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lalunanymph · 1 year ago

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꒰ nanami is forced to put his sweet wife back in her place (under him) ꒱

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── fem!reader, wife!reader, ceo!reader, lifestyle dom!nanami, househusband!nanami, brat taming, hair pulling, overstimulation, sir kink, restraints, finger gagging, nipple play, use of vibrators, chair bondage, reader gets spanked, fear of cheating, unprotected s[e]x, collaring, oral s[e]x, kento mentions divorce playfully, nanami slaps his c*ck on reader's face and tongue, degradation, pet names (baby, little slut, love, darling, good girl), aftercare

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── 5k+ words because of mappa’s horniness they made him so big and beefy what did you expect me to do

“Fuck, baby, that’s a good girl.”

Your husband’s scratchy moan is followed by a tug to your hair. He’s got your locks in his firm, veiny grip, using it to guide your mouth up and down his flushed cock like you were nothing but a human fleshlight made just for him.

The kitchen clock ticks and you’re on your knees, still in your office blazer and figure-hugging skirt.

It was usually customary for you to greet your husband like this—like he’s pure treasure and deserves your devotion on these marbled tiles.

They were the same ones you bought with your twelve-month bonus, right when the company you spearheaded burst into the tech scene and started raking in the billions.

Through it all, Nanami Kento was with you, building your home while you changed the world.

More than anything, he was the rock which kept you from falling apart.

But, if they could see you now… how your mouth was slicked with a mixture of cum and spit and your eyes were woozy with bliss, they couldn’t tell that you were the same woman who once fired three directors on account of an embezzlement accusation.

He pulled you off his flushed tip, those chiselled cheeks dusted with pink. Reacting like this, he was nothing more than an enamoured husband adoring his wife on her knees. But, you had been bad to him today, and bad girls didn’t deserve what they wanted. They needed to be put back in their place.

Nanami tugged you up higher, enough to have you balancing on the slivers of your shins. His mouth found yours, insistent and hot with his lustful intention.

“Do you want your collar, baby?” His mouth was a stroke away from yours, warm breath caressing your tongue.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to break. The planes of your husband’s defined chest shook in a soft laugh as he let go of your hair—for now.

“Go and grab it, sweetheart. I'll wait for you.”

You did as he said, standing up on shaky legs that were riddled with pins and needles. He steadied you, looking ridiculously handsome even with his half-chub out and tiny pink apron still on. Nanami was just a man who could make even a trash bag work.

You stumbled into the bedroom, going straight for a drawer that was shut tightly. Using the key next to your perfume stand, you unlocked it, removing a smooth, dark leather strap with the words ‘Kento’s girl’ embedded into it with diamonds.

You heard your husband come back into the room, his body pressed behind yours as he took the collar from your shaking hands. Pushing your hair aside, he fastened it around your neck with a kiss to your earlobe.

“Shall we go back to what we were doing earlier?”

You slid back into your knees in response, shuffling to face him again. Those dark eyes appraised you with pride, tinged with an even darker possession.

“Always so pretty for me,” he hummed. “Aren’t you, my little slut?”

A dirty thrill shot down your spine, and you parted your mouth open on instinct. “Yes, Sir.”

Kento chuckled, giving his hard-hard cock a few pumps before nursing it back into your mouth. You sucked on the tip, tasting his musk and salt. Hollowing your cheeks, you took him deeper, till he hit the back of your throat, and whatever else you couldn’t fit, you fisted around the base of his cock to work it up and down.

Your husband hissed out a curse, and wound your hair back into his tight grip, watching you suck him off with barely concealed wonder. “Doing so good for me, love,” he murmured, a sharp tug on the nape of your neck making you wince and your pussy flood your red lace thong. “And to think you were just mouthing off to me earlier.”

You squirmed on your knees, needing to touch between your legs to ease the flame of desire only your husband could burn.

Kento used his sheer strength to pull you off his cock, and as if still punishing you, he slapped the tip of his fat dick onto your cheeks, coaxing your mouth open so he could do the same thing on your tongue. You didn’t complain, glad to be used as a stress reliever for your husband.

Pre-cum smeared your cheeks and spit was glossing your chin when you took him back down your throat again, this time with more urgency.

Kento was breathing deeper, his half-hooded eyes almost closing from your talented mouth. No one could suck cock as well as his wife could, and he would stand firm in that.

Your sheer hunger and eagerness blew everyone else out of the water, the devotion only you showed him shaping his unshakable love for you.

It's just too bad you had unintentionally insulted him where it hurt the most.

“Do you think you’re forgiven because I let you suck my cock?”

Before you could answer, you were wrenched off his dick, pushed back into your knees. Your cry of indignation was stopped when he shoved two thick fingers down your throat, gagging you with a wet choke.

You worked hard to please him—to apologise to him because you didn’t mean those words; they were just a product of a stressful day.

It’s not like you understand what the fuck I’m going through, Kento. You’re just a househusband who spends all day cleaning!

Careful, those dark eyes had narrowed at you. Do you want to repeat that, darling?

I said—

But, he never gave you a chance to finish.

As if remembering your painful words, Kento grunted, bringing you to your feet just so he could spread you face down, ass up onto your huge makeup counter. The mirror reflected back your desperate stare into your husband’s impassive face, his collar searing through your skin.

“Kento—“

Rough hands from days of labour pushed your skirt up, tugging your thong unceremoniously down your cheeks where the fabric burned against your sensitive skin. “Ah—!”

The first spank landed on your left globe, leaving a stinging pain on the tender flesh. He didn’t stop there—Kento viciously spanked your right cheek, then back to your left, alternating between them until you swore they were glowing hot like dying embers.

You were wincing and crying out softly, hair stuck to your temple and cheeks with sweat. The woman in the mirror had tears in her eyes, and her husband barely pay attention to her—just like how she had messed up and thought lowly of him for a split, disastrous second.

“I don’t know what you’re going through? Did you forget I used to be a salaryman, too, darling?”

His tone dripped with sardonic anger. Another spank, this time on your lower back. The tears broke down your face.

“I’m going to drill into that pretty head who owns you so you don’t mouth back to him. A househusband?” This hit was personal, right on your prickling left cheek. “Is that all you see me as? Do you think of me that lowly?”

Frustrated, Kento yanked your hair back at the same time he plunged two thick fingers into your glistening pussy.

“Oh—Kento!”

Your cry fell from your lax mouth, your eyes snapping close in ecstasy while he finger-fucked you roughly, tugging on your hair to deliver sharp prickles of torture down your spine.

The pain mixed with the pleasure till you couldn’t tell which one was which, your body spiraling closer and closer into delirium.

“Kento!” You sobbed, sure to have woken up the neighbors if your bedroom was soundproofed. “Oh, oh, ah—f-fuck, K-Kento, I-I—“

His forefinger was hitting that softest spot inside of you, and you ached to touch your clit to throw yourself down the agonizing high.

Without thinking it through, one hand drifted in between your thighs, and you managed about three shaky circles on your sensitive bud with your middle finger when Kento noticed and yanked your hand away. Your soft cry was muffled when he pushed your face into the hard word, breathing unsteadily.

“Who said you could touch yourself? Did I say you were given permission to?”

“N-No—“

But, Kento refused to listen to your excuses. “You’re misbehaving more and more tonight. I think I need to teach you an even bigger lesson.”

You could barely cry out a complaint when he manhandled you into his arms, bringing you back into the kitchen. Plopping you down onto the huge dining chair, he left you stewing in your thoughts, tense as to what he had next up his sleeve.

Nanami returned not a minute later with a pair of arm binders and leg cuffs, and your eyes widened when he immediately took your hands, placing them in the restrictive loop behind the chair. He worked on your legs next, fastening them to the wooden stems, while you continued to pathetically bleat apologies that rained on his deaf ears.

Once you were secured, Nanami took you in.

Everything about you was softness and seduction, and he couldn’t help but feel like he was the luckiest bastard alive. I love her, Kento’s eyes shone when you blinked up at him, all innocent and cute like you weren’t exposed in such a lewd way. I love her so very much.

“K-Ken,” you whined, shifting in your seat. The gesture unintentionally hiked your skirt further up your plush thighs.

As much as he loved you, Nanami had to put you back in your place—get you to respect him, even as his cock is raging to sink into your tight heat.

He tapped your cheek, a stern look emblazoned on his handsome face. “That is not what you’re allowed to call me.” His big hand wrapped around your neck, digging into your pulse point—restricting the breath from going down your airways. Asserting his point.

“Sir!” You managed to choke out. “S-Sir—”

Your wheeze turned into a cough when he let you go, your watery eyes looking up at him filled with nothing but remorse.

Nanami toyed with the idea of letting you go once the regret settled in, but the other half of him—that darker impulse which bludgeoned his Jujutsu years with bloodshed and violence—reared its head. It was the same sickly thrill he got whenever he beat up a curse and managed to squeeze in no more than an hour of overtime to get back home to you.

For your credit, you always let him exact his pent-up rage onto your willing body—never bending or breaking your resolve.

Even when he walks back into the bedroom to retrieve your most hated G-spot vibrator, or when he sank it almost lovingly into your waiting pussy, you could never hate your husband—even if he drove you half mad.

Nanami stared at his phone screen, connecting the vibrator to the app it came with. You could tell he was completely focused on breaking you, his eyes never straying when he adjusted the settings.

Soon, a pleasant hum goes off in between your thighs, and you toss your head back, a dulcet whimper leaving your lips and saturating the air with your pure neediness. Your husband doesn’t react beyond crossing his arms over his hulking chest, studying you with those intense darkened eyes you could go insane for.

The vibrator notch constantly rubbed on your G-spot, leaving your clit throbbing with abject neglect. You almost didn’t notice your husband pushing off the sleeves of your blazer, unbuttoning the crisp white dress shirt he had ironed this morning to expose the rise of your heaving tits covered in the red lacy bra he loved so much on you.

“You wore this today?” He fingered the lacy strap, and you hiccuped a stuttering y-yes. Your husband chuckled, easing down the cups so your nipples sprung forward, ready to be teased and touched. Kento hunched down next to you, his entirely bigger build almost draping across your lap as he ran his tongue over the rise of your plush flesh, growing closer and closer to your stiffening nipples. But, he never gave you what you wanted.

Everytime his tongue so much as grazed your areola, he would pull back, leaving you keening with disappointment. Your thighs were starting to shake, the constant pressure on such a susceptible spot slowly making you lose your mind. Without the stimulation Kento was selfishly withholding, you were sure you would be strung along for hours until he decided to show you mercy.

As it was, your husband was a stubborn man once he put his mind to something. You could barely think past the haze of your blurry thoughts, your mind filled with cotton when finally—finally—Kento sucked on your nipples. It was soft at first, barely any stimulation, but once he had a hit of you, Kento couldn’t stop. He suckled on your tits roughly, tonguing them harsh enough to make those sensitive buds throb.

Then, he bit down on them, eliciting a soft cry past your swollen lips. Your hips had basically taken on a life of their own, undulating minutely to the cruel game Kento played on your body.

Once you were on the precipice, needing just a bit more stimulation to topple over the edge, Kento pulled back. He stopped the vibrator with one tap on the screen, and you came crashing back down—body slumped against the chair.

“Sir,” you sobbed, unable to hold back those fat tears from chasing down your cheeks.

Nanami barely gave you time to adjust to the cresting sensations. He stood back up to his full height, toying with his phone and sliding his thumb pad across the screen. The same motions were replicated within the vibrator between your legs—the alternating softness and sudden vigorous overstimulation wrecking your body into dividing sensations.

You didn’t know whether to flinch or lean into the pleasure—whether to cry or to moan.

All you could do was let out a stream of weak Sir, please, oh—Sir, past your lax mouth, your body jerking like a puppet caught in the web of his control.

If it wasn’t enough to torture you, Kento wanted to tease you, too. He continuously pinched your hard nipples, flicking them up and down with the tip of his thumb to get them all perky and desperate for him.

He even knelt in between your thighs, looking up at you with those melting dark eyes while his thumb gently rubbed on your twitching clit. Your husband was doing everything in his power to get you to fold for him, and you were so close to putting aside your ego just to beg him to fuck you.

“S-Sir,” you sniffled.

Kento glanced up at you, noticing the tears beading your lash line. He swiped his thumb under one bulging tear, wiping it away.

In contrast to his filthy actions, his words were soft and sweet. “What do you want, darling?” he added, “Do you want to cum?”

You gave him a shaky nod.

“Do you think you deserve to cum?”

Disappointment curdled in your belly at his simple question. Kento was giving you a chance to apologise, and you could either take the high road and beg for his forgiveness, or let your bigheadedness keep you unsatisfied.

“I don’t,” you whispered, ducking your head in defeat. Kento hated to admit how a carnal wave of satisfaction curled right in his chest from your admission. “I was mean to you. Y-you did so much for me—” you lifted your hips, as if to alleviate the tense pleasure. “—I-I’m so sorry, Sir.”

His big hand smoothed down your belly, settling on your hip. He leaned forward, kissing your forehead tenderly. Instead of accepting your apology, he smeared your tears away with patient lips, trailing down kisses to your neck, his tongue running across the collar which held his claim on you.

“You’re forgiven, sweet girl,” your husband murmured, standing up to switch off the vibrator. You sagged back into the seat with a teary hiccup, peeling your glossy eyes on him so pathetically, his heart couldn’t help but squeeze. “Come on—let’s get you cleaned up.”

Kento removed your bindings, careful to help you stand up on your trembling legs. He held you close to his chest, rubbing those big, warm hands up and down your back to soothe your shuddering sobs. “There, there. You’re alright, baby. You’re fine.” He lifted you into his arms, careful to tuck your head on his shoulder as he carefully made his way back to the bedroom with you.

There, Nanami reverted back to his loving, devoted self—removing your blazer, dress shirt, and pencil skirt with reverence. He lifted your leg onto his shoulder, kissing your ankles before easing off your stockings smoothly. Once you were naked in front of him, it was his turn to undress.

Kento shed off the pink apron, removed his sweatpants and then his fitted cotton shirt, exposing his shredded torso lined with numerous thin, pale white scars. There was once he was afraid of showing them to you—his past bare for your fingers to trace. But, you loved kissing each and every mark left from wounds he could not explain to you. And Nanami was grateful.

He counted himself one of the luckiest sorcerers to make it out alive of that world and into a semi-normal one. He had a wife, a home, a decent car, plenty of time to unwind and relax—in short, he was living the dream he once saw as unattainable. And it was all thanks to you.

“Come here, baby.” Kento gathered you into his arms, careful to not put too much pressure on your sore butt. He traced your features, kissed your eyelids and cheeks until you stopped quietly sobbing, all wrung out and lying exhaustively on his chest. “Good girl—just take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

His voice was a deep, enticing baritone, inciting goosebumps on your arms and putting your guard down. Your eyes slipped closed and you inhaled unsteadily, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“One of my executives found out her husband was cheating on her and she completely lost it at work today.”

Kento stopped stroking your shoulder. “What?”

You nodded, keeping your face buried in his chest to avoid meeting his eyes. “He was a… a stay-at-home husband, too. She trusted him with the nanny and—and that woman knew her kids inside and out. I was so disgusted. I… I thought that—”

“You thought that I would do the same thing to you?”

Nanami wasn’t an idiot. It wasn’t hard for him to piece two and two together—for him to see what was truly haunting you.

A minute of hesitation passed, and then, he felt you nod again.

Nanami’s shoulders relaxed, and he tightened his grip on your tinier body. “I love you so much, Y/N. You know that, right? You’re the best part of my life. I’m so grateful you chose to marry me.”

His sincerity stopped you up short. You peeked from past your curtain of hair, finding him smiling gently at you.

Perching half of your body up, you folded your arms on his chest, looking deeply into his eyes for the absolute truth. “If you ever fall out of love with me, Kento, please tell me. I won’t put up a fight if you want to leave me. Just don’t sneak around behind my back with someone else.”

How serious you looked, and those words… those words you spouted completely broke his heart. Kento’s expression fell, and he shook his head fiercely.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

With barely any grace, he rolled you onto the bed, spreading your thighs around his waist. His hips drove against yours, cock sheathing in one fluid motion into your waiting pussy. The both of you cursed and cried out at the same time, heads thrown back and desire coursing freely in this bedroom.

Nanami’s pace was brutal yet loving, his cock trying to bully into you what he had been desperately trying to show for the past few years you’ve both been blissfully married.

He loves you—he would do anything to make you happy because your happiness was his own.

“Nghh—Sir,” you whined, holding onto his biceps for dear life, trying hard not to fall around his cock without his permission. “Oh—oh, Kento, more, more—please, don’t stop—!”

He wasn’t planning to. If he could make you believe with his actions, Kento would keep at it until you finally accepted what he’d been feeling for all these years.

He smudged endless kisses onto your cheeks, nose and lips, each time tasting your desperation a bit more.

“Sir, can I please touch myself?”

How sweet—you were waiting for his permission. In answer, Nanami plucked your hand from your side, placing it right in between your legs, implicitly telling you to pleasure yourself while he ruined your world.

The both of you were hanging right on a thread, and the very second he felt your walls starting to melt around him, Kento pulled you in for a deep kiss, one which felt like it could break every resolve in your body. You became putty for him, dissolving into the kiss and his arms.

You broke the second you felt his hot cum paint your walls, every fibre of your soul screaming out your husband’s name. “Kento,” you whimpered in between sloppy kisses, your bodies slippery with sweat. “Kento—”

Nanami caught you the second you sagged into his arms. With his ludicrous strength and yet, his gentleness, he easily rolled you against his chest, letting you catch your breath on top of him. His lips found your temple and hair, large palms methodically massaging your sore muscles. He gripped your ass, squeezing fondly and unhurriedly, content to enjoy this moment with you.

When you had finally stilled and your breathing returned to normal, Kento whispered: “I love you, darling. You know that, right?”

Even with your raging insecurities, you couldn’t deny how sincere and sweet he sounded.

“I love you, too, Kento.”

Seriously now, he added: “And I won’t ever cheat on you because you’d take my car away first.”

You grinned, knowing that Nanami Kento was a man of his word and would never back down from it without a fight.

a/n: mappa made him so damn fuckable in the last ep as reparations for what they’re gonna do to him next im so sick

©️ lalunanymph, 2023

#nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x you #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #🦢 writes

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yeyinde · 8 months ago

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old, grizzled retired alpha!Price who gets stuck in his cabin with omega!Reader when the winter roads, the only way in and out of his domain, melt with the encroaching spring. and really. what's an alpha like him supposed to do when an untouched, unclaimed omega like you—so sweet, so desperate—is thrown headfirst into a vicious, blistering heat without any suppressants. it's not like either of you really have a choice, after all.

dub con; age difference; power imbalance; rough sex; size difference, size kink; abo dynamics: knotting; breeding kink (astronomical); mean!Price, Dom!Price; unsafe sex; oral (f!receiving); slight innocence kink; implied kidnapping; coercion; slight baby trapping; possessive, greedy Price pulling strings from behind the scenes, as per usual. this is basically Alpha John Price knotting Omega Reader in mating press, bullying you into submission

It's an accident, of course.

An unfortunate combination of poor timing and human error.

But this accident culminates in Price folding his body over you—mating press, you note a touch hysterically; you'd have expected him to be all tradition: presenting to an alpha on your hands and knees, cunt bare for the taking, waiting to be claimed. And while it might not be traditional, Price will claim you tonight. Bully his cock into your drenched cunt, split you wide on the thick of him, on his knot (fuck, fuck, fuck—), and keep you plugged up around him until the unexpected heat passes.

And really. What's an old, grizzled alpha like him supposed to do when an untouched, unclaimed omega like you—so sweet, so desperate—is thrown headfirst into a vicious, blistering heat. It's not like either of you really have a choice, after all. It's agony. It's want. Primal, instinctual. You need him. Ache with it. The urge, the desperation, to be filled. Claimed. Conquered. Owned.

As he presses bluntly against your drenching slit, notching heavy and insistent into your fluttering, aching hole, spilling slick in thick rivulets down your thighs, over the engorged head of his cock, you can't help but wonder how could you be so stupid?

“Spread your legs for me.”

The command rolls off of his tongue, slips—liquid, molten—down his chin, where it dangles for a moment. Pebbled hest. A globbing demand. You want to roll away when it starts to fall, unspooling slowly until it drips down to your chest, but you can't. You're stuck. Trapped. All you can do is watch helplessly as this barking order, matchstick casuistry, touches your kerosene-slick skin, igniting in a bloom of fire that spreads, rapidly, through your veins. Your body.

An Alpha's whim must be met. Even this one. This one—

Your former chief, boss. Now retired in the mountains, chiselling out a little place for himself in a corrie, pitching this log bivouac beside a marbled blue tarn. Cut off from the rest of civilisation every spring when the only way in—and out—melted into a raging, uncrossable stretch of river. The ravine frothing too furiously for boats to dock safely on either side. Trapped here with him until next winter—

(oh god oh god—)

You don't know how it got to this point. Scorched. Soaked. With him leaning over you, in all his tartarean glory, making demands of your body as easily as pulling on loose thread between his thick fingers.

You could blame Gaz for this.

Sat pretty at his desk, idling a jar of gun oil in his hands. Your gun is spread out on the desk, taken apart. Worrying his lip between his teeth, he said, “someone should check in on Price. Haven't heard from him in a while.”

Through a quick game of hierarchy, that someone ended up being you. Forced to trek halfway up a mountain just to make sure your mercurial boss didn't die over the winter. Bitten off more than he could chew and too much of a proud Alpha to admit defeat, and call for help.

You had enough suppressants to last you there and back. Three days. One in the morning, one in the afternoon. Price, despite his surly disposition, is an intense Alpha to be around—

Even for Betas.

Some, unintentionally, succumb to his whims without even a forethought spared on rationality. It's innate. He says something, and people listen—

Like now. Hours after you discovered your suppressants were gone, and his heavy, cloying scent thickened in the air, suffocating you. When he leaned against the thick log doorframe on the porch of his cabin, thick arms folded across his broad chest, murmured, “come all this way just to see me?” and all at once, the world fell out from under you—

Plunging you into his arms, his embrace. His growl in your ear, “you’re in heat,” he grunted, fists balled against your sides. “fuckin’ Christ—” and the death sentence he imparted on you: “either I take care of this, or your heat becomes too much for me, and I tear you to pieces. But it doesn't matter does it, mm? You can't make it back down in this state,” more snarling anger, dry heat. Scorching. His chin jerked to the river at the foot of the mountain. “In a few hours, It’ll be melted through. Uncrossable.”

Per usual, John Price leaves you very little room for choice, doesn't he?

Slowly, shakily, your pitched knees part, unveiling your bare cunt to the man towering over you with a condescending coo on his lips, red-hot desire in his smouldering Tartarean eyes.

“Tha’s it,” he murmurs, voice full of sarky delight. “Such a good omega for me, aren't you?”

It’s not meant to be answered—the jeer chock full of hyperbole. Despite this, your body responds instantly. Back arching, legs spreading out wider around the bulk of his frame, nearly flush against the warmed fur covering the floor of the cabin—wolf, he muttered proudly before he pushed you down against the soft pelt, mouthing teasing at your jaw. Chest heaving. Fingers curling, knotting into the pelt.

The urge to present for him is intense. An unanswerable call when he pins you down on your back, body a cage keeping you trapped where you lay. Open, inviting. All for him.

This surly, awful man—

His hands are rough, padded with calluses and hard, jagged scars that jut up from his flesh. It feels abrasive, sandpaper grit, when he leans down, hand pressed against your knee. The drag, then, when he lets it drop down the skin of your inner thigh, makes you keen in the back of your throat. Gnarled palms bleed heat into your soft skin. The contrast is dizzying—size, scale, texture; it all leaves you breathless. Victim to your own instincts, ones that scream at you to roll over. To run. To make this massive, virile alpha yours—

He cups your pussy in the palm of his hand, heel pressed against your clit, fingers sliding between your slit, touching your entrance with the tip of his middle finger. The way the length of it swallows you whole, long, thick fingers reaching beneath you, grazing the cheeks of your ass, sets you on fire in a way you've never felt before.

Price sees it. He must. He leans back on his haunches, broad chest heaving as he stares, transfixed, at his hand folding over you, wrist propped against your mons.

He groans low in his chest. When he speaks, desire scorches his words to cinders.

“Ever had an Alpha's cock here?”

His question is scorching.

In a small town, choice is slim. The ratio of alpha to omega, and beta to both, is skewed highly in the latter's favour. You think, Price included, there are maybe five eligible alphas in the whole township. Two omegas, yourself included. Everyone else—

Unbothered, unburdened by this horrific anomaly of genetics, of lingering animal instinct. A relic of when people were more beast than man.

But even with that, the suitors lining up ready to claim you since you arrived three years ago is negligible. Nearly nonexistent.

The shame of it is absurd. You know without any shadow of a doubt that your worth is not measured by the number of Alpha's wanting to claim you, but that prickling unease in the back of your head won't be quelled by common sense. Who cares, you want to scream. Who fucking cares—

“No,” you bluster; choking on your anger, your shame. Despite being an omega—rare as they are—everyone in town seemed soured by your scent. Adverse to the pungent pheromones you released innately.

“No?” He echoes, and the stab of worthlessness needling into your pericardium makes you want to howl, want to cry.

He doesn't let you. He leans down, hand resting on the floor beside your head, the other still anchored to your cunt, and presses his lips to the shell of your ear. His breath is a humid kiss that tickles across your flesh.

“Good.”

The praise bubbles in your marrow. You melt under the heat, whimpering. Head lulling to the side, exposing your neck. Offered up for him to take.

He huffs, chest expanding. The coarse bed of hair tangled on his sternum in a smattering of black catches on your nipples, the rough graze making you gasp, soundless, into the humid space between your bodies. Aching already and he barely touched you.

Price follows the twist of your chin, lips pressed flush to your ear. With him crowding so close, you can feel the rumble, the low vibration, through his chest before he even speaks. A soft purr, sultry and rich. Pulling you deeper into the throes of your submission with a startling ease.

“I don't share, and I'd hate to have to tear another alpha apart for touching you,” his beard scrapes against your cheek, words soaked in possessive fury at the thought alone. “You're mine.”

You want to fight against it. Against him. No one owns you. Has claimed you.

You have only ever belonged to yourself.

“M’not—”

Price shushes you with a nip, blunt teeth dragging down the plush flesh of your earlobe. “Don't fight it, love. Just—give in.”

You won't. Can't—

Despite the heat—heavy, oppressive, and wet, like the balmy swelter of a tropical jungle; bubbling dross on molten metal—you fight. Rage. Push back against the heady scent he exudes, ones meant to soothe, melt. Until you're malleable. Tensile. Mouldable to fit his needs, his desires, his cock. Putty in his scorching hands.

It bleeds through, though—noxious and potent. The acrid miasma of a wild, untameable man: leather, hide, and animal rot; bleached bones; felled timbre. A wet forest after a wildfire; charred wood, argillaceous soil. Damp. Cloying. Choking.

Reeking of authoritative power, he leans over you, breathes in the heaving exhales you let out. Lets the taste of you sit on his tongue, curl between his crooked teeth.

He's close like this. All fire, all heat. And underneath the scent of a pursuing alpha, you pick up hints of him. Of what he smelled like before, when you were his subordinate and he spent most of his days making yours miserable. Stale smoke, wet tobacco, old leather, dry whiskey.

You hate how much it calls to you.

Maybe sensing your defiance, or growing tired of this push-pull game, he huffs out a breath that sounds less aggrieved than you'd want it to, full of playful amusement. Like he expected this. Like he knew you'd fight back with brittle fists and wicked teeth.

Price pulls back, leaning against his haunches. Content now to devour you at a distance. His eyes leave a scorching trail from your heaving breast, your quivering stomach before fixing once again on the way your pussy is swallowed by his hand. His middle finger circles your sopping hole. The tease is a burst of pleasure, of sensation. A tickle, a taunt. The drag of it makes a loud, sticky noise; the unmistakable slosh, the squelch of just how wet you are for him.

And it is for him. All for him.

Your heat is an incipient bloom on the horizon—a slow, crawling sunrise. You shouldn't be this slick yet. This drenched.

The embarrassment blisters through you when he makes a choked sound in the back of his throat. A loan bitten, swallowed before it can fully form.

Price coos, voice scorched. Full of char. “All’fer me, mm? Such a good little omega.”

You hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it—

—but nearly choke yourself on a moan.

He chuckles, dark and rich. The sound entirely too similar to crushing a fistful of charcoal, and you're reminded suddenly why he's unmated at the age he is.

Surly bastard. As approachable as a fucking grizzly bear in a rut.

Your lips twist, jerking downward. “Fuck you—”

He circles your rim once more, chuffing low as he does so, letting the slick noise of your soaked cunt speak on his behalf.

You bite back a snarl, letting it fizzle out in the back of your throat. However reckless you might be, however much you might dislike him, he's still an alpha. Snarling in his face would only get you bent over his knee (at best).

And at worst, well. Maybe they'll find whatever is left of you next spring.

Next spring.

Thinking about just how long you're trapped here with him—no phone, no service—makes you want to cry. To break down, to—

No. You can't. Won't. Not in front of him.

Not Price. The awful man who spent three years picking away at everything you've ever done. Writing you up for every little misstep. You wondered then, and you still wonder now, if he hated you because you were an omega who dared to work with him, as his equal, or if his brand of distaste was just for you.

(The latter, it must be—he’s always been so kind to Alex, an older omega.

You're just the exception.)

This sprawling train of thought is clipped when he sinks his finger into you, to the second knuckle, and you choke.

“Ah, fuck, don't—”

He curls his finger. “Protest as much as you'd like, but if you didn't want this, your pussy wouldn't be this fuckin’ wet would it, love?”

He's right. You hate him for it.

But he doesn't give you a chance to complain. He slips his finger out, the wet drag of your flesh pulling on him, unwilling to let go, is loud. Awful. You burn hot—hotter still when he groans at the noise.

“Such a good girl for me, ain't you?”

Price circles your entrance as he says it, pressing two fingers against your rim, rubbing. Gathering slick. You wish it didn't feel as good as it did—electric shocks of pleasure sparking at his touch, but the feel of it is a tease. You want more. Much more—

He presses those long, thick fingers inside again. Two this time. All you can do is mewl around the sudden stretch, the sting.

Your discomfort is a palpable thing. Unease, distress—the acid scent plumes around you, leaking from your pores. Price stops suddenly, fingers still crooked in a half knot inside you.

“You're tight,” he drawls, jowls working. Tensing. His eyes flash, heat lightning. “You—”

He cuts himself off abruptly, eyes narrowing into slits. They drop down to where he disappears inside of you, flesh stretched tight around him. Drilling into the way the slick runs down his fingers, over his knuckles, drenching the back of his hand, and he hums.

“Has anyone ever touched you here before?”

More shame. It bubbles in your chest, this awful, insidious thing.

It hasn't been for a lack of suitors, really. But rather, other things have always taken precedence over heats, over ruts. School, then your career. And well—

Betas around here don't seem very interested, either.

Maybe you have peculiar wants. Urges, needs, that you've always been hesitant to fill. A wellspool of desire that runs deep, vicious. You want to mate. For keeps.

Maybe they can scent that on you. A loud cry that says, stay away.

You take a shuddering breath before nodding shallowly, twisting your head away so you don't have to look at the patronising gleam swirling in frothing Tryhennian.

“Look at me.”

The command bludgeons your resolve. Your chin jerks back immediately. Desperate to obey. To listen. Frantic with the urge to quell the alpha, to soothe his plight—

But where you expect anger, you're met with the most peculiar sort of expression etching itself into his brow, his rugged face.

His lips parted, lax. The picture of surprise.

Your eyes widen. A gasp is ripped from your throat at the raw, fractured look in his eyes. It's new, this. Unexpected. Where you anticipated scorn is instead a slow, unwinding look of want, of greed, so thick, it glues to the air.

Patchwork hunger, predatory and damning, hews into your skin. Fine needles piercing, pricking, along your flesh.

Branded ownership. You feel it settle against your chest. Dig in when his chest expands with his, hissing inhale.

There's a dark tremble to his shoulders that makes your toes curl.

“I should take this slow, then, mm? Prep you. Get you nice and ready for my cock,” his words have you keening, arching for him. Achingly empty. His hand lifts, settles against your quivering stomach. The slightest pressure makes you shake, quieten; submitting to the touch. “But. I don't have the patience for that.”

He slots his thighs between your legs, pressing it tight against your cunt. The pressure—blissful pleasure; frantic at the touch—is almost your undoing, but there's a plexiglass between full submission and the urge to flee. Still. The heat is rapacious. The desire, the yearning, doesn't abate.

The haze is thick. So thick. It would be easy to slip under the veil, to let yourself go. To give in—

"Easy, omega," it comes out as a guttural rasp; the charcoaled command uttered in a mockingly placating tone. The sort one might use to soothe a wild animal or a startled mare. Fitting, of course, when you're rutting against the thick spread of his thigh, leaking slick all over him.

down girl, he doesn't say, but he might as well have because you're clenched tight around nothing, aching hollowly in a way that rings through your bones. You can't help it, you want to whine when he huffs, lips pulling downward in a frown. Disappointed in you, perhaps. But how do you fight instinct when you're hardwired to want to spread your legs at the pungent, lour stench of a virile alpha's incipient rut, the briny tang of his pre-cum saturating the air. A heady elixir that sends shockwaves of agonising need through your body.

It's too much. The burn of your heat is a vicious, deadly combatant. Knife to your jugular, hand around your throat, it demands compliance.

And when he reaches down to his stained slacks, drawing your eye to the tent in the front, to the dark pool at the front where he leaks his spend into the fabric, you keen. Jealousy scorching through you instantly at the sight; animal instinct that makes you want to bare your teeth at it because his cum is just for you, all for you—

Amusement pierces the air. Punctuates it with the heavy, noxious weight of his satisfaction.

He hums, reaches into his slacks. Curls his fist around the thick of himself.

“Want this, don't you?”

You gnash your teeth against your desperation, legs popping open further. Inviting. Eager.

“Of course you do. Want this—” he frees his cock, pulling it over the band of his trousers, and you choke.

It's wet with his spend, and angry looking. The mushroomed head engorged, swollen. Flushed a deep vermillion. Veins run the length of it. Pulsing with his need. His want.

Price groans, strokes his hand down his shaft. Pearlescent beads of pre-cum bubble up from the tip.

You ache. Suddenly, viciously. Hollow. Empty. You want him. Need him—

“Yeah? Want this fat cock inside of you, mm?”

And you, finally, give in—

"Please, please, Price—"

"No." He taps the head of his cock against your clit once, twice. A warning. A reprimand. You keen at the whitehot agony, the unfathomable burn of pleasure ripping through your body. He coos into it. Echoing your whimper with a derisive snort. Mocking. Cruel. You hate him. Hate him. Need him so badly you think you might go insane if he doesn't pry you apart right this instant—

"I'll give you my knot when I'm good and ready. Now, be good for me, mm?” His eyes are dark in the harsh flicker of the wood stove. Burning liquid black. Molten puddles of crushed sapphire. You hate the way he looks at you. Hate how it makes you want to roll over on your belly, soft and submissive, giving all of yourself over to this terrible man. “That's it. Good omegas get what they want. Bad ones get punished. And I don't think you'll like being taken over my knee, would you?"

His words send a fresh wave of heat through your veins. Hellfire. Scorching. You want to blame the fever on the stove burning away in the corner of the room, on a sickness you can't scrape off of your bones no matter how many times you chisel into your skin. An infection eating away at you from the inside out.

But it's futile. He doesn't care about your excuses. He never has—

“Spread yourself. Go on and show me that pretty cunt you want me to ruin so badly.”

Unspooled, liquid under his bulk, you don't even hesitate before your fingers unfurl from their fight knot in the fur, making a slow, timorous crawl down the supine length of your sun-scorched body.

Your flesh feels foreign, like it belongs to a stranger. To someone else. Each touch is a phantom whisper gliding along sweat-slicked skin; new and different, and not yours.

Not yours at all because your skin would never prickle with goosebumps over the sight of your chief kneeling between your legs, the hair on his thigh matted, slick with your wetness. The unruly black thatch darkening into a patch where you shamelessly rutted against him, eagerly seeking friction over the place you ache the most.

For him. All for him.

It's impossible. Impossible. And yet—

As your fingers curl over the tops of your thighs, notching into the soft, heated flesh at the bend of your hip and groin, you feel just how soaked you are for him. How wet. How eager. It stains your skin, reaches almost down your bent knees. Beneath you is a puddle drenching the fur.

Your fingers slip, sliding in the mess you made. You flush when he huffs, humoured by it all, and dip your chin away from the scorching, piercing look in his cerulean eyes, drilling holes in the apex of your thighs. Greedily taking in his fill as your fingers glide over your sopping folds, gingerly parting them. Presenting to him on your back. Ripe for the taking.

“One hand,” he rasps, words clicking in his throat. He holds his hand up, curling his fingers down and leaving his index and middle finger up in a pointed V. “And the other—” he swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing. “I want you to touch your clit for me.”

You follow his instructions, slipping your fingers between your folds, opening yourself up for him. Your other hand sits on your mons, fingertips brushing your swollen clit as heat floods you. Electric. Each touch is a shock of pleasure roiling down your spine, and more slick dribbles out of you, dripping down your aching, empty hole, down your ass, until it soaks into the furs below.

The scent of a needy omega fills the air. Your scent.

Where most are sweet, supple, yours has always had a bite. A tartness to it, an earthy tang. Boysenberry. Loam. Lemongrass. Beeswax. You bluster. Flushing. Embarrassment plumes up, mushrooming in the air—smoked orange peels, coral berry sour—and you wonder if he's repelled by it, this strange smell of yours—

Price’s head rolls back, nose pitched in the air. Breathing in deep, groaning with his exhale. Eyes fluttering, flashing. He eats it clean from the air. Mouth dropping open, panting.

It's then when the unmistakable musk of a pleased Alpha—smoked tobacco and sage—clots beside your scent do you feel the prickle of free will hewing into your periphery.

None of what he demanded of you carried the unignorable weight of a command. Before you can even think of the ramifications of that, he's moving. Heavy body falling, sliding down the furs. His hands come to rest, hot and firm, on your knees, spreading you wider, wider, to fit the boxy heft of his broad body between them.

He hovers over you, head bending to fit in the brackets of your thighs. Leading with nose, nostrils flaring, fluttering, as he pulls in deep lungfuls of your scent. Over and over, and—

His head bows. Humid air ghosting over your sopping cunt when he exhales. It's then when he dips his chin further, further, until the bottom of his face is flush with your pussy, mouth parting around a groan that reverberates through the floorboards, rattles your bones.

“You smell s’fuckin’ good, love,” he rasps, choked. His eyes are gyres. They might just swallow you whole. You fight back a shiver, resolve threadbare. Stitches coming apart. “Bet you'd taste even better.”

It's all the warning you get before he pushes his face into you, mouth dropping open to let his tongue lull out. Licking a scorching stripe from hole to clit. And, oh—

Oh.

Your head drops, eyes slipping closed at the liquid feeling between your thighs. The whitehot sensation of his tongue laving across your slit.

So this—this—is what you've been missing out on. Pure feeling. Molten. It blooms in your loins, knots tight like a spooled bow.

Your fingertips are in the way from him pressing his tongue flat against your clit, where you throb the most, and you move to pull your hand away. To give him access to everything, all of it. Every part of you he wants. It's all his, his, so long as he keeps doing what he's doing with his mouth, his tongue—

But his hand slashes through the air, snatching your wrist in a vice grip. Stopping your retreat. You whimper, hips flexing up, wanting his mouth. Needing more of what he's doing between your thighs.

“Look at me,” he demands. You obey. Instantly. His eyes are black holes. Everdark. Eclipsed, totally, by the bleed of his black pupils spreading out. You moan, thighs parting wider, wider. “Good girl. Such a good omega for me, aren't you?”

He doesn't let you answer. Draws your wet fingers to his mouth, pressing the pads against his lower lip, nails scratching his teeth. He breathes in, shoulders bunching up. Eyes fluttering again, rolling back in his head. And it's divine—

To have such a surly, contemptuous Alpha on his knees for you, fat, heavy cock drooping between his thighs, spitting a steady stream of spend onto the floor. Wasteful. You keen again, back arching. Needy. Wanting—

Price sucks in your fingers, tongue laving between your knuckles. The pressure, the feeling, is good. You like this. Like his mouth.

But your fingers are not where you want him.

“Please, Price. Please—”

He pulls off with a pop. Leans his cheek on your inner thigh.

“What do you want? Use your words, omega.”

Heat blooms in your chest, but you're long past the point of embarrassment anymore. Shame. It's all awash under the torrent of need. Desire. Swept in the rage of your heat. Nearly rendered delirious by it.

“Want your mouth.”

“Where?”

“M–my—” you swallow, fingers spreading your folds wider. Opening yourself up to him. He glances down, nostrils flaring once again. But he doesn't move. Won't. You groan, head rolling back. “My pussy. Please. Want your mouth on my pussy, Price—”

He groans, low. Dark. But then he's moving. Head bowing. His tongue is scorching. Whitehot. He drags it through your folds, teasing at your rim. Presses it inside, just a touch, a shallow thrust. And—

Ah.

You make a noise in the back of your throat. Awful, wet. Choking. The feeling of his tongue inside of you is good. Beyond words.

It slips in more. The full length. Stuffed. You keen, arching. Aching. Hips flexing, jerking against his mouth. He lets you ride his face like this, fucking your hole with his fat tongue, nose glued tight to your clit.

All you can do is sob his name, fingers curling, knotting, into his damp hair, holding him close.

His tongue leaves you, sliding up your seam until it cups your clit. Laves over it. He lifts his chin, and seals his mouth over you. Sucks—

The spool unravels. Pressure released. You flood around him, on him. Pussy gushing slick over his chin, drenching him. Drowning him.

Lips sealed over your throbbing clit, he moans low. Deep. Eyes rolling back in his head. Gyre blue.

“Tha’s it,” he coos, pushing two thick fingers inside your throbbing cunt. “Think you're about ready for my cock, ain't you?”

He doesn't let you answer. And—

You don't think you can form a coherent thought. Running on sensation. On instinct. You make to roll over on your belly, ass pushed into the air, ready for his knot, but he stops you. Hands squeezing your hips. Firm.

“No. I'll take you like this.”

And it's hard to reconcile the urge to present with his demands. His wants. You whimper. He answers it with a grunt.

“Stay still.”

You flatten to the fur, body melting. Lax.

“Good girl.”

The praise is a serrated knife to your jugular, cutting a jagged line across your skin. Spilling blood. You quieten under his bulk, now. Desperate. Docile. Collared in blood.

His hands push behind your knees, lifting your legs. Pushing, pushing. Until they rest under your ears. Spread open for him. Ready to be claimed, owned. Bred.

“Price, Price, please—”

He shushes you with a coo, pitching your heels over his shoulders. Shuffling closer until his heavy cock, hanging thick and fat between his legs, bumps against your ass. Your cunt. You whimper, back arching. Needing him to fill you up. Split you apart.

Ruin you—

“Gonna fuck you now. Knot you.”

It's a warning. A threat. You feel it trail over your skin, branding. A collar. You lift your chin, letting it settle there. So long as he makes you feel this good, he can do whatever he wants to you. Anything—

And so, he does.

His cock is a heavy weight against you, pressing. Pushing. He doesn't wait for you to adjust, for your body to acclimate to the burning stretch of him splitting you apart.

Your slick aids in the brutal onslaught of his cock prying your untouched flesh apart, chiselling open a space just for him to fit.

It should hurt more. And maybe it would if you weren't drowning in the throes of a vicious heat, numbed to everything but the way his cock feels as it slides, inch after inch, inside of you. Thick, fat. Pulsing. You pant shallowly, head turning. Chin pressing into your shoulder.

It's good. This burn, this ache. This madness—

“Christ—” he spits, sounding almost angry. Furious. You peer up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. Through the murky haze, you catch the clench of his jaw, the prominent divot between his brows. Face tightening with pleasure. Rapturous. “This cunt was made for me, wasn't it, love?”

“Yes—” it's breathless. An airless whisper. “All yours, all yours, John—”

You repeat this as he reaches halfway inside of you. As he bends down, mouth feverish he slots it greedily over your lips in a bruising, sloppy kiss. You mutter it against his teeth, his tongue. He swallows your acquiescence, your submission, down with a moan. Drinks you in as he takes, takes, until you're full of him. Stuffed.

John bottoms out with a moan that trembles down your throat, balls pressed flush against your ass. Split apart on him. Claimed.

He settles, letting you adjust to the sensation. Content to simply mouth sloppy kisses over your face, your cheek, jaw. Nipping your skin. Basking in this, in finally having you stretched around him. His pleasure is ripe in the air. Heavy and acrid. Smoked leather. Fresh, and heady.

It's novice, this feeling. This pressure. This fullness. Your hand drops, falls, palm sliding between his heavy, hairy belly, resting over yours. Feeling the unmistakable bump of him rearranging your anatomy to fit—barely—in you.

He lifts up, elbow dropping to the floor beside your head so he, too, can feel for himself the way he fits within you. His hand comes to lay beside yours, flattening over the bulge of him protruding from your flesh. His cock jerks inside of you, twitching. The feeling makes your toes curl, your cunt throb.

“Like that, huh?”

Your nod is slowly, languorous. Everything feels unreal. Like you're staring at the world from underwater. Inky. Fractured. Raw.

The burn of the stretch is there, throbbing like a bruise. A contusion. He scents the sting, the ache, and slides his hand down, cupped over your swollen, stuffed pussy. Fingers tangling into the thick bed of curls grazing your mons. Price quells the burn with a swipe of his thumb rolling over your clit.

It has you clenching, tightening even further around him. Feeling the thick stretch thrumming inside of you. Plugging you up. And fuck—

If that doesn't just light you up from the inside out. Supernova. Blistering heat.

Pieces of yourself chip off, fluttering to the soft, downy fur below you with each heavy breath he takes. Your heat swells to a crescendo, breaking over the edge of your lingering cognisance. It's all sensation now. Pure, unfettered feeling.

And Price takes no time at all to exploit it. To batter your melting, liquid body into submission even further.

It starts with shallow grinds against the plug of your womb. Carving more space inside of you for him to fit, to ruin.

He fucks you like this. Cock heavy and fat inside of you. Giving you the full length until your rim catches on the burgeoning swell of his knot. Over and over again. Pulling deep, delirious moans from your throat. Breaking you to pieces on the spread of him seated deep. Tugging more and more compliance from your body, wringing pleasure out of every nerve ending.

The sounds are horrific, and had you any sense of self left to mull over them, your shame, embarrassment, would have burned you alive. The wet squelch of your cunt swallowing him down, over and over and over again—

“Needy little pussy,” he bites out, blunt teeth skirting over your pulse point. A tease.

The press of them heightens everything, elevating it to a tipping point.

This is what you were made for. What every atom in your body screams out to. Wanting. Needing to be spread out under him, this dark, awful man.

“I'm not going to claim you,” he's saying, words wet against your temple, tongue snaking out to catch the droplets of sweat beading on your hairline.

It makes you whine in dismay, desperate for his teeth buried in your skin.

“No, no, please—! I need it, John, I need it—”

“Then beg me. Beg for it—”

You do. It babbles out of you. Broken, fractured. Pleas, orisons, screamed to heavens; aching for his teeth on you, in you. Claiming you for his own. You want it more than you think you've ever wanted anything in your whole thing. Half of you, empty and vacant, hollow, begging to be filled. To be completed.

And really—

You've felt it from the beginning. This stirring, agonising want. Desire. A bone-deep yearning for the man who looked at you, up and down, and dismissed you with a charred scoff and shallow shake of his head.

“What's a little omega like you doin’ runnin’ around the woods, love? Ought to be at home—”

Where you belong.

It didn't make sense at the time. He's so different with everyone else—Alex, Farah—but reserves his scorn, his discrimination, just for you. Special little thing, aren't you?

But even still. Still. You tried. Struggled against the crushing weight of his derision, burying your fingers into the rubble, clinging on for three, devastating years until your nails broke, bled. Left stains on the pavement. Until he, stiff-lipped and clipped, told you he was retiring. Escaping the loose binds of a non-existent town on the fringes of civilisation for the sanctum of the wild, untamed forest. The mountains.

You wanted him to say, come with me, even if you might have gouged his eyes out for even asking. Tore his still-beating heart out with your bare hands.

But instead, he nodded at you. A quiet goodbye. Left you bewildered, furious, and unclaimed, unwanted, and now—

Those blood-stained fingers dig into the softness of his nape, biting flesh until it gives, breaks, under the jagged stumps of your nails, and you wrench him forward, into you, snarling mad. Apoplectic with fury at being denied so long.

“Fuck you,” you bite out, brittle with ire. Disobedient even through the noxious curdle of heat subduing your senses. Your rationale. “Fuck you, John—!”

His skin breaks first. The bitter scent of hot, wet pavement, pennies in the summer sun, sickly sweet iron, fills the balmy cabin. He groans, choked, throat bobbing, jaw clenching. You don't let him get anything out.

You pull him by the scruff of his neck into you, face buried in your collarbones. Heels dig in, sliding along the slick sweat of his broad back. Finding purchase against the knob of his spine, and pressing. Pushing. Kicking at him until he slots his hips into yours, pressed as deep as he could possibly go. Throbbing inside of you. Spitting molten spend as he wrenches you open.

The first person to ever do so.

He must know this, feel it simmering in the air, because he groans low, deep. It bubbles out of his chest, a half-bitten snarl saturated in the smoke of his desire. Feverish, possessive.

“Mate me,” you demand, head tilting back into the awaiting plinth of his palm, cushioning your crown. “Claim me.”

He—John, you think, delirious; gone—John places a tender kiss to your pulse point, soft despite the uneven, desperate way he fucks into you now. All that careful finesse falling to pieces under your foot, growing choppier as he sinks in deep. Pistoning shallowly into your sloppy cunt, taking. Taking.

“Please, John,” you breathe, clenching tight around him. Needing that last push to drop over this vertiginous precipice that yawns out, a growling, hungry chasm, before you. Heat spears into your marrow, drowning out all the fight inside of you. Dousing those flames until they're a smouldering heap; clumps of hot, wet ash in your hands. “Please take me—”

The growl he makes is inhuman. Lingering in the shadow of it is a mocking burst of laughter. Dark, hellish. He leans in close, mouth tight against your skin, and whispers, “already have, love.”

Those words lose any meaning when he opens his mouth wider, licking a stripe over your neck. A soothing rinse. And then he buries his teeth into your pulse, tearing through your skin. Claiming. Owning. It rips through you—all heat, sensation: blistering, inferno. You burn alive beneath him, smouldered under his possessive, heavy bulk.

Price leans back with a vicious, terrible growl. Blood dripping down his chin, mixing with the tacky slick of you still covering his face. Pinkish under the waning light of the dying sun.

The sight of it, the horrible throb in your throat, breaks over you.

His tongue flicks out, chasing the drops. With a swipe of his finger over your clit, you fall to pieces around him, clenching. Throbbing. Screaming with your release. Gushing around him as he grips you tight, working you through it, muscles fluttering, flexing. The deluge of pleasure is molten, spreading liquid through your body. Inescapable bliss.

He grunts, pace slowing to a sloppy grind. Letting you leech pleasure from the overfull feeling of being speared open on him. Knot swelling. Bumping into your rim. John gives you respite for a moment, content to hump against your messy cunt until you melt into the furs, panting with exertion. With pleasure.

He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, stroking. Shoving you into the side of too much, of pleasure-pain. Overstimulated. You mewl, whimpering.

“Greedy girl,” he chides, cruel, and pulls back. The wet drag of his cock against your sore, sensitive walls is overwhelming. You keen, shaking under him. “Couldn't wait to cum around my knot, mm?”

He doesn't wait for your excuses. He never does. He just thrusts into you again, a slow climb until his knot bludgeons into you. Fatten up at the base of his cock. He holds it there, grinding it against your pussy as you arch, mewling at the sting of your hole being stretched further around the curve of his knot.

“You can take it,” he coos. The muscles in his shoulders flex. You reach out, petting along his chest. feeling him. All powerful, corded muscles hiding under a thick layer of pelt. Soft flesh.

His knot catches. Slips. He bullies it against your sore, stuffed rim, throwing the full heft of his weight behind his shallow grinds until finally, finally, your body yields. Giving in. Opening for him.

He sinks in with a broken groan, mouth dropping open. Lax. His shoulders slump under your hands as he pumps you full of cum. Plugged up tight on his fat, pulsing knot. It's too much. Too much. All you do is cling to him, nails biting into his flesh. Marking him like the bloody ring around your neck marks you as his.

Locked together, damned, he leans down. Huffs in your ear.

“Gonna fuck you full all spring until it takes, love. Until you're swollen, fat, with our kid.” His voice is a thunderclap. A promise. A threat. “Won't keep them lonely for long, though, will you? We'll give him a sister or brother. Gonna breed this pussy as much as I want, mm. Give us a big family. I've already started on the nursery for you. After your heat, I'll let you pick the colours, yeah?”

Satiated Alpha permeates the air. It's thick in the back of your throat, clogging your senses. Drowning you. Pulling you under.

The last thought before you sink below the waterline is a broken, fragmented sense of dread, confusion. It comes in a daze. Flickering embers. Quickly snuffed out by his palm gliding across your eyes, closing them.

“Sleep now,” he rasps, hips stuttering as he fills you with more cum. Uncomfortably full, it floods your cunt, locked tight against your womb. “Gonna need it when my rut starts later.”

And, docile, collared, you obey, drifting. Dazed. But wondering, in the back of your head, in the part of you not yet consumed by the ink-black darkness that eats away at you, why did he build a nursery for you if he didn't know you were coming today—

—swallowed, eaten. his teeth are buried in your neck once more, and all thoughts dissolve in an instant. Dissipate into the gnawing aether where he splits them between his molars, gulps them down.

nothing matters anymore. you belong to him—

The cabin reeks of satiated omega—sweet, pungent. Rotten apple peels, and burnt orange. It's this heavy scent—sex, loam, and you—that draws him out of his doze, tired eyes blinking against the flickering light of the wood stove pushed into the corner.

Price groans when he shifts, body aching. Muscles stiff, sore, from disuse.

It’s been a long, long time since he knotted an omega, and he underestimated the sharpness of your claws, your needle-like teeth. But he wears the marks, the scars, of your aggressive coupling on his shoulders, his back. Clawed up, torn. He grimaces when a clotting scab breaks, peels back from the wound. Blood drips down his spine in a steady, ticklish trickle.

It took a lot more than he expected to make you submit. Had to force you to take his knot twice more before you finally, fully, relented, slurring his name into the sheets as he rutted into you from behind, begging for your Alpha to fill you up.

Had you again after that—so soft and sweet for him now. Pulled you down on his lap, let you take what you wanted from him, sluggish and lazy, until he gripped your hips tight, fucking up into you as he thickened with his release. Plugged you up nicely as you drooled on his shoulder, lulled to sleep from three brutal rounds of fucking.

But the battle was worth the victory in the end. To have you tucked into his chest, purring with contentment and too blissed out from heat exhaustion to worry about anything else, was enough. More than, really.

Especially now, with you curled on him, snoring lightly, breath tickling his chest hair, he feels more sated than he ever had, breathing in the heaviness of your smell. Your thick miasma. New, now. Different.

His scent, his mere essence within you, changes your smell already. Chemicals admixing. Body moulding, morphing, to adapt to him. His presence. You smell like the sea, salt water. Algae blooms. He leans down, breathes you in. Tastes his own headiness in the back of his throat—charred timber, smoke; leather. It clings to you. A second skin.

No matter where you go, everyone will know you belong to him.

This thought, this truism, makes him purr. A deep rumble from the pit of his gut. Satisfaction rolls off of him in towering waves, hewing the air where it congeals into plumes of conquest. Hard earned, too—

Three years. It only took three years to get to this point. To chisel under your skin, to break you down in his paws. Fine powder.

He lifts his hand from your back, and scours it down his salt-slickened face. He feels heat blooming under his skin. A telltale flush of his approaching rut. Perfectly timed, too. And that reminds him—

He pushes away from you slightly, spent cock slipping free from your warm, drenched cunt. His cum drips out of you, a deluge that leaks steadily onto your thigh, the ruined fur below. It puddles there and stains the air with his unmistakable musk. The conquering of an omega in heat; claimed. Owned.

He doesn't go far. Can't. There's a possessive, needy thrill under his veins. A snarling growl in the back of his head, snapping rabid jowls at him. Demanding he stay close to his mate. His omega. Don't leave the nest, it warns, or another could crawl in, fill the empty space—

Price cuts that thought off with an aborted snarl. There are no others. He made sure of it. Bloodied his knuckles against every alpha within a one-hundred-square-mile radius of his territory. Growled in their faces, hand against their throat, and told them to stay away from, you, this pretty little omega.

Message received, of course. But you were a prickly little thing. Bitter. As much as he wanted to roll you on your belly, make you present your cunt to him, he knew he had to tread carefully. Baby steps until you were close enough to his jaws to snap up, all his. Always. Ever since you stepped foot into his domain, your tart scent coalescing perfectly with the pine, oakmoss, tang of him. You've been his before you even knew who he was—

Wily omega with your shaking fists and bared teeth. Skittish little thing. Needed to play his hand slowly, to box you into a corner before you were even aware of the walls closing in around you. Snapped up tight his maw. Bear Trap quick. Had to be smart about it, bide his time. Push and push until all you thought about was him.

(checkmate)

John reaches for the loose floorboard, prying it open, and pulls his cell phone out—one he knows he’ll have to bury in the yard before you wake. There are very few contacts on his list, and he idly scrolls through the messages (steaming Jesus, the smell o’er—ye sure ye don’ share, cap?; better take her, Price, before I do) before he finds Gaz’s.

The last message sent was hours ago from Kyle. on her way. but fuck, didn't realise how fast fake suppressants worked, chief. gonna have to find her quick. might not make it up the mountain smellin as good as she does—

Good boy, he types with one hand, the other petting possessively down your spine. Curled there, a weighty pressure. You found him in the end, right on the cusp of your burgeoning heat. Pawing desperately for the suppressants Kyle made sure wouldn't be there.

(His parting gift brought on by a conversation ages ago—

“why haven't you mated, cap? not gettin’ any younger.”

“haven't found the right one. ain't gonna settle.”

“more like, your shitty attitude scares all the pretty omegas away, huh?”

“that, too,” he bit down into his cigar. suddenly angry, viciously so. “‘cept one.”

Kyle followed his gaze, and—

“so, take her. she wants you. reeks like she does. you can smell it, too, can't you?” his eyes flashed. playful. “maybe that'll be my retirement gift to you.”

“not funny, Garrick.”

“m’not tryin’ t’be, cap.”)

Three dots appear almost instantly. It takes a moment. Then: fuckin’ prick. Another message from Kyle pops up seconds after. told you, didn't i? i wasn't bein funny. congrats, cap ;)

As if sensing the sudden whiplash of his mood—deep, proprietorial—you stir in his arms, mewling in confusion. John drops the phone, hiding it from view, and pulls you tighter in his arms. In his embrace. Mouth pressed tight to your hairline, he rumbles, “shush, shush. I got you.”

His words make you quieten slightly. Quelled under the susurrus lull of his bellowing purr. But there's still a deep ravine between your brows. Unease lashes the air, acidic. Bubbling up from deep within you.

None of this must make any sense to you. Mercurial boss to mate, but he knows you'll come around to the idea of him soon enough. After all,

he has you all to himself until winter.

all to himself.

His hand falls, cups your lower belly possessively. Covetous. You grimace in your sleep, shifting away from the heavy, oppressive brunt of his smell. Obsessive. Potent like a wildfire. Dangerous.

But there's nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to go except deeper into his arms, his hold. Gyves around your throat; a bloody ring of his teeth.

Price hums. “Best gift I've ever gotten.”

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #alpha price #alpha john price x omega reader #idk how this is like 8k its all just smut lmao #captian john price #john price #price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price #cod

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frozendistrict · 1 year ago

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Family Room in San Francisco Large contemporary open concept family room idea with a bar, beige walls, a stone fireplace, a ribbon fireplace, and a wall-mounted television

#marble slab backsplash #fire place #electric fireplaces #great room #wood veneer ceiling #wet bar

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shotmrmiller · 9 months ago

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ps!ghost x of!f!reader au :)

It hadn't even been him who found you. It'd been Kyle.

Look at this lush little doll fuckin' herself on your cock.

Simon's chilled glass clinked on the marble tabletop of the bar as he placed it down, brows furrowed in response. He hadn't even gotten the chance to ask what the fuck Kyle was doing watching porn in public because he slid the phone over in a flash, and as soon as Simon's gaze shifted to the phone, his words instantly lodged into his throat.

You really were fucking yourself on his cock. Well, a replica of his cock. Simon found himself unable to look away. You were riding it, puffy lips spread wide as your cunt took every thick inch of the toy. The way you undulated your hips with every rise and fall had a familiar hunger gnawing at his insides, your fingers— so much smaller than his own— circling your bundle of nerves stoked the fire in his lower belly.

His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth when he noticed your soft thighs begin to tremble, the pace of your hand, glistening with your slick— oh, he'd pay for a little taste— quickening as you reached your climax. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip the same way he knows yours did too (it's a shame you're hiding that face of yours, he'd love to see if your eyes cross as you peak), and before the video got to his favorite part, Kyle quickly swiped his phone back.

Johnny's here. Wave 'im down.

Bastard. Good thing he took note of your name.

He'd signed up that same night and tugged his cock to that same video, this time with volume. You keened so prettily, a voice like honey and milk. Gasps when you lifted yourself until just the tip of it remained inside, mewls when you lowered yourself until your lips were flush against the silicone balls (those were inaccurate, he had a full, heavy set thank you very much). Simon stroked himself at your pace, a muted groan escaping him when you gave the toy a pointed thrust, cunt squelching as you did.

The sound you'd made as you climaxed was exactly like he'd thought it'd be, a hiccupped noise that came from the back of your throat, so real, genuine. It'd easily tossed him over his own edge, muscles taut and stomach tight as he spurts thick ropes of warm spend on himself, coating his dark trail of coarse hair under his navel and pubic area.

His cock had barely begun to soften, the loud ringing in his ears starting to fade when he came to a startling realization.

You'd whimpered his name— his stage name— as you hit your peak.

Simon quickly rewinds the video back a couple of seconds and watches intently as your hand stutters, frothy white desire at the base dribbling down in viscous drops (seriously, just a taste), your breath hitches, and—

There.

A warbled, slurred Ghost.

Well, well. Lucky him. He sends you a hefty tip, (for your service, pet) and turns on notifications for your profile. He'd hate to miss a live video of yours.

(His mind is already whirring with the thought of fucking you on his bed, just to see for himself if you really can take him the way you did the replica.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x f reader

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sbcdh · 18 days ago

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You know where the word cocaine comes from? Its Quechua. Just the name of the damn plant. I think it was 1971, maybe 72. I dunno-

Could you start at the beginning?

Huh? Yeah, sure. Course. Uhh. Lets see…

Take your time.

Woof. Lets see…I started in uhhh, 72. Some tiny little bottle-rocket firm sweatin for talent, head broker was this big red fatass named Ron Spade, hell of a guy, but the place got bought out by Bear Stearns in 73 when the shit really hit the fan. It was a rough time to be on a trade floor. IRS just put out the whole hypnoeconomics thing. Half the big firms were runnin’ around with their hair on fire, the other half felt invincible. Every day was a party. Party party party.

Was that your first interaction with hypnostimulants?

I guess. Its funny. First guy to give me quori was a cop.

You mean an agent of the FDA?

No no, like an old fashioned NYPD beat cop. Met him in the bathroom at Pink during a bender. Moron was so faded he thought I was his informant. Just gave me a phial.

And you tried it?

Not right away no. To be honest I thought it was kinda faggy. Sorry. Its just what I thought at the time. The shit was sparkly, you know? What kinda drug comes in phials? Shoulda known something was up.

Would you say hypnostimulants were popular at the time?

At the time? Depends what you mean by popular. People didn’t know about that shit yet. You heard stories, dudes shooting up in the woods upstate, gettin found with their eyeballs exploded. It was early days, ya know? But like, that didn’t happen. That was urban legends. You know who was actually fucking around with the early stuff? Accountants.

Accountants?

Yeah, you know, the bookkeepers. See, I’m really just a plumber. I move money from one pipe to another pipe. But instead of wrenches and sprockets or whatever, I use charm. Its pretty easy if you ask me. Imagine if you could just tell water where it already wanted to go. You’re water’s best pal. Nah. It was those nerds in the basement, the spreadsheet guys that figured out how to expense shit so the IRS couldn’t get ya. Those were the fuckers who really dove in.

What got you using regularly?

Same shit as everyone else. Makes the job easier.

How so?

You can feel the money in their pocket. Its like, I dunno how to describe it. Its like…Its like, a turd sitting in a hammock. You can feel how the money bends everything around it. You can see it, smell it. You can hear it over the phone. You can’t ignore it. Shit is nuts. You take enough, and its like you can’t see anything else. Or. No. Its like…You see that you don’t need to see anything else. Money is everything. You’re money. I’m money. Its all just rivers of money flowing through everything.

By 1973 you were a regular user yes?

Regular makes it sound normal. But yeah I know what you mean. “Regular user.” 76 was the sweet spot. The drugs were good, but the regulators hadn’t stepped up yet. You and some buddies could set up in a club bathroom with nothing but a blindfold and a pile. You ever seen a stock floor with a headfull of that fancy government shit?

Would you like to discuss the raid?

No. Not really.

I understand you were the only one in a sub-emmanation state when Hypnoregulators arrived on the scene.

I don't want to talk about it.

Very well then, my associate will be happy to take you to prison as per the agreement you signed.

Alright alright, Christ.

Please. In your own words.

From what I understand, you pulled spade outta bed. Got a confession and everything that morning. 9 fuckin AM, and 200 IRS agents come busting in the doors. I was in the bathroom seeing shit. It's marble lined, lots gold filigree. All that jazz. Special made. Listen. I'm serious about the stock floor shit. Whatever you guys have, it's different than what we had back then. I mean, the shit was still cut with cocaine. A stock floor wasn't a stock floor, it was like…

The raid, please.

I'm getting to it! You gotta know this shit okay? I need you to understand what you goons fuckin wrecked. It was perfect okay? A garden of Eden . Ripe fruit. Everything just works. You don't have to worry about shit. You're a hunter, a killer, the great fuckin god pan, and the floor is your field of delights. It's like being a beating heart, like being struck by lightning. You can feel the sun in your pocket, and how it's all flowing through everything. And then you fucks showed up.

It was cold. I felt it first. Like I just threw the biggest party, and mom and dad were coming home early. But you know what I saw? You know those Chinese dragon dancers? Or, lions, or whatever they are? You know how there's two guys in the costume? I saw a dragon, a beast with eyes like the sun, teeth dripping gold, a bunch of IRS suits holding its pelt on their shoulders like you carry your baby home.

Your statement alluded to some additional information.

Yeah…there was something else… I dunno how to describe it. The fuckin…eyes, like the sun. Thats how you feel when you're on this shit. You're seein’ gold. I looked into the dragons eyes, and it's like, it's like I saw me. Like I was the dragon, and I was looking at me. Or…no. I was the sun. I was looking at myself. It was like, in that moment I knew something. I learned something.

What exactly is that?

I dunno. It doesn't fit into words. But like. You aren't regulating shit.

I'm sorry?

Yeah. All this shit. The dragon. The field. The dancers. It's all just the sun.

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hcneymooners · 12 days ago

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⋆ arcane but it's a private university au ( for the girls: pt. i )

ice princess!f!reader x multi. f!characters. men & minors dni.

synopsis: private university!arcane headcanons but it’s really specific bc it’s based on my time at catholic private school except this au is just a private hold the catholic.

cw: this part contains scenarios for caitlyn, vi, & mel. the second part will contain sevika & ambessa bc i went a little crazy. suggestive content. notes: this was really fun to write. after part two, my attention will shift to answering the requests you sweet angels have sent me. i love you.

part two.

the road curved sharply as the gates came into view, their wrought-iron edges glinting in the low sweep of your headlights. beyond them, the school rose like smoke, its silhouette dark against the velvet sky, lit faintly by the soft gold of its windows. the building exhaled exclusivity, from the ivy climbing its stone façade to the manicured hedges lining the long gravel drive. you rolled down the window slightly for a bit of air. the breeze was scented faintly with pine and the cold, metallic promise of winter. you straightened your posture without thinking, your shoulders drawn back against the cool weight of your coat.

inside, the warmth hit you immediately, clinging to your skin like a lover's kiss. the chandeliers sparkled, their light soft and diffused, casting fractured shadows against the paneled walls. voices floated in the distance—low, murmured, intimate. you walked slowly, your boots clicking against the marble floors, eyes drawn to the oil portraits lining the halls. the faces in them were familiar in their arrogance: sharp jaws, heavy brows, lips set in expressions that commanded you to keep your mouth budded shut, like a flower.

your room was at the far end of the east wing, the door heavy and hinting at the beginnings of rot. the key turned smoothly, the lock clicking open with an almost luxurious softness. the space inside was all dark wood and rich fabrics, a fire already lit in the grate. you dropped your bag near the foot of the bed, its velvet coverlet cool under your fingertips. for a moment, you stood still, letting the atmosphere settle around you. outside, the wind whispered through the trees, and in the distance, you could hear faint laughter—a reminder that this place was alive, spilling with bloodlines as silver as the spoon in your own mouth. you wondered what they’d see in you, these strangers you were destined to meet. you wondered what you’d allow them to.

caitlyn kiramman: the academic rival.

୨୧ caitlyn was under the impression she’d be occupying a single suite. she strolled through the double doors, chin high, expecting the echo of her own footsteps in the vast, empty room. instead, she found you curled on the floor, the soft creature of your body lightly clothed, flipping through a thick novel with its spine already cracked.

୨୧ you, too, had assumed the room was yours alone. after all, there was only one massive queen bed planted in the center, framed by ornate lamps that cast a soft glow over the wood-paneled walls. the two of you locked eyes, the silence loud with polite hostility. and then, as if on cue, both your smiles snapped into place—brilliant, practiced, and so painfully fake they practically gleamed. your families would be proud.

୨୧ you managed to get housing on the line after some deliberation over who would cave first. 'apologies, girls,’ the voice crackled through the old-fashioned landline. ‘there’s been an overlap in scheduling renovations. west wing residents have been moved to shared suites in the east. it’s only for a few weeks—after winter break, your single rooms will be ready, and you’ll receive a refund for the semester.’

୨୧ you clicked the phone back into its cradle and turned to caitlyn, flashing another dazzling smile. ‘well,’ you said sweetly, gesturing to her suitcase, ‘shall we get you unpacked?’

୨୧ during this time, you took her in—shamelessly, ravenously. she was tall and impossibly willowy, her movements languid like she’d been raised to glide instead of walk. her hair, a cascade so black it caught blue in the firelight (‘[name] it is blue.’), was swept into a ponytail so bouncy it could’ve been sculpted. she wore a thick knit sweater, tailored trousers, and a delicate diamond pendant—a ‘C’—that caught against her collarbone. her perfume hit you in waves: sweet, salty, like the black licorice you’d once eaten to excess in scandinavia. beneath it was something warmer—vanilla and caramelized citrus. you clenched your jaw to keep from leaning closer.

୨୧ at first, the sharing was civil. one of you curled up on the bed each week while the other resigned herself to the chaise in the corner. but one night, you woke to caitlyn’s face above yours, pale and soft in the moonlight. her almond-shaped eyes glittered as she pressed a deceptively strong hand against your stomach to wake you. her perfume cloyed your throat as she murmured, ‘come on,’ her voice rich and clipped with her posh english accent. she slipped back into bed, her braid glinting in the dim light, and you lay there, swallowing hard before following her.

୨୧ the real challenge wasn’t the shared space. it was caitlyn herself—her maddening proximity. the way her soft thighs brushed yours when she shifted in bed. the way her body, willowy as it was, still seemed to migrate toward you in the night, tangling with yours like it was instinctual. you woke up more than once during those weeks feeling hot, bothered, and frankly mortified, especially during the cruel timing of ovulation.

୨୧ to make matters worse, she was your equal in class. the professor announced your tied scores, and you caught her turning toward you, her bright blue eyes sparkling with something like satisfaction. she smiled, clearly expecting camaraderie, but this was your achievement. your moment. you forced a tight smile in return, already plotting your next move.

୨୧ and yet, caitlyn seemed determined to treat you as an equal. worse, a friend. she was everywhere—every party, every recital, every lecture. she linked your arm and whispered terrible jokes that you begrudgingly laughed at. she told you scandalous rumors about your professor and her husband, her lips brushing your cheek as the crowd jostled you.

୨୧ the glitter from her gloss smeared your skin, warm and wet, and when she tried to wipe it away, you told her it was fine. she blushed, and you hated how much you liked it.

୨୧ she was infuriating. borrowing your curling iron to tease out her perfect curls, dragging you to track practice where she outpaced you with ease, leaving snacks on your desk during finals with notes written in her careful script. she was just so—so perfect, framed in silk and lace and lit by courtyard sunlight, her laugh clear as crystal and echoing in your chest.

୨୧ wait.

୨୧ winter crept into the suite on silent feet, frosting the windowpanes and painting the air with a chill that settled into your bones. the two of you existed in an uneasy truce, navigating the space like chess players plotting moves several steps ahead.

୨୧ you thought you had her figured out, until one morning you stumbled into the kitchen to find her brewing tea, hair tousled and cheeks flushed with sleep. she offered you a mug without looking up, the steam curling between you, and you took it—hesitating only for a second.

୨୧ for all her elegance, caitlyn was infuriatingly human in ways that caught you off guard. she hummed off-key while studying, left tiny notes for herself tucked into the corners of her textbooks, and cursed like a sailor under her breath when she stubbed her toe on the chaise.

୨୧ it wasn’t fair how quickly she worked her way under your skin, the sharp edge of rivalry blunted by moments like these. still, you refused to let her win, clinging to the fire that flared in your chest every time she smirked at you after a particularly cutting comment in class.

୨୧ the tension came to a head one evening in the middle of finals. you were curled on the chaise, poring over notes, when caitlyn waltzed in, hair damp from a shower and wearing nothing but an oversized sweater that skimmed her thighs.

୨୧ she plopped onto the bed and stretched, a picture of unbothered grace. ‘don’t you think you’re overdoing it?’ she asked, her tone almost teasing. your pen froze mid-sentence. ‘excuse me?’ you shot back, eyes narrowing.

୨୧ ‘i’m just saying,’ she continued, utterly unruffled. ‘you’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself like this.’ the concern in her voice was infuriating, and you snapped. ‘not all of us can coast by on professors' favor and good looks,’ you said, your words cutting sharper than you intended. her expression faltered for a fraction of a second before she schooled it into something cool and distant.

୨୧ the silence that followed was unbearable. caitlyn moved to the chaise later that night, leaving the bed cold and empty. you told yourself you didn’t care, but the knot in your chest tightened with every passing hour. finally, just before dawn, you slipped out of bed and crossed the room, standing over her sleeping form. her face was peaceful in the pale light, and you felt a pang of regret so sharp it left you breathless.

୨୧ ‘caitlyn,’ you whispered, your voice trembling. her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked at you like you were the only thing in the world. ‘i’m sorry,’ you murmured, your throat tight. she sat up slowly, her gaze searching yours. ‘i didn’t mean it.’ ‘i know,’ she said softly, her words a balm to the ache in your chest.

୨୧ before you could overthink it, you leaned in, your lips brushing hers with a tentative softness. she responded immediately, her hands threading into your hair as she deepened the kiss. the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled in one another, practically climbing into each other’s skin, the air thick with the heady scent of her perfume and the taste of mint lingering on her lips.

୨୧ the next morning, you called housing together. caitlyn leaned against the counter, her arm brushing yours as you spoke into the phone.

୨୧ ‘yes,’ you said, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. ‘we’d like to stay in the east wing for the rest of the school year.’ you hung up, and caitlyn turned to you, her smile soft and knowing. ‘looks like we’re stuck with each other,’ she said, her tone light but her eyes dark.

୨୧ you squeezed your legs together and let a finger sweep at the dip of her collarbones. ‘it wouldn’t be the worst thing,’ you told her. she smiled.

violet: the lacrosse prodigy.

୨୧ the first time you saw vi, she was slouched in a mahogany chair at your parents' alumni dinner, looking like rebellion incarnate. her suit was expensive but deliberately disheveled—probably borrowed, you'd learn later—with the top button undone and a black tie hanging loose around her neck like an afterthought. you noticed her instantly: the sharp cut of her jaw, the shock of pink hair (freshly dyed, still bleeding slightly at her collar), and the way she balanced her chair on two legs like gravity was merely a suggestion.

୨୧ she noticed you too. maybe it was the way you held yourself, spine straight as a ruler, chin lifted in that practiced way that screamed old money. or maybe it was the way your silver-blue gown caught the light, clinging to you like morning frost on glass. either way, when your eyes met across the room, her smirk said she'd already made you her newest fixation. you looked away first, but you could feel her gaze following you for the rest of the evening, hot as a bruise.

୨୧ by the time classes started, her reputation preceded her like a shadow. vi, the scholarship student who played lacrosse like she was outrunning her past. girls whispered about her in bathroom stalls and behind textbooks: how she'd grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, how she'd fought her way into this school with nothing but raw talent and a stubbornness that bordered on spite. how she moved like she had lightning under her skin, all barely contained energy and sharp edges.

୨୧ you'd dismissed her first attempt at flirtation—a low whistle and a comment about how your uniform skirt looked specially tailored. she'd winked, and you'd raised an eyebrow so cold it could have frosted glass before walking away. but vi didn't take rejection personally; if anything, your indifference seemed to delight her.

୨୧ each time you passed in the halls, she'd find new ways to try to crack your composure: a deliberate brush of shoulders, a murmured 'morning, princess' that lingered in the air like perfume.

୨୧ what she didn't expect was for you to show up at her first game of the season. you perched yourself in the middle of the bleachers, legs crossed at the ankle, oversized sunglasses hiding your expression. the autumn air was sharp with approaching winter, and you wrapped your cashmere scarf tighter as you watched her warm up. she nearly missed a pass when she spotted you, her double-take so obvious it made your lips twitch despite yourself.

୨୧ she played like she had something to prove that day—all controlled violence and graceful aggression. you found yourself leaning forward despite your best intentions, watching the way she moved across the field like she owned it, her stick an extension of her arm. when her team won, she shot you a grin that was all adrenaline and victory, her chest heaving and hair plastered to her forehead with sweat.

୨୧ you didn't smile back, but something in your chest tightened when she lifted her jersey to wipe her face, revealing a strip of toned stomach marked with old scars.

୨୧ it became a game between you—her constant pushing, your calculated resistance. she'd find you in the library, sprawled across a chair like she was posing for a painting, her lacrosse stick balanced across her knees. 'studying hard, princess?' she'd drawl, her voice rough like she'd swallowed gravel, and you'd glance up from your books, unimpressed.

୨୧ 'some of us don't get by on natural talent alone,' you'd reply, your tone sharp enough to draw blood. but she never bled; she just grinned wider, like your cruelty was exactly what she'd been hoping for.

୨୧ the weather turned bitter, and you started noticing things about her you wished you didn't. how she wore the same three sweaters in rotation, all slightly too thin for the season. how she'd blow on her hands between plays, her fingers red with cold because she refused to wear gloves. how she worked twice as hard as anyone else on the field, like she was afraid someone would realize she didn't belong here and take it all away.

୨୧ one evening, you found yourself alone with her in the common room, the fire burning low in the grate. you were curled into the corner of the sofa, a cup of tea warming your hands, when she walked in. she hesitated for a moment before sitting beside you, close enough that you could smell the sharp blackberry of her shower gel mixing with the leather of her jacket.

୨୧ 'you're quiet tonight,' she said, her voice softer than you'd ever heard it. you didn't look at her, but something in your chest unraveled slightly. 'just tired,' you replied, and when she shifted closer, you didn't move away.

୨୧ after that, the boundaries between you began to blur. she started walking you back to your dorm after late study sessions, her stride easy and long beside your measured steps. 'i don't need a bodyguard,' you'd say, but your voice lacked its usual ice. she'd just shrug, hands stuffed in her pockets. 'maybe i just like the company.'

୨୧ one rainy sunday, she convinced you to join her on the empty field. 'come on, princess, live a little,' she said, pressing her spare stick into your reluctant hands. your perfectly manicured nails looked absurd wrapped around the grip, and you gave her your best withering stare. but then she stepped behind you, her hands covering yours to adjust your grip, and suddenly you couldn't remember why you'd been protesting. her breath was warm against your ear as she guided you through the motion, her body solid and sure against your back.

୨୧ you missed every shot, but the way she laughed—not at you, but with you—made your cheeks flush with something other than cold.

୨୧ you told yourself it meant nothing. that she was just another scholarship kid trying to prove herself, that her attention was just another form of rebellion against everything you represented. but then came the night after her team's crushing semifinal loss. you found her in the empty locker room, still in her muddy uniform, staring at her hands like they belonged to someone else. without a word, you sat beside her on the bench, your expensive skirt soaking up puddles of field water.

୨୧ 'you played well,' you said quietly. she laughed, but it was hollow. 'not well enough.' you reached for her hand then, your fingers interlacing with hers, and neither of you mentioned how long you stayed there, sharing silence and something deeper.

୨୧ it happened during one of your late-night walks. the air was sharp with approaching snow, and the campus was quiet except for the crunch of gravel under your boots. she stopped suddenly, turning to face you with an expression you'd never seen before—all vulnerability and barely contained want. 'you know,' she said, her voice rough, 'you're not nearly as cold as you pretend to be.' before you could argue, she kissed you—hard and desperate at first, then softening when you gasped against her mouth. she tasted like cinnamon gum and possibility, and her hands were gentle when they cupped your face, like she was afraid you might collapse.

୨୧ the next morning, vi was back to her usual self, lounging against the dining hall wall with her teammates. but when you walked in, her entire face lit up, and the smile she gave you was different from her usual smirk—softer, private, just for you. you rolled your eyes but couldn't quite fight your answering smile, and when she fell into step beside you later, her pinky finger hooking casually around yours, you let her stay.

୨୧ you'd been raised to be ice—beautiful, untouchable, cold enough to burn. but vi had always run hot, all passion and impulse and raw honesty.

୨୧ and somehow, against all logic, against everything you'd been taught, you found yourself thawing.

mel medarda: the best friend.

୨୧ mel was your constant, like morning light through gauzy curtains or the first cherry blossoms of spring. she had been there so long you'd forgotten what it felt like not to have her around—her laugh echoing in your dorm late at night, her perfume lingering on your sweaters, her tinted lip balm marking coffee cups she'd left scattered across your desk like petals marking her presence in your life.

୨୧ you couldn't pinpoint when it started. maybe it was during those endless summer nights when you were sixteen, lying on her family's sprawling lawn watching satellites paint silver trails across the dark blue sky. or maybe it was in the quiet moments between lectures, when she'd fix your collar with careful fingers, her touch lingering just a heartbeat too long.

୨୧ all you knew was that mel had carved out a space in your life that nobody else could fill, and you weren't sure you wanted them to try.

୨୧ she moved through the world like she was made of starlight and ambition, all sharp edges and soft smiles. in business seminars, she was their star student, her neatly slicked baby hairs drawing the sunlight as she spoke about case studies and economic theory with the kind of confidence that made professors lean forward in their seats.

୨୧ but in your room, she was just mel—shoes kicked off, braids falling loose from their carefully styled updo, gesturing wildly as she talked about her latest thesis project while you pretended to study.

୨୧ you both had your rituals. every thursday night, she'd appear at your door with takeout from that little place downtown that knew your order by heart, and you'd share secrets like candy between your teeth.

୨୧ you'd curl up on your bed, papers spread around you like a hurricane of responsibility, and she'd listen to you complain about your upcoming presentations until your words turned soft and honest. sometimes, she'd fall asleep there, her head on your shoulder, her breathing steady against your neck, and you'd stay perfectly still, afraid to disturb whatever this was between you.

୨୧ it was the little things that undid you. the way she'd absently play with your fingers during long lectures, tracing the lines of your palm like she was reading your future. how she knew exactly how you took your coffee (one sugar, splash of cream and two extra pumps of vanilla, but only before noon). the way she'd look at you sometimes when she thought you weren't paying attention like you were a poem she was trying to memorize.

୨୧ you cataloged these moments carefully, storing them away like heirlooms.

୨୧ you told yourself it was nothing. that best friends always felt this way—heart racing when they walked into a room, breath catching when they smiled, skin burning where they touched.

୨୧ you convinced yourself that the ache in your chest when she dated other people was just protective instinct, that the relief you felt when those relationships inevitably ended was purely sympathetic.

୨୧ but there were moments when the pretense felt impossible. like the night she dragged you out dancing at that underground jazz club favored by grad students, her body pressed against yours in the crowded space, her breath warm on your neck as she whispered something you couldn't quite hear over the music.

୨୧ or the morning you found her asleep in your bed after a particularly brutal finals week, wearing one of your old silk robes. you stood in the doorway for too long, memorizing the way the early light licked her dark skin gold, how her braids spilled across your powder blue pillowcase like spilled ink.

୨୧ she wasn't subtle about her affection. mel had always been tactile with you—casual touches, long hugs, the way she'd rest her head in your lap during study breaks. but lately, there was something different about it. something charged.

୨୧ she'd trace patterns on your skin while you talked, her fingers leaving trails of electricity in their wake. when you'd dress for formal dinners, she'd zip up your dresses with agonizing slowness, her braids brushing against your back as she leaned close, her knuckles tracing your spine like a gentle claim.

୨୧ it was after one of the university's prestigious donor galas that everything shifted. you were both slightly giddy on champagne bubbles and shared glances, stumbling back to your dorm with your heels in your hands.

୨୧ mel was wearing dusty rose, the color melting into her skin, and there was something about the way the hallway lights caught in her hair that made your chest ache. she was telling a story about some legacy student who'd tried to copy her economics paper, her voice low and amused, but all you could focus on was the way her lips formed the words.

୨୧ 'you're not listening to me,' she said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the empty corridor. you weren't. you were thinking about how many years you'd spent memorizing her face, how you knew exactly which smile meant she was truly happy and which one she wore like armor in the halls.

୨୧ 'i'm always listening to you,' you replied, but your voice came out softer than intended. she stepped closer, and you could smell her perfume—something expensive and warm, amber and animalistic.

୨୧ 'then what did i just say?' she challenged, but her eyes were soft, knowing. you couldn't answer because you were too busy watching the way her pulse fluttered at her throat, visible above the delicate lace of her dress.

୨୧ 'mel,' you whispered, and it sounded like a prayer. like every secret you'd ever kept. like years of wanting something you thought you couldn't have.

୨୧ she kissed you first, or maybe you kissed her—later, neither of you could remember who moved first. all you knew was that one moment you were standing there, years of unspoken feelings hanging between you like morning mist, and the next her lips were on yours, soft and sure and tasting faintly of sugar cookie lip gloss.

୨୧ she kissed you like she'd been thinking about it for years, like she was trying to make up for lost time, and you melted into her with a sigh that felt like coming home.

୨୧ when you pulled away, her lip gloss was smudged, and you knew yours was too. she looked at you with something like wonder, her hands still cupping your face like you might disappear if she let go. 'how long?' she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

୨୧ 'always,' you answered, and it was true. it had always been mel, even when you were too afraid to admit it. she smiled then, brilliant and real, and kissed you again, softer this time, like she was making a promise.

୨୧ the next morning, you woke up tangled together in your sheets, her arm draped over your waist, her breath warm against your shoulder. the early light set her skin to flame, and when she blinked awake, the smile she gave you was everything you'd ever wanted but been too afraid to ask for.

୨୧ nothing really changed, except everything did. she still brought takeout on thursdays, still fixed your collar with careful fingers, still fell asleep in your bed. but now you could kiss her whenever you wanted, could wrap your arms around her waist from behind while she made coffee, could tell her all the things you'd kept locked away for so long.

୨୧ your love for her was reminiscent of wine spilled on silk, deep and permanent and impossible to ignore. and finally, wonderfully, you didn't have to try to scrub it out.

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whosscruffylooking · 1 month ago

Text

Militiae Species Amor Est II

Militiae species amor est - "Love is a kind of war."

Re-read Part I Now!

a/n: if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know in the comments!

warnings: // a small threat of violence is made between Iris and her partner, but no physical contact is made. canon typical violence.

word count: 4.2k

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You step cautiously into the grand halls of the estate, the place you once roamed as a little servant girl, where your bare feet had once echoed softly against the cold marble. The air is thick with the weight of memories, each one pressing heavily against your chest. This was the house where you had grown up, where you had once been invisible, and where your life had irrevocably intertwined with his.

A voice pulls you from your thoughts. It rings out, familiar and poised, yet carrying a tension you haven’t heard before.

“Iris. It has been quite some time.”

You turn sharply, your breath catching as you face Lucilla, the mistress of this house—and the mother of the man you’ve spent a lifetime aching for. She stands before you, as elegant and commanding as you remember, her beauty untouched by the years. For a moment, you falter, caught between the awe she still inspires and the fury simmering just beneath your surface. But there’s no time to linger on reverence. Not now.

“We need to help Lucius escape,” you say, your voice steady despite the fire raging in your chest.

Lucilla’s expression hardens, her posture as composed as ever. “You are in no position to plot something like this. An engaged woman. A woman of low birth who has risen to a place of promise.” She steps closer, her gaze piercing, as if to drive the point deeper. “It isn’t safe for you.”

Her words land like a blow. You bristle, your hands curling into fists at your sides as anger floods through you. “You mean to insult me? When you know—when you must know—that I have loved your son since childhood?” Your voice rises, trembling with the weight of years left unspoken. “Do you truly believe that I could ever forget him? Forget the way we laughed, the way we cried, the way you sent him away as if he were nothing but an inconvenience? I have not had a single night of peaceful rest since that day! Not one!”

Lucilla’s carefully composed mask cracks, but you don’t stop. The words pour out, sharp and unrelenting. “And you? As his mother, do you feel nothing? No anguish, no torment? Or do you simply find it easier to look away, to let him suffer alone? Now he’s here—he’s here, Lucilla—and you expect me to sit back, to watch him fight the same fight that took his father from him? With no attempt to save him, no attempt to shield him from even more pain?”

The silence that follows feels deafening. For a moment, Lucilla looks at you as though she’s been struck. Her lips part, trembling with words that won’t come. Then, to your shock, her face crumples, and tears begin to spill down her cheeks.

She crosses the space between you in an instant, wrapping you in an embrace that is both unexpected and suffocating. Her voice shakes as she speaks. “I subjected one child to a life of pain. I—I couldn’t bear to see you suffer the same. Don’t you see? I’ve only ever wanted you to find peace, Iris. Contentment. That’s why—” She pulls back, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “That’s why when Caius’ father approached me, I agreed. I thought he could give you the life you deserved, one free of sorrow. I never meant to make you feel betrayed.”

You push her hands away, stepping back as the weight of her confession settles over you like a leaden cloak. “Peace?” Your voice is bitter, sharp as broken glass. “Do you truly believe I could ever find peace without him? All I ever wanted was your son. Not your pity. Not a life designed to ease your guilt.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You straighten your spine, your voice unwavering. “If you truly cared about me, you would have sent me with him. Instead, you left us both to live lives filled with nothing but longing and regret. So save your excuses, Lucilla. If you truly care now, then tell me—” Your voice hardens, each word a command. “Tell me the plan to rescue Lucius.”

And she does. Through trembling breaths and tear-filled eyes, Lucilla tells you the plan—how her husband, Acacius, will orchestrate Lucius’s escape from the prison. She explains the carefully laid steps, each one steeped in risk, each one reliant on precision. But there’s one missing piece.

“Someone needs to warn him,” she says, her voice wavering as she meets your gaze. “He has to know what’s coming, or he’ll resist. He won’t trust it.”

The moment hangs heavy between you, her words an unspoken plea. You don’t hesitate.

“I’ll do it,” you say firmly, the fire in your chest burning brighter now. “I’ll warn him.”

Lucilla’s eyes widen, her lips parting as if to protest, but you shake your head, cutting her off before she can speak.

“No one else knows him like I do,” you continue. “He’ll listen to me. He’ll trust me.”

For a moment, Lucilla studies you, her expression a war between doubt and something that almost looks like hope. Then, finally, she nods, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her choice.

“Be careful,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. But you’re already turning away, your mind focused on one thing: reaching Lucius.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The corridors of the barracks stretch before you like an endless void, every shadow a whisper of your guilt, every creak of the stone beneath your feet a reminder of what you stand to lose. Wrapped in a dark cloak, the cool air bites at your skin, but the ache in your chest burns hotter. You cling to the cover of night as you make your way toward Ravi, a gladiator-turned-medic who once saved soldiers from the edge of death. Tonight, you hope he’ll save you in a different way.

When you reach his room, you knock softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Ravi.”

The door creaks open, his wary eyes scanning the hall before they settle on you. “What are you doing here?” he hisses. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near this place.”

“I won’t tell you the details,” you reply quickly, your voice trembling. “If anyone questions you, I don’t want you to lie on my behalf. All I ask is that you point me toward Hanno—let me speak with him privately.”

Ravi’s expression hardens, torn between caution and compassion. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he nods. “You shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs, but he leads you through the labyrinthine halls. When he stops outside a cell, his voice is heavy with warning. “He’s in here. Be quick.”

Ravi pushes the door open slightly, just enough for the man inside to hear. “Someone is here to see you, Hanno,” he announces.

Lucius turns at the sound of his name, his face hardening the moment he sees you. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing before he looks away sharply. “I have nothing to say to her,” he bites out, his voice rough, almost broken.

Your heart twists painfully at his words, but you nod at Ravi, signaling for him to let you in anyway. He hesitates, but when he sees the determination in your eyes, he steps back, locking the door behind you as you slip into the dimly lit cell.

Lucius stands with his back to you, his hands balled into fists at his sides. His silence is deafening, but you don’t let it deter you. You step closer, the ache in your chest swelling with every step. Tears sting your eyes as you finally find the words you’ve been rehearsing in your mind since the moment you decided to come here.

“I cannot begin to express how sorry I am,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “For how I treated you. For what I said.”

He doesn’t move, but you can see the slight tension in his shoulders. You press on, desperate to reach him.

“I never should have assumed you would return to this place—to the pain, to the life you’ve fought so hard to escape—and risk everything for the very place that destroyed your family. It was selfish of me to ask, selfish to think I had that right. I suppose these emotions, these feelings I’ve tried so hard to bury, have clouded my judgment.”

His breathing slows, the air between you thick with words left unsaid. You take another step, your voice breaking now.

“But know this, Lucius: you are far more than just a gladiator. Even before I saw you in those cursed games, you were so much more to me. You always have been. You were the boy who gave me his last piece of bread when I had nothing. The boy who made me laugh when the world felt too heavy. The boy whose soul captured mine long before I knew what love even was.”

His shoulders slump slightly, and though he doesn’t turn, you see his hand tremble. The silence stretches, heavy with everything you’re too afraid to ask. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, raw with pain.

“And yet you stood there, questioning who I was,” he murmurs. “Doubting the choices I made to survive. Do you know what it’s like to have someone you love look at you as though you’re a stranger?”

The words cut deep, sharp as any blade, and tears spill down your cheeks. You move closer, desperate to bridge the distance, to close the chasm that has grown between you.

“I was wrong,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I was so wrong. But I swear to you, Lucius, I have never stopped seeing the boy you were. And I will never stop loving the man you’ve become.”

Lucius stares at you, his eyes swimming with emotions too tangled to name. The air between you crackles, heavy with unspoken words and the years of longing that have built into this single, fraught moment. You search his face for a sign that your words have reached him, that the wall he’s built is beginning to crumble.

Lucius's gaze burns into yours, his expression a tempest of anguish and desire, before he moves. His hands are on you in an instant, rough but careful, as though he's afraid you'll vanish if he doesn't hold tight enough. He presses you against the cold, damp wall of the cell, the chill of the stone seeping through your cloak and biting into your skin. It's grounding, sharp against the heat that erupts between you as his lips claim yours.

The kiss is everything you've imagined and nothing like it all at once-wild, desperate, and unrelenting. His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize the feel of you. His lips are firm, demanding, pouring years of suppressed longing into the kiss. You can feel his ragged breaths mingling with yours, and the faint taste of salt from your shared tears lingers between you.

Your hands find his chest, trembling as they trace over the worn fabric of his tunic and the hard planes of his body. His heart is pounding beneath your palms, as wild and erratic as your own. When your fingers curl into the fabric to pull him closer, he growls low in his throat—a sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

The cold wall presses unyieldingly against your back as he leans into you, his body a solid, unmovable force. The contrast of cold stone and his scorching heat sets your senses ablaze. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as if he could somehow fuse the two of you together, and the pressure of his touch ignites a fire that consumes you whole.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you both struggle to catch your breath. His lips hover near yours, as though the distance is too much to bear, and his voice, rough and low, brushes over your skin.

"Do you understand now?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. "Do you see what you've done to me? You've been the only thing keeping me alive, Iris. Even when I hated the world, I still loved you."

Your tears spill freely as you clutch at his tunic, your voice trembling. "I see it, Lucius. I see it, and I feel it, because l've loved you just as fiercely.”

He tilts your chin up, his dark eyes softening, and his thumb brushes tenderly across your jaw. "Then let there be no more fear," he whispers before capturing your lips again.

This kiss is softer but no less consuming, filled with a desperate hope that perhaps the two of you, against all odds, can still claim the love that's been waiting for so long.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sun blazes mercilessly as the crowd fills the arena, their cheers deafening and bloodthirsty. Your seat offers a clear view of the sand-covered pit, where the fighters enter with stoic faces and heavy chains. Among them is Lucius. Even in the sea of bodies, your eyes find him instantly.

He walks with his head held high, his shoulders squared. You can see the fire burning in him now—a determination that wasn’t there before, knowing that people are ready to rescue him. The weight of hope, of knowing freedom waits just beyond the reach of this hellish stage, has reignited something in him. Yet, the sight of him under the watchful eyes of guards and the jeering crowd still twists your stomach with dread.

Your fiancé, Caius, sits beside you, oblivious to the storm raging within you. His hand rests possessively on your arm as if to remind everyone—and perhaps himself—of who you belong to.

When the fight begins, Lucius is relentless. His movements are sharper, faster, more focused than ever before. You watch in awe as he disarms one opponent and dodges another’s blade with a grace that feels almost otherworldly. But it’s not enough to calm your nerves. Every strike, every blow he lands only tightens the knot in your chest.

And then it happens. A spear slices across his shoulder, leaving a vivid trail of crimson in its wake. He stumbles, his hand instinctively going to the wound, and for a moment, your world stops.

You stand without thinking, your breath catching in your throat. “Lucius,” you whisper, though the name escapes like a prayer rather than a call.

Caius turns sharply to you, his grip on your arm tightening. “What are you doing?” he hisses, his voice low but sharp. “Sit down, Iris.”

But you can’t. Your heart is pounding too loudly, drowning out his words. All you can see is the blood staining Lucius’s tunic, the grimace of pain that briefly flashes across his face before he forces himself back into the fight.

“Iris!” Caius snaps, his voice rising now. “This is unseemly. People are watching!”

You don’t care. The moment the fight ends and Lucius is escorted out, you wrench free from Caius’s grasp and run. His angry protests fade behind you as your sandals slap against the stone corridors leading to the medic chambers.

When you burst through the door, Ravi looks up in surprise. Lucius sits on a stool, blood dripping from his shoulder as Ravi prepares to clean the wound. His gaze snaps to you, and for a moment, he freezes, the stoic mask slipping to reveal something raw and unguarded.

“What are you doing here?” Ravi asks, his tone filled with warning.

But Lucius speaks first, his voice low and strained. “Iris.” Your name on his lips feels like both a question and an anchor.

You cross the room in a rush, ignoring Ravi’s protests and Lucius’s raised brow. “Let me,” you say softly, reaching for the cloth in Ravi’s hand. Your fingers tremble as you press it against the wound, but you don’t flinch.

Lucius watches you, his gaze piercing. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, but there’s no anger in his voice—only concern.

“And you shouldn’t be out there,” you reply, your voice breaking. “But here we are.”

His hand rises, hesitating for a moment before it brushes against yours, smearing your skin with his blood. “I’ll be fine,” he says, though his eyes betray him.

“No, you won’t,” you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Not if I lose you.”

Ravi clears his throat awkwardly, stepping back. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he mutters, leaving the room.

Lucius exhales shakily, his gaze never leaving yours. “Iris, you have to be careful. If Caius—”

“Let Caius think what he will,” you interrupt, your voice trembling with conviction. “I won’t sit by and do nothing while you suffer.”

In the space of a breath, his restraint snaps. "Damn Caius," he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, just before his lips capture yours.

The kiss is wild and desperate, like a clash of wills—a battle neither of you is willing to lose.

His hands tighten around your waist as yours tangle in his hair, the metallic taste of blood faint on his lips, a reminder of the wounds he's endured. He kisses you with the fervor of a man who's fought too long to deny what he feels, each movement urgent and unyielding.

He lifts you onto the nearby table, the rough wood cold beneath your legs as papers and tools clatter to the ground, forgotten. You gasp against his mouth, but he doesn't falter, his body pressing into yours as if to prove something-to you, to himself, to the world that's tried to keep you apart.

Outside, the sound of footsteps halts, followed by a frustrated sigh. Ravi's voice mutters something inaudible, and you know he's standing there, trying to give you privacy while also likely cursing your recklessness.

Lucius pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow space between. "This is madness," he whispers, his voice rough and thick with emotion.

"Then let it be madness," you reply, your voice just as unsteady. Your hands trail down to his face, cupping his jaw as your thumbs brush over his cheekbones. "Because l'd rather have this moment than a lifetime of silence."

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss even fiercer than before, as though he's pouring all the words he can't say into the connection. His hands linger around your thighs, gradually pushing the hem of your dress higher and higher up your leg.

“Lucius, I—” Ravi’s voice cuts through the haze, and you pull back abruptly, your chest heaving.

Lucius turns toward the door, his body instinctively shifting to shield you from Ravi’s view, though it’s already too late. Ravi stands in the doorway, his face a mixture of disbelief and exasperation.

“I left you alone for mere minutes,” Ravi mutters, crossing his arms as his eyes dart between the two of you.

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you hold your ground, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze. “I was helping,” you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you.

“And clearly you’ve been very thorough in your assistance,” Ravi replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Lucius steps forward, his voice low but firm. “Enough, Ravi. You’ve said your piece.”

Ravi exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If anyone finds out about this, it’s not just you two who’ll pay the price. Keep that in mind.” He turns on his heel, muttering something under his breath as he leaves.

The door clicks shut, and silence settles over the room once more. Lucius looks at you, his eyes clouded with both regret and longing. “I’ll deal with him,” he says softly, though his hand lingers at your side, as if reluctant to let you go.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The door slams shut behind you as you step into the quiet of your home, the night air still clinging to your skin. Your heart is pounding in your chest, adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the events that transpired just moments ago. You barely have a chance to steady your breath before Caius appears in the hallway, his sharp gaze locking onto you as he takes in the sight of you—disheveled, hair slightly tousled, your dress still crinkled from the tension of the night.

“Where have you been?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge to it, an undeniable undertone of suspicion that you cannot ignore.

You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, a familiar lie already forming on your lips. “I was just out for a walk,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a slight quiver in your voice that betrays you.

Caius takes a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing, scanning you with unsettling precision. He glances down at your dress, and for a split second, his gaze lingers on a small stain of blood near the hem. His face hardens.

“That doesn’t look like the mark of a walk,” he says, voice tight with suspicion. “Where did you get this from?”

You freeze. The blood—it wasn’t from you, but from the hurried touch you had shared with Lucius. His words echo in your mind, Damn Caius. You can feel the weight of that kiss, the dangerous closeness, and the desperation in his touch. It lingers in your skin, like a brand that you can’t erase.

“Nothing happened,” you lie again, your heart racing in your chest. You want to scream, to tell him the truth, but fear clamps down on your throat. “I helped Ravi again, like I used to.”

Caius isn’t fooled. His eyes flicker with recognition, and before you can take another breath, he’s stepping toward you, his hand gripping your wrist tightly. “Tell me the truth,” he demands, his voice low and threatening. “You’ve been with him, haven’t you? The Eagle of Rome.”

The mention of Lucius sends a shock of panic through you, freezing you in place. No—you try to deny it, but the truth is already written across your face. “I haven’t—” you start, but the words falter. You try to pull your wrist free, but his grip tightens, pulling you closer.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice a razor’s edge, the anger seeping through each word. His fingers are like iron, digging into your skin as he pulls you toward him. “I saw the way you looked at him in the stadium.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as the weight of his accusation hits. Lucius—the name lingers like a forbidden prayer. “I was helping all of the warriors today. I promise you, I didn’t even touch him,” you snap, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and guilt, but the words feel hollow, like a lie you want to believe but can’t.

“Stop!” Caius interrupts, his voice rising now, each word thick with rising fury. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? That I haven’t seen how you’ve been sneaking around? How you’ve been lying to me?”

His words hit you like a slap. In an instant, his frustration boils over, his anger flaring in his eyes. He moves toward you, forceful and sharp, and you stumble back into the wall, trying to escape his grasp. You gasp, your heart pounding as you try to steady yourself.

But before you can recover, Caius is right there, his face inches from yours, his breath ragged with fury. “You have no idea what kind of reproach you’re bringing against our family,” he spits, his voice dangerously quiet now. “Your actions make us a mockery. The choices you’ve made—make us look like fools.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, your heart aching in your chest. His words cut deeper than you expected, and guilt rises in your throat. He’s right—this has always been the choice, between him and Lucius. Between duty and love. But you couldn’t let go—not when Lucius needed you, not when you were the only one who could do something for him.

“Let me go, Caius,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if asking for the smallest mercy. “Please.”

But there’s no mercy in his eyes now. Only betrayal, and the realization that whatever it is that’s come between you, whatever feelings you’ve tried to bury, are on the cusp of release. He stares at you, and for a moment, you think you see something softer in his gaze—but it’s fleeting. He lets out a jagged breath, his grip still tight on your wrist.

“I never wanted this,” he mutters, almost to himself. “But I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

You don’t know what to say to that, because you feel the same way. Every word from his lips is a weight pressing you into the wall, and yet, you can’t escape it.

“Clean yourself up,” Caius says, stepping back. His eyes linger on you, raw and unrelenting. “And can’t stand the sight of you right now.”

Caius turns away, his shoulders tense with unresolved anger, and the silence between you stretches, thick with unspoken truths. As he walks out, leaving you standing alone in the dimly lit room, you feel the weight of the choice you’ve made—and the painful certainty that nothing will ever be the same again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

tag list: @willowpains

#lucius verus x y/n #lucius verus x you #lucius verus x reader #lucius verus #hanno x reader #gladiator ||#gladiator 2 fic #gladiator ii #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal #paul mescal fic

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lanabuckybarnes · 7 months ago

Text

Princess Treatment

18+ MINORS DNI

It’s been a few days since Princess had her first punishment from Bucky. She tried to avoid him like the plague whenever she could, but not for the reason he assumed.

Pairing: Bodyguard! Bucky x Brat! (Not so) Reader (Princess)

Warnings: Brat Taming, Masturbation (F), Whipped Princess, Crying, Soft Dom! Buck this time, Fingering, Oral (F), Praise Kink, Slight Overstim, A Lil Angsty, Princess is insecure, AFTERCARE (because it’s important)

Word Count: 1.8k

He scowled as once again, as soon as the doors to her penthouse opened she slinked off to her bedroom, not even bothering to pull off her heels. He’d thought a lot about the other day; he was probably too harsh on her, he should’ve eased her into it but she royally pissed him off with her defiant attitude as he pulled her from the sweaty crowd of drunken adults, she’d even spat in his face, the nail in the coffin.

But he hated the fact she didn’t want to be around him.

He sipped on the amber bourbon, hissing slightly at the expensive burn it caused down his throat before he tucked his lips into his mouth, deep in thought about how to best approach the situation he found himself in.

On the other side of the house, Princess whimpered into a clammy hand as her other ventured under her slicked panties. She’d been so good for him, curling into bed with throbbing want after he pushed her away - she’d tried the morning after to get herself off but there was a heavy weight of guilt that laid on her shoulders, causing her to slip her finger away from herself and finish up in the shower, unsatisfied again.

She was convinced he’d give her what she wanted after the second day. She’d been so sweet to him, making him tea in the morning, ordering him breakfast and even having his suit ironed by her personal maid but by dinner time her hope was wearing thin. Her book lay open on her lap but she’d be lucky to have read even the first paragraph, her eyes too busy gazing at each miniature movement Bucky made, a spike of excitement shooting up her spine each time his pink tongue ran over his plush lower lip, settling into the side of his mouth before slipping back into its place behind his teeth; each bob of his Adam’s apple as his favourite alcohol slipped down his throat.

But he stood with a groan, eyes glancing over at her nonchalantly and a gruff ‘goodnight’ falling from his mouth had that burning fire in her stomach quelled quick. She was becoming increasingly frustrated by the lack of attention he was giving her and began to shut herself away for her own good. Being around him too much was not good for her sanity.

Which led to now.

She’d been out at an event, her daddy couldn’t make it and tasked her with showing her pretty face instead, it was simple work she’d done before, give a couple charming smiles, kiss a couple of cheeks and drink a couple glasses of champagne - that was before the addition of Bucky into her life.

She knew it was for her own safety when he manoeuvred her away from the only set of windows that she could’ve easily been shot at from, but his warm hand scalded her hip as he did it, the fingers squeezing in innocent reassurance but finally being touched by Bucky had her mind going dumb already. He’d continued to move her around with unassuming hands on her body the entire night until she was so sure she wouldn’t make it home in one piece. Thankfully she didn’t lose her marbles until her back connected with the soft sheets of her bed, her dress discarded on the floor and her hand cupping her heated core.

“F-fuck” Her breath hitched as her middle finger swirled slowly around her hard little pearl; its lack of action recently made it much more sensitive to her gentle touch. Her ring finger joined as she spread her legs wider; a guttural moan almost falling unchecked from her mouth but thankfully being suppressed by the soft feathers of her pillow.

She thought of his fingers instead; how rough would he be? Would he circle her clit delicately or would he maintain that rough dominant attitude from a few nights prior and leave her sopping pussy sore with hard spanks. No doubt he’d punish her, fuck her throat again and release all over her face before shoving her away and disappearing into his room, after all, that’s all he wanted, a stupid little girl who’d be at his beck and call, who’d open wide and gag around his length until he was satisfied.

Her free hand hooked around the waistband of her undies, pulling him unceremoniously until they stretched around her thighs before slipping off easily past her knees. She kept up her ministrations, hips bucking up to meet every flick of her fingers, soft moans and pleads of something she knew was unattainable escaping her mouth, her eyes rolling back into her head.

She didn’t even hear the door click open.

Bucky watched the sight in front of him, his princess getting herself off while she chanted his name. He expected himself to be upset at the sight but he felt guilty more than anything; he knew he’d gone too long and it caused her to break his rule. He sat down on the edge of the bed, only after feeling the sinking of the mattress did her eyes shoot open, a frightened gasp ripping from her throat and her hand flying from its spot.

“Oh my - I’m so sorry…I-I tried my best but you weren’t…I waited so long I c-couldn’t hold back” he frowned at just how frantically she apologised, her legs slapping shut, tears welling in her eyes at the thought of her impending punishment. She froze when instead of harsh words his big hand cupped the side of her face, thumb swiping up and escaping tears.

“Shhh it’s ok princess I know, I know, you did so well” he praised, mouth quirking up into a soft, gentle smile.

“Y-you’re not mad?” She stuttered in response.

“Uh-uh angel it’s my fault, was just tryna see how long I could push you but I pushed you too far, I’m sorry baby” She didn’t know how to feel about this Bucky; she enjoyed the soft touches and sweet words but it was such a far cry from the hard dom she’d dealt with before.

“Lemme help you ok princess, you deserve it for lasting so long, you want my help?” His words wobbled slightly at the end, slight hints of insecurity bubbling as he spoke, he wanted so badly to help her but he knew she had every right to tell him to fuck off - but she nodded, wide eyes unblinking and legs falling open.

“My rules are still in place sweet thing” he reminded, hand running soothingly up and down her thigh.

“I want your help Buck please” she gasped when his thick fingers resumed her circling, pressing firmer than she had. She watched him through lidded eyes; the way he took his time unravelling each part of her, his eyes moving from between her legs, up over her tummy to her soft breasts. He cupped one in his hand, thumb circling over the nipple softly eliciting soft whines from her.

“That feel good baby?” He mouthed along from her knee to her mid-thigh, sucking softly before kissing the bruising skin.

“Mhmm…want your fingers in me Buck” she hesitated for a beat, silently hoping it wasn’t too demanding but when his fingers sunk to his knuckles she thanked the heavens for his leniency. He thrust in and curled out, the pads of his fingers hitting that sweet spot every time, juices pooling out around his digits and down the crevice of her cheeks until settling on her sheets. She was dangerously close; his hot breath fanning over her folds not helping at all.

“Want you to tell me when you’re gonna come ok, you gotta ask permission, princess?” His dark eyes flicked up to hers, a chuckle forming on her lips as she nodded her head instead of using her words - she was lucky he was feeling so bad.

An almost pornographic sob left her when his tongue flattened over her hardened nub, vibrating with a growl he let out at her taste.

“Mmm tastes so good angel” he groaned against her, suckling up any sweetness decorating her lips. She was a mess, pussy clenching frantically on his quickening fingers, drool gathering and wetting the pillowcase beneath her head as she ground her body against his face, an image of her sweaty body crawling up the tallest mountain in the world, hands bleeding as she gripped at rocks, feet slipping but she kept going until she finally reached that summit, but something in her brain stopped her from jumping off just yet.

“Mm ohhh Buck I’m close, please gotta come…can I Bucky? Can I come?” She cried, eyes cracking open to look at him pleadingly.

“Come princess, let it go, let it all go for your Bucky” he rambled against her heat, moaning unabashedly as more of her slick sweetness slipped from her clenching hole, being sucked up by his tongue.

She had no idea how long she lay there writhing, orgasm seemingly never-ending. She came to from the feeling of Bucky’s fingers still thrusting weekly into her, helping her through her pleasure.

“Ah s-stop too much” She pushed against his bicep and he relented, pulling his sopping fingers from her winking cavern and cleaning them off in his mouth.

“You did so well for me princess, so fucking good” he lauded, kissing up her neck and jaw before planting his lips on her bitten ones.

“I’m sorry” she sobbed, emotions on full blast because of the assault her shuddering orgasm had on her nerves. He shushed her softly, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, assuring her she had nothing to be sorry for. He pulled her up into his arms, lifting her frame off the bed and carrying her into the en-suite adjoined to her room. He placed her aching body delicately into the warm sudded water he’d prepared in mere minutes.

She’d quietened after he scrubbed her expensive body wash over her body, paying close attention to any stiff knots he felt along the way. She turned to him with something intelligible swirling in her eyes.

“Are you proud of me?” Her voice was weak, raspy from overuse. He almost cooed out loud at the adorable little expression adorning her features, but he could sense something deeper crawling around there too.

“Of course princess, even when you act like a spoiled brat I’m proud of you…you take your punishments so well and you’re always so sweet after” he leaned forward and snatched her lips in his again.

The answer seemed to satisfy her for the time being but he knew it wouldn’t be the end of questions like that. Suddenly that simple bodyguard role for the world's brattiest women was starting to feel more like protecting the most misunderstood woman he’d ever met, and it boiled the pot of possessiveness that had sat cold in Bucky for a long time.

I had something else planned to post today but I'm not happy with it so you can have some Princess and Bucky because you have been denied. This was written a while ago and dedicated to the anon in my asks who asked for Princess and Bucky filth months ago 💚

I hope you enjoyed, any likes, reblogs and comments are well appreciated and I’d love any asks telling me your thoughts about these two or anything else that comes to mind. I'm a certified yapaholic.

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koyagifs · 1 month ago

Text

𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

pairing: pirate!seonghwa x princess!reader au: pirate au genre: angst with happy ending word count: 9.3k synopsis: she refuses to be wed to someone she doesn't love. Her last resort? to run away with the pirate that stole her useless crown. warning(s): toxic family relationships, screaming match. cursing. please let me know if i miss anything else!!

" don't go to far, please - the last thing i need is a headache from one of you," Hongjoong spoke, mainly looking at Wooyoung and Yuna who held a sheepish smile.

Hongjoong sighed as he crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on Wooyoung and Yuna. They both wore matching sheepish grins, looking like kids caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

"I'm serious," Hongjoong continued, his tone firm but tinged with a familiar exasperation. "Just stick to the group and don’t make me come looking for you. This isn’t the kind of place to mess around in."

Wooyoung, ever the troublemaker, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, Captain. We’ll behave. Scouts’ honor."

Yuna nudged him playfully, suppressing a laugh. "You’ve never been a scout a day in your life."

"Details," Wooyoung quipped with a grin.

Hongjoong shook his head, muttering under his breath about regretting every decision that led to this moment. “I mean it, Wooyoung. No wandering off, no dumb dares, and definitely no—”

“Hongjoong, we got it!” Yuna cut in with a giggle, grabbing Wooyoung’s arm to pull him toward the others. “Come on, let’s not give him a real headache.”

As the pair walked off, Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose. Seonghwa chuckled as he walked up to his captain, " i'm sure they'll find trouble one way or another,"

Hongjoong let out a weary sigh, his shoulders sagging as he turned to face Seonghwa. "That’s exactly what I’m afraid of," he muttered, his tone a mix of frustration and resignation. Hongjoong shook his head as he walked back to the ship, mumbling under his breathe as Seonghwa laughed.

Yeosang and Luna came with a wide smile placed on their face, " we'll keep an eye on them. Shouldn't be to hard since cap just want's to rest up for a little."

Hongjoong glanced at Yeosang and Luna, his expression skeptical but hopeful. "You two?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You’re volunteering to babysit them?"

Yeosang nodded, his ever-calm demeanor unshaken. "It’s better than letting them run loose. Besides," he added with a faint smirk, "how much trouble can they really get into in one evening?"

Luna grinned, hands on her hips. "Don’t answer that, Captain. We’ve got this. You go rest before you stress yourself into an early retirement."

Seonghwa chuckled, falling into step beside Hongjoong as they headed toward the ship. "See? Delegation. You’re learning."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, though the hint of a smile crept onto his face. "Fine," he relented, pointing a finger at Yeosang and Luna. "But if I hear even one yell, crash, or scream, you’re both cleaning the whole deck tomorrow."

"Deal," Luna chirped, giving an exaggerated salute. "Come on, Yeosang. Let’s make sure the chaos twins don’t set anything on fire."

As they headed off in Wooyoung and Yuna’s direction, Hongjoong let out a long breath. "I’ll take what peace I can get," he muttered, heading for the ship’s cabin.

Seonghwa nudged him with a grin. "See? Maybe they’ll surprise you for once."

"Don’t jinx it," Hongjoong shot back, his tone dry but amused.

---

" yn, if you don't take your princess duty seriously you'll never find a husband!" your mother yelled, following behind you as you huffed in annoyance.

You stormed down the grand hallway, your footsteps echoing against the marble floor as your mother’s voice followed closely behind, sharp and insistent.

"Yn! Are you even listening to me?" she snapped, her tone climbing in frustration. "You can't just waltz around avoiding your responsibilities. A proper princess is dignified, poised, and knows her role!"

Turning on your heel, you faced her with an exasperated glare. "Mother, I don’t want to find a husband just because it’s expected of me," you shot back. "I have more important things to focus on than playing the perfect doll in some fairytale."

Her expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You think this is just about you? This is about the kingdom—about your duty!"

You crossed your arms, refusing to back down. "And what about what I want? Have you ever considered that?"

She stepped closer, lowering her voice but losing none of its intensity. "What I’ve considered is the weight of this crown and the legacy you’ll inherit. Like it or not, you don’t have the luxury of selfishness, Yn."

She let out a long sigh as she walked up to you, her heels clicking as you turn away from her.

" yn, you and i both know that since we're born as women, we're nothing but breeding mares for this kingdom,"

Her words struck a nerve, freezing you in place. You didn’t turn back to face her, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. The weight of her statement settled over you like a heavy shroud, suffocating and inescapable.

"That’s not fair," you whispered, your voice low but laced with defiance.

"Life isn’t fair," she replied, her tone softer now but no less resolute. Her heels clicked against the floor again as she approached, the sound a steady rhythm that seemed to echo the inevitability of her words. "Do you think I wanted this life? To be defined by my duty, my marriage, my children?"

You turned to her then, your eyes blazing with frustration and pain. "Then why force it on me? If you hated it so much, why make me follow the same path?"

She paused, the lines of her face softening as her gaze met yours. For a moment, she looked less like the stern queen and more like a tired woman who had carried too much for too long. " my love, your father would have both our heads if we dared."

Your mother placed a hand on your shoulder, turning you to face her. Her touch was gentle, but her words carried a weight that made your chest tighten. You met her gaze, and for a moment, the mask of the ever-dutiful queen cracked, revealing the vulnerable woman underneath.

"Yn," she began softly, her voice trembling just enough for you to notice, "I understand more than you think. There was a time when I dreamed of more, too. But your father—" She paused, glancing away as if the mere mention of him cast a shadow over the room. "He is not a man who tolerates defiance."

You swallowed hard, the mention of your father sending a chill through you. "That doesn’t mean we have to live in fear of him forever," you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat.

Her hand tightened slightly on your shoulder, her eyes searching yours. "It’s not just fear, my love. It’s survival. Every choice I’ve made has been to protect you—to protect us."

"Protect me from what?" you challenged, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "From living? From being more than what he expects of us?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes softened with a sorrow that seemed to stretch back through years of quiet sacrifices. "From his wrath," she whispered. "From a world that will not forgive us for stepping out of line."

You shook your head, your heart aching with a mix of anger and compassion. "I don’t want to live like this, Mother. I can’t. I’ll find a way to be free, even if it means facing his wrath."

Her eyes glistened, and for a brief moment, you thought she might cry, but she held herself together. "You’re braver than I ever was," she said quietly. "But bravery can be a double-edged sword. Promise me you’ll be careful, Yn. Please."

"I promise," you replied, though you weren’t sure if it was a lie or not.

She gave you a faint, bittersweet smile, her hand lingering on your shoulder a moment longer before she let go. "Then may the gods watch over you," she said, turning to leave, her regal composure returning with every step.

---

Seonghwa weaved through the bustling market stalls, his sharp eyes scanning the vibrant scene around him. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, fresh bread, and roasting meats, while the hum of chatter and the occasional bark of a merchant echoed through the narrow streets. Yunho kept pace beside him, his easy smile drawing glances from passersby.

Behind them, Jongho walked with a steady stride, his expression calm but alert, his arms crossed as he kept a watchful eye on the group. Mingi, on the other hand, couldn’t help but drift from stall to stall, his curiosity pulling him toward anything that glittered or smelled enticing.

"Keep an eye on Mingi before he buys half the market," Seonghwa murmured to Yunho, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

Yunho chuckled, glancing back to see Mingi enthusiastically inspecting a tray of sparkling trinkets. "I’ll rein him in if he starts haggling. You know how he gets."

San trailed just behind Mingi, clearly enjoying the lively atmosphere. He paused to admire a display of ornate daggers, his fingers brushing the intricate carvings on the hilts. "These are nice," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Jongho. "Bet you’d like one of these."

Jongho raised an eyebrow but didn’t break stride. "I’d rather not have to use one, but thanks."

Seonghwa slowed his pace, letting the group catch up as they reached the heart of the market, a wide square where performers entertained small crowds and merchants hawked their finest wares. "Stick together," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention."

"Too late for that," Yunho teased, gesturing subtly to a group of onlookers whose curiosity was clearly piqued by their presence.

Seonghwa sighed, adjusting his cloak to obscure the insignia on his chest. "Just stay sharp. We’re here for supplies, not trouble."

"Trouble always seems to find us anyway," Mingi said with a grin, finally stepping away from the jewelry stall to join the group.

"Let’s hope it takes its time today," Seonghwa replied, his eyes sweeping the square once more before leading them toward the next row of stalls.

The sudden yells from guards caught their attention as they see wooyoung, yuna, luna and yeosang running pass them. Wooyoung halting as he held a grin on his face.

" hyung, hold this for me yeah?"

Seonghwa barely had time to register what was happening before Wooyoung shoved a small, wrapped bundle into his hands, the grin on his face both mischievous and unapologetic.

“Wooyoung—what did you do?” Seonghwa asked, his tone sharp as his eyes darted to the approaching guards, their shouts growing louder.

“Nothing you need to worry about, hyung!” Wooyoung called back as he started running again, laughing as Yuna tugged at his sleeve to keep him moving. Luna and Yeosang were right behind, both looking equal parts amused and panicked.

Mingi blinked, staring at the fleeing group before glancing at the bundle in Seonghwa’s hands. “Uh…should we be concerned about whatever that is?”

San smirked, crossing his arms. “Knowing Wooyoung? Absolutely.”

Seonghwa let out a frustrated sigh, quickly unwrapping the bundle just enough to peek inside. His eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of crown.

“Are you kidding me?” he hissed, his gaze snapping back to the fleeing figures.

Yunho chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, it’s Wooyoung. Are you really surprised?”

“Not the point,” Seonghwa snapped, shoving the bundle under his cloak as the guards approached, their faces flushed with anger.

“You there!” one of the guards barked, pointing at Seonghwa and his group. “Did you see four troublemakers run through here?”

Seonghwa straightened, his expression calm and unreadable. “Troublemakers? No, but the market’s busy today. They could’ve gone anywhere.”

The guard narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced, but another called out, “They went that way!” pointing in the opposite direction.

As the guards ran off, Seonghwa exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the bundle. “We’re going to kill him.”

" not before captain does, so should we bother saving them?" Jongho asked, amused.

Seonghwa paused mid-step, glancing at Jongho with a raised brow. “Captain’s wrath is inevitable,” he admitted, tucking the bundle deeper into his cloak. “But if we don’t step in, they’ll probably end up in the dungeon—or worse. And you know who will have to smooth things over then.”

Yunho chuckled, hands resting on his hips. “That’s true. I’d rather deal with Captain’s yelling than a week of palace politics.”

Mingi nodded enthusiastically. “Same. Last time Wooyoung got caught, I spent three days explaining to the magistrate why we weren’t a band of criminals.”

San smirked, leaning slightly against a nearby stall. “Let them sweat it out for a bit. Maybe they’ll learn something.”

Jongho tilted his head, his expression unreadable save for the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Unlikely, but it’s a nice thought.”

Seonghwa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If we leave them, Captain will hold us accountable for not intervening sooner. So yes, we’re saving them.”

“Fine,” San said with a mock sigh, pushing off the stall. “But only because I don’t feel like listening to Captain’s lecture either.”

“Agreed,” Jongho said with a small smile, already falling in step with the group. “Though I still think it’s entertaining to watch them dig their own graves.”

Yunho clapped a hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder as they started moving again. “You’ve got to admit, though, they make life interesting.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Too interesting,” he muttered, picking up the pace. “Let’s make sure they don’t burn the entire market down before we get to them.”

--- Seonghwa crouched low, his dark cloak blending seamlessly with the shadows as he approached the massive palace doors. The weight of the task ahead pressed heavily on his chest, but he refused to let it show. His eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked over the guards stationed at their posts—he could slip past them, he knew it. He was the Seonghwa, Hongjoong's first mate, after all. He’d navigated worse situations before; this was nothing compared to the battles and escapes he had mastered in the past.

Still, the closer he got to the door, the more the dread settled in his gut. There was something about tonight—about this mission—that felt different. The palace held too many secrets, too many eyes watching. Every step felt like it could be his last if even the slightest mistake was made.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, forcing the tension out of his body, and reminded himself of the importance of the mission. He wasn’t here to be caught. He just needed to place the crown back before the realized it was stolen.

He glanced back at the shadows where Mingi and Yunho were waiting, their eyes flashing with silent determination. The rest of the crew would stay on standby, ready to move if needed. But Seonghwa didn’t want it to come to that.

He focused on the door again, studying the guards’ movements. Timing was everything, and he knew the exact second to make his move. A guard yawned, shifting his position just enough to allow Seonghwa the window he needed.

With a practiced grace, he moved, slipping into the palace hall with barely a sound, his heart beating only slightly faster than usual. The grand hall was quiet, the only noise the distant echoes of the palace's humming life. He didn’t have much time before someone would notice he had entered.

He moved swiftly through the corridors, his boots soft on the marble floors, but his mind was alert. There were more guards inside than he’d anticipated, and the risk of discovery increased with each step. But Seonghwa trusted in his skill, in his ability to navigate even the most heavily guarded places.

"Focus," he whispered to himself, mentally shaking off the unease that tried to take root. This was just another challenge, another step in the game. He had overcome far worse than this.

And he would get out. He would finish this.

Finally, he reached the familiar doors—the ones that led to the chambers where you were likely being kept. His heart pounded now, but it wasn’t fear; it was the sharp anticipation of success. He reached for the hidden key he'd stolen earlier from one of the servants, his fingers trembling just slightly as he slid it into the lock.

With a soft click, the door creaked open. Seonghwa slipped inside.

Seonghwa moved swiftly, his cloak swishing behind him as he placed the crown back into its original position on the velvet pillow. His breath slowed, and for a moment, it felt like everything had fallen into place. He had done it. The crown was back in its place, and the plan could continue without any major repercussions.

But as he turned to leave, his heart skipped a beat. The faint sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway just outside the chamber door. The guards were coming. They had to be.

Seonghwa’s eyes darted around the room, looking for a place to hide, but there was nowhere near enough time. His pulse quickened as the door handle began to turn. He had to make a decision, and quickly.

With a final glance at the crown—now safely restored—he slipped into the shadows, holding his breath as the door creaked open, praying that the guards wouldn’t notice the subtle shift in the room. The smallest movement could betray him. The smallest hesitation could ruin everything.

He remained still, blending into the darkness as the guards entered, their voices low, but their presence filling the space. The tension was unbearable, each second stretching on forever as Seonghwa prayed they wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t find him hiding in plain sight.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the guards turned and left, oblivious to the fact that someone had been there, so close to the crown they had sworn to protect.

Seonghwa let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He moved quietly toward the door, already planning his next steps. The crown was back. Now, he just needed to get out of the palace undetected and reunite with the others before it was too late.

" ahem,"

Seonghwa’s breath caught in his throat as the voice pierced through the stillness of the room, his body going rigid with shock. He had been so close to escaping undetected, but now... now he was caught. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade, but he stopped himself just as quickly. There was no immediate threat here, no alarm ringing out, but the feeling of being exposed was enough to make his heart race.

You stood there, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips, watching him closely. The flicker of moonlight from the nearby window caught in your eyes, making them gleam with mischief and a hint of something else—something that Seonghwa couldn’t quite place. He felt his muscles tense as he quickly scanned the room, but there was no way out now. You had him cornered.

"Well, well," you said with a teasing edge to your voice, taking a few more steps toward him. "I must say, I’m surprised to see you here. The Park Seonghwa, first mate of captain hongjoong."

" get on with it," Seonghwa hissed

You paused, your smirk widening as you noticed the flicker of impatience in Seonghwa's eyes. His posture had shifted slightly, the sharp tension in his body betraying just how on edge he was. But you weren't about to make it easy for him.

"You really thought you'd sneak in here unnoticed, huh?" you teased, taking another step closer, your eyes never leaving his. "I mean, first mate of Captain Hongjoong—quite the title, don’t you think? Surely, you’re used to getting away with anything."

Seonghwa’s patience was wearing thin, but he forced himself to stay composed, his voice low and controlled. "Get on with it," he repeated, the command sharp, but his gaze still wary, measuring you.

You didn’t flinch at his harsh tone, your gaze unwavering. "Alright, alright," you said, drawing the words out slowly, savoring the moment. "I’m not here to ruin your little heist. If that's what you’re worried about."

Seonghwa’s eyes flickered to the crown for a split second before returning to you, suspicion rising. "Then what do you want?"

" freedom,"

Seonghwa looked at you confused, " freedom? you're the fucking princess and you're asking a pirate for freedom?"

You chuckled softly at Seonghwa's reaction, the confusion in his eyes only making your smirk widen. The idea of freedom, of escape, was something you knew all too well. You took a deliberate step forward, close enough now that you could almost feel the tension crackling between you.

"Yes, freedom," you repeated, your voice steady despite the fire in his gaze. "The kind of freedom you can’t buy or steal. The kind of freedom that means being in control of your own life for once. That’s what I’m after."

Seonghwa's eyebrows furrowed deeper, disbelief written across his face. "You want freedom?" He scoffed, taking a half-step back, disbelief and annoyance mixing in his expression. "You're the princess. You’ve got everything handed to you. Power, wealth, luxury. What the hell do you need freedom for?"

You held his gaze, unflinching, your voice lower now, almost a whisper. "You think I don’t know what people like you think of people like me?" There was a cold edge in your words, one that matched the resolve in your eyes. "You think I’ve spent my entire life locked away in some gilded cage, waiting for someone to save me. But that’s not the kind of freedom I want."

Seonghwa was silent for a moment, his confusion giving way to a flicker of realization. "So what do you want from me?" he asked, voice quieter now, as if the game had shifted.

You tilted your head slightly, the smirk still playing on your lips, though it was tempered by something more dangerous now. "You’re a pirate, right? You live by your own rules. You fight for your own freedom every damn day. I need someone like you to help me escape this place. And I’m offering you a deal in return."

Seonghwa’s gaze narrowed, and for a brief moment, his mind seemed to be working through all the angles. You were the princess, but there was something in your demeanor—something in the way you spoke—that made him wonder if you were telling the truth. You weren't the helpless, sheltered royal he had expected. You were calculating, strategic. And maybe, just maybe, you were a risk worth taking.

"You want me to help you escape," he said slowly, still processing the idea.

you nodded, a sigh escaping Seonghwa as he held his hand out. Your heart practically leaped out your chest as you grabbed it. This was it, you're finally leaving.

---

Seonghwa stood tall, his back straight, even as Hongjoong's frustration seemed to fill the entire room, thick and suffocating. Wooyoung, Yuna, Yeosang, and Luna remained quiet, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of them. They knew stealing the crown would bring punishment, but to have Hongjoong this furious was not on their agenda.

Hongjoong’s pacing grew more erratic, the sound of his boots on the floor sharp, each step echoing in the cabin. His gaze snapped to Seonghwa, his voice sharp as a whip. "This was not the fucking plan, Seonghwa!" Hongjoong spat, his eyes burning with anger. "You were supposed to bring the crown back, not bring back a fucking princess. The princess at that!"

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, but he refused to let his gaze falter. He could feel the tension in the room, could practically hear the others holding their breath, waiting for the confrontation to unfold.

"You don’t understand," Seonghwa finally said, his voice unwavering, though there was a hard edge to it now.

Hongjoong scoffed, looking at the four, " the four of you out. now"

The command was sharp, and the weight of it hit the room like a slap. Hongjoong’s gaze swept across the four of them—Wooyoung, Yuna, Yeosang, and Luna—each of them tense under his gaze. None of them moved immediately, all of them holding their breath, unsure if they were meant to stay or if their captain's words were final.

Yuna was the first to step back, her face set with a mixture of uncertainty and resignation. Yeosang followed suit, his eyes flicking between Seonghwa and Hongjoong before silently turning to leave. Luna hesitated only for a moment, then moved with quick, quiet steps toward the door, her head lowered.

Wooyoung, however, stayed rooted in place, his usual mischievous grin nowhere to be found. He exchanged a glance with Seonghwa, an unspoken question in his eyes. But even he knew when to back down—at least for now.

"Come on, Wooyoung," Yuna called softly from the doorway, her voice breaking the tense silence. "Let’s go."

With a reluctant sigh, Wooyoung turned toward the door, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. He gave Seonghwa a last look, his expression unreadable, before following the others out of the cabin.

The door closed softly behind them, leaving Hongjoong and Seonghwa alone. The air in the room felt thick, like the calm before a storm. Hongjoong stood there for a long moment, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface.

"You’ve lost your fucking mind," Hongjoong muttered , his voice lower now, quieter, the anger still simmering beneath his words.

Seonghwa wanted to roll his eyes, but he knew better.

" you're my first mate for a reason Seonghwa. What made you think it would be a great fucking idea to bring a princess on board?"

Seonghwa bit back the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that Hongjoong was far too sharp to miss any sign of defiance. He stood straighter, forcing himself to remain composed, even though the question felt like an obvious one to him.

" she wants freedom like we do captain. Isn't that why you made this crew? for us to have freedom that we couldn't have?"

Seonghwa's words hung in the air, and for a moment, Hongjoong paused, his back still turned to Seonghwa. The question had landed squarely in the captain's mind, and for the first time in a while, doubt crept in.

Hongjoong’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his voice low but tinged with the weight of his past decisions. "I didn’t form this crew just for freedom, Seonghwa," he muttered, his eyes staring out at the endless ocean, as though seeking answers from it. "I formed it to survive. To fight back against the system that kept us shackled. But freedom—true freedom—it’s a luxury. And it doesn’t come easily. You’re talking about taking a princess on board as if she’s just another crew member, but she’s not. She’s royalty. She’s got her own ties, her own rules, and all of those ties will pull her in directions we can’t control."

Seonghwa's scoff echoed in the tense silence, and the moment it left his lips, even he felt the sharpness of his words. He hadn’t meant for his frustration to slip through so visibly, but it was too late to take it back. Hongjoong turned his head quickly, his sharp eyes narrowing on him as if searching for any sign of weakness.

"I’m not some fucking foster home to keep bringing in strays, Park Seonghwa. First Luna, now Yuna, now you’re bringing me a god damn princess."

Seonghwa’s gaze hardened, but he refused to let Hongjoong's words throw him off course. "You want to talk about strays, Captain?" His voice was low, but the underlying edge made it clear he wasn’t backing down. "What about us? What about you? We’re all strays. Pirates, outcasts, cast aside by the world we were born into. None of us fit in anywhere. We made this ship our home, and we fight for the freedom we never got. And you want to call her a stray?"

Hongjoong’s fist slammed onto the desk with a loud crack, the force of it making the wood shake beneath the impact. The sudden motion made Seonghwa flinch, his body stiffening as the captain’s anger surged in the room like a storm.

"She is a princess, Seonghwa," Hongjoong snarled, his voice seething with frustration.

"Oh, but it was fine when Mina joined, huh?" Seonghwa’s voice was laced with frustration, but there was an edge to it that Hongjoong hadn’t expected. "It’s not my fault she left you!"

Seonghwa's words hit the air like a slap, sharp and cutting. Hongjoong froze, his face hardening at the mention of Mina. The room seemed to freeze for a moment, tension crackling between them like a storm about to break. The mention of Mina, a name that had always carried so much weight in Hongjoong’s life, caused a flicker of pain in his chest. His fists clenched at his sides, the words stinging more than he wanted to admit.

"Get out," Hongjoong snarled, his voice cutting through the tension in the room like a blade.

Seonghwa’s throat tightened, the weight of his words crashing down on him. He had never seen Hongjoong this angry, this raw with emotion. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but the words caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure what to say anymore.

"Now."

Seonghwa hesitated, regret gnawing at him as he looked at Hongjoong, but he knew better than to push further. The captain was done, and Seonghwa had overstepped. With a final glance, Seonghwa nodded, a knot of guilt forming in his stomach.

" captain -"

" OUT SEONGHWA!"

Seonghwa hesitated for a split second longer, wanting to explain, to make things right, but the door to reconciliation had already been slammed shut. Without another word, he turned away from Hongjoong and walked toward the door.

----

Yn watched from her position by the railing, her gaze tracking Seonghwa’s retreating figure. She could see the tight set of his shoulders, the way his footsteps lacked the usual confidence, and she knew something had happened. She could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to taste. It wasn't hard to guess that the argument between him and Hongjoong hadn't gone well.

Seonghwa’s eyes didn’t meet hers as he passed, his expression a mix of frustration and regret, but he didn’t slow down. His focus was entirely on the quarter deck, where his duties awaited. Yn felt a tug in her chest, unsure whether she should approach or give him space. But the coldness in his demeanor made her hesitate.

Yn turned at the sound of Yunho and San’s voices, both of them standing a few steps behind her with understanding smiles. It was clear they had noticed the same tension in the air, but unlike her, they seemed unfazed by it.

"Don’t worry about him," Yunho said gently, his tone reassuring. "They both just need to cool off."

San chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "It’s always like this with them. They’re both stubborn as hell. They’ll figure it out."

Yn gave them a small smile, though her mind was still caught up in the events of the day. She knew they were right—Seonghwa and Hongjoong both had strong personalities, and clashes were inevitable. But the way Seonghwa had walked away, his usual confidence gone, made her wonder how deep the rift had really gone.

Yn turned at the sound of Mingi's voice, his playful grin immediately catching her attention. He leaned casually against the railing, arms crossed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Behind him, Yeosang, who had been quietly observing, gave her a soft, knowing smile.

Mingi raised an eyebrow, his gaze filled with curiosity. "So, a princess, huh? What made you want to run away?" His tone was light, teasing, but there was a genuine interest there too. It was clear he was intrigued by her decision, and despite his usual easy-going demeanor, he wasn’t afraid to ask the tough questions.

" you try marrying a person you don't love" You said, sticking your tongue out.

Mingi chuckled at your response, shaking his head as he reached out and lightly ruffled your hair. "Fair point," he said, his tone filled with amusement.

" but i can assure you, you're not our first princess, princess" Yunho said, chuckling.

You raised an eyebrow at Yunho's words, the teasing tone in his voice sparking your curiosity. You turned to face him, a smirk playing on your lips. "Oh?" you asked, genuinely intrigued. "And who might the other princesses be?"

" me"

You looked at a girl - who was clinging onto wooyoung who held a friendly smile. You smiled at her, jumping up and clung to her arm.

" you're going to be my new best friend"

----

It had been a week since Seonghwa had brought Yn aboard the ship, and the tension between him and Hongjoong was still thick in the air. The crew had begun to adjust to the presence of the princess among them, though things still felt unsettled. The laughter and lighthearted moments that had once filled the ship’s decks now seemed tempered by the silent rift between the captain and his first mate.

Yn, for her part, had tried to adapt to life on board, finding comfort in the camaraderie of the crew. She had formed a bond with Mingi and Yunho, and even the quieter members like Yeosang had made her feel welcome. Despite everything, the sea felt like the freedom she had been seeking, even if she knew things were far from perfect. But she couldn't ignore the unease whenever she passed Hongjoong or Seonghwa.

Hongjoong hadn’t spoken much to Seonghwa after their heated argument. The captain had kept his distance, his cold stares and sharp words hanging over their interactions like a storm cloud. It wasn’t just the crew who felt the divide; it was the air around the ship itself—heavy, charged, like a brewing storm just waiting to break.

Seonghwa had done his best to keep a low profile, sticking to his duties, but there was an underlying tension in his every movement. He tried to interact with the crew as normal, though it was clear that his thoughts were elsewhere, constantly shifting between guilt and frustration. His attempt to bring Yn into the fold had backfired in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and the guilt of betraying Hongjoong’s trust weighed on him more than he cared to admit.

For now, everything seemed to be in a holding pattern. The crew was going about their work, the usual banter and laughter returning in fits and starts, but there was still a heavy silence whenever Seonghwa or Hongjoong were around. It was clear that something needed to give, but no one could say when or how.

" hwa.."

Seonghwa looked at the princess, his chest tighten as he went back to peeling his orange. you huffed in annoyance, sitting beside him.

"im sorry for having hongjoong yell at you..."

Seonghwa's hand paused mid-peel, the orange's skin half-removed as his gaze softened. He had been avoiding this conversation, but the sincerity in your voice made it impossible to ignore. He let out a slow breath, his fingers carefully continuing their task as he glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Yn..." he began, his voice quiet but steady, "It's not your fault. Hongjoong has his reasons, even if they don’t always make sense to the rest of us."

You watched him for a moment, sensing the weight in his words. The crew might have laughed and joked, but you could see how much this whole situation was taking a toll on him. You reached out and placed a hand gently on his arm, your voice low but determined.

"I don’t want to be the reason for any more tension between you two," you said softly.

Seonghwa shook his head, " it was my decision princess, don't worry about it." You frowned, watching Seonghwa as he meticulously separated a segment of the orange and popped it into his mouth, clearly trying to end the conversation. But you couldn’t just let it go. His nonchalance only made the guilt in your chest heavier.

"But you’re paying for that decision," you said, your voice tinged with frustration. "Hongjoong hasn’t spoken to you in a week, Seonghwa. That’s not fair."

Seonghwa sighed, placing the rest of the orange down on the railing beside him. He turned to you, his dark eyes softening slightly. "Life isn’t fair, Princess. Especially not out here. I knew what I was doing when I brought you on board. I’d make the same choice again, even knowing the consequences."

Your heart clenched at his words, the conviction behind them making it hard to argue. Still, the guilt gnawed at you. "I just... I don’t want to be the cause of a rift in your crew. You’re all like a family. I’ve seen how much this ship and these people mean to you."

Seonghwa gave a small, bittersweet smile, brushing his hands off on his pants. "We are a family, but even families fight. Hongjoong will come around—he always does. He’s stubborn, but he’s not unreasonable. He’ll see why I made the choice I did, even if it takes time."

You stared at him for a moment, taking in the calm assurance in his voice. Even in the middle of this storm, Seonghwa seemed so composed, so unwavering.

"And if he doesn’t?" you asked quietly.

Seonghwa tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Then I’ll just have to live with it. My loyalty to this crew isn’t in question, Princess. I brought you here because I believe you deserve a chance at freedom, just like the rest of us. If Hongjoong can’t accept that... well, I’ll deal with that when it comes."

Your chest tightened at his words, a mix of admiration and worry filling you. "You shouldn’t have to sacrifice so much for me," you said softly.

Seonghwa chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "You’ll find, Princess, that sacrifices are part of life. Especially out here. You just have to make sure what you’re sacrificing for is worth it."

He reached out and gently tapped the back of your hand, his touch reassuring. "And you are. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise."

months later ~

Hongjoong’s gaze was sharp as he leaned against the railing near Mingi, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were fixed on Yn, who was kneeling beside Yuna, both laughing as they worked on cleaning the fish they had just caught. Her movements were clumsy, a clear sign that she wasn’t used to such tasks, but her genuine effort seemed to amuse Yuna.

Mingi glanced at the captain, sensing the tension radiating from him. He shifted slightly, keeping one hand steady on the wheel while glancing between Hongjoong and the scene below.

“Still not warming up to her, huh?” Mingi asked, his tone light but careful.

Hongjoong’s lips twitched slightly, though he quickly masked it with a deep sigh. The sound of Yuna gagging in exaggerated disgust echoed across the deck as Yn doubled over in laughter, holding her sides.

“Oh, come on, Yuna, it’s just a little fish guts!” Yn teased, holding up her hands, which were covered in the slimy remains.

Yuna dramatically turned away, clutching her stomach. “Ugh, you’re worse than Wooyoung! I didn’t think that was even possible.”

“Hey!” Wooyoung called out from where he stood with Seonghwa, his mock-offended tone drawing more laughter from the crew.

Mingi grinned, glancing at Hongjoong out of the corner of his eye. “She’s fitting in, Captain. Whether you like it or not.”

Hongjoong didn’t respond, his gaze flicking back to Yn. She had taken a step closer to Yuna, holding out her hands playfully as if threatening to wipe the mess on her. Yuna shrieked and darted away, the two now engaged in a spirited chase across the deck.

Seonghwa hesitated for a moment as he approached you, his usual stoic demeanor faltering just slightly. Despite the fact that you were smeared with fish guts and laughing like a child, there was something about your smile that made his heart stumble in his chest.

“You’re making quite the impression, Princess,” he said, his voice laced with teasing as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You grinned up at him, wiping your hands on your already filthy cloak. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner. Yuna’s just being dramatic.”

From behind you, Yuna groaned loudly, still recovering from her exaggerated reaction. “Dramatic? You’re disgusting, Yn!”

Seonghwa chuckled, the sound soft but genuine. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a clean rag and offering it to you. “Here. Maybe clean up before someone mistakes you for part of the catch.”

You took the rag with a playful roll of your eyes, but your smile never wavered. As you wiped your hands, you looked up at him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you laugh this much since I got here, Seonghwa. Are you finally warming up to me?”

Seonghwa smirked, leaning slightly closer. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Princess. I’m just amused at how quickly you’ve adapted to life on the ship. Even if it’s... unconventional.”

You pretended to be offended, placing a hand over your heart. “Unconventional? I’ll have you know I’m blending in perfectly. Right, Yuna?”

Yuna, now leaning against the railing and catching her breath, shot Seonghwa a look. “She’s your problem now, Hwa. I’m done.”

Seonghwa shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh as you turned back to him with an innocent expression. “Looks like I’m stuck with you,” he said with mock resignation.

“Could be worse,” you replied, giving him a wink.

Seonghwa's smile faltered as his gaze shifted upward. Standing on the upper deck, Hongjoong’s figure loomed above, his expression unreadable. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, a silent exchange passing between them. Seonghwa’s chest tightened as he braced himself for whatever silent judgment his captain might be harboring.

Without a word, Hongjoong turned away and disappeared into the shadows of the helm, leaving Seonghwa standing there, the weight of that look settling heavily on his shoulders.

You followed Seonghwa’s gaze, frowning slightly. “He’s still upset, isn’t he?”

Seonghwa exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he tore his eyes away from where Hongjoong had stood. “Hongjoong’s always thinking five steps ahead. He’s not upset—he’s calculating.”

“Calculating what?” you asked, your tone gentle but curious.

Seonghwa hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Whether I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life bringing you here, Princess.”

Your heart sank at his words, but before you could respond, Seonghwa turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. “Don’t take it personally. Hongjoong doesn’t trust easily—it’s not just you. He’s always been like this.”

You gave him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Still... I don’t want to be the reason things are strained between you two. I’ll prove I’m worth the risk.”

Seonghwa’s lips quirked upward in a faint smile. “You’ve got guts, Princess. I’ll give you that.”

As he spoke, the sound of Wooyoung’s laughter carried over from the other side of the deck, followed by Yuna’s mock protests. The ship seemed alive with energy, but the weight of Hongjoong’s lingering gaze hung in the back of Seonghwa’s mind.

“Come on,” Seonghwa said, nodding toward the rigging. “Let’s get you out of Yuna’s hair before she decides to throw you overboard.”

----

Seonghwa stood at the edge of the deck, his arms crossed as he watched you splash in the water with Yuna and Luna. The laughter that echoed across the ship was infectious, pulling a rare smile from his lips despite his usual stoic demeanor.

Yuna’s tail shimmered brightly under the sunlight, its scales catching the rays and casting iridescent patterns across the surface of the water. She flicked it playfully, sending a spray of water your way, making you squeal and shield your face. Luna’s laughter joined yours, her voice carrying easily over the gentle lapping of the waves.

"They’re like kids," Wooyoung muttered beside Seonghwa, leaning casually against the railing. His grin was wide, his eyes filled with amusement.

Seonghwa didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as you tried to splash Yuna back, only to trip slightly in the shallow water and laugh at yourself. There was something so unguarded, so free, about the way you moved. It was a stark contrast to the formality you’d arrived with.

Seonghwa shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched you. "She deserves it," he murmured, more to himself than to Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, leaning lazily against the railing, raised an eyebrow at Seonghwa’s uncharacteristically soft expression. "You’re really gone, huh?" he teased, his grin mischievous. "Who would’ve thought Park Seonghwa, the unshakable first mate, has a soft spot for a runaway princess?"

Seonghwa shot him a look, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed him. " say's the one who also helped a princess escape."

Wooyoung smirked, unfazed. " touche " he said with a shrug.

" when did you first knew you love yuna Wooyoung?" seonghwa asked, your laughter filling the air.

Wooyoung leaned against the railing, his trademark smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at Seonghwa. But when he noticed your laughter echoing in the background, his grin softened into something more genuine.

"I think it was the first time she threatened to drown me."

Seonghwa’s eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at Wooyoung. "You’re telling me you fell in love with her because she threatened to drown you?" he asked, his voice a mix of incredulity and concern.

Wooyoung, however, seemed entirely unfazed, chuckling under his breath. "What? I like my women spicy," he replied nonchalantly, his grin never faltering. "Yuna was fiery from the start, and that’s what I liked. She wasn’t scared to speak her mind, even if it meant threatening to drag me under."

Seonghwa blinked at him, clearly trying to process the absurdity of it all. "You’re insane, Wooyoung."

Wooyoung just shrugged, still amused by the whole memory. "Hey, it wasn’t just the threat. It was the way she stood her ground. Most people would’ve run off or apologized right away, but not her. She looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’ll drown you if you don’t let me go,’ and I respected that."

Seonghwa sighed, rubbing his temples as he let the words sink in. "Only you, Wooyoung."

"Well, yeah," Wooyoung said, flashing a playful grin. "But you can’t say it didn’t work. I’m still here."

Seonghwa glanced at Yuna, who was laughing with you at the edge of the water. His expression softened slightly, despite the ridiculousness of Wooyoung’s words. "I think we all know you’re a lost cause when it comes to Yuna," he muttered under his breath.

Wooyoung caught the look in Seonghwa’s eyes and nudged him lightly with his elbow. "Don’t look at me like that, Hwa. You know how it is. Once you meet someone like her, there’s no turning back."

Seonghwa didn’t reply, but the quiet understanding between them was enough. Seonghwa watched as you waved at him, your hair glistening with droplets of water, a soft smile on your face. For a brief moment, there was a quiet tenderness in his gaze before it was interrupted by Luna, who tackled you into the water with a loud splash. Seonghwa couldn’t help but chuckle at the playful chaos unfolding in front of him. Yeah, he knew you would be the one.

----

" alright, now that we are on port. Seonghwa and yn will be the ones to head to the market and get our supplies. You four are to stay here. understood." Hongjoong said, glaring at the wooyoung, yeosang, yuna and luna.

The crew stood in silence, their attention on Hongjoong as he issued his orders. Wooyoung, Yeosang, Yuna, and Luna exchanged looks, none of them exactly thrilled with the captain’s decision, but they didn’t argue. Hongjoong's tone left little room for protest.

"Understood, Captain," Seonghwa said smoothly, his voice carrying the weight of authority, though he kept his expression neutral. He shot a quick glance at you, offering a faint smile that was more reassuring than anything.

"Yeah, yeah, we got it," Wooyoung muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the railing, clearly less than thrilled with being left behind. "But don’t take too long, alright? We’ll get bored without you two."

Yuna rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched in a smile. "I swear, Wooyoung, you act like we're going on some grand adventure. It's just supplies."

"You don’t understand," Wooyoung responded dramatically. "I need my entertainment."

Luna, standing beside Yuna, snorted with laughter, shaking her head. "You always need entertainment, Wooyoung."

Hongjoong ignored their banter, his eyes sharp as he turned toward you and Seonghwa. "Get what we need and don’t get distracted. Keep it quick, and be back by sundown."

"Of course, Captain," you replied, giving Hongjoong a small but respectful nod.

Seonghwa gave Hongjoong a quick salute, and with that, the two of you made your way down the gangplank, stepping onto the bustling port. The air was filled with the scent of fresh fish, spices, and the sounds of merchants calling out their wares. The market was as lively as ever, a perfect mix of locals and travelers all haggling over goods.

As you moved through the bustling market with Seonghwa by your side, you couldn’t help but notice the way his hand hovered just above your hood, always careful to make sure it stayed securely in place. His attention to detail, the way he made sure you were safe and concealed, was endearing in its own way. It was as if the world could fall apart around him, but he would never let anything harm you—no matter how small the threat.

Your heart fluttered a little as he moved closer, his presence a calm anchor in the sea of noise and chaos around you. You could feel the slight brush of his fingers near your hood every now and then as he adjusted it, making sure it stayed tucked perfectly, hidden from the prying eyes of the market.

"Seonghwa," you began softly, your voice a little more than a whisper to avoid drawing attention. "You’re really careful, aren’t you?"

He glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It’s better this way. I don’t want anyone to notice you—especially not now."

There was something about the way he said it, so matter-of-factly, that made your chest tighten with a mix of appreciation and something deeper. It wasn’t just about keeping your identity a secret; it was about looking out for you, taking care of you without question.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words soft but meaningful. You weren’t sure why, but something about the way he was being so attentive made your heart race, the fluttering growing in intensity as you kept walking beside him.

Finally heading back, seonghwa pulled you aside - taking you a different route. Seonghwa gently pulled you to the side, his hand briefly grazing your arm as he steered you away from the main road. You shot him a curious glance, wondering why he was taking a different route back to the ship.

"Seonghwa?" you asked softly, your voice filled with a quiet question as you glanced back toward the main thoroughfare. "Why are we going this way?"

Seonghwa's smile was soft, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Taking the scenic route," he repeated, his voice a little more playful now. "Seems fitting, don't you think? A quiet walk before we get back to the chaos of the ship."

You couldn't help but smile back at him, the tension easing just a little as the humor in his tone reached you. "I suppose you’re right. It’s nice to have a moment of peace."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a brief moment before he continued, guiding you along the less-traveled path. "We don’t always get those on board, do we? But sometimes, it’s good to slow down... even if only for a little while."

As you walked beside him, the atmosphere felt lighter, more relaxed. The market’s noise was a distant memory now, replaced by the sound of your footsteps on the cobblestone and the faint rustling of the wind. It was a rare, calm moment, one you found yourself savoring in his company.

"Are you always this careful with everyone?" you asked, teasing lightly but also genuinely curious.

Seonghwa chuckled softly, the sound warm and comforting. "Not always," he admitted with a shrug. "But I’ve learned to look out for the people who matter."

His words lingered in the air between you two, and for a moment, you both walked in silence, the unspoken connection between you growing with each step.

As you neared the ship again, you felt a little reluctant to let go of this calm moment. But Seonghwa’s steady presence beside you made the transition back to the chaos of the crew feel a little more manageable.

"Thank you, Seonghwa," you said again, your voice sincere. "For everything."

He glanced at you, his smile softening even more, and for a brief moment, you saw something deeper in his eyes, something that made your heart flutter again.

Your breath hitched as Seonghwa's arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you in closer. The world around you seemed to blur as his presence filled your senses. His proximity, his warmth—it all felt so overwhelming, and yet comforting in a way you couldn't quite explain.

Your eyes locked for a brief moment, your heart racing as you felt the heat between you grow. His gaze softened, but there was something intense in it, something that made the air between you both crackle with unspoken words. The space between your faces closed, your noses brushing lightly, sending a shiver down your spine.

You took a steadying breath, the pulse in your chest quickening as you made the decision. In a sudden movement, you pulled Seonghwa closer, closing the gap between you. His breath caught in his throat as your lips were mere inches away, the heat of your bodies pressing against each other. The world around you seemed to stop for a brief moment, leaving only the intensity of this connection.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened, surprised by the sudden boldness, but there was no hesitation in his actions. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in even closer as if he’d been waiting for this moment, too.

The closeness between you two was undeniable now. Your hearts beat in sync, and as you tilted your head slightly, your lips finally brushed against his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But it quickly deepened, the warmth of his lips, the pressure of his touch—everything about the moment was magnetic.

Seonghwa's hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as the kiss grew more intense, more urgent. You responded in kind, feeling the sparks of connection surge through your veins, the tension that had built over time finally being released in this single act.

The world faded away as the two of you were lost in the moment, the only things that mattered being the closeness, the intimacy, the feeling of finally crossing the line that had always been just out of reach.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and with hearts still racing, Seonghwa’s gaze was intense, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. His forehead rested against yours as he whispered, voice hushed, "I've wanted that... for so long."

You swallowed, your fingers still lightly tracing his jaw. "Me too," you admitted quietly, your voice shaky but filled with the truth of the moment.

Seonghwa gave you a soft, crooked smile, his eyes softening as he leaned in to kiss you once more, but this time, slower, as if savoring every moment.

#ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #ateez fanfic #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez extra member #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa #park seonghwa #park seonghwa x y/n #park seonghwa x reader #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ seonghwa ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

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aemondapologistfrfr · 1 month ago

Text

Do You Understand?

aemond x sister!reader x aegon

Summary: You walk into the middle of an important council meeting after Aemond left you in your chambers needy. You whine at Aegon to take care of you and he promises after the meeting him and Aemond will do just that.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, pillow humping, humping, bondage, fingering, spanking, oral(m), face fucking, p in v, unprotected, breeding kink, dom!aem 🙂‍↕️, aemond and aegon are like super friendly - as written 💅🏼

Authors Note: just sum quick and filthy bc i actually need them both rn not want but n e e d - i use a yes no wheel to make important decisions in my life so shoutout to that yes no wheel for having a little mm in here - yes that’s an important decision to me!!

Word Count: 3.5k

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You walk down the halls with flushed cheeks and a soft pout on your lips. You wave your guard off as you make your way down the halls to the council chambers. The guard outside the door tries to block your entrance but you push past him knowing he won’t lay a hand on you. You walk up the stairs quietly and when you reach the landing Aemond is turned in his chair looking at you with a raised brow. You clasp your hands together and begin to walk over to Aegon.

You feel Aemond’s eye following your every step and you come to a stop next to Aegon. He looks up at you amused and when you bend down to whisper in his ear his hand snakes up and squeezes your ass softly. You let out a soft mewl that goes straight to his cock and he groans. Aemond flares his nostrils from across the table watching you wrap Aegon around your finger.

“Aegon,” you softly whine, scooting closer to him. Your lips softly brush against his neck. “Please,” you let out the smallest whimper and he turns all of his attention to you much to Aemond’s dismay.

“What is it, my sweet Princess?” you rest your head on his shoulder blushing profusely knowing that the table is watching this exchange. Aemond watches as you drape yourself against him and pout into his neck.

“My King,” Aemond clears his throat, making Aegon snap his head up. You turn your head in his neck and look at Aemond sheepishly. “Surely our sister can wait.” his words have a bite to them. He smirks to himself watching you nibble your lip as you look at him.

“Can this wait?” Aegon whispers, turning back to you. You hear Aemond exhale loudly as Aegon turns his attention back to you.

“It hurts.” you let out a soft whine and Aegon's face crumples.

“What does?” he sits back looking you over and watching you flush. He watches your cheeks get more red as you glance at Aemond before casting your eyes down to the floor. “Oh.” he hums with a smile and turns to Aemond. “Did Aemond leave this little cunny dripping and needing?” he whispers in your ear, chuckling as you nod your head.

“Aegon, enough of this.” Aemond snaps, slamming the marble ball into its holder. “Send her to her chambers so we can finish this meeting.” he knows Aegon will end this meeting if you whine at him one more time but they need to finish putting these plans into place and he profusely told you to wait in your chambers for him.

“Gods Aemond.” Aegon groans, staring at him. “Go to my chambers and I’ll be there shortly.” he pats your ass encouragingly and you start to walk out of the council chambers. You frown and keep your eyes forward trying to walk past Aemond as quickly as possible. Aemond reaches out and his fingers wrap around your wrist pulling you over to him.

“If you come in here again begging for release I’ll take you on top of this table in front of everyone.” your cheeks feel like they’re going to catch on fire at his low words. “Do you understand?” you nod your head quickly. “Do you understand?” he raises an eyebrow.

“I understand.” you squeak looking down at him.

“Good. Now go wait for us in Aegon's chambers.” he releases your wrist and you quickly make it down the stairs and out in the hall.

Once in the hall you sigh when you spot your guard waiting for you. You walk past him and hear him fall into step behind you as you make your way to Aegon's chambers. With a wave you dismiss your guard as you seal yourself behind the door. Aegon’s chambers are always the messiest but you’ve never minded because they remind you of him.

You walk over clothes and cups as you make your way to his bed and collapse into the mountain of blankets and pillows. The smell of Aegon takes over your senses and you bury deeper into his blankets. You scoot further up and whine when a pillow finds its way between your thighs. Your hips slide against it once more and the pressure against your core increases as you move into a more comfortable position.

With your knees on either side of the pillow and your head buried in the pillows at the top of the bed to muffle your whines and gasps you start to rock against the pillow. Your hips start to move faster and you press your face into the pillows as you whimper. Your mind drifts to Aegon when he buries his face under your skirts and kisses you above your small clothes.

“Aegon.” crying out his name only increases your pleasure and you begin to rock faster against the pillow. “Mm Aegon please,” a small cry comes from your mouth as your high spreads throughout your body. As your body relaxes you let your eyes fall shut and decide to nap until they’re done with their meeting.

“Surely that’s not all you wanted or you wouldn’t have barged into the meeting.” you startle at Aemonds voice quickly getting off the pillow. Aemond pushes off the wall and walks over to you on the bed. “What did you want Aegon to do? Hm?” he grabs your ankle and pulls you down the bed to him.

“Aemond,” you whine looking up at him.

“That little trick doesn’t work on me.” he clicks his tongue.

“I wanted him to make me feel good.” you push out your bottom lip. “You left m-

“I know exactly how I left you in your chambers and I left you like that for a reason.” he pulls you up from the bed. “Now turn around so I can take off this dress.” his fingers are quickly pulling at the laces and pushing the dress down your shoulders. The door starts to open and you gasp, grabbing your dress.

“I told you to wait for me.” Aegon shuts the door quickly and walks over to the both of you.

“She didn’t wait for either of us. You should’ve seen what position I found her in. Mm,” Aemond lowly chuckles, shoving your dress to the ground. “Go show him.” he scoots you back towards the bed.

“Aegon,” you turn to him with a soft pout.

“Show me.” Aegon's eyes are merely just his pupils with a lilac ring. “But,” he raises his hand to you. “Take the rest of your clothes off.” a grin spreads across his features.

“Can you?” you take a step closer to him. “Please.” you let out a soft whine. Aemond raises his finger to Aegon who groans.

“Enough. The both of you.” Aemond grits out through his teeth. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.” you nod quickly and lift your slip over your head. Your small clothes are the last to join your discarded clothes on Aegon's floor. Turning from them you crawl back into bed and position yourself as you were before.

“Oh Gods,” Aegon moans as his cock hardens watching you straddle his pillow. You start to rock your hips and you fist his blankets at the feel of it on your bare skin. Aegon's breathing deepens as he watches your hips start to hump faster towards your pleasure.

“That’s enough.” Aemond hums before his palm lands on your ass. You whimper as his fingers dig into your flesh, stilling your movements.

“Aemond please,” you whine trying to move on the pillow again. He watches your hips jerk as he digs his fingers harder into your ass.

“Maybe if you listened I’d give you what you want.” he removes his hand only to bring it down on your ass once more. “Aegon go get the ribbon.” Aemond smiles watching you whimper and turn around with pleading eyes. Aemond holds his hand out expectantly and Aegon drops the ribbon into his awaiting palm. “See how Aegon can be good and can listen?” you look at Aegon and watch as his cheeks slowly flush.

Aemond walks to the other side of the bed and you present your wrists to him. You gasp as Aegon grips your ass and grinds you against his pillow. Aemond glares at him and he ties the silk around your wrists into a tight knot. Aegon trails his fingers between your thighs and abruptly stops. You turn and see Aemond holding Aegon's wrist and looking down at him. While they’re occupied you start to grind your hips once more and you hear Aemond’s growl before he spanks you again.

“Occupy your hands with something else.” Aemond says lowly to Aegon and you bite your lip as you watch Aegon sink to the floor.

“What about my mouth?” Aegon offers him a cheeky smile.

“Gods know I would be happy if you were quiet for once.” Aemond looks down at him.

“If you want me to suck your cock more, all you have to do is ask.” Aegon delights watching Aemonds face redden.

“Unlace my trousers.” Aemonds nostrils flare. He turns to you and groans that you’re rocking against the pillow again. “Get on the ground with him.” he tugs your ankle.

You get off the bed and kneel with your tied hands on your thighs next to Aegon. Aegon starts to pull Aemonds trousers down. You look up at Aemond and his blown pupil darts between Aegon and you. You watch Aemond bite his lip and turn to see Aegon wrapping his fingers around Aemond’s length. He presses his lips to the side of his shaft and you lean forward and place your lips on the other side.

“Fuck,” Aemond lowly curses watching the both of you kiss and lick across his cock. When the both of you slide to his tip your mouths mend together in a messy, clashing kiss. You pull apart and go back to kissing down his length while Aegon sucks his tip into his mouth. “Look at you both being so good for me.” he hums brushing back both of your hair. You smile and kiss down past his base and suck his balls into your mouth.

Aegon chuckles watching Aemonds eye squeeze shut as you continue your sucking. Aegon brings Aemond to the back of his throat and hollows his cheeks listening for, “Aegon,” upon hearing his name in that breathy tone Aegon starts to bob his head. You come back up and watch as Aemond jerks his hips into Aegons mouth and you pout at being left out. You scoot in close next to Aegon and when he pulls back for air you’re there with an open mouth looking up at Aemond.

“Please,” you whine, batting your eyelashes at him. He shoves his cock down your throat and smiles when you choke.

“Guide her.” Aemond nods to Aegon.

Aegon's hands tangle in your hair and he starts to move your head on Aemond. He jerks his hips to match Aegon's guidance and soon spit is trailing down the sides of your mouth. Aegon starts to grind himself into your back and you push back against him. Aemond snaps his hips harshly into you and you look up to him with watery eyes.

“You both are so fucking needy.” Aemond seethes. He pushes Aegon's hand out of your hair and cradles your head as he snaps his hips into you. Your eyes roll back as he hits the back of your throat repeatedly. You hear his low curses and his pleasure starts to pour down your throat. He holds you against him until you’re whimpering and he pulls you off taking in your flushed cheeks and spit falling down your chest. “Aegon, take off your clothes and get on the bed.” Aemond nods to the bed while slowly loosening his grip in your hair.

Aemond helps you up from the ground and you watch as Aegon tosses his clothes around the floor before crawling into bed. You help Aemond remove the rest of his clothes before he turns back to Aegon. “Sit up against the headboard.” Aemond nods and Aegon eagerly does as he’s told. “She’s going to come and sit in your lap and you’re not going to fuck her.” Aegon nods quickly. “Go on then.” Aemond watches you turn and walk over to Aegon.

You straddle his legs and whine when your wet core rests against his length. You squirm trying to get comfortable. Aemond comes over and puts your tied hands behind Aegon's head and your fingers dig into the hair at the nap of his neck as you softly rock against him. Aegon groans as his cock slides through your wetness and he so badly wants to just lift you up and split you open.

“Aegon.” Aemond warns knowing what’s going on through Aegon's head just watching his desperate jerks. Aemond gets into bed behind you and starts to rock your hips against Aegons. He smiles listening to you both whimper and plead for him. “You both are doing so good for me.” he hums, pressing his lips to your neck. He hears Aegon whine and he lifts up and pulls Aegon's lips to his own.

You lean forward into Aegon and start to lick and suck on his neck and shoulder. Aemond slides his cock between your thighs at the same time Aegon does and your body shutters. Aegon groans into Aemonds mouth who pulls back to chuckle at how needy you both are for his touch. You both shake as Aemond continues to slide between your wetness and against Aegon’s leaking cock in the process. Aemond pulls away from the both of you and smiles at the whines that leave yours and Aegon's lips.

“Fine.” Aemond nods at Aegon who has a tight grip on your hips as he rolls his hips up into yours.

You gasp as Aegon lifts you and fills you completely the next second. Aegon groans as he stills and you grip his hair at the stretch. The bed dips and you feel Aemond’s hands move Aegons from your hips. Aemond starts to move you up and down and smiles when he hears the breathy gasps that fall from your mouth. Aegon looks up to Aemond with lidded eyes and reaches up to pull him down to his lips. Aemond dips down and starts to move you faster against Aegon. Aemond starts to kiss down Aegon's jaw and starts to press his lips across the side of your face and down your neck as you grind against Aegon.

“You see how much I do for you both?” Aemond starts to move you faster.

“Aemond,” you whine leaning back and Aegon's brows scrunch that you’re not calling out his name but you’re riding his cock. His arms wrap around your back and hold you closely as he hammers up into you. “I’m, yes Aegon, Aeg,” you fall apart whimpering into Aegon's neck.

“Fuck you feel so good.” he groans snapping his hips up quickly before filling you. “Squeezing everything outta me.” his hands move down to your ass and roll you against him.

“Are you ready to be filled some more?” Aemond purrs in your ear as he lifts you off of Aegon. “Hm?” he moves your tethered hands from behind Aegon and pulls you back on his chest. He bends you over and groans when he sees Aegon's seed seeping out of you. Aemond swipes some of the pleasure dripping down your leg and coats his length. Aemond slowly pushes into you and your back arches as you bury your face into the bed. “Oh no, no.” he chides as his fingers dig into your hair lifting your face.

“Mm, please Aemond,” your breathy moans are going straight to Aemond’s cock. Aemond groans, watching Aegon's seed seep out of you with every thrust. Aegon watches you both as his growing desire courses through him. He grips his cock and starts to stroke himself, slowly hardening with every whimper that comes from you when Aemond slams into you. Aegon looks up from your face and smirks when he sees Aemond watching him.

“I think Aegon needs your help.” Aemond motions with his head for Aegon to scoot over. “And I know how much you love to suck on him while I fuck you stupid.” he smiles hearing both of your moans at his words. Aegon continues to pump himself as you rest your cheek on his thigh. You look up at him and he watches your eyes roll back as Aemond starts to pound into you. Your tied hands can’t reach for him and you let yourself be moved around as they please.

Aegon brushes your hair off your cheek and you open your mouth letting your tongue spill out. Aegon shifts as pushes his tip into your mouth and groans as you suck harshly. With Aemond’s thrusts your mouth is being pushed onto Aegon. Your fingers dig into Aegon's thigh as you feel your body start to tighten with pleasure. You lift off of Aegon and gasp pressing back into Aemond. “I, please Aemond, please,” you beg rolling your hips and he spanks you once and you fall apart with a loud cry.

You continue to scoot up Aegon's thigh as you try to calm your breathing. You open your mouth again and look up at Aegon's flushed face as he guides himself back into your mouth. You bob your head as best as you can and you moan around him as you feel Aemond lean over you. Aemond grinds his hips into yours as he presses his lips to Aegons. Aegon desperately attaches to Aemond and his hips jerk up into your mouth before his pleasure starts to spill out of him. Aegon leans back from Aemond and leans back with a heaving chest.

Aemond presses you into the bed as his thrusts become slow and demanding. Small cries of his name slip from your mouth and he chuckles feeling you squeeze around him. His fingers reach around and brush your bud and your pleasure bursts through you. With one last hard thrust he stills inside you filling you with his warmth. He continues to rock his hips into you and you squirm feeling the stickiness between your thighs.

“I’m so full of you.” you whine and he groans resting his forehead against your shoulder. Aemond lifts off of you and kneels back to watch as he pulls out of you.

“Gods you’re perfect.” he grabs your ass and spreads you to watch his seed slowly seep out of you. “The next time you walk into those council chambers uninvited I’ll give everyone around the table this sight.” his hand lands on your ass and you jolt forward.

“I’m gonna pass a law that says you can’t speak that old fucking language.” Aegon glares at Aemond.

“You’re going to tell me what to do?” Aemond chuckles, raising his eyebrow at Aegon before he flips you over to untie your hands.

“I could.” Aegon pouts and you bite your lip to hide your smile. He looks down at you and he whines when he sees you chuckling. “I can.” he frowns.

“Mm, of course my King.” Aemond reaches over and pats his chest. “Whatever you say.” he whispers against Aegon's lips and he smirks watching him tremble. Aemond gets up from the bed and grabs a cloth and begins to clean you all up. The three of you tangle into Aegon's bed softly teasing and caressing each other.

“Mm.” Aegon hums at his idea. “I’ll think I’ll have you suck my cock as I sit on the throne.” Aemond barks out a laugh lifting up from your neck.

“If anyone’s cock is getting sucked on the throne it’s mine by the both of you.” Aemond rolls his eye.

“And why can’t it be me on the throne being worshipped by you both?” you pout between them and watch as they look at each other.

“That can be arranged.” Aegon looks down at you with a smile before pressing his lips to yours.

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