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gutsby · 1 year ago

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Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might��

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #mob bucky barnes #marvel smut #marvel x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky barnes

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caramelkoo · 4 months ago

Text

behind your touch (18+)

jungkook x reader

genre : married couple, simp husband!Jungkook

summary : two introverts explore the sexier and much more hotter side of their relationship.

warnings : lots of smut and fluff, dual pov, Jungkook is a wild one and he's also a simp, they're adorable, oc is a tadbit nervous, they're newly married and so in love with eo, breeding kink, unprotected sex (please be safe), Oral (giving and receiving), Jungkook is dominant, hair pulling, spanking, he loves her ass, masturbating together. let me know if i missed something.

a/n : i have no idea which freaky monster was sitting on my shoulders when i wrote this. enjoy and if you're ovulating, goodluck. kisses <33

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your pov

"One more, honey. Just give me one more"

Your husband's fingers pump into you as you tweak your nipples between your forefinger and thumb. The pleasure is so intense and burning, you almost see stars. Jungkook is on his stomach between your legs wide apart, his left hand is grabbing your left tit while his three fingers thrust into your wet pussy, thumb rubbing your clit. His face is hovering above yours and he nibbles on your ear.

"I- oh my god, Jungkook I can't" you whimper as you try to control your ragged breathing. He has your body totally at his mercy and you know he's not going to stop until he makes you come for the third time. You don't even know how he pulled one out of you the second time.

"I know you can. Let me see that beautiful pussy clench. Just like that."

His finger go even deeper inside you. He twists his forefinger in such a way, you almost scream before slapping your hand over your mouth but Jungkook takes a hold of your hand, removing it from your mouth.

he warns, "Don't you dare muffle your screams or else I'm gonna spank that perfect ass until it's red and hot"

That does it, your hands rapidly grab the taut silk bedsheet, pulling and undoing it as you arch your back. Sweat beads cover your forehead as you let out a scream before coming harder than ever before.

"FUCK" you pant.

Jungkook takes out his fingers before sucking them off. You look at him with lust in your eyes and sigh. When he's done he holds you close to him as you tuck your face into his neck. Patient as you come down, running his hands over your arms, breasts and ass.

"That's my girl, you did so good" he kisses your forehead.

While you feel like you've ran a marathon, his facial expression holds nothing but pride and affection.

"God, I wish you could see yourself from my eyes right now. A fucking sight"

You chuckle, "You're crazy"

Placing a chaste kiss on your cheek he eyes find you again, "How are you feeling, wife?"

Your cheeks instantly turn a deep shade of pink. It's been twenty days since you both have been married, promised to love each other till the day you die. However, you've still not gotten used to him calling you his wife and it appears he loves your flustered face given that he calls you that every chance he gets.

You ignore his snarky chuckle and reply, "Perfect. How are you feeling, husband?

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Jungkook nuzzles his face in your neck and squeals. His golden retriever personality has always been your favorite.

"I love hearing you call me that. Is this how you feel when i call you wife?"

Indeed you do but no way you're gonna tell him that. His ego has gone big enough for the day. You push him down by his shoulders and lower yourself down to his thick length. He's still wearing his black boxers but earlier somewhere in the process he's gotten rid of his shirt.

Grabbing the waistband of his boxers, you push them down and let his thick length spring free. Your mouth immediately waters seeing his tip red and angry, begging for attention. A drop of cum has formed on top of it.

"Honey, you don't have to do this" he assures pushing up from his elbows to look at you.

"I want to" you say taking him in your mouth as his grunt follows after.

"Fuck yeah, just like that. You're so good at this, baby. So so good" his head thumps back on the pillow. His stomach muscles are clenching hard resulting his abs to look more defined. You run your hands over them. His breathing picks up when you take him deeper and when you cup his balls, his hands grab a handful of your brown locks.

"_____, baby I'm not gonna last long if you keep doing that" his hips come up pushing his cock to the back of your throat. He thrusts once, twice, thrice. The room is filled with wet noises and both of your moans. You've never heard of anything more beautiful. You've never seen anyone more beautiful than your husband.

"W-Want me to come in your mouth?" he asks as you nod frantically.

And he does. Another moans slips out of him as he grips your hair a bit tighter while also making sure not to hurt you. Your throat gets filled with his load.

"Swallow it, wife"

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Peace. If someone were to ask how your relationship is with Jungkook, you'd use the word peaceful. Love has all sort of forms and in your life where you are surrounded by so many people who love you, their love however, is slightly different yet equally precious.

For instance, there's passionate love then there's motherly love, bubbly love of a friend and nurturing love of a grandparent. When it comes to your husband, it's peaceful and calm. Your introvert personality had let people in the past assume the worst of you. The enormity of the fact that people think introverts are stand offish or impolite is beyond you.

It wasn't the case with Jungkook, though. Since you're both introverts it's never too quiet or too loud for you. A cup of coffee while you're sitting on his lap watching the sunset, taking a hot bath together where you both are not saying a word and letting silence wash over you, you reading your book while he plays his video game.

These moments might seem boring and mundane to a third party but for both of you, who feel like themselves in silence, they're more than just moments.

But that's not to say that there's no spark. That factor has certainly never been a matter of concern. Just like right now as you check yourself out in the bathroom mirror, your body has never looked this stunning. You're wearing a red lingerie which hugs your pear shaped body like a dream.

However, you can't seem to stop the fleeting feeling of nervousness creeping up in your stomach, twisting it into knots. This is new for you. Even in your past relationships you have never explored this much. It's only Jungkook's ability to make you comfortable in your body that has led you to this point. So, you take a deep breath and call out for him.

"Babe!!!"

"Yeah?" before you left him to execute your sexy little surprise, he was talking to his best friend, Jimin. It appears he's done talking.

Adjusting the bra strap, you yell again, "Can you close your eyes for me, please?"

"Why?" he's got to be kidding.

"JUST DO IT!!"

"Alright, alright woman"

You walk towards the door and twist the knob oh so slowly. You open the door slightly ajar and see him sitting on the corner of the bed and then only you walk out.

Standing four steps before him you speak, "Okay you can open them"

"That's what she said"

You huff out a laugh but quickly recover.

"Jeon Jungkook"

"Shit, you full named me? This must be serio-" his words come to a halt when his gaze falls on you.

A nervous smile breaks out of your full lips as you wait for him to continue. When he doesn't say anything you start to wonder if you overdid it but he doesn't give you much time to think further because the next thing you know is he's pushing you against the bedroom wall, lips colliding with yours.

You moan as your lips move together with him sucking your bottom one between his. It's sloppy, it's filled with saliva but you wouldn't have it any other way. Tonight, you want the sloppy and wet.

His mouth is soft and eager. One thing about kissing Jungkook is that it's never the same. It's different every fucking time and it only gets better. His tongue pushes in between your lips before you part them and allow it to slide against your own.

He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, "Jesus Christ,____. You're trying to kill me, baby"

"Do you like it?" you chuckle.

"Like it? You have no idea how many times I've gotten off to this visual. You look like a fucking goddess and you could ask for anything right now, I'd give it to you"

He shakes his head right to left like he still can't comprehend the sight in front of him. So you decide to help him.

"Fuck me"

"What?"

"I need you to fuck me, Jungkook." you ask him in a stern voice.

From the way he looks at you, it seems like he can't wait another second to get his mouth on you. Taking a step back, he looks at you up and down as if taking his fill. The moment the next words leave his mouth, you shiver.

"Strip"

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Jungkook's pov

"Strip"

The red lingerie pushes his wife's tits up as Jungkook is holds onto this slender thread of restraint, scared that if this gets any hotter, it'll snap. Her skin is so smooth and her lips are swollen from the rather burning kiss they shared earlier. The bulge in his sweatpants must be visible but he's not embarrassed about it.

A man can only handle so much. He looks at ______ with a fire and yearning that runs so deep he feels like it'll consume him whole. He wonders what made tonight worth it? is it the lingerie? is it the fact that they're newly married? is it the honeymoon?

No, It's because of the woman standing before him. It's because of the fact that he is the luckiest man alive on the planet to not only have a woman so sexy as his wife but also someone who is an outstanding daughter, a responsible sister and a human worth living for.

People talk about dying for their loved ones but what about living for them? What about living with them? When he was standing at the alter with ______ standing in front of him just like now he had made a promise to himself that he will live for her everyday. He will make every single day worth it for her so that she will choose him again as her husband in her next life.

The red fabric of cloth falls down with a subtle thump on the ground and his eyes travel all over _____ body. Her slender legs, a dark mole just above her left knee, stretch marks looking like lightening travelling from her navel down to her knees, the curve of her waist he has always loved to hold and kiss, her tits with perky nipples begging for attention and then finally her face.

"Come here and lie down on the bed" she does as he says.

When she gets comfortable enough and looks at him he asks her to spread her legs.

"Show me that pretty pussy, sweetheart" she spreads her legs slowly as if teasing him. He sucks in a deep breath before slipping out of his sweatpants and letting his cock spring free. It slaps against his stomach and he gives it a pump.

"I'm going to fuck you real nice but before that I want to watch. Don't worry though, I'll let you watch too" his voice is as husky as ever.

He walks back to the chair in the corner of the room and sits himself down. His wife looks at him with so much innocence and wonder, for a second he considers changing his mind and snuggle her to sleep but then again, she asked for it so she'll get it.

"Slip one finger inside, baby. Make sure to do it slowly, I want you to feel it well. Soak in the feeling"

"Jungkook, I'm not sure-"

"Hey, I'm right here, my love. I'm in this with you but reconsider it and if you're still not sure, we'll stop" he gently assures her, respecting her boundaries.

______ thinks for a while before taking a deep breath and nodding. Her hand slowly travels down to her stomach and finally to her wet cunt.

"Perfect, now rub your clit slowly and then slide a finger inside" she follows his commands as she lets out a light moan, her head tipping back in pleasure. It's just the beginning.

Jungkook's hands work up and down his length as he seeks his own pleasure but he's not sure how long he can last with the look on his wife's face. It's the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. She's his strength but fuck if she doesn't make him weak in the knees. Both of their moans fill the room with several "fuck" and "oh my god" following right after.

As _____ slides her finger inside and pumps it, he also fastens the pace of his pumping.

"Two more in, baby. Give it everything I know you're close" he manages to speak in a low voice.

"Jungkook, it's too much ahhh" she whines as she arches her back off the bed and he can see her pussy going moist and swollen indicating she's almost there. His hands pump as fast working his veiny cock between his tattooed hands and as soon as his wife lets out another loud moan, his orgasm follows making him throw his head back as he comes down from the high.

When he finally gets a hold of himself, he catches a look at her. She's breathing rapidly and caressing her stomach. Walking up to her he kneels down facing her sex and puts his mouth on it, sucking loudly.

"JUNGKOOK-"

Jungkook's eyes look up to her as he slides his tongue up and then down her pussy cleaning her off as she grabs his hair in response and yanks him up. He obliges and hovers over her before taking the same fingers that were inside her as he pushes them against her lips. She opens those kissable lips and tastes herself.

"Do you understand how divine you taste now?"

_____ hums as her lips release the finger with a loud pop. His eyes trace her face lovingly. _____ has exactly ten moles on her face and his favorite is the one on her upper lip. It's meant to be kissed just like the other ones.

"You're staring"

"I like looking at you. You're the loveliest person ever, do you know that? How did I even get so lucky?"

_____ grins and it's the only thing he ever wants to see on her face.

"Tell me how you want my cock wife and I'll give it to you" His eyes are glue to her face. He could look at her all day and not get bored.

"I- I want it from behind if that's okay" there is a hint of hesitation in her voice and he doesn't like it. But that's okay because he plans on making her as comfortable as possible tonight.

When he turns her on her stomach and guides her ass upwards, her face down on the mattress, she gasps but doesn't object.

"Are you okay with me spanking this ass, honey? Want me to tell you how bad I want you?" she whimpers.

"Yes, please"

"That's a good fucking girl" his doesn't wait a second longer before giving a slap on the globe of her ass, only to slap it once more while also making sure not to hurt her in the process. His palms paint her pale skin.

He works her clit pulling a loud moan out of her. _____ breath is picking up the pace again as sweat beads her back glistening it in the best way possible. He notches the head of his cock at her entrance and pushes inside with a force that takes both of their breaths away.

"Fuck" he cries out and she whines.

He pulls himself outside before thrusting back inside, "Fuck, I love you, _____. You're the best thing that happened to me. Every morning- ugh- every morning I get excited just because of the fact that I get to see this pretty face. You beautiful, strong, gentle of a woman and you're all mine"

His thrusts fasten, he gives three kisses on the dimples of her back as he fucks her from behind just like she asked.

"I love you, baby" he hears her reply back, her voice breathy.

"You like that?"

thrust

"You like how I'm giving it all to you, huh?"

thrust

"You like being at my mercy? Desperate and needy?"

thrust

"Want me to give you a baby,hmm? Make you look all mine?" His final thrust goes even deeper before he turns her on her back. He pulls out and freezes. The woman he's married to is looking like a fucking angel who also has been fucked raw and good. He couldn't be more in love with her.

"Sweetheart, I wanna try something but I need to you to trust me, alright? I'll never hurt you" when he gets a nod from _____ he uses his knees to move up to her until he just above her stomach.

"Push those tits together for me" he commands.

So, she does. ______ doesn't hesitate this time and his chest grows another inch with pride. Her tits squeeze up with the help of her palms and Jungkook carefully slips his cock into the tight channel. Her chest is decorated with the hickeys he's given her this morning.

It takes five thrusts for him to come on her chest. White, hot liquid covers his wife's chest as he quickly pushes himself sideways and lies down beside her with a loud thump.

"Christ, that was so good" he pants.

He takes a moment to catch his breath before running to the bathroom and comes back with a wet towel. He swipes it all over her chest as he cleans her off. She's still looking at him with the same love and passion in her eyes as before. Nothing has changed and nothing will change.

As soon as he's done cleaning up and gets ready to talk his wife's ears off, her soft snores pull at his attention. Giggling to himself as he covers her with the duvet pulling it taut so she can be warm and cozy, he gets comfortable beside her and prepares to go into a deep slumber.

A hand wraps around his stomach making his silly, romantic heart flutter and _____ places her head on his chest.

Placing a chaste kiss on her temple and nose, he whispers into the darkness, "Goodnight, honey. Thank you for being mine"

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multific · 2 months ago

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Scent

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: You never would have imagined such a ruthless and sadistic man to be so obsessed with scent.

How did you always manage to smell so good?

Every person he met smelled terrible.

He had many men thrown out of the room because of their foul smell.

But you always smelled divine. And different each time.

Sometimes you smelled of roses.

Sometimes you smelled of lavender.

Sometimes you smelled of milk.

It was always perfect. It made Geta always bury his nose into your skin.

Strangely, your hair never smelled like your body.

Your hair always smelled of fresh flowers or apples.

He loved it.

He loved you.

Every moment he got, he smelled you. Burying his face into your neck, or during private moments, he buried himself into your breasts or stomach.

It wasn't just your dresses that smelled good.

Your dresses were different.

While they smelled like you, they also smelled so fresh.

"An Empress should smell nice." is what you said to him when he asked you about the smell.

He knew how you liked to bathe.

How you enjoyed being washed and worshipped.

In reality, you preferred to smell great for your husband. Since the first time he noticed your smell of roses, and told you how much he enjoyed it.

Ever since then, you have been finding new ways to smell divine.

And now, you had one more trick up your sleeve.

You were brushing your hair in front of your mirror. You preferred to do it yourself since the servants were always so rough.

Geta closed the door behind himself and let out a long sigh.

"Do you know just how difficult it is to talk to a man who smells like shit? Literal shit! I couldn't even focus."

"Maybe you should take a bath." you suggested as you looked at him. You smiled when his eyes met yours.

You heard him smelling the air.

"This is new." he said as he walked over to you his nose up in the air, taking big whiffs. "Honey?"

"Yes Dear?" you smirked at him as he smiled. A genuine happy smile might be rare for others, but not for you.

He knelt down in front of you. He grabbed your hand and began to smell up from your wrist to your elbow, from your elbow to your shoulder.

His breath tickled your skin, making you giggle.

Soon, his nose found it's rightful place in the curve of your neck.

"You smell so sweet." he whispered as he took deep breaths.

"I'm happy you like it."

"How do you do it? How do you know what I need? I wanted honey today, craved for it and here you are! Smelling like the sweetest honey treat."

"I'm your wife. Who else would know what you need if not me?"

"Oh, how I love you, My Sweet Wife."

"I love you too."

You both soon headed to bed where he continued to smell your skin and hair, not letting go for one second.

And this is how you slept every night, with Geta hugging your back to his front, his nose in your neck.

You slept happy, knowing your husband loved you the same you loved him.

Taglist:

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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classyrbf · 6 months ago

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aaaaa plzzz do nanami getting a boner when y/n is speaking to him and they end up fucking? (Established relationship)

<33

YOU TURN ME ON! — NANAMI KENTO

SYNOPSIS...nanami is so easily turned on when it comes to you, he can’t help but get hard at the slightest things

INFO...nanami x fem!reader, established relationship, reverse cowgirl, praise, spanking, creampie, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thanks for the request anon!

“So how was your day?” You asked your husband as he loosened his tie, a long sigh leaving his lips as he slipped his jacket off.

“The usual. I don’t wanna bore you,” he chuckled. He sat at the edge of the bed, removing his shoes and tossing them to the side. He could feel the bed dip behind him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. His eyes closed shut, embracing your warmth. “How was your day, darling?” He asked.

You hopped off of the bed in front of him, grabbing his shoes from the floor and placing them on the rack. “Well, I went to the mall today!” You smiled.

“Yeah? You buy anything?” He grabbed your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles while he stared at you in adoration. He couldn’t be more lucky to have you as his wife.

“Actually, I did. There was this cute dress that I wanted. You remember the one I showed you?” You asked. He nodded in response, a small smile creeping up on his face. “Well I found it in my size, and it was the last one. But, Ken, it’s so much prettier in person!” You said with excitement. Running over to the closet, you pulled the dress off the rack and held it up. “What do you think?”

“I think the color goes great with your skin. Makes it glow,” he explained. He could see the smile widen on your face. He loves when you get excited about the little things in life.

“Awe thank you, Ken,” you giggled, turning around to put the dress back on the rack. His eyes scanned over your figure, the shorts that exposed your legs, the tank top you wore making it obvious your nipples were hard. “Ken!” You shout.

“Huh?” He looks up at you, blinking away his confusion. He could feel his slacks slightly tighten as he shifted in his spot on the bed.

“I was talking about the new bed set I saw in the mall. Did you hear me?” You walked over to him, straddling his lap.

“I’m sorry, love, I didn’t. Please, tell me again.” His hands rest on your waist, gently caressing your skin as you began talking again. He stared at you as your mouth moved, going on and on about how you think it’ll match the room. “You should’ve gotten it,” he said.

“I know, but I wanted your opinion first!” You whine. “After all, you sleep here too.” You peck his lips. Nanami let out a small groan, pushing his hips back. “You okay?” You ask, looking at him with concern.

“Yeah, it’s just…um…” Nanami let out a breath, trying to hide the fact he got turned on just from you talking about your day and walking around the room. It was quite embarrassing. But with each passing second you were on his lap, he was getting harder. “Darling, I’m sorry, I’m hard.” He looked up at you.

“Oh…oh!” You laugh, hiding your face in his neck. “Ken, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you say.

“I know, but you didn’t even do anything sexual, I just don’t want to make it seem like I’m some kind of perv—”

“What’s wrong with a man being attracted to his wife?” You question, staring into his eyes.

“Sweetheart, please don’t look at me like that…fuck,” he whispers under his breath. Within seconds, you push Nanami onto the bed, catching him by surprise. Your hands are moving quick to undo his belt. “You don’t have to—”

“Shush, Ken,” you demand, pulling down his pants. His cock springs free, already dripping with precum. “How are you so hard already?” You giggle, feeling arousal pool in your panties.

“You turn me on, darling.” He props himself up on his elbows as you remove your clothing, kicking aside your shorts and panties. Your crawl onto the bed, faces inches apart before you plant your lips on his, tongues moving against one another, biting down on his bottom lip. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you too, Ken.” You peck his lips once more before turning your back towards him, angling yourself above his cock. You lift your hips just so enough so you can slowly sink down, feeling the stretch. A small gasp leaves your lips, a groan escaping from your husband.

“Fuck you’re so warm and tight,” he breathes, his hands coming up to squeeze your ass while you bounce on his cock. He’s entranced at the way his dick completely disappears into your cunt, sucking him in without hesitation.

You start to pick up the pace, growing more comfortable as your hips move faster, your juices dripping down his shaft. “Ah! Yes!” You hold onto his legs for support, while he watches the way your ass ripples against his dick. “Shit!” You wince, throwing your head back.

“Atta girl. There you go, sweetheart.” He lands a slap on your ass, guiding it up and down his cock. “Oh fuck, you always you always make me feel so good,” he moans. Your pussy clenches around him as you continue to slam your hips against his.

You reach your hand down to rub your clit in circles, adding to the stimulation as his cock hit your g-spot over and over. Pleasure coursed through your body, aching badly for an orgasm. Whimpers and moans from you and Nanami filled your bedroom, along with the sound of skin on skin. “Ohhh, Ken!” You whined. “Shit, baby!” You panted.

“You’re doing so good for me. Look back at me, darling, I wanna see my pretty girl.” His brows furrowed slightly as you milked his cock, he could tell you were getting desperate to cum. “There’s my girl. Keep looking at me while you ride me.”

You bit your bottom lip, muffling some of your moans and whimpers, trying your best to keep the exact rhythm you had going. Nanami cursed under his breath, eyes darting back and forth between your face and your ass. He couldn’t get enough of you. The way his tip kissed you cervix and bumped your sweet spot each time made your head spin. The curve of his dick making you arch even more.

Thick fingers squeeze the plump flesh of your ass, stuttering hips still set on riding him. “Fuck…s-slow down, sweetheart—ah! You’re gonna make me cum.” He grabs at your hips, a weak attempt to slow down your movements, but you’re so set on fucking him, feeling every last inch of your husband. You don’t care how much of a mess you make, how loud you get. It turns you on knowing your husband gets so worked up about the little things. A groan leaves his lips, head falling back in bliss as you practically ride him to cloud nine, his orgasm approaching just as quickly as yours.

Your little pants and whimpers fill his ears, eyes set on your husband glossy eyes, so fixated on the way your pussy is suck him in. His abs tense up, hand squeezing down on your ass and pulling you flush against his pelvis as he cums inside of you. The sheer feeling alone sends your orgasm raking through your body, quivering. “Oh my god!” You gasp, eyes fluttering shut. You slowly lift your hips before bringing them back down, fucking his cum into you.

“Yes, yes, just like that, baby,” he coos, watching his cum ooze out of your sweet cunt. “Goddamn,” he sighs when you finally stop riding him. His dick twitches at the missed sensation of your gummy walls.

“If I knew just how easily I turn you on, I would’ve done this more often,” you tease, placing a wet kiss on his neck.

“Should’ve known already, pretty girl.” He playfully smacks your ass, earning a small laugh from you. “We’ll clean up in second, just give me a few.”

#—☆classyrbf #anime #anime smut #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x reader smut #nanami oneshot #nanami smut oneshot #jjk smut oneshot #jjk x reader smut #nanami kento #jjk nanami

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roosterr · 1 year ago

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if ur requests are open, could we have like 141 falling asleep on the reader??? like different scenarios for each of them like price falls asleep accidentally and so does ghost while gaz and soap are like cuddling or laying on the reader :) i love ur writing so much <333

the 141 falls asleep on you

wc: 2.1k

hello!!! been struggling to love my writing for like the last month so i really hope you enjoy, and i'm sorry in advance lol its mostly fluffy but i just couldn't help myself with a lil bit of angst :)

price

✹ when you hear the front door open in the middle of the night – or, technically, early morning – the first thought your sleep-addled mind comes up with is that you're being robbed.

✹ with your heart in your throat, you sit up in bed and stare wide-eyed at the bedroom door, but your fear is short lived when a dull thud meets your ears, followed by a familiar curse that has you breathing a sigh of relief.

✹ your husband, coming home at last from a night of drinking with the other members of the taskforce, presumably stubbing his toe on the sofa that hasn't moved an inch since you put it there all those years ago.

✹ with a deep yawn, you get back under the covers and let your eyes fall shut again, the knowledge that it was john downstairs and not a burglar putting your racing heart to rest.

✹ you don't react when he clumsily slips through the door, fighting the laugh that threatens to give you away when you hear him swear under his breath after bumping into yet another piece of furniture.

✹ the cold air sends goosebumps rippling across your skin when he lifts the covers to clamber in beside you, but the chill is quickly chased away by his hands bringing you into his chest and his enveloping warmth.

✹ "and what time do you call this?" you tease in a whisper, opening your eyes to see his guilty ones looking back at you. the slight flush in his cheeks and his half-lidded gaze gives him a boyish charm that you can't even pretend to be mad at.

✹ "sorry darlin', didn't mean to wake you..." he murmurs in return, a sheepish smile pulling at one side of his lips.

✹ "well, i'm glad you had a good time," you punctuate your reply by placing a light kiss on the bridge of his nose, which prompts his smile to grow wider as he hugs your body to his own.

✹ "i'm havin' a better time now, love." he ghosts his lips over yours as he whispers, earning another tiny chuckle from you, his fingers tracing patterns into the skin of your back under your shirt.

✹ you can smell the whisky on his breath as he leans even further into you, and taste it when he closes the distance to devour your lips in a passionate, if slightly messy, kiss.

✹ he sighs into your mouth, his lips falling from yours when he rolls you onto your back to lay his head on your chest, and like a switch, he's dead asleep.

✹ "john?" you whisper, in a sort of disbelief that he was actually asleep just like that, but he doesn't even flinch when you gently poke his cheek. "oh my god…"

✹ once the morning rolls around, you both share a laugh about his drunken state from the night before, and he makes you promise not to tell the boys he passed out in the middle of kissing you.

✹ you just laugh and file it away for future blackmail.

gaz

✹ the two of you were watching a movie late one night, the first time you've had time to yourselves in months thanks to the never-ending workload you both seem to be under.

✹ the dim mood lighting of your flat combined with the comforting feeling of finally being alone with kyle is nearly enough to send you to sleep already, but your want to spent time with him keeps you awake.

✹ kyle watches you stifle a yawn as he presses play on the movie, and tugs you to lean against him with an arm around your shoulders and a teasing grin. "promise you won't fall asleep this time?"

✹ you look up to him from where your head rests against his collar and huff, a smile of your own playing on your lips as you nudge him lightly with your elbow. "maybe i should be the one asking that."

✹ the bags under his eyes leave no question about how tired he really is, but he was the one that insisted the two of you spend time together tonight, despite the exhaustion you knew he was hiding.

✹ "and leave you all by yourself?" he chuckles, "never, love."

✹ a comfortable quiet settles over you while you watch the movie together; kyle's choice, something action-y you've never seen before, but you know he's seen it a million times. he occasionally adds commentary to make you laugh which he, naturally, manages to do every time.

✹ as the movie plays, you gradually migrate to laying on the sofa on your back with kyle between your legs and his head on your sternum. you absentmindedly run your nails over his scalp, gently massaging his head while he hugs your waist.

✹ it's about two-thirds of the way through the movie that you realise kyle hasn't said anything in a while. you pause your ministrations, smoothing over his curls as you turn your gaze from the screen to where he lays on top of you.

✹ a soft smile lights up your face when your eyes land on his blissfully relaxed features, sound asleep and breathing in time with the steady rise and fall of your chest.

✹ you continue to watch the movie in silence, occasionally petting kyle's hair when he grumbles in his sleep. he deserves the rest, you muse, and something about how peaceful he looks means you can't even entertain the idea of disturbing him. and you would definitely tease him that he fell asleep like he said he wouldn't.

✹ even once the movie has finished, and your back has started to ache from the position against the armrest, you still don't dare wake him. tomorrow was an off day for both of you, so there was no need to go anywhere – as if you would ever want to, intertwined with your boyfriend and surrounded by his warmth.

✹ you close your eyes, give him one last squeeze, and whisper into the silence, "sweet dreams, kyle."

soap

✹ it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

✹ everything was supposed to go smoothly, you'd get what you came for, and you'd be home in time for dinner.

✹ but it hadn't happened like that of course it didn't. you were on your way out, with johnny by your side, when a sudden noise from behind you caught your attention.

✹ you spin around to see a dishevelled soldier aiming their gun at you, but you noticed just a second too late. you can do little more than watch as they pull the trigger, a sick sense of horror travelling up your spine as time seems to slow down.

✹ there's a split second where you brace to feel the bullet lodge somewhere in your body, but that impact never comes.

✹ with a speed you didn't know he possessed, johnny tackles you to the ground and out of the path of the bullet, landing on top of you and pushing the air from your lungs.

✹ you lay winded underneath him, the sound of him returning fire vaguely reaching your ears but it takes a second for your mind to catch up.

✹ it’s quiet by the time you come back to your senses, johnny already pulling you to stand with a strained grunt.

✹ "johnny?" you frown, taking note of how he favours one side when he urges you to start walking again, "you okay?"

✹ "fine, darlin’, let’s just–" he winces, stumbling ever so slightly and trying to play it off by pushing you in front of him, "let’s just get home, aye?"

✹ your frown deepens. you turn around and stop him with your hands on his shoulders, and it's then that you notice how laboured his breathing has become.

✹ "you're not fine, soap!" your heart sinks as you watch the patches of blood on his leg grow steadily darker, "why didn't you tell me you were hit?"

✹ he doesn't flinch at the anger in your voice, or when you haul his arm over your shoulder and resume dragging him the rest of the way to the helo. he mumbles incoherent that sounds like an apology, but your only focus is getting him to safety and stopping the bleeding.

✹ the others are already waiting for you as the exfil site comes into view, and the moment they spot you shouldering johnny's weight they spring into action to help you.

✹ johnny is dragged up the ramp and made to lay on the floor as gaz and ghost make short work of packing the bullet wound in his thigh with gauze.

✹ you lift his shoulders and head to rest in your lap, grimacing at the pained groans he lets out when ghost puts his weight on the wound.

✹ "why didn't you tell me?" you utter, tilting his head back with your hands on his cheeks and meeting his distant gaze with your brows knitted together in concern.

✹ he musters a weak smile and lets his eyes flutter shut, the muscles in his face visibly relax. "i’m fine… ‘slong as yer okay, bonnie…"

ghost

✹ sometimes you wondered if ghost ever slept.

✹ he would always volunteer himself for the first watch, and he was up before you without fail every morning. on base he always seemed to be in the gym before everyone, and in his office after everyone else has left. he was frustratingly elusive.

✹ it worried you, that perhaps he had trouble sleeping. it made sense, however saddening, that someone like him wouldn't sleep well, but it was even worse that he brushed off your concern for him with practised ease.

✹ he made sure to take care of others, but wouldn't let you try and do the same for him. perhaps he thought you were joking, or that you were only being courteous, but your mind always goes back to one thing; the theory that, for some people, it's only possible for them to fall asleep when they feel safe.

✹ you wanted to be that for him, like he was for you.

✹ you do your best to forget about your rejected concerns for him, and the thought all but slips your mind until a mission two months later.

✹ it was long, drawn-out, and gruelling, and all you wanted to do was get home and have a shower hot enough to melt your skin. it had been almost a week since you've had a moment to catch your breath, and you were more than thankful to be on the way home.

✹ even if that meant being squashed into the back of an suv with soap passed out on your left and ghost on your right. gaz called shotgun and wouldn't give it up for anything, so here you were, shoulder to shoulder with the lieutenant you may or may not harbour feelings for.

✹ the five of you have been on the road for a couple of hours now. the conversation has died down by now and and the quiet hum of the radio was the only sound, besides soap's intermittent snores.

✹ you're on the verge of passing out yourself when a weight drops onto your shoulder, and you have to fight yourself not to jump with the start it gives you.

✹ your tired eyes look to the source and to your utter surprise, they find the dark fabric of ghost's balaclava resting against you, and when you tilt your head you can see the blond of his eyelashes against his cheeks.

✹ the sight brings a smile to your face. as subtle as possible, you shift as much as the limited space of the backseat will allow so his neck isn't bent at such an awkward angle.

✹ he fell asleep on you. perhaps it was just because of the exhaustion this mission left him with, but you like to think back on your theory from weeks ago as you admire the restful expression he wears.

✹ your stop fighting your own exhaustion and let your eyes fall shut, and with your last thread of consciousness you file this memory away for later, and hope that it really does mean that he feels safe with you.

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sixx-sixx-sixx · 9 months ago

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LADY BRIDGERTON - Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader (smut)

Summary: Reader has been married to Anthony Bridgerton for too long, it feels, although it has only been a few years. In that short time, not only has he only touched her naked body once, but he comes home most nights smelling of sweat and another woman’s perfume. Lady Whistledown has caught wind of this, and the gossip sends Lady Bridgerton over the edge. Anthony takes the time to give his wife exactly what she’s asking for.

Warnings: smut; badly written smut lol; infidelity; arguments about infidelity; possibly out of character anthony; I’ve only watched season 1 of Bridgerton; breeding kink; unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it but this is a married couple); female reader/use of she/her pronouns; as always, proofread to the best of my ability

“Do you wish to make a fool of me?” Anthony leaned down to whisper in his young wife’s ear, a firm hand grabbing her elbow as he interrupted her conversation with a young man from Russia, or Hungary. He didn’t pay much mind to the boy so much as the woman who bore his last name, fully aware of the way she had been subtly flirting with many men that night. Taking count of the glasses of bubbles she had — she was nursing her fourth flute, Anthony had decided it was enough.

Don’t make a scene.

Lady Bridgerton felt an intense urge to strike her husband across his cheek, how dare he accuse her of making a fool out of him. All evening she had overheard whispers of Anthony’s name from nasty gossipers. The young Bridgertons had been the central characters in the latest edition of Lady Whistledown. Rumor has it that Lord Bridgerton had continued an affair with a certain singer, without bothering to hide it from his young wife. Even worse? Lady Bridgerton knew, as they all knew, and never seemed to let the truth affect how she presented herself to those around her.

“Would you like me to answer that truthfully, my dear husband?” She turned her gaze towards him, her eyes alight with a burning fury towards the unfaithful man she had devoted her life to. She jerked her arm away from his grip and started to lift the glass to her painted lips. Anthony grabbed the dainty piece of glass and shook his head, “I think you’ve had enough. It’s time for you to go home.”

A bitter laugh escaped her mouth before she could stop it, as a few heads turned to observe the titular couple. “If that is your wish, Mr. Bridgerton.” She turned on her heel and started to make her way out to the cold air, cursing herself for leaving her coat in the carriage. She didn’t even bother to wait for her husband to catch up as she informed the valet they would be leaving.

The carriage ride to the estate wasn’t anything special. She would sit and seethe in silence during the ride, her eyes burning a hole through Anthony’s forehead as he sat across from her. The argument began once the couple was behind the safety of their bedroom door, standing in front of each other with defenses up. “We have been married for two years, Anthony! Two years and the only time you have touched me was on our wedding night. Yet every night you come home, to OUR bed, smelling like some whore’s perfume! I am left to listen to the ton gossip about MY empty bed!” She nearly hissed the words to punctuate her accusations. Anthony had never seen such an outburst from the young woman, she had never spoken to him like that before. She was standing before him, the drinks she had at the ball fueling her anger and simultaneously allowing the anger to sober her head.

“I know that I wasn’t who you wanted to marry, I understand that this was just a beneficial arrangement for you. But I expect that as the woman who now holds your family name, who will one day bear your children, that you could at the very least respect me!” She was angry that he had just stood there and watched her yell, but at the same time, she wouldn’t let him get a word in.

“You cannot expect me to be a dutiful wife and lady if you refuse to grant me at least the tiniest shred of dignity. You, sir, make a fool of yourself, I am merely seeking that same kind of attention you seek from Siena.” Her voice dripped with sickly sweet venom as she spat the woman’s name.

Anthony allowed the woman to speak her mind on his infidelity, finally admitting to himself that he had been unfair to her. He frequently came into their room in the middle of the night when he expected the woman to be asleep. In the beginning of the marriage, he had at least tried to hide the evidence, changing his clothes before he climbed under the blankets next to her. Now, she was accustomed to him laying down beside her without even taking off the shirt that was stained with Siena’s stage makeup and that reeked of her pungent perfume.

“I do not understand, Anthony. I can come to terms with a loveless marriage, but I am so exhausted by knowing you’re giving her that kind of attention, and I have remained loyal to you despite the obvious signs of your affair-“ her rant was abruptly cut short when Anthony floated over to her, his hands gripping her cheeks with fervor as he crashed his lips to hers. Taking only a moment to stand in shock, she pressed her lips back against his, her hand reaching to grip onto the front of his overcoat. Desperately reaching for more, trying to edge him closer to their bed but ultimately allowing him full control over her mind, body and soul. She let out a disappointed whimper when his lips parted from hers, his face inches from her own.

“What is it that you want from me, woman? You wish for me to touch you the way I touch her? Or do you believe my hands to be too stained?” She hated how close his lips were, desperately trying to reach forward as he spoke his mind. She didn’t really care how improper the words sounded as they came from his mouth, because she DID want him to touch her- not just touch, she wanted him to fuck her the way he fucked his mistress.

She took a moment to find her words, not expecting her confrontation to lead to this moment. “Anthony, I am your wife. All I want is for you to- to fuck me the way a husband fucks his wife.”

Understanding that he had a year’s worth of missing passion to make up for, and seeing that deep down he had no other choice than to obey the woman before him, he easily obliged. In this moment, Siena didn’t exist to him. He was purely focused on making sure his duties as a husband were thoroughly taken care of. Tonight, he would go to sleep smelling of his wife’s soft scent, making sure to cover the woman in marks of his affection.

Little time was wasted in getting their clothes off. A mess of hands clashing together to try and undo buttons and layers and loops, the couple grasping at each other as though they were desperate for the other as a life source.

Anthony paused for a moment to admire his lady’s body in the soft candlelight, letting his hands first run over the delectable curve of her hips, trailing up her sides before settling on her supple breasts.

“I’m sorry that I have spent so long torturing you, making you only imagine my hands touching you like this. I promise, my lady, I will do a much better job at attending to whatever it is you wish from me.” Anthony promised as his eyes stayed locked with hers. Her pupils were blown wide, and he realized he didn’t even know what color her irises were meant to be. He told himself he’d be a better husband to her after this, wanting to ensure her place in society as his wife. He’d fuck her full of his seed tonight, and every night after that, to make sure that Lady Whistledown could never accuse him of neglecting his wife’s desires again.

“Please, my lord, please--“ Lady Bridgerton sounded deliciously desperate, and it excited Anthony in a way that he had never experienced in his years-long affairs with Siena. It spurred him to plunge his cock deeper into his wife, his hand pushing her thigh down to her shoulder as he positioned her to angle himself deeper. She would probably think about the pressure against her cervix for the rest of her life, praying to God that she’d be able to experience this side of her husband for the rest of their lives together.

“What is it that you want, Lady Bridgerton? Tell me with words, my love, I want to hear you say it.” In this close position he could make sure she could look into his eyes to see he was genuine in this moment.

She was surprised at his stamina and determination tonight, focused more on her body than chasing his own release. A complete contrast to their wedding night, she felt like he treated the consummation as a chore. This was a much, much better experience. She had lost count of the times he had made her cum tonight, and the ways he had coaxed her orgasms from her.

“Anthony- Christ! Please don’t stop, want you to fuck me full til i’m round with your child-“ her voice was ragged and on the verge of giving out after not holding back a single sound. She didn’t care how pathetic she sounded begging for what seemed like the bare minimum from her husband.

Anthony leaned down to capture her lips in a messy kiss, reaching down to grab her hand that was tangled in the sheets beneath her. He caught any noises that escaped her, the sounds muffled against his own mouth, moving to hold her hand above her head. She clutched at his hand and whimpered his name as his hips stilled after a few sloppy thrusts, thick ropes coating her walls.

Anthony stayed put for a moment so as to not waste a drop, pulling his lips from hers before ghosting them over the hammering pulse in her neck. He gently maneuvered her pliable body into a resting position, slowly pulling himself from her and getting up from the bed.

After he had gently cleaned up the mess he had made of the woman, Anthony peppered soft kisses over her stomach as he made his way up to lay down next to her. She instantly curled into his chest and closed her eyes, taking her time in coming down from the cloud she was on. She could feel his fingers gently combing through her mussed hair, the sensation slowly bringing her back to earth.

“Are you alright, Lady Bridgerton?” Anthony spoke softly to not spook her, his arms locked safely around her keeping her pressed to his body. Her lips quirked into a smile and he took notice of the way her cheek dimpled, his thumb moving to stroke over the small impression.

“I am absolutely content, Lord Bridgerton.” She opened her eyes to look up at her husband’s face. Anthony smiled as he kissed her again, a kiss so tender that nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“I may not be the perfect husband, but I vow to do better by you. I will end things with Siena and tend to the parts of you that I’ve been neglectful of.” Anthony made a promise to her after he had pulled away. His wife reached up to grab his hand in hers, moving it to press a gentle kiss to his knuckles before she spoke.

“You can use all of the sweet words that you want, you’ll still have to prove yourself with actions.” She squeezed his hand gently, “But I think this has been good start.”

#anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton season 1 #Anthony Bridgerton smut #bridgerton smut

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bluebellhairpin · 6 months ago

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Cregan Stark X Wife!Reader

Summary: Preparation to leave to Castle Black for the winter months is well under way, and you're reluctant to be left alone in Winterfell. Cregan, having had the same worry, provides what could be a solution. A solution with a name. And fur. (wc. 2.3k>)

Warnings: Reader has she/her pronouns + fem bodied. Pregnancy. Assassination attempt. Unnamed character death. Blood + gore. Cregan wants to be a girl dad. Unedited (lol).

Listening to: 'Wolf at Your Door' by Chole x Halle - "When you're laying in your bed at night, when the air's just a little too quiet, better hope that you're saying your prayers."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi || AO3 link

Winterfell was a somber place when the cold rolled down from the north.

Although only ten men were sent to the wall every winter, everyone left behind knew someone who was sent away. No matter how short of a life you lived, you also always knew someone who died there. Indeed, life on the wall was as harsh as the force it existence kept at bay.

For you though, the man you lost always returned. The last three winters had you spend upwards of three months without your husband - and in turn rising to take his place as custodian of Winterfell. No matter how busy the role kept you, it never helped you miss Cregan Stark any less.

With winter approaching once more, each moment with him seemed to not be enough. Yes, the Wall was dangerous, and even Cregan was never guaranteed to return, but this year there was something else that willed you to want him to stay. Something else that made him want to stay too.

“Each day my resolve seems to crack,” he told you one night, fire cracked in its hearth as you both lay under blankets of fur. His hand rested protectively over your belly. “Already now I can see our babe grow, and I know I’ll not only be missing you but her too.”

“‘Her’?” you hummed, head turning to nose his cheek. “Such a confident tone, my lord.”

“I am confident.” he replied, turning to press a soft kiss to your lips as his hand idlily rubbed along your stomach.

“And if you needed an heir at the end of this cold winter, what then?”

“If my lady wife deems me worthy, we might try for one again.” he said, sedating what could’ve been the start of your mood change with words almost too sweet to be coming from the frosty king in the north. “But that is something we can decide once all three of us are safe together when summer rises.”

Cregan’s soft words and warm breath on your cheeks made your mind wandered to a time not so far away where you wouldn’t have his heat so close. A time when his comfort was going to be gone.

“I’m going to miss you.” you said, turning into his hold more, and he let you snuggle into his chest. “This time will feel longer than all the others.”

“I doubt that will be the case for you.” he said, lips moving from their place pressed into your hair. “Winterfell will keep you busy, between that and resting for the babe’s sake, you won’t have time on your hands for much else.”

“I may not want to rest.”

“You will. The Lord of Winterfell commands it.”

“The Lord of Winterfell won’t be here, he cannot have a for sure say in what I do or do not do.” You felt him smile into your hair, and you pulled away with a twitch of your own mouth. “What?”

He pulled away a little too, shyly smiling down at where you still laid. He was acting far too coy to be considered normal.

“I might not be leaving you completely alone.”

“... Cregan.” you started, sitting up on our elbow.

“I was going to show you on the morrow, but since you’ve forced my hand -”

“-I? Forcing your hand?”

“- Since you forced my hand,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he slipped out from the bedcovers, “I will be right back.”

“What…” You tried, but your voice tempered out as he swiftly made his way from your bedchambers.

Sighing, you sat back in your pillows, arms folded, and refraining from pouting. It wasn’t long into your settled position of guessing what in the seven kingdoms your husband was doing before he was back.

Cregan had clearly gone outside, snow settled on the top of his hair and along the shoulders of the fur cloak he snatched before leaving. In his arms was something squirming. You frowned, eyeing the movement under the cloak as he strode over.

“What is that?” you asked.

“A protector for the Lady of Winterfell, as per the orders of her lord husband.” Cregan said, and let the squirming mass break free from his hold onto the bed.

It was a… pup? No not possible, it was too big. From how it acted it was a few months surely, but it was just so big. Then you thought some more. Could it really be?

“A direwolf?”

“Not any direwolf. Yours.” Cregan said, rounding the bed and settling back at your side. “A protector to be at your side when I cannot. I’ve been training him and he follows commands well already. By the time I leave he should be grown to the size of any regular dog - then at least twice that when I return.”

While he spoke, the pup sniffed around your bed covers, curiously wandering on unsteady feet. You had to admit, he looked gorgeous, all black fur, with green eyes, and you didn’t doubt he would grow to be a fierce thing. But sometimes that wasn’t always good.

“Cregan, are you sure about this?” you asked. “It’s… he’s a direwolf, not a dog.”

“I’m sure,” he said, lending his arm out. The pup stepped closer, licking Cregan’s fingers and settling on its belly with its nose on Cregan’s knee. “They’re our house symbol. The direwolf are as Stark as I am, they know who we are, and they can be as loyal as they are fierce. That’s why I wanted to introduce you before I left. He’s going to be yours, loyal to you.”

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and like second nature you made yourself comfortable by his side. The pup shifted too, now his nose was itching closer to you, wanting to know who this new person was.

“I supposed you ought to tell me what I'm going to be calling him then.”

“You can call him anything you like,” Cregan said, “But I’ve been calling him Striker.”

Five months passed, and Cregan was right. You were never without anything to do.

The babe growing inside you made mornings rough, and you often weren’t seen before noon, especially in the earlier months. The rest of your day was spent catching up on what you’d missed while resting, and then catching up on what you missed while catching up. Then the evenings were spent with Striker.

He had grown on you, just as he had grown physically. Cregan was still able to lift the wolf when he left, but now you doubted it. He was already well on his way to rivalling a regular wolf in size. Despite how intimidating that might’ve been, you couldn’t be more fond of Striker even if you tried.

Your belly swelled, and with it so did the direwolf’s protectiveness. Your handmaids were tolerated, your guards struggled to be in the same room, and when the maesters dared tough you Striker had to be sent out of the room. Walks around Winterfell were soon out of the question, at least if you were to bring the direwolf along, since he took to growling at everyone who stood too close.

Cregan really picked well, Striker surely was serving his purpose, and soon he earned his namesake.

Word came from Castle Black that Cregan was going to return, that the Winter had been fended off once more. That brought joy foremost to you, but really all in Winterfell knew what that meant, even if Westeros didn’t. It was cause for celebration when they returned.

It also gave a false sense of security. Winter was gone, and so was the evil - but evil didn’t just come from the north. It could come from anywhere.

You’d settled into bed for the night, Striker laid beside you, head facing towards the door, and your hand rested on his flank as you looked over one last paper. He growled, and you petted his fur, silently reassuring him that it was just a guard passing outside - but then his head lifted, and turned toward your window. His sudden, still alertness put you on edge.

He’d been hostile before, but this was aggressive.

Candle flames flickered, Striker’s fur stood on end beneath your palm, the latch on your window clicked open, creaked open, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. A cloaked figure slipped into your room, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry for help - nor to remember anything Cregan had taught you. But you didn’t have to.

The figure, a man, unsheathed a knife, and with the glint of steel in the candlelight Striker struck. He surged off the bed with a vicious bark and bit into the man’s arm, snarling all the while and all but went to tearing the man to shreds.

The commotion had people coming in through the door, and the sight had you still rendered motionless and speechless.

The man’s cloak was torn away, and by now he was pinned to the floor, blood pooling on the stone as he fruitlessly tried to get Striker off him. You barely registered your guard, Gunther, asking you what was happening.

“He came in the window. He had a knife.” was all you could say. You could guess he was saying things to calm you down as he pried your fingers off your bedsheets that covered your swollen belly - he was probably trying to get you out of the room so you didn’t see the mess. It was too late for that. The man was a whimpering, bloodied mess on the floor by now, and no one had yet been brave enough to pry Striker’s jaw off his shoulder.

Gunther had an arm around you with your hand in his, guiding you away. Others attempted to move closer, either to help the man or take him away - but Striker was still growling.

“Striker, here.” you called, just finding your voice enough for it to carry over the commotion. The direwolf looked up, and seeing you being led away, he relented, fitting into your side with ease.

The three of you walked away. Now you were away from the scene you could think again and guess you were going down the hall to another room, one you decided you’d stay in until Cregan returned.

You looked down at Striker, threading your fingers though the fur at his neck.

“Good boy.” you said, stroking between his ears.

“He sure is, my lady.” Gunther said, “Who knows what could’ve happened if he didn’t act so fast.”

You smiled a little at that, at how right Cregan was in leaving the direwolf for you. He was meant to be company, a protector second - but tonight he proved to be as good, as loyal as any of your guards. He proved to be the real sigil of House Stark - just as Cregan told you he was.

You reached the door of your new room, and as your hand lifted off Striker’s back you noticed it chill with the cold night air. Turning your palm over, you saw red - and Striker’s nose made home in your fingers, licking away every drop as if it wasn’t ever there to begin with.

A week later, Cregan returned.

You had been in a foul mood for the past three days, since the maester had put you on strict bed rest because of the babe. Therefore you had been deemed unfit to greet your husband at the gate as he finally came home. In your defense, it definitely seemed like a good reason to be sour.

So you waited, sat on a chaise, with Striker’s head in your lap pressed to your stomach.

You could hear a commotion outsider, which only made your face scrunch in annoyance - not just at missing out but also at the pity looked you knew your handmaiden would be giving you. She offered to go fetch Cregan, and you nodded her leave with a wave of your hand.

“He will be here soon.” you said, cradling Striker’s muzzle in your palms.

“Indeed he will.” Cregan said.

“Oh, Lord Stark!” your handmaid said, startled. Your head turned, and you saw him standing in the doorway.

“Cregan!” you said, grin covering your face - and even after such a long time away, Striker seemed to recognize him, for he didn’t growl, and his tail started thumping against the rug.

“My love,” he said, shedding his great sword carelessly, and sunk to the floor beside where you sat. You heard your handmaid mumble a goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Are you alright?”

“I couldn’t be better now.” you replied, feeling tears welling in your eyes as you took in your husband's face for the first time in months. He looked tired, older, but as you took his face in your hands his cheeks felt exactly the same as they were when he left. “I missed you so much.”

“I heard about what happened the other night. I -” he said, mouth hanging open in what could’ve been shock, in his eyes there could’ve been anger. Vengeance would do nothing now, the man was dead, he bled out before anyone could decide to give him mercy - undeserved or otherwise. But as Cregan leant forward to hold you into his arms, his warmth felt like nothing else except fear. “I can’t believe I could’ve lost you.”

“You didn’t.” you said, taking an arm away from being wrapped around his shoulders to pull his face away from your chest. “You provided the means for me to stay safe long before you left. Striker was better than any guard. He was fearless when I was frozen. I owe him my life, all because of you.”

Cregan’s face turned soft, and he smiled at you. He leant forward and kissed you. For the first time in too long, his lips move against yours. You felt his jaw move beneath your palm as his fingers grazed your neck and held onto your hip. When he pulled away, he kept your head cradled close to his.

“I love you.” he said.

“I love you too.” you replied, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to your lips, then your cheek.

“Now tell me all about how my little girl is growing.”

#cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x you

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realcube · 6 months ago

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PERFORMANCE ENHANCER (18+)

synopsis : while in paris for the 2024 summer olympics, ushijima is advised that ejaculation releases stress and hence boosts athleticism. so, the night before his match, he asks for your help.

tws/tags : ts! ushiwaka, cursing, vaginal, riding, size kink, creampie, oral (giving), rough sex, slight hair pulling, petnames, praise — minors dni!

note : this is for the summer olympics collab by @tetzoro. tysm for allowing me to join <3 fyi studies differ but it is mostly shown that sex has no significant impact on athleticism. also smut is labelled if you want to cut to it lol — wc: 6k

it was never a question as to whether or not ushijima would qualify for the olympics; you knew for certain he was going to be on that team, so the only query that ever crossed your mind was when should you start packing?

usually that kind of mindset leads to disaster and disappoint, but in this case you were right to make that assumption because next thing you knew, you and ushijima were on a chartered flight straight to france, along with the rest of the japanese volleyball team.

you were excited to explore paris — the city of love — with your husband. although you were well aware that this was far from your honeymoon, and in fact more like a business trip for ushijima. hence, training will occupy most of his schedule, and any downtime he may have, he'll likely spend with his long-distance best friend tendou, who you both haven't seen since your wedding two years ago.

having made peace with this fact, you hung around on the main street, poking around in some luxury stores while ushijima visited the chocolaterie tendou works at. his friend was aware that he qualified for the olypmics and would be coming to paris, but it was still astounding to see ushijima walk through the front door of his shop, in the flesh.

with a massive grin, they hug and catch up with each other, discussing all the new things that have happened in their lives since they last saw other. well, tendou did most of the talking, but ushijima did make a couple of brief contributions about his thriving marriage and volleyball career.

"so," tendou hums with his elbow propped up on the table and his chin resting on his knuckles, "how are you feeling about your match against argentina?" he quirks a brow.

"good."

despite his curt response and dry demeanour, tendou can tell simply by ushijima's subtle mannerisms that there is something weighing on his mind. "oh, c'mon, mr perfect. let's get deep!" he urges, and ushijima knits his brows in thought.

what he's experiencing is so complex and foreign, he can't quite put a finger on it. he needs a couple of moments to find a way to describe it. "stressed. representing japan in an international tournament is a lot of pressure." he's been under pressure before though and prospered, so he doesn't understand why this is any different.

"huh, who would've thought? the almighty super ace of the century is finally feelin' the heat?" tendou exaggerates his syllables and narrows his eyes to look at ushiwaka with an amused expression, but all he gets is blank stare in return, so he continues, "well, you've got no chance of winning if you're nervous, that's for sure."

he says it so nonchalantly, it causes ushijima to falter, "what?" of course, that's not his desired outcome, and tendou seems to know what he is talking about, so wakatoshi asks, "what can i do to win?"

"not lose." tendou titters to himself, but ushijima's piercing stare persists. "you need to release the stress! free yourself of all your worldly doubts. luckily for you, my good friend, i know how you can do that."

"how?" ushijima is quick to respond.

tendou smirks and leans across the table until his face is inches away from ushijima's. "you need to beat it."

"beat what?"

"masturbate!" tendou yells, accompanied with an exasperated sigh, as he falls back into his chair. despite how they were having this conversation in the back of the store, tendou exclaimed that word loud enough to cause some customers browsing in the front to tilt their heads. "when you finish, not only does it it release sperm, but it also lets out all your pent-up fears and worries."

ushijima raises an eyebrow in doubt, which prompts tendou to elaborate, "also, when you orgasm, hormones pump through your body that kill all the stress chemicals. that's why it feels so good!"

seeing that ushijima is still suspicious, tendou throws his arms up in defeat, "fine! don't believe me if you want, but just know this information was told to me by a reliable and knowledgeable source: shirabu."

"shirabu kenjirō?"

when tendou hums in agreement, ushijima takes a moment to reflect. last he heard, shirabu is a medical student, studying to become a doctor, and they don't let just anyone into med school. additionally, biology and health is in shirabu's realm of expertise, so it would make sense for ushijima to take his advice.

with a nod of resounding certainty, ushijima declares proudly, "okay. i will masturbate."

"great. glad i could help." tendou grins, leaning his cheek onto his hand, "but you don't have to do it yourself. that was just an example. you should do whatever will make you finish—..."

tendou's voice trails off as he searches for the right word, "hardest. so in your case, that might not be masturbating. i mean, you've got a real pretty wife."

though he wasn't keen on tendou calling you 'real pretty' in that suggestive tone, ushijima kept that comment inside, and instead said, "i think i know what you meant."

tendou wishes he could just leave the conversation at that and move on, but knowing his thick-skulled friend, he had to confirm, "what do i mean?"

"my wife should masturbate on my behalf."

"no!"

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

eventually, ushijima may have understood what tendou was talking about. he was still sceptical about the whole thing but as the game grew closer and closer, he found himself becoming desperate for any solution to cure his volleyball nerves.

so, once the night before his match arrived, he figured there was no harm in trying.

you had just come out of the bathroom with your hair down and dripping, and your salacious body clad only in a short towel that didn't leave very much to the imagination; as your tits were threatening to escape with every movement you made, and the bottom of your perky ass was just peeking out. he watches intently from the bed. it's as though you knew what he had planned.

and perhaps you did, considering how he urged you to get in the shower as soon as the two of you got home from your excursions. due to the fact that he has a very strict sleeping schedule and needs to be in bed by 22 at the latest, which means you guys need to start having sex by 21. he lasts a while.

"(y/n)." the simple act of uttering your name in his husky voice already has you scrambling over to him, kneeling beside him on the covers.

"yes?" you respond with a cute twinkle in your eyes. ever doting and caring: one of the many things he loves about you.

"i am stressed for the game against argentina tomorrow."

you frown, already had the inkling that something was bothering him. "i'm sorry, toshi." you rest your head on his shoulder, nuzzling into him as you stroke his muscular chest, "it's completely normal to feel that way, especially since you'll be competing against your archenemy: tōru oikawa."

he isn't sure what you mean by that — him and oikawa are on decent terms — but he enjoys your comforting words so he allows you to witter on without interruption.

"i'm also sorry that you felt as though you couldn't tell me this sooner; we could've done something about it. still, if there's anything i can do to help now, just say the word."

"sex." he responds plainly, taking your request literally.

"huh?" you stutter, unsure if you heard him correctly.

naturally, ushijima misinterprets your confusion and takes the opportunity to explain what he was told, "tendou and shirabu said that ejaculation let outs tension, so i would like your help with that. tendou mentioned that i could do it on my own, but i would prefer to do it with you."

your jaw hung open and your eyes darted across your husband's face, unsure of what to address first: his sweet desire to make love to you on such a special night, or his impressive use of the word 'ejaculation'.

clutching the fabric of his shirt, you pressed a long kiss to his lips, tasting his minty breath, before squealing, "yes, of course we can!" you throw one leg around him so you are now straddling his lap. he smiles at your sweet reaction and places a strong hand your waist to hold you in place.

while running your hands reassuringly over his arms and admiring his toned biceps, you pout, "oh but toshi, we can't have you waking up all sore in the morning." you point out, however it's as though a solution to your problem occurs to you instantly as you blurt out, with wide eyes and a cheery smile, "but that's okay! i can just ride you, yeah?" you eagerly tease him by grinding your hips against his already throbbing erection.

using his grip on you, he puts a swift end to your antics, and your whole body is no match for the strength in his right arm alone. "that sounds like a lot of effort." ushijima was aware of how long he can go for, and it left him exhausted most of the time, so he can't imagine how you would feel after doing all the work for such an extended period of time. you were just his precious wife after all, deserving of being spoiled and catered for — in bed or otherwise — so riding wasn't an act he ever expected from you.

"it will be, but it's only for one night and i'd do anything for you." he reassure him while laying against his chest, as his hand stroked your back. with your ear pressed against him, you could hear the faint drumming of his heartbeat.

so selfless too, another thing he loved about you. he smiled when you leaned into his embrace, carefully running his hand up and down your spine, as though you were the most fragile thing he's ever touched and may shatter at any moment.

"thank you, my angel."

oh, this man is horny. typically he only calls you nicknames when he is fucked out. even then, they were mostly limited to 'dear' or 'honey'. not that you minded, hearing him call you by your real name was hot, also the scarcity made the times when he did call you petnames all the more sweet.

so to hear him call you 'angel' before you've even started is very telling as to how badly he needs you. more than he lets on, that's for sure. such a stoic man; even after years of being together, you still find it difficult to read him sometimes, but the way he hardens underneath you is unmistakable.

[NSFW]

wearing nothing underneath the robe, you grind down against his clothed cock and he almost winces at the warmth of your bare pussy. so sensitive that he can feel every curve and dip of your needy cunt, and he revels at how your folds kiss his firm length.

in order to supress his bubbling moans, he hurriedly locks lips with you, fixing his hand onto your back so he can pull you closer. the passion from your lips against his is addicting and the heat of your body against his just feels so right. he wants nothing more than for you to melt into him so you can become one.

though he doesn't like how he can't feel your pretty tits pressed against him, only the fluffy fabric of your robe. his hands find their way to your shoulders, where he roughly tugs off your robe in one swift motion, casting it to the side.

the fiery kiss only ends when you gasp at the sudden chilliness that washes over you. the cold is combatted by ushijima's strong embrace as he holds your delicate figure against his own. it's nice to be his strong arms, it makes you feel so secure and you fit into him perfectly.

meanwhile, ushijima is focused on the lewd sensation of your tits squished against him. being able to feel your hard nipples poke him through the thin fabric of his shirt made it difficult to resist flipping you over and fucking you from behind, with one hand messily tangled in your hair while it hits it raw. like he usually does.

his kisses trail from your cheeks, across your jaw and down your neck. naturally, at that point you pull away from his embrace so he can continue lower, until he had your bud locked between his teeth. sucking and flicking it with his tongue while his hand worked at fondling your other tit, slowly falling so he was caressing your waist.

now that you've retracted, you take this opportunity to tug at the elastic of his shorts, pulling at it just enough for his aching erection to spring free. you've experienced ushijima's size before, but it's still baffling every time you see it. how a nice girl like you could take a monster like him.

drool pricked at the corner of your lips at the sight of girth, admiring the beast in your hands. ushijima stopped sucking on your tits when he realised you had let out his cock, and he couldn't help but smirk as he watched you idly toy with it while staring intently.

his poor angel. he knew how nervous you could get sometimes before taking him and he wasn't one to rush you, so he sat in comfortable silence, admiring your gorgeous figure and stroking your hip with his thumb. though the more he looked at you, the more he longed to dive right back into your tits and have another taste. or push you onto your back and explore between your thighs with his mouth.

though his raging fantasies were interrupted as you finally take his cock. not into your pussy, but rather, your mouth. that wasn't what ushijima was expecting, but he'd never complain. not when it comes to your head. how the warmth of your mouth consumed him, and your tongue licked seductively down his shaft. of course, you were never able to take his whole length but that's not your fault; most amateurs couldn't. and he preferred it like this, actually. he liked seeing you with your cheeks puffed out — his coarse fingers brushing your stray hair away from your face so he could witness every lewd detail — and watching you struggle to deepthroat him, coughing and spluttering whenever you'd try. just a reminder of how diligent you are when it comes to pleasuring him.

a layer of your spit shines on his cock, coating him so nicely, as you continue to suck him off. your movements are slow but thorough, gripping him with his lips as tightly as you can when you drag upwards, and ensuring your tongue rubs properly against the underside of his shaft. you were doing so well, as a reward you received the occasional hushed grunt from your husband.

usually this gentle approach would be the correct one, as ushijima prefers a moderate pace to begin with, that gradually builds up into a frantic, hasty one. however, today there was just something so tempting about you that he couldn't resist. maybe it was the obscene way your plump lips wrapped around his girth. or maybe it was how your glossy eyes looked to him for approval after every frivolous attempt to deepthroat. at which, he'd always flash you a brief yet kind smile, sometimes even mutter something along the lines of 'you're so cute' or 'good job, baby.'

regardless, there was an allure about you that he couldn't quite explain, but it is what triggered him to abruptly grab you by the hair and yank you off his cock and into a rough kiss. he just couldn't get enough of those gorgeous lips, and he utilised his grip on the back of your head to pull you in as close as physically possible. he wanted to feel every inch of your nude body against him.

after your initial shock to his actions, you soon melt into the kiss and move your lips rhythmically against his, allowing his tongue to slip past your defences and into your mouth. and while all your senses were saturated by the intoxicating kiss, you almost didn't notice when ushijima's other hand — that was previously groping your ass — sneaked down between your wet folds and teased the entrance of your pussy.

you moaned into the kiss at the stimulation of your needy hole, but despite your longing, you knew it wasn't right. you exit the kiss only partly, and say, virtually still upon his lips, "toshi.. don't. you need to save the energy in your arms."

"i always have energy for you." he counters, as his finger threatens to penetrate you.

"let's not risk it." you smile, pushing yourself back so you are sat upright on his lap with each leg on either side of him. aligning his cock with your hole, you notice he's still slightly damp with your spit, but not enough to make for sufficient lubricant, so you run his dick between your lips, allowing him to soak up your wetness.

he grunted at how your wet folds stroked his length, as his hand wandered up from your shoulder to your face so he could cup your cheek. "can you handle it, (y/n)? it's okay if you can't." of course he's been in you before but in the past, extensive prep is required before you can even fathom the idea of taking him. and on this occasion, you've not undergone any preparation at all. "i don't want to hurt you."

he doesn't mean to sound patronising; that's just how he expresses concern. well, maybe he does mean it a little, but that is only because the bedroom is the place where he gets to be the smart one, considering how quickly you get fucked dumb by his massive dick, unable to speak right or think straight.

"i can and i will, toshi! i was made to fit you." you whine, and you were quick to try and prove it by letting yourself relax onto his cock. however, you reacted by jolting, as the tip alone had your walls stretching and sore. you bit your bottom lip to try cope with discomfort, as your legs trembled at the strain.

"made to fit me?" he smirked, amused by your proclamation and how it was immediately followed by proof of his doubts. the way your body writhed said more than enough. "it's too much for you, sweetheart."

using the back of your hand to cover your tense expression, you shook your head, "no.. it's not." you squeak and mewl as you lower yourself on his cock, the wetness caused by the congestive sensation being just enough to make the descent bearable.

"mmph— too big, toshi." you moaned, and hearing his name fall from your lips in such a dirty manner send all his blood rushing straight to his cock. a part of him wanted to grasp your shoulders and push you all the way down to his base. but the other part knew that he'd destroy your insides if he did that. he'll have to learn to be patient; the burden of having a wife with such a tight little cunt.

your sopping pussy clamping down on him caused a lustful haze to cloud his mind, so he was barely able to choke out, "hurts?"

you nod meekly.

a shaky sigh huffs out of his nose, as he tries to deal with your gummy walls swallow the head of his cock. his eyes were fixated on where you two connect, your hips were quivering yet you had barely covered half of him. slick from your moist cunt seeped down the rest of his shaft that you had yet to take. "you don't have to." he reassured you, a big hand grazing over the silky skin of your stomach, then resting to the side of your tit while he idly thumbed your sensitive nipples.

"but i wanna." you whine, sinking down on his cock ever so slightly, but even taking a couple additional inches caused an intense abdominal pain, resulting in quiet sobs hiccupping from you. it burned and stained your body in such a delicious way. your hungry pussy gnawing at his cock was addicting, and even when it poked you in the most personal and irregular places you still couldn't get enough. in fact, it made you want to fit his whole length even more, because seeing stars is always the goal with wakatoshi.

ushijima swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat while he was admiring your pretty pussy graciously accepting more of his cock. "my beautiful girl.." he cooed at you, paying close attention to the way your face twisted in pain as you sunk further down, fighting to reach the base, although you were getting closer.

more lubricant would've been useful, perhaps it would've got you started quicker like it usually does but a small part of him enjoyed you watching you struggle a bit; it's a display of how devoted you are. "do it." he grunted.

motivated by his firm command, you keep pushing down on his cock, no matter how tough it may be. your eyes are squeezed shut and your husband's strong hand cradles your ass just as you finally made it down to his base. your breathing is already heavy so you pause for catch your breath and marinate in the sensation of his cock brushing your cervix and visibly protruding from your lower stomach.

during this time, ushijima's clutch slipping from your ass, over your folds until he was rigorously palming your throbbing clit. you recoil a bit from his arousing touch, and grumble, "arms.." referring to preserving strength for tomorrow's match.

begrudgingly, he took his hand away. a whole night of sex without putting effort into pleasuring you didn't feel right to ushijima. the way he showed affection and that he cares about you is by rubbing that puffy clit, or letting you lie down while he stood at the end of the bed and ramming into you from behind, not stopping until he had you creaming all over his fat cock. so refraining from pleasing you didn't come naturally to him.

but he must not realise the effect his dick alone has you, especially without much lube — the friction of him dragging against your clammy insides was enough to have you teetering on your first orgasm already.

once you were ready, you braced yourself by placing your hands on his chest and used your knees and arms to supports you while you slid up his length. your insides freeing from his congestion was a relief yet simultaneously so empty, it's as though you craved it as soon as each inch withdrew from you.

"gah!— toshi, feels.." your words get lost in a chorus of your own staggered moans, "s' good."

wakatoshi normally wasn't very vocal in bed at all, so it was very telling that the combination of your tight pussy and unintentional dirty-talk already had him grunting and moaning shallowly under his breath.

as he watched you lift yourself up, he pet your leg soothingly, "that's right, princess— hnn—" he caught himself and clenched his jaw before an unwelcome noise left him, "keep going."

soon you were able to build momentum and start riding him properly. it took a moment to develop a suitable rhythm and to stop your yourself from wincing every time you sunk down on him, but once your hole built more slicker and wetter, it became easier.

it's not long before you're able to glide up and down his shaft with relative ease, whimpers bubbling in your throat from the luxurious satisfaction. at first you went steady, purposefully to savour each and every delicious inch of your well endowed husband.

going at your own rate and slowly bobbing on his cock was practical for you — enough stimulation to have your knees weak already. but your unrushed method wasn't doing it for him. not to say he wasn't entirely entranced by the way your pussy devours him and rubs against his raw flesh, but he need more of you in order to cum. he wants you to be bouncing on his dick until he's completely fucked your brains out and you've milked him dry.

"(y/n)." he states, while you were leaned forward, with your arms holding yourself upright on his chest while your hips got to work in rocking against him. your head hung low because you were concentrated on riding him, and your hair partially fell into your face.

but upon hearing his stern voice, you garner enough strength to lift your head to meet his molten brown eyes. he smiles at the lewd expression painted on your face; it served as a nice reminder that even a dribble of his cock was enough to drive you mad with bliss. he could tell by your watery eyes and your flickering grin that you fucking loved it.

"(y/n)." he repeats your name, though it's more breathy this time and he glances at the place where the two of you connect when he says it then, before he looks back at you expectantly. and of course, you know exactly what to you do.

you let out a deep sigh, drop your head and hope for the best — using your knees and hips to push yourself upwards so you can drop back down onto him at a heightened pace. every time his dick pierced into you, there was a meaty stretch of your walls — a salacious ache that you never could comprehend because as soon as you experienced it, you'd immediately shoot off his cock, then sink back down onto it, over and over again.

you didn't understand what you were feeling down there but you knew for certain was good. your back arched into the filthy euphoria and moans were spilling from you like a flood. "ngh— fuck! stop.." you whine, despite how you were responsible for the sharp jolts of electricity shooting through you; and you were the one hungrily bouncing on his cock like a desperate slut. impaling yourself with his length until your legs were shuddering beneath you.

when it got so fast, the riding became sloppy, you'd hardly touch the base before you'd pull yourself up. likewise, you'd rarely reach the tip before sinking down again. but you were just too eager to pay attention to these small details. alas your movements are no longer deliberate and every buck of your hips is senseless and fuelled by pure lust and hedonism.

it got harder when you could feel your orgasm impending. the pulsing in your abdomen wracking through your entire body, tingling and making it difficult for you to keep bobbing on his cock when your stomach was on the verge of exploding and your legs were ready to give out under you.

but ushijima's intense glare on your exposed, shaking figure brought you motivation to persevere. as well as his protective hands that stroked your trembling thighs, while gazing at you with adoration and desire. he wasn't a man of many words but the way he looked at you spoke a thousand.

and these sappy eyes only faltered when your walls clenching around his dick eventually led to him being knocked over the edge and spilling his first orgasm all into your homey cunt. a raspy groan was torn out of him and his eyes flutter close while his seed pump through your insides; the thick warmth spreading through your core caused your eyes to twist shut, and force of his load pushed you off his cock.

he had made a vulgar mess of his precious girl, your little hole was dripping with cum. to be stuffed with your husband's fluid love was so filling yet comforting — and you were truly stuffed, the volume of his load replacing the mass of his cock. "thank you, babe.." you pant, head still spinning from your frantic bouncing.

"thank you." he corrected, eyes trained on you still sitting atop his flaccid cock, but it hardened with every passing second, at the sight of your pert nipples teasing him as your chest rose and fell, or your pretty lips he longed to kiss passionately. "two rounds is hard-work, dear. i'm impressed."

perhaps you were just to fucked out to count. still, you gulp to clear your dry throat and splutter, "two?"

"yes." ushijima confirmed. though strand of his hair still clung to his shining cheeks and forehead, he seemed to have overcome the post-orgasmic exhaustion already. "so there's one more left."

you groan. you should've expected this considering usually ushijima can go for upwards of four rounds, but it's different when you are doing all the work. "but 'm tired!"

"two ejaculations are recommended to get rid of all the stress." he explains, but from how you wearily hang your head and you're quick breaths, he could tell you weren't listening.

"one more, (y/n)."

"but toshi!.." you whine in retaliation.

"yes, my angel?"

you narrow your eyes at him and although he wears that big, dumb look on his face you tell he knows what he is doing. he is aware of the effect those cute nicknames have on you, especially in his deep, husky voice. how can you refuse? plus a small part of you wants to keep going anyway, and not stop until you forget your own name,

you huff out your nose and lift your hips over his tip once more — which has already fully stiffened — then abruptly drop them, taking his big length in one swift gulp. one that caused you to recoil and squeal, and even wakatoshi to gasp slightly at being enveloped by your tight insides again so fast.

it's easier to fit him this time because your hole is already drenched with his cum and your own, but his dick was still as big as it was a minute ago, and it still strained your walls— having to contort beyond their means to accommodate his girth. " toshi, shhuh.. shit— too big!" you whimper.

"not for my girl." he grunts, a firm grip on the fat of your thigh while you frantically ride him, "make it fit."

"mph, mkay.." your knuckles white as you hold onto his shirt for dear life, mustering every ounce of energy you have to keep thrusting yourself up and down on your husband's mighty cock, but every part of you gave away your exhaustion: beads of sweat budding on your forehead, shaking muscles and rapid breaths.

ushijima could tell you were struggling and that only egged him even closer orgasm. though he was kind enough to offer you some grunts of reassurance between moans. "my perfect girl, go on.."

there were moments when then the bursts of pleasure were drowned out by the futility of repeatedly bouncing on his stubborn erection but you persisted, even when your legs had virtually gone numb and your sore pussy was still being rammed into.

"can't.." you whimper, your knees now beginning to wobble with each bounce, making your position unstable until wakatoshi steadied you by the ass.

"so tight, princess. i need you to." he grits, grabbing your ass to aid you in your staggered movements, guiding you up and down on his soiled length but even then, your aching legs prevented you from riding with any real vigour, "i'm close."

despite his encouragement, you couldn't find the strength to continue and your hips gradually decreased in ferocity until you lay dejected against his chest, feebly bucking your hips while his cock stirred inside your sticky walls.

you mutters all sorts of slurred gibberish that resembled 'sorry', with your face pressed against his chest as he rubbed comforting circles on your back.

"don't be sorry." he says, hands fixing themselves to your hips, "you're still going to help me, angel."

with his tight grip on your hips, he lifts you as though you're weightless and pushes you back down his length, all the way to base which makes you shiver as his tip intrudes your cervix. initially shocked, you gape at the determines look on your husband's face as he uses your weak body as his own little fucktoy, slamming you down on his cock over and over. but it doesn't take long for you to melt into the atmosphere and get turned on by the way he manhandles you, treating you like his personal property.

the power his strong hands hold over you is indescribable. his dick ploughs into your sopping hole at an ungodly pace — so fast and rough your tits shook and it left your limb neck nodding along with each bounce. yet all you could focus on his cock stretching out your insides, hitting all the right spots on your sensitive walls.

your hair thrashed about too, with every violent snap of ushijima's arms, and it wasn't long before the heat pooling at your core came gushing out. "tosh— hhn— 'm comi—" the words couldn't even form on your tongue completely before they were crushed and swept away in a flood of melodious moans and sobs.

as you climaxed, your back arched into him and your coated walls began to convulse around his brimming cock, which served as the catalyst to him shooting his second load into your already filthy pussy.

your tight cunt wrung him dry for every last drop, and even through his high, he held you through yours, as you twitched and screamed with pleasure in his arms from the most overwhelming and satisfying orgasm of your life. he kept you close, wrestling against his own muffled moans — they were hard to suppress when your hole clamped down on him like it never wanted to let go.

soon, the intensity had faded, and you were left lying on his chest, enjoying each other's embrace and listening to each other's heartbeat while he was buried inside you. once you both found your bearings, he looked to you for approval before easing you off his cock.

you hissed at first; the feeling of emptiness had become so oddly foreign to you. and it stung a little but it was so unbelievably worth it.

"thank you, (y/n)." wakatoshi mutters against your forehead, tickling you a bit, "i'm proud of you, and grateful to have you as my wife."

"i'm grateful for you too, wakatoshi." you muse, mind still a bit hazy, "proud of me for what?"

"for lasting so long. that must have been a lot of effort."

you scoff, idly tracing hearts on his chest with your finger, "yeah, right. i didn't even make it through the whole thing, you literally had to carry me at the end."

"that's because you're not used to it." he explains kindly, as he shifts his hand to take yours, stroking the back of it with his thumb, "but it's okay. you will receive plenty of training when we go home."

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

BONUS

tw// oral (receiving)

the whole arena erupted into cheers when japan scored the final point against argentina and won the match! the audience were screaming and the players were all doing celebrations of their own — the atmosphere was simply electric and joyus.

from the stands, you looked at your boyfriend who was standing on the court, staring back at you with a cute little smile on his face. or at least, that's what it looked like from where you were sitting, so you blew him a kiss.

you later realised that it was probably a devious smirk, as that was the moment when the ejacultion hypothesis was confirmed, and he was probably thinking about the new pre-game ritual that had been established.

it's useful though. think of it like this: whenever he has a match, you also get some training!

but of course, you would only agree to take part in this 'pre-game ritual' if certain criteria were met. meaning that after every game, ushijima has to dick you down good and bury his head between your legs, eating you out for minimum ten minutes (twenty if he wins).

#ushijima smut #ushijima x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! smut #ushijima x you #ushijima x y/n #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima imagine #haikyuu ushijima #wakatoshi x reader #ushiwaka x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu time skip

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hisfavegirl · 1 month ago

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Shadows - Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen.

summary : your marriage to aemond was based solely on his obsession and regret for not being able to have your sister, helaena. you were just a shadow of your sister in his eyes, and you were determined to make him realize that he was wrong.

You leaned your head against the headboard of your bed, fingers lightly gripping the book in your hands. The soft glow of the nearby candles illuminated the delicate pages, the words blurring slightly as your mind wandered. It was a gift from your mother, given to you on your 18th nameday just yesterday. Her thoughtful gesture had filled you with warmth, a rare comfort in the cold, stony halls of the Red Keep.

Your eyes shifted to the door as it creaked open slowly. For a moment, you thought it might be the wind, but then you saw one of your maids step inside, her eyes lowered respectfully. She curtsied, folding her hands neatly in front of her.

“Princess,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Prince Aemond has asked for you to come to his chambers.”

Your heart tensed at her words. It was late. The moon was high in the sky, and most of the Keep had retired for the night. For a moment, you considered refusing. You were tired, and the quiet of your chambers felt safe, peaceful. But you knew Aemond. He was not a man to be denied.

With a quiet sigh, you closed the book gently, running your fingers over its cover before placing it on the side table. The weight of duty settled over your shoulders like a heavy cloak. Your maid moved forward, ready to help you with your robe, but you raised a hand, stopping her.

“I’ll go on my own,” you said firmly, and the maid bowed her head, stepping aside.

The halls were dim, lit only by the flickering glow of torches mounted on the stone walls. Your footsteps echoed softly with every step, and with each echo, your heart grew heavier. The walk to Aemond’s chambers felt longer than usual, each step carrying with it a mix of anticipation and unease.

When you reached the door, the guards outside gave you a brief nod, stepping aside to let you in. You paused, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before pushing the heavy door open.

The warmth of the room hit you first — the glow of the fire crackling in the hearth bathed the chamber in a soft orange light. The rich scent of burning wood mingled with the faint hint of leather and steel. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for him.

There he was. Aemond sat in the large chair by the fire, legs spread slightly, one arm draped lazily over the armrest while the other toyed with the pommel of his dagger. His eye was sharp, focused, and his face unreadable, save for the slight curve of his lips — not quite a smile, but something close to it.

His eye lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. He tilted his head slightly, his silver hair falling over his shoulder.

“Come in, wife,” he said softly, his voice smooth and sharp, like a blade hidden beneath silk.

You stepped inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft thud. You didn’t move further, waiting for him to speak, to explain why he had summoned you so late. But he didn’t. He just sat there, watching you, his gaze as steady and unyielding as stone.

“You called for me, husband,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, calm.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together. His gaze never left yours. “Is it so strange that I wish to see my wife?”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning you couldn’t quite grasp. Aemond was never direct — not with his words, not with his emotions. Everything he said, everything he did, had layers beneath it. And you had spent far too much time trying to unravel them.

“I was reading,” you replied, lifting your chin slightly, not wanting to seem small before him. “A gift from mother.”

Aemond’s gaze flickered, barely a shift, but you noticed it. His eye lingered on you longer now, sharp as a blade, as if he were trying to read you the same way you tried to read him.

“Our mother gives you books,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “I give you more than that.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You hated the way he twisted things, how every word out of his mouth was both truth and poison.

“Is that why you called me here?” you asked, your patience thinning. “To remind me of what you give me?”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, dark and quiet. He tapped the pommel of his dagger twice against his knee, his gaze never straying from you.

“No, my sweet wife,” he said, rising slowly from the chair. Each step he took toward you echoed in the quiet chamber, slow and deliberate. “I called you here to remind you of something far more important.”

Your heart began to race as he closed the distance between you. He stood before you now, taller, broader, his gaze pinning you in place like a hawk cornering its prey. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Everything you have,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, “is mine.”

Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling a little faster now. His fingers lingered on the side of your face, the touch deceptively gentle, but the weight of his words pressed down like iron shackles.

“You know that, don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you more closely. His eye, clear and sharp, searched your face for an answer. “Say it, wife.”

Your throat felt tight, your pride warring with the reality of your position. But you knew what he wanted. He wanted to hear it from you, to have you say the words so he could hear them aloud.

“Yes,” you whispered, barely able to force it out. “I know.”

His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before he let it fall away. His gaze softened, but only slightly. He leaned in close, his lips just a breath away from your ear.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Remember it.”

You stood there, your eyes fixed on the flickering flames in the hearth, your heart growing heavier with each passing second. The warmth of the fire did nothing to chase away the cold you felt within. You glanced at Aemond, his figure moving with slow, deliberate steps as he circled you like a predator stalking its prey.

Your patience thinned, your voice sharper than before. “Why did you call me here at this hour, husband?” you asked, turning your head to follow his movements. “I’m tired.”

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze was steady, piercing, his lips curling into that faint, knowing smile that always made you feel as if he knew something you didn’t. His eye, sharp as a blade, watched you with unnerving intensity.

He reached out, fingers brushing against the loose strands of your hair. He toyed with it, twisting a lock of silver around his fingers as if it were silk. The gentle tug made you inhale sharply, but you stood your ground, refusing to let him see how he unsettled you.

“You shouldn’t leave your hair down like this,” he muttered, his voice a low hum, almost thoughtful. “It makes you look too much like her.”

Your breath hitched. Your eyes narrowed as you looked up at him, trying to read the meaning behind his words.

His fingers lingered in your hair a moment longer before he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. He tilted his head, his lips brushing lightly against your forehead, an intimacy so gentle it could have been mistaken for tenderness — if only it had been real.

But then, he whispered her name.

“Helaena.”

Your entire body tensed. The name echoed in your mind, louder than the crackling fire behind you. You froze, your breath caught in your chest as if he’d driven a dagger through your ribs.

Slowly, you pulled back, just enough to see his face. His expression was unreadable — calm, cold, as if nothing had happened. But you knew. You knew.

All at once, it became so clear. Every glance, every touch, every moment you had tried to convince yourself that maybe he saw you — it was never you. It was her. It had always been her. Not because he loved her more, but because you looked like her. Because you shared the same silver hair, the same eyes, the same face.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as anger and something far more painful welled up inside you. You pulled your head away from his touch, your eyes burning with an emotion you weren’t ready to name.

“You called me here for this?” you said, your voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “To remind me that I’m just a shadow of her?”

Aemond tilted his head, his gaze cool and unaffected. “You are not a shadow, wife,” he said, his tone too smooth, too controlled. “You are the reflection of something I cannot hold.”

The words stung worse than if he’d slapped you. Your throat tightened, but you refused to look away from him. You would not let him see you break.

“Then perhaps you should call for her next time,” you said, your voice sharp as broken glass. “Not me.”

His eye flashed with something — surprise, anger, or perhaps amusement. It was always so hard to tell with Aemond. But you didn’t wait to find out. You turned on your heel, your steps firm and unyielding as you moved toward the door. Your fingers curled around the handle, gripping it tightly.

“You forget yourself, wife,” Aemond said, his voice louder now, commanding. “I called for you. Not her.”

You froze, your back to him, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. Slowly, you turned your head, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder.

“No,” you said quietly but firmly, your eyes burning with something far stronger than pain. “You called for the part of me that reminds you of her.”

His face hardened, his jaw tightening as his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t deny it.

Without another word, you pushed the door open and stepped out, letting it close behind you with a dull thud. The sound echoed through the corridor, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the storm inside your heart.

You walked away, refusing to look back. This time, you wouldn’t let him see you break.

You walked slowly, each step heavier than the last as if the weight of Aemond’s words had settled on your shoulders like an unshakable curse. The cold stone beneath your feet echoed with every step, the silence of the Red Keep pressing down on you from all sides. Your breath was shallow, your chest tight with a storm of emotions you couldn’t quite name—anger, hurt, resentment, and something far more dangerous: love.

His voice lingered in your mind, his words like poisoned thorns that refused to be pulled free. “You are the reflection of something I cannot hold.” No matter how many times you tried to push it away, it echoed louder. A reflection. Not a person. Not you.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, grounding you in the present. But it wasn’t enough to silence the flood of memories that surged forward.

You remembered the day you gave birth to your first daughter—his daughter. The pain, the exhaustion, and the overwhelming relief when you heard her first cry. You had waited for him, had told the maester to send word to Aemond the moment it was over. You wanted him to be the first to see her, to hold her, to tell you that you had done well.

But he never came.

You had waited for hours, lying in that bed with your newborn daughter cradled against your chest, her tiny hand clutching your finger. You had thought, he must be on his way. He’ll come. But he didn’t. Not that day. Not the next.

Later, you learned why.

He had been with her.

Your heart twisted in your chest at the memory. Your sister, Helaena, heavy with Aegon’s child, had been feeling unwell. He had stayed with her, comforting her, attending to her every need. Her. Not you. Not the mother of his child.

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now. You bit down on your lip, your head held high as you walked through the dimly lit halls. I will not cry for him. Not again.

When you reached your chambers, you pushed the door open with more force than necessary. The sharp creak of the hinges echoed like a scream. You stepped inside, slamming the door behind you, your breath shallow, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum.

Your eyes swept over the familiar room—the soft glow of the candles, the bed that suddenly felt far too large, the book your mother had gifted you still lying open where you’d left it. The sight of it brought a bitter smile to your face. Mother always said I was strong. She had believed in you, trusted in your strength. But right now, you felt so fragile, so breakable.

You leaned back against the door, sliding down until you sat on the cold floor, knees pulled up to your chest. Your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold the pieces together.

Why wasn’t I enough? The question clawed at your mind, a whisper that grew louder with every heartbeat. Why her?

You hated how much it hurt. Hated how much you still wanted him. Despite everything, you wanted him to choose you, to see you, to love you for you. Not because you shared Helaena’s face, not because you reminded him of something he could not have.

But you knew the truth. No matter how many children you gave him, no matter how many times you stood by his side, he would never look at you the way he looked at her. She was his comfort, his light in the darkness. And you? You were just the shadow she cast.

A sob built in your throat, but you pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling it before it could escape. Your chest ached with the weight of everything you had tried to hold in for so long. The pain, the jealousy, the love you still felt for him even when you knew it was foolish.

Minutes passed—maybe hours. You weren’t sure. But slowly, the tears dried, and the ache dulled into something colder, something harder. Your breathing steadied, your heart slowed, and the storm inside you quieted into a sharp, bitter calm.

You lifted your head, your eyes sharp with a new resolve. If he wanted a reflection, if he wanted something he could never have, then you would show him exactly what he had chosen to ignore.

If he will not love me, he will fear me.

The morning sun bathed the garden in a soft, golden glow, but your presence outshone it all. Each step you took was deliberate, purposeful, the soft rustle of your gown trailing behind you like the whisper of a storm about to break.

Today, you were different.

The gown you wore clung to you in ways it never had before — tailored perfectly to your figure, the fabric flowing like water over your curves. The sleeves were sheer, the neckline daring but elegant, revealing just enough to draw attention but not enough to be called improper. The color was striking, a rich, deep green that matched the jewels on Queen Alicent’s crown. It was a choice no one could ignore, and that was exactly what you intended.

The whispers began the moment you stepped into the garden. Servants and ladies alike glanced your way, their eyes narrowing with judgment, their murmurs growing louder as you passed.

“She’s trying too hard.”

“Did you see her dress? How shameless.”

“She’s just desperate for attention.”

The words floated around you like gnats, insignificant and easy to brush away. Your chin lifted higher, your gaze fixed straight ahead as if none of them existed. You could feel their stares, sharp as daggers, but you refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

Let them whisper. Let them stare. They will learn.

Your steps were slow but steady, the click of your heels on the stone path echoing with every stride. You felt powerful in a way you hadn’t before, as if each glance thrown your way was feeding something inside you. For so long, you had felt unseen, unheard. But not today. Today, you would be seen.

Ahead, you spotted familiar faces—ladies of the court gathered beneath the shade of a large tree, their eyes darting toward you like vultures watching prey. Their gazes lingered on you with envy, disapproval, and a hint of fear. Good.

You didn’t look away.

Instead, you met their eyes, one by one, holding their gazes with quiet defiance until each of them shifted uncomfortably, their confidence faltering under the weight of your stare. It felt satisfying, far more than you had expected. Let them know who I am.

Further down the path, you spotted him.

Aemond.

He stood near the edge of the garden, speaking with Ser Criston. His posture was as rigid as ever, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his gaze focused on whatever the knight was saying. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you knew he would. He always did.

Your heart tightened in your chest, that familiar ache threatening to return. But this time, you smothered it before it could take hold. No more waiting for him to see me. No more hoping for something that will never come.

With slow, deliberate grace, you continued down the path. You knew the moment he noticed you. His head tilted just slightly, his sharp gaze flickering toward you. His one violet eye narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he took in the sight of you.

You did not stop.

You did not lower your gaze.

You let him look. Let him see you.

When you passed him, you didn’t glance his way, didn’t offer him a word, not even a nod. It was as if he were the one invisible now.

You felt his gaze burn into your back as you walked away, each step as steady as the beat of a war drum. Let him stare. Let him wonder. Let him want.

Today, you had become something more.

And from this moment on, you would never let anyone, not even him, make you feel small again.

The soft, sweet voice of your daughter calling your name pulled you from your thoughts. You turned, and there she was — your little girl, her silver hair catching the sunlight like strands of pure silk. Her wide violet eyes, so full of warmth and innocence, gazed up at you with pure adoration.

A smile tugged at your lips, softening your expression as you knelt in front of her. You brushed a strand of hair from her face, pressing a gentle kiss to her round cheek. Her giggle was like music, light and pure, easing the weight you had been carrying in your heart.

“Mother,” she said, tugging lightly on your hand, her small fingers curling around yours. “Grandmother wants to see you.”

Her voice was so sure, as if she had taken it upon herself to be the messenger of important news. You nodded, letting out a small breath of amusement. Of course, mother would send for you.

“Then we shouldn’t keep her waiting, should we?” you replied softly, brushing your thumb over her tiny fingers. She beamed up at you, eyes bright with joy.

Hand in hand, the two of you walked together, her small steps quick and eager to match your stride. She hummed a soft, tuneless melody as she skipped beside you, her little feet tapping lightly on the stone path. You glanced down at her, heart swelling with love at the sight of her carefree happiness.

But then, you felt it.

A shift in the air, like a sudden chill despite the sun’s warmth. The weight of a gaze heavy on your back — sharp, unyielding, and far too familiar. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Him.

Aemond.

His presence was as tangible as a blade pressed against your spine, the intensity of his stare burning through every layer of you. You knew that gaze too well — piercing, calculating, always watching. Your fingers curled just a little tighter around your daughter’s hand, grounding yourself in her warmth.

Don’t look back.

You kept walking, kept your chin high, your pace steady. You would not turn. You would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how aware you were of him. He always looks. He always watches. But he never comes closer, does he?

Your daughter’s humming continued, her small, soft voice unbothered by the storm that raged behind you. You envied her innocence, her blissful unawareness of the complexities that twisted between you and her father.

You could hear his footsteps now, slow but deliberate, following at a distance. His shadow lingered just beyond the edge of your vision, never too far away, but never close enough.

Always watching. Always waiting.

But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t turn. Not today.

Today, you had more important things to do than worry about a man who only knew how to watch from the shadows. Your daughter’s little fingers tugged at your hand, and you glanced down at her, your heart softening all over again.

“Will Grandmother have lemon cakes?” she asked, her voice hopeful, eyes shining with excitement.

You smiled, leaning down just a bit to whisper, “I think she might, but only if you ask her nicely.”

Her giggle filled the air again, sweet and unburdened by the weight of everything you carried. And for a moment, just a moment, you let that warmth chase away the cold burn of Aemond’s gaze.

Let him watch.

You had more important things to hold on to.

As you stepped into your mother’s chambers, the soft hum of quiet activity greeted you. Alicent stood near the window, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Her handmaidens worked around her, adjusting the delicate green fabric of her gown and brushing her auburn hair until it gleamed. The faint scent of sage and chamomile filled the air, bringing a sense of calm to the room.

Her eyes lifted from the embroidery in her hands as you entered, and a gentle smile tugged at her lips. “There you are,” she said, setting the embroidery aside. “Come, sit with me.”

She gestured toward the cushioned seat beside her. You guided your daughter to a nearby chair before taking your place beside your mother. Alicent’s gaze lingered on you, taking in every detail, her eyes filled with that quiet, watchful intensity she always had. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly as her eyes trailed over your gown — a gown that was different from your usual choices.

“You look… different,” she remarked, tilting her head, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. It wasn’t disapproval, but something closer to curiosity. “Is there something on your mind, dear?”

Her voice was soft, careful, but you knew better than to think it was a simple question. Alicent never asked without reason. Her eyes were trained on you like a hawk, waiting for any sign of weakness, any hesitation.

You shifted slightly in your seat, glancing at your daughter, who was humming to herself while playing with the lace on her dress. For a moment, you considered how much to say. How much to reveal.

“It’s nothing, Mother,” you replied, straightening your posture. “I simply wished for a change.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together into a thin line. “A change, is it?” she repeated softly, her tone thoughtful. She leaned forward just a bit, her gaze sharp as she studied you with that look you’d seen so many times before. It was the look of a mother who knew something wasn’t being said. “And who is this change meant to impress?”

Her words were pointed, though her voice remained calm. You could feel her searching your face for a reaction. She was too clever, too perceptive. She saw more than you wanted her to.

“No one, Mother,” you answered firmly, lifting your chin. “It’s for me.”

A pause lingered between you. Alicent’s eyes remained on you, unblinking, and you held her gaze. For a moment, you weren’t just her daughter — you were a woman who had learned to wield silence as a weapon, just as she had.

Finally, she leaned back in her chair, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Good,” she murmured, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “It should always be for yourself.” Her voice lowered, her eyes hardening slightly. “Don’t let anyone else dictate who you must be. Not your husband. Not even the king.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt the weight of them, knowing she spoke from experience.

“Now,” she said, her tone lightening as she glanced toward your daughter. Her face softened as she leaned forward, her smile more genuine. “And how is my sweet granddaughter? Have you been keeping your mother in line, little one?”

Your daughter giggled, her smile bright and innocent as she nodded. “Yes, Grandmother! Mother is always good.”

Alicent laughed quietly, her eyes crinkling with warmth. “Is she, now?” she teased, glancing at you with a knowing smile.

For a moment, the tension lifted, and the room felt lighter. You allowed yourself to laugh softly with her, the warmth of her presence washing over you like a shield from the world outside. But even in that warmth, you still felt the weight of unseen eyes on you — the memory of Aemond’s sharp gaze burning into your back earlier in the day.

But for now, you let it fade. Here, with your mother and your daughter, you felt a fleeting sense of peace — and that, for now, was enough.

You were seated beside your mother, watching your daughter play with the lace on her dress, her soft giggles filling the room like the chime of little bells. Alicent sat gracefully, hands folded neatly in her lap, a serene smile tugging at her lips as she watched her granddaughter with quiet affection.

“She has your spirit,” Alicent remarked, her gaze never leaving the child. “Bold, unyielding, and far too clever for her own good.”

You chuckled softly, glancing at your daughter. “She’ll need it,” you replied, your tone carrying the weight of experience.

Just as your mother was about to speak again, the sound of the door creaking open drew both of your gazes. The soft murmuring of servants hushed instantly, and the familiar heavy thud of boots echoed into the room. A figure stepped inside — tall, commanding, with silver hair that caught the dim glow of the chamber’s light.

Aemond.

He didn’t say a word at first, his single eye locked onto you with that unwavering intensity you’d grown used to. He didn’t look at Alicent, didn’t look at your daughter. His gaze was for you alone. There was something sharp in the air now, something unspoken but undeniable.

“Aemond,” Alicent said softly, standing from her chair, her brow raised in question. “Is there something you need?”

But Aemond didn’t answer her. His steps were slow and deliberate as he crossed the room. You didn’t move, didn’t speak, only watched him with wary eyes. When he reached you, he didn’t ask, didn’t explain. His hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but not harsh, and with a single tug, he pulled you to your feet.

“Come,” he said quietly, his voice low but commanding. “We need to talk.”

“Aemond,” Alicent’s voice came sharper this time, her gaze darting from you to him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Mother,” he replied curtly, still not looking at her. His focus stayed on you, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a storm cloud.

You glanced at your mother, searching for her guidance, her permission — but Alicent only watched you, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes hard to read. She said nothing.

Heart pounding in your chest, you turned back to Aemond. “Can we not do this later?” you asked, keeping your voice calm, steady. “I’m with our daughter.”

His grip on your wrist didn’t loosen. His eye narrowed, sharp as a blade’s edge. “Now, wife,” he said with quiet finality. His tone wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. It left no room for argument.

Your daughter’s playful humming faded as she glanced up, her little face scrunching in confusion. “Mother?” she called, her voice soft and unsure.

You swallowed the knot forming in your throat. Slowly, you turned back to her and forced a smile. “Stay with Grandmother, my love. I won’t be long.”

Your daughter hesitated, her small fingers curling into the lace of her dress, but Alicent approached her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Come, sweet girl,” she said softly. “Your mother will be back soon.”

With that, Aemond tugged you forward, leading you out of the room. The sound of the door closing behind you was louder than it should have been, sealing you both away from the warmth and safety of the chamber.

The hallway was colder, quieter, and somehow it made his presence feel larger than it was. His hand remained on your wrist as he led you forward, his pace faster than yours, forcing you to keep up.

“Aemond,” you said firmly, trying to pull your wrist free. “What is this about?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you.

“Aemond,” you said again, sharper this time. You dug your heels into the floor, yanking your arm back with more force. It was enough to stop him, though his grip didn’t release you. Slowly, he turned to face you, his face shrouded in shadow, his sapphire eye gleaming like ice.

“Why do you wear that dress?” he asked suddenly, his gaze flicking down to the gown you wore.

Your breath caught in your chest. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he said, his tone colder now, colder than the stone walls around you. His eye locked onto yours, and for a moment, you saw something dangerous in him — jealousy, rage, something darker. “You know what I mean.”

You pulled your wrist again, and this time he let you go, but his eye never wavered.

“It’s just a dress, Aemond,” you said slowly, your eyes narrowing. “Am I not allowed to dress as I please?”

His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. “You know it’s not just a dress.”

Silence stretched between you. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Why do you care, Aemond?” you asked, your voice sharp and unforgiving. “You barely looked at me when I bore your child. You didn’t come to me. You didn’t see me. But now you care about a dress?”

His face remained stone-cold, but his eye flared with something fierce, something wild. He stepped forward, close enough that you had to tilt your head to look up at him.

“You are mine,” he said slowly, deliberately, as if daring you to argue. His gaze bore into you, unwavering and unyielding. “Not theirs. Not anyone else. Mine.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Yours?” you repeated, your eyes flashing with defiance. “When have I ever been yours, Aemond? You love her. Not me.”

His nostrils flared as he leaned in, his face inches from yours. “Watch your tongue, wife,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “Or I will remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t lower your gaze. Not this time. Not now. “Then act like it,” you shot back, your voice sharp as a blade. “If you want me to be yours, Aemond, then claim me. Stop looking at her. Stop leaving me in the cold. Stop pretending that I’m a shadow of her.”

His face twisted, his features caught between fury and something else — something you couldn’t name. His breathing was shallow, his lips parted, but no words came.

For a moment, you both stood there, silent and still, breathing the same sharp air that filled the hall.

Then, slowly, his eye softened, the edge of his rage dulling. His gaze lowered from yours to the floor. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He only stood there, his silence louder than any argument you could have had.

You stared at him, waiting for him to say something — anything. But he didn’t.

With a deep breath, you stepped back, lifting your chin high. “When you figure out who you truly want, Aemond, you know where to find me.”

You turned on your heel, walking back toward Alicent’s chambers with your head held high.

He didn’t follow. He only stood there, alone in the cold, just as he’d left you so many times before.

You stepped back into your mother’s chambers, closing the heavy wooden door behind you with a soft thud. The warmth of the room embraced you instantly, a stark contrast to the cold tension that had filled the hallway with Aemond. The soft glow of the fire illuminated the chamber, casting golden light onto Alicent’s face as she sat with your daughter on her lap.

Her gaze was sharp, searching, as she watched you cross the room. “What happened?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was calm but firm, the way only a mother could be.

“Nothing, Mother,” you replied quickly, forcing a smile as you approached them. “All is well. There’s no need to worry.”

Alicent didn’t look convinced. Her eyes, as sharp as ever, studied you in silence. She had seen too much in her life, endured too many lies and half-truths, to be deceived so easily.

“Is that so?” she asked quietly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Then why does your face look as if you’ve been at war, child?”

You felt your breath catch in your chest, but you didn’t answer. Instead, you turned your gaze to your daughter, who was watching you with wide, curious eyes. Her little hands tugged at the hem of Alicent’s sleeve, her small voice breaking the silence.

“Mother?” she called softly, tilting her head in that innocent, curious way children do. “What’s wrong with Father?”

Her words were like a dagger to the heart. You froze for a moment, your fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. You glanced at your daughter, her wide, expectant eyes staring back at you, waiting for an answer.

How could you explain it to her? How could you explain that the father she adored so much had left cracks in your heart that you couldn’t mend? That he looked at you but didn’t see you. That he touched you, but only as a reminder that you were his — not because he wanted you.

You crouched down in front of her, forcing a smile onto your face even as it strained the muscles in your cheeks. Your hands cupped her small face gently. “Father is just… tired,” you said softly, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear. “He has many responsibilities. It’s nothing for you to worry about, sweetling.”

Her brows pinched together as if she wasn’t fully convinced, but she nodded slowly, her little hands reaching up to touch your face. “Don’t be sad, Mother,” she whispered, her voice filled with childlike concern. “I’ll stay with you.”

Your chest tightened with emotion, and you pulled her into your arms, holding her close. “Thank you, my sweet girl,” you murmured against her hair, feeling the warmth of her small body pressed against yours. “That’s all I need.”

From behind you, Alicent’s voice rang out, quiet but certain. “He should not make you feel this way.”

You didn’t turn to face her. You didn’t have the strength. “It’s fine, Mother,” you replied, your voice muffled as you held your daughter closer. “It’s always been fine.”

But you both knew that wasn’t true.

You spent the afternoon with your mother and daughter, their warmth and presence offering you a fleeting sense of peace. But a restlessness settled in your chest, and soon, you found yourself longing to see your sister. The thought of Helaena brought back memories of simpler times, times when you both leaned on each other without the weight of politics, duty, and marriage pressing down on your shoulders.

So you left your mother’s chambers, your daughter staying behind under Alicent’s watchful eye. The hallways of the Red Keep felt colder than usual, the torches lining the stone walls flickering faintly. Each step echoed softly as you made your way toward Helaena’s room.

Her door stood ahead of you, the carved wood familiar, almost comforting. You raised your hand to knock, but before you could, a sound from inside stopped you.

Laughter.

Not just any laughter — his laughter.

Your breath caught in your throat, heart tightening with an uncomfortable pressure. You knew that laugh too well. Aemond’s laughter was a rare thing, something that had always felt like a secret meant only for a chosen few.

But he had never laughed like that with you.

You stood frozen in front of the door, hand still raised but unmoving. Your fingers curled into a loose fist, and for a moment, you debated walking away. Don’t go in, a voice in your head warned. You already know what you’ll see.

But curiosity — or perhaps something more painful — drew you in. Slowly, quietly, you pushed open the door just a sliver, careful not to make a sound. The sight before you made your heart sink.

Helaena sat by the window, her head tilted back with a soft, joyful smile on her face. Her laughter was like bells, light and innocent, as if she had no care in the world. And there, sitting close beside her, was Aemond. His gaze was fixed on her, his lips curved into a smile — not the cold, sharp smirk he often wore, but a true, unguarded smile.

He looked at her like she was the only light in the world.

You gripped the edge of the door tightly, nails digging into the wood. A bitter taste filled your mouth, something between rage and heartbreak. You had seen him smile, yes — but never like that. Never for you.

The urge to slam the door, to march inside and demand answers, burned hot in your chest. But what would you say? What could you say? That you were jealous of your own sister? That you hated how he looked at her like she was precious while you felt like an obligation?

Your breathing grew shallow, and you stepped back, letting the door close softly. You felt your heart pounding, a mixture of fury, sadness, and something else — something more dangerous.

Why her? you thought bitterly, turning away from the door. Why does it always have to be her?

Tears threatened to rise, but you refused to let them fall. You straightened your back, shoulders tense with the weight of pride and anger. If he wouldn’t see you, then you wouldn’t let him see you break.

With quiet, deliberate steps, you walked away from Helaena’s door, your face a mask of cold indifference. If love was a game of thrones, then you would play it too — not as a sister, not as a wife, but as a woman who refused to be forgotten.

You ran toward the gardens, your breath sharp and uneven as you tried to escape the storm brewing in your chest. The world around you felt distant, the soft rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds drowned out by the thudding of your heart.

Why her? Why always her?

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t let them see you break — not him, not her, not anyone. The cool breeze brushed against your skin, but it did nothing to calm the fire of betrayal burning inside you.

You came to a stop near a large tree, leaning against it to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell quickly, and you closed your eyes, pressing your hands against the rough bark as if grounding yourself to the world.

Then, a sound.

A low, familiar chuckle echoed behind you. It was sharp, almost mocking, but far too familiar to mistake for anyone else. Slowly, you turned, wiping at your face quickly as if to erase any sign of weakness.

There, leaning casually against a stone pillar, was your brother, Aegon. His eyes were half-lidded, his smirk lazy but sharp, like a blade hidden behind a smile. A cup of wine dangled from his hand, as always. He raised it slightly in greeting, taking a slow sip as his eyes watched you like a cat watching a bird with a broken wing.

“You look upset, sister,” he drawled, tilting his head with mock concern. “Did something happen?”

You didn’t answer, your lips pressing into a thin line. You hated the way he always knew. Aegon was many things — careless, selfish, and drunk more often than not — but he was never blind.

His grin widened as if he could read your mind. He pushed off the pillar and walked closer, his steps slow and deliberate.

“Let me guess,” he said, voice low, his eyes narrowing with amusement. “He’s with her, isn’t he?”

Your whole body tensed. His words hit harder than they should have, his casual tone like salt on an open wound. You hated that he knew, hated that he could say it so easily — as if it were obvious, as if it were inevitable.

“Shut up, Aegon,” you hissed, your voice sharper than you intended.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin never fading. “Why? It’s true, isn’t it?” He took another step closer, his eyes scanning you with slow, lazy interest. “Poor little sister. Stuck playing second to the precious Helaena. Must be exhausting.”

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, turning away from him, trying to put distance between you. But you heard him follow, his steps crunching softly against the gravel path.

“You think running will change it?” Aegon called after you, his voice carrying the cruel edge of someone who knew too much. “He’ll always go back to her, you know. Always.”

You stopped in your tracks, your fists clenching at your sides. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes blazing with quiet fury.

“At least I don’t have to drown myself in wine to forget who I am,” you snapped, your voice low and sharp like a dagger. “You’re pathetic, Aegon.”

His smirk faltered, if only for a second, but he recovered quickly. His eyes darkened, his grin shifting into something colder.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, raising his cup as if in a toast. “But at least I see things as they are, not as I wish them to be.”

You didn’t reply. There was nothing more to say. You turned on your heel and walked away, heart pounding harder with every step. His laughter followed you, lingering in the air like smoke from a dying fire.

“He’ll always go back to her.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, tasting copper. No. You wouldn’t let that be true. You couldn’t. But as much as you hated Aegon, there was something far worse about the fact that his words had struck something you already feared.

What if he was right?

You turned to face Aegon, your eyes filled with a quiet sadness that even he couldn’t ignore. His grin faltered for a moment as he tilted his head, finally taking in the change in you. The way you held yourself, the way your gown clung to you with deliberate elegance, the fire in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He blinked slowly, his gaze sweeping over you like he was seeing you for the first time. Then, just as quickly, his grin returned, sharper now, more knowing. His chuckle was soft but cruel, cutting through the stillness of the garden like a blade.

“Well, well,” Aegon muttered, taking a long sip from his cup. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he lowered it, licking a stray drop of wine from his lip. “Look at you, little sister. Finally decided to remind him of what he has, hmm?”

You said nothing, your eyes narrowing as you folded your arms across your chest.

Aegon let out a louder laugh, tilting his head back, his silver hair catching the light of the setting sun. It was the kind of laugh that grated on you — not because it was loud, but because it was laced with too much truth.

“You think he’ll notice?” Aegon asked, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Men like Aemond never notice until it’s too late. He won’t see it, not until someone else takes it from him.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling into the fabric of your gown.

“That’s enough, Aegon,” you said firmly, your voice calm but laced with warning.

“Is it?” he asked, his grin widening as he leaned in, his breath reeking of wine. His voice dropped to a low, taunting whisper. “You know I’m right. You could dress like a queen, shine brighter than the sun itself, and he’d still be chasing her shadow.”

Your heart ached, but you didn’t let him see it. You lifted your chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“At least I don’t drown in my misery like you,” you shot back, eyes hard as steel. “I know my worth, Aegon. Can you say the same?”

His eyes flashed, a flicker of something like anger or maybe regret, but it was gone in an instant. He smirked, leaning back with that same lazy arrogance he always wore like armor.

“Careful, sister,” he said, pointing at you with his cup. “That fire of yours might just burn you first.”

“Then let it burn,” you replied coldly, turning on your heel. “At least I won’t waste away, watching from the sidelines like you.”

You didn’t wait for his response. You walked away, each step more purposeful than the last, your gown trailing behind you like a banner of defiance. You could still hear him laughing, the sound echoing in the garden like a ghost that refused to leave.

But you didn’t stop.

You wouldn’t stop.

If Aemond was too blind to see you, then perhaps it was time to remind him what he stood to lose.

You sat on the edge of your bed, the soft fabric of your nightgown pooling around you like a quiet storm. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the lone candle flickering against the stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows. But your mind was far from calm. Aegon’s words from earlier echoed in your head like a bell that wouldn’t stop ringing.

“He won’t see it, not until someone else takes it from him.”

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your bed, your jaw clenching as the realization settled in. You had spent too long waiting for Aemond to see you — to truly see you. You had given him everything: your heart, your body, your devotion. But it had never been enough. Not when her name was still whispered between breaths, not when his gaze lingered just a little too long on Helaena’s face.

Enough.

If Aemond would not see you for what you were, then you would make him see. And to do that, you needed someone who knew how to play the game better than anyone. Someone who had spent his entire life weaving lies, indulgence, and chaos into every step he took.

You needed Aegon.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you stood from the bed. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier, like it knew the weight of what you were about to do. The cold floor beneath your feet was a sharp reminder that there was no going back from this path.

Walking over to your mirror, you stared at your reflection. Your silver hair spilled over your shoulders, untamed and wild. Your eyes, once so soft and full of hope, now burned with quiet resolve. Slowly, you reached up and undid the loose tie of your nightgown, letting it slip just enough to bare the curve of your collarbone and the tops of your shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to remind anyone — everyone — that you were not a woman to be overlooked.

Your gaze hardened as you pulled the fabric back into place. No more waiting. No more hoping. You would seize what was yours, even if it meant playing with fire.

Without another thought, you walked to the door. The cold metal of the handle sent a shiver up your spine, but you didn’t hesitate. The hallway outside was dim, but you knew exactly where to go. Each step echoed softly in the quiet of the Red Keep, your heartbeat matching the rhythm of your footsteps.

When you reached Aegon’s chamber, you paused. Your fingers hovered just above the door, your mind swirling with doubt for the briefest moment. Was this truly the way?

But then you saw Aemond’s face in your mind — cold, distant, always watching someone else. And suddenly, your hesitation vanished.

You knocked.

There was no response at first, but after a few seconds, you heard a shuffle from inside, a low grunt followed by footsteps. The door creaked open just a sliver, revealing Aegon’s familiar, half-lidded stare. His hair was a mess, his tunic loose and wrinkled like he’d just woken up. He raised an eyebrow at you, eyes scanning you from head to toe with a lazy sort of interest.

“Well, well,” he muttered, leaning against the doorframe, his grin already forming. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit, sweet sister?”

You didn’t flinch under his gaze. You stepped forward, just enough for him to see the determination in your eyes.

“I need your help,” you said, your voice steady but low. “With Aemond.”

That got his attention. His grin widened, slow and wicked, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. He let out a soft chuckle, his gaze sharp as a blade as he leaned in, close enough for you to smell the wine on his breath.

“Oh, little sister,” Aegon whispered, his voice dripping with amusement and something else — something darker. “This is going to be fun.”

You stood still, your breath caught in your throat as you felt the cold brush of Aegon’s fingers against your back. The soft rustle of fabric filled the room as he slipped the cloak from your shoulders, letting it fall soundlessly to the floor. The air felt colder against your skin now, but it wasn’t the chill that made you shiver. It was him.

His eyes moved over you slowly, like a lion watching prey, but there was something else there too — something sharper, more knowing. He tilted his head, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Foolish brother,” Aegon murmured, his voice low and smooth like silk soaked in wine. “Blind as a bat, that one.” His fingers brushed over your bare shoulders, not rough but deliberate, each touch a claim, each glance a challenge.

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see the tremble in your hands. You had come here with a purpose, with resolve. This wasn’t about Aegon. This was about Aemond. About making him see you. But you can't be sure now that he touched you like this.

“Does he even know what he has?” Aegon continued, his voice a soft hum as he circled you, his gaze heavy as it lingered on the curve of your neck and the line of your night gown. “All that pride, all that control… yet he can’t see what’s right in front of him.” He laughed, a short, breathy sound, bitter and amused. “Typical.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and you squared your shoulders, refusing to look away. “Are you going to help me or not, Aegon?”

His grin widened, sharp and wicked, like a fox that had just caught the scent of a trapped hare. He stepped closer, his hand lifting to cup your cheek. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent a jolt through you — not of fear, but of certainty. He would help you. Not out of kindness, not out of loyalty, but for the thrill of it. For the game.

“Help you?” he repeated, tilting his head as though weighing the offer. His thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone, his eyes narrowing with mock thoughtfulness. “Oh, sweet sister, I’ll do more than that.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll make him beg for you.”

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. If he thought you were afraid, he was wrong. You had been afraid long enough. Your heart pounded, not with fear, but with something fiercer, something that had been building for far too long.

“Then do it,” you said, your voice like steel wrapped in silk. You turned your head slightly, letting his breath brush your cheek. “Make him see me, Aegon.”

His eyes flashed with something wild, something dangerous. He laughed again, the sound rougher this time, more real. His hands slid away from you, and he took a step back, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Oh, sister,” Aegon said, his grin sharp as a blade. “He’ll see you. I promise you that.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as aegon took off your nightgown, you could feel his gaze filled with lust and passion. his hands lifted to cup your breasts and squeeze them gently, you moaned at his touch. He smiled slightly and whispered "you even have a beautiful voice, sister. Our brother is really stupid because he doesn't know what he's missing"

You closed your eyes as he started to kiss your lips, your hands found their way to his hair, tugging and squeezing it gently. He let out a small moan in between your kisses, he guided your body towards his bed. Laying you down without breaking the kiss, you sighed in disappointment as he pulled away from you, he laughed softly "You have to be patient sweet sister, isn't it unfair that you're already bare while I'm not?"

You stared at him as he slowly took off his tunic, his signature smile never leaving his face. After he took off all the clothes on his body he went back on top of you, he looked at your face with a soft gaze. You had never seen this look from aegon, he stroked your cheek gently. He slowly lowered his face to capture your lips again, his kiss was soft and more demanding.

His hands began to stroke your body, starting from your chest then down to your stomach, and ending in front of your wet core. You moan as you felt his hands stroke your folds, he looked at you. Your silver hair spread beautifully on his pillow, your eyes closed because of him, your moans that were heard because of his touch. Something inside him woke up, you sighed because of him, not your husband, not your brother. but him.

"Aegon, don't tease me. Please" You said softly, he smiled then slowly he inserted one of his fingers which made you moan softly. He could feel your walls squeezing his finger, you felt him kiss your stomach as his finger started to go in and out of your core. His finger movements were slow and intense, he then added a second finger and sped up his movements. You moaned at his touch, your body arching up as his finger hit that spot.

He stretches your cunt deliciously, you are already drunk even with just his fingers. How will you be if he enters you with his hardened cock? he looks at you and pulls his fingers out, again you sigh in disappointment as you feel empty. He licks his fingers that are covered by your Arousal, you look at him with lust. Maybe you ask him for help, but there is also a hidden intention.

"Are you ready?" He whispered in your ear as he rubbed the head of his cock against your core, you nodded and begged him to fuck you. "Please aegon, fuck me. Fuck me like i'm one of your whores"

He kissed your neck before finally sliding his cock inside you, both of you moaning together, feeling your walls stretching with pleasure. "You are not a whore, sister. You are a goddess worthy of being worshipped" he whispered softly in your ear.

He stretches you deliciously, his size is different from Aemond's. Aegon's is thicker than him, he fills you deliciously unlike Aemond's. He lets you adjust to his size, Then he guides your legs to wrap around his waist. With this position you can feel him getting deeper inside you, and you like it.

“you squeezing me tightly sister, fuck” Aegon’ low groan breaks the silence, he loves the way your clenching walls are tightening around his length.

The moans spilling out from your mouth only serves as further stimulus for Aegon to pull back and slide his entire shaft inside you before pounding you in a rough rhythm. Aegon doesn’t hold back, “All mine.”

You could see something in Aegon's eyes, lust, furry, — or something darker. He found your neck and chock you softly, you moaned. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the pleasure he was giving you.

He keeps fucking you like there's no tomorrow, you can feel his cock twitching inside you. You stroked his cheek gently, then you captured his lips and kissed him gently. The knot in your stomach tightened and was ready to be released as Aegon kept abusing your cunt.

He broke the kiss and pressed your foreheads together, "You are mine from tonight, if Aemond is too stupid not to claim you. then I will be the one to claim you." You who were blinded by lust nodded wearily, "Yes, yes, oh gods. Aegon." Aegon smiled and thrust his cock into your cunt again, before he spurted his seed inside you, you moaned softly feeling the warmth.

your breaths met, aegon slowly lowered his head to capture your lips once more. his kiss was softer and more meaningful, he slowly pulled out his cock which was starting to soften. He lay down beside you and hugged you from behind

The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of the dying fire, the soft crackle of embers the only sound breaking the silence. You lay beneath the warmth of the heavy blanket, the weight of it grounding you as much as the arm draped over your waist. Aegon’s breath was steady against the back of your neck, warm and slow, the rhythm of sleep just beginning to claim him.

His hand rested lightly on your stomach, his fingers brushing against your skin with a lazy tenderness you had not expected. His other arm was tucked beneath his head, his face buried in the curve of your shoulder. It should have felt wrong — it did feel wrong — but you didn’t pull away. You stayed.

Your fingers traced soft circles over the length of his forearm, feeling the rough texture of old scars and the faint ridges of muscle beneath his skin. It was a mindless motion, something to distract you from the weight of everything that had just happened. The air still smelled faintly of wine, sweat, and something sweeter — a scent you couldn’t quite name but now felt branded into you.

Your eyes flickered toward the ceiling, unfocused. No amount of darkness could hide the thoughts swirling in your mind. What have I done? The question echoed, quiet but persistent. You had made your choice. Aegon had been more than willing to play his part, and for once, you had felt seen — truly seen — even if it wasn’t by the one you had wanted.

The ache in your chest wouldn’t go away. You’d done this for him — for Aemond — but he wasn’t here. He was never here. And yet, in this moment, wrapped in the warmth of Aegon’s arms, it was easier to forget. Easier to believe, if only for a moment, that you had taken back some control.

“Still awake, little sister?” Aegon’s voice was a low rumble against your back, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of knowing in it. He could always tell when you were lost in thought.

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers stilled on his arm, your gaze still fixed on the ceiling. “I’m thinking,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Dangerous thing, thinking,” he murmured with a soft chuckle. His hand shifted, fingers curling slightly against your stomach, pulling you just a little closer. “Better to stay here. Warm. Quiet.”

“Is it?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. Can it ever be quiet again?

He hummed in response, his breath slow, lazy. He didn’t press you for answers, didn’t push. That was the thing about Aegon — he didn’t demand anything from you. Not your loyalty, not your love, not even your words. He just took what was freely given and gave as little as was required in return. And tonight, that had been enough.

Silence hung between you for a while, thick and heavy but not uncomfortable. You closed your eyes, letting your breathing match his. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns along your skin, his touch light but present, grounding you even as your mind wandered.

Will he know? The thought crept in like a shadow. Will Aemond know? Will he care?

You clenched your eyes tighter, willing the thoughts away. This was not about him anymore. This was about you. About being seen. About being wanted.

Aegon’s lips brushed the back of your neck, his voice low and drowsy. “Sleep, little sister,” he murmured, his words slurred with the pull of sleep. “No one can hurt you here.”

You bit your lip, the weight of his words heavier than he could have known. Slowly, you let your eyes drift shut.

No one can hurt me here.

Except, perhaps, yourself.

The sky was still a deep shade of indigo, the first light of dawn barely a whisper on the horizon. The Red Keep was silent, its cold stone halls eerily empty as you made your way back to your chambers. Your footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor, each step a quiet reminder of the night you’d just left behind.

The warmth of Aegon’s arms still lingered on your skin, a phantom sensation that refused to fade. His scent clung to you — wine, smoke, and something else uniquely him. For the first time in a long while, you felt… lighter. Not weighed down by longing or rejection. Not haunted by the feeling of being second to someone else. In Aegon’s arms, there had been no questions, no comparisons. Only touch, warmth, and the quiet, simple truth of being wanted.

You ran your fingers through your loose hair, attempting to tame it as you walked. Your gaze remained forward, unwavering, even as a few passing servants glanced your way. You could feel their eyes on you, hear the faint rustle of fabric as they bowed their heads. But you didn’t care. You didn’t shrink away. You didn’t lower your gaze.

Let them look.

You reached your chamber door and pushed it open with a slow, deliberate hand. The familiar comfort of your room greeted you, the soft glow of the dying hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. You closed the door behind you, leaning your back against it for a moment longer than necessary.

Your heart was steady. No guilt. No regret. Only a quiet certainty.

This is what it feels like to be loved.

Not in whispered promises or stolen glances. Not in cold, fleeting touches or moments of duty-bound affection. But in the firm hold of another who saw you — truly saw you — and did not turn away.

You moved toward the vanity, catching sight of yourself in the polished bronze mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips faintly swollen. Evidence of the night you’d had. You tilted your head slightly, brushing a thumb along the side of your neck where the faintest mark remained — a brand left by Aegon’s mouth.

Your fingers hovered over it for a moment before slowly dropping to your side.

You didn’t feel ashamed.

Let Aemond see it if he dares to look.

Your thoughts flickered to him then — your brother-husband. The man who was supposed to love you, to cherish you. But he had only ever seen someone else’s shadow when he looked at you. His gaze had always been for her. His heart had always been hers. No matter what you did, you would never be enough for him.

But for Aegon…

You breathed in deeply and turned away from the mirror, already untying the laces of your gown. It slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet as you moved toward your bed. Climbing beneath the sheets, you felt the soft warmth of the blankets surround you.

The sun would rise soon. Aemond would return to his duties. You would wear your gown and play the role of his wife, his shadow. But for now — for just a little longer — you would let yourself feel loved.

No guilt. No regret.

Only love.

The first light of dawn streamed through the window, casting a soft golden glow over your chamber. Standing before the polished bronze mirror, you carefully ran a brush through your hair, letting it fall freely over your shoulders in silver waves. No intricate braids. No pins or jewels. Just you — unbound, unhidden.

Your fingers hovered over the faint mark on your neck, the warmth of your touch bringing back the heat of last night’s whispers. “Let them see it. Let him see it.” Aegon’s voice echoed in your mind, his words dripping with mischief and certainty.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Yes, let them see it.

For so long, you had played the obedient wife, the forgotten sister, the overlooked daughter. But not today. Today, you would be seen. Not as someone’s shadow. Not as an echo of another. But as you.

You set the brush aside, letting your fingertips glide one last time over the mark on your neck. It wasn’t large, but it was enough. Enough for curious glances. Enough for whispers. Enough for him to see.

The green gown you had chosen for the day hugged your frame perfectly. The sleeves draped elegantly down your arms, and the neckline was just wide enough to leave the mark barely visible — a deliberate choice. Not too obvious, but not hidden either. If someone looked closely, they would see it. He would see it.

With one final glance in the mirror, you tilted your chin higher, a quiet pride burning in your chest. You had spent so long waiting to be seen, waiting to be loved. But no longer.

Today, you would no longer shrink into the background. Let them whisper. Let them wonder. Let him seethe.

With steady steps, you left your chamber, your hair swaying freely with each step. The soft rustle of your gown echoed down the stone corridor. Servants glanced your way, their eyes lingering on you a moment too long, faces flickering with surprise — perhaps even shock.

You didn’t care.

Not today.

When you reached the dining hall, the air grew still. The sound of conversation quieted as eyes turned toward you. Aemond sat at the far end of the table, a goblet in hand, his gaze already fixed on you. His lone eye scanned you from head to toe, his jaw tightening the moment his gaze settled on your neck.

His fingers curled slowly around the goblet, knuckles turning white.

He saw it.

You stepped forward, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. You did not bow your head. You did not avert your eyes.

For the first time, he was the one forced to watch you.

You moved gracefully toward the table, your gown flowing like water with each step. All eyes followed you, but you only paid attention to one. Aegon. He leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin tugging at his lips, his eyes half-lidded with mischief as he watched you approach.

You took the seat beside him, your movements slow, deliberate. His gaze lingered on your neck, and his grin widened knowingly. “Good morning, sister,” he greeted you, his voice smooth and soft, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Good morning, brother,” you replied, your tone just as sweet but layered with unspoken meaning.

Across the table, Alicent’s sharp eyes were already on you. Her gaze flickered to your neck — to the mark. Her brows furrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with that distinct look of a mother who knew exactly when something was out of place.

“What’s that on your neck, my dear?” Alicent’s voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the edge of suspicion in it. Her eyes darted between you and Aegon, her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her goblet.

You blinked slowly, tilting your head slightly as if only now realizing what she meant. Your fingers lightly brushed over the mark, feigning surprise, before offering a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, this?” you said, glancing at her with an innocent smile. “I tripped last night while reaching for a book. I hit the edge of the table.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, eyes searching yours as if waiting for a crack in your composure. But you didn’t falter. You had spent too many years perfecting this mask.

“Clumsy of me, I know,” you added, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, knowing it would only draw more attention to the mark. Your smile didn’t waver.

Alicent’s eyes flicked toward Aegon, who sat far too quietly beside you. He took a long sip from his cup, his eyes glinting with amusement. When he met Alicent’s gaze, he gave her a slow, lazy smile, as if daring her to question it further.

The Queen’s lips pressed tighter. She knew something was amiss, but with Aegon grinning like a cat who’d caught a bird, she could only let it go — for now.

“Be more careful, child,” Alicent said finally, though her tone was colder than before. Her gaze lingered on you a moment longer before she turned her attention back to her meal.

You glanced at Aegon, your fingers resting lightly on the table. He leaned in, his lips brushing just close enough to your ear for you to hear.

“Careful, sister,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Or you’ll end up with more marks for them to question.”

Your eyes flicked to him, meeting his with quiet defiance and hidden amusement.

“Let them,” you whispered back, your voice as sharp as a blade. “Let him see.”

Aegon chuckled under his breath, his grin growing wider as he leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with your answer.

On the other side of the table, Aemond sat in tense silence. His knife sliced through his meat with slow, deliberate precision, his gaze never leaving you. The muscle in his jaw ticked as his eye trailed the line of your exposed neck, and you knew he had seen it.

Good.

You reached for your goblet, taking a slow sip, letting the silence stretch just a moment longer. You didn’t look at him — you didn’t need to.

He was already watching.

Alicent cleared her throat, breaking the sharp tension that had settled over the dining hall. Her eyes shifted between you, Aemond, and Aegon, her brow slightly furrowed in quiet disapproval. But as always, she maintained her composure.

“Come walk with me in the gardens after this,” Alicent said, her voice calm but firm, the tone of a mother who expected to be obeyed. Her gaze softened when it landed on your daughter, who was busy playing with a small wooden dragon on the table. “Bring her along. The fresh air will do her good.”

You glanced at Alicent, your heart slowing its wild rhythm. Her invitation wasn’t really a request — it was a command disguised as kindness. Still, you nodded, offering her a small, polite smile. “Of course, Mother,” you replied, brushing a gentle hand over your daughter’s silver hair. “I think she would love that.”

Alicent smiled at your agreement, but her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, sharp and knowing. You wondered if she had noticed the mark on your neck. She must have. Her gaze was too calculating, too perceptive. But she said nothing. Not yet.

Across the table, Aemond’s stare remained relentless, cold fire simmering beneath the surface. His jaw twitched, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he continued to watch you. Let him watch, you thought again, straightening your posture with quiet defiance.

Your daughter tugged on your sleeve, pulling your attention back to her. Her big, curious eyes looked up at you, and she smiled with that innocent joy only a child could have. “Can we pick flowers, Mother?” she asked, tilting her head with that soft, sweet look she always gave you.

You smiled down at her, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Yes, my sweet flower. We’ll pick as many as you like.”

Her giggle was bright, a sound that eased some of the heaviness clinging to your heart. You turned to Alicent and nodded once more. “Shall we, Mother?”

Alicent glanced at Aemond and Aegon one last time, her lips tightening into a small, unreadable line. “Yes, child,” she replied, standing from her seat with slow grace. “Let us go before the sun grows too hot.”

With your daughter’s tiny hand in yours, you followed Alicent out of the hall. You didn’t look back. Not at Aemond. Not at Aegon. But you felt them both watching you, their eyes like shadows following your every step.

Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves swaying in the gentle breeze. The sweet fragrance of blooming flowers surrounded you, but it did little to ease the weight pressing on your chest. Your gaze remained locked on your daughter as she giggled and chased a butterfly through the field of blossoms, her silver hair shining like threads of moonlight. Her joy was a stark contrast to the quiet tension that lingered between you and your mother.

You didn’t have to look at her to know Alicent was watching you. You could feel it — the sharp, piercing weight of her gaze on the side of your face, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Her silence wasn’t aimless. It was deliberate, calculated, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

Your jaw tightened, your fingers curling into the fabric of your gown. You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay composed. But patience had its limits, and you were done pretending not to notice.

“If you have something to say, Mother,” you said softly but firmly, still watching your daughter twirl among the flowers. “Then say it.”

There was a pause. Long enough for you to hear the distant call of crows circling above the Red Keep. Alicent’s sigh was quiet but unmistakable, the kind of sigh that only a mother makes when she’s both disappointed and trying to be patient.

“I have always taught you to be careful,” Alicent finally said, her voice calm but edged with warning. “To be wise. But now, you walk the halls as if you want the whole castle to see you.”

You turned to face her slowly, tilting your head just enough to meet her gaze. Her green eyes, sharp as polished glass, met yours without hesitation.

“Is that what you think, Mother?” you asked with a wry smile. “That I want them to see me?”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. She stepped forward, closing the space between you. Her eyes flickered briefly to the faint mark on your neck — the mark you had left uncovered. Her gaze lingered for a moment too long before returning to your face.

“Do you think Aemond won’t notice?” she asked quietly, her voice like a knife hidden in silk. “Do you think he won’t care?”

You lifted your chin, eyes narrowing just slightly. “I hope he does,” you replied, your voice as steady as stone. “I want him to.”

Alicent blinked slowly, her expression unreadable. Disappointment, perhaps. Or maybe something else entirely. She studied you, her gaze sweeping over your face as if trying to decipher a riddle she hadn’t expected.

“You think this will give you power over him,” she said, her tone quieter now, almost sad. “But men like Aemond do not yield. They burn. And when they burn, they take everything with them.”

Her words hung in the air like smoke after a wildfire. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t bow your head.

“Then let him burn, Mother,” you replied, your voice colder than before. “I am tired of being the ash.”

Alicent’s eyes softened just for a moment, a flicker of something like sorrow crossing her face. But just as quickly, it was gone, hidden beneath her ever-composed mask. She glanced at your daughter, who had plucked a handful of wildflowers and was now weaving them into a messy little crown.

“You have more to protect than yourself now,” Alicent reminded you, her eyes returning to yours with quiet intensity. “Don’t forget that.”

Her words lingered as she turned and walked away, her green gown trailing behind her like a shadow stretching long in the sun. You watched her leave, feeling the weight of her warning settle on your shoulders.

Your daughter ran up to you, holding the flower crown high with a proud grin. “Look, Mother! It’s for you!” she beamed, eyes wide with excitement.

You knelt down to her level, letting her place the crooked crown on your head. Her little hands patted it into place, her giggles filling the air like birdsong.

“Does it suit me?” you asked, brushing your fingers through her hair.

She nodded eagerly, her eyes glowing with love. “You’re the prettiest queen ever, Mother!”

You smiled at her, pulling her close for a hug. Your eyes drifted to where Alicent had disappeared among the trees, her words still echoing in your mind.

“Then let him burn,” you repeated silently to yourself, holding your daughter just a little tighter. “Let him burn.”

You walked slowly through the long corridors of the Red Keep, the soft glow of sunlight streaming in from the high windows. The sound of your daughter’s giggles and her tiny, delighted murmurs filled the air like a melody, bringing a rare warmth to your heart. Her little hand gripped yours tightly, her steps uneven but determined as she tried to keep up with you. Her silver hair shimmered in the light, so much like her father’s — a thought you quickly pushed away.

Your smile lingered, but it faltered as soon as you noticed him.

Aemond.

He stood at the far end of the corridor, his tall figure framed by the light behind him, casting his face in shadow. But even without seeing him clearly, you knew he was staring at you. His one eye was fixed on you with that sharp, unyielding intensity that had always made you feel so small. His steps were slow but deliberate, his boots echoing with each heavy step as he made his way toward you.

Your heart clenched. There was no mistaking the storm brewing in his gaze. It wasn’t rage — not quite. It was something colder, something that sat beneath the surface and lingered like frost on a blade.

You braced yourself, fingers tightening around your daughter’s hand. She didn’t notice. She was too busy humming a little tune to herself, blissfully unaware of the silent battle unfolding in front of her.

Aemond drew closer, his lips pressed into a firm line, his gaze flicking to you and then to the child at your side. His eye lingered on the faint mark on your neck — the one you hadn’t bothered to hide. His jaw clenched. You saw the muscle in his cheek twitch, and for a moment, you wondered if he would stop walking entirely.

But before he could reach you, another figure appeared.

“Aha! There she is!”

Aegon’s voice echoed down the hall, loud and lazy as always. He strolled toward you with a grin, his arms wide as if greeting old friends. You barely had time to react before he swooped in, his movements quick but somehow still unbothered.

“Come here, little dragon,” he cooed as he scooped your daughter up into his arms, lifting her high into the air. She shrieked with laughter, her small hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

“Uncle Aegon!” she squealed with delight, giggling as he spun her around in the air. “Higher! Higher!”

“Your wish is my command, little lady,” he grinned, his voice full of playful charm. He twirled her once more, her silver hair flying in wild loops around her face.

You blinked, momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered. “Aegon, careful,” you warned, your voice firm but not harsh. “You’ll make her sick if you keep spinning her like that.”

He glanced at you, flashing that devil-may-care grin that had gotten him into trouble too many times to count. “Nonsense,” he said with mock seriousness, lowering her only a little. “This one’s a Targaryen. We don’t get dizzy.” He tapped his temple with a wink.

You tried to keep a straight face, but your daughter’s laughter was too infectious. A soft smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

But then you felt it.

That gaze.

Aemond hadn’t moved. He stood still as stone, his eye burning into the side of your face. His lips were pressed so tightly together that they had gone pale, his hands folded neatly behind his back, as if he was restraining himself.

His eye flicked to Aegon, watching as he cradled your daughter close to his chest, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm on her back. Aegon wasn’t even looking at him. His attention was fully on you and the child in his arms.

“She looks just like you,” Aegon said suddenly, his voice quieter than before. He glanced at you, his grin still in place, but something in his tone had shifted. “All fire and pride.”

You tilted your head, unsure if he was complimenting you or mocking you. “She takes after her mother,” you replied coolly.

“Of course she does,” he agreed with a knowing smirk. His eyes met yours — and lingered a moment too long. A silent message exchanged. One only the two of you could understand.

Aemond saw it.

He saw everything.

You could feel his anger like a second heartbeat in the room, slow and steady but undeniable. His breathing was controlled, his shoulders squared, but the flicker of his eye betrayed him. He was seething.

“Enough,” Aemond’s voice finally cut through the moment like a blade. Sharp. Icy. Absolute.

The air grew cold.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, his grin unfading, but he lowered your daughter from his arms with exaggerated care. She pouted at him, disappointed that their game was over.

“Uncle Aegon will play with you later, little one,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Go with your mother for now.”

Your daughter nodded, still pouting, but she took your hand obediently. Aegon gave her one last playful wink before turning his eyes back to Aemond.

There was no laughter now.

The two brothers stared at each other in silence, the weight of unspoken words filling the corridor like smoke after a fire.

Aegon’s grin was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. “Brother,” he greeted with mock politeness, tilting his head slightly as if offering respect. It was anything but.

Aemond’s lips barely moved. “Aegon.”

For a moment, you wondered if they might come to blows right there in front of you. But Aegon, always the one to avoid true confrontation, only shrugged.

“Don’t glare at me, brother,” Aegon drawled, his eyes half-lidded with boredom. “You should be thanking me. After all, someone has to remind her what it feels like to be seen.”

The silence after his words was deafening.

Your breath hitched, heart thudding in your chest. You didn’t know whether to be furious or grateful for Aegon’s boldness.

Aemond’s face was still, so still that it was almost inhuman. But his eye — his eye was a storm. His lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. The weight of his anger was like thunder rumbling in the distance, waiting for the lightning to strike.

You squeezed your daughter’s hand, forcing yourself to remain calm. You could not let them see you break. Not now. Not ever.

“Come, darling,” you said softly to your child, brushing your fingers through her hair. “Let’s not waste our time here.”

You didn’t look at Aemond as you passed him. You kept your head high, your chin lifted, your steps slow and deliberate. You knew he was watching you. You could feel it, the searing heat of his gaze following your every movement.

Aegon’s chuckle echoed behind you, soft and full of mischief. “See you at dinner, little sister,” he called after you, his tone light and carefree. But you knew better. His words were never as simple as they seemed.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.

But you felt it.

The fire.

The storm.

The weight of Aemond’s gaze burned hotter than dragonflame, and this time, you didn’t run from it. You let it sear into your back like a brand, unyielding and undeniable.

If he was going to watch you burn, then so be it.

Let him burn too.

You walked down the quiet corridor with your daughter by your side, the soft click of your shoes echoing in the stone hallways of the Red Keep. The moonlight filtered through the windows, casting a silvery glow on the floor beneath your feet. Your appearance tonight was different—more daring. Your silver hair, usually left to fall in gentle waves, was now loosely braided down your back, and the dress you wore hugged your figure in a way that felt more bold than your usual attire.

As you reached the door to your mother’s private solar, you paused for a moment, steadying your breath. You had made the decision, and now there was no turning back. You were determined to stand tall, regardless of the consequences.

When the door opened, you were greeted by a mixture of expressions. Your mother, Alicent, stood in the center of the room, her eyes wide in confusion as she took in your appearance. Her gaze flickered to your daughter, who tugged at your hand, seemingly unaware of the tension in the air.

But it was the other two men in the room who caught your full attention. Aegon, leaning casually against the stone wall, stared at you with a dark, unreadable look in his eyes, his lips curling into a slight smirk. There was something almost predatory in the way he watched you. And then, there was Aemond. His face was a mask of barely contained fury, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

Aegon’s voice broke the silence, smooth and laced with an edge. “Well, well… someone’s feeling bold tonight.”

But it was Aemond’s glare that pierced through the air like a sword. His fists clenched at his sides, his expression darkened, and his voice came out cold, sharp. “What is this?” he demanded, his eyes never leaving you.

For a moment, you hesitated. The weight of their gazes pressed on you, but you refused to let it make you falter. This was your moment. You had decided this path, and no matter how much it hurt, you would not back down.

“I’m simply here,” you said, your voice calm but resolute, “to have dinner with my mother. Is that a crime?”

Aemond’s anger was palpable, and his voice came out with a bite that made your skin tingle. “It’s not your presence that’s troubling, it’s the way you choose to present yourself, wife,” he spat, stepping forward. “You think you can—”

You didn’t let him finish. You could feel the tension between you, thick and suffocating, but you refused to let it control you. “I am not your possession, Aemond,” you said firmly, locking eyes with him. “I don’t need your approval.”

There was a moment of silence before Aegon chuckled softly, the sound almost mocking. “Aemond, I think she’s made her point,” he said, leaning closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe you should stop trying to control everyone.”

Aemond’s expression tightened, and his lips curled into a thin, angry line. The room seemed to close in around you as the weight of his fury bore down on you. But you didn’t look away. You had lived in his shadow for so long, but now, you were ready to step out.

“I think we’re done here,” you said finally, your voice a low whisper. You turned to your mother, who was still standing, her expression unreadable.

“Let’s go, darling,” you said to your daughter, your voice soft, almost a comfort to her.

As you walked past them, you could feel Aemond’s gaze following you, sharp and unforgiving. But you didn’t look back. You had made your choice, and now you would live with it. You would no longer let Aemond or anyone else dictate who you should be. You would forge your own path, one that was yours and yours alone.

You approached Helaena, who was seated gracefully with her twin children playing at her feet. Her gentle smile greeted you like the soft glow of dawn, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of warmth.

“Go on, sweet girl,” you whispered to your daughter, nudging her toward her cousins. She glanced up at you with bright, trusting eyes before running off to join them, her giggles mixing with those of the twins. The sound was soft, innocent, untouched by the weight of the world around them.

Helaena tilted her head, watching you with that faraway look she so often had. “She’s grown so much,” she said softly, her voice like a dream. “She looks like you.”

You smiled, brushing a hand over your gown. “She has her father’s stubbornness,” you replied, your tone lighter than you felt.

You turned and made your way to the table, your steps slow and deliberate. Your eyes scanned the room, and you immediately caught the heavy gaze of your mother. Alicent sat straight-backed, hands folded in her lap, her eyes locked on you. There was no mistaking that look. It wasn’t mere observation — it was scrutiny. A silent demand for answers.

You didn’t falter. You met her gaze head-on, unblinking, unyielding. She raised a single brow, a silent warning, but you kept walking.

Aegon was already seated, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair. His sharp eyes followed you as you approached, a grin slowly curling at the edges of his lips. He shifted just slightly, making space for you at his side.

“Looking radiant tonight, sister,” Aegon remarked, his voice thick with amusement. His eyes dropped briefly to your neck — to the faint mark you had chosen not to hide. His grin widened. “It seems you’ve found yourself in some mischief.”

You sat next to him, ignoring the way his fingers briefly brushed against your arm. He leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping lower so only you could hear. “He’s watching you,” he murmured, his eyes flicking toward the other end of the room.

You didn’t have to turn to know who he meant.

Aemond.

He choose to sit with Helaena tonight. His posture as stiff as ever. You felt the weight of him before you even glanced his way. He was quiet, but his presence was louder than the chatter of everyone else in the room.

He didn’t look at you directly at first. His gaze flickered from his plate to Aegon’s hand, which lingered a moment too long on the back of your chair. His jaw tightened. The muscle there tensed, his lips pressing into a thin, firm line.

“Brother,” Aemond finally said, his voice cool and sharp, like the edge of a blade. “You seem particularly lively this evening.”

Aegon chuckled lowly, tipping his cup of wine toward Aemond. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s a fine night, after all.” He glanced at you, his grin widening. “And I have fine company.”

You felt Aemond shift beside you, his body leaning forward slightly, just enough to make his presence known. You turned your head slowly, meeting his eye. His gaze was sharp, cutting, filled with something you couldn’t quite name. Anger? Jealousy?

“Strange,” Aemond muttered, his gaze flicking briefly to the mark on your neck before returning to your eyes. “I didn’t think you’d need company outside of your husband.”

Silence fell over the table. Your mother’s eyes sharpened, her lips parting slightly as if to intervene. Helaena blinked slowly, still playing with her twins, as though she hadn’t noticed the shift in the air. But she had. You could tell.

Your heart pounded, but you kept your face calm, composed. You tilted your head, allowing a faint smile to tug at your lips. “A husband must first be present to be considered company,” you replied softly, your words carrying more weight than volume.

Aegon’s laughter broke the silence like shattering glass. He leaned forward, his eyes alight with mischief, his gaze flickering between you and Aemond. “Oh, she’s sharp tonight,” he grinned, shaking his head. “Careful, brother. You’ll cut yourself on her wit.”

Aemond’s gaze remained locked on you, cold fire burning beneath the surface. His fingers twitched at his side, his body taut like a bowstring ready to snap. But he said nothing. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken.

Your mother cleared her throat, finally breaking the tension. “Enough,” Alicent said firmly, her voice cutting through the room like a queen’s command. Her eyes darted between you, Aegon, and Aemond. “This is a family meal, not a spectacle.”

Aegon only chuckled, sipping his wine with a lazy grin. You glanced at Aemond one last time, meeting his eye with the same unflinching defiance you’d shown your mother.

He would not win tonight.

Throughout the dinner, your attention remained firmly on Aegon. The two of you spoke softly, exchanging words only the two of you could hear. He had abandoned his wine tonight, a rare occurrence, and instead, his full attention was on you. His gaze lingered, sharp and knowing, a look that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

His fingers brushed over your arm every so often as he spoke, light but deliberate, and when you laughed at one of his quips, he reached up to tuck a loose strand of silver hair behind your ear. The touch lingered just a moment too long. Warm. Familiar. Intentional.

Your heart fluttered, though you did not show it. It wasn’t love. No, it was something simpler but just as powerful — being wanted. Being noticed.

Across the table, you felt his eyes on you. Aemond. He was quiet as ever, his knife slicing through his food with sharp precision. But he wasn’t eating. No, he was watching. His gaze was unwavering, fixed on the space where Aegon’s hand had rested on your arm. His fingers curled around the handle of his knife, grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.

He hated it. You knew he did.

The weight of his jealousy filled the room like smoke, thick and choking, but you didn’t flinch. Not this time. You straightened your back and leaned just a little closer to Aegon, letting out a soft laugh that carried just enough sweetness to turn bitter in Aemond’s ears. You didn’t even have to look at him to know. You could feel his fury like a storm brewing on the horizon.

Alicent noticed it too. Her eyes darted between you, Aemond, and Aegon, her lips pressed into a thin line. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. What could she say? What could anyone say?

Aegon leaned in toward you again, his voice low but loud enough for others to hear if they truly paid attention. “Careful, little sister,” he murmured, his grin sharp as ever. “He looks ready to start a war.”

You tilted your head just slightly, glancing at Aemond from the corner of your eye. His face was stone, hard and cold, but his eye told a different story. It burned with something wild, something raw.

You turned your gaze back to Aegon and smiled, soft and sweet. “Let him,” you whispered, just loud enough for Aemond to hear. “I’ve had enough of his silence.”

Aegon’s eyes widened with surprise before he threw his head back in laughter. He laughed so loud and so carelessly that even Helaena glanced up from her plate, blinking in confusion. Alicent frowned deeply, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

But you didn’t care. For the first time in a long while, you felt in control.

Aemond’s knife clattered against his plate, the sudden sound drawing everyone’s attention. His jaw was clenched tight, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the stone floor.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice deadly calm, his eye never leaving you. His gaze lingered on you for a breath longer than necessary before he turned and strode out of the room, his steps sharp and echoing.

Silence settled over the table like a heavy blanket. Alicent glanced at you, her eyes full of questions she wouldn’t dare ask in front of everyone. Helaena blinked, her gaze following Aemond’s retreating figure. Aegon raised his cup, tilting it toward you as if to say well done.

You only smiled, eyes fixed on the door Aemond had just walked through.

He had always been so composed, so controlled. But not tonight.

Tonight, you had won.

The warmth of satisfaction still lingered in your chest as you made your way to your chambers. The image of Aemond’s face at dinner replayed in your mind — the tightness of his jaw, the sharp flare of anger in his eye, and the way he stormed out, unable to contain himself. It had been so long since you’d seen him break like that. He finally felt it, you thought to yourself. He finally knows what it feels like to be ignored.

Your steps echoed softly against the cold stone floors as you approached your door. You pushed it open, expecting the quiet stillness of your chambers. But the moment you stepped inside, the air shifted.

He was there.

Aemond stood in front of the fire, the golden flames casting long, flickering shadows on the stone walls. His back was to you, his hands clasped behind him. His posture was as rigid as ever, but there was something different tonight. Something simmering beneath the surface.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you froze. Your heart gave a sharp, sudden thud in your chest.

“Aemond,” you said, keeping your voice steady. You raised your chin, unwilling to show even a flicker of hesitation. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. The silence was thick and stifling. Slowly, he turned his head, his eye catching the glow of the fire. He glanced at you from over his shoulder, his face half in shadow, half in light. His gaze dragged over you slowly — from your disheveled hair to the slight crease in your gown. His gaze lingered on your neck. On the mark that you hadn’t bothered to cover.

His lips curled into a sneer.

“Enjoying yourself, sister?” His voice was quiet but razor-sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. He turned fully now, his gaze locking onto yours with the intensity of a predator watching its prey.

You felt the heat of it, but you refused to look away. “I don’t know what you mean,” you replied calmly, stepping further into the room. You untied the clasp of your cloak and let it slide from your shoulders, keeping your eyes on him the entire time. “I spent the evening with our family, just as you did.”

His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his jaw ticking with tension. He took a slow step forward, his eye never leaving you.

“Do not play games with me,” he said quietly, each word deliberate, dangerous. “You know exactly what I mean.” Another step forward. “Do you think I didn’t see it? The way you clung to him — the way he touched you.” His eye darted to your neck again, and you swore you saw his teeth clench. “Do you think i'm blind, sister?”

You tilted your head, your fingers toying with the loose braid in your hair. “You never seemed to care before,” you said, letting the words drip with venom. “Why care now, husband?”

That struck him. You saw it in the way his gaze darkened, in the way his breath grew heavier. He strode toward you, closing the distance between you in only a few strides. He stopped inches from you, his height looming over you like a storm cloud.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice low, quiet, but full of danger. “Do not mistake indifference for mercy.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you did not back away. Not tonight. Not after everything. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your eyes as sharp as his. “And do not mistake neglect for loyalty,” you shot back, your voice unwavering. “You gave me nothing, Aemond. No love. No warmth. You treated me like a shadow while you poured your affection into her.” Your lips curled into a bitter smile. “So forgive me if I sought comfort elsewhere.”

For a moment, silence reigned. His breathing was heavier now, his chest rising and falling as he stared at you like he didn’t know whether to destroy you or claim you. His fingers twitched at his side, itching to move, to act, to do something.

“You think you’ve won,” he muttered, his voice laced with something dangerous, something raw. “You think you’ve made me jealous.” He leaned down, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. “But jealousy is for fools. I do not envy Aegon.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I pity him.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you held your ground. You turned your face toward him, so close that your noses almost touched. “Pity him all you want,” you whispered, your voice a deadly softness. “But at least he knows how to cherish what’s his.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the sharp rhythm of your breathing. His gaze darted to your lips for the briefest second before he pulled back, his face twisted with something like fury — or maybe something more dangerous than that.

Without another word, Aemond turned on his heel and strode toward the door. But before he opened it, he stopped, his fingers gripping the handle so tightly you thought it might break. He glanced at you one last time, his eye burning with cold fire.

“Be careful, wife,” he said, his voice laced with warning. “When you play with fire, it does not just burn — it consumes.”

Then he was gone, the heavy thud of the door echoing through the room like thunder.

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, your breath shallow and sharp. Slowly, you pressed your fingers against the mark on your neck, feeling the heat of it beneath your skin.

Let it burn, you thought. Let it burn us both.

You sit on your bed, your thoughts tangled and chaotic after Aemond’s words. The weight of everything pressing on your chest feels unbearable. You slip on your robe to cover the nightgown you’ve been wearing, your movements mechanical as you try to regain some composure. You need to talk to Helaena, to try and make sense of everything swirling in your mind.

You walk towards her chamber, the steady rhythm of your footsteps the only sound in the hall. But as you approach her door, something stops you.

A muffled gasp.

Your heart lurches in your chest, an icy chill running down your spine. You stop in your tracks, frozen, as you listen. Another sound follows — a soft, breathy moan. His voice.

Aemond.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. Your body tenses as you try to steady your breath. You want to move away, to leave this moment behind, but something keeps you rooted to the spot.

You recognize the sound all too well — it belongs to him. You’ve heard it before, in different contexts, but never like this. Not with Helaena.

Your head spun, and it felt as if thousands of daggers were piercing your heart. Your hands shook at your sides, nails digging into your palms. Part of you wanted to run, to escape the reality standing so plainly before you. But another part of you needed to know. You had to know.

You stepped back, breath shallow, heart thudding painfully in your chest. Your gaze was locked on the door, and though you told yourself to leave, your feet wouldn’t move. You stood there, caught between heartbreak and rage, unable to tear yourself away from the sounds beyond that door.

A soft laugh echoed from inside. It was Helaena’s. You recognized it instantly. Then came his voice — low, rough, familiar in a way that made your chest ache. His voice, the one that should have been meant for you alone.

“Aemond…” Helaena’s voice was like a whisper in the storm, soft but sharp enough to slice through you. Your hands curled into fists, nails biting into your skin as your lips trembled. You knew you should leave. You knew it was pointless to stay, letting yourself be shattered like this.

But still, you stood there. Letting it destroy you.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood, trying to stifle the sob rising in your throat. Your chest tightened with every breath, a wild mix of pain, fury, and disbelief. For so long, you had tried to convince yourself that maybe — just maybe — Aemond would see you. That one day, he would love you the way a husband should love his wife.

But he never did. He never chose you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and unrelenting. You touched your chest as if you could somehow reach into it and pull the ache out with your bare hands. But it stayed, heavy and unyielding.

It was always Helaena. Always her.

You wiped the tears from your face, trying to steady yourself. Desperate gasps and quiet groans grew louder from beyond the door. You couldn’t bear to hear it any longer. Your legs, frozen moments ago, now felt as light as air. You turned on your heel, gown swishing around you, your footsteps quick and determined as you fled down the corridor.

The tears wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard you bit your lip to silence your sobs. Each step echoed with the weight of everything you’d tried so hard to deny. He will never love you. Not as he loves her. Not as he loves Helaena.

But as you moved further away, a single name came to mind.

Aegon.

You remembered the way Aegon had watched you earlier. His gaze wasn’t distant or dismissive. It was focused. He saw you. His lingering touch on your arm, the way he ran his fingers through your hair, and the way he smiled at you at the dinner table. He sees you. He sees everything that Aemond refuses to see.

You wiped your tears with a rough, angry swipe, your breathing still uneven. No more tears. Not for Aemond. Not for a man who never saw you as enough.

That night, you would not sleep alone.

With that resolve, you left your chambers, letting your gown trail behind you like the shadow of a queen who had been wronged. You knew where you were going. You knew exactly who would be waiting for you with open arms.

Aegon.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel guilty. Not anymore.

You rush toward Aegon’s chamber, your steps frantic and your heart racing, the tears flowing freely. When you reach the door, you throw it open without thinking, startling Aegon, who had been sipping his wine. His eyes widen as he takes in your tear-streaked face, and before he can speak, you rush into his arms.

Aegon hesitates for just a moment, then pulls you close, his strong arms wrapping around you as you bury your face in his chest. His grip is firm and comforting, but he senses the desperation in your touch.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through your hair. But you shake your head, your words muffled against him.

“I… I can’t anymore. I need you to make me forget,” you whisper, your voice fragile. “I can’t bear this pain anymore.”

Aegon stiffens for a moment, his breath hitching, before he gently pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes. His expression is soft, his own emotions carefully hidden beneath the surface, but the intensity of his gaze never wavers.

“Forget?” His voice is low, a mixture of concern and something else, something deeper.

You nod, your hands trembling as you reach up to touch his face. “Please… make me forget him. Just for tonight.”

Aegon stares at you, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He breathes in deeply, as if debating something internally, before he leans forward and presses his lips gently against yours.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, but as you respond to him, it deepens, his hands pulling you closer. For a brief moment, the world around you fades away, and you forget the pain, the heartache, and the betrayal. It’s just him, and it’s just you, lost in the moment, as though you’re both trying to escape the heavy burdens of your lives.

When the kiss breaks, Aegon doesn’t pull away completely. He holds you close, his forehead resting against yours, and whispers, “For tonight… I’ll make you forget, if that’s what you need.”

He lifted you up and laid you on his bed, he didn't say anything else. He wiped your tears and started kissing you, his kiss was soft, softer than yesterday. Without breaking the kiss he slowly stroked your breasts which were still covered by your nightgown, squeezing them gently which made you moan in your kiss.

he slowly untied your nightgown and revealed your breasts, his kisses started to trail down to your neck, kissing the marks he left last night. then his hands played with your nipples making you moan his name.

"Aegon" He went back down your body with his kisses, moving from your stomach, then his lips arrived in front of your cunt. He started kissing it and licking it making you arch your body and moan softly, your hands went to his hair and squeezed it gently. Your legs were on his shoulders as he began to eat you out, his tongue skillfully licking and sucking your wet folds.

"you taste so sweet, love"

He inserted a finger into you and pumped it slowly, his mouth still sucking on your swollen clit you spread your legs even wider to make it easier for him. When he added another finger you squirmed beneath him and he held your hips to keep you still, your body arched from the pleasure he gave you, a pleasure that Aemond never gave you.

"Fuck me aegon, make me round of your child. Fill me up with your seed, breed me until i can't take your seed anymore"

Aegon growled, the thought of you being heavy with his seed made his cock even harder. Without thinking, Aegon crawled over you and kissed you roughly, you could taste yourself in his mouth. Without warning, he thrust his cock into you, both of you moaning together. He stretched you out deliciously.

Aegon didn't hold back, he slammed his hips into you roughly and fast. Seeing you moan helplessly beneath him made him even hotter, your breasts shaking in time with his thrusts, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your body arching as he finds that spot. You drive him crazy, crazy because of your body, crazy because he knows you are his now.

"tell me sister, did aemond fuck you like i did hm?" Your mind is too hazy, clouded by lust. your mouth was open but you didn't answer, you could only sigh continuously and it made him smile. "that's what i thought"

Your back arches up when the head of his member prods against your sensitive spot. “You take me so well, sister.” He groaned again as he felt your walls squeeze him, as if wanting to milk all the seed that was there.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growls. “With my cum until you’re leaking and breed you until I’m satisfied.”

You tries to formulate a coherent response, but your hazy mind betrays you and whines come out in response. Sweat dripping down your back as your hips rock back and forth, frantically seeking your own pleasure.

Laughter stumbles past Aegon’ lips as he delivers a sharp slap on your supple flesh, stroking it afterwards. “That’s it sister, let go.”

Your body shook as you felt your peak approaching, you screamed his name as you reached your peak. Aegon slammed his cock and spurted his seed inside you, he felt your walls squeeze him tightly and milking him until the last drop of his seed. He didn't let go of his cock, he hugged you and lay down with you. He kissed your back and let sleep consume the both of you.

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, the weight of your world is lifted.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @yazzzmints @hangmanscoming @giirlinblack

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd imagine #hotd aemond #prince aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd one shot #aegon ii fanfic #hotd x reader #aegon x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #aemond fic #prince aemond targaryen #aegon fanfic #aegon smut #hotd angst #hotd smut #hotd alicent

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starfishstark · 6 months ago

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PRINCESS AND THE SITH

NOTE guys this prompt got a hold of me, so blame @ofstarsandvibranium for the midnight horrible writing

WARNINGS 1.6K words, violence, death of a non-MC, smut (you freaks), lots of religious imagery and refrences to Qimir being god-like (he is)

PAIRING qimir x princess! reader

you and young jedi qimir fall in love when he's guarding you as a member of the royal family. you're stricken away from each other in the name of duties and responsibilities, and the love is thought to be a lost cause to you...until you see him again, holding a vibrant red saber to the throat of your betrothed.

Oh my stars, he was just as beautiful as the day he left. Even with grim over his face, and sweat glistening over his skin. The red reflected off of him in a way that she could only compare to heavenly. Oh what a horrible idea…

It was just a mistake, that was all. As a kid, she should have known she couldn’t have grown close to any Jedi. As a teenager, she should have recognized her faults, and moved past them. Not whatever happened between them then, puppy innocent love. Nothing tainted, nothing impure, simply just a love that bloomed between them, first love.

But it could never meant to be. She knew she had to grow into her royal duties, one day marry into a rich royal family somewhere out there to settle down and provide heirs for that family as she wasn’t the eldest.

And Qimir…he was a Jedi. He could never have that without forsaking what he has stood for all his life. So once the threat on the royals’ lives had ended, he was sent away. And she never thought of him again…

That was completely false, by the way. It was like every waking second after his departure was spent in reminiscence of him.

Every lesson became a guess if he would like the subject or not. Every lonely stroll became a daydream about his presence. Every late night was spent wishing he was there guarding her room from the inside, holding her in warrior strengthened arms and confessing the sweet love he had for her.

As time washed past, the remembrance faded away, until the impending face of reality dawned upon her. There was no point in wishing over something she would never have, something that wouldn’t serve her people.

She had a royal duty to be bound elsewhere and provide heirs. It was time she forgot about the boy that only stayed weeks, but occupied her mind for years.

But he stood here, grinning like a madman, but at least he was grinning.

“Qimir?” She asked softly, not daring to guess if it was him or not.

The guard took her by the arm, pulling her away, "Princess, you need to step away. Our priority is getting you to safety—”

“What do you mean- oh.”

She saw it, the reason he was grinning so widely. In his arms he held the man she was meant to marry in the crook of his elbow, squeezing the neck so tightly that the eyes started to bulge out, but her eyes stayed focused on the sheer mass of muscle he displayed. He wore white…white, like her husband was supposed to on the wedding day. White, and red that made him glow in her eyes.

“Qimir, what is this?”

“I read…” He started off, clearly his throat, trying to soften his voice. “I read about your laws and traditions, princess…” He glanced off at the man he was currently strangling, holding the end of a small dagger like saber, to his head, a look full of disgust and malice. “And this idiots’ laws too…If I kill him off, I get his wife or his kingdom…and to your laws, all you need to provide is a backup heir for your kingdom…it doesn’t matter who the father is.”

“Of course it does, it needs to be of royal blood,” She answered simply, face and thoughts going more and more blank the longer she spent in his presence. He was really here, and it was flattering he wanted to marry her, but really it could never work out he was a Jedi-

The red saber stared back at, as if taunting her to continue her thoughts.

No, no, ok, makes sense, he’s a Jedi anymore, but…if he wasn’t Jedi, what was he?

Qimir cocked an eyebrow and smirked at the ministry to her right. “Is that so?”

The Ministry looked down in shame. “No, you are wrong princess…He…he is right. The father does not matter if at least the mother is in direct blood of the throne.”

Her face dropped, looking at them equally with shame and a repulsion, and then panicking, looking suddenly at her fiance’s impending death in the eyes. “Wait, wait, Qimir, don’t be rash, we don’t have to kill him, you’ll enable an entire army of attacks, think rationally here-”

“Oh princess…” He crooned, a glaze in his eyes that never left her, not even for a second. He tilted his head, turning her fiance in tow with him. “Shh…If it’ll hurt, you can close your eyes this time. This isn’t the first time I’ve killed for you…and it won’t be the last either. Shhh, sh…close your eyes.”

“You…you can’t do this,” She tried again stupidly.

“Yes, yes I can…” he whispered, voice impossibly soft when the subject was the murder of a royal in front of her, her supposed fiance… well not anymore, a little voice in her head cooed, sounding impossibly like Qimir in that moment.

“Just close your eyes, princess, nothing to see here…the wedding will commence like normal…and nothing will come between us again.”

“Qimir, please, he’s innocent,” She whispered, tears springing in her eyes.

“Princess, c’mon now, don’t make this more difficult for yourself…close your eyes, and cover your ears.”

She glanced at the man she was strangling, taking a full moment to beg for forgiveness in herself, before she turned around closing her eyes and covered her ears. She thought she could practically feel Qimir’s grin resonating around her, and the second her ex-fiances’ body hit the floor. After a moment of silence, a hand rested at her shoulder, turning her around.

Qimir’s handsome face tugged at her heartstrings, even when she knew that the hands he touched her so softly with were stained with blood. His eyes were alike to a puppy, with hope filling a spark in them that she would marry him and they could love again, the love that never truly fades. His hair framed his face, since when was it that long? Oh she hadn’t seen him in that long.

“Ready to get married, princess?”

After the marriage, no one really dared to come near him after he so simply beheaded the heir to a million count kingdom. Suffice to say, no one would bother them for a while…especially during their wedding night. When he had face pushed against the pillow while he took his time learning his way around her body once again.

“When I-” He cut off with a sharp thrust that rendered her useless under him, whining some nonsense about how good everything felt, “saw the wedding announcement, princess, I nearly killed him that night. Almost consumed him in the force itself, that bastard, trying to take what’s mine.”

“Yours, yours, yours, Qimir, I’m so sorry—”

“Shhh, it’s ok, princess, I’m not mad at you,” he crooned into her ear, his nose tracing a line up and down her neck in comfort as he forced himself further into her, the mess dripping onto the bedsheets and down her thighs. “You didn’t have a choice, you thought you had to do it…I know you would have chosen me if you could, oh poor baby, you thought you were all alone…”

His voice was so soft onto her, like velvet that soothed all the cuts left behind by the years he wasn’t there. “It’s ok… I’m here now, princess…”

She gasped softly when he pulled out just to thrust all the way in again, his fingers coming up to push her head back into the mattress, forcing her hips higher and straightening back out. “Stars, princess, I dreamed of this so much when I didn’t have you…did you dream of me?”

“Almost every night, Qimir, missed you so much,” She blabbed, feeling tears peak at her eyes with how long he was dragging this out. “Please, please, please, need you, need you now, please—”

“Shhh, shh, baby, maybe if it’s easier, you should close your eyes,” He whispered, a mockery of the circumstances before their wedding, sending a shiver involuntarily down her shoulder. “I know what you need, just-” he thrusted again, pressing a spot inside her that made her see stars “-relax.”

She practically melted in his grip, while he breathed heavily above her, the sound like a symphony to heaven’s gates to her. Like pure bliss exploding on her skin, ever second he was with her.

“Fuck, I love you so much, princess, baby, you love me too, don’t you? Stars, I did this all for you, I fucking love you.”

“I love you, I love you, Iloveyou, Iloveyou-” The phrase became a mantra on her tongue, a prayer that died the second he started to move on her. Prayers were answered, an alter laid before her. He had the wings of an angel, and the eyes of the devil when he peered at her with such power laid in his hands. His blood-streaked hands, like the acceptance of a sacrifice, sacrifice in her name, if he was god, what does that make her? The worship he gave to her, laying practically at her feet, jumping down from his pedestal for a touch of mortality from her lips, and the dangers of being young forever when they touched.

“You’re mine, princess, no other dirty prince will ever touch you,” He whispered to her, and she knew she believed in faith when his words rang like truth itself in her core.

When they both finished, he laid next to her, curling her hair behind her ear and pressing gentle kisses to her forehead, each one like sunlight on her skin. She knew what it was like to be touched by a god.

#qimir #the acolyte #qimir the acolyte #qimir x reader #the stranger #qimir x you #the stranger x reader #the acolyte x reader #qimir smut #qimir fic

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gojoest · 1 year ago

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COMPETITION — gojo satoru

satoru tries to beat the bad cook allegations and win his girls back

girl dad satoru, established relationship — you’re married & have a daughter (oc), her name is sora, f! reader, reader is referred to as “mama”, mentions of food, this is a silly little thing, not proofread, wc: 1.2k

satoru can be a lot of things — the strongest sorcerer, the most loving and devoted husband, the world’s greatest dad, society’s biggest menace, and according to some “the owner of the most annoying heh” — but there’s one thing he most definitely isn’t. a good cook.

but ever since you had a family brunch gathering at nanami’s place where the latter had singlehandedly prepared a feast, without letting his wife lift a single finger even when it came to setting the table, satoru took it upon himself to prove that he can be as good of a cook as nanami, or even better.

the way you and your five-year-old daughter, sora, looked as if you’ve just tasted heaven while savoring each bite was a blow below the belt for satoru, while the finishing one was you complimenting nanami and telling his wife how she is the luckiest woman alive to have a husband who’s so skilled and willing in the kitchen because satoru can’t even boil water — to which sora nodded in agreement, “papa really sucks in the kitchen.”

it’s been two weeks ever since and you regret ever making that snarky remark about satoru’s incompetence because you’ve been banned from the kitchen all along, not even allowed to pour yourself a glass of water — all you have to do is ask and your husband will do it for you while you sit back and watch as the state of your kitchen worsens with each passing day.

he would occasionally have sora keep him company and help him prep the ingredients, sometimes even take the first bite if the end product looks edible, but for you the kitchen was completely off limits, he’s got a point to prove — that he is the best husband and you should’ve never said those flattering words about his friend in the first place because he can’t stand it when you acknowledge in any way any other man that isn’t him.

satoru’s determination is strong. he has no intention of letting this matter go, not until he sees that same expression on you and your daughter’s face — this is his life goal right now, he cannot have his two most important girls swayed by another man’s cooking, not even if that man is nanami (and especially because it’s him).

you might be running out of usable plates and pans, as they’re either broken or burnt, but satoru is definitely making progress. all the cooking videos he’s watched and the tips he’s gotten from talking to mothers on online forums are finally paying off because today, for the first time ever, he didn’t burn the pancakes for breakfast.

“papa”, sora looks with disapproving eyes at her dad, her cheeks squished between her tiny palms as she’s leaning her elbows on the kitchen counter.

“yes, my life”, satoru crouches down to her level. even though she’s standing on the toddler step stool her head can barely reach his hips. but whenever satoru talks to her, he always, without fail, either squats down or leans forward or holds her in his arms — because in those moments it’s just him and his little princess against the world, on equal footing always so he can hear her better and never miss a single expression she makes. “what’s with that look, hm?”, he nuzzles his flour covered nose against hers, the action itself causing some of the white particles to smudge on hers too.

“the pancakes look like pancakes this time but mama will not like this mess you made, again” — the sink is filled to the brim, there’s flour and baking powder on every single surface — counter, table, chairs, floor, the butter has started melting because satoru placed it too close to the stove after using some of it, there’s eggshells on the floor — any clean freak’s biggest nightmare.

“the mess i made?”, he gasps, “aren’t you an accomplice in this, little miss?”

“no”, she flatly denies, “i only watched you and broke the eggs”

“on the floor, that is”

“it’s because you said pick three eggs while i can only carry two, look—”, she stretches her tiny hands forward, palms facing up, to prove her point, “i have only two hands and they’re not big like yours, how am i supposed to hold the third one?”

satoru chuckles at her genuinely puzzled face, “you’re right, my life”, he replies through a soft smile after taking her hands into his and peppering kisses on the inside of each, “papa didn’t consider this”

“it’s okay, papa”, sora rests her forehead against her dad’s, “i am a big girl now, i will help you clean after breakfast”

“but you’ll always be my little girl no matter how old you get”, satoru whispers softly, lifting her up with just one arm so his free hand can gently caress the back of her head as she comfortably nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, “which is why papa will take care of it”

“but first”, he sits her on the countertop and cuts a small piece of the pancake for her to taste. “say aah”, he holds the fork to her mouth, eagerly observing every gesture on her face as she takes the bite and starts chewing. it’s definitely not the look she made while eating nanami’s cooking but she doesn’t seem to hate it either.

“papa.”

“yes, my life?”, satoru looks at her expectantly.

“can i be honest with you?”

“yes, of course you can”

“uncle nanamin does it better”, she admits to which satoru instantly deflates, “but—”

“but?”, a tiny spark of hope makes it back to his sulking eyes.

“i wouldn’t trade your pancakes for the world”

“YESSS”, satoru triumphantly pumps his fist in the air and spins around beaming with joy, “got one of my girls back on my team — now let’s hear your mother’s verdict… but hold on”, his face painted in concern again.

“hmm?”, sora questions the sudden change in his demeanor.

“sora.”, satoru speaks in a rather serious voice.

“papa?”

“you’re not saying this just because i’m your papa, right?”

“well, it’s partly because of it actually”, sora pauses for a second, trying to pick the right words before continuing, “but it’s because you put so much love and effort to make me and mama happy that it makes anything you do my favorite thing in the world, and i wouldn’t trade it for anything, papa”

“i haven’t tasted the pancakes yet but i must agree with sora on this”, your voice reaches them from behind as you stand leaning on the doorframe. you came following the sweet and warm aroma wafting through the air but found yourself accidentally eavesdropping on their little heart-to-heart talk. “you put your heart and soul for us always — aren’t we the luckiest girls in the world?”, you wink at sora and she nods.

satoru sighs in relief, “if i can’t give you the best of everything that means i am a failure both as a husband and as a father. because you two are my biggest blessing and i only live to make you happy. also — you’re still not allowed in the kitchen, so just stay there and wait for the pancakes.”

#ઈઉ — ai writes #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo fluff #[ ♡ ] — satoru

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as-is-above-so-below · 2 years ago

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The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: mentions of violence and death (ofc), blood Next >>

John Price stood at a round table, leading the mission brief for the team’s upcoming operation. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sat around the table in various positions. Soap with his boots kicked up onto the table, chair tilted back; Gaz leaned forward onto the table, his forearms on the surface; Ghost leaned back against his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Soap and Gaz wore their regulation tan t-shirts and camo pants, while Ghost was clad in a black long-sleeve and his standard skull balaclava.

“So if we’re stormin’ the building, we’re all accounted for,” Soap pointed out, clicking the pen between his fingers. “We need a sniper.”

“Called in a favor with a good friend, who should have been here–”

“Ten minutes ago,” a strong but mellow voice cut in as a figure turned through the doorway. “I know, sorry John. Got a bit caught up with my room assignment. Tried to put me on the other side of base.”

A woman came into view, offering her hand out to John. They firmly grasped each other’s forearms in a quick shake. Soap and Gaz both had only slightly surprised expressions. Not at the fact that their sniper was female; they’d worked with plenty of fierce women during their time in Task Force 141.

The fact that she did not look the part.

She wore a massively oversized black sweatshirt that brushed her thighs and dark blue skinny jeans, her hair loose down her back. Must’ve just got off a plane, Soap thought to himself, looking her up and down. Her stance showed her confidence, feet shoulder-width apart as she faced the team with a bright smile (one not often found in their field of work) and glowing skin. She wasn’t necessarily small, more average height, but her attire dwarfed her frame.

“Thank you for joining us, Captain,” Price nodded at her. “This is Freyja. American Special Forces, sniper, undercover ops. She’s been briefed and will be joining us temporarily for the op. She comes highly recommended and outranks all of you, so I’d suggest you be on your best behavior.”

The woman jabbed Price with her elbow, rolling her eyes, much to Soap’s surprise. He barely suppressed the laugh that bubbled in his chest, unable to help the small choking laugh that escaped. Ghost glared at him and he quickly piped down.

“Thanks, John, but I think I’ll be fine. Glad to be of use.”

“Happy to have you. Let me know if you need anything while you’re here. I’ll leave you to it, get acquainted. We leave at 0400 hours. We’ll be infiltrating in daylight; prepare accordingly.”

“Aye, Captain,” Soap nodded once and saluted him, setting his chair back down as he rose. He watched John pat her shoulder on his way out, sharing what seemed like a knowing look, before finally departing to his quarters. Interesting.

Soap was the first to cross the room, taking her hand in a firm grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain. Sergeant John Mactavish,” he introduced, shaking her hand. He noted her equally firm grip and the cool metal of a wedding band pressing into his palm. Her skin was calloused yet soft, not as rough as his own.

“Soap, right? Heard a lot about you.”

“Aye. Good things I hope?"

“Mostly.”

A boisterous laugh left him, so loud you’d think the room shook. Soap heard Gaz gag on his water before breaking into a choked wheeze. The other man approached, shaking her hand as well. “Kyle Garrick, call me Gaz.”

Her hands found their way into the pockets of her sweatshirt.

“So, Freyja… like the–?”

A gentle, airy giggle floated into his ears. What a lovely sound. “Yes, like the goddess. I know, my husband’s idea.”

Soap groaned, his head lolling back in faux agony as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re breakin’ my heart, lass. Was hopin’ ya didn’t have one’a those. He in the service?”

“He is, but you wouldn’t know him. Keeps a pretty low profile,” she shrugged, keeping her eyes on the two men in front of her.

”D’ya think I could take him?”

”Probably not.”

Neither Soap nor Gaz noticed the way Ghost’s mask twitched slightly, evidence of the smirk that pulled at his lips. But she knew his microexpressions like the back of her hand, even out of the corner of her eye. The Scot remembered Ghost’s presence suddenly and waved his hand in his direction. He hadn’t made any move to greet the newcomer and hadn’t spoken during the entire brief.

“Steamin’ Jesus, Ghost, you heard the man. Be nice to the lady!”

Ghost grunted, keeping his arms folded on his chest. “Captain.”

“Lieutenant.”

The two stared at each other, her brow quirked. As the seconds passed, the interaction became increasingly awkward for everyone else in the room. Even the thickest person on the planet could have sensed the tension. Unable to take the silence any longer, Gaz stepped in to attempt to relieve some tension. “You two worked together before?”

“You could say that,” Ghost stated as he rose from his chair. “A word, Freyja?”

Her tongue poked at the inside of her cheek and she squinted at him. It was almost comical, the height difference between the two. Typically, Soap would have made a snarky quip, if not for the vicious look in her eyes. He wouldn’t say it out loud to him, but the scowl rivaled his lieutenant‘s. Finally, she spoke, “Excuse us, gentlemen. I’ll see you in the morning. You know where to find me in the meantime.”

“G’night, Cap,” Soap nodded and moved to the side, allowing her to pass to the door. Ghost didn’t spare them another glance as he followed behind her. The two men stood silently until they heard a door slam shut up the hall. Soap snapped his gaze to Gaz and found him already looking with wide eyes.

“What was that about?”

Soap shrugged noncommittally. “Not a clue. Bad history? Ghost’s no’ exactly skilled in manners.” He went to head to his room when he noticed a military-issue duffel where Freyja had been standing, an American flag patch on the side. He bent down and slung it over his shoulder. “Left her stuff. I’m gonna drop it by ‘for hittin’ the hay. See ya in the mornin’.”

They went their separate ways, Gaz disappearing to the armory to stock up for the mission. Soap approached the only spare room in their wing and rapped his knuckles against the door. He waited for a few beats to no response and repeated the motion.

Nothing.

Soap’s brows furrowed when he heard what sounded like a muffled argument from the next door up, labeled “Lt. Riley”. Soap should have just left her duffel in front of her door and continued on his way to his bedroom, and gone to bed.

But no, he just had to snoop.

He crept toward the door, still holding the bag as he pressed his ear to the hollow wood. They clearly knew each other, but Ghost hadn’t seemed happy to see her. He felt a bit guilty spying on his lieutenant, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He heard Ghost’s deep voice first.

“We had a deal. You’re supposed to be on leave, and Price knows that. I have half a mind to wring his fucking neck–”

“John didn’t ask me to be here, I volunteered–”

“Cut the shit, Y/N. I’m not daft. He has no place calling you in without asking me first.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Simon!”

Simon? Just how familiar were they with each other?

“Oh, I’m well aware. I just figured that when your husband asks you to stay home, you'd listen! How silly of me!”

So he knows her husband. Interesting.

“That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“You want to talk about fair? You went around my back to my Captain. I’d say anything’s fair play at this point.” Heavy boots crossed the floor. “This isn’t just about you anymore. You’re not my superior, you’re–”

Soap shuffled his feet, he realized too late how loud the noise was in the empty hallway, and the voices suddenly stopped. He knocked in an attempt to recover, quickly stepping back from the door before it opened. The woman appeared, now in a too-big band tee, her dog tags resting on her chest. “Hi, Johnny,” she greeted, her tone significantly warmer than it had been a moment ago.

He didn’t remember mentioning his preference for the name, but he couldn’t find a reason to comment on it then. “You, uh, left ya bag. Wanted to drop it off, figured you’d be here.”

“Oh, my bad. Thanks, I appreciate it.” He transferred her possessions to her. The bag that appeared standard when he carried it looked huge compared to her frame. The added weight did not phase her. “We have an early morning. I’m heading to bed.”

Ghost moved from his spot near the bed on the other side of the room. “Frey–”

She held a hand up, sending another chilling glare in his direction. Soap was impressed when Ghost didn’t even blink at the look. “Enough, Lieutenant. That’s an order.” He didn’t miss the eyes behind the skeleton glowering or how the fabric near his mouth shifted.

“Yes, ma’am,” he growled through clenched teeth.

She brushed by Soap, readjusting the bag on her shoulder as she stormed to her room, somehow gracefully maintaining her posture. Before he could turn back to question Ghost, the door swung shut in his face.

Real polite.

~*~

“Alpha-One, in position.”

“Copy that, one. Alpha-Two, in position.”

“Bravo?” Soap’s partner looked over his shoulder at the white light flashing at them in the distance. There was a muffled choking sound and a swallow, followed by a sniffle. “Freyja?”

“Sorry. Multiple armed guards. Two snipers at the east and west sides of the targets.” Her voice, while calm, sounded tired and a bit drained. As if she could sense the unspoken question, she came through their headsets again. “Little sick this morning. I’m fine.”

Ghost's jaw set and he rolled his shoulders, blinking a few times to focus. Soap noticed the motion and covered the mic on his headset. “You a’right, Lt.?” he asked, his voice concerned with his brows furrowed.

Ghost ignored him. “Can you get a visual inside?”

“Negative. Windows are blocked in both buildings. You’re going blind.”

“What’s the call, ma’am?” Gaz’s voice.

“This is Price’s op. I’m just here for support.”

“Ghost?” Price this time.

Ghost audibly sighed, his irritation at the situation clear. Soap wondered how bad their last encounter could have been for the usually collected man in front of him to be so disheveled. Soap looked over at the lieutenant, who had turned his attention back to the opening in the wall between them. “Bravo, hold your position. Understood?”

“Affirmative.”

“Alpha-One, move in on your target on my command.” Ghost clicked off his mic and slid the chamber back on his pistol, doing one final check.

Soap took the opportunity to follow up on his unanswered concern. “Ghost, you good? Seem tense. Something going on with the lass?”

“Shut up, Sergeant.” He reached up to click his headset back on. “Freyja cleared hot to engage.”

“Standby.” A beat passed, then another, until the suppressed shot of a sniper rifle rang through their headsets, followed by the bolt being pulled back and pushed forward. Another shot. “Clean hit. Snipers down.”

“Copy. Alpha-One, move in. Keep it quiet,” Ghost commanded, signaling Soap forward with a tilt of his head.

She watched Ghost and Soap move swiftly around structures and cars forward to their target. Her gaze periodically adjusted between them and Alpha-One, Gaz and Price. Soap’s accent was low in her ear. “Approaching target. Engaging two hostiles.”

The pair dispatched the guards with ease, the same as the other team up the road.

“Be advised, I have no eyes inside,” she reminded the group, surveying the surrounding area as both teams entered the building.

“Roger. Breaching.”

On their frequency, angry shouts and gunfire had her writing uncomfortably in her spot. She didn’t like not having a solid visual of her team; it made her feel helpless. The audio of the scene inside wasn’t helping her nerves (or nausea) much, either. The sniper was almost lost in her thoughts when she caught movement at the edge of her scope up the street.

Reinforcements.

“Ghost, engaging incoming hostiles. You might want to bug out,” she suggested, taking several shots at the armed men back-to-back. “Alpha-One, sound off.”

“Heard. Intel acquired,” Price acknowledged. “Clearing out.”

“Alpha-Two, how copy?”

The radio crackled once before Soap came through. “Copy, I’ve lost visual on Ghost. Got separated in the firefight,” he grunted, still firing shots inside the building. “‘M gonna have to squirt.”

Something wasn’t right. “Ghost, how copy?”

Silence.

“Lieutenant, what’s your status?”

Her skin crawled at the repeated silence. “Fuck.” She took a deep breath and pulled her knees underneath her body, her stomach suddenly stilling, nausea disappearing. “Abandoning post.” Her voice pierced through their radios with urgency. She abandoned her rifle and made her way down from her perch.

“Absolutely not. We’re converging at the meeting point now.” Price cursed under his breath as she brandished her sidearm and sprinted towards Ghost’s last location. “Stand down, Bravo, that’s an order!” The captain commanded, rough and authoritative.

“All due respect, Price, get bent.”

Price and Gaz watched helplessly as she disappeared into the structure, Soap approaching them from their flank. “The absolute balls on that one, aye?” he snickered, eyeballing Price. He didn’t even flinch, expression hard as steel as he rubbed his face. He hadn’t seen his captain that stressed in quite a while. Maybe not the time for jokes…

The blood-curdling screams Soap heard would scare any man straight. It sounded like a horror movie slaughterhouse over their comms, whether it was caused by Ghost or Freyja he didn’t know. He did know it was her voice that said Ghost’s name and assumed the distant, heated mumbling was Ghost. He must have lost his headset if they couldn’t hear him clearly, and what they were hearing was whatever her comms picked up. “Shut the fuck up and move. If you were fine, I wouldn’t be here, Lieutenant. You can thank me later,” she snapped, sounding eerily similar to a stereotypical angry wife. There’s no way she cleared out that entire convoy on her own…

Right?

Moments later, without any other gunfire, the pair emerged. Ghost was indeed missing his headset, while Freyja trudged in front of him, taking long steps to cross the street. Her helmet was gone, and her hair had come loose. Gun in one hand, a familiar black combat knife in the other, dripping blood. Strands of hair clung to her face, coated in dark red, along with her hands, bare arms, and vest. Soap’s eyes blew wide. “Steamin’ bloody Jesus, did she–?”

Price hummed and nodded beside him. In the same breath, she stumbled over to a car and gripped the door handle, dumping her stomach on the dusty road. Soap and Gaz moved to help, but Price stopped them with a single grunt. Ghost was immediately on her, expertly sweeping her hair into one hand as he pulled her earpiece out, cutting off their audio. One of her hands grabbed his vest for support while his other hand rested on her back.

“Well, that’s unusual,” Soap chimed, his head cocked to the side as he watched the display.

“Quit starin’ and load up. I doubt that’s the last of those reinforcements.” Price waved at them, catching Ghost’s attention and pointing to an approaching Heli, waving his hand in a “roll out” motion.

~*~

The ride back to base in the heli was one of the most awkward experiences of Soap’s life; not a word was spoken during the short trip. Ghost pulled a rag out of his vest and silently handed it to Freyja to wipe some blood from her face; she passed him the blade she had carried, and he finally placed its familiarity when Ghost tucked it into the empty holster at his hip. She looked utterly drained now that they were in close quarters. In another shocking moment, she rested her head on Ghost’s shoulder, and he didn’t move to shove her off.

What the fuck?

At the base, Ghost dropped her off at the medical bay before storming into the meeting room where the team had gathered to debrief. “You’re a dead man, Price,” he barked, finger jabbed at him as his skull plate skittered across the table when he threw it. “You fuckin’ knew–”

“Simon, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t “Simon” me. Sorry’s not gonna cut it, Captain! If she’s hurt–”

“I didn’t think she would compromise herself that easily.”

Ghost barked a dry, humorless laugh as he pointed in the general direction of the infirmary. “Of course, she’s bloody compromised! She’s my fuckin’ wife, you git!” he snarled, teeth viciously bared as he ripped off his mask.

“Hell’s fuckin’ bells…”

“Bloody hell…”

He was too angry (and, frankly, scared for his wife’s health) to acknowledge their audience. “This is exactly why I told you not to call her. I can’t focus if I’m worried about her safety right now. She’s supposed to be safe at home, resting, not running into a bloody warzone, for God’s sake!”

“She was told not to leave her post–”

“When has she ever obeyed a direct order?”

Silence fell over the group, Price effectively losing the argument. Neither Sergeant wanted to find themselves on the other end of Ghost’s rage. They had no envy for Price and dared not get between them. No envy at all. On the other hand, Soap had so many questions. Since where was Ghost married? When did he have the time for a wife? And an American at that? How long had he been keeping her a secret?

“Simon.”

Four heads whipped to the soft voice across the room, finding the woman of the hour standing in the doorway. A superficial cut on her forehead had been taped up, her face clear of blood. Soap and Gaz stared at her in disbelief, jaws dropped as they looked from her to Ghost and back again. She chuckled at their expressions but didn’t move to approach them. “Captain Riley. Lovely to meet you both, officially,” she reintroduced herself, a slight smirk on her lips. She finally met her husband’s gaze, her expression softened at his bare face, save for the black paint.

He curled two fingers at her, one arm crossed over his chest. “C’mere. Now,” he ordered her, though his tone had little bite to it.

Even only knowing the sniper for such little time, Soap was outright shocked at the display. Flabbergasted by her obedience when she immediately strode to the spot next to him, barely leaving any space between their chests. It didn’t seem like her. He was obviously wrong, considering what he’d just witnessed.

Ghost took a deep breath as he peered down at her, examining her visible skin for injuries. “I’m right pissed at you, love,” he muttered, allowing her to loop a finger in his belt loop.

She smiled up at him, her admiration clear now that the sergeants had been let in on the secret. “I know.”

“Don’t give me that look.” The man sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. He knew he couldn’t hold his ground with that smile of hers. He dropped a gloved hand to rest on her lower belly, rubbing the spot with his thumb. “You alright?”

She placed her hand on top of his and bobbed her head. Her familiar glow from the night before had returned.

“I’d like an apology.”

“And I’d like a parade in my honor. Oh, and a good ol’ fashioned fu–”

“Oi, better watch that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

“You love my mouth.”

“Tha’ I do. Just not right now, sweetheart.”

Soap couldn’t take it anymore. “Steamin’ blood Jesus L.t., are you…flirting?”

“Shamelessly,” she giggled, never once tearing her eyes away from the man towering over her.

Ghost rolled his eyes again, his other hand slipping into its home on the side of her neck. “You’re done. I mean it. And if you call her again, I walk,” he threatened, turning his head to address Price directly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Ghost, she held her own just fine,” Soap interjected from his chair. “Hen took out an entire squad practically single-handedly, plus the convoy before she went in after ya. I don’t see the problem.”

Realization dawned on Gaz suddenly, forcing him to his feet again. “You’re pregnant,” he exclaimed, both in shock and awe. “That’s why you were feeling sick. And the big clothes. You’re on maternity leave."

The lack of response from John and Freyja and how Ghost studied Gaz said everything they needed to know.

“No wonder you’ve been downright crabbit with her! Can’t say I blame ye, ‘s too dangerous out there to be mucking about with a little one in there.” Soap rose to his feet too, smiling like a cheeseball, ready to ruthlessly tease him. “How’d you manage that, Ghost? A bangin’ wife and a baby?”

“I know it’s been a while for you, Sarge–”

“Aw, away n’ bile yer heid!” the Scot barked, dismissing his lieutenant with a wave.

“English, MacTavish.”

“Sorry, sir, let me translate…Go fuck yourself.”

“Much better.”

He moved on from Ghost, addressing Freyja now. “I’ve so many questions! How long ‘ave you been together?” Soap leaned against the round table in front of them, his hands dragging across the shaved portion of his head.

“How old am I?” Ghost asked in a low, teasing timber.

Her upper lip tugged upwards as her hand wavered, indicating an estimate. “Five years, give or take.”

“Five years?! Son of the god-damn-devil, Lt! You’ve had a secret wife for five years–” He cut himself off with a gasp, his volume dropping to a brash whisper. “Does he take the mask off when you—”

“Tha’ll do, Johnny.”

Her bubbly laugh filled the room, and she swatted his tactical vest with her palm. “Si, don’t be an ass,” she warned, raising a brow at him. “Oh, John! I have pictures for you!” The woman let go of her husband and dug out folded ultrasound photos from her zipped pocket. She, Price, and Gaz moved to another corner of the room, gushing over the snapshots of her latest appointment before flying out, leaving Soap and Ghost alone by the meeting table.

A mischievous grin overtook Soap’s face. “An American, eh, Lt.? And she outranks you?”

“Not another word, Sergeant.”

A long pause stretched between them, although not long enough for Ghost’s liking.

“So… Goddess of love, beauty, and war,” he inquired, raising an eyebrow at the Brit, who threw him a questioning side-eye. Soap hummed. “Fitting.”

Soap almost gawked at the smirk (borderline smile) that Ghost bore as he watched his wife animatedly pour over her photos. “I’m well aware.” Another moment passed between them before Ghost fully turned to the other man. “Johnny?”

“Yeah, Ghost?"

“Flirt with my wife again, I’ll knock your teeth in."

"Noted, sir."

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