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celestie0 · 4 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

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“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it.

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket.

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.”

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible.

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you.

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks.

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age.

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.”

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him.

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you.

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation.

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time.

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes.

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–”

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–”

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you.

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden.

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut.

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.”

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating.

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw.

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes.

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie.

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape.

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you.

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist.

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now.

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives.

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains.

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

[the end]

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

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ohodie · 1 year ago

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SETTLE DOWN!

luke castellan x reader

★ “for crying out loud, settle down!”

ABOUT - you hate his guts. he hates yours. but you’d by lying if you said you didn’t want to make out with him until his lips start bleeding. and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like that idea.

WARNINGS - sexual references, sexual comments, enemies to lovers, steamy makeout scenes, no explicit smut. both luke and reader are very horny and very mean sooo two red flags lol

A/N - please don’t make fun of my english/australian vocabulary. i know americans don’t use the word ‘fit’ but LET ME LIVE IN PEACE!!!let me know if you’d fancy a part 2 <3

WC - 3.7k words

it’s hard to recall when exactly your distaste towards luke castellan first developed.

maybe it started off as rude comments and shoved shoulders, or simply the act of tripping over each other's shoes, paired with a few nasty glances. either way, you hated his guts.

this sentiment was obviously returned by luke, who was eager to constantly egg you on and rile you up. maybe he found it amusing- watching the ever so calm and collected eldest daughter of the hypnos cabin going absolutely ballistic whenever luke did something slightly annoying. he loved the way her mature and gentle persona shattered as soon as he provoked her.

it was rather strange how quickly they let their masks slip, letting themselves shout foul obscenities at each other as soon as a conflict arose between the two of them. it was like being near each other was the primary catalyst for their arguments and squabbles- not the actual contents of the disagreement itself, but the players involved.

curiously, luke’s terrible attitude was never extended to anyone other than you. around everyone else at camp half-blood, luke was the perfect gentleman. warm and welcoming to anyone who happened to walk past him, a great swordsman, well-kept, respectful and polite, the list goes on. he was perfect. but as soon as his eyes met yours, his entire body shifted. he became something colder, something ravenous- something hungry. he was out for blood, he just didn’t understand why.

you were slumped over a picnic table near the cabins, tiredly observing all handful of half-blood kids from various cabins making friendship bracelets.

it was dark out, the moon and the embers of the nearby fire acting as the sole providers of light for the camp that night.

truthfully, you didn’t want to be there. you would rather be in bed, coddled up between your sheets for hours before heading down to the infirmary to help out the younger kids with their sleeping troubles. maybe afterwards you could go down to the theatre and join in on a few songs with the apollo kids, or even practice sparring with clarisse.

whatever it was, you didn’t want to be there. not with luke castellan’s eyes studying your every move. you didn’t need to lift your head to know he was looking at you- you could feel it. the arrogance was radiating off him and you could smell his pride from across the picnic table. your nose easily picked up on notes of wet grass, a neutral deodorant, pure spite, and vanilla candles.

after what seemed like an eternity, you eventually shot your head up to meet luke’s unwavering gaze.

“someone’s sleepy.” he smirked, his voice calm and cold. he looked satisfied; content with watching you slowly rise in anger as he began to coddle you and patronise your every move.

you ran a hand through your hair, fixing the messy state it was in after laying down for so long. “i’m not sleepy, just bored.” you retorted, letting your hands hold up your head as you stared deeply into his eyes, not breaking eye contact.

luke played along, refusing to blink as he picked up on the competitive gesture. “bored, huh?” he mused, shooting you a cocky grin as he leaned forward over the table. “you’re never satisfied, are you, princess?”

you rolled your eyes, letting your pupils meet the back of your head as you stifled a groan. you slowly covered one side of your face in your hand, hiding your pink cheeks as a result of his use of the nickname ‘princess’.

“don’t you have a loser convention to get to?” you asked, referring to the cabin councillors meeting that he was supposed to be at.

luke shrugged, looking to his side as he watched a young demeter boy making a bracelet. “got cancelled. now i get to look at your pretty little face for an hour straight.”

“i’m going to bed.” you grumbled, standing up from the picnic table, an unfinished friendship bracelet left discarded. you walked away, hearing little to no protests from the rest of the table.

luke’s eyes met the bracelet you left behind, studying it for a moment. the colours were cute and the beads were placed strategically along the string, creating an interesting and visually pleasing combination of textures and shapes. luke’s hand wandered over to the bracelet, quickly snatching it before securely tying it and stuffing it in his pocket.

luke wasn’t sure why he stole the bracelet. maybe he thought he could taunt you with it, or maybe he could just wear it for shits and gigs. it was a pretty bracelet- why wouldn’t he want to wear it?

a week passed by, and it was time for capture the flag.

luke had consistently come out of the games a champion, securing his place as the best swordsman at camp half-blood whenever possible.

you were tired of it. you promised yourself that when the opportunity arose, you would beat him to it. you would earn the praise he revived so effortlessly.

your determination to win capture the flag was also partially encouraged by the events of the previous tuesday.

you, luke, and a few other older demi-gods were forced to monitor the younger campers on a trip to the nearby lake. simple, right? wrong.

things went south fast when luke ‘accidentally’ nudged your shoulder a bit too hard, forcing you to fall into the lake. luckily, you were a strong enough swimmer and were able to get back on land safely.

“sorry about that, y/n. maybe next time you should keep out of the way?” he leaned in close, whispering in your ear.

luke smirked lightly as his dry hand rubbed the soaking wet and now transparent fabric covering your shoulder. his lips softly grazed your neck as you released yourself from his grip, shooting him a dirty look.

“you should watch your step, castellan. things like this happen to anyone.”

luke scoffed, looking you up and down as he took in the sight of your shivering body. “do they now?” he asked, his head turning to follow your figure as you walked past him.

as you walked away, luke couldn’t help but study your body as it became revealed by the fabric of the camp t-shirt sticking to your skin. how could he not admire the way he could see the vague outline of a lacy black bra underneath your top? or the way your wet hair was framing your angry little face? how you stared him down as your friend offered you a towel.

if you weren’t so acutely aware of how your figure was on full display, you would’ve pushed him in as well- but you were way too infuriated to even get close to him at this point… as well as the fact you didn’t think you could handle the idea of him taking off your shirt in front of you, all wet as his hair let water droplets roll down his torso.

maybe you could handle hitting him with a baseball bat a few times, but the idea of his face all beaten and bloodied was strangely appetising as well.

in all fairness, luke’s actions were not unprovoked. it’s not like you didn’t also tease him and fuck around with his temper.

for example, the very day before the incident at the lake, you had used your abilities as a daughter of hypnos to put him to sleep… for 19 hours, causing him to miss out on camp activities and lose hours of valuable training time.

you felt pure bliss watching him as he stepped out of the hermes cabin, confused and disoriented as hoards of campers instantly surrounded him.

“are you okay luke?”

“i heard you were in a coma!”

“we thought you were a goner,”

luke blocked out the concerned comments of his peers as soon as he caught you gazing over at him from the deck of the hypnos cabin.

with that ‘i got you good’ smirk plastered across your face, luke knew he had to get you back. getting to see your semi-exposed and cold, shuddering body in the process of doing so was only a bonus.

he felt a high from getting to see what he caused. what he did to you. it made him hungry for more. how else could he anger you? get you to show him more? how could you return the favour? would you? he didn’t know if you realised the effect you had on him- but he was going to do anything in his power for you to feel it too.

but those incidents were nothing compared to what was about to go down.

2 hours into capture the flag, and you had managed to fool and scare off enough members of the blue team, causing many individual members to go off track. those hours practising sword fighting with clarisse were definitely worth it.

you leaned against a nearby tree, closing your eyes for a moment as you fiddled with your sword. lost in thought, you heard something coming. more specifically, someone. you didn’t even have to open your eyes to know who it was.

“oh, hey castellan. isn’t it past your bedtime?” you asked, rubbing your eyes open as you lazily swung your sword back and forth.

luke scoffed, taking a step towards you. “i think i like you better when you’re drenched in lake water.” he smirked, looking into your eyes without breaking contact. he couldn’t look away. it wasn’t even because he wanted to intimidate you; he simply couldn’t stand to have you exit his field of vision. not right now, at least.

you look a step backwards, getting into position as you use your shield to protect yourself. “are you gonna try to maim me or what?”

luke took another step forward, mirroring your stance as he took the defensive. “and hurt your pretty little body? i’d rather die.”

you turned red, your mouth agape as you processed what he had said. “excuse me?” you spat, your voice breathy as your eyes widened.

“you heard me,” he smiled innocently, deceiving you before beginning to attack. you blocked every move, pacing around the area as you swung your sword at him. “you’re such a fucking prick!” you grumbled, trying to catch your breath as you struggled to mark him with your blade.

“language, princess.” he scolded, still smiling at you as he continued his attempts at disarming you.

that was the moment when you realised something.

you can play dirty.

not with your sleep-themed party tricks or your weak little fists, but with the power of unpredictability. the element of surprise.

you let him get closer to you, pretending to settle down before him. luke chuckled at the sight of your loosened grip on your shield and increasingly tired eyes, noticing the way your footsteps shuffled backwards and forwards.

“someone’s getting tired-“ his cocky sentiment was quickly cut off by the feeling of your hands tightly gripping his arm- his shock only furthering as your teeth dug into the soft skin on his wrist.

he instantly dropped his shield, his sword still held firmly in his other hand. you quickly released him from your bite, taking a step forwards as you put your weight on his shield. “ow- what the fuck?!” he stammered, looking up at you with red cheeks and a bleeding hand.

you were stumped. you hadn’t thought further than getting rid of his shield. “i didn’t mean to break skin to be honest. sorry.” you shrugged, picking up his shield and throwing it far away while he was still frozen in shock.

luke continued looking at you, silent as he became overwhelmed by the feeling of a ruthless war finally coming to an end within his mind.

obviously, he found you attractive. you were a pretty girl. sure, a lot of girls at camp half-blood were pretty. but for some odd reason, he thought you were much prettier. the type of pretty girl that deserved to be called cute nicknames every day and covered in gentle kisses every night. he wanted to kiss you softly, hold you tightly, say you looked gorgeous, make you tacky beaded bracelets that were the same colour as your eyes. he wanted to make you feel loved.

but he also thought you were a brat. always teasing him and only him. driving him insane with targeted comments and insults. purposefully making him look stupid in front of the younger campers and even patronising him for it. luke wanted to put you in your place. he wanted nothing more than to push you onto his bed in the dead of night, marking you as his. he yearned to hear your strained voice whimpering his name as he towered over you. he wanted to exchange knowing glances and pretend nothing had changed, despite the images of your hands gripping his bedsheets as you let out stifled moans etched into his mind.

luke often wondered how the two could overlap. how the fuck could these two perceptions of this one girl coexist? but luke didn’t wonder how it was possible to think about anymore, he didn’t care about that. now, he wondered if it was possible to act on both of his separate desires for her. he wondered if she even wanted him as much as he wanted her- if she wanted him at all.

“hey, i said i was sorry for making you bleed!” you called out, snapping him out of it.

“stop sulking! what, do you want me to kiss it better or something?”

luke blinked for the first time in what felt like centuries, shrugging as he let a sly smile creepy onto his face. “oh, im not sulking.” he insisted as he stepped closer towards the shorter girl.

he extended his wrist out towards you, a deep and bleeding bite mark engraved into the skin. “you gonna kiss it better, or…?”

you turned red, shaking your head. “i was just joking, castellan.” you murmured coldly, trying to avoid his gaze.

he kept his hand extended towards you, temping you to just take it and kiss it to get him to leave. “fucking loser…” you grumbled, holding his hand in yours as you gave his wrist a soft kiss.

“there, better?” you scoffed before luke’s hands began to tightly grip your wrist, spinning you gently onto your back as he pushed you to the ground, hovering over you. luckily, you still had your sword in your hand. you quickly moved it in front of you, holding the blade close to his neck.

“be careful, princess” he cooed, his sword digging into the dirt ground, standing upright in is position as the skin of your right thigh pressed against the blade. his hands gripped your shoulder and waist, keeping you bound to the floor as you began to squirm under his grip. “ugh, are you kidding me?!” you huffed, your face red from the feeling of intimacy between the two of you arising.

luke was basking in it, relishing the moment as he became almost addicted to the feeling of your skin against his. he let out a hitched breath, his eyes trailing down her frame as he finally realised just how close they were. the vulnerable yet stubborn look in her eyes set off a switch in him. you watched him curiously as he suddenly became a flustered mess, quickly scrambling off of you and standing up.

you lifted your back off the ground, using your hands to rid yourself of the dirt that had accumulated on your shirt.

“are you gonna explain whatever the fuck just happened, luke?” you asked, calling out to him from your spot on the ground.

he rolled his eyes, turning around to face you. “shit, y/n- are you fucking stupid?” he questioned, his voice reeking of irritation and frustration. you furrowed your brows, standing up as you approached him, sword and shield in hand. “oh, alright. forgive me for wondering why the dickhead who threw me into a lake a few days ago was pinning me to the ground in the middle of capture the flag for no reason?” i explained, seething as i pushed him back by the shoulders.

“what the fuck is your problem?” you asked again, letting yourself back him up against a nearby tree.

the game didn’t matter to you anymore. what mattered was getting to the bottom of why this prick was fucking around with you. sure, you liked how it felt being pushed against the ground. you liked the feeling of his blade pressing against your thigh. but you liked the boy more than his actions. you hated yourself for it, of course. this was the dude who’s been teasing you about and pushing you around for 3 summers straight- so why the fuck did you think he was the fittest guy you had ever laid your eyes on?

why did you want him to run his hands through your hair? suck on your neck till it went purple? why on earth did you spend countless nights dreaming about him holding you close as he slept next to you?

you were the eldest hypnos daughter at camp half-blood. you could’ve changed your dream easily; came up with literally any other fantasy at the drop of a hat- but you didn’t. you let it continue. because as much as you hated to admit it, you liked him. you wanted him bad. every last inch of him.

luke let your words echo through his mind for a bit. ‘what is my problem?’ he thought, his expression blank as he stared at you. “i don’t know, y/n! maybe my problem is you?” he said, his voice strained, yet still snarky and somewhat dramatic.

you rolled your eyes again, stepping forward. you kept your hands on his shoulders, pressing him further against the tree he was pinned against. “i’m your problem?!” you asked angrily, holding your sword against his neck once more.

“yes! you make me feel fucking weak.” luke confessed, gripping your wrist tightly as he pushed your hand away in order to create some space between his neck and the sword. “i can’t control myself around you.” he exclaimed, pushing his hand against yours as you retracted the blade from his neck.

“you bring out the worst in me, and i hate you for that.” you arched your brows, leaning forward. “that sounds like a you problem.” you quipped, defeatedly pushing the top of the blade of your sword into the ground as you let your newly free hand grip his chin- forcing him to look down at you.

luke’s hand wandered over to your face, his thumb softly grazing your bottom lip as you tilted his chin downwards, letting him look you in the eyes.

“don’t act like you don’t get exactly what i mean, princess.” he cooed, his voice low as his fingers traced over your lips and cheekbones, his other hand gently caressing your jawline as his fingertips wrapped around your neck.

you grumbled, standing on your toes to reach his height. “you’re a prick.” you scoffed, your eyes fluttering closed as you eagerly kissed him on the lips, his cheeks turning red as he mirrored your movements. he let his hands run through you hair, his other hand resting on your waist as he turned you around- pushing you against the tree now.

his hands ravenously scattered across your delicate frame, trying to feel every curve and dent on your face, back and waist. you pressed your body against his as his hands travelled across your form, closing any and all distance between the two.

after a few straight minutes of violently making out, you pulled away for air, staring into his eyes as your lower lip trembled in shock. you both tried to steady your breathing, lost in each other's eyes as your heartbeats returned back to normal.

“i’ll kiss you again if you turn around and let us win.” you said quickly, the offer seemingly the first thing you could think to say.

luke stayed quiet for a moment, before bursting out into hesitant laughter. “i mean, that’s a pretty good offer…” he said softly, letting his fingers trace your facial features as he studied the colour of your eyes.

“sure.” he said, a little smile on his face as you both leaned in again, the kiss a lot more passionate this time around. you held a clump of his hair in your hand, lightly pulling on on it as luke’s fingers jumped between gripping your neck and shoulders- the other hand running up and down your waist and hips.

you felt his knee hit the bark of the tree, slightly bent as it lightly pressed against the inside of your thigh. that’s when your hands began to grip the back of his shirt, your lips gliding down to the side of his neck. quiet moans escaped luke’s lips, only encouraging you to keep going. he moved his hand downwards, tracing circles into your hips as he moved his other arm hand upwards, cupping the space on the side of your breast with his thumb, lightly rubbing your ribcage.

the moment was only increasing in intensity- before luke was cut off my the sounds of someone calling his name. he quickly pulled away, leaving a gentle kiss on your lips before stepping back.

“right, time to hold up my end of the deal.” he chirped up, leaving one more needy kiss on your forehead.

“oh, by the way-“ he paused, before quickly pulling the bracelet you made the week before out of his pocket. “did you want this back, princess? or can i have it?” he asked cheerfully, his voice low as he looked over you.

“keep it.” you said hastily, your cheeks a vibrant shade of red. luke nodded, giving you one final kiss on the lips as he put the bracelet on the same wrist you had bitten earlier. he gave you a subtle wink and a smile, before jogging away- leaving you frozen in place.

you could hear him talking to his friend from a distance, noting on how he lied to effortlessly- saving your arse over a few kisses.

needless to say, the red team won capture the flag. but luke couldn’t bring himself to care about losing. how could he care about anything other than y/n and her hands and her smile and her eyes? her witty comments and remarks? the way she tilted her head up to look up at him? the way his face fits perfectly in her palm? how could he care about anything else ever again?

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #pjs #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo x reader #luke castellan smut #luke castellan enemies to lovers #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson tv show #pjo #luke castellan fic

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dwaekkicidal · 7 months ago

Text

Sharing is Caring[2: Meanracha]

˚ʚMeanRacha x fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: After that night with 3Racha, you agreed to become involved with all 8 men. So what happens when Jisung’s loud ass accidentally tells the rest of the members, and meanracha takes to bullying their leader?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 7.2k (im sorry)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: *inhales* pwp, fem! Reader, ot8✗reader mentions, smut is reader✗MeanRacha(Jeongin, Seungmin, Minho), 4some, free use mentions, reader is referred to as: ‘kitty, pup, and baby’, unprotected sex, rough sex, dp in one hole, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, subspace, big dick!jeongin, name calling (slut, whore, 1 bitch), spanks/slaps (ass, pvssy, & like 1 face), dirty talk, overstim, aftercare kinda mentioned, i THINK thats it?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: for some reason the sfw parts of this was sooo hard for me to write LMAO but anyways… only 2 more of the bois left :3 part 3 is HyunLix✗reader! I think i'm going to make it softer/not nearly as rough as this i hope u like it i kinda hate it

Sharing is Caring Masterlist

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

After that Friday night’s events, you constantly found yourself in situations where one of the producers pulled you aside to have their way with you. In fact, for the first 2 weeks after the fact, there were only a handful of days where you weren’t filled to the brim by at least one of the men. And, in their defense, it was part of the agreement you guys ended up creating! Why wouldn’t they take advantage of you allowing their hands on you and their dicks in you at essentially any time they wanted.

It was now three and a half weeks after the fact, and the boys were cooling down after practicing for a themed choreography video. While Chan and Minho left the room to get water for everyone, the others laid scattered around the room. The only sounds that circuited the room were calming breathing sounds and the quiet side chatter among a few members. Then all of a sudden, a loud groan was heard from Jisung followed by a whiny and (not so) quiet, “Fuck.. Where is (y/n) at? I need her so badly right now...”

Jeongin’s ears perked up and he stared into the older man as if he sprouted a tail. “Hyung.. What?” He asked, looking around at the others to see if he was going crazy or if he actually just heard something he shouldn’t have. Some of the others shared the same expression, but when his eyes flickered to Changbin he was instead met with wide eyes and a very poor attempt at hiding a smile.

“Yah! Han-ah???” he shouted, shaking his finger at the boy as he does when he wants to ‘discipline’ somebody.

“W-What?... Oh shit- SORRY!” was the only reply before the two burst out into laughter. The others darted their eyes between the two, occasionally exchanging confused looks with each other until their laughing fit eventually died down. Seungmin was the first to speak up, a frown evident from the outrage of hearing his crush get spoken about so vulgarly. “Care to explain yourselves?”

Before they had time to respond, the door to the practice room was thrown open and the devil herself walked in with the 2 oldest members. A huge smile was on your face while they carried bags of food you had bought for them. “Dinners here, losers!”

About an hour passes and most of the boys had forgotten what happened in favor of stuffing their faces. Well, most of the boys. The 2 youngest members watched as Jisung’s hands would linger on your thighs for too long, sometimes even trailing up your inner thigh. They also watched you giggle and grab his hand, but not push it away, then whisper something into his ear that would cause him to blush and grin like a cheshire cat.

The two boys were more than confused, but Jeongin didn’t want to make a scene so he chose to stay quiet and ask about it later. Seungmin on the other hand.. made his frustrations known. To everybody. With a very loud and sudden, “Yah, Hyung. What do you think you’re doing.” He didn’t mean for it to come out as menacing as it did, but he was secretly thankful that he did when Han’s hands were speedily removed from your body.

It was quiet for a moment and he honestly felt bad for bringing everybody's attention to Jisung like this, but seeing his crush get felt up by one of his closest friends isn’t exactly a nice sight to behold. Jisung choked on his spit and stuttered in his spot next to you, looking to you and the eldest to help him out.

“What’s wrong Seungminnie?” You tilted your head at the boy and smiled. You knew what was wrong but you didn’t want to air everything out all at once if he wasn’t going to be bold in front of the others about what he saw.

“...Are you two dating or something..? Why were his hands all over you..” The anger had faded into sadness, it was so obviously evident in his eyes and the way he sadly pouted at you. You felt your chest pang and you looked between the 3 boys you were involved with, staring silently for a moment before turning back to the other boys and sighing.

“Well.. no but yes?” Loud ‘HUH?!?’”s were heard from a few of them, and you would have laughed had it not been paired with despaired faces. “Ok ok, let me finish! No because we aren’t officially together but yes because we are all…. involved? with each other and the plan was to maybe date eventually..”

“We?” Hyunjin’s voice came immediately after you finished and you nodded curtly as Jisung spoke up again.

“Um.. ‘We’ as in me, Changbin, and Channie.. BUT!! Before you guys get upset, we wanted you guys to join us before we make anything official. Hence the ‘yes but no’ answer.”

Felix’s ears perk up and he stares wide-eyed at the boy, “So that’s what you meant by that ‘poly relationship’ question last week.”

Both your and Chan’s necks snapped to Jisung, watching as the boy laughed it off and held his hands up at the two of you in defense. “Hey! I just wanted to see what they would say and how open they were to it.. AND I’ll have you know!” He started before turning to you and holding eye contact as he pointed his finger at each boy, “They ALL agreed they wouldn’t mind sharing you if it was with the rest of us.”

The oldest rolled his eyes before mumbling, “You have such a big mouth, Hannie… Don’t make me stuff it full again.” Han chokes on his spit and crosses his arms, silently leaning back into the couch with a pout.

Surprised faces scattered across everybody but the 3 of you at the last comment. A “Huh??” was heard from somebody before he continued with a teasing yet petty attitude, “Since we’re apparently putting everything out there, why not bring that up too?”

“Woah woah woah… Can one of you please explain what the hell is going on!?”

Changbin sighed loudly then finally chimed in. “Moral of the story is: Channie-hyung here has been fucking our little Bunny for the last few months behind our backs. Me and Jisung walked in on them a few weeks ago and we’ve been fucking her now too.” He let the words hang in the air and he watched their expressions. He was about to continue talking when Felix spoke, “....Okay… well that answers that question, but I think it created so many more..”

Then you spoke up, “I’ll answer any questions you have, but before any of you say anything I want to make some things clear.” You waited for each of the boys' agreements before taking a deep breath. “First things first, I love all of you guys and knowing that you feel the same is an insane feeling. Next, after they walked in on us, we four came to the agreement that we would be friends with benefits until we could get all of you aware of what’s going on and get roles figured out for a relationship.. if a relationship was even on the table.”

You paused for a few seconds, letting that sink in before continuing, “Now that that’s out there, I want to date you. All of you. If you’re okay with it of course. I had this same talk with those two idiots that I can end this fuck-buddy agreement the second that somebody disagrees. You guys mean the world to me and I won’t let some good dick ruin what we have now.”

Chris has a cocky smile on his face as nods at the boys. “I know it’s sudden, we wanted to plan this out and tell you guys one by one but that’s not really an option anymore.” He says with a glare to Han, who gives an apologetic smile back but continues to sit silently otherwise. “You guys don’t have to answer us right away, take as much time as you want. We can put things on pause to make you guys feel more comfortable, if you want.”

Jisung makes a whining noise and the few who spare a glance at him notice the frown and pleading eyes he gives Chan. Changbin’s hand smacks the back of Han’s head, making the younger yelp before he starts complaining.

Hyunjin is the first to break the silence after that, “So… we’d all be dating?” Chris, already having this talk with you, answers for you. “It doesn’t have to be that way unless you guys want it to be. The basis of it would be her dating all of us at the same time. Everything else would be like our normal day to day experiences with her, but now we can love on her and do ‘couple’ things with her and vice versa. You guys just have to be 100% percent ok with sharing.”

With a few shared looks among the boys sitting on the floor, they silently agreed to come to an agreement now. They all trusted each other enough to not be afraid of judgment regardless of their answer. And how could they disagree… it’s totally not like they haven’t fantasized and spoken about this with each other countless times.

Before he gets the chance to speak, Felix’s wide smile gives away his answer, but it doesn’t help you not be star struck when he says he wants in. After that, it was a domino effect. One by one the boys vocalized their answers, and to your utmost surprise: they were all yes’s. Han grins widely when the final member gives his ‘yes’. “Okay! Now that that’s settled, let’s talk about fun stuff!”

“Fun…?”

The whole group watches as a smirk takes over his features, and you can only roll your eyes. “Sexy stuff~”

“O-kay… How about we talk about boundaries and all that BEFORE we get to the sex stuff..”

Later that day, Chris gave the rest of the boys the same rundown from last time. And just like that, everybody went on with their lives, almost like before. Almost. Now, the boys were MUCH bolder with you. Lingering hands all over you and more intimate cuddle sessions were now a norm, even in front of each other. 3racha was no longer forced to hide their intentions with you, and Jisung specifically was now unashamedly vocal when he was horny.

Then, a few more weeks had passed. At this point, every member had experienced sex with you multiple times. They all decided their first few times with you to be 1 on 1. It gave everybody the chance to learn your body and vice versa, and it gave them time to discuss fantasies and kinks with you more in depth!

Recently, a certain silver bracelet came in the mail. One with each of their initials engraved into the shiny metal plate. It was one they all chipped in to buy so that you had a form of nonverbal consent between them. You took a picture to send to the group chat instead of making them wait to see it in person, but you ended up sending it to just Chris to have him share with the rest. And, of course, some of the brats had to tease about it.

Chris huffed from his office chair while Han and Changbin laughed from the couch, them both having watched the texts unfold from where they sat. He rolls his eyes at the other co-producers and he sends you screenshots of the chat before returning to his work.

And this is how your current situation is caused. You're in the Cat Dorm with Jeongin, Minho, and Seungmin. Felix had just walked out on the basis of going to dinner with one of the other boys. Part of you wishes he hadn’t because the second the door shut behind him, teasing pokes were being thrown towards you relating to ‘Chan trying to keep you to himself.’ The boys made it clear they weren’t actually mad about it anymore, but they couldn’t slip up an opportunity to get under your skin.

You’re suddenly snapped back to reality at the sound of Seungmin’s voice, “I’m just saying! He could’ve said something the second he found out how we felt and this all could have happened much earlier.”

“I think Channie-hyung just liked having her all to himself.” Minho teased, smirking to himself when you rolled your eyes. “And if we’re pointing fingers, our pretty kitty here was also oblivious to all of our feelings. She even said herself how clear it was.” You crossed your arms at the implication and looked to Jeongin for assistance. But instead you were met with a smug smirk and a shrug as he shoveled chips into his mouth like he was watching his favorite movie.

If they wanted to play like that, then you would too. “You guys are just mad he had the balls to make a move first. Even now, after all the times we talked about it, the rest of you STILL barely make any moves outside of PDA. Not my fault you guys are a bunch of wussies.” Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows at you while Jeongin let out a surprised laugh, and when you turned back to Minho. He all but raised his eyebrows at you. The final straw for them was when you stuck your tongue out at them and sent a middle finger each of their ways, grinning to yourself in victory.

Minho’s eyes flickered to your wrist, your shiny silver bracelet sitting nicely against your skin. A shiver is sent through you when his eyes meet yours again. Well.. maybe not a complete victory.

“You know what, since you want to be a smartass. My room. Now.” Your eyes widened, taken off guard by how suddenly he switched up. He smirked internally as he watched you blink rapidly at him, but kept up a serious face. When you stood there for too long he spoke up again, “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you rather me fuck you against the dirty kitchen floor.” When you shook your head, he grabbed your decorated wrist. He pulled it closer to his face to relish its beauty and its meaning, but also for the younger boys to see clearly what he was getting at. “Hmmm. But I don’t think I stuttered. Did you guys hear me stutter?”

A curt “Nope.” was heard from Seungmin and Jeongin said he “Heard you loud and clear, hyung.”

“That’s what I thought… So, would you care to explain why you are not naked on my bed right now?” You muttered a quiet apology before pulling away from the man and speed walking to the room. Jeongin watched as the two older men stalked after you before disappearing behind you into the room, and his chips were quickly forgotten as he stumbled after them.

You situated yourself in the middle of the bed with your legs folded under your ass and your heart pounding in your ears. The three men stood in front of you, Minho’s head tilted with a shit eating grin on his face as the other looked you up and down like they wanted to eat you alive. Memories from that very first Friday's events suddenly flooded in and you could almost laugh at the situation repeating itself. Talk about deja vu.

Seungmin was the first to speak up as he slowly walked towards you, “Last call, puppy. You okay with this?” When you silently nodded he narrowed his eyes at you and moved his fingers to pinch your cheek, “Words.”

“Yes! Yes, it’s okay..”

The second the words left your mouth, the boys behind him started undressing themselves. You got to enjoy the view for only a few seconds before Seungmin was pulling the oversized sweater above your head. Once it was completely off you heard the boys groan at the sight of you in just your underwear, and you couldn't help but giggle at their reaction. The now naked Minho took a seat at the foot of the bed as Jeongin stood in his spot and stared at you, biting his lips as he palmed himself through his underwear.

Seungmin hurriedly rid you of the thin pieces of cloth and ran a finger over your nipple. You sighed at the feeling before moaning painfully when he pinched and lightly pulled at it. “Undress me.” You looked up at him with wide eyes before rising to your feet on shaky legs. Your hands pulled the hem of his shirt up and over his head and then you sank to your knees. He watched silently and looked down at you with lidded eyes as you grabbed both elastic bands of his bottoms.

You bite your lip in order to hide a smirk and before he can ask what you are doing your hand pulls the elastic of his underwear back and lets go. The sound of it hitting his skin startled him more than the pain hurt, but that didn’t stop him from jumping and letting out a surprised noise. Before you have any more time to laugh, a hand shoots into your hair. It grabs a tight handful and positions your head to look up at him, then his other hand comes down against your cheek. “You think you’re fucking funny? I think you forget that I’m the worst out of everybody. Don’t make me break you, pup.”

The reminder had your pussy dripping but you nodded as best as you could, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah sure you are. Now get on with it.” When his hand stood its ground in your hair, you pushed his bottoms as far down as you could reach and watched as he kicked them away. Your eyes followed his length, from this distance your tongue could almost reach the tip. You wanted nothing more than to have him down your throat and saliva started to pool in your mouth in excitement. Your eyes met his as they softened, it reminded you that you were the one really in control here. “You remember what to do if it’s too much?”

When you nodded and repeated back your safeword along with a ‘tap 3 times if I can’t speak’ he smiled and his demeanor returned to the previous. “Good girl… Now, you’re gonna suck my cock while Jeongin fingers that pretty pussy.” You nodded eagerly and the grip on your head led you closer to his dick. Your tongue was out and ready for him, but he teased you again by pulling you away the second your tongue got too close. He let out a chuckle at your frown and grabbed himself from the base. He pulled you closer and smacked his tip against your tongue a few times, sighing to himself at the feeling. “Lapping at me like a real puppy.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head when he finally sunk himself into your mouth. The salty taste flooded your mouth when he wasted no time before using the grip in your hair to fuck your mouth against him. He let out heavy breaths and low groans as his head tilted back. “God, what a wet fuckin mouth...” Once he sunk in further, your eyes closed as you focused on holding back your gag reflex and breathing through your nose. He let out loud groans whenever you swallowed around the tip lodged into your throat.

Suddenly 2 long fingers trailed down to rub against your folds, pushing into you with no warning when you grinded onto them. They made a scissoring motion that pulled wet, squelching noises from your pussy that made you dizzy. Jeongin whispered something into your ear about you being loose before a 3rd finger was added. Then, out of nowhere, they were shoved to his final knuckle and curving into your weakest spot. It made you gag against Seungmin, pulling a loud moan from him as his hips stuttered. He pulled you off him before shooting a glare at the man beside you.

You coughed as air returned to your lungs and Jeongin spoke. “Haha sorry. But, I don’t think she needs much prep, she’s taking 3 of my fingers no problem. What's got your pussy all loose for us baby?” He whispered the last part just loud enough for the other two men to hear before latching himself onto your neck.

You looked between the two and cleared your throat, trying to focus on your words and not the nonstop curling of fingers inside of you, “Channie fucked me a few times this morning b-before he left for the studio..” A scoff was heard from Seungmin and Jeongin’s fingers faltered.

“Yeah of course he fucking did.”

Minho stood from his spot on the bed before reaching between your legs, “Let me see.” Jeongin went to pull his fingers out and let him have a go, but before he could Minho shoved two fingers in next to the three that were already buried. You gasped at the drier stretch and moaned when both of their fingers started thrusting into you. The difference in the lengths and thicknesses made you clench tightly against them and squeal, causing Jeongin to groan in response and curl his fingers harder.

“Mmmm.. Yeah she is ready. At least Channie-hyung did us a favor.” Minho curled his fingers roughly before pulling them out, sliding his knuckles across your clit in the process. Jeongin followed in suit once the older returned to his desk chair, smiling wickedly and slapping his palm on your cunt once his fingers were free “Haha.. Think you can even handle it baby?”

You grinned at him, “Think you can even deliver?’ His smile faltered and he frowned at you. Seungmin chuckled and loosened his grip in your hair, massaging it lightly until Jeongin grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet.

When Seungmin finally moves away, Jeongin pushes you to sit on the bed, swiftly shoving a pillow under your ass before shoving you almost flat against the sheets. He gives you no time to steal a glance, pulling himself out of his underwear and immediately running himself along your folds. You sigh and your eyelids flutter as he does so. He pauses his movements when Seungmin returns with a bottle of lube, handing it to the maknae before settling himself at the head of the bed.

You watch the older of the two curiously, almost motioning for him to come closer so you could suck him off but all of a sudden Jeongin meanly shoves his now lubed up dick into your walls. He’s so deep all so suddenly and it has your eyes rolling into your skull as your jaw drops. His hands find refuge against the bed near your shoulders as he lifts his hips to slam them back against yours. For a moment, nothing but gasps fall from your mouth as Jeongin rams into you, damn near hitting your cervix without even bottoming in all the way.” Did he magically get bigger or something?? What the f- “F-Fuck! How are you-” You’re quickly interrupted by a moan when your gaze returns to his face, a cocky smirk prominent as Seungmin laughs from his spot on the bed. You swore he was deeper than before and the thought has you whining pathetically below him as your head was thrown back.

“What’s wrong, puppy? I thought you could handle it.”

Jeongin is desperate to see you fall apart so he lands a slap against your clit and watches in amusement as your legs struggle to close around his hips. Your eyes water when you look up at him through your lashes and he tilts his head teasingly. He smiles before landing a slap to your thigh and rubbing his thumb roughly against your clit.

You hear Minho’s voice from the desk, “Come on, Kitty.. You can’t even take Iyen-ah all the way? Tsk.. I thought Channie said you were a good slut.” In response, a desperate moan is pulled from you at the thought of them talking so vulgarly about you amongst each other and you hear scattered laughs amongst the three. The man above you chuckles before breathlessly speaking up, “It’s fine, Hyung. I just need to train her to take me all the way.” He ends his sentence with a sharp, deep thrust that pushes his final inches into you.

Your eyebrows curve and you silently scream, gasping and shaking under him as he rubs along every inch of your walls. “See? Wasn’t even that hard. Bet it’s because the little whore was still stretched from Channie-hyung.” The sound of Seungmin’s deepening voice combined with their casual chatter about you while you’re being drilled into so deeply it has you clenching down dangerously on Jeongin. Your orgasm starts to take over, causing him to moan at the constant clenching. His thumb moves faster against you as his hips slow down so that he grinds into you at a medium pace until you eventually stop gushing around him. Then he’s speeding up again to chase his own high.

“You feel that?” He starts, angling his hips to aim directly into the gummy spot in your walls. Unable to respond, your hands clutch the sheets and you cry out as the grip your cunt has around him doesn't let up. He groans from above you before continuing, “Yeah, riiight there. That’s where I’m gonna cum, and you’re gonna take it. Right, baby? Fuuuuck.. Yeah, you’re gonna take it.” Your hands squeeze into his forearms as he speeds up and the two of you share a desperate look before his lips crash into yours.

He pulls away from your lips to groan loudly as he cums, pulling out so that only his tip is nestled in you. His head angles down to look where the two of you meet and one of his hands shoots down to stroke himself through his orgasm. You feel his hips stutter and lightly thrust back into you in the process, but he watches with deep moans as your cunt milks him dry. Once he’s finished, he pulls the rest of the way out and slaps his tip against your clit playfully, laughing when you groan and push his hips away. Your lips meet one more time before he taps you on the ass and moves away from the bed completely.

Your eyes close as you’re given a few minutes to catch your breath. While this goes on you hear footsteps closing in on you and a voice speaks up from in front of you, “My turn, pup.”

Your eyes open for a second before you’re flipped onto your stomach. You yelp but giggle when he pulls you up to kneel against the bed, holding you against his broad chest. He trails kisses down your neck as his hands roam up your body, squeezing your hips before his left hand settles against your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, but uses it to hold you possessively as you melt into his arms.

“You good to go?” He mumbles against your shoulder. When he feels you nod, his right hand pulls away from your skin and lands a nasty slap to your ass cheek. Instead of him speaking up, Minho is heard somewhere to your left, “He asked you a question, Kitty.” You let out a moan before quickly apologizing, “Uhh~ I’m sorry.. Yes, I’m good. So good.. Please, Minnie.”

He doesn’t respond and instead pushes you forward and shoves your face into the sheets. A hand rests between your shoulder blades as he slides in, humming at the sight of Jeongin’s cum being pushed out of you. He starts off at a medium pace, wanting to give you a break and wanting to revel in the wet sounds coming from your cunt. His hand lightly traces down your back and joins the other in a death grip on your hips.

You turn your neck to lay your cheek against the sheets, and you're met with the sight of Minho leaning back in his chair. His eyes are lidded as they watch your body and his dick visibly twitches when your eyes meet. You can’t help but moan once his hand reaches for his dick. He just smirks and softly rocks it back and forth, teasing you because he knows you can’t get him yet. You pout and whine, causing the man fucking into you to catch onto what is happening. He frowns and slows his pace just enough to grab at you.

One hand tangles into your hair as the other grabs your throat, using both as leverage to pull you to sit up as he continues to fuck into you. The new position and rough pace has your jaw dropping and the hand around your neck quickly takes advantage of the opportunity. 2 fingers are shoved past your lips, fucking themselves into your throat and making you choke. Your eyebrows furrow further as his previous pace continues and he pulls you into his thrusts. Your orgasm is building up fast, but the bullying of his dick against your walls feels like it's almost too much. You tap his wrist and his fingers are instantly removed from your throat. “S-Seungmin!!! Wait!”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m here shoving my dick in your tight pussy, and you’re so cock hungry that you’re eyeing up another man.” The grip in your hair tightens before pulling you flat against him. His thrusts stop completely and he instead holds you in place while he continues. “You already had Jeongin’s cock fuck you open, and I was trying to be nice but now you’re basically drooling over my hyung.” You moan and grind back against him desperately trying to push yourself over the edge. He notices right away and his free hand smacks down on your ass, pulling a cry from your raw throat. “Now look at you. Greedy fucking pussy sucking me in while I’m yelling at you.”

You whine out an apology and glance over to the older man in question, the smirk is still on his face but his dick rests against his stomach now. “‘M sorry Seungmin..”

“Don’t act like a stupid pup.” He growls, landing another slap to your ass. “You’re only sorry cause my dick isn’t moving.” Before you have a chance to respond, he’s pushing you forward again. This time he pins both your hands to your back with one of his, then the free hand returns to your hair to shove your cheek against the bed. He makes sure to face you away from Minho before he starts moving into you at a painstakingly slow pace, but he also makes sure he goes as deep as physically possible while in this position.

You desperately try to crawl up the bed when you swear you can feel him in your throat, but he only drags you back and alternates smacks across your ass cheeks. “Stop fucking running. Be a good bitch.” When your moans quiet down and turn into whimpers, he finally lets up on your ass. Then a grin takes over his face when your hands stay against your back even when his hands move away.

He leans forward and once his face is near yours he coos lowly. Jeongin watches in pure awe as the scene unfolds in front of him. He’s never experienced this before and the sight of you physically melting into the sheets has his dick twitching back to life again. Minho’s eyes widen for a moment but he chuckles to himself and returns his attention to the scene in front of him just in time to hear Seungmin talk again.

Your eyes have lost focus and you feel your brain turning to mush. “There she is… Hi baby.” One of his hands moves to pet your head, then moves to stroke your cheek as his hips pull away from yours, “You gonna be good for me now babe? Gonna let Minnie take care of you?” You whine out a pathetic “Uh-huh” and he knows you’ve almost completely drifted into subspace when the lack of being filled is enough to make tears subconsciously form in your eyes, some falling when he finally pushes back in.

“Shhhh, I got you baby. Minnie’s gonna fuck you nice and good now. You know your safe word.” You nod and push your hips into him so he returns to the rough thrusts from earlier and his thumbs rub back and forth against your clit. At this rate, your orgasm builds back up in no time. He leans forward and sucks hickeys up your neck, slowly leading his lips to yours in the process. When you feel his soft lips push against yours your orgasm finally takes over. Your legs shake and try to clamp shut against his hand but he grabs them and holds them in place as he speeds up his thrusts.

He pulls away from your lips to listen to your cries, his own orgasm finally creeping up on him. “Gonna cum in this pretty pussy. You want it mixed with Iyen-ah’s?” You respond with whiny pleads and nods, “Please! Please Minnie..! Pretty please…”

He bites into his lip as he finishes himself off, groaning as he fills you to the brim. Both of you ride your orgasms together until he finally pulls away to watch his dick slide out of you. The combined loads leave a thick white ring around his dick.

He doesn’t move away from you immediately, instead opting to shower kisses down your back and whisper praises against your skin. Then you both hear Minho stand from his chair. He slowly walks towards the bed after tucking himself in his boxers.“You still with us, Kitty?” He laughs when you nod feverishly and rasp out, “jus’ need water please..” Jeongin is quick to grab a water bottle out of the nightstand beside him and sit next to your now upright form. He holds the bottle and tilts it for you as they instruct you to take small sips.

When he leans away to return the bottle to the nightstand, your hands shoot out towards the oldest and he pulls you into his lap. Your arms wrap around his neck and pull him into a series of kisses. It turned into a slow and sweet makeout session until your hips started to ground down against his, his dick still hard and now sandwiched by both of your pelvis’.

You whine into his mouth from overstimulation and his hands grab your hips to hold you in place. He’s the first to pull away from the kiss, smiling up at you when a deep pout forms on your face. “You sure about that, Kitty? They already put you through a lot.”

A cry is pulled from your lips, “No…! No please Min! I was good for them, I’ll be your good kitty too, please! I promise!” He hushes you and pushes you off him, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and laying back before signaling you with a ‘come hither’ motion. You’re quick to crawl back into his lap and grind against his dick impatiently.

“What’s your color?”

“Green.” When he stays quiet you whine and repeat yourself, “I said green! Green I swear! Min pleas-” He shuts you up by hooking a thumb in your mouth and pushing against your cheek, humming when you run your tongue along the digit and suck it.

“You like being our little cocksleeve that much? Hmmmm?” You give an eager nod and grind down harder, making him grin. “If you wanna be my good kitty you’re gonna have to ride me. How’s that sound?” You respond with a muffled agreement and he pulls you up just enough to rub himself along your folds. “So wet and messy down here.. The boys really did a number on you, huh?” He says it more to himself, and doesn’t even allow you time to answer before he’s sliding in.

You sink down all the way and throw your head back. Your legs shake against his hips and he smirks, running his hands up and down your thighs in an attempt to soothe you. Once you’re ready, you lift yourself and drop your hips against his a few times to test the waters. And once you’re comfortable, you set a slow but pleasurable pace and ride him almost weakly. His eyes are glued to your chest and he reaches up to grab a hold of your neck, using it to guide you forward and leaning you towards him so your chest is leveled with his face. The feeling of his tongue against your neglected nipple has your hips stuttering, but you’re desperate to please him so you quickly return to your efforts.

Suddenly there’s an extra pair of cold hands against your sweaty skin and Jeongin’s voice is heard from behind you, “Jagiya… Need you again..” He ruts against your ass and you moan when you feel how hard he is again. Minho reluctantly pulls away from your chest once he realizes what the youngest wants, and he locks eyes with you to make sure it’s okay. “We talked about it already, but are you sure it’s okay?”

“God, yes please..” They both smile at how fucked out you sound but ultimately nod at each other, and Minho holds a tight grip on your hips to keep you still as Jeongin pushes in next to him. He slowly pushes in as Minho lets a hand trail down to rub messy shapes into your clit.

“Deep breaths. We got you Jagi.” Minho mumbles into your ear, pressing kissing to your temple as Jeongin holds your ass cheeks apart to give himself more space to work with. When his hips finally stop you let out shaky breaths and try your best to not clench on them too hard. Jeongin’s hands are running up and down your back soothingly as Minho’s rest on your thigh, his kisses still being littered across the side of your face that he can reach.

They check once more that you’re okay before they start slowly fucking into you, stopping completely anytime they heard a hiss. Eventually, with the help of your last orgasms and the fucking within an inch of your life that Seungmin just gave you, you start to loosen up more. They take their time speeding up their thrusts, Jeongin doesn’t even dare to try and bottom out. But he does manage to push a few more inches into you as you loosen up more.

When your quiet whimpers turn to full moans, they don’t hold back as much and fuck harder into you. This goes on for a few minutes before a door opening and closing and a quiet “Holy fuck.” is heard from the missing third man.

“Jesus, pup..” Your face turns to look at him and he can see tears streaming down your face. He almost folds on the spot, but the sound of your voice calling out to him has him basically sprinting to the bed. He crawls onto the sheets and sits by your head, reaching a hand to stroke your hair as he pulls his phone out.

Seungmin lets out a breathy laugh at the way your eyes sparkle, and he takes a few pictures of you all fucked out between the two boys. You lean in to pull his boxers down but he swats you away. Instead, he grabs your face by your jaw and leans down to pull you into a kiss, occasionally dropping further and leaving wet kisses along your neck. “One more time for us, m’kay pup? Then we’ll be done and we can go take a shower.”

The two men inside you are close, their frantic moans and groans are telltale signs of it. Their ruthless fucking continues for another few minutes and it rips another orgasm from you, one that causes a death grip around them in your walls. Minho’s hips stop completely and he lets the erratic movements of the younger man help him ride out his orgasm. You can feel the combined mixture of their cum with yours pooling out of you and it makes Minho shiver when some of it trails down his sensitive dick.

When they’re finally finished, Seungmin pulls away from you and the two still shoved inside of you start to pull out slowly. You’re laid on your side as Minho slides from underneath you, and both men disappear into the bathroom as Seungmin scoots closer to you. He smiles and lands a soft kiss on your nose and allows you to catch your breath. He stands and you hear a few camera clicks before you look up to see his smirk behind his phone. You flip him the finger and he laughs loudly, “Fucked your brains out and you still have the energy for that attitude. sigh.. What are we gonna do with you, baby?”

The cloth he returned with earlier is used to wipe you down. He kisses apologies into your hip as he tries to clean your overly sensitive pussy as fast as possible. When he’s done, you notice the sound of the shower in the background, and Jeongin walks back into the room from the hallway with wet hair.

“Shower time Jagi!!” He smiles at you and leans down to place a kiss on your temple. Seungmin defensively pulls you against him and glares at the younger boy, “I got her. Go away ugly.” You wheeze out a laugh at the two bickering and are suddenly the victim of a kiss off. A “who can kiss you better” challenge that you weren’t even aware of until your face was suddenly sloppy from wet kisses.

It’s not until Minho walks out from his shower a few seconds later that the two stop their attacks, “What the hell? Okay, can one of you at least take her to shower so I can clean off my bed?” He grumbles almost angrily, but when you look over at him he has a small smile. Before Jeongin can even turn around, Seungmin is already helping you to your feet and walking you to the shower.

The rest of the night is a blur after that. The shower, the snacks, and the cuddle puddle were all fuzzy in your head. The last thing you remember before falling asleep was being on a new bed in a different room, and Seungmin pulling you as close to him as possible as the other boys left the room.

You lay chest to chest with him, your breaths matching with his, and his soft hands caressing your thigh while he places soft kisses against your lips. His pretty hands caress your cheeks and your eyes hold each other’s gazes between kisses. Part of you wonders where the other boys had gone, and if you had the energy to ask you would have. But when your eyes start to flutter closed out of heaviness and his fingers continue to stroke your skin, you don’t think you want to bother caring.

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 3 months ago

Text

Dual

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Marcus and his soldier return from battle. You take care of them before they take care of you. Warnings: ALL PORN NO PLOT. SMUT, MMF threesome, soft dom marcus, subby lucius, double penetration, 69 (duuuudes), fingering, anal fingering, unprotected p in v, anal sex, creampie, anal creampie, pussy and ass eating, mutual dick sucking, lots of praise kink, oil, bathing, a tub that can fit three people, ignore how dirty the water would be, pretend it’s magical water that heals so they can fuck, when you go to the dick store and get the BOGO deal Words: 4,400.

A/N: Well. I've gone and written another threesome fic. Read their prior adventure here. This is the first time I’ve stepped into dude on dude stuff sooo I hope I did it justice. I told myself to kinda take a step back from posting so much but your girl just can’t help writing filth while sitting on her patio with her headphones in. Life in America a month before an election is stressful AF so I escape with dicks. Thank you to @ohheypedrito for her 20 texts after she read it and @magpiepills for her encouragement. Please know this is just pure filth.

municipium: town | domus: home | subligaculum: underwear

Trēs Masterlist Masterlist

Word spread through the small municipum, General Acacius was victorious in battle. You wonder if they will return to your domus— Marcus and his blue-eyed soldier. You dream about them, remembering the heat of their bodies pressed against you, the strength of their arms wrapped around you as you drifted off to sleep between them. But, by the morning they were gone. The only sign of them being there was your dress laying on the floor and the chair Marcus had sat in remained in the same spot he had left it.

—-

“Angel,” a gruff name calls out for you as heavy footsteps enter your domus.

Marcus.

You turn the corner and spot him, battle weary and tired looking. His face is streaked with crimson and soot. Lucius stands behind, his blue eyes are set deep in exhaustion.

Your heart races when you see them. Relief and desire bursting through your body. You rush over to Marcus, your hands reaching up to touch his dirty face.

“You’re back,” you whisper, feeling the rough texture of dirt and dried blood against his skin.

He grunts, his large hands reaching for your waist, pulling you against the metal of his appliques that now press into your skin.

He breathes in your scent while you smell the remnants of metallic blood and smoke on him.

You look to Lucius, extending your hand to him.

“Come,” you beckon. He moves slowly, limping, his muscular body taut with tension. You pull him close, sandwiching yourself between the two men.

“You both need tending. Let me take care of you.”

—-

The water from the fire warms the pool of water in the tub. The water ripples as you pour a small container of olive oil smelling of juniper into the bath. Sprigs of lavender float delicately on the surface.

Lucius dutifully helps Marcus undress. The strong general grimacing as he stretches his arms out to remove his armor. You watch them, working in silent cooperation with each other. Lucius’s hands move deftly, undoing each strap and buckle, doing everything he can to help his general.

As Marcus unwraps his subligaculum, all of his golden skin is revealed to you. He’s now peppered with fresh cuts and bruises, signs of the brutal battle he has just survived.

He steps into the bath, groaning as he settles into the warm water. He sinks down, the water lapping at his broad chest, his brown eyes close as he allows himself to relax. You kneel beside the tub, grabbing a cloth and dipping it into the water.

“Let me,” you murmur, gently wiping the grime and signs of battle from his handsome face, the tension leaves it as you wash him.

Lucius stands to the side, still fully clothed, awaiting instruction from his general. You glance up at him. “You too,” you say. “There’s room for both of you.”

He hesitates. His blue eyes look to his general for permission.

Marcus opens his eyes and nods. “Go ahead soldier.”

Lucius sheds his armor and garments, the flickering light of the lamp highlights every well-defined muscle of his toned body. He stands naked and glorious, his cock stands throbbing in between his powerful thighs, obviously turned on by the sight in front of him.

His moan is low and quiet when he sits down, across the bath from Marcus. His body, like Marcus’s is marred by fresh cuts and bruises.

You continue to wash Marcus, your hands running across the wide breadth of his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. He lets out a low rumble, Lucius adjusts in the tub, his bright blue eyes turning darker as he watches you move your hands down to wash Marcus’s broad chest.

The water clings to his skin, droplets collecting on the light smattering of hair across his chest. Lucius’s eyes watch your every movement, his nostrils flaring as his breath quickens when you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his general’s shoulder, now clean and fragrant from the bath oil.

“Angel,” Marcus sighs. His eyes flutter open as he turns his head and captures your lips between his.

You part your lips, accepting his tongue into your mouth. A moan breathes out against his mouth when his calloused hand cups your cheek, a stream of water trails down your neck. He growls low in his throat when you nip his plush bottom lip, before soothing it with your tongue. You can feel yourself growing wet, aching for more of his touch, knowing that Lucius is just across the bath from you watching.

The cloth trails farther down, gliding across his torso and the plush of his stomach before dipping down to caress his thick thighs. Marcus hisses when you brush the soft fabric across his half-hard cock.

Lucius shifts again, a quiet whimper escapes his lips. You and Marcus turn your attention to him, your eyes locking with his. His chest heaves up and down against the surface of the water.

“Come here,” you beckon. “Let me take care of you too.”

Lucius glances at Marcus, silently asking permission again. His general nods. The water sloshes against his body as Lucius moves towards you.

You shift, the cloth moving down Marcus’s legs and onto Lucius's thighs as he kneels between Marcus's open legs.

He shivers as you move the cloth up his muscular body to his well-defined shoulders bathing him with the same care and attention you gave Marcus.

“That’s it Angel. Don’t neglect my brave soldier.” Marcus reaches over and begins untying the knot of your dress, his wet hand rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your back. “He fought valiantly, protected me in battle, he deserves this, don’t you soldier?”

“Y-yes Master,” Lucius gasps as your dress falls from your chest and you lean forward. The washcloth runs across his handsome, chiseled chest, his blue eyes looking into your eyes the whole time.

“Now, Angel, join us,” Marcus instructs, grabbing your hand to pull you forward. Your dress falls off your body as you crawl into the water and lay your back against Marcus’s chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. Lucius’s hands fist at his side as he still kneels, now between both yours and Marcus’s legs.

Marcus's hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, causing you to arch into his touch with a soft moan. You feel his cock hardening against your lower back.

"Touch her, soldier," Marcus commands gruffly.

Lucius’s hand tremble slightly as he reaches towards you, his palms gliding up your thighs. You spread your legs wider, inviting his touch.

Marcus’s lips brush against your ear. “That’s it, Angel. Show him how much you want him.”

You moan. The solid heat of the general behind you and his soldier’s hesitant hands exploring your curves lights a fire inside you. You recall what it felt like to be held in Marcus’s hands as Lucius’s tongue explored your cunt.

Lucius leans in, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips before licking his way down to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

“Good soldier,” Marcus praises, one hand leaving your breast to tangle in Lucius’s dark hair and guiding him lower.

Lucius take your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently as his hand cups your other breast. Marcus’s other hand trails down your stomach to between your thighs, dipping his hand in between your folds.

“So wet for us already, aren’t you Angel?” he growls, his thick finger circling your clit. His hand stays wrapped in Lucius’s hair yanking his head over to pay attention to your other breast.

Your hands reach up, wrapping one around the base of Lucius’s hard cock, the other forming around his smooth balls. He whimpers against your nipple, biting and sucking harder as you move across his length.

“She feels good, doesn’t she soldier?” Marcus asks against your neck before gently nibbling your skin.

Lucius grunts in agreement, too busy licking and sucking your nipple to say a word. Marcus pulls against his hair, lifting his head up. “Answer me soldier.”

A wave of want crashes through your body at his firmness, a moan escapes your mouth.

Lucius blinks up, staring at Marcus. “Yes Master, y-yes. She feels amazing.”

Marcus's powerful chuckle rumbles against your back. "Good. Now show her how grateful you are.”

Lucius nods eagerly as his hands roam down your body and dip below the water, his fingers replacing Marcus's at your core. He circles your clit slowly before sliding two fingers inside you.

"Oh," you moan, arching your back against Marcus's broad chest. His cock throbs against you as Lucius pumps his fingers in and out.

"That's it, soldier. Make her feel good," Marcus growls, his hands pinching and rolling your nipples as his soldier works between your thighs.

The water sloshes around you as Lucius shifts closer, his muscles pressing against yours. His lips find your neck, sucking and nipping as his fingers curl inside you.

"More," you whimper, overwhelmed by the touch of both men.

Marcus's hand slides down to join Lucius's, his thick finger rubbing tight circles around your clit as Lucius continues to pump in and out of you.

You’re surrounded by their heat and strength, your body left writhing and overwhelmed by their touch and attention.

“That's it, Angel," Marcus rumbles in your ear. "You took care of us, now let us let us take care of you."

Lucius latches onto your breast again, sucking hard as his fingers curl and hit that perfect spot inside you. You cry out, your hips bucking against their hands.

"She's close," Marcus says gruffly. "Let’s make her cum, soldier."

Lucius pumps you harder, Marcus rubs your clit firmer, the duality of their attention pushes you over the edge. Your orgasm splashes through you, much like the water does in the tub as you shudder between the two strong men. Your hands grip Lucius’s firm shoulders, slipping under the wetness of his skin.

“Lift her soldier, move her to her bedroom,” Marcus instructs. “I have plans for both of you.”

Lucius gently gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he steps out of the tub.

Marcus rises, water cascades off of his body. The curls of his wet hair clings to his forehead and streams down his face and chest. Water hits the floor, dripping onto the tile as he steps out.

Lucius walks you into your bedroom. The cool night air on your wet skin makes you shiver, you press yourself closer to Lucius’s warm skin.

Marcus’ heavy footsteps follow closely behind, you look over Lucius’ shoulders at him. He gazes forward powerfully, as if he’s headed into battle.

The oil lamp casts an orange glow across your bedroom. Marcus moves to the middle of your room, his large body looms over yours and Lucius’ body.

He looks down at you, cradled in the arms of Lucius. His hand reaches to caress his soldier’s cheek, his thumb tracing over his lips.

“Do you want my soldier, Angel?”

You nod, lost in the darkness of his brown eyes.

“Both of you, on your knees,” he commands.

Lucius carefully lowers you to the floor, before kneeling beside you. Your eyes both gaze up at Marcus, waiting for his next order. Water drops still follow the curves and planes of his body. His cock stands hard and glistening.

"Show me how grateful you are," Marcus says, running both of his hands through yours and Lucius's damp hair. "Both of you."

You lean forward, running your tongue along the underside of Marcus's thick shaft. Lucius mirrors your actions on the other side, his blue eyes flicking up to watch his general's reaction.

Marcus groans, his fingers tightening in your hair as you and Lucius worship his cock with your tongues. You swirl your tongue around the head while Lucius licks and sucks at the base, your mouths working in tandem to please him.

"Good," Marcus rumbles, his hips rocking slightly. "Such eager mouths."

You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck. Lucius's lips brush against yours as he moves to lick and nibble at Marcus's heavy balls. The general's breathing grows heavier, his powerful thighs tensing under your hands.

"Enough," he grunts, gently pulling you both back. "On the bed. I want to watch you both.”

You both gasp for air as you scramble to the bed. Lucius’ back hits the softness of the mattress as your body hovers over his. His blue eyes are dark under his thick, furrowed brows as he looks up at you. He reaches up, running his hands along your neck down to your breasts touching you with something akin to reverie.

Marcus walks over to the bed, his body casts a shadow over you as he stands holding a carafe full of oil. “Stay still,” he commands, his voice low and gravelly.

You and Lucius follow his direction, your bodies pressed together, skin still damp from the bath. Marcus tilts the vial and a thin stream of oil cascades down, landing first on Lucius’s broad chest. The oil pools in the dips and valleys of his muscles before trickling down his sides.

Marcus moves the vial, pouring a line of oil down your spine. You shiver at the cool sensation, goosebumps rising on your skin. The oil drips down the curve of your ass, some of it running between your cheeks and mixing with your own wetness.

"Rub it in," Marcus orders, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you both.

You begin to move your hands over Lucius's chest, spreading the oil across his skin.

Lucius's hands glide up your sides, spreading the oil across your back. His calloused palms knead your muscles as you grind against him, your slick bodies sliding together. You lean down to capture his lips in a deep kiss, moaning as his hands cup your ass.

Marcus's low growl sends a shiver through you both. "That's it," he says, his voice husky. "Show me how much you want each other."

You roll your hips, feeling Lucius's hard cock slide against your wet folds. He groans into your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Marcus reaches down, his large hand wrapping around Lucius's hard cock already slick from rubbing against your wet pussy. He pours the oil, letting it drip down the soldier's thick shaft. Marcus's hand glides up and down. Lucius moans at the sensation, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

"Turn around, Angel," Marcus commands as he sits on the edge of the bed. "I want to see you pleasure each other."

You obey, shifting and turning until his mouth is aligned with your aching cunt, your mouth positioned just above his cock, leaking with precum.

You run your tongue along the length of him before taking him into your mouth. He shudders underneath you, his hips jerking up slightly. His hands reach up to grasp your thighs, spreading them wider and pulling your cunt down to his mouth. His nose taps against your sensitive skin as he swipes his tongue against your clit, making you moan around his cock. His tongue devours your wet heat. He sucks your clit between his lips, flicking it with his tongue.

“Beautiful,” Marcus’s deep voice rumbles beside you. He gathers your hair in his hands maneuvering you up and down his soldier’s shaft.

“Stretch her out for me soldier,” Marcus orders. “Fuck her with your fingers.”

Lucius slides two fingers into your heat as he continues lapping at your clit. His fingers pump you, scissoring them to give you the delicious stretch you welcome.

Marcus’s hands tighten in your hair, guiding you faster up Lucius’ hard cock. “That’s it Angel, take him deep,” he growls. Your throat relaxes, taking Lucius all the way down to his base. He whimpers against your cunt, his hips jerking.

“Good girl,” Marcus praises. “Now soldier, add another finger. Stretch her nice and wide for me.”

Lucius obeys, slipping a third finger inside you. The stretch burns deliciously as he pumps them in and out. His tongue circles your clit relentlessly, pleasure spreading through your body.

Marcus lets go of your hair, running his hand down your back and around the curve of your ass.

“Lick her little asshole soldier,” Marcus instructs as he massages the puckered bud of it. “Get it wet for me.”

His tongue moves up your cunt to your asshole, licking and laving before he spits across it. Marcus hums an approving noise as he sticks his thumb in his soldier’s mouth and wets it.

Marcus’ thumb, slick with Lucius’s saliva, circles your tight entrance. You whimper and moan around Lucius’s cock as he slowly pushes the pad of his thumb inside. It’s so intense, a new sensation you’ve never felt, but your body yields to the pressure.

“Relax Angel,” Marcus murmurs, his free hand soothingly stroking down your spine. “Let me in.”

You breathe deeply around Lucius’s cock as Marcus works his thumb deeper. The fullness between his thumb and Lucius pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt sends sparks throughout your body, lighting you from within. Lucius’s tongue laps eagerly at your clit as Marcus begins to slide his thumb in and out of your ass. Your thighs begin to tremble, your body quivering as you struggle to hold yourself up.

“That’s it,” Marcus growls approvingly. “Open up for me. You’re doing so well. Isn’t she doing good, soldier?”

“Y-yes,” Lucius grunts against your cunt.

Your orgasm is right there, right at the cliff ready to jump.

“I think she’s ready,” Marcus says, pulling his thumb out. “Up, Angel.”

Your body tightens. You whimper as Lucius’s mouth and fingers leave your aching cunt. Marcus helps you sit up, pulling you against his broad, warm chest. His hard cock pressing insistently against your lower back.

Lucius lays spread out on the bed, his hard cock standing at attention, twitching with need.

Marcus snakes a hand up your chest, spreading his hand against your neck and pulling you closer. "Now Angel, I want you to ride my brave soldier, I believe he’s earned it. And while you take his cock, I’m going to take your sweet ass," he growls in your ear.

A shiver runs through you at his words. You nod eagerly, lust coursing through your whole body. You’ve never had anyone there before, and Marcus’s cock is quite intimidating, but you welcome the promise of feeling so full of these two brave soldiers.

Marcus guides your trembling body to straddle Lucius. He grips his soldier’s thick shaft, positioning it at your entrance before you slowly sink down. You both moan as he fills you completely.

"That's it," Marcus praises. "Take him nice and deep."

You rock your hips against him, adjusting to the stretch of Lucius inside you. He grips your waist, guiding you as you ride him. Marcus tips you to lean forward, your hands brace on Lucius’s strong chest as you feel Marcus position himself behind you.

“Relax my angel,” Marcus says, his large hands kneading the globes of your ass. More oil is poured on your ass. His thick finger circles your asshole, before he pushes it inside, stretching you for him further.

Your body tenses slightly, Lucius reaches up to cup your face, his blue eyes locked on yours. “It’s okay,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek. “Just breathe.”

Marcus moves a second finger in, scissoring them to open you up more for him. Your hips jerk, grinding down on Lucius as Marcus slowly moves his fingers inside you.

"Good girl," Marcus rumbles. "You're taking it so well."

You pant and whimper out into the cool night air, your body burning hot from feeling so full, and Marcus hasn’t even fucked your ass yet.

Lucius still stares into your eyes, his movements gentle and caring, softly telling you you’re doing so well and you feel so good.

Finally, Marcus withdraws his fingers. You hear the sound of him slicking his cock with more oil and pumping himself. You feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, it feels so much larger than his fingers.

“Breathe, Angel,” he whispers.

You inhale deeply, steeling yourself as Marcus slowly pushes inside. Ohh, the stretch. It feels like so much, bordering on pain. Your head drops, Lucius presses soft kisses to your lip.

“I know. Relax,” he whispers. “Let him in.”

You exhale slowly, deflating your lungs, allowing your body to relax and accept him. Marcus slides in deeper with a long, low groan.

“So tight,” he grunts. “Perfect.”

You moan, the fullness overwhelming you.

Marcus's thick cock stretches you wide as Lucius throbs within your cunt.

Marcus stills, allowing you to adjust even more for him. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady. “That’s it, Angel. You’re taking us so well,” he praises.

Lucius tenderly kisses you, his tongue sliding against yours as Marcus begins to move, slowly and pulling out before gently pushing back in.

Your body feels alight, burning with desire for the two men currently fucking both of your holes.

“Move, soldier,” Marcus commands.

“Yes Master,” Lucius grunts against your lips, rocking his hips up into you as Marcus pulls back. The two men set a steady rhythm, one sliding in as the other pulls out. You gasp and moan, drunk on their cocks as you’re caught between their strong bodies.

“Don’t s-stop,” you whimper and cry, your fingers digging into Lucius’s smooth chest.

The sound of skin slapping against skin and deep groans fills the room, soundtracking the two men’s movements inside you.

Marcus’s hips snap against you harder. “Such a good girl,” he grits. “Taking both our cocks so well.”

Lucius matches his general’s movements, thrusting into you harder. The fullness is overwhelming, pleasure radiating across every nerve in your body.

Marcus’s hand snakes around to rub tight circles on your clit, your body begins to tremble. “Cum for us Angel. Let us feel you. Make your pussy cum all over my soldier’s cock.”

Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your body clenching around both men as you cry out in ecstasy.

"That's it," Marcus growls. "Milk our cocks."

Lucius moans beneath you, his hips jerking erratically as your cunt pulses around him. "M-master, I'm close," he whimpers.

"Hold on, soldier," Marcus orders. "Not until I say."

Marcus's thrusts become more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he nears his release. His deep grunts fill the room as he drives into you harder.

"Fuck," he groans. "I'm close. Soldier, cum with me."

Lucius whimpers beneath you, his hips snapping up frantically. "Yes, Master," he pants.

With only a few more powerful thrusts, Marcus buries himself deep inside you with a loud roar. You feel the hot splash of his release filling you as he pulses within your tight channel.

Lucius cries out, his cock throbbing as he spills inside your cunt. The dual sensations of both men cumming inside you triggers another orgasm, your body clenching around them as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Marcus holds you steady as aftershocks course through all three of you. Slowly, he eases out of you, causing you to whimper at the loss. He gathers you into his arms, lifting you off Lucius's softening cock and cradling you against his broad chest.

“Shh, Angel,” he murmurs, holding your shaking and overwhelmed shell of a body. Your back molding to his front. “You did so good.” He looks over at his soldier, catching his breath, still laid out on the bed. “You did too, Soldier.” He spreads your legs wide. “Now, clean her up.”

Lucius groans, sitting up and crawling across the bed to settle between your legs.

Lucius's eyes flicker up to meet yours as he lowers his mouth to your sensitive flesh. You whimper and squirm in Marcus's strong arms as Lucius's tongue laps gently at your swollen folds, cleaning away the mixture of your combined releases.

"That's it, soldier," Marcus rumbles approvingly. "Taste how good she is."

His mouth moves lower, licking against your asshole with gentle care.

Marcus's large hands caress your body as Lucius works between your thighs. He kneads your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers as his lips brush against your ear.

"You were perfect, Angel," he murmurs. "Taking both of us so well. Such a good girl for your soldiers."

Your hips rock slightly, seeking more of Lucius's tongue.

“Greedy girl, aren’t you?” Marcus chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back.

He pinches your nipples, making you gasp. "Don't worry, we'll take care of you.”

Lucius’ tongue dives deeper inside you, to lap up every last drop of cum. His large nose bumps against your sensitive clit, sending little sparks of pleasure through your body.

“That’s it soldier. Make her cum again on your tongue.” Marcus encourages before he kisses and licks against your neck. He holds you firmly against him, keeping your legs open wide for Lucius.

Lucius sucks your clit between his lips, flicking it rapidly with his tongue. The dual sensations of his mouth on your core and Marcus's hands on your breasts push you over the edge once more. You cry out, your body arching and shuddering as another orgasm washes over you.

Marcus holds you in his strong arms through it, praising you softly, in between open mouth kisses all over your neck and shoulders.

Lucius gently licks up your release before pulling away from your overworked core. His face glistening with your release.

Marcus gently lowers you onto the bed, your body trembling from the intensity of the night. He lays down beside you, pulling you close against his broad chest. Lucius crawls up to your other side, hesitating for a moment before Marcus nods his approval. The young soldier curls up against your back, sandwiching you between their warm, strong bodies.

The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing of the three of you as you all come down from your orgasms.

“You did so good for us Angel,” Marcus proudly tells you as his fingers lazily trail up and down your arm. “Didn’t she, soldier?”

“Yes Master,” Lucien responds, nuzzling against the nape of your neck. “So good.”

649 notes · View notes

lizzyiii · 13 days ago

Note

Hey girl hey. Hope you are still alive and life is treating you well. Just checking in.

you're so sweet for this omg. so ive graduated from high school, have this whole summer, but I can't really enjoy it since a broke girl's got to work. got my very first job and it's sooo draining, but I've got to get that bag

Sevenmas

pairing | aemond x wife!reader

word count | 9.2k words

summary | amid the haunting ruins of harrenhal, aemond's pregnant wife senses the looming threat of alys rivers, a witch whose presence fuels her nightmares and aemond's growing distance.

determined to protect her husband and unborn child, she delves into the secrets of warding magic, reclaiming her bond with aemond as she invites him back into her bed and vows to stand against the witch’s dark influence.

tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, magic, fluff, soft aemond, hubby aemond

a/n | it's summer, the heat is evident, yet I've only been at work or home. I needdd to leave my house!

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

My Dearest Babe,

It has been a full moon since your father and I arrived at these dreary halls of Harrenhal. It is bleak here, cold and damp, and the walls seem to hold the whispers of the dead.

I have not known a single night’s rest since we set foot in this cursed place. My sleep grew all the more restless when your father saw fit to move me into a separate chamber.

Harrenhal weighs heavily upon him. It has changed him in ways I cannot yet understand. He walks the halls as if hunted, and I see the shadows of his unrest in his eyes.

Each night, his dreams twist into dark things—visions that wrench him from sleep, leaving him gasping as though clawing his way back to wakefulness. He grows ever more volatile, as if the very stones of Harrenhal press upon his mind, threatening to drive him to madness.

One night, he woke from a nightmare so violent, I feared for him. I reached out to calm him, but he struck out, not knowing it was I. I do not hold it against him—he was deep within whatever horror plagued him.

But he looked upon the bruise on my wrist with such anguish, fearing for my health and yours. It was then he resolved to put me in another room, to shield us both from his torments.

Yet, my sleep has only worsened since he made this change. This keep holds no comfort, only shadows and sighs, and I feel that something - someone - wicked watches us, waiting.

The sixth day of Sevenmas dawned in Harrenhal, a day to honor the Crone, she who carried the lantern of wisdom and foresight. How you longed for that guidance now, caught in the maze of cold stone walls and shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity.

The ancient keep, with its crumbling towers and halls seeped in ghosts of past horrors, gnawed at your spirit with every passing hour.

The days bled together, each as gray and listless as the last. Time itself felt suspended, and there was little to fill it but your prayers to the Seven and the slow, meticulous pull of thread and needle.

Embroidery was meant to calm the mind, but here it became another way for your thoughts to spiral into dark corners. How could you not let them when the halls echoed with whispers not your own and the air felt thick, laden with something unseen yet suffocating?

Your husband, Aemond, the prince with a fire in his blood and the shadow of the conqueror in his step, had become a stranger cloaked in duty.

Since Rhaenyra had laid siege to King's Landing, his days were consumed with strategy, flame-bright eyes scanning maps and murmuring with commanders until dawn kissed the horizon.

You would catch glimpses of him, his presence fierce and distant, a sword poised to strike. And still, there was one tether left—he would always return to break his fast with you, no matter the hour, as if the morning meal was a sacred pact he refused to break.

This shared ritual was a brief light in the gloom, a moment where his brow would smooth, and he would offer a small nod, as if to say, I am still here.

Yet even then, the weight of Harrenhal seemed to press upon him, creasing the corner of his eye and stealing the little warmth from his voice.

You wished for the strength of the Crone’s wisdom, to find words that could soothe whatever haunted him, whatever pulled him into those long, silent stretches where he barely met your gaze.

And so, with the sun’s first pale rays stretching over the stone battlements, you whispered a prayer to the Crone. Let me see what he cannot. Let me guard us in ways unseen.

There was another shadow cast over your time at Harrenhal, one that gnawed at your peace like a hound at a bone. Within the first week of your arrival, an attempt on Aemond’s life had been made, a sloppy affair that left more questions than answers.

Yet the mere notion of betrayal and blood sharpened Aemond’s already fierce nature into something perilously close to madness.

In his rage and paranoia, he swept through Harrenhal like a storm, burning and executing every male Strong—lords and bastards alike, sparing none.

The aftermath left the keep haunted by its own silence, populated mostly by women and children who dared not cross his path. Yet among the survivors, there was one who set your skin crawling like no other: Alys Rivers, the bastard daughter of Lionel Strong.

Her gaze, dark and knowing, seemed to pierce through you whenever it drifted your way. The keep’s old women, those who lingered in the kitchens and halls, were full of whispers, speaking in hushed tones about Alys and the tales that clung to her like a shroud.

They claimed she was a wet nurse with no babes of her own, that her cradle stayed empty because she offered her children to dark gods, drawing power from their sacrifices.

The word witch passed between toothless mouths with reverence and fear, a name that conjured images of blood and whispered spells in the dead of night.

You would catch Alys watching Aemond from the shadowed corners of the great hall, her green eyes glistening like the polished scales of a serpent.

There was something about the way she looked at him, a gaze that lingered too long, with a subtle curl to her lips that suggested she saw beyond what others did. Each time, a cold knot formed in your stomach, winding tighter with each day.

Aemond, for his part, seemed oblivious—or perhaps unwilling—to acknowledge her attention. He stalked the halls of Harrenhal like a restless dragon, his eyes always aflame with thoughts of war and vengeance.

But you, kept to the fringes and left with little to occupy your time, had learned to listen. You had overheard more than once the old wives’ tales, how the stones of Harrenhal bore witness to strange sights in the dark of night.

The morning light struggled to filter through the narrow, soot-streaked windows of Harrenhal’s great hall, casting long, somber shadows across the cold stone floor.

You sat at the grand table, an expanse of dark oak that seemed almost too vast with just the two of you seated at its head.

The hall’s emptiness swallowed the small noises of clinking silver and the rustle of fabric, leaving only the low crackle of a distant fire to break the silence.

You glanced at Aemond, his face severe and sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and distant as he picked at the bread before him. His hair, pale as moonlight, spilled over his shoulders, catching the dim glow of morning like polished silver.

You traced the line of his jaw with your gaze, noting the tautness there, the slight twitch that spoke of restless thoughts.

In truth, you did not know this man well—your husband, your prince, and yet a stranger in so many ways.

It had only been moons since you first met, and within days, the marriage vows were spoken, the ink on the alliance barely dry before you found yourself bound to him in name and in fate.

Your father’s fleet had been your dowry, a formidable power that the Greens could not afford to spurn. You understood your role, the politics and power that tethered you to Aemond, but understanding him was another matter entirely.

His silences were as deep and dark as the Blackwater, and he carried an anger that smoldered beneath his skin, an unquenchable flame that whispered of vengeance and old wounds.

But despite the cold armor of his demeanor, Aemond had never raised his voice nor his hand to you. He moved with a kind of carefulness in your presence, a restraint that bordered on gentleness.

He treated you with a respect that was rare among men of power, where wives were often little more than pawns on a board.

And though it was likely due to the child you carried beneath your heart, it kindled a small warmth within you to think that he had not left you behind when he marched to Harrenhal.

Instead, he had commanded that you come with him, a choice that puzzled you even as it comforted you.

Harrenhal was a desolate place, steeped in old, cracked stone and a history that groaned beneath every step. You despised it, with its drafty halls and the air that always seemed to taste of ashes.

Yet sitting here, across from Aemond as the thin light etched sharp lines across his face, you felt a reluctant flicker of gratitude.

The silence between you was not companionable, but it was not cruel either. It was a space where the two of you existed, tethered by duty and an unspoken understanding.

Your gaze lifted from your untouched plate to meet his. “You barely ate anything,” you ventured softly, the words almost swallowed by the great hall’s vastness.

Aemond’s eye flickered to you, just a moment of acknowledgment, before drifting back to the distant, unfocused point beyond the hall’s great hearth. “I have much on my mind,” he replied, his voice low and guarded, as always.

You lowered your gaze, the golden glint of your cup catching the flicker of the fire as you turned it in your hands. “Today is the day of the Crone,” you murmured, the soft words drifting into the vast emptiness of the hall.

Aemond’s eye settled on you again, this time with a sharper intensity, as if he were trying to read the thoughts that played behind your eyes. The violet of his gaze, stark and unyielding, seemed to see through flesh and bone.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but pushed on, lifting your head with a tentative, almost sheepish smile.

“I have been holding small celebratory suppers in my chambers for each of the Seven,” you said, the words trembling on the cusp of hope. “Perhaps you would join me tonight?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable, carved from the same marble as the gods whose names you spoke. He was silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he measured the request. You held your breath, bracing for the sting of rejection, but after a moment, he inclined his head with a slow, deliberate nod.

“I shall see if I am free to attend later, wife,” he replied, each syllable precise, as if spoken under a watchful eye.

A smile unfurled across your face, a small, fragile bloom that brightened the somber air. You nodded, your gratitude silent but deeply felt, and returned your attention to the meal before you.

The hall fell back into its familiar hush, but the silence seemed gentler, softened by the promise—no matter how uncertain—that he might sit with you as the evening drew near.

Throughout the day, you moved with a purpose that had been absent for some time. Excitement flickered within you, casting a rare warmth over the bleakness of Harrenhal’s cold stone walls.

You spent more time preparing yourself than you had in weeks, choosing a gown of deep violet, the color rich and regal, one you knew would match Aemond’s eye.

Your hands worked carefully as you braided your hair, fingers weaving strands with practiced precision. You wound the braids into a half-up style, securing them with thin silver pins, and threaded small pearls between the coils, their soft luster catching the waning light that seeped through the chamber’s narrow window slits.

As the sun dipped lower, you prepared the chamber for supper, eager to cast away the dreariness of Harrenhal’s stone embrace. The table, though small, was set with care.

You placed a modest arrangement of primroses at its center, their pale petals lending a touch of softness to the somber room.

Candles, thick and tapered, were placed with a meticulous eye, their wicks waiting to be lit and offer a warm glow that would banish the shadows lurking in the corners.

Tonight was meant to honor the Crone, a day of wisdom and reflection, yet you could not help but hope for something more—a chance to share a moment, however fleeting, with the man you called husband.

The hours had been long since you’d known any touch of intimacy, any whisper of companionship. The prospect of Aemond joining you, even for a brief supper, was enough to make your heart beat with anticipation.

Time stretched on, heavy and unyielding, as you sat alone at the small table in your chambers, a solitary figure in a room filled with muted light. The food before you, once steaming and fragrant, had grown cold, the sheen of oil on the meats congealing in the chill air.

The candles you had lit earlier had burned down to stubs, their light dwindling as shadows crept up the walls.

The fire in the hearth, once crackling with warmth, had reduced itself to a bed of glowing embers, the last vestiges of heat sputtering as they surrendered to the draft that snaked through the stones.

Your heart, which had quickened with hope earlier in the day, now felt leaden with disappointment. The silence pressed in around you, each passing moment a reminder that Aemond would not come. The anticipation that had kept your spirits aloft now left a hollow ache in its absence.

Pushing your untouched plate away, you rose from the table, your movements deliberate as anger stirred in your chest. It was not the hot, reckless kind, but the slow-burning indignation that came when expectation was met with silence.

You wrapped your cloak around your shoulders and slipped into the dim corridor, determined to find him, to seek an answer rather than stew in this quiet, stinging rejection.

Harrenhal’s halls were a maze of stone and shadow, empty and vast, with only the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cold. The castle held a thousand whispered secrets, and tonight, it seemed eager to keep its prince among them.

You turned corners and climbed staircases, the flicker of dying torches casting your shadow long against the walls, until the familiar paths grew strange and your resolve wavered.

Finally, as you entered a lesser hall that stretched toward a wing of old chambers, you spotted movement—a maidservant carrying linens, her head bent as if afraid to be seen. Relief mixed with frustration as you quickened your step.

“Excuse me,” you called out, your voice sharper than intended.

The servant started, nearly dropping her burden before bowing her head hastily, eyes fixed to the floor. It was a common sight in Harrenhal, the way they kept their gaze averted in your presence.

Word of your husband’s fierce reputation as Prince Regent and Kinslayer had traveled swiftly, and it seemed they feared that to slight you was to invite his wrath upon them.

With a lifted chin and a tone that brooked no disobedience, you asked, “Where is my husband?”

Before the maid could stammer out an answer, another voice cut through the dim hallway—a voice that chilled the blood in your veins and haunted your sleep with its whispers.

“I fear the prince is still occupied in the council chamber, my lady,” said Alys Rivers, her tone smooth and deceptively courteous, like the edge of a blade.

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she regarded you, taking in the sight of your tense shoulders, the protective way your hand drifted instinctively to your rounded stomach.

There was no warmth in her expression, only the sly amusement of a cat toying with a bird that dared to stray too far from its nest.

Your nostrils flared, and you straightened your back, eyes narrowing as you corrected her in a low, simmering murmur, “Princess.”

Alys tilted her head, feigning surprise, though her eyes betrayed nothing but a cold mirth. “Pardon me,” she said, her gaze sliding deliberately to your abdomen before flicking back up to meet yours, daring you to react.

“I am not your lady,” you hissed, “I am your princess.”

With a final, steely glare, you turned on your heel, the folds of your violet gown sweeping the floor as you made your way back through the shadowed hallways, heart pounding beneath your ribs.

The silence of Harrenhal enveloped you once more, and you did not pause until you reached the safety of your chambers, locking the door behind you and pressing your back against the cool, unyielding wood.

The echo of Alys’s smirk lingered in your mind, but you would not let her see your fear. Not tonight. Not ever.

A scream ripped from your throat, raw and primal, as the pain surged through you, tearing its way up your spine and scattering your senses. It felt as though your very body was being split apart, the agony sharper and deeper than any blade.

“Keep pushing, my princess; the babe is almost here,” urged the midwife, her voice steady but relentless.

You clenched your jaw, wanting to curse her, to scream at her to hold her tongue, but the pain stole all words from you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

It was a torment that came in relentless waves, each cresting higher than the last, only to drag you under when you thought you could surface for air. The burning, the stretching—unbearable, blinding.

“I cannot,” you sobbed, tears mingling with the sweat that drenched your brow. “Please… I can't,” you pleaded, your voice broken and desperate.

The pain surged again, stealing the air from your lungs, and then you felt it—a firm, familiar hand pressed gently to your cheek. Through the haze of pain, you turned your head, and your vision cleared just enough to see the sharp lines of Aemond’s face.

His single violet eye was intent, fierce, a rare expression of vulnerability breaking through his stoic mask. Relief, so profound it was nearly painful, swelled in your chest.

“Aemond,” you gasped, his name a lifeline, an anchor in the storm.

Husbands were not meant to be present for the birth, tradition forbade it. But he was there, and you did not care for any rule or rite that would keep him away.

“Just a few more pushes, my love,” he murmured, his voice low, a thread of steel woven through the gentleness.

You nodded weakly, mustering what remained of your strength. A deep groan escaped you as you pushed once more, the room spinning around you. The midwife’s voice rose above the roaring in your ears.

“The babe is crowning, my lady.”

But the tone was wrong. Too familiar, too cold. Alarm jolted you to consciousness, and you struggled to prop yourself on trembling elbows. Your eyes darted to the space at the foot of the birthing bed, and dread coiled tight in your gut.

There, in the dim light of the chamber, knelt Alys Rivers. Her dark hair framed eyes as green and sharp as glass, eyes that glimmered with a knowing, malevolent gleam. A smile curled at the corners of her lips as she met your gaze.

“No, no!” you screamed, panic twisting your voice. “Get away from me!”

With a surge of fear-driven strength, you tried to kick her away, your limbs thrashing wildly, but Aemond’s hands clamped down on you, firm and unyielding. “Calm yourself,” he commanded, his voice cool, steady as stone.

Alys turned her gaze up to him, a shadow of mock sympathy curving her lips. “You must choose, my prince,” she intoned, each word dripping with false solemnity. “The babe, or your wife.”

A sob wrenched from your chest as you felt your breath come in sharp, shallow gasps. “No. No!” The pain was drowned beneath the torrent of fear that flooded you.

Desperately, you looked up at Aemond, seeking the warmth, the fierce protection that once resided in his eye. But what you found was a gaze distant and unreadable, as though he stood apart, watching from some cold, unreachable place. His jaw tightened. “Save the babe.”

Time seemed to fracture around you. His words, so final, crashed over you like a wave of ice. Your eyes widened, disbelieving, as rough handmaids or shadows, you could not tell—pressed you back, holding you firm as you struggled.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed, your voice raw with betrayal and terror, limbs straining against the iron grip that pinned you.

Pain cleaved through you, and you felt the weight of the babe shift within. But your focus broke as Alys moved, no longer at the foot of the bed but gliding closer, the flicker of torchlight catching on the edge of a cruel, glinting blade.

The chamber seemed to darken around her, the faint cries of the midwives fading into an ominous silence. And all you could see were those green eyes, bearing down on you like a curse whispered in the dark.

You jolted upright, heart pounding and breath ragged, the remnants of your nightmare clinging to your skin like a shroud. A trembling hand reached up to brush the tears from your cheeks, the dampness proof of the terror that had gripped you in sleep.

Your eyes drifted down, catching the soft curve of your swollen belly under the covers, rising and falling with your shallow breaths. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a bitter mix of relief and unease.

The babe was still safe within you—at least for now. You pressed your palm over it, as if to reassure yourself of its presence.

Beyond the thin light filtering through the shuttered window, the sky remained cloaked in the indigo of night.

The stillness told you it was not yet dawn, that liminal time when dreams and waking often blurred. But sleep would not find you again; not after that vision, nor for many nights to come, you were sure.

The memory of Aemond's cold, detached gaze as he spoke words that sealed your fate in your dream clung to you. It pierced deeper than any blade, a wound festering with fear and doubt.

Yet you forced yourself to swallow the sharp sting of betrayal, directing your thoughts toward another source of your unease—Alys Rivers.

The whispers, the eyes that followed, the dark air that seemed to shift when she was near. Your fears, your husband’s torment, the sense of something wicked gnawing at Harrenhal’s bones—it all traced back to her.

Resolve steeled your spine. You pushed back the covers and rose, the weight of your pregnancy making the motion slower, more deliberate.

Wrapping yourself in a heavy fur cloak, you reached for the candelabra on the nightstand. Its small flame sputtered in protest before catching steady, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls.

The corridors of Harrenhal, once alive with whispered conversations and the hurried footfalls of servants, now loomed around you in cold, watchful silence. The draft that crept through the ancient stones nipped at your cheeks and sent a shiver down your spine.

Clutching the fur tighter against your body, you moved forward, the warm light in your grasp flickering as it met the draft.

The silence was thick, broken only by the soft rustle of your cloak and the creak of old floorboards beneath your weight.

At last, you reached the great doors of the library, their dark wood carved with sigils long forgotten and gnarled from centuries of use. Setting the candelabra down, you pushed against one of the doors, muscles straining with the effort.

It groaned open, the sound reverberating through the stillness and sending a cold gust rushing past you. Picking up the candelabra, you stepped inside and let the heavy door drift shut behind you with a thud.

The scent of old parchment and dust surrounded you, familiar and oddly comforting. Shelves stretched high, towering sentinels filled with the stories of old and the wisdom of those long gone.

On other nights, you would have lost yourself in the tales that wove through these tomes—myths and sagas that spoke of courage and triumph. But tonight, solace was not what you sought.

You moved through the rows with purpose, eyes scanning the spines until they found those few volumes that hinted at the arcane.

The lore of witches, their dark arts, the means by which they could twist men’s dreams and cloud their minds—it all lay within reach, hidden among dusty pages that no one dared speak of.

You placed the candelabra down, its light casting a golden glow that flickered across the cracked leather and faded titles.

With trembling hands, you opened the first book, its binding stiff with age. The parchment crackled as you turned the pages, your eyes drinking in the inked words.

If there was any way to guard yourself, to protect Aemond from the shadows that had seeped into your lives, you would find it here. No longer would you be haunted by that witch’s knowing gaze or the dread that coiled tight in your belly.

With each turn of the page, the flickering glow of the candelabra cast dancing shapes upon the stone walls, warding off the chill that seeped through Harrenhal’s blackened stones.

The words spoke of charms and tokens, of age-old rituals whispered by the smallfolk who feared the unseen.

Marking doors with protective sigils or crosses to ward off malevolent forces. The purifying strength of salt, said to bar dark spirits and their ilk. Rowan wood, revered for its protective properties, best used when tied with crimson thread to seal its potency.

The hours crept by, measured by the slow guttering of candle wax. You read, forgetting the passage of time as the nightmare’s claws loosened their grip on your heart.

Knowledge was your weapon now, and you wielded it with the silent promise that neither you nor Aemond would fall victim to powers unknown.

The day’s first light spilled through the high, narrow windows, a pale and hesitant glow that bled into the room and painted the bookshelves in muted gold.

It was the day of the Stranger, seldom celebrated, yet you paid it no heed. Lost in the pages, you missed the bells that tolled the hour and forgot the warmth of your usual morning meal shared with Aemond.

When at last you closed the final volume, a resolve settled in your chest, resolute and unyielding. You would need these items—symbols of protection—and that meant venturing beyond the castle’s shadowed halls and out into the market.

The fur-lined cloak wrapped snug around you, guarding against the bitter drafts that swept through the corridors as you made your way back to your chambers.

As you reached the windows, a rare sight unfolded before your eyes—snow, soft and unrelenting, blanketing the bleak spires of Harrenhal.

Snow was a rarity in King’s Landing, seldom seen during your girlhood there. For a moment, untouched by fear or doubt, you felt the stir of childish wonder rise within you.

Three knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks pristine even in the snow, flanked you as you ventured to the market. The square bustled despite the cold, vendors calling out their wares with voices hoarse from the chill. Your list of protective items, hastily scrawled in the early hours, guided your every step.

Surprisingly, the rowan wood was easy to find, its branches bundled tightly with red thread as per custom.

Charms of polished crystal and talismans wrought from iron and bronze were procured with little effort, their sellers eager to part with them for a handful of silver stags.

The murmured blessings from the old crones at their stalls made the hair on the back of your neck prickle, but you pressed on, their eyes shadowed with both reverence and suspicion.

By the time the sun began its descent, casting a gilded glow over the snow-draped stones of Harrenhal, your arms were laden with your newfound protections. You returned to your chambers with purpose, setting to work immediately.

With meticulous care, you bound the red thread around the twigs of rowan wood and placed them above each entrance.

Salt, precious and fine, was spread across the thresholds, each grain catching the firelight like scattered stars.

With charcoal from your writing desk, you etched intricate symbols—wards against dark magics—onto the cold, unyielding stone walls.

But it was not just your own safety you sought to secure. For Aemond, you had combed the market for a piece both practical and protective. After much haggling, you procured a leather eyepatch, supple and black, unmarred by wear.

Returning to your chamber, you carefully stitched shards of black tourmaline into its edge, each piece glinting with a subtle, protective gleam. Your needlework was steady, each pull of the thread imbued with silent prayers.

Lost in your task, you barely noted the soft knock at your door or the maidservant who entered, setting a tray of supper on the table near the hearth.

The aroma of roasted fowl and warm bread wafted through the chamber, but your focus remained fixed.

As you worked by the fire's glow, the shadows that had haunted your waking hours seemed to lessen, replaced by the steady rhythm of thread and needle, and the quiet resolve that this time, you would be ready.

You were so absorbed in your needlework, fingers deftly stitching the dark crystals onto a supple leather patch, that the sudden clearing of a throat startled you. Your gaze snapped up, eyes wide with surprise as they met the cool, familiar face of Aemond Targaryen.

“Husband,” you said, breathless as you hastily hid the finished eye patch beneath a velvet pillow. Rising to your feet, you inclined your head, though your heart thudded with residual tension.

He stood tall and imposing in the dim glow, the silver-white of his hair catching the light like a crown. For a moment, the room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves pressed in with the weight of his presence.

“What brings you here?” you asked, voice touched with confusion and a hint of sharpness. Exhaustion dulled your sense of propriety, leaving the question more pointed than intended.

Aemond’s lone violet eye narrowed, an unreadable glimmer within its depths. “To have supper with you,” he replied, as if such a thing were the most natural answer in the realm.

Your eyes flickered to the table, where two silver plates now sat, the steam rising lazily from the dishes set by the silent servant moments before.

You pressed your lips into a thin line and sighed, murmuring, “I believe my invitation was for yesterday.”

A shadow of regret crossed his face, so brief that another might have missed it, but you saw. As you moved past him to take your seat, you caught the soft murmur that slipped from his lips, “I deserved that.”

Aemond followed and took his place across from you, the creak of the chair echoing in the quiet chamber. For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearthfire. His gaze settled on you, sharp and searching.

“I have not seen you at all today,” he said at last, the words carrying a hint of something that might have been longing, tempered by pride.

Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers fiddling absently with the edge of your gown. Remorse pricked at your heart—you had broken your shared morning ritual, the one part of the day reserved just for the two of you.

“I was very busy,” you replied softly, the excuse feeling thin on your tongue.

Aemond’s expression remained unreadable as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard. Visits to the market square,” he said.

You hesitated, holding back the details of the charms, the salt, the ancient warding sigils you had traced with trembling hands. He would only deem you foolish or worse, mad.

“I needed fresh air.”

His eye narrowed, a flicker of displeasure passing over his sharp features. “It is too dangerous for one in your condition to wander beyond these walls,” he said, the admonishment clear, though his tone held an undercurrent of concern.

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with defiance. “That is why I took three of your White Cloaks,” you retorted, the fire in your voice matching the spark in his eye.

For a heartbeat, the tension crackled between you, the weight of unsaid words pressing down like a heavy cloak. Then, Aemond’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly, as if some silent battle had been waged and resolved within him.

“Good,” he said at last, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You are no fool, wife.”

The tautness in the room eased, and though unspoken, an accord was reached.

Aemond leaned forward, and placed a carved wooden box on the table between you. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, his voice a measured calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something softer. “An apology for last night.”

Your brows knit together, skepticism clear in your eyes. “My forgiveness cannot be bought with trinkets, husband,” you said, your tone edged with defiance. Yet even as you spoke, curiosity stirred within you.

One of his silver brows arched at your remark, and a small smile ghosted his lips. “Let us see if it is worthy,” you murmured, reluctant to give ground but unable to hide the intrigue that tugged at you.

With a careful hand, Aemond lifted the lid of the box, revealing a necklace of silver and sapphire. The deep blue stone glimmered like the sea under moonlight, capturing the room’s faint candle glow.

Your breath stilled for a moment, eyes tracing the intricate work of the silver links, each carved to mimic dragon scales.

Your fingertips brushed over the gem, the cool surface grounding you as warmth bloomed in your chest. Unbidden, a soft smile tugged at your lips, an expression so rare that even you felt its presence.

“Thank you, husband,” you whispered, your voice softened by genuine gratitude.

Aemond’s face shifted, pride flickering across his sharp features. There was something triumphant in his half-smirk that you could not allow him to savor unchallenged. You rose from your seat, skirts rustling as you moved.

“I, too, have a gift for you,” you said, your tone now light with a note of playfulness.

“Oh?” he replied, one silver eyebrow lifting in surprise, though the glint in his lone violet eye revealed his interest.

“Mm,” you hummed, stepping to the chaise where a small cushion lay. Your fingers slipped beneath it, retrieving the item hidden there. Turning back to him, a touch of shyness colored your expression, a rare sight that softened the lines of your face.

With both hands, you presented him with an eye patch, the black leather supple and embroidered with fine strands of broken tourmaline crystals, catching the dim light with a subtle shimmer.

Aemond took it, surprise giving way to careful scrutiny. His fingers traced the delicate work, the weight of the crystals and their arrangement thoughtful.

“Black tourmaline,” you said quietly, watching his gaze flick between you and the patch. “It is said to have powerful protective qualities.”

You hesitated, unwilling to speak of how it was also believed to ward against dark energies and unseen dangers—of how it might shield him from threats both known and hidden.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Aemond’s mouth quirked into a faint smile, rare and genuine. “Thank you, wife. 'Tis a very thoughtful gift,” he said, voice low and sincere.

A moment passed, and you froze in silent shock as Aemond reached up to remove the eye patch he wore. Of course, you had seen what lay beneath—the striking sapphire set into the hollow of his missing eye—but Aemond was never keen on showing it.

In King’s Landing, he would only take it off moments before sleep and replace it the moment he awoke.

Before he could put on the new eye patch, you placed a hand over his arm. “You know you don’t have to wear it around me, yes? I have no issue with it, and you should not either.”

Aemond stared at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring slightly. For a heartbeat, you feared you had overstepped, but then he nodded, leaving both eye patches on the table.

A small, victorious smile touched your lips as you felt the weight of this unspoken understanding between you. “Allow me to have the maids bring us some dessert,” you said, the tension lifting.

Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on you as you turned to the doors.

Stepping into the corridor, you quickly found a maid and requested something sweet to be brought to your chambers. When you returned, your heart faltered at the sight before you. Aemond stood at your desk, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned over an open book—your journal.

Panic surged within you, and you strode forward, slamming the book shut with a sharp motion. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than intended, eyes wide with both shock and alarm.

Aemond straightened, holding the closed journal in his hand. His expression was unreadable, though his eye bore into you with quiet intensity. “What is this?” he asked evenly, tilting the book slightly for emphasis.

“My private journal,” you answered quickly, reaching for it, but he lifted it just out of your grasp, his superior height giving him the advantage. “Give it back, husband. It is mine.”

Aemond’s voice was steady but carried an undertone of something raw, almost fragile. “Then why,” he began, his eye fixed on you, ignoring your protests, “do you write to our babe?” There was an ache in his tone, a depth of emotion he hadn’t yet voiced.

The question caught you unprepared, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your skirts, and your shoulders sagged as you avoided his penetrating gaze. “In case,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

“In case of what?” he pressed, his voice low and edged with a demand for understanding.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could uncover your secrets by sheer will. Unable to face him, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “In case I’m not there,” you admitted at last, the words barely audible, like a confession carried on the wind.

Aemond’s brows drew together, confusion shadowing his features. “What do you mean if you’re not—” He stopped mid-sentence, his breath catching as realization dawned. The tension in his posture shifted, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. “…There.”

His sharp features softened, a rare vulnerability settling over his face. “Women do survive the childbed,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, as though he feared the weight of his words might shatter you.

“Not every time,” you countered, your tone edged with resignation. “And there’s also… that choice.” Your voice broke on the last word, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, Aemond reached out and cupped your cheek.

His touch was warm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he tilted your face toward him, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“There can be more babes,” he said softly, his words a promise etched with fierce determination, “but there is only one you.”

His eye, a storm of violet and sapphire, held yours with such intensity that you felt as though he was laying his very soul bare. A tear escaped and traced down your cheek, but Aemond caught it with his thumb, his touch steady, grounding you in the moment.

“I would not choose otherwise,” he said firmly, the weight of his vow lingering in the air between you. “Not for all the heirs in the realm.”

Your lips trembled as you whispered, “You swear?”

“I swear it,” he replied, his voice low and resolute. “I will not lose my wife.”

The ache in your chest eased slightly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a shield. You placed your hand over his, pressing it gently against your cheek.

With a soft breath, you tilted your head upward, letting your lips meet his in a gentle caress. The kiss was tender at first, a quiet exchange of affection that carried the weight of your unspoken fears and his unyielding promise.

Aemond responded eagerly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as his hand slid from your cheek to cradle the nape of your neck.

His other hand found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer, as if the mere thought of distance was unbearable. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As his tongue met yours, the kiss deepened, a slow, fervent dance that sent warmth coursing through your veins. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown.

Your hands moved up his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath his tunic, before curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.

The world around you faded, leaving only the press of his body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, and the heat that built between you like the fire crackling in the hearth.

When the kiss broke, it was with a reluctance that lingered in the air between you. Your breaths came in shallow pants as you gazed up at him through hooded lashes, the corners of your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“My love,” you purred, your voice sultry and laced with affection, “you’ve left me wanting… again.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened, the stormy hue of his violet eye smoldering with barely restrained desire. “Have I now?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then it seems I must remedy that, wife.”

You guided his hands lower, to the swell of your belly, then further down to the hem of your nightgown. “Will you show me how much you desire me?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper. “Make me forget everything but the feel of you inside me...”

A low growl rumbled in Aemond's throat as his hands moved beneath your gown, fingers tracing the curves of your swollen belly before dipping lower to find the damp heat of your core.

“You have no idea how often I dreamt of this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Of burying myself deep within you, feeling your walls clench around me...”

With a swift motion, he lifted the hem of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it aside, revealing your naked form.

His gaze devoured every inch of you, from the full breasts that rose and fell with each ragged breath, to the soft, rounded hips and the glistening folds of your sex.

“Tell me what you want, my queen,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

A shiver ran through you at Aemond's bold appraisal, your nipples hardening into tight peaks as his hungry gaze seared your skin. You reached for the fastenings of his breeches, your fingers fumbling with urgency to free his straining erection.

“I want you,” you murmured, your voice low, thick with a desire that lingered like a soft melody in the air. Your eyes never left his, the depth of your longing laid bare in the way your breath hitched.

Aemond’s violet gaze darkened, the flicker of a smirk ghosting his lips. His head tilted ever so slightly, a predator’s grace, as though savoring your words before acting upon them.

You took a step back, your movements slow and deliberate, your footsteps light against the floor as you inched toward the bed. The flicker of the firelight cast a warm glow across the room, the shadows dancing across the carved posts of the bed.

As you reached its edge, you let yourself fall gracefully onto the soft mattress, your body sinking into the luxurious furs and silks. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gazed at him through lowered lashes, a sly smile curving your lips.

“You beckon me so boldly,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet drawl, the faintest edge of amusement laced within it. “Have a care, wife, for I am not a man to resist such temptation.”

Aemond watched, transfixed, as you sank onto the bed, the mattress creaking under your weight. His cock throbbed in time with his racing heart, the tip already glistening with precum.

He shed his clothes the rest of the way, letting them fall carelessly to the floor as he stalked towards you, muscles rippling with each step. By the time he reached the bed, he was fully erect, his shaft jutting proudly from a nest of silver curls.

Lying beside you, he reached out to cup your breast, thumbing the sensitive peak before leaning in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss.

His free hand trailed over your round stomach, pausing to tease the edge of your slit before delving deeper, fingers probing your slick folds.

“You're so wet for me already.”

You gasped into the kiss as Aemond's fingers found your entrance, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his touch. “Please,” you whimpered, breaking away from his mouth to gaze up at him with pleading eyes. “I need you inside me. Fill me up, make me yours again.”

As if sensing your desperation, Aemond positioned himself between your thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your opening. With a deep groan, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure-pain crashed over you. It took a moment for your body to adjust, to relax and welcome the thick length filling you so completely.

Aemond's breath hitched as he bottomed out inside you, your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. For a moment, he simply savored the exquisite sensation, reveling in the tight heat enveloping his throbbing cock.

Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a relentless pace.

The bed frame creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but Aemond paid it no mind, lost in the primal rhythm of rutting his mate.

“Yes, just like that,” he growled, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. “Take my cock, my queen.”

You wrapped your legs around Aemond's waist, heels digging into his firm behind as he pounded into you with wild abandon.

Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning shaft.

“Aemond!” You wailed, your nails raking down his back as you met his ferocious pace.

The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by my wanton cries and Aemond's guttural grunts. You could feel the pressure building within you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap.

Suddenly, you were hurtling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name as your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

Aemond's eye rolled back in his head as your velvet sheath spasmed around him, your climax triggering his own. With a hoarse groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came undone, his seed erupting in thick, pulsing jets.

He continued to thrust through the aftershocks, prolonging your shared bliss until he was spent, collapsing beside you with a grunt. For a long moment, the two of you lay entwined, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

The chamber was awash with the warmth of the firelight and the quiet hum of your contentment. As you lay entwined, your bodies barely a breath apart, your gaze lingered on Aemond’s face.

His sharp features, so often hardened by duty and war, were softened now, his violet eye fixed on you with a tenderness rarely seen.

Your noses brushed lightly, a quiet intimacy, as his hand rested possessively over your waist while yours splayed across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

Almost as if drawn by a spell, he leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to your lips, a gesture so gentle it felt like a whispered promise. When he pulled away, he settled back onto the pillow beside you, his arm still wrapped protectively around you.

You shifted, nestling closer, your head finding solace in the crook of his neck. Your hand lay over his heart, its steady rise and fall a soothing cadence that began to lull you into slumber.

His breathing slowed, each exhale a soft brush against your hair, and soon, the quiet comfort of his presence drew you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But the peace did not last.

You jolted awake, startled by the sudden thrashing of Aemond’s body beside you. His face, so serene moments ago, was now contorted in anguish, his brow slick with sweat.

His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his hands clenched the sheets as if warding off some unseen terror.

Your heart clenched at the sight. He had spoken little of his nightmares, but you knew they haunted him—a torment born of battles fought, losses endured, and burdens carried.

Pushing yourself up, you moved with as much haste as your swollen belly would allow, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you only slightly.

Grabbing the robe draped over the chair, you wrapped it around yourself, its soft fabric barely warding off the chill of the room as you padded toward the small table where you had placed your new goods.

Your hands rummaged through the items with purpose, your fingers finally curling around a small vial. You held it up, peering at its contents even in the dim light. The faint, familiar scent already began to calm your racing heart.

Lavender oil.

You returned to the bed, the vial clutched firmly in your grasp. As you sat beside him, Aemond's thrashing began to subside, though his breaths were still ragged, and his jaw clenched tightly.

Carefully, you uncorked the vial, the soothing aroma of lavender wafting into the room. You poured a small amount onto your hands, warming the oil between your palms before leaning over him.

With gentle, deliberate movements, you began to anoint his temples, your touch light yet firm as you traced small, calming circles.

The oil left a faint sheen on his skin, its scent filling the space between you. "Aemond," you whispered softly, your voice low and steady, a tether pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare.

His breathing began to slow, the tension in his body easing under your ministrations. You moved to his wrists, massaging the oil into his pulse points, your hands steady despite the ache blooming in your lower back.

“You are safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “I am here.”

You whispered a silent prayer under your breath, invoking the gods for protection and peace. Your gaze stayed fixed on him, your heart clenching as you watched his features begin to soften, the tension melting away.

You held your breath, waiting. When his form finally stilled, his breathing evening out, you let out a soft sigh of relief. The lavender and your quiet vigil had worked.

Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you, and you slid back into bed beside him, pulling the covers over the both of you. But just as you were about to lay your head against Aemond’s chest, you froze.

A chill ran down your spine, and the hairs on your arms stood on end as an inexplicable sensation swept over you.

You were being watched.

Your eyes darted to the chamber doors, which you now noticed were slightly ajar. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, you caught the faint glimmer of glowing green eyes.

Your heart raced, a primal fear coursing through you. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with an unseen presence.

But you steadied yourself, your breathing slowing as you reminded yourself of the protections you had set in place earlier that day.

You had taken every precaution, warding the chamber with runes and incantations, ensuring that no ill intent could cross its threshold. Alys Rivers might wield her strange gifts, but she would not claim Aemond—not without a fight.

With a courage you hadn’t known you possessed, you tightened your arms around Aemond’s sleeping form, drawing strength from the warmth of his body against yours. Lifting your chin, you stared directly into the glowing eyes, refusing to show weakness.

“I won’t let you have him,” you whispered fiercely, your voice a low, steady vow. “Not without a fight, witch.”

For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath. The green eyes lingered for a moment longer, unblinking and cold, before retreating into the darkness.

Only when the oppressive feeling lifted did you allow yourself to exhale. A trembling sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your head, nestling into Aemond’s chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear, became a soothing rhythm, lulling you out of your fear.

As the night enveloped you once more, you clung to him, your resolve unshaken. Whatever forces sought to disturb your peace, you would face them.

For Aemond, for your babe, for the family you were building together—you would fight.

Hope You Enjoyed!

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