-the High Lord wanted a deal,” the Illyrian senses the quiver in the faerie’s voice, “A-a protection deal o-or something, I don’t fuckin’ know.”

The dark whisps of shadows stir again, sensing a lull.

He’s lying, master.

He knows but doesn’t want to tell master.

If pretty girl were here she’d be able to—

Azriel squeezes his eyes shut at the mention of his girl. Don’t let the two worlds touch, he says to himself, leave the conscience at home. The spymaster’s eyes open once again, reminding him of where he is. What he’s doing.

Scarred hands press down harder on the male’s protruding neck, “Enough of the bullshit. Tell me what you know.”

The faerie winces, “S-security! Security… he wanted to trade Night Court secrets in exchange for security with Hybern. Beron wanted stability. He senses a war. I-I don’t know what secrets he was gonna share. I just know that they were heavy.”

The Illyrian’s shadows exert approval of the truth. Azriel grunts and twists the male’s arm backwards, pushing his leather boot clad foot down on his back and forcing his head down.

The shadowsinger smirks and leans down to the faerie’s ear, with a dark voice he says, “Thank you… But you’re no longer needed.”

He unsheathes Truth Teller and stabs it in the male’s shoulder blade. He waits a beat before slowly pulling it out. The agonizing cries of the faerie bounce through the otherwise quiet halls of the dungeon. His whimpers bring a twisted delight to the spymaster.

Once the dagger is fully removed, Azriel stands and gives one last stomp on the faerie’s foot for good measure.

“Someone will be here in the morning to either clean your remains or your wounds. Make sure not to bleed too much. I do like this dungeon.”

Azriel walks off and cleans Truth Teller with a rag nearby. Just as the Illyrian is about to exit, he hears the faerie’s pain-stricken voice, “After everything you’ve done, how will you sleep at night?”

Azriel stops at the exit and smirks. He doesn’t dignify the faerie with a glance as he says in his gruff baritone, “Next to my wife.”

543 notes · View notes

thedensworld · 5 months ago

Text

Let me | C.Sc

Pairing: Ceo!Seungcheol x reader

Genre: angst, fluff, office romance

Summary: Seungcheol has known your for a long time and has been very grateful of your dedication as his worker. It was supposed to be just like that.

Seungcheol spotted you at the bus stop on that rainy evening, your clothes soaked through from the downpour. His instinct urged him to offer you a warm ride after what must have been a long day, but he stifled the impulse, convincing himself it was too late for a U-turn. Earlier, he'd overheard a conversation among his staff. Seokmin had generously offered a lift to whoever needed it, knowing full well you usually relied on the bus. Seungcheol sensed Seokmin's subtle invitation, but before you could even consider it, the seats in his car were quickly filled by eager colleagues.

"Y/n usually takes the bus, right?" one of the staff asked, and you shook your head, dismissing any concern. "I think I'll just take a cab. Don't worry about me."

Guilt gnawed at Seungcheol's insides as he contemplated his decision. He made a snap judgment, making a U-turn back to the bus stop, but you were nowhere to be found. You must have caught the bus already. With a heavy heart, Seungcheol returned home, the weight of missed opportunity and regret lingering in his mind.

Seungcheol's advertisement company had humble beginnings with just four employees. As the founder and Chief Officer, he led the charge, with Seungkwan handling PR, and you and Mingyu comprising the design team. Despite knowing you for nearly five years, Seungcheol realized he'd hardly exchanged more than professional pleasantries with you.

That rainy evening at the bus stop lingered in his mind, your image soaked by the relentless downpour. Even though it was just a passing moment, he couldn't shake the memory.

"She's sick, finally taking a day off," Mingyu informed Seungcheol when he inquired about your whereabouts that day.

"Sick?" Seungcheol's concern flickered. The thought of you unwell tugged at his conscience, adding another layer to his already heavy heart.

Mingyu nodded solemnly, a sigh escaping his lips before he handed Seungcheol another draft for the upcoming project. It was the design you were supposed to handle, but now you were at home, resting.

"This," Mingyu gestured to the draft, "she wants me to make sure you confirm it by today. Let me know if there's anything to revise, she said she'll do it today."

Seungcheol's expression tightened at the thought of you working even while sick. He shook his head, disliking the idea of you pushing yourself when you needed rest. "Do you know where she lives?" he asked, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice.

Seungcheol stood in front of your door, a sense of urgency gripping him as he clutched a portion of porridge and a pack of medicine in his hands. He couldn't fathom how he had ended up here, but the need to ensure your well-being drove him forward. With each press of the doorbell, the weight of his worry grew heavier. Ten seconds passed, then twenty, then a minute, yet there was no response. Frustration etched across his features as he pushed the doorbell again, the sound echoing through the silence of the hallway.

As he waited, a barrage of questions flooded his mind. "Are you okay?" he wondered, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. Desperation urged him to try the door passcode pad, his fingers tapping out random combinations in a futile attempt to gain entry. Disappointment washed over him as each attempt proved unsuccessful, but a glimmer of relief emerged when he realized you hadn't used the most obvious combination.

With a newfound determination, Seungcheol tapped out a sequence that had been etched into his memory—the company anniversary date. The click of the door unlocking caught him off guard, a mix of surprise and relief flooding his senses. Stepping inside, he was greeted by the familiar surroundings of your home, yet the absence of your presence only heightened his concern.

"Y/n..." Seungcheol called out, his voice laced with concern, but there was no reply. He navigated through the dimly lit hallway of your apartment, his heart pounding with each step. Upon reaching your bedroom, a sense of familiarity guided his movements as he set the items on your kitchen island before peeking inside.

The sight that met his eyes sent a jolt of alarm through him. There you were, lying weakly on your bed, cocooned in blankets, with the glow of the bedside lamp casting a soft light upon your form. Your labored breathing and flushed cheeks spoke volumes, confirming his fears. Without a moment's hesitation, Seungcheol approached you, his hand reaching out to touch your forehead, which burned with fever.

Calling out your name urgently, he watched as your eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus. "S—Seungcheol?" you rasped, your voice devoid of its usual formality, he thought it was a sign of your weakened state.

"Are you okay, Y/n? You're burning. Let me take you to the hospital," Seungcheol urged, his voice tinged with worry as he moved to assist you. But before he could make a move, your hand caught his wrist, halting him in his tracks.

"Seungcheol, is that you?" you asked, your voice betraying a sense of urgency. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for answers. "How could you get inside? How—do you remember?" you questioned, your grip on his wrist tightening as you struggled to make sense of the situation.

Sungcheol's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand. What do you mean?" he inquired, his concern deepening as he tried to comprehend your words.

Your hand suddenly released his wrist and moved to your hair, your expression clouded with confusion. Seungcheol watched helplessly as you whispered to yourself, questioning whether you were dreaming or hallucinating. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him as he realized the severity of your condition.

Seungcheol's confusion only deepened as you pulled your comforters tightly around you, shaking your head in disbelief. "This must not be real. It could be because of the medicine," you muttered to yourself, your arms wrapping around your body in a protective gesture.

"Hey, it's me..." Seungcheol called out to you, his voice gentle yet firm. Your teary eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

Seungcheol watched in awe as you approached him, your trembling hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. "You're home..." you whispered, tears now streaming down your cheeks. His heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into your touch, the warmth of your hands against his skin grounding him in reality.

As your sobs intensified, Seungcheol felt a wave of emotions wash over him. Your house, your voice, your touch—all felt strangely familiar, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of disorientation that lingered in the back of his mind. What was happening to him?

"You're finally home..." you sobbed, burying your face in his chest as tears continued to fall unchecked. "You remember home," you whispered between sobs, your words echoing in the silence of the room.

What is happening?

Mingyu sat opposite Seungcheol, his expression grave as he prepared to deliver an explanation for the events of the previous night. Seungcheol's gaze bore into him, demanding answers, as he struggled to make sense of the familiarity of his surroundings.

"What's this?" Seungcheol gestured toward the house, a sense of unease creeping over him.

Mingyu lowered his head, a gesture of apology evident in his posture. "I didn't expect you to come here," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. Seungcheol's mind raced with questions, but before he could voice them, Mingyu diverted the conversation to your condition.

"She's being treated at the hospital. It was stress and exhaustion," Seungcheol explained. Mingyu's eyes avoiding Seungcheol's penetrating gaze. It struck Seungcheol as odd, considering Mingyu's usual propensity for defiance.

"Okay..." Seungcheol began, his tone clipped as he struggled to contain his frustration. Mingyu's heavy sigh only added to his growing sense of unease. "She's gonna hate me for this," Mingyu muttered, a hint of guilt in his voice.

Seungcheol's scowl deepened at the implication that Mingyu was withholding information from him, information that could potentially impact his life. As Mingyu continued, dropping a bombshell that left Seungcheol reeling.

"You lost your memory two years ago," Mingyu revealed, prompting Seungcheol to nod in acknowledgment. Memories of the car accident flashed through his mind, a reminder of the near-death experience that had robbed him of his past.

But Mingyu wasn't finished. "And you...you were engaged to her," he stated matter-of-factly, leaving Seungcheol dumbfounded.

"What?" Seungcheol's voice was laced with disbelief as Mingyu confirmed his status as your fiancé.

Mingyu nodded solemnly. "Yes, you two were engaged before the accident. You had been in a secret relationship for a long time and decided to get married. But then...you lost your memory," he explained, the weight of the revelation hanging heavily in the air.

Seungcheol felt as if the ground had shifted beneath him, the revelation hitting him like a ton of bricks. His mind struggled to grasp the enormity of what Mingyu had just disclosed. Engaged? Secret relationship? Marriage plans? It all seemed so surreal, like a plot from a melodramatic movie.

His gaze shifted to Mingyu, searching for any sign of deception or jest, but all he found was sincerity mirrored in Mingyu's eyes. This was real. This was his reality, whether he remembered it or not.

A myriad of emotions surged through Seungcheol—confusion, disbelief, and a twinge of fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of what he might discover about his past and his relationship with you.

"How...how could I not remember any of this?" Seungcheol's voice trembled with uncertainty, his mind racing to piece together fragments of memories that refused to surface.

Mingyu sighed heavily, his expression one of empathy mixed with regret. "The accident...it took everything from you," he replied softly. "But we've been trying to help you remember, to piece together the fragments of your past. It's just...it's not easy.".

Mingyu bypassed the entrance to your room and instead led Seungcheol to a different door down the hallway. Seungcheol's confusion deepened as Mingyu turned the doorknob and gestured for him to enter.

"What's this?" Seungcheol questioned, his voice betraying his confusion as he stepped into the room.

Mingyu's expression softened as he followed Seungcheol inside. "This used to be your room," he explained, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "Both of you shared this space before...before the accident," he added, his words heavy with unspoken emotion.

Seungcheol's eyes roamed the room, taking in the familiar surroundings—the cozy bed, the shelves lined with books, the photographs adorning the walls. Despite not remembering, there was a sense of comfort and belonging that washed over him, like a distant echo of a life he once knew.

"You two were happy here," Mingyu continued, his voice quiet as he gazed around the room. "You had plans, dreams...a future together," he said, his words tinged with sadness.

Seungcheol's heart ached at the thought of the life he couldn't remember, the memories that remained just out of reach. He longed to feel that sense of belonging again, to reclaim the love and happiness that had once filled this room.

"I'll give you some time alone," Mingyu said softly, placing a reassuring hand on Seungcheol's shoulder before quietly slipping out of the room.

Alone in the room that held fragments of a life he couldn't recall, Seungcheol closed his eyes and let himself sink into the memories that lingered in the air. Despite the uncertainty of his past, one thing remained clear—he would do whatever it took to reclaim the love and happiness that had once filled this room, and to find his way back to you.

As Seungcheol's gaze swept over the room, it landed on the vanity table, where a glint of light caught his eye. There, nestled among the trinkets and baubles, lay a simple yet elegant ring. His breath caught in his throat as he reached out, his fingers trembling as they closed around the familiar metal.

With a sense of trepidation, Seungcheol slid the ring onto his finger, feeling the weight of it settle against his skin. Instantly, a rush of familiarity washed over him, like a wave crashing against the shore of his fractured memories.

Tears welled up in Seungcheol's eyes as he stared at the ring, his vision blurred by the overwhelming emotions coursing through him. It was as if this simple band held the key to unlocking the mysteries of his past, a tangible reminder of the love and commitment he couldn't remember.

He traced the intricate design with his fingertips, each curve and groove sparking a distant echo of a life he once knew. Despite the gaps in his memory, there was no denying the depth of emotion tied to this ring, to the life he shared with you.

Seungcheol bowed his head, tears streaming down his face unchecked. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of a life he couldn't remember, he made a silent vow—to reclaim his memories, to rediscover the love that had once filled his heart, and to find his way back to you, no matter the obstacles that lay ahead.

As Seungcheol observed your presence in the office, a sense of gratitude and concern mingled within him. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he started noticing you, but he appreciated your hard work as a member of his design staff. However, there was something about you that troubled him—the subtle aura of melancholy that seemed to follow you like a shadow.

Seungcheol often found himself analyzing your habits, noting how you stayed late in the office long after everyone else had left. He couldn't help but worry as he observed you taking the same bus home every night, your expression tinged with a sense of weariness that tugged at his heartstrings.

Despite his best efforts to lift your spirits, Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling that you carried a heavy burden on your shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to see you smile, to banish the clouds of sadness that seemed to linger around you.

With that in mind, Seungcheol decided to surprise you with a small gesture of kindness—he bought flowers for your team's designated room, hoping to brighten your day. But his well-intentioned gesture backfired when he discovered that you were allergic to flowers.

Seungcheol couldn't help but curse himself for not knowing such a basic detail about you. He had wanted to bring a ray of light into your life, but instead, he had inadvertently caused you discomfort.

Determined to make it up to you, Seungcheol resolved to find another way to lift your spirits, to show you that you were valued and appreciated. Despite the setback, his determination to bring a smile to your face burned brighter than ever before.

As Seungcheol's concern for you grew, he couldn't help but notice the rapport you shared with Mingyu. You seemed to have a closeness that bordered on familiarity, and Seungcheol found himself feeling an unexpected pang of jealousy.

He watched as you and Mingyu exchanged knowing glances, shared inside jokes, and collaborated effortlessly on projects. While he knew that Mingyu was a trusted colleague and friend, Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling that you were too close, that perhaps there was more to your relationship than met the eye.

The sight of you laughing at one of Mingyu's jokes or leaning in close to discuss a project sent a twinge of unease through Seungcheol's heart. Despite his best efforts to rationalize his feelings, Seungcheol couldn't shake the nagging sense of insecurity that gnawed at him. He found himself scrutinizing your interactions with Mingyu, searching for any sign that his fears were justified.

"You're going home?" Seungcheol heard Mingyu ask you as you were on your way to call it a day. He caught a glimpse of you nodding excitedly.

"A big day?" Mingyu inquired, and you stopped while scrolling on your phone to show the taller guy something.

Mingyu gasped and looked at you while you laughed. Seungcheol watched both of you conversing with ease, observing if he had misread Mingyu and your relationship as colleagues.

"Want me to drive you home?" Mingyu offered, but you shook your head.

You waved goodbye to Mingyu before saying, "The bus is coming. Don't wanna miss it! Bye..."

Seungcheol's footsteps echoed softly as he approached the bus stop near the hospital. His heart quickened with each step, anticipation mingling with worry. Mingyu's message had left him scrambling, his mind racing with concern for you. He knew he had to find you, to make sure you were alright.

And there you were, sitting alone, a solitary figure amidst the bustle of the city. Relief washed over Seungcheol as he took in the sight of you, but it was quickly replaced by surprise when he noticed the weariness etched into your features.

"Seungcheol..." Your voice was barely above a whisper, and he could see the surprise mirrored in your eyes as you looked up at him.

"I'm here," he said softly, his heart aching at the sight of you looking so small and fragile. Mingyu's words echoed in his mind, reminding him of why he was here.

"Let's go home, I'll drive you," Seungcheol offered, reaching out to take your hand. But you recoiled, pulling away from him, and his heart sank.

He searched your eyes for answers, confusion swirling within him. Why were you pulling away from him? Didn't you know how much he cared about you, how much he wanted to take care of you?

But your response only deepened the mystery. "I can't," you mumbled, and Seungcheol felt a knot form in his stomach at your words.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. "I'm the one driving."

"Still..." Your voice trailed off, and Seungcheol could see the turmoil in your eyes. There was something you weren't telling him, something weighing heavily on your mind.

As the bus approached, you rose from your seat, and Seungcheol quietly followed suit, taking the seat beside you. The journey to your apartment passed swiftly, the familiar route bringing a sense of comfort despite the tension between you.

Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeper at play here, something he couldn't quite grasp. The realization dawned on him as you both walked to your apartment building. It wasn't just about the time saved by taking the bus; there was a deeper fear lurking within you, a fear of being in a car, even a cab. It all clicked into place—the reason behind your drenched state that night, your insistence on taking the bus.

As you reached your door, Seungcheol couldn't hold back any longer. "Are you scared because of me? Being in a car?" he asked, his voice tinged with regret.

You stopped in your tracks, your body tense, but your head nodded in confirmation. Seungcheol's heart sank at the admission, a wave of guilt washing over him. "I'm sorry I don't remember anything, but don't be like this," he pleaded softly, hoping you would understand.

You finally turned to face him, and for the first time, your voice held a hint of defiance. "Like what?" you challenged, your eyes searching his for answers.

Seungcheol was taken aback by your sudden assertiveness, but he gathered himself, his hands slipping into his pockets as he met your gaze. "Like... this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart heavy with the weight of his own shortcomings.

You sighed heavily, turning your body to open your door, the weight of the conversation settling heavily between you and Seungcheol. "Go home, Seungcheol," you said, your voice tinged with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation.

But before you could step inside, Seungcheol took a hesitant step forward, his words pleading for understanding. "You said this is my home."

Your heart ached at his words, the truth in them impossible to ignore. But you stood your ground, facing him with a quiet resolve. "Don't be like this, Seungcheol," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the hum of the city around you. "Just because you found out everything doesn't mean it all comes back the same."

There was a raw honesty in your words, a vulnerability that laid bare the complexities of your emotions. And as you stood there, facing each other in the fading light of the evening, you both knew that some wounds ran too deep to be healed by mere understanding.

Seungcheol's heart sank further at your words, the weight of your pain heavy upon him. He reached out, wanting to erase the hurt etched in your expression, but hesitated, unsure if his touch would offer solace or only deepen the wounds.

For a moment, silence hung thick between you, the only sound the gentle rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. Then, with a heavy sigh, Seungcheol stepped back, his gaze never leaving yours. "I understand," he murmured, his voice laced with regret. "I'll go."

Seungcheol's steps to his office were slow, his heart heavy knowing you were not on the same floor as him this week. The staff were buzzing with questions about your absence, as it was the first time you had ever taken leave. Your absence had created a noticeable gap in the working atmosphere. However, Mingyu managed to handle the situation excellently by delegating all the work to the staff and explaining that you were on vacation.

"So, calling Y/n is prohibited this week," Mingyu announced to all the staff during the morning briefing.

Seungcheol buried himself in work, the meetings and paperwork serving as a distraction from a truth that was slowly dawning on him. Even after a week, all the relevance are still seemed impossible. But the inexplicable attraction he had felt towards you suddenly made sense; they were memories of feelings he couldn't deny, even after two years of forgetting you.

He sighed deeply as he leaned back in his chair, feeling a wave of frustration wash over him. Mingyu usually juggled two roles: being a key member of the design team and acting as Seungcheol's secretary, handling emails and scheduling. But with you gone, Mingyu had to take over all your responsibilities, leaving Seungcheol to manage his own emails and appointments. Once again, he found himself overwhelmed and more than a little distracted.

Seungcheol didn't know how he suddenly found himself standing in front of your door after office hours. The last time he was here was two days ago, and since then, the guilt had been gnawing at him. He rang your bell, hoping against hope that you would open the door with a welcoming smile. But there was no response, even after his fifth ring.

He was about to give up and step into the elevator when he saw your figure standing inside. So, you had been outside.

You looked surprised by his presence, immediately stepping out of the elevator and asking, "What are you doing in front of my place?"

"I haven't seen you in the office for almost a week. I'm your boss, Y/n," Seungcheol replied, trying to sound reasonable.

You opened your passcode lock and entered your home. Without waiting for your permission, Seungcheol pushed the door and followed you inside, protesting about your attitude toward 'your boss.'

"I'm packing. That's why I couldn't come to work these past two days."

Seungcheol's brow furrowed. "You're moving?" he asked, noticing a frame with a photo of the two of you placed inside a box, ready to be packed.

"There's no reason for me to stay with all of this," you sighed, opening the tape and sealing the open boxes lying on the floor.

Seungcheol's heart sank, feeling oddly betrayed by your pessimism. "You don't want to fight for us anymore?" he asked, as if he wasn't the one who had forgotten everything about you.

You stopped and dropped everything from your hands. "Everyone has limits, Seungcheol, and I've hit mine," you said, turning to face him, your arms crossed defiantly.

"How about me? It's not fair for me to just find out about our relationship and then lose it again," Seungcheol argued, challenging your resolve.

Your face shifted slightly, your eyes betraying a hint of vulnerability as you tried to maintain your composure. "I don't care about you, Seungcheol. I've been dealing with this alone for two years. You deal with it yourself!"

Seungcheol grabbed your arm and turned you to face him again. "Then why did you stay these two years? Why didn't you leave me right after the accident? Why did you stay?"

You held his gaze for a moment before looking away. "Because I thought there was hope. But there isn't. So I'm deciding to stop now."

"Why? Are you embarrassed that I found out?" Seungcheol asked, and you fell silent. "Is it that embarrassing for you that I found out everything?"

"Isn't this a good start for me? Wouldn't it help me recover my memories if I knew the truth? Not with all the subtle signs you gave me through your designs, referencing places we had been."

Seungcheol raised your left hand and showed the ring around your finger. "You wore this, showing everyone you were engaged while I had no idea you were engaged to me. Did you want me to remember through that?"

His voice rose unconsciously as he spoke, but you remained stoic. The silence between you was thick with unresolved tension and unspoken emotions..

"Then, should I do this?" you asked, reaching up to cup his cheeks and pulling him into a kiss.

Seungcheol tensed at first, but then he responded with equal fervor. When he felt you beginning to loosen the kiss, he immediately grabbed the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, not letting you step back even an inch. His other hand found your waist, pulling your body firmly against his.

As you broke the kiss to catch your breath, Seungcheol couldn't help but notice how beautiful you looked, breathless and flushed from his kiss. He pinned you to the wall, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before whispering, "I like you, Y/n. I mean, even after I forgot you, the feeling was still there."

Without waiting for a response, he crashed his lips back onto yours, this time with even more passion. His hands began to roam the contours of your body, slipping under your top to touch your bare skin. You whimpered, and the sound made Seungcheol ache to be closer, deeper.

"You're so beautiful..." he whispered in between kisses, his voice husky with desire.

"S—Seungcheol..." you gasped.

"Stop calling me that. Call me by the pet name you used to," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neckline and shoulder.

"Yeobo..." you breathed.

A smile spread across Seungcheol's face as he began to pull your top off, unclasping anything that covered you. "Do you want this?" he asked seriously, looking into your eyes as if he hadn't just been worshipping your body with his kisses.

You nodded fervently, pulling him into another kiss. Seungcheol quickly unbuttoned his shirt and pants, then tapped your thigh, motioning for you to jump on him. The kiss never stopped as he carried you to a room Mingyu had mentioned, the room where you two had shared so many memories. He was relieved to see it still felt familiar, untouched by time.

"There's no stopping after this, Y/n," Seungcheol warned, his voice filled with a mix of desire and seriousness.

You nodded again, more eagerly this time, and with that, Seungcheol began to touch you, closer and deeperdeeper.

It was midnight, and Seungcheol lay awake, watching you sleep in his arms. His eyes couldn't stop tracing the contours of your face, and his mind couldn't stop grappling with how all of this had happened.

How could he have lost all his memories of you after the car accident two years ago? Why did he have to find out about this now and not earlier?

You moved in your sleep, your eyes fluttering open. He kissed your forehead as you looked at him and smiled. A wave of guilt washed over him as he realized that, even after spending the night with you in your shared room, he still couldn't remember anything.

"Hey," you whispered, your voice soft and sleepy. "Can't sleep?"

He sighed, his fingers gently brushing through your hair. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I want to remember. I really do. But everything still feels like a blank slate."

You reached up to cup his cheek, your touch tender and reassuring. "It's okay, Seungcheol. I know it's not your fault."

"But it feels wrong," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "I should remember us, our past, everything we've been through. And yet, it's like trying to grasp at smoke."

You shifted closer, your warmth a small comfort against the cold uncertainty that plagued him. "We'll figure it out together. One step at a time."

Seungcheol nodded, though the guilt remained. He wanted to hold on to the hope you offered, to believe that somehow, they could rebuild what was lost. But for now, he could only focus on the present, on the feel of you in his arms, and the love that still lingered between you, even if the memories did not.

"Do you remember the car accident?" you asked him in a whisper. Seungcheol shook his head. "I only remember waking up after days."

You nodded, understanding. "I still remember it," you suddenly said, stopping Seungcheol's breath.

"You... you were there? You were also there?" he asked, and you nodded. Your hand ran from his forehead to his temple and down to his neck, as if you were painting something on him.

"We were bleeding. You were bleeding. There was so much blood, and you were unconscious. I remember I couldn't move. I just watched you bleeding after a truck collided with our car."

Seungcheol watched you close your eyes, suffering from the memory. He held you closer, whispering that he was okay now and that he was with you.

"It happened after the company anniversary, which was also our anniversary. We argued while you were driving. I still remember that before we started the car, I refused to wear my seatbelt, but you put it on for me. I could have died that night."

Seungcheol listened intently as you recounted everything you remembered about the accident two years ago. Your anniversary, which was also the company anniversary, and the number combination you used for your door passcode. The grip of your hand on the sheets around you two was powerful, as if you regretted surviving or still had the memory buried deep inside.

"What were we arguing about?" Seungcheol asked.

You shook your head. "I don't want to tell you. It kept us apart for two years."

Seungcheol's hand went to your back, rubbing it softly as he assured you that knowing might help him remember. "Please, it might help me."

"You found out that I had helped you secure company investors and clients through my father," you finally said.

Seungcheol's expression softened as he absorbed the information. "And that upset me?"

You nodded. "You felt it undermined your efforts and achievements. You were angry that I had intervened without telling you."

Seungcheol sighed, the pieces slowly coming together. "I see... I'm sorry. I must have hurt you a lot."

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "No, Seungcheol, I was the one who was wrong. I must have hurt you so much while we were together that you forgot everything about me. I've spent these two years reflecting on our relationship, on all the mistakes I made."

He opened his mouth to protest, but you continued, your voice trembling. "I intervened because I thought I was helping, but I didn't consider how it would make you feel. I was too focused on my own way of supporting you. And that wasn't fair to you."

Seungcheol's grip on you tightened, but he remained silent, letting you speak.

"I've thought about all the times I might have hurt you, all the ways I could have been better. And I've wondered if maybe I deserved to be forgotten," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe losing your memory of me was a way for you to start over without the pain I caused you."

Seungcheol shook his head vehemently. "No, Y/n, don't say that. It wasn't your fault. It was an accident. You didn't deserve any of this."

"But it happened," you said, your eyes searching his. "And now, here we are, trying to piece together something that was shattered. I just want you to know that I'm sorry for everything. For not being the partner you needed me to be."

He cupped your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. "We both made mistakes. But we have a chance now to learn from them, to grow together. I don't want to lose you again."

You nodded, your heart aching with a mix of sorrow and hope. "I don't want to lose you either."

Seungcheol kissed your forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered, "Let me take care of everything from now on."

Mingyu visited you at the hospital, his expression weighted with guilt as he confessed that he had spilled everything to Seungcheol the day before—your relationship, engagement, and even the life plans that had been erased from Seungcheol's memory.

You looked at Mingyu, panic rising in your chest. "Mingyu, you shouldn't have told him everything."

He hesitated, his eyes conflicted. "I thought he needed to know the truth, Y/n. He deserves to remember."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "You can't tell him... You can't tell him about us planning to get married because I was pregnant. And... and that we lost the baby in the accident."

Mingyu's expression softened with understanding. "Why? Why keep that from him? He has a right to know."

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady yourself. "Because I love him, Mingyu. I love him so much that I don't want him to carry that guilt. He's already lost his memory of us. I don't want him to blame himself for something he couldn't control."

Mingyu nodded slowly, torn between respecting your wishes and wanting Seungcheol to have the complete truth. "But Y/n..."

"No, Mingyu," you interrupted firmly, wiping away tears. "Promise me you won't tell him about the baby. Let him live his life without that burden."

Mingyu sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "Okay, I promise. I won't say anything about the baby."

You exhaled in relief, grateful that Mingyu understood your decision, even if it weighed heavily on him. "Thank you, Mingyu."

He gave you a sad smile. "I just want what's best for both of you, Y/n. Seungcheol deserves to be happy."

"And he will be," you whispered, though your heart ached with the weight of the secrets you carried. "He will be."

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #densworld🌼#seventeen scenarios #seventeen series #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagine #mingyu imagines #scoups fluff #scoups imagine #scoups smut #scoups imagines #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol imagines

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g1rlken · 3 months ago

Text

┏ Like real people do 3. ┐

Aemond x daemon’sdaughter!wife reader

⋆˚࿔ reader part 1 & part 2 here ˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

summary: Heavy melancholy of jahaerys’ funeral and a difficult aftermath of the tragic affair brings out feelings and confession (mainly hurt comfort)

word count: 3.1k+

warnings: Jaehaerys’ funeral, b&c aftermath, small folk chants

As the news progressed further down to dragonstone, an unwavering tension settled within the walls of the black council. Upon finding out the works of Daemon under her own, Rhaenyra’s name, she grew relentlessly furious. The lack of remorse and understanding gravity of the situation by the king consort was something that unnerved the queen even more so. The funeral for the boy was being prepared for as she had to stand hand on hand, heavy of heart and guilty of crimes she did not commit whilst daemon being unbothered as ever. Even after all that had occurred he regretted little of his miscalculation and more of his daughter still out of his reach. “It is only right I want my daughter back! By whatever means I have left to myself I cant keep on sitting in stupid council meetings, talking action stations whilst the hightowers have my daughter!”

Rhaenyra sighed looking away for a second, the conversation they were having was as it reaching lengths and she had to hold herself back from pointing out just how late daemon had this epiphany of concern for his daughter. Personally, Rhaenyra never had anything against y/n but it was Daemon’s disdain and locked up dislike for his own daughter which made her estranged and isolated from the family and bond she could have had even before he decided to marry her off “It is not that I do not hold any regard for y/n, I do. More than you ever did yourself.” She did not point when she tried to change Daemon’s mind when he decided to marry y/n off to Aemond before everything happened. She knew he regretted that as it is, “you can’t just act about as you wish now. You taint my name and my authority-”

“Wanting my daughter back is not a whim. She is in a disturbing place, married to that one eyed cunt do you think they are treating her with mercy?” Daemon interrupted her. He felt increasingly unsure and guilty of the life he subjected his own daughter to. Surely, he could never be gentler nor acceptive of his daughter, an extension to the hatred he held for her mother and the loss of his own personal freedom. Yet, the horror that had transcended broke down all his walls he held against y/n.

“You put her in that position!” Rhaenyra exclaimed out of frustration. “Despite everyone’s better judgement you were so eager to be rid of her and now you use her name to justify your self servings!”

“I’m not using my firstborn name to justify anything I simply want her back!” Daemon’s voice roared through the room as he found it difficult to get the truth of his conscience across to his wife. He couldn’t get it across to himself either but he felt urges more than he did reasons.

“I want her back too.” Rahaenyra declared, in truth she couldn’t be a ruler if she would surpass kindness to those of her own kin. The innocents within her kin. As far as she could tell y/n was one of the most misfortunate innocents she’d known. The timid sweet motherless child living at the hands of a vengeful father. “Do you think I don’t consider the horror she must be facing. Aemond, made it difficult for me to find the remains of my son I cannot even stomach the thought of pain he must inflict upon y/n.” She said in a weary tone, “All because…had my father or you, given second thoughts to the godawful marriage union of them she would’ve—”

“We can’t afford to indulge in what ifs when this is the time for action!” Daemon interrupted her as the guilt crept in more and more at her words. She was right of course, he did not miss y/n he felt responsible. “I will not be as though my hands are tied when they’re not. I will do everything in my power to get my daughter back.” This was perhaps the first time in all his life that he referred to y/n as his daughter. With the fatherly claim she had yearned for all her life…he was able to give it to her now, just now when she wasn’t around to revive it.

The funeral procession for the green heir, across the coast of dragonstone was an excruciating affair. The princess sat next to her mother in law the dowager queen as Helaena sat on the other side of the carriage next to her mother. Alicent, in the middle holding both of their hands as the royal women proceeded for the funeral.

Chants of public support ran through the streets of King’s landing yet none of it seemed to matter, as though it could do something. As though it could bring the boy back. The queen grew more and more restless and alicent tended to her, y/n tried too but every sight she laid her eyes on was more horrific than the other. A disgusting addition to the visions already recapping inside her head. The intruder, the blood, the disheveled room, the blood, the council meeting, the blood, Aemond’s quiet distress, the blood, just so much blood. She couldn’t be rid of the sights, ringing in her ears came over and over.

It was sickening. Everything was so sickening she felt physically weak. The politics of this procession in itself felt a heavy degradation of grief. And it was. Grieving women out on display for the public to see the works of the pretender queen. Without even being present across the coast y/n could surely tell just who was capable of such barbarism. Having faced it first hand herself she knew it was daemon behind this plan through and through and yet he wasn’t held accountable. The small folk called out for them as the carriage moved forward, perhaps their empathy was guaranteed for something but y/n couldn’t digest it.

Their chants, “Princess y/n! We grieve with you!”

“…the daughter that never was…”

“forsaken by kin and crown…Princess y/n we grieve for you!”

“A motherless child left in the pretender’s wake”

“Our rouge prince’s firstborn wronged by the black queen! The gods weep for your tragedy!”

gods…such plight laid bare for the people to see and this is how they perceive it. The wounds on her face, her father’s doing…all of it is ‘the pretender’s’ fault. All of their supposed well wishes or slogans twisted her stomach. She wanted to scream, tell them whose hands held the blood over the boy, over the cuts on her.

"From Lady Royce’s loss to Rhaenyra’s disdain—Princess y/n suffers"

That one felt like being stabbed in the ears, she felt her ears rang so loud, somewhat thankfully she didn’t hear further than that for a while. Lady Royce. A name she wouldn’t want to hear in this setting, a name she did not hear in so long and this, this felt like a cruel joke. She felt her mother’s loss all her life. But she suffered more due to Daemon’s disdain. Even now, away from him, a whole another life yet she was subjected to misery after misery by that man and everyone still saw him highly. The narrative couldn’t be surpassed in any way, she felt like a cornered animal in her father’s playground. She felt closer to the gods in the heaviest of her griefs but she couldn’t be sure if they did weep for her tragedy, looking up to the bland sky she hoped they at least witnessed.

The day was the foulest she had perhaps ever lived, the funeral parade worsened Helaena’s state even more so. Alicent and Y/n tried to help her through it, this whole ordeal was such an unnecessary test for Helaena.

After the funeral, even the darkest days seem to have a nightfall resulting a darker night. Y/n had fallen victim to a heavy fever. A result to the circumstances of a day which felt as long as a year. Her wounds were properly tended to and closed once she returned from the funeral but the fever simply elevated. Her mental turmoil truly did not help her situation, not meaning to worsen her situation but she couldn’t stop her thoughts. The smallfolk’s chants, the visions…everytime she closed her eyes she couldn’t help but open them teary once again. The maesters worked on her the entire evening until her fever stopped elevating but did not lower even. Whimpering and tossing on the bed, her limbs were hot enough to be on fire yet she felt cold of the north. The maids changed the cloth on her forehead over and over, she refrained from eating anything. A very difficult sight for Aemond. He had been present in the room the entire time, he did not leave her sight ever since she returned. Wanting to pick a bone with his mother and grand sire, that his wife’s condition was a result of their need to leave her wounds bare for the funeral. Yet Aemond remained at her side, muttering sweet nothings and offering her reassurances. “Are you still cold?” He would ask her softly as he adjusted another layer over her sleeping form.

In response she meekly shook her head, too weak to muster words. Wincing as she shifted inside the bed. She truly didn’t feel the pain from the fever that had taken ahold of her given the mental suffering held a stronger grip. “You aren’t going to leave are you?” She asked him, worried, so worried that he would leave and somebody would come in and take her away. A harm was her way…she couldn’t shake off the paranoia. Aemond even got their chambers changed so the sights of the walls she was violated in wouldn’t remind her of the same things. But it was of little help.

“No my love, I am right here.” He told her as he caressed her forehead through the warm cloth on her head, the maids took their leave in a bit and Aemond tried to coax his wife to sleep. “I won’t leave your side.”

“Aemond” she whimpered in a half conscious state, “I don’t want to go…”

Her worries made his heart sink to his stomach. Given the fever ridden state that she was in, his words would barely be reasoned with her. “You are not going anywhere, you are right here.” He tried to help her with same words in different ways, trying to assure her she was safe. “You are with me, you are safe.” Holding her hand, caressing her until she fell to slumber after a while.

Criston, visited him later that very night as Aemond was situated next to y/n restless and sorry for her state. Since she was deep into slumber he decided to have his usual meeting with Cole in the adjoining room, not that far from her. The council within the council went over the regret, remorse the plannings of upcoming action stations. Plotting ahead of others, however a heavy dread hung in the silent air of the room as Aemond stared at the board in front of him. Glancing back at the other room to make sure y/n was alright. “How is the Princess?” Cole asked.

Shaking his head, Aemond looked to the side into the fireplace. His eyes holding the same fire, “If grand sire didn’t insist on leaving her wounds open she wouldn’t be in this state.” He scoffed.

“Sorrow does not have words, grief simply grows disorderly.” Cole tried to counsel Aemond’s frustration.

“The maesters worked on her all evening. She refuses to eat, cannot situate in our previous chambers and she is growing restlessly frightened as if she is being hunted for sport.” Aemond briefed Cole about her state, “Can sorrow speak louder than this?”

The kingsguard did not have any response for Aemond’s ever so justified anger over the whole situation, “it is comfort to know she at least finds whatever consolation within you.”

Aemond did not exactly believe that despite their spark, but he couldn’t surpass their arguments either. However now it just felt like she had no other option but him to rely on, perhaps? Before he could dwell more on that thought he heard a stumble from the room. Immediately he rose to his feet to inspect what the noise was and y/n was out of her bed, rummaging through the shelf of books. “You are in no state to be out of bed” he said as he reached her in a few strides.

Yet she was focused on finding something through the bookshelf, ignoring Aemond’s concern. He caressed her forehead with the back and forth of his palm resulting the fever being steady and not elevated. He dismissed Cole with his regard of calling the maester. “Y/n, you have to get back to bed” he said as he gently tried to hold her up by her bicep.

“No!” She protested freeing herself out of his grasp, “I promised Jaehaerys I would read to him after dinner, I completely forgot.” Y/n informed him ever so casually as she continued rummaging through the bookshelf for the story book “I just can’t seem to find the book.”

Aemond’s heart broke at her state, her mind but be hazy from the tea of varying herbs in her system to help her through the fever yet, this was so much more painful. “Y/n…” he proceeded softly as he managed to pull her away from the bookshelf. “My love you have a really bad fever.” He would be dammed if he reasoned with her about their nephew this very moment.

“Aemond, I am fine. I must find that book-“ she was relentless to her cause. The few hours of fever sleep she had must have made her believe that the past few happenings were a bad nightmare. “I have to…I-“ reality seeped in and it felt like the walls all around her were breaking down. As if the world was crumbling to dust, “Aemond…I-i promised him.” Tears welled up her eyes as the realisation hit her but the denial was such an easier life to lead. “I promised I…I-i would read to him and I never—“ she couldn’t seem to finish her sentence as she broke down into tears.

No words were present to console her so Aemond enlaced her into his arms. Holding her against his chest tightly as he rubbed her back, “shh…” he said resting her chin on top of her head as her sobs filled the room.

The weight of the world crumbled on her shoulders, weakening her legs along with her spirit she fell to her knees as Aemond slowly held her down to the floor and situated her onto his lap. “Just breathe.”

“Jaehaerys-“ she wept into her hands, “He wanted me to read it to him-yesterday at that moment but I dismissed it for later-I—he made me promise him I’d read it to him…” she trailed off as she cried, her entire body trembling in Aemond’s arms. Her remorse was inconsolable.

“Loss of the boy cannot be compensated…in any way” Aemond said as he removed her hands from her face to look at her properly. Holding her face by her chin for her to meet his gaze, “his suffering is done. His spirit shall live on within us…with you. The love that you hold for him.”

Aemond’s words were not meant to console her because she couldn’t be. He wished for her to find some strength, help her mettle. “My thoughts are too loud” she confessed still crying, “all the blood, all his blood…Aemond he is so small, so young” she cried into his arms this time. Unable to breathe and meet his gaze simultaneously. “Every time I close my eyes I—I can’t see anything else and I hear the same words-the small folk over and over again.” She cried. “It is all too loud…”

He couldn’t tell apart if she was trembling out of her fever or her meltdown however he did not want to risk her well being any more. Aemond carried her up into his arm, his hand snaking through her waist and legs across his other arm. He carried her to the small distance of bed in bridal style instead of making her walk it. He nestled her back within the covers and remained close to her, wrapping his arms around her again. “What of the small folk?” He asked her.

“The funeral today, they kept on saying-daughter that never was…rogue prince’s first born-forsaken.” she said in between sobs, inconsolable sobs as he rubbed her back, easing her. “They said my mother’s name, my mother, I haven’t heard her name in so long” her voice came out broken as she cried and briefed him together. “They believe it is but Rhaenyra’s fault, it’s him. This is his doing, the blood—it’s all in his hand yet they all believe-“ she choked out her words. Her crying made it impossible to continue coherent words and thoughts, both.

Aemond’s eye widened in horror, he did not think the perception scenario at all. This is perhaps exactly what Otto wanted but its effect on his wife was un-fathomable. “Y/n.”

He told her a bit firmly and pulled away a bit to face her properly. “I want you to trust me, trust that I will not let Daemon get away. He will pay not just for this but all his missteps and wrongdoings to you all your life.” He told her, holding her face in his hands. “You have my word. He will pay.”

“Why must my life by subjected to misery and then vengeance for that misery?” She asked, extremely exhausted of this whole ordeal. All she wanted was to be rid of that man, be done with all the pain her father brought with him. “When shall this be done…when will I escape him?”

“You have.” He told her, his voice carrying no hint of hesitation even with his following words. “Because I love you. And for me to love you I haven’t had to know him, all his wrongdoings, because you are not what he has subjected your life to. You are what you have overcome, you are your strength and your wit and your resilience all of which you did not inherit from him.” He explained to her in a gentle manner as he fixed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, “I love the lady that you have raised yourself to be. You are far away from him, you don’t have to worry or live behind him for I love you. I love you most thoroughly for all that you are, wholly, I am in love with you.”

HIIII please comment what you think I’ll post more regular updates from now on !!!

- 🏷️

@love-is-a-dagger @daddzawa @1109002 @void21 @annedub @teapartydreams @batmans-love @ih8books @oopsdownloadedrumblragain-blog @aemondwhoresworld @unsweetenedpeatea @immyowndefender @aleemendoza2425-blog @vane282-blog @atargaryenlover @targaryenswhxre @sabii5 @vibescanner @darylandbethfanforever9 @whiteoakoak @barnes70stark @radiantdanvers @starryhiraeth @lechat-rouge @esposadomd @lynnbells @rosey1981 @coutureisart @misspinkonmars @vieenr0se @duck-duck-goose2 @sansaints

#aemond targaryen x wife!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanart

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cheesecakethots · 1 year ago

Text

Maybe your intuition was right about this job.

You were broke, only a few days away from having to live on the streets, streets where dangerous men lurked waiting for an opportunity to snap up young women like you.

You remember shivering at the thought, and so when you saw a job opportunity at some nearby hotel, you thought you were saved. It paid pretty well considering you were only coming in to be a cleaner, but you were quick to realise why.

Gangs and mafia had wormed their way into the very foundations of your city. You were hired to clean and keep your mouth shut if you saw anything. Up until now, you hadn’t seen anything, thank god.

Despite your guilty conscience, you continued working, making a habit of bringing in headphones just so you could block everything out.

You regret every decision you’ve made that has led up to this moment.

You’re practically plastered against the wall, eyes wide and body trembling. The headphones you usually wear are still blasting some pop song, but it’s practically white noise compared to the sounds of crying, screaming and groaning.

It’s a bloodbath. Quite literally too. You can feel pools of it soaking into your cheap shoes, which doesn’t help the sickness in your stomach.

The man, if you can even call him that, still hasn’t noticed you. You won’t be surprised if he turns around and reveals himself to be some bear-man mutant thing. He’s fucking massive, despite the fact that he’s currently sat down, boredly snapping bones. You’re extremely lucky he hadn’t heard your mop drop to the floor after you walked into the carnage.

Fucking move! Move! Move!

You don’t. You stand still like an idiot.

“Are you going to say anything, little lady?”

Now you just might throw up.

He turns his head to the side and watches you with one eye, a grin on his lips. He chuckles a little, before standing.

By fucking god he’s huge. Your knees become wobbly within an instant.

“Hm. I don’t think you should be here, girlie.”

“I-I work here,” you stammer out.

He raises an eyebrow, turning to face you a little more, the grin on his lips widening.

“Is that so?”

He stands to his feet, casually crushing the head of some poor man under his boot. Your eyes divert to the ceiling, struggling to find a spot that isn’t covered in splatters of blood.

“I gotta admit, you don’t look the type to be working here.”

There’s a spot. It’s grimy, and there’s a dull light that looks like it has dead bugs in it.

“I-I need the money, and it’s only- it’s only cleaning.”

Another wry laugh, “Cleaning, huh? Tell me, do you think you can clean all this?”

The light flickers a little. Someone should check that out, but not you, you’d be hopeless with it.

“Maybe for a raise,” you mumble.

He laughs again. That’s good right? He must think you’re funny. Or maybe he thinks the thought of splattering your intestines across the wall is funny.

The spot on the ceiling becomes all the harder to focus on when he’s right in front of you, tall enough to reach your line of sight despite the fact you’re basically looking straight up.

There’s a bit of blood in the toothy smirk he wears, a fact that makes your stomach sink even lower. “You not gonna run?”

You don’t even realise you’re crying until you hear your own pathetic sniffles, “Wha-What would be the p-point?”

He pouts mockingly, the amusement in his eyes clear as day, and you flinch harshly at the sight of his massive hand raising towards you, a sharp breath of air entering your lips and your headphones clattering to the floor.

The hand slowly pats your head, and the heaviness of it reminds you of the fact he could so easily crush your skull. You can feel the blood from him dripping into your hair.

“You’re cute, you know that? In a bit of a pathetic way.”

How lovely of him. You’re not really sure if you should say thanks.

You gulp, and it scratches at your dry throat painfully. “I-I won’t te-tell any-“

“Ya got a boyfriend? Maybe even a girlfriend?”

Only spluttered and clipped words leave you, and so you settle for shaking your head.

The hand on your head crawls down your face, akin to a spider, before eventually settling on cupping your cheek.

“Yeah, I figured. I mean, no offence. If I had a pretty thing like you I wouldn’t let you work in a place like this,” he motions to the hellhole behind him, before glancing back down at you with slightly narrowed eyes. “Hell, I doubt I would even let you out of the house. You’re too cute for your own good.”

God. Why didn’t you just tell your coworker to find someone else to cover? Why, why, why?

A rough thumb wipes under your eyes, creating a thin layer of blood, sweat and tears on your skin.

“Awe, no need to cry,” he coos, and you yelp when his other hand encircles around your waist, tugging you against him.

“I’ll take care of ya.”

#im alive lmao #getting back into writing again fr #tw yandere #yandere #tw.yandere #yanderecore #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere uvogin #yandere phantom troupe #uvogin x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hunter x hunter x reader

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queenshelby · 9 months ago

Text

Babysitter

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Virgin Reader

Summary: You are the babysitter. You get a call but no one other but Cillian is home. He makes you an offer you cannot refuse.

Note: This was a request.

"Where is everyone?" you asked, seeing that only Cillian was there when you arrived at the house after school.

The air felt different, heavy and charged, now that it was just you and Cillian in the Murphys' residence. He invited you to have a seat at the kitchen island before offering you a glass of water.

Cillian seemed nervous, fiddling with his glass, ice cubes clinking with every shift. He studied you, eyes trailing the curve of your cheek, tracing your jaw, and lingering over your lips.

The intensity of his gaze was felt like a physical touch, making you swallow hard as your cheeks warmed beneath his attention. Gathering his thoughts, he leaned in towards you, speaking in a deliberate tone.

"I am sorry for inviting you here on false pretenses, but I do have a proposal for you," he said while hesitatingly pulling out an envelope, containing five 100-dollar bills.

"What kind of proposal?" you asked hesitantly, eyeing the envelope in his hands. This was a lot of money and you were unsure what he was after other than babysitting his children.

The curious look on your face spurred Cillian to continue, albeit with a hint of awkwardness punctuating his words.

"Well, I'd like to pay you $500 to, umm, help me out with something," Cillian replied, softly sliding the envelope across the table towards your direction.

"What do you mean? Help you out with what?" you inquired, now thoroughly puzzled and increasingly uneasy.

Cillian took another deep breath before laying his proposition out on the table.

"I want to have sex with you, Y/N," he uttered almost inaudibly.

Shock and disbelief washed over you as your gaze flicked from the envelope to Cillian, paralyzing you for a moment.

"That's preposterous!" you stammered, clutching at your glass, the cool liquid inside sloshing about in disarray. He was so much older than you and he was a married man. You were taken aback by his forwardness, but in the quietness of that opulent kitchen, you couldn't hide your confusion.

Understanding your discomfort, Cillian chose his words carefully,

"I know you have a boyfriend and all, but I also know that you need the money for your college funds, and I can help you with that," he said, trying to appeal to your reason and financial needs.

"By having sex with me? You want to buy me?" you exclaimed, the words tasting bitter and harsh leaving your lips.

"I know it's not the most common request, and I understand how shocking it may sound to you, but yes, I want to pay you for letting me have sex with you. $500 for the first time and $100 for every other time thereafter. I promise you that this will be just between us, and no one will ever know about this arrangement."

He articulated the words with a calculated ease, his eyes unblinking.

Now, time morphed, seconds stretched into minutes, as you both locked stares, occupied in your own thoughts, the tension between you palpable.

Finally, your lips parted, your voice tremorous as you relinquished your words to the air.

"Will you be gentle and wear a condom?" you asked, struggling with a trembling voice.

This question lingered between you, a necessary request during a moment that wavered between madness and desire.

"I will be gentle but I would prefer to do it bare," he replied, his voice deep and almost soothing.

"Bare?" you echoed, debating Cillian's words for a moment.

"Yes," he murmured, leaning towards you. "I want to cum inside you and feel you wrapped around me, skin-to-skin," he insisted, articulating every word with an unsettling clarity.

You nodded nervously, consenting to this unspeakable pact, even though the implications gnawed at your conscience.

"Okay. I mean, I am on the pill, so I suppose that will be fine," you whispered, averting your gaze.

The envelope beckoned you, almost as if enticing its contents into your possession. You extracted the crisp bills from within, sliding them into the side pocket of your backpack.

Cillian sensed your anxiety and unease, which he met with a gentle grip of your hand.

"Everything will be just fine, Y/N," he assured you with an attempt to allay your fears. "Now should we go upstairs?" Cillian asked, breaking the silence that hung in the air.

It was as if a switch had been flipped - the room suddenly felt too small, as if the walls were closing in around you.

You nodded, your decision now made, the remaining apprehension dissipated into thin air.

"Okay," you repeated softly, before standing up, unsteady on your feet, and following Cillian upstairs towards the master bedroom.

"Just please, never tell my boyfriend about this," you requested, a sense of shame and embarrassment gnawing at the edges of your voice.

Cillian glanced back at you, his face betraying a glimmer of understanding,

"Of course not," Cillian said before pushing the master bedroom door open. "Now, why don't you undress and lie down for me," Cillian requested, his tone deliberate.

Tentatively, you began to undress, ridding yourself of the layers of fabric that suddenly felt like a barrier between your past and unfortunate future. The eyes of a taken woman were staring back at you from the dresser mirror, and with every piece of fabric shed, you receded further - sliding deeper into the shadows of the room.

The breeze sighed its way through the half-opened window, gently grazing your bare skin, a whisper of cold against the fiery sensation that filled the room.

"So beautiful," Cillian murmured, his gaze caressing your figure as you finally, timidly, lay back on the lavish king-size bed.

There was a warped sense of liberation knowing that today marked the end of your inexperience, a welcoming into the territory of adulthood and womanhood.

Cillian then too undressed, removing his t-shirt and jeans, forming a trail of clothing between you both as he approached the bed.

Discomfort and curiosity mingled together, battling for dominance in your mind as Cillian lay down beside you, cupping your cheek with the same gentleness of a lover.

He moved in to kiss you tentatively, parted lips seeking connection.

The sensation was novel, yet laced with a trace of guilt as your lips met in a timid exchange. His breath was warm and familiar, and you couldn't help but wonder if this was the taste of morality slipping away between your intertwined bodies.

"Look how hard you make me," he murmured in approval, gently guiding your hand to feel his growing arousal, his erection straining against the fabric of his briefs.

Anxiously, you gasped as he guided your hand under the waistband, your palm meeting the length of his shaft. The head of his cock was already slick with pre-cum, leaving a telltale mark on your skin.

"Take it in your hand and stroke me," Cillian commanded, his voice rendered a deep tone by the growing desire as, finally, he slid down his briefs and let your hand start wandering freely at the touch of his steely desire.

Slowly, you began exploring his cock in its entirety, uncertain but curious about the feeling of his shaft in your hand, its firmness, strength. Your fingers played with its full length, gently, not knowing how much pressure was enough or too much. It was so diverse from the fair amount of information you had gathered so far in your young life on the subject of a man's most intimate member.

"Good girl," Cillian murmured, stifling a soft groan as your innocent fumbling spurred sensations that ran down the length of his erection.

The flesh pulsed within your hands - alive, heat emanating from the veins tracing their way along the rigid, lustful organ. With every gentle stroke, you felt the delicate balance of power shifting, the weight shifting in favor of strength and surrender.

A sudden churning filled your stomach, an odd sense of revelation that stoked heat in your dampening loins locked within the paradox of curiosity and guilt.

With a shudder, you released your death-grip on the still-erect cock and allowed the slick, wet residue to smear between your palm and his shaft.

Cillian swallowed hard. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" he asked, gazing into your eyes, searching for any indication of uncertainty.

You candidly shook my head. "No, I don't," you admitted and, much to your surprise, this seemed to be an even bigger turn on for him.

"That's good," Cillian murmured, his thumb grazing your cheek. "That's very good."

He kissed you again, more deeply this time, his tongue seeking entrance and demanding your response.

The kiss tasted of a mixture of power and desire, but there was also an undercurrent of fear that accompanied it, fear of what you would become, offering yourself to a man for money.

As his hand disappeared under the blanket, you could feel yourself tensing up, anticipating his actions.

He gently nudged your legs apart and began to trace his fingers along the thin cloth of your underwear. Every part of you wanted to resist his lecherous gestures, but there was this weird hunger of novelty creeping inside your core, provoking indescensible sensations coursing through your innocent veins.

Cillian then kicked the blanket aside. "I want to see you, Y/N."

His hands expertly slid your underwear down your hips, and there's a detachment you felt in this act, a shedding of layers that felt oddly freeing and frightening.

The brush of his fingers on your bare skin was foreign and bizarre and what he wanted to do next suprised you.

"Beautiful," he said, tracing the length of your slit to feel the wetness clinging to your pussy.

"Do you mind if I taste you?" Cillian asked, a hint of desire daring to taint his tone.

It took you a fleet moment to truly understand his proposition, the intensity of his gaze leaving no room for dispute. The reality of his imminent act set in, making you tremble beneath his touch.

"I-if that's what you want," you barely managed to murmur, your breath hitching as he spread your wetness with his fingers.

"I do," Cillian replied hungrily, carefully lowering his head between your legs.

He teased your lips apart with his fingers before his warm, wet tongue gently traced the outline of your core. The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming, making you sigh and close your eyes.

"God, you taste good," he groaned as he was savoring your taste, sending shivers coursing up your spine. His movements were calculated, his familiarity with this act unquestionably clear as you surrendered yourself to him.

Your breath began to come in ragged pants, each deliberate flick of his tongue making you whimper involuntarily. The sensations seemed so wrong, so illicit, yet the pleasure outweighed the sting of shame.

Cillian's fingers slipped inside you then. It barely fit; the feeling was so tight and foreign that you couldn't help but gasp at the unexpected intrusion. You could feel your body desperately trying to adjust to the new presence, but it was a struggle you'd never before experienced.

"You're so tight," he whispered soothingly, his voice full of hungry desire as his tongue darted into your opening. It was frustrating to realize that he was enjoying this while your mind was fighting a relentless battle against betrayal and shame.

A single tear ran down your check. His tongue curled inside the folds of your womanhood, lapping at your lust unabashedly, evoking gasps and whimpers from your trembling lips.

"It feels weird," you said in a tearful whisper.

You were utterly unprepared for his ministrations, the invasive way your senses were awakened from deep slumber. You could hardly fathom how the forbidden pleasure could be so exhilarating.

"I know it's new, but just relax and let it happen," Cillian coaxed, his hot breath tickling the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

In an effort to comply, you took deep, steadying breaths, attempting to smooth the rigid line of your brow.

You cast your gaze over Cillian's sumptuous bedroom, trying to distract yourself from the growing sensation of embarrassment as he continued to lick you, but the distractions barely helped.

The strange feeling intensified when his thumb began to gently circle your clitoris while he continued to probe your tight opening.

It was too much, all too overwhelming.

"Oh my god, I can't do this," you cried out, feeling the shame rise within you.

The manipulations he was doing down there, owning and enjoying your body without the slightest hint of guilt on his part, felt like a bitter pill to swallow.

"Ssh, just let go for me," he pleaded, somehow knowing how close you were to spilling over.

"Ah, fuck," the words slipped out before you knew what was happening.

It sounded like a pained cry as Cillian continued to lazily flick at the extra-sensitive nub buried within soft, pink flesh and you thought that you might wet yourself by this point.

"Oh god, please stop!" you begged, not knowing how to articulate the sensations rioting in your loins.

Despite your desperate pleas, Cillian continued his self-assigned, perfunctory torture with fervor, his tongue now demanding your surrender to this uncharted landscape.

"Fuck," you cried out, your inner thighs slick with perspiration, the back of your head soaked with a mixture of pleasure and angst as you grappled with this twisted game of forbidden desire.

"Oh my fucking god! Oh god!" escaped from you in a ragged gasp as the first wave of release tore through your body, your world exploding into a brilliant display of colors. It was an earth-shattering, mind-altering experience with a man who, by age alone, could be your father.

And yet, as the stars started to fade and you came back to reality, Cillian was still there, tasting you, his tongue brushing against your trembling thighs.

"Oh, you tasted so good," Cillian repeated, a satisfied expression on his face.

He rose, wiping his mouth, and placed a single, tender kiss on your trembling lips.

"But now, I want it all," he said, and the look in his eyes told you that nothing loudly whispered into your ear could change the finality in his voice.

"Is it going to hurt?" you asked, your body growing rigid as you contemplated what was to come. How could such a moment play out when you were so inexperienced, when everything about this situation was a deviation from the norm?

Yet, doubts continued to assault you like waves on a stormy coast, threatening to break your resolve.

"It will hurt a little, but I promise to be gentle," Cillian reassured you, sensing the apprehension spiraling through your body. He traced the curve of your cheek with the back of his fingers, a futile attempt to soothe your worries.

A million thoughts raced through your mind like a tempest in your consciousness. Cillian, a married man in his forties who paid you for this.

"Now lie back for me and spread your legs," he instructed you gently.

You hesitated, but your overwhelming need to secure the payment for your college funds left you no choice but to abandon every ounce of dignity you had left.

Slowly, you shifted positions, pulling your knees back towards your chest. Cillian knelt between your open legs, guiding his rigid penis toward your slick entrance.

The tip of his cock dented your soft outer lips as your heartbeat rang through your eardrums, its frantic rhythm leaving you momentarily breathless.

Pre-cum mixed with your wetness, creating a warm film over your entrance, allowing Cillian to smoothly press forward.

Trepidation built within you like a crescendo, even as your body welcomed his gentle probing.

A faint sheen of fearful sweat formed between your breasts, and your fingernails clawed into the plush bedspread beneath you.

"It's going to be alright, Y/N," Cillian whispered into your ear, his voice coated with affection. His reassurance was soothing yet entirely inappropriate considering the circumstances. "It's just going to be a little sting now," Cillian muttered, and gently applied pressure, allowing the head of his arousal to breach your untouched barrier.

Searing pain spread through your lower body, and the knives stabbing at your innocence stole your breath away. A ragged yelp escaped your lips as your nails gouged deeper into the bedspread, desperately seeking something to anchor your grip around reality.

"There you go," Cillian groaned in a low voice, his brow damp with sweat, as the first tears welled up in the corners of your eyes and began to trickle down the sides of your face.

"You feel so fucking good, Y/N," he murmured, his hands stroking your thighs with a tenderness that couldn't have seemed more out of place in that moment of searing pain.

Your hands reached out for him, grasping feeble handfuls of the bedspread in an instinctive attempt to regain control of your whirling thoughts.

Cillian paused, allowing you time to adjust to his presence.

You felt the unexpected fullness that remained when the pain ebbed, leaving only the spreading discomfort.

"You are incredibly tight," Cillian uttered while subtly shifting his hips forward, guided by a hunger desperate to obtain more.

As he cautiously filled you, you struggled to comprehend the surreal scene playing out before you.

"Raise your knees up towards your chest," Cillian instructed softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Initially, you hesitated, unsure of your next move. It felt like an eternity of eternities before you mustered the courage to reveal your vulnerability, following his directions as he eased in deeper, inch by inch.

"You are taking my cock so well, Y/N," Cillian whispered, admiration evident in his voice as, finally, he began moving back and forth at an unhurried pace.

A prickling sensation started to emit from where you were connected, slowly morphing itself into an unexplainable discomfort.

The initial intensity of the pain diluted as he continued to soothe you - both physically and verbally - which somehow felt paradoxically disconcerting.

"That's it, darling everyone finds it daunting at first," he comforted you as a fleeting moment of shame overwhelmed the initial shock. "But you have been such a good girl, letting me do this to you."

Cillian's tone transformed into a gratified whisper to his 18-year-old accomplice.

With time, your body slowly started to comply unwillingly, the tightness loosening to allow his slow rhythm to continue.

"You are so much tighter than my wife," Cillian groaned, as his head lolled back.

His words stung, but the sweat dripping from his brow and the pleasure that silently escaped him were irrefutable.

"I want you to hold yourself open for me. Let yourself feel as much of me as possible." His voice was almost a whisper, betraying both his indulgence and the increasing hunger that he could no longer contain.

Your body responded involuntarily, shame flooding your veins as you dared to adjust your position to match his request. Your fingers brushed against the spot where his manhood dominated your innocence, causing a shuddering wave of pleasure-pain to ripple through your young frame.

"God that looks good," Cillian grunted, his gaze locked onto the place where he entered you, streaks of blood coating his manhood.

It felt unreal, convoluted, as a surge of indescribable sensations coursed through your slender form.

The burning, stinging sensations eased, giving way to a rather odd feeling of fullness and a strange pleasure that seemed nearly blasphemous to embrace.

You moaned involuntarily - a helpless, almost guttural sound - as Cillian thrust deeper and deeper, your body becoming more accustomed to his presence as each expert stroke filled you whole.

"Ohhhh, god!" you cried out helplessly.

The pain was still there, but now muted, surrendering to this strange satisfaction that was slowly tightening its grip around your thoughts, and quietly luring you into the storm of forbidden ecstasy.

"Good girl. I want you to cum all over my cock, can you do that for me?" Cillian demanded, his voice low and rough, a clear streak of perspiration glistening across his brow as he plunged himself deeper within the tight sheath of your virginal core.

"Yes, I think so," you hesitated, your breath catching as a thousand fragments of pleasure and pain clashed within the confines of your budding climax.

"Good girl, I will go harder now," Cillian warned, withdrawing himself from the depths of your grasp, only to sink back inside with a force that stole your breath once more.

Ecstasy ignited in the pit of your stomach, spreading like liquid fire fueling your surrender. The room seemed to sway around you, a dizzying pleasure that threatened to pull you under, but you fought for control. Each thrust sent sparks of jolting pleasure cascading through your veins, like the harsh meeting of opposing forces converging in an intoxicating dance for dominance.

"I want you to focus on that tight little pussy of yours," Cillian demanded, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place. "Keep clenching it around my cock," he demanded and the sound of Cillian's urgent moans mingled with the wet friction of your bodies, a sinful symphony of indulgence and a haunting reminder of the boundaries you crossed today.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, meeting each of his powerful thrusts, as the exquisite pleasure amplified and your impending climax wavered tantalizingly at the edge of your perception - ajar but agonizingly out of reach.

Cillian leaned down, placing greedy kisses along your neck with each feverish plunge deep within. He bit and nipped at the sensitive flesh, a myriad of light pain-pleasure sensations that coaxed and excited you further.

Your hands reached up, tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as the energy built in electric sparks in the pit of your stomach.

"Fuck I am feeling so funny again," you cried, your body a quivering, whimpering mess under the mercy of this intellectual, ruggedly handsome man who had paid to relieve his frustrations with your innocent, young body.

Again, it felt like you were wetting yourself but this time you knew why. It was all so dirty, so wrong, yet the thought made something dark within you blossom, sparking your unwilling curiosity towards this new, twisted sensation.

A twisted smile pulled at the corner of Cillian's lips. He was so lost in the pleasure that he had taken, reveling in the strangeness of a situation where the girl beneath him was conquered with a newfound desire to please him.

He grabbed your hips, slamming them against his body with every few powerful thrusts.

"I am going to fill that young pussy of yours with my seed now," He growled with sheer dominance in his tone, his eyes as dark as an abyss - crazed with lust and an intoxicating hunger.

"Fuck Y/N, you are going to make my cum so hard," Cillian said as a shudder raced down his spine, his body tightening as he prepared to release the pent-up desire that had been plaguing him for weeks now.

His grip grew tighter on your hips, as though he would physically command your compliance. He drew his body back, until just the head of his cock was lodged inside you. Then, with a growl, he rammed back into your tight, aching depths.

You screamed in shock as he filled you so suddenly, until you felt him butt up against your cervix.

He roared loudly as he erupted inside you, the heat of his release spurring a strange sense of fullness that pervaded your very being.

You felt shame as his hot seed poured into you seeing that you had succumbed to a married man's desires, but there was also a peculiar euphoria that mingled with the sting of the loss of your innocence.

Beneath Cillian's weight, your body trembled as your heartbeat echoed in your eardrums, a maelstrom of emotions coursing through you.

"Thank you, Y/N," Cillian said, breathing deeply as he carefully slipped out of you, leaving behind a sticky residue. Your virginity was officially a thing of the past - sold for an ungodly sum of $500 and an uncertain fate. You knew that you would do this again, and not just because you needed the money, but also because the freedom of being wanted, the release of pent-up desire you never knew you had, the transformation into someone you did not recognize was far too exhilarating to ignore.

To be continued...

Tags:

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine

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lovebugism · 8 months ago

Note

I heard you’d like some requests, don’t mind if I do 👹 I could’ve sent 62 but I restrained myself:

*grumbling* "Some people are waaay too touchy."

if it inspires you, please!

emmy (upsidedownwithsteve) 🧡

@upsidedownwithsteve, my love! it was an honor to write for you! i hope you like it :D — eddie munson's a big, jealous grump at the bar (established relationship, fluff, 1.1k)

Eddie’s having a piss-poor night. His beer’s lukewarm, the music’s too loud, you’re too far away, and Steve Harrington hasn’t shut up in ten minutes.

He could hardly stand the dumbass everyone used to call The King, but even less when he’s got a golden arm thrown over your shoulder. And, yeah, it’s all friendly or whatever, but that hardly quells the wildfire burning in his chest. “What right does he have to touch you like this? Fucking none,” grumbles the wild-haired boy’s inner conscience.

But then again, no one does. Not even him.

“Think I should go buy her a drink?” Steve asks you over the blaring pop music. His honey eyes are pointed across the bar at a girl way out of his league. His slick mouth is far too close to your ear.

You roll your eyes. “I think you should be a gentleman and feel things out with her first—”

“Oh, I’m gonna feel things out with her, alright,” Steve scoffs, bringing the lip of the beer bottle to his mouth.

“—Before jumping into a one-night stand you only halfway recover from.”

The two of you turn to glare at each other, then. Gazes unwavering. Noses mere inches apart. Eddie makes a faint grumbly noise of protest about it, but the boyish sound of disgust goes unheard under the music.

But when I see you hanging about with anyone—

It’s not unusual to see me cry; I wanna die!

Someone’s been plugging the same goddamn Tom Jones song into the jukebox for six minutes now. Eddie feels like he might as well be in hell at this rate. It’d hurt less, he figures.

You and Steve seem to communicate telepathically until he inevitably caves first. He huffs until his puffed-out chest deflates, along with his stupid ego. He doesn’t know how you always seem to be right about everything. He fucking hates it, actually.

“Right. Whatever. I’m gonna go find Robin. She’s probably lost,” Steve deadpans with a sigh as he slides out from the booth. “Want anything?”

“Can you get me—”

“A spicy margarita?” he finishes for you — like he can read your fucking mind, Eddie grouses bitterly to himself. He hates that someone else knows you as well as he does.

You squint. “How’d you know?”

‘Cause it’s your favorite thing to drink after shots, Eddie answers in his head.

“Because we just had tequila shots. And you always want a spicy margarita after tequila shots,” Steve deadpans, then chuckles when your face scrunches. He pokes the very apple of your cheek and turns to the pouty boy across from you. “What about you, Eds? Want another beer while I’m up?”

Eddie shakes his head with a flat face, then takes a sip of his warm and hardly-sipped beer.

“Next round’s on you two, alright? I’m not your fucking boyfriend— you’re not getting free beers off me all night,” Steve chides lightheartedly before disappearing into the crowd.

You only smile to yourself as he goes. You know he’ll buy the whole damn bar out if you ask him to. ‘Cause that’s what best friends are for and all. Especially when they’re rich.

A groan bubbles in Eddie’s throat when the upbeat song starts all over again. It’s not unusual to be loved by anyone! the man croons. He drops his head to his elbow and bellows an annoyed moan. His chestnut curls spread wild over his shoulders.

You hide your grin behind your fist. “What’s wrong, Eds?”

“Nothin’,” he monotones, face still hidden.

“You haven’t said a word in twenty minutes.”

“Well, Steve hasn’t shut up in about thirty, so…” he retorts and lifts his heavy head, faking a smile as he tilts his flushed cheek to his shoulder. “Getting you two idiots into a room is fuckin’ crazy, you know that, right? Neither of you knows when to stop talking.”

Your nose scrunches. “Well, that’s what usually happens when you have friends, Eddie. You have conversations.”

“You sayin’ I don’t have friends, sweetheart?” he questions with narrowed, chocolate eyes.

“No,” you answer, grinning all pretty. “I’m sayin’ you’re jealous for no reason.”

His face falls flat at having been found out so quickly. Though he figures he wasn’t exactly being discreet about the whole thing. He grumbles and shifts awkwardly in his seat, feeling too seen beneath your unwavering stare.

“Some people are just way too touchy,” he grouses with a boyish sneer on his features, trying desperately to hide his pout behind the amber bottle in his fist. He takes another sip of the lukewarm liquid and averts his gaze.

Your beam widens until it brightens the dim bar. “You’re the one sitting all the way over there, you loon,” you tell him with a soft giggle that squints the edges of your eyes.

Eddie perks at the invitation. His doe eyes flit from the sticky table to your twinkling eyes. He’s been waiting on the offer all night, too much of a coward to ask you himself, and it shows on his suddenly hopeful features.

You nod your head to the empty spot beside you. “Get over here before Steve comes back and starts yapping again.”

Eddie rises with a newfound life, rounding the table and sliding into the squeaky booth beside you. He clutches his beer with his left hand and throws his right around your shoulder. His arm rests over the back of the booth where Steve’s once was, holding you like he’s been dying to all night.

“Better?” you grin.

He nods wordlessly, wild curls tickling your jaw. He takes another sip to hide his quiet smile when you press your lips to the flushed apple of his cheek.

Steve returns then, with your spicy margarita in one hand and Robin’s wrist in the other. She stumbles in behind him and sways in place ahead of the table — freckled cheeks rosy, ocean eyes glassy.

“Have fun?” you wonder with a teasing lilt.

“I saw something shiny on the way back from the bathroom,” the brunette girl confesses in tiny slurs. “Then I get lost…”

You nod sympathetically. “We figured.”

Steve nudges her ahead of him until Robin gets the hint. She slinks gracelessly into the booth. The boy squints as he slides you your drink. “You’re in my seat,” he observes, as if it weren’t blatantly obvious.

Eddie shrugs. “…Yeah?”

“You could’ve just asked to switch,” he scoffs and slips in beside Robin.

“I was fine,” the wild-haired boy insists, then nods his head over to you. “She’s the one that wanted me to move.”

And even though that’s not exactly what happened, you nod anyway. “Yeah. I got too tired of sitting next to you, Stevie,” you tease the boy ahead of you. “Your cologne’s too strong— you smell like a fucking high school boys’ locker room.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you had a ton of experience in those back in the day, didn’t you?” Steve scoffs.

Your eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Jesus,” Eddie grumbles like a storm cloud. “Stop flirting.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

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eu-nicola · 20 days ago

Text

her memory

summary: After Grace's death, you offer to take care of Charlie, Thomas, who lives tormented by his pain, accepts. As both spend more time together, both begin to develop something but neither you or him don't know how to accept it.

warnings: mention of death, nothing more i think

word counter: 7682

author's note: english is not my first language

The cold wind cut through the morning with a cruel indifference, as if the world kept turning without stopping for anyone's mourning. The tombstones stood as silent reminders of lives past, names etched in stone, stories that had ended. Among them all, one stood out: Grace Shelby. The letters were carved with precision, the name reflecting both love and tragedy.

You, Grace's younger sister, held a bouquet of white lilies with numb fingers. You had chosen those flowers because they were Grace's favorite, although now the detail seemed ironic. You couldn't remember the last time you had brought her flowers when she was alive. Maybe you had never done so. Guilt nibbled at the edges of your conscience as you walked down the gravel path.

In the distance, a familiar figure emerged from the mist: Thomas. He was dressed in strict black, his face impassive as always. His eyes, though, those blue eyes that always seemed to be calculating, now reflected something deeper. Pain. Or maybe just tiredness.

You hadn’t spoken to Thomas since Grace’s funeral, and before that, your interactions had been tense, at best. You’d made it clear from the start that you didn’t trust him. “He’s not a good man for you, Grace,” you’d warned him more than once, but Grace always found a way to justify it. “You don’t know him like I do,” she’d reply with a smile that was now just a painful memory.

Thomas stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing by the grave. There were no words of greeting or gestures of courtesy. Neither did they need them. You were both there for the same reason.

You carefully placed the flowers on the grave and knelt down, closing your eyes for a moment. The silence between you and Thomas was thick, heavy with everything that had never been said and everything that would never be said. Finally, you stood up, feeling Thomas’ gaze on you.

“She always talked about you,” Thomas said, his voice low and rough, like he hadn’t used it in days.

You looked at him, surprised by the comment. There was an honesty in his tone that was disarming, something rare about him.

“And what did she say?” you asked, not because you really wanted to know, but because you needed to fill the void.

Thomas lit a cigarette, letting the smoke mix with the cold air. His eyes never left the tombstone.

“She said you were strong. Stronger than you believed yourself. That you had always been her rock, even when you didn’t know it.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “And that you were the only one who could tell her the truth, even if it hurt.”

You felt a lump in your throat. Grace had always been the mediator between you and the world, softening your harshest words, interpreting your silences. Now that she was gone, you felt disoriented, like you’d lost your compass.

“I always thought I was protecting her,” you admitted quietly, your gaze fixed on the grave. “But maybe I was just trying to protect myself. I didn’t want to see her suffer for someone who couldn’t give her what she deserved.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice held a tone you’d never heard before: vulnerability.

“Grace gave me more than I deserved. And I gave her back less than I needed.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt and looked up at you. “But I loved her. In my own way, I loved her.”

His words fell heavily in the air. For a moment, you wanted to respond as harshly as ever, to point out that his love hadn’t been enough, that his world of violence and power had dragged her to the grave. But something stopped you. Maybe it was the pain you saw reflected in his face. Or maybe you were just tired of fighting.

“Grace loved you too,” you said at last, almost in a whisper. “I never doubted that.”

Silence settled between you again. Thomas nodded slightly, as if that statement were enough. You both knew that the relationship between you and him would never be cordial, but at that moment, you shared something that transcended your differences: the loss of the woman who had been the center of your lives.

Finally, Thomas took a step back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” he said, not looking directly at you. Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned and began walking toward the exit of the cemetery.

You watched his figure walk away until it disappeared into the fog. The fog slowly dissipated as you walked away, leaving the tombstone and the memories behind.

After that encounter, you knew that you didn’t want to part with what little was left of Grace. The decision didn’t come immediately, but rather as a persistent murmur in the back of your mind. The image of Grace, always smiling with her baby in her arms, was etched ever deeper into your memory. Charlie was the only part of her left in this world, a small piece of light in the midst of all the darkness her death had left. And you wanted, no, needed, to be a part of her life.

Days later, you found yourself in front of the door of the Shelby house. You hesitated for a moment, looking at the imposing facade. You hadn’t set foot in that place since Grace’s funeral. You sighed deeply and knocked on the door. It was Polly who opened it, her sharp gaze examining you immediately.

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, her tone neither hostile nor friendly, just expectant.

“I need to talk to Thomas,” you said, straightening up.

Polly arched an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any more questions. She waved you in and led you to the living room, where Thomas sat behind his desk, papers strewn in front of him, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He looked up as you entered, his expression unfazed.

“Another telling off, then?” she asked sarcastically, though there was a hint of curiosity in her tone.

You shook your head, gently shaking your head as you sat across from him.

“I’m not here to fight, Thomas. I’m here for Charlie.”

He set the glass down on the table, his gaze fixed on you.

“What about Charlie?”

You took a moment before answering, your hands clenched in your lap.

“I want to help. I want to be in his life. I know this may sound strange, but I would like to be his nanny.” You hesitated for a second, but continued before he could interrupt. “I want to be close to him, to help raise him. I don’t want him to grow up without having a connection to his maternal family.”

Thomas watched you silently for a few moments. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed that he was processing each word carefully.

“Why now?” he asked finally. “You don’t trust me, you never have. Why would you want to get more involved?”

You leaned forward a little, trying to convey the sincerity of your intentions.

“Grace loved Charlie more than anything. And if I can’t have her, I at least want to make sure her son grows up surrounded by love, by family. This isn’t about you, Thomas. This is about him.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And because Grace would want us to be there for him.” Both of you.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands to his face for a moment before running them through his hair. Finally, he nodded slowly.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, you can start tomorrow. Polly will show you Charlie’s routines. But I warn you,” he said, his voice lower and more serious, “this world is dangerous. I don’t want you to go near it if you ever think you can’t handle it.”

You agreed with a slight nod, knowing there was no turning back.

The next morning, Polly greeted you with a mix of surprise and silent approval. She wasn’t a woman of many words, but she seemed to appreciate your willingness.

“Charlie is a calm boy, but he needs stability,” she said as she led you to the little boy’s room. “His mother was his refuge, and now it’s up to you to fill some of that void.”

When you entered Charlie’s room, your heart tightened. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than two years old, was sitting in his crib, playing with a teddy bear. His eyes were the spitting image of Grace: big, curious, and bright. Seeing you, he tilted his head in curiosity.

You slowly approached, smiling.

“Hey, little one,” you said quietly, feeling excitement fill your chest.

Charlie watched you for a moment before extending his arms to you, an immediate sign of trust that nearly brought tears to your eyes. You picked him up carefully, feeling his warmth against you. He rested his small head on your shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The rest of the day passed in unexpected calm. You fed him, played with him, and took him for a walk in the garden. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice that Charlie seemed more relaxed with you than you had anticipated. It was as if, somehow, he knew you were a part of his mother, a connection he still needed.

The passage of time hadn’t eased the void left by Grace, but caring for Charlie filled your days with a kind of purpose you’d never felt before. The little boy had a laugh that lit up even the gloomiest of rooms, and his small hands reached for yours with a trust that melted you. With each day you spent with him, you felt like you were helping keep a part of Grace alive.

Charlie followed you everywhere, whether it was in the garden, where he clung to your wobbly fingers as he tried to walk, or in the kitchen, where he babbled incomprehensible words as you prepared his food. What touched you most was the way he clung to you at night, his small hands tangled in your shirt as you rocked him to sleep.

You were aware that every smile you elicited from him was a silent defiance of the pain his mother’s death had left behind. Though you tried hard to stay strong, there were times when Grace’s absence was too much. On those nights, when Charlie finally fell asleep, you stayed by his side a little longer, whispering stories about his mother to him, wishing that, somehow, he could remember her.

One of those nights, after putting Charlie to bed, you went down to the kitchen in search of something warm to drink. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of wood beneath your feet. The air was cold, and the light from the fireplace in the living room barely illuminated the hallway.

That was when you saw him. Thomas was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. His eyes, normally sharp and watchful, were darkened by a deep sadness. His face, always controlled, now seemed vulnerable, almost unfamiliar.

For a moment, you hesitated. You had seen Thomas in many facets: calculating, furious, even protective. But never like this, broken.

“Thomas, are you okay?” you asked quietly, though the answer was obvious.

He looked up slowly, his blue eyes piercing through you, filled with a pain that seemed to have no end. He didn’t answer right away, instead taking another long sip from the bottle before setting it down on the table with a thud.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

You approached cautiously, sitting down on the armchair in front of him. The distance between you both seemed so short and, at the same time, infinite.

“I was thinking about Grace,” you murmured, trying to connect.

Thomas gave a bitter smile, but his eyes didn’t light up.

“There’s not a single moment when I don’t see her. Every corner of this damn house reminds me of her.”

The silence that followed was thick. You felt like any words you could say would be insufficient, but you couldn't just leave him in that state.

“Grace would never want to see you like this, Thomas,” you said softly. “She always saw the best in you, even when you didn’t.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Grace was always better than I deserved. I brought her into this world, into danger, and it killed her.” His words came out laden with guilt. “Everything I touch breaks.”

You leaned forward, meeting his eyes.

“Grace chose to be with you. She knew who you were and what your world meant, but she still loved you. You can’t carry all the blame, Thomas.”

For the first time, Thomas seemed to truly hear you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you both shared a pain only you could understand. He let out a heavy sigh, as if he’d been carrying too great a weight for years.

“Charlie gives me a reason to keep going,” he admitted quietly. “But I can’t help but think of everything he lost. What I took from him.”

The pain in his voice tore at you. Without thinking, you stood up and walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not alone in this, Thomas. Charlie has a lot of people who love him. And so do you.” You paused, measuring your words. “I’m here.”

Thomas lifted his head, surprised by the openness in your voice.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his whisper barely audible.

You stayed by his side as the night wore on, both of you silent, but this time it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was the kind of stillness that comes from sharing a common pain.

The days in the Shelby house followed a steady, almost predictable rhythm. The mornings were Charlie's: from the first light of day, the little boy filled the house with his laughter and babbling, and you were there for each of those moments. But the nights... the nights were different.

Since that first time you found Thomas broken in front of the fireplace, something had changed between the two of you. They didn't always talk, but the presence of each other was enough. So, every night after putting Charlie to bed, your steps inevitably led you to the living room, where Thomas waited for you, his silhouette illuminated by the flames of the fire.

The first few nights were a timid exchange of words. Thomas offered you a glass of whiskey, which you accepted although you barely touched it, and the two of you sat in silence, watching the flames dance. Every now and then, he shared fragments of memories about Grace, little anecdotes that made you smile or sometimes let out a stifled laugh.

“Grace always made fun of my smoking,” he commented one night, with a slight smile. “She said I looked like a cheap actor trying to look sophisticated.”

You laughed softly, imagining your sister with her sharp wit and love of little jokes.

“That sounds like Grace,” you said, your voice heavy with nostalgia.

Over time, conversations became more fluid, less restrained. You shared memories of your childhood with Grace, little secrets that only the two of you knew. Thomas listened intently, his eyes softening with each story, as if through your words he could feel his wife’s presence again.

“You know?” you said, staring into the fire. “I always thought you were Grace’s worst mistake.”

Thomas, who had been staring at his glass of whiskey, looked up slowly, one eyebrow arched.

“And now?” he asked, his tone neutral, but his eyes heavy with curiosity.

You sighed, playing with the rim of your glass.

“Now… I’m not so sure.” You looked at him, your words softer than you’d planned. “Grace was happy with you. And that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you closely.

“I’m not a good man,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I never have been. But with Grace… she made me want to be better.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of his words.

“We all have our shadows, Thomas. But I’ve seen how you are with Charlie, how you talk about Grace. Maybe you’re not as bad as I always thought.”

He let out a dry laugh, but there was a glint of something else in his eyes, something that seemed like a mix of relief and gratitude.

“That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve heard from you,” he said, his tone mocking, though his smile was genuine.

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, smiling back.

With each passing night, the relationship between the two of you transformed. The conversations became deeper, more sincere. Thomas showed you a side that few knew about: the man behind the boss, the husband, the father struggling to find balance in a world full of chaos.

One night, after a long silence, Thomas confessed something that surprised you.

“I didn’t think you could forgive me,” he said, his words laden with a weight he seemed to have been carrying for a long time. “Not after everything.”

You stared at him, sensing the sincerity in his voice.

“It’s not easy to forgive, Thomas. But I also know that life is too short to hold on to hate.”

For a moment, you thought you were going to see tears in his eyes, but Thomas just nodded, clenching his jaw as he looked away.

Even if everything was fine between you and Thomas, there was always something off. The next day, the sun was shining softly that afternoon, and a light breeze rustled the leaves, making everything seem almost calm, almost normal.

Charlie was swinging happily in a baby swing that Thomas had had installed months ago. You stood nearby, watching him with a smile as you gently pushed the swing, making sure it wasn’t too high.

Charlie giggled, and when the swing stopped, he raised his arms to you, asking to be pulled out. You picked him up easily, holding him against your hip as he wrapped his arms around your neck. He looked at you with those big, bright eyes that reminded you so much of Grace, and something in your chest tightened.

“I love you, little one,” you murmured, gently kissing his forehead.

The little boy stared at you for a moment, then rested his little head on your shoulder and, in a barely audible voice, whispered,

“Mommy.”

The world seemed to stop. The air became thick, and for an instant, you couldn’t move or breathe. Your heart skipped a beat as the weight of that word fell upon you. You didn’t know what to say. Charlie didn’t fully understand what he had just said, but to you, the meaning was overwhelming.

Before you could react, a deep, sharp voice broke the silence.

“What did you say?”

You turned around suddenly and saw Thomas standing a few feet away. His face was tense, his eyes dark and filled with a mix of surprise and suppressed fury. He had returned earlier than expected and had clearly heard his son’s words.

—Thomas… —you started to say, trying to calm him down.

—Why is he calling you "Mom"? —he interrupted, his voice low but full of intensity.

Charlie, oblivious to the tension, clung to you with an innocent smile, his small hands playing with your hair. The image must have been a shock to Thomas, a painful reminder of what he’d lost.

“He’s just a kid, Thomas,” you said calmly, setting Charlie down so he could play again. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I would never try to take Grace’s place.”

Thomas took a step forward, his posture rigid.

“But you are,” he said, his voice raspy. “You’re looking out for him, you’re comforting him, and now he thinks you—” He paused, as if the words were too painful to say out loud.

“I’m here because I wanted Charlie to have someone to look out for him, to love him. I’m not trying to replace Grace, Thomas. I never could,” you replied, trying to keep your composure.

“Oh, yeah?” he snapped, his tone bitter. “And what do you think is going to happen if you keep this up?” He’ll see you as his mother.

His words were like blades, and you felt a lump in your throat, but you weren’t going to back down.

“That’s not fair!” you exclaimed, raising your voice. “I’ve done everything you asked of me, Thomas. I’ve been here, taking care of Charlie, helping you keep this home standing. And now you’re blaming me for something I can’t even control?”

Thomas clenched his fists, his eyes burning with frustration.

“You don’t understand. This isn’t your place. You’re not his mother. You never will be.”

The words were like a blow, but you refused to let them affect you any more than necessary.

“You’re right, Thomas,” you said, your voice cold. “I’m not his mother. But at least I’m here for him. And you? Where are you when he needs you? Or do you prefer to hide behind your whiskey and your business, letting others deal with the pain?”

Thomas took a step closer, his face now just inches from yours.

“Be careful what you say.”

“Why?” you replied, challenging him with your gaze. “Because you don’t like hearing the truth?”

The silence that followed was sharp, both of you breathing heavily, the tension between you almost tangible. Finally, Thomas took a step back, his face hardening.

“If you can’t understand your place here, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Those words were a final blow. You nodded slowly, your expression cold but hurt.

“Understood.”

Without saying anything else, you turned and walked into the house, leaving Thomas alone in the garden. You felt a mix of rage and sadness as you climbed the stairs to your room. Everything you had done, all the effort, seemed to have been in vain. You leaned against the closed door, trying to control the tears that threatened to spill out.

The days that followed that tense confrontation with Thomas were tinged with an awkward silence in the house. The air seemed heavier, as if the very walls held back unspoken words and hurt feelings. But the most noticeable change was in Charlie.

The little boy, who used to be an endless source of laughter and energy, now seemed to be caught in a cloud of restlessness. His demeanor changed dramatically; laughter had been replaced by sobs, and his usual enthusiasm for play had given way to an irritable, brooding attitude. Every little inconvenience, from a toy that didn't work the way he wanted it to the lack of his favorite snack, made him burst into tears.

It hurt to see him like this, but the worst thing was that you knew why. Charlie missed the closest thing he'd had to a mother in the last few months. And even though you'd tried to keep your distance after the argument with Thomas, you couldn't help but worry about the boy.

That afternoon, Charlie was sitting on the living room floor, tightly hugging a teddy bear that Grace had given him. Tears ran down his cheeks as he murmured between sobs:

"Mom..."

You knelt beside him, feeling a lump in your throat.

"I know, honey," you said softly, stroking his hair. "I know you miss her."

Charlie turned to you, his little eyes full of desperation.

"Mom," he said.

It was like a dagger straight to the heart. Your instinct was to hug him, but you stopped, remembering Thomas' words.

“Oh, little Charlie,” you said finally, your voice breaking.

The little boy didn’t understand, and you knew it. To him, absence was a void that was impossible to fill. His sobs increased, and in the end, you couldn’t hold back any longer. You lifted him into your arms, holding him tightly as he cried against your chest.

“I’m here now,” you murmured, trying to calm him down. “I’m not leaving, okay?”

At that moment, the door opened, and Thomas entered the room. His gaze hardened as he took in the scene before him: you holding Charlie, trying to comfort him like a mother would.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice cold.

Charlie turned to his father, his little face still wet with tears.

“Dad… Mom.”

Thomas tensed his jaw, his gaze darkening even further. He took a step toward you, his eyes fixed on you.

The boy clung to you, but was eventually led to his room by a maid. Once he was out of the room, Thomas turned to you.

“What part of ‘you can’t be his mother’ didn’t you understand?” he said, his voice low but filled with contained anger.

You stood up, crossing your arms.

“Thomas, don’t you see what’s happening? Charlie is hurting. He misses his mother, and for now, I’m the closest thing he has. Why can’t you just accept it?”

Thomas laughed, but there was no humor in his voice.

“Accept it? You want me to accept my son starting to call you mom while Grace is in her grave? Is that what you want?”

“No, what I want is for you to stop being so selfish,” you replied, raising your voice. “This isn’t about you, Thomas. It’s about Charles. He needs someone, and you can’t be everything to him.”

Thomas took a step closer, his presence imposing.

“You don’t decide what my son needs. I’m his father.”

“And I’m the only person who’s been here for him while you drown in your own pain,” you said, not backing down. “But it’s okay, Thomas. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave. But when Charlie keeps crying at night, when he asks you why I left him, you’ll be the one responsible.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. His gaze was hard, but there was something else going on, too: an internal struggle, a battle between his pride and the reality that was hitting him harder and harder.

Finally, he took a step back, breaking eye contact.

“Do what you want,” he murmured, before exiting the room and leaving you alone.

The next few days were marked by an awkward silence between you and Thomas. Even though he had made it clear that he didn’t want you anywhere near Charlie, you couldn’t just walk away. Not when the little boy needed you more than ever. So, defying Thomas’ orders, you continued to look after the boy. After all, someone had to do it.

That night, the Shelby house was unusually quiet. Charlie had had a long day and was restless, his small body still shaking from time to time from residual sobs. You held him in your arms, gently rocking him as you walked around the room, whispering soothing words to him. Eventually, his eyes began to close, and his breathing became more rhythmic.

The house was empty. Thomas had gone out, as he often did lately, immersing himself in his business and affairs. Everything seemed calm, but there was an uneasiness in the air that you couldn’t shake.

Suddenly, a noise downstairs broke the silence. At first you thought maybe Thomas had returned, but a quick glance at the clock made you dismiss that idea. You clutched Charlie to your chest, your senses heightening. Another noise, this time clearer: the creaking of a door carefully opening.

Your heart began to pound, but you kept your cool. You couldn’t allow yourself to lose control. Slowly, you made your way to the bedroom door, making sure Charlie was safe in your arms.

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs grew clearer and clearer. Then, a figure appeared in the doorway, a tall, burly man with a cold, cruel gaze. He held a gun, his face partially hidden by a handkerchief.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the man said, his voice deep and full of mockery. “I didn’t expect to find a babysitter.”

You said nothing, your mind working quickly. The man pointed the gun at you, a gesture that made it clear he wasn’t there to talk.

“Where’s Shelby?” he asked, taking a step forward. “I know she’s not far away. But in the meantime…” his eyes fell on Charlie, who began to fidget in your arms, sensing danger. “Maybe we can send her a message, huh?”

“You don’t have to do this,” you said in a firm, yet calm voice. “Thomas will be back soon, and when he does, you won’t want to be here.”

The man laughed, a harsh, cruel sound.

“And what are you going to do?” he snapped. “Another empty threat? I’m here to settle a score, and if it means hurting the one you care about most…” He motioned to Charlie with a shake of his head.

Charlie began to cry, his small fists clinging to your shirt. Your instinct was to protect him, positioning him so that his body was out of reach of the gun. Despite the fear you felt, you kept your voice calm.

“You’re not going to touch him. If it’s Thomas you want, then he’s him you’ll face. But not a child.”

The man paused, considering your words, but his expression showed no sign of mercy.

“The world is not so kind, young lady.”

Before he could move, another noise echoed through the house. This time, the unmistakable thud of a door slamming shut. The man turned quickly, raising the gun, but before he could react, Thomas appeared in the doorway.

His gaze was deadly. In a quick, calculated move, he pulled out his pistol and fired without hesitation. The sound was deafening in the small room, and the man fell to the floor with a thud, the gun slipping from his hand.

Thomas moved forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the intruder’s body to make sure he posed no further threat. When he was sure, he turned his attention back to you and Charlie.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.

Charlie was still crying, his tears soaking your shirt. You nodded, though your heart was still pounding.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” you murmured, trying to calm Charlie as you cradled him against you.

Thomas moved closer, placing a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Take him downstairs,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

You nodded again, walking out of the room with Charlie still in your arms. His sobs began to subside as you descended the stairs, the warmth of your embrace providing him with a modicum of comfort.

When you reached the living room, you sat down on the couch, holding Charlie close. Shortly after, Thomas came down, his steps slower, his expression hardened. He sat down in front of you, his gaze assessing you.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone with him,” he finally said, his voice heavy with a mix of guilt and concern.

“Thomas… it’s not your fault,” you replied, though you knew it wasn’t enough to ease his burden.

For the first time in days, his eyes showed something other than fury. There was fear there, fear of what could have happened if he had arrived a minute later.

As you rocked gently, Charlie’s little face buried in your chest, while you ran your fingers through his hair, murmuring soothing words.

Thomas sat across from you, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together, staring at the floor as if he was trapped in thought. The dim light from the lamp cast deep shadows on his face, highlighting the hardness of his features. But his eyes… his eyes showed something different that night: vulnerability.

“I shouldn’t have taken you away from Charlie,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence with a low tone, almost a whisper. He wasn’t looking at you, but his voice was heavy with remorse. “It was a mistake.”

You look up, surprised by his words. You had expected many things from Thomas Shelby, but not an apology.

“Thomas…” you began, but he held up a hand, indicating that he wasn’t finished yet.

“Ever since Grace died, I’ve tried to protect him, protect us both. But in doing so, all I’ve done is fail him. I can’t give him what he needs.” He finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. “But you can.”

The words hit you with a mix of relief and pain. You knew how much it had cost him to admit that, how much it meant to him to acknowledge that he couldn’t do everything alone.

“Charlie needs you, more than I wanted to admit. I’ve seen you with him, how he calms down in your arms, how he trusts you.” Thomas ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “And I was an idiot to try to push you away from him.”

You looked down at Charlie, who was breathing easier now, his fingers gently clinging to your shirt. A feeling of warmth and relief settled in your chest. You had been willing to do anything for that little boy, even if it meant facing Thomas Shelby.

“Thank you for saying it, Thomas,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “But I need you to trust me, to understand that I would never do anything to hurt him.”

Thomas nodded slowly, his eyes still locked with yours. There was a weight in his gaze, but also a sort of unspoken truce.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m grateful. More than I can express.”

He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he watched Charlie with a mix of tenderness and pain.

“I never wanted him to grow up without a mother. And I know you’ll never be able to replace Grace, but what you do for him… that’s the closest thing to a home I can offer him now.”

The lump in your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your composure.

“I’ll do everything I can for him, Thomas. Always.”

For the first time in what seemed like weeks, Thomas smiled, albeit a weak, tired smile.

“I know,” he said simply.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was a silence of understanding, of acceptance. Charlie had fallen asleep, his little rhythmic sighs filling the room.

Thomas stood up, walking towards you with slow steps. He leaned down slightly, placing a hand on Charlie’s head and stroking his hair gently. Then, his eyes met yours again.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but loaded with meaning.

You simply nodded, no need for words.

The next few days were quieter in the house. Thomas allowed you to care for Charlie without interference, and even began to participate more in the moments you shared with the little one. There was a routine that was beginning to feel, if not normal, at least less tense.

You and Thomas also began to talk more. At first, it was practical conversations, about Charlie or about how to reinforce the security of the house. But little by little, those dialogues transformed into something more personal. Moments when, for a brief moment, Thomas Shelby wasn’t the ruthless leader of the Peaky Blinders, but simply a man trying to navigate loss.

One night, after you’d put Charlie to bed, you found Thomas in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The soft light from the table lamp illuminated the room, creating a warm, almost intimate atmosphere. He was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, his gaze lost in the flames.

“Everything okay?” you asked, carefully entering the room.

Thomas looked up, his expression relaxing at the sight of you.

“Yeah,” he replied, though his tone said otherwise. “Just… thinking.”

You walked over and sat on the couch across from him. You didn’t want to push him, but there was something in his gaze that night that worried you.

“About Grace?” you asked softly.

He nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down on the table beside him.

“Always Grace,” he murmured. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her. What could have been if…” He paused, his jaw tightening.

You didn’t say anything, allowing him space to speak if he needed to. You knew that, as hard as it was for him, these moments of vulnerability were important.

“Sometimes I think I’m losing her,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper. “Her face, her voice… it’s all fading away, and that scares me more than anything.”

Your heart clenched at his confession. Thomas, the man who always seemed so strong, was pouring his soul out in front of you. Without thinking too hard, you stood up and walked over, standing next to him.

“You won’t lose her, Thomas,” you said softly. “She’ll always be a part of you, of Charlie. Nothing will change that.”

He looked at you, his blue eyes shining in the firelight. There was something in his gaze, a mix of pain, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Without thinking, he raised a hand and gently brushed it against your cheek.

The gesture took you by surprise, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself leaning slightly into him, until his lips met yours in a soft kiss, laden with repressed emotion. It was a brief moment, but it was intense, as if both of you were allowing yourselves to feel something you’d been denying for far too long.

But as soon as it was over, Thomas pulled away, his expression changing from vulnerability to guilt in an instant.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice hard and laden with regret. He stood up quickly, moving away from you as if the contact had burned. “I can’t… I can’t do this to Grace.”

The pain in his voice was palpable, but it didn’t hurt any less that his words were hurting you, too. You stayed on the couch, trying to process what had just happened.

“Thomas…” you tried to speak, but he held up a hand to stop you.

“No. I can’t,” he repeated, his tone harsher. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have…”

You stood up, the lump in your throat getting tighter with each word he said.

“A mistake?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was enough to confirm it. You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears, but you refused to let them fall in front of him.

“I understand,” you finally said, your voice firmer than you expected. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you turned and walked out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last, until you reached your room. You closed the door behind you, letting the tears finally fall.

The days following the kiss and the rejection were unbearably tense. You and Thomas had gone back to barely speaking beyond what was necessary. Conversations were limited to the basics: directions for Charlie, changes around the house, or simple mechanical greetings. Any vestige of the connection you had begun to build seemed to have faded, leaving an awkward chasm between you.

It hurt, more than you wanted to admit. You had accepted that Thomas still carried Grace in his heart, but you hadn’t expected the kiss you shared, brief but full of meaning, to become a wall between you.

Finally, one night, after you had put Charlie to sleep, you found yourself unable to bear the coldness any longer. You knew you couldn’t continue living in the same house, taking care of Charlie, and pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t.

You found him in the living room, as always, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He barely looked up when you entered, but you didn’t say anything right away. You closed the door behind you and stood there, watching him.

“How long are we going to keep this up, Thomas?” you finally asked, breaking the silence with a voice filled with frustration.

Thomas didn’t even flinch. He took a sip of his whiskey before answering, his tone indifferent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step forward.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. This. Us. Pretending like nothing happened, when we both know it did.”

Thomas finally looked up, his blue eyes cold and calculating.

“There is no ‘us,’” he said harshly. “There can’t be.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, but you didn’t back down.

“And that’s it?” you replied, your voice rising slightly. “Are you going to keep hiding behind Grace’s memory, using your guilt as an excuse to keep everyone at a distance?”

Thomas’ expression hardened, and he set his glass down with a thud.

“Be careful what you say,” he warned, his voice low but dangerous.

But you were too furious to stop yourself. The pressure of the past few days, the built-up tension, it all came crashing down.

“Careful?” you repeated, taking a step closer. “I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you, Thomas. What’s wrong with you? Why do you insist on pushing everyone away?”

Thomas stood up suddenly, his imposing presence filling the room.

“Because that’s what I do,” he snapped. Because the people I care about always end up hurt or dead.

“And that’s an excuse to treat me like that?” You took a step closer, your eyes flashing with fury. “I’m not Grace! You can’t keep punishing me for something I can’t change.”

The tension in the room was palpable, each word a sharp dart. Before you could think, you grabbed an empty glass from the table and threw it hard. The glass crashed into the wall behind him, shattering into pieces.

Thomas reacted immediately, crossing the distance between you in a matter of seconds. Before you could move, he roughly grabbed you by the arms, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes burned with an intensity that took your breath away.

“Enough!” he growled, his voice hoarse and heavy with repressed emotion.

You were about to retort, to fight against his hold, when suddenly, without warning, his lips crashed against yours. It was a desperate, hungry kiss, as if both of them were trying to drown all the pain, frustration, and guilt in that moment.

You resisted for a moment, surprised by the abruptness, but quickly gave in, kissing him back with equal intensity. His hands, which had previously held you tightly, slid down to your waist, pulling you closer.

The world around you disappeared. There was no more arguing, no more awkward silences. Just the warmth of his lips, the frantic beat of your heart, and the feeling of being, for the first time in days, completely alive.

His lips left yours for an instant, moving down to your neck, as his hands eagerly explored. Everything about him was urgency, need held back for too long. There were no words between you, just the ragged sound of breaths and the steady throb of a dormant desire that had finally exploded.

“Tommy…” you murmured in whispers, your fingers getting lost in his dark hair as he lifted you slightly, leaning you against the nearby wall.

He responded with a growl, capturing your lips again, as if afraid that moving away for a second might break the connection. It was a forbidden moment, but you were both too far away to stop.

The room seemed to fill with heat as every barrier crumbled. Thomas was all fire, and you consumed yourself with it without remorse.

Finally, when the intensity subsided, you both lay still, breathing hard, still entwined. His eyes searched you, and for an instant, you saw something more than desire. It was a vulnerability he rarely showed, an acknowledgement that he needed you more than he was willing to admit.

He didn’t apologize this time. There was no room for words; the silence between you spoke for itself. And in that moment, you knew nothing would ever be the same again.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders

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weirdfangirly · 8 months ago

Text

Little Red Light—+18

Dark Fiction

dark!Joel x reader // dark!Tommy x reader

Warnings: dub-con/non-con, sex work, sexual exploitation (reader is being filmed against her will), dark Joel & Tommy, drug abuse (cocaine), drinking, name-calling, spanking, humiliation & degradation of reader, description of injuries & blood, cum-shot, face-fucking, blowjob, kissing feet, face-slapping, dark themes…

Summery: In a rundown motel, reader finds herself in an nightmarish encounter with Joel and Tommy. Trapped in a cycle of abuse and degradation, she struggles to escape the grim reality of her life as a prostitute, haunted by the consequences of her choices

A/n: please like, share and leave a comment! It honestly is my only motivation to keep writing. This is dark, very long and very depressing. Much fun xoxo

In the eerie silence of the night, you stood hesitantly before room 23 of a shady motel, its flickering red neon sign offering you a pale glimmer of confidence in the desolate landscape.

Wearing a coat that failed to shield you from the biting cold, your wrestled with a mix of anticipation and worry.

Tonight marked the beginning of yet another miserable dance with your fate as you mentally prepared yourself to meet your first client of the night.

You hesitated for a moment before mustering the courage to knock on the door.

*knock*

“Let’s get this over with.”, you thought.

Moments later, the door cracked open, revealing a man who’s weathered face painted with lines of hardships.

The man’s rugged features softened slightly as his stern eyes landed on you, his gaze betraying a flicker of empathy.

Your soft features were the prettiest sight he’d seen all week. A pretty little thing.

“Come in.”, the man’s voice, gravelly yet strangely comforting, broke the silence of the night.

He went by the name of Joel Miller.

With a cautious nod, you stepped inside. Your footsteps echoing softly against the floorboards.

The door closed behind you with a soft *click.*

As soon as you stepped in, a wave of musty air assaulted your senses, carrying the unmistakable scent of neglect and decay of the room.

“It smells like an old ladies house.”, you thought.

Your gaze swept across the room, taking in the sight of dilapidated furniture that sagged under the weight of years of use and abuse—a sight that reminded you of yourself. Once a joyful child with a promising future, now your inner lights dimmed by the harsh realities of life.

The bed was adorned with stained sheets that bore the telltale marks of countless forgotten encounters—Before long, you would add your own imprint to the fabric.

This thought left you deeply depressed.

It was only now that the shadows of the room revealed another man seated in the corner of the room…

His presence imposing, he sat with quiet confidence. Clad in white wife-beaters & faded jeans his thick black curly hair framed a rugged face. His mustache highlighted his stern expression, adding to the mystery of his presence.

His gaze—dark and inscrutable—met yours.

Irritation swept across your face, you turned back to Joel “I don’t do threesomes, sir.”, you said firmly, but your voice betrayed a hint of worry.

Joel’s expression hardened.

You couldn’t help but noticed the stark contrast between your ages…The lines etched into Joel’s face telling a story of a life lived long and hard. In contrast your own features still bearing the softness of youth. It was your eyes though that exposed how brittle and weak you really were.

“I’ll pay you extra.”, he said.

The offer hung heavy in the air.

Joel reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He held out the money to you.

Temptation aroused deep within you. It was more money than Dean—your boyfriend—expected you to bring back home tonight…

With trembling hands, you reached out to the money. The crisp bills feeling foreign and heavy in your grip.

As Joel’s gaze bore into yours, you felt a pang of guilt nagging on your conscience. You could feel that accepting this money came with an unknown risk.

You didn’t know those men. They could be bad.

There was a hint of danger lurking behind the shadows of this transaction—But in this moment, the promise of financial security outweighed the nagging voice of doubt that whispered in the back of your mind.

You nodded, accepting his offer. You put the money inside your handbag.

It was sealed.

Joel’s features softened. He triumphantly looked over to the other man in the room—his younger brother, Tommy.

Their silent conversation went unnoticed by you.

“Can I use the restroom, please?”, you asked, voice quivering slightly despite your attempt to sound composed. The weight of uncertainty pressing down on you.

You’d never done anything with two man before...

With a nod, Joel gestured towards the bathroom door.

You made your way to the small, cramped bathroom. In an attempt to shake off the unease you splashed some water on your face and took a deep breath to steady your nerves.

“Get it over with.”, you told yoursel.

You peeled off your coat, revealing the slutty attire your wore beneath. It was by no means modest and clung to your curves like a second skin.

Dean made you wear it, saying that men liked to see a pretty girl in a dress too small for her.

Despite the dim lights, you felt exposed and vulnerable. With trembling hands you smooth down the fabric of the dress, your fingers tracing the patterns of the dress as if seeking reassurance in their familiarity.

Taking a deep breath, you told yourself that you got this, that you would face whatever was awaiting you with courage. You’d squared your shoulders and walked out of the room.

As you emerged from the bathroom, the dim light of the room cast a subtle glow over you figure, highlighting the obvious differences between the men and you.

Joel and Tommy who’s gaze locked onto you. Their gaze lingering hungrily as their minds raced with illicit thoughts…

They didn’t saw you as a person, but as an object for their lust and greed. It was about power and control to them, about profit, and you’d just accepted their offer; cash in exchange for your bod.

Tonight you belonged to them.

Unaware of their true intentions, you offered them a shy little smile. Despite how nervous you were, you refused to let fear consume you.

But it all came crashing down on you when your eyes landed on the camcorder attached atop a tripod. Its lens pointed directly at the bed...

Panic shot through you veins as the realisation set in: they intended to film you!

A shiver ran down your spine.

“Why is there a camcorder?”, you asked after summoning the courage to confront them about it.

Jowls response was a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette. The ember glowing brightly in the dimly lit room as smoke danced lazily around him. With a nonchalant exhale, he met your gaze. His expression unreadable as he considered his response.

“It’s just for fun.”, he finally replied, his tone casual yet laced with a hint of something darker beneath the surface.

“I-I don’t like the idea of being recorded.”, you stated your discomfort firmly.

“You already accepted our money, baby-face.”, Tommy smiled, his deep voice cutting through the air like a knife. “There is no backing out of this.”

It was only now that you recognised the undeniable resemblance between Tommy and Joel. The only difference between them was that Tommys eyes held a glimmer of youthful vitality, untouched by the weight of the world that seemed to burden Joel’s.

They were brothers, you realised.

For some reason their familial ties only scared you more…

Tommys words had landed a heavy blow on you. You realised that you were trapped Your fate sealed by the very desperation that had driven you into the men’s clutches.

“Calm down,”, Joel’s voice cuts through the tense air, his voice smooth and reassuring. “We’ll only record for private use.”

Despite the foul feeling in your gut, you forced yourself to believe him. You cling to the fragil hope that maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to his words.

“O-okay.”, you nodded.

Tommy reached inside his pocket and fished out a little bag of cocaine. He started to line up the powder onto the wooden table.

“Ya want some?”, he asked you.

His offer hung heavy in the air, loaded with the promise of escape and oblivion, but you knew too well the dangers that lurked beneath its enticing facade of the powder.

It brought back memories of Dean, who’s addiction to cocaine would only fuel his violent outbursts, oftentimes directed at you.

You hoped that Tommy would react differently to the drug.

“No thank you, mister.”, you shook your head. Despite the allure of temporary relief, you couldn’t afford to lose yourself in the haze of drugs.

Tommy shrugged, leaned forward and consumed the powder through his nose—an immediate and noticeable shift overtook his demeanour. The drug infusing him with newfound energy.

You watched with growing unease.

“Is the camera rolling?”, he asked Joel with anticipation.

You knew, once the camera was rolling there was no turning back…

Joel took a swig from the whiskey bottle.

With a steady gaze Joel addressed you, his voice laced with authority as he outlined the rules for the night:

“All you gotta do,” he begun, “is to do what we say. No questions, no objections. Understand?”

His short speech echoed in the silence, each word a chilling reminder of the power dynamics at play.

“Yes, sir.”, you replied, your words a whispered admission of defeat in the face of his overwhelming dominance.

He reminded you of your father.

Joel nodded approvingly at your submission. Joel reached for the camcorder, pressing the record button with a sense of finality.

The red light blinked to life.

Tommy made his way over to the bed. His imposing figure filing the room with an aura of dominance. He sat down right in front of the camcorder, the bed creaked.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of attraction towards him...

His strong physic and confident demeanour stirred something within you, despite the tension and fear that hung heavy in the air.

His gaze locked onto yours. “Come here, sweetheart.”, he gestured towards himself.

You obeyed Tommys command. You approached him slowly.

When you were close enough, he reached out for your hand. His touch sent a jolt of electricity skittering across your skin.

With a gentle yet firm guidance, he positioned you between his open legs—right in in front of the lens. As you stood there, trapped between his powerful frame you felt small and caged.

“Undress yourself.”, he said and gave your ass a playful but firm smack, sending yet another jolt of electricity through your body.

With trembling hands, you begun to undress yourself.

With Joel lingering behind the camcorder, his eyes fixed on the unfolding scene, you felt a sense of vulnerability wash all over you. You were painfully aware of the fact that you were being watched, every move captured by the unblinking lens of the recording devise.

You peeled away the layers of fabric that were shielding you from their hungry gaze.

As you stood there in front of them, clad in only your skin, Tommys hands started to roam all over your body. You felt a shiver of anticipation race down your spine.

But when his touch grew more insistent—turning from playful to possessive—you felt discomfort creeping in.

His hands wandered down between you legs, rubbing along your soft cunt, making Tommys eyes nearly roll back from anticipation. You closed your eyes and relaxed into his touch.

When Tommy felt your wetness, he smiled mischievously.

“What a good little whore you are.”, Tommy said and smacked your ass again, this time much harder.

You hissed in pain.

The harshness of his smack, coupled with the demeaning label he had assigned to you, you felt your heart grew heavy. The word “whore” echoing through your mind.

Joel seemed to notice your distress.

“I think you hurt her feelings, brother.”, Joel said, a cruel smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a perverse satisfaction blossoming within him at the sight of your distress.

Tommys laughter filled the room.

“Aw, is that true?” his tone mocking, “You don’t like being called a whore?”

You stayed silent, looking down, mentally scolding yourself for getting emotional in front of them.

He kept groping your ass and tits. His colossal hands all over you, burning your tender flesh.

“You liked it better when I called you sweetheart?” Tommy asked, “wanna be our little sweetheart? Get treated like a good girl, a little princess?”

You let him know with a timid little nod.

Tommy made you sit on top of his thigh. You felt out of place being so close to him now. The rough material of his jeans dug into your soft skin, creating some sparkling friction.

“Good girls don’t whore themselves out though...”, he whispered, nose buried deep in the pit between your neck and shoulder, revelling in your feminine scent.

You smelled like vanilla to him.

You felt a wave of humiliation wash over you, the sting of his words cutting deep. You winced slightly as his hands pinched the flesh of your ass. You remained frozen in place.

“If you want to be treated good, then you have to beg for forgiveness.”, Tommy explained to you.

And then—without warning—Tommy tossed you away.

Pain shoot through you as you landed on the unforgiving ground next to his feet. Naked and vulnerable. You felt abandoned, like a discarded toy in the hands of a cruel child.

“Will you do that, little whore?”, Tommy asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Y-yes, sir.”, you nodded, yearning for any semblance of kindness. In your abandoned state, you failed to recognise the cruelty lurking behind his words.

“Take my shoes of and kiss my feet then, cunt.”

With trembling hands, you knelt before him, your fingers trembling as you struggled to remove his boots.

With a heavy heart and tears stinging your eyes, you pressed your plump lips to his feet. Your stomach churning with disgust at the act of submission.

“Please forgive me.” your voice barley above a whisper as you begged for absolution for the sins you were forced to commit

“Forgive what, cunt?”

“Please forgive me for being a..whore.”

As Joel watched the scene unfold in front of him, a sense of arousal stirred within him. His body responding to the display of power and control exhibited by his brother. The way you submitted to his brothers every whim, your vulnerability laid bare before them. It was thrilling.

“I’m not convinced—not at all.”, Tommy said after making a clicking sound with his tongue and shaking his head dismissively. “I’m not convinced that you’re actually sorry.”

Tommy rose to his full height, towering over you like a building, casting a shadow over you.

Tommy grabbed you by your upper arm, his grip tight. He guided you to lay down onto the bed, legs hanging off the edge. Your bare back was exposed to not only the men, but also the lens of the camcorder.

The uncertainty of what would unfold next hung heavy in your mind.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Tommy reached down and unfastened his leather belt. You heard the metallic clink of his belt echoing in the dimly lit room. Tears begun to flow from your eyes, as the dread of what Tommy would to do next sank in…

“No, no please!”, you cried out.

He was about to punish you, with his belt…

The humiliation of begging for forgiveness and kissing his feet was unbearable enough, but the thought of enduring further punishment filled you with a primal fear.

“Please I am sorry, don’t do that!”, your pleas landed on deaf ears.

“It’s for your own good.”, Tommy said and clenched his fists around the belt. “You’ll feel better afterwards.”

Truth was, Tommy couldn’t care less about how you felt. He was driven solely by his own twisted desires.

You shook your head in silent protest, tears streaming down your face. You knew that there was no escape. So you brace yourself—mentally and physically—for the inevitable impact that was about to come.

Tommy raised the belt high above his head before landing the first blow upon your bare ass, sending a wave of pain through your body.

“Ah!”, you cried out.

The next strike came quick after.

And again,

and again.

Each punishing blow, the sting of unforgiving leather against your skin served as a harsh reminder of the sins you were forced to commit.

Each punishing blow, a catapult that hurled you right back to your childhood… The punishments you would receive from your father were of equally painful nature…

Each punishing blow, letting you fall further down a pit of shame and humiliation.

As the hard blows from Tommy's belt continued, your delicate skin began to show signs of distress.

Red welts formed across your flesh, the skin splitting under the force of each strike, revealing raw patches that oozed a little blood.

With each blow, the pain intensified, the sting of the leather against your already irritated skin sending shockwaves of agony through your trembling frame.

Tommys dick got rock hard by your cries and begging.

The metallic tang of blood mixed with the scent of sweat and fear in the air, a visceral reminder of the brutality of Tommy's assault.

For Tommy, it smelled like heaven.

Despite the overwhelming pain, you gritted your teeth and endured, your spirit battered but unbroken. You reminded yourself that you’d endured worse. In the darkness of the room, you clung to the fragile hope of survival, knowing that this night was not different than any other; the sun would soon rise.

At this point you’d stopped screaming, entirely. Only finding the strength to cry bitterly into the stained bedsheets.

Despite the twisted satisfaction Joel got from Tommys cruel treatment, he couldn't ignore the sight of your battered and bloodied form.

Joel knew that he had to intervene.

He raised his voice just above the chaos, commanding Tommy to stop:

“Alright, that’s ‘nough, Tommy.” his voice cut through the air like a knife, his tone firm and authoritative.

Tommy hesitated, his grip on the belt loosening as he regarded his brother with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

Relief flooded through you as Joel put an end to Tommy's assault.

As Joel extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray with a flick of his wrist, he glanced at Tommy, making him understand that it was now his turn to take control of the situation.

With a predatory hunger still burning in his eyes, Tommy settled into his seat behind the camera.

Meanwhile, Joel approached the trembling, tear-streaked you.

“Can you stand up?”, curiosity lingering in his voice.

With a heavy heart you pushed yourself up on your hands and knees, sobbing quietly. Your body trembling with pain. You pushed yourself off the bed and stood on shaking legs in front of Joel Miller.

You looked a mess. Tear-streaked cheeks and a face contorted with pain.

“Thank you, sir.”, you sobbed.

Your eyes flickered over at Tommy who was sitting in the corner of the room, not letting you out of his sight. Chest rising and falling from the adrenaline and cocaine pumping through his veins.

As you trembled in the aftermath of his brutality, you couldn't help but view Tommy as a menacing figure whose mere presence filled you with a sense of dread.

To shield yourself from the menacing gaze of Tommy, you instinctively sought refuge behind the protective frame of Joel.

It was clear to Joel that Tommy's cruelty had left its mark on you psyche and that you now—in your hopeless delusion—sought protection from him.

But by him simply placing his large hand on your fragil shoulder—its weight upon you like a heavy stone, making you slowly sink down to your knees under its force—Joel made his position of power crystal clear to you.

It came crushing down on you: He wasn’t your ally, nor your saviour.

He may had stopped Tommy from assaulting you, however he’d also watched it happening in amusement. The only reason why he’d stopped his brother was because he feared Tommy would break you too quickly…

From you kneeling position, you gazed up at Joel. Your eyes filled with a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, Joel would treat you with more kindness and compassion than Tommy had…

Joel began to unbuckle his pants—without taking his eyes off of your pretty fear-streaked face—his movements deliberate and unhurried.

He revealed his hardened cock, it was thick and veiny and looked as powerful as his presence felt to you.

You were inches away from his manhood, the scent of his arousal filling your senses. You knew what he wanted from you next.

“Open up, girl.”, he said, a simple command.

You opened your mouth and leaned forward. Joel placed his hand on your head, before guiding his cock between your plump lips. It fit only partly. You began to move your tongue, letting it swirl around him.

As the scene unfolded before him, Tommy rose from his seat, his eyes fixed on you as you serviced Joel. With trained hands, he took the camcorder off the tripod. Now taking the role as his cameraman, Tommy moved closer to you and Joel to capture a more intimate view of what was going on.

It didn’t went unnoticed by you that Tommy was filming you from up-close now, determined to capture every little explicit detail.

You felt a surge of unease wash over you, now that Tommy was so close. The pain radiating from your ass a painful reminder of how Tommy was capable of. You grew nervous.

So you made the mistake of stopping and taking Joels cock out of your mouth to voice your discomfort.

You opened your mouth to speak, but with a sudden and forceful motion, Joel's hand connected with your cheek.

*smack*

The sharp crack of the impact echoing through the room.

As you recoiled from the strike, you felt fear and humiliation wash over you. Your spirit crushed once again by the weight of his punishment.

With tear-filled eyes, you bowed her head and cried.

“Who told you to stop?”, Joel asked, sounding annoyed with you.

You just shook your head, sobbing quietly.

“Open your mouth and don’t try that again…”

You quickly let him back inside your mouth and continued massaging his member with your tongue.

“They always get so eager after a good beating…”, Tommy smiled.

Joel felt the need to spice things up. So he grasped you by your hair—firmly—and took control over the situation by setting the rhythm and pace. Fucking your mouth, asserting his dominance in every motion. With each subtle shift of his hips and every whispered instruction, Joel made you feel smaller and smaller, whilst he grew bigger and bigger. You were completely at his mercy. Glued to his crotch.

You let him fuck your mouth, gagging and coughing under his grip.

“Good job, keep going.”, Joel hissed.

You opened tour eyes and looked up at him, your vision blurred from your tears. You liked hearing him praise you. It made you feel better. You tried your best not to puke around his cock—or pass out.

Your throat was burning and saliva was flowing out of the corners of your mouth like a waterfall. You were spasm hard, trying to keep your lunch down.

Joel was so deep inside your mouth, that Tommy—and the lens of the camcorder—could see the outline of Joel’s cock in your throat.

With merciless intensity, Joel thrust into your throat, his movements rough and unrestrained.

You started to throw your fists against his muscular thighs, hoping he would back up and let go of your head.

Each forceful thrust pushed your limits.

You couldn't help but wonder how much more you could endure before reaching your breaking point.

Right when your vision had started to get black, Joel released you from his merciless grip.

You collapsed to the ground in a heap, your body trembling with exhaustion and desperation for air. Gasping for air like a desperate goldfish out of water, you lay there, utterly spent and broken by the brutal encounter.

Next you felt was Joel fisting your hair and yanking yout face up. He came all over your face. Painting your face shiny white with bis cum.

“Fuck!”, he hissed, his appearance resembled a wild animal rather than a human.

When he was done, he let you go again.

Your throat burned with the aftermath of Joel's rough treatment. Every muscle in your body ached with fatigue, your mind reeling from the overwhelming sensations of pain and humiliation. Your face covered with sticky hot cum.

You felt utterly defeated. Once again you wondered how much you could endure tonight before reaching your breaking point.

“Good job, cunt.”, Joel halfheartedly said, still out of breath and in an undeniably good mood.

“Thank you, dad.”, you whispered in your out-of-your-mind state. A flicker of longing and desperation evident in your voice. You were close to falling unconscious.

“Aw, she thinks you are her fucking father.”, tommy laughed.

Joel remained outwardly composed, but felt a hint of satisfaction at your acknowledgment of his authority.

Tommy pressed the camcorder in Joel’s hand, “Alright I have enough of this.”, Tommys word were accompanied by lifting you up effortlessly and placing you on the bed

Panic floated your senses.

"Can I…can I have something to drink?", the request a desperate plea wanting to numb your senses so that you could endure whatever would come next.

Joel handed you the whiskey bottle, and you eagerly drowned the liquid down, hunting the numbness at the bottom of the bottle.

“Jesus Christ, that’s enough”, tommy said, reaching out to retrieve the bottle from your grasp.

You let yourself fall back on the hard mattress.

Tommy lowered himself onto you, his weight pressing down on your trembling form. "Let's find out just how much you're really worth," he murmured, his sinister words directed more to himself than at you.

He gripped his already hard member in his hand, slicking it with his saliva in preparation.

You didn’t count Tommy for someone who would take his time in preparing you for penetration, so additional help was welcomed.

You reached down and rubbed your clit, in hopes to generate some wetness…

But the only thing that was acting up was your flight or fight response.

Tommy's gaze resembled that of a starved dog, hungrily eyeing you as if you were only a piece of meat.

Tommy wasted no more time lining the tip of his cock up with your entrance between your shaking legs.

With a single forceful thrust, Tommy rammed his cock deep inside you.

“Ouh!”, you whimpered, clutching his thick muscular arms for support as a jolt of pain shot through you.

Tommy wasted no time, swiftly finding a rhythm that satisfied his desires, plunging in and out of you with relentless favour.

“Ah stop!”, you cried.

Instinctively, you resisted his brutal thrusts, attempting to push him away and free yourself from his assault.

Your attempt was met with yet another harsh slap across your face, reminding you painfully of your powerlessness against Tommy.

“Keep crying, little whore, come on.”, Tommy hissed.

You shook your head and looked away, but Tommy grasped your chin firmly, making sure you couldn't look away from him, his gaze commanding your full attention.

Your body trembled under Tommy with each forceful thrust.

It could’ve been the alcohol, but eventually, your body adapted to his thrusts, the sensation becoming dull.

“Fuck, for a rundown prostitute you are tight as fuck”, Tommy pressed out in between his thrusts.

Tommys degrading words seemed to be so far away, you almost couldn’t hear them.

Your gaze drifted over to Joel, who sat in Tommy's chair, his expression a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

As your eyes met, a wave of shame washed over you, his watchful gaze reminded you of how your father used to look at you: disappointed and full of judgment.

It felt as if Joel could see right through you, condemning you for the wrong decisions you had made, like running away with your boyfriend, Dean.

In that moment, you realized your father had been right all along, but it was too late to turn back. You had irreversibly altered the course of your life, and men like Tommy were the consequence of your choices.

Another blow struck your cheeks, catching you off guard. “Don’t look at him, he won’t safe you this time.”

After what felt like an eternity, you sensed that Tommy was nearing his climax.

It was only then that you realised that he hadn’t bothered with a condom—another boundary crossed in the course of this night.

“Please don’t cum in me.”, you sounded hopeless.

Tommy drew out of you, grabbed your hair and yanked your head off the edge of the bed. He then violently started to empty his balls on your face, mixing his cum with your tears and his brothers cum.

When he was done, he let go of your hair. Your skull arched. Your ass hurt. And your throat and vagina feeling rough and scratchy.

“Don’t worry, cunt”, Tommy begun “last thing I want is having another whore being the mother of my child.”

It was only then you noticed that he wore a ring on his finger. He was married.

Tommy allowed himself to collapse onto the bed, taking a moment to catch his breath.

You rolled out of the bed and dragged yourself into the bathroom, tears and cum streaming down your face.

You cleaned your face with water, your hands shaking. You put your dress on. All you wanted to get out of here. You had your money, but you lost the little bit of dignity you had left.

“Dean will be proud.”, you thought. You just wanted to go back to him.

Stepping out of the bathroom, your feet carried you straight to the front door, driven by the urgent need to flee.

However, Joel's words stopped you in your tracks. "Tell Dean, Joel said hello.”

With a silent nod, you turned and walked back out into the eerie night, the weight of the encounter hanging heavy on your shoulders…

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