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cherry-leclerc · 1 year ago

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fucked-up little thrill ☆ cl16

genre: pwp but also porn with plot (the best of both worlds!), humor, she truly is a maneater in disguiseee

word count: 8.3K

There’s a difference between warning and danger - you happen to be both. Though, Charles only sees the green light, go. Well, we can all imagine how this will already go.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+...oral (m and f receiving), fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, riding, slight cry, unprotected sex

inspired by this and this !

“She’ll mess with your head, man. You’re going to wish she had never looked your way.”

“I told my mom about her. Crap, I bought her an engagement ring after a few days of knowing her.”

“Four words: Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“Do you know how fucked in the head you have to be in order to willingly go after her? Fucking pathetic. Sure, I did the same, but hear me out-”

Despite the warnings, he didn’t pay them any attention. He thought he was going crazy for sure when he saw two guys on their knees, begging: Run, just do it. And whatever you do, don’t look back.

Charles wasn’t even listening.

The nights were beginning to get warmer, yet there was still a slight breeze. Spring was rolling in. What an innocent season to meet the wildest card Charles has ever dealt.

“...then she laughed so hard that, Jesus Mary and Joseph, my heart went bananas! Y’know what I did next? I asked her, ‘You want a slice?’ I meant the tiramisu, guys! She thought I was talking about myself! T’was the most embarrassing thing. Made me look like a bloody narcissist.” Lando whined as he leaned onto the table to hide his face.

George snorts. “Ah don’t worry mate, I would gladly take a slice.” Lando groans, further rubbing his forehead onto the table. So much so, that it began to squeak.

“Alright, calm down before you shed your skin off. It wasn’t that bad.” Alex voices, as he pops a curly fry into his mouth.

“Easy for you to say! You basically have the person you’re going to get married to! You’re safe.” The Brit pouts. He then lifts his head up and wipes away a single tear. Everyone explodes into laughter.

“Muppet, c’mon we were kidding! Weren’t we just fooling around, Charles?” Carlos wiggles his eyebrows at the Monegasque. Charles rolled his eyes playfully.

“Yes, of course we were joking,” he starts. Lando looks up, seemingly feeling better as everyone began to agree. We were just playing around!

“Then again, how did you even fall for a girl like that?” Charles finishes his sentence.

“Argh. You don’t get itttt,” Lando wails in defeat. “When you meet a girl like that, you don’t question it. You just thank God for sending her your way and then BAM! She just walks out of your life.”

Hm - Charles thinks to himself as he takes a sip of Martini - naive, naive little Lando.

Charles met you that same night he was out for dinner with the boys. He was waiting for his car from the valet; shooting Joris a quick text.

"Sorry," he overhears a soft voice, but still didn’t pay much attention.

"Sorry? You’re sorry? We both know goddamn well that you’re sorry about nothing. Nada. Zeeerrrooo," a man's voice angrily shouts back, voice slurring.

Charles turns and sees a man running his hands through his blonde hair, walking back and forth in despair. Then, his eyes move to find you.

Standing tall in the tightest, shortest, black dress he's ever seen. So, the little black dress truly does exist. Glowy skin shining through from the lights decorating the outside of the restaurant. Your legs appear miles long, feet paired with your nicest set of heels, Joli Queen Glitter. Red fucking bottoms. Christian Louboutin at its finest. Rich jewelry sits on your wrists, fingers, and neck.

Even with all that in the way, all he notices is just how drop-dead gorgeous you are. Suddenly, his fingers get clammy. What the hell? His jaw was clenched. Literally, why? His pants were growing tight because oh God he was already har- Alright, now that’s just crazy, Charles. Get it together.

“Yes. Whether you believe me or not, I’m sorry. Maybe you just shouldn’t have set high expectations,” you spoke, looking down.

“Are you being fucking serious right now? You’re smiling? You think this is funny! Oh God, what the fuck is wrong with you, you crazyyyy bitch!” The man continues, sharply pointing his finger at you accusingly. He genuinely looks like he’s about to start crying for his mommy.

“Okay mate, I think that’s enough. Why don’t I call you a cab?” Charles speaks up from where he’s standing. You and the mysterious guy turn to look at him.

You shoot a smile as the man's eye starts twitching.

“Oh great! Great, great, great,” the man chants. “What an idiotic thing to believe that you hadn't gotten rid of me already! How could I not see it coming?” He drops to his knees and starts rocking back and forth. “On my dead hamster's birthday!” Levi, Charles later finds out, cries out to the sky. “Couldn’t this have happened any other day?” Charles cringes. “Call me that shitty ass cab, dude.”

So, you stand close by as Charles helps plop Levi inside with the help of the cab driver. They buckle him up and off they go.

Not before Levi pokes his out the window. “I swear I’m not being bitter when I tell you to fucking save yourself!”

Both of you are left there standing quietly. You pout your red lips as you pull out your phone to call a cab for yourself.

“Need a lift?”

Glancing around silently, you sneak a look at Charles. Handsome, you ponder, just a tiny bit. Outrageous lie. You quickly scold yourself for being so untruthful. This man was the most beautiful kind you’ve seen in your entire life.

“Take it that was your boyfriend back there?” He taps his fingers against the wheel.

“Mmm. Hardly. No, he isn’t - wasn’t - my boyfriend by any means. Some guys just instantly assume stuff over any girl that pays them any ounce of attention.” You lazily trace shapes onto your thigh. You tug your dress down a bit, licking your lips. “Thanks for helping me out back there. It was really sweet.”

He notices the way you never look up from your lap as you’re speaking. It’s kind of endearing, just how soft you can be. “Don’t mention it…it was…no problem.”

He walks you from his car to your house. It's small, pastel yellow with a mailbox that reads; No more love letters. Seriously. “Cute,” he comments. You blush.

“Oh, that. Sorry, I live with my two best friends and they wrote that as a joke,” you ramble as you click your heel shyly. “They said it would help out with my, and I quote, ‘secret admirers.’” You let out a tired laugh as you finally build up the courage to look at the man standing right in front of you.

“To be honest, that makes sense.” He tilts his head a bit, analyzing your eyes. “Beautiful girls should receive beautiful letters.”

Tongue tied, you stare back with a pleased smile.

“This is so unlike me, but would you like to go out some time?”

Easiest question ever asked.

A few nights later, he finally decides it would be a good day to take you out to dinner. Testing went well and the car was finally on the right track. He took this as a good omen.

“How long have you lived in Italy now?” you quiz, as you bring your Shirley Temple closer to your lips.

“Oh, um, for quite a while now. I mean it’s really only for work. I go home any chance I get.”

“Sweet. Where are you from?”

“Monaco.”

Your eyes grow wide with excitement. “Really! Monaco is so beautiful!” Your childlike squeal makes him smile brightly.

“Have you ever been?” You sadly shake your head, hair bouncing back and forth. Soft floral fills the air.

“Nope, but I wish to one day. I just know I’ll love it so much…” You trail off. “It’s just that growing up my favorite movie was Monte Carlo. Would beg my mom to play it any chance I could.” Maroon coats your cheekbones. He furrows his dark brows in confusion.

“Monte Carlo? You know, starring Selena Gomez?” His soft features pinch together. “...Leighton Meester? Katie Cassidy?” You desperatelyspit your words, trying to assist. He continues shaking his head. Never heard of it.

Your mood grows sulky as you pout. Leaning back, you finally take a sip of your drink. Oh, well now I really want something stronger than this.

“I would love to watch it some time though!” Charles tries as his voice cracks. He winces.

“Sure!” Though, you're not looking at him anymore. Your eyes are trained behind him. He’s about to turn around and ask if you’re fine, when you finally speak up. “I think I’ll go to the bar for another drink. Be right back!” He huffs.

You weren’t back for almost too long. Finally, deciding to go look for you, he stands and takes long strides all around the dark restaurant. When he finds you he sees you’re not alone.

A man in an all black suit seems to be your new company. You giggle as he appears to slide some type of business card to you. Just as you're about to grab it Charles strolls over to you both.

“Is your drink finally ready?” he asks as he wraps a protective arm around your waist. You flinch. You hadn’t even seen him walk over.

“Charles!” you shriek, as you crumble the piece of paper into the palm of your hard, hurriedly. You pray that he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Something inside of him told him not to ask. “I was actually on my way back. Did you need anything? A drink?” you ask, furrowing your brows attentively.

“No, thank you, amour,” Charles warmly replies, looking into your glossy eyes. You truly were the best thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“My apologies for getting in the way.” The man extends his hand out to Charles. “Aiden Quinn, pleasure to meet you.”

Charles may be upset that Aiden ruined his date, but he wasn’t keen on being rude, so begrudgingly, he shook his hand. “Charles Leclerc.” See, normally Charles isn’t the type to throw his name out like that expectantly, but he felt as if he had a point to make. He did, though. I was here first.

The man grins ear to ear, nodding. “Yes, that’s where I know you from. I knew you looked familiar. Formula 1 driver, right? Ferrari?” He points with a knowing smile.

“Scuderia’s number one driver, yes.” His grip around your waist stays secure. Meanwhile, your eyes are open to their fullest. Surprisingly, you had no idea.

“Certainly. I’m one of the team's ambassadors, actually,” Aiden challenges. Charles clenches his jaw. “When you have million dollar businesses all around the world, you try to find a place to help. Ferrari really needs it at the moment.” You’re equally as shocked with Aiden as you are with Charles.

“Well then, I’ll make sure to dedicate my next podium to you I suppose." You shift uncomfortably. This reminds him you’re there. With him. Ha! Take that, Quinn! “Anyhow, I would love to chit chat with fellow fans, but I must say we have to get going.” He holds your hand firmly as he leads you out.

“Goodbye, Aiden!” you beam as you depart ways.

“Formula 1 driver now, is it?” you curiously ask as you look over where he has one hand over the steering wheel and running the other calmly through his hair.

“Thought you knew.”

“I had no clue! Zip!” you shriek as fling your arms through the air. He laughs as he pulls into an abandoned parking lot.

“In the mood for something sweet?”

“Grazie mille,” the Monegasque says as he's handed cones of freshly made gelato. Smiling, he makes his way back to you. Hands you per requested raspberry, as he keeps his lemon one.

“Molto gentile.” You inspect and nod your head in approval. Just hearing your tongue curl in Italian has him swooning. You take a lick and release a soft moan. “So sweet. Best I’ve ever had,” you declare as you continue enjoying your treat innocently.

Charles gulps, trying to cool down. “I told you it was the best.” He shoots a wink over to Luca, the owner, for keeping the shop open for a few more minutes.

“You scared me a bit back there.”

“Pfft. With that Aiden guy…I’m sorry about that–”

“God no. Honestly, I completely forgot about that,” you mutter. “I meant with that whole, ‘In the mood for something sweet?’. Thought you were like the rest.”

The 25 year old keeps quiet for a minute. He gathers his thoughts before settling with, “I promise I’m not.”

“Keeping my fingers crossed you aren’t.” You look around with twinkling eyes. “You know, a date I once had asked me-”

You want a slice?

No.

“It shocked me how straight forward he was being. It wasn’t even our second date! I barely even knew the guy.” You frown at the memory. “Then he blamed it on the tiramisu.”

I meant the tiramisu, guys!

God no.

“Never saw him again,” you finish as you finally focus back on him. A pale Charles is all you find.

“Woah, are you okay?”

“Yes! I’m so good! You look lovely! Did I mention it already cause if I didn’t then call me the worst date ever!” He begins nervously laughing. His gelato dripping all over his arm.

“I think you did.” You smile as you hand him a few napkins. He returns the gesture, thanking you. “And don’t worry about it, leave that spot for Lando. Now he might take the crown.”

Charles let out a groan.

Charles went back and forth deciding whether he should reach out to you. He liked you. A lot. Nonetheless, he was hesitating because he just couldn’t do something like that to Lando. The Brit was as bummed out as one could get. So, it's settled. Bye bye baby.

“Of course. Tonight at 8,” your voice confirms on the other side of the line. Charles celebrates with a quick dance.

“See you then.”

He decides today that he wants to switch things up. Do something that would make him stand out from anyone that came before him.

“Monaco?” Leaning on the hood of Charles' car, you feel you have to be dreaming. He nods his head lively.

“I could show you around, y’know be your personal tour guide.”

“You should have warned me! I don’t have anything ready!” you yelp as you hold your hands over your heart, frantically. He would be more worried if it weren’t for you smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“We still have time. Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

When you make it to Monaco you’re greeted by a young guy wearing glasses, driving a Ferrari Pista. Charles and him fit in a quick embrace before they turn their attention back to you.

“Ah yes, this is Joris. He’s one of my closest friends,” Charles states as you warmly reach for a handshake.

Reciprocating, Joris says, “Very nice to meet you.” You smile, returning the greeting. “Must say, you are just as beautiful as Cha had mentioned, if not more.” You blush as Charles clears his throat awkwardly.

“D'accord, mec. Pas besoin de le dire au monde entier,” Charles mutters. “Thank you for picking us up.” Joris nods, carrying your luggages. You share a quick goodbye before he finally makes his way to another car. “That’s also one of my very good friends, Marta.” You smile and wave as they drive off.

Monaco definitely met your expectations. Everything just captivated your attention so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you started to drool.

“Holy shit. Your home is absolutely stunning!” you gasp. He wheels your bags in as he exhales.

“Merci. Make yourself at home.”

Thankfully, the flight was quick so you both have plenty of energy to go out for a late night snack. He takes you to his; Favorite place in the world! You’ll see.

A little stand sits in the corner of the street.

“Lou makes one of the best crepes. Trust me, I’ve been a loyal customer since my school days.”

A little old lady is attending to customers, but stops as soon as she spots Charles. “Charlie! Chérie, je ne savais pas que tu étais de retour!” She makes her way around to hug him.

“Des projets de dernière minute, mais j'ai juste envie de manger une de tes incroyables crêpes,” he replies, as they pull away.

“And who is this pretty girl?” she questions as she looks at you, standing there patiently.

“Oop, hello. I’m a friend of Charles.” Lou smiles teasingly.

“Charlie, tu es là pour me dire que tu vas te marier?” Lou suddenly looks over the moon.

“Non!” he quickly shouts, so suddenly, you and Lou both jump a bit. Tight lipped, he apologizes.

“Like she said, we’re just friends."

The next morning after breakfast he recommends you bring something you can swim with. Skipping your way to his room, which he is kindly sacrificing for you, you roam through your luggage until you find a baby blue bikini.

“You don’t get sea sick by any means, right?” He looks over at you with scrunched brows underneath a pair of glossy black Ray Bans. You shake your head.

“Great.”

You make your way to a tiny boat before he helps you settle in. You grab his hand softly as you step into it. A single touch of electricity seems to link your fingertips. It catches you both so off guard that he lets go of you so swiftly, you don’t even notice as you plunge into the water.

You let out a quick yelp before you go underwater and his hands fly to his head in embarrassment. You resurface with wet hair covering your face.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” he apologizes before extending his arm out for you to grab. Pushing your hair out of your face, you giggle.

“It’s okay, I got it.”

Once you independently get on the boat, he unties the rope off the deck and takes a seat himself to drive you both to the unknown destination.

“Pretty please, can I know now where we’re going?” you squeal with puppy eyes.

Lord help me, he thinks before replying. “We’re going to a little island I love. Îles de Lérins.” You look ahead, nodding patiently. “It’s beautiful, you’ll see.”

When you arrive it’s easy to understand that there doesn’t seem to be that many people. You basically have the place to yourselves.

He helps you off, not dropping you this time. There’s a small trail you both begin to take. It’s something peaceful, the moment you’re in. You almost wish to fit it into a snow globe.

“My parents would always bring my brothers and I here all the time during summer when we were younger,” Charles confesses.

“You have brothers?”

He turns to look at you, then continues ahead. “Yes. Two.” He kicks a rock out of his way, but something you didn’t know was just how clumsy this man child could be.

“Ouch!” you groan in pain as your hand flies up to your nose.

“Jesus! What’s wrong with me today? Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” He runs to you all panicky now.

You take it back. Break the goddamn snow globe.

You try tilting your head back to ease the blood pouring out your nose before he gently grips your face to gain your attention. You scrunch your eyes, sun suddenly blinding you. Quickly, he takes off his glasses and places them over your eyes. As you open them you notice he’s shirtless. He places his shirt on your nose to clean you up. You flinch a bit.

Instantly, you’re thankful for the sunglasses because wondering eyes were all you could give him. His lean muscles were just begging to be praised.

You shake your head before taking the Puma shirt from him. “Thanks,” you mutter as you focus on a nearby tree. “Starting to think you might hate me or something.”

“Of course not... I could never hate you!” His voice cracks in nervousness. You snicker.

After a bit more wiping, you are as good as new. You both decide to take a dip while the water feels good. You strip from your Levi shorts and t-shirt. Dipping a toe to test the temperature, you shoot him two thumbs up.

The ocean feels so fresh and silky against your skin. You can’t seem to remember the last time you’ve enjoyed someone’s company like this, even if they almost ruled you to the ends of Earth. Two fingers press against your neck. You spring one eye open and you see Charles biting down on his thumb. He relaxes.

“Sorry, I thought you crossed the line to the afterlife.”

You tread water to stretch your legs out. “I’m fine.”

He takes this time to note things he hadn’t paid attention to before. Like how your lashes pin against your skin since they’re wet. Or how a tiny bit of freckles are sprinkled on your nose. He curses himself for not having seen it any sooner. Pretty was an understatement. You were extraordinary.

A few hours later you guys are back at his house sharing a pizza. Pepperoni, you both loved a classic.

“There’s no bruise,” he points out almost proudly. You shoot a playful scowl. He walks over to the T.V. and clicks the remote. “Monte Carlo?”

He loved it, the way you said he would. He especially enjoyed watching how much you loved it.

“This movie was too ahead of its time,” you confirm as you dig your feet under the blanket you had curled into.

“Well at least Grace and Theo got their happily ever after,” he pronounces. You shoot an impressed look. “What? I was listening.” You crawl up next to him and pat his cheek. His dimples pop out from how hard he’s smiling.

He can’t help it the moment he reaches to cradle your face to press your lips together. He can’t help but let a moan slip out when you finally kiss him back.

Finally, he picks you up to adjust you on his lap, which you comfortably settle into. You feel him underneath you so clearly you can’t help but move your hips. He feels so good.

The heated moment continues as he wraps his hands around the curve of your ass. You pull away as your lips move down to his neck. He almost gasps the moment you lick down his throat. It doesn’t help that you’ve been keeping your hips in motion.

He almost passes out the moment your lips move to his ear and ask, no, beg; Let me taste you, please. How could he ever deny such offer?

Making your way down to your knees, he adjusts himself on the couch. He thinks to himself that if he were standing he would’ve made a fool out of himself because just the sight of you in front of him has him choking on his own breath. You just look so pretty.

You tug his shorts down, along with his boxers, and bite down on your lip as you grab his cock, softly. He has to stop himself from jerking into your hand. Precum sprouting from his tip. You can’t wait as you take kitten licks. Fuck, he whimpers. The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Wrapping your lips around him, your hands reach to balance yourself against his thighs. You moan at the feeling of having him inside your mouth, drooling all over his lap.

This itself, is too much for Charles and thinks he’ll barely even be able to survive as his head turns against the couch' pillow with closed lids. You start bobbing your head and one hand flings down to jerk off what you can’t reach. He groans at the feeling.

You start off slow but suddenly start picking up your pace. He opens his eyes, dazed, to catch a glimpse of you on your knees and this sight is something he won’t be able to forget even if he tried. With glassy eyes, you look up at him. You make a show of releasing your lips from his cock as you lap your tongue along it. Before going back at it, you twirl your tongue a couple of times around his tip before giving it a quick suck, then deep throat him.

He grits his teeth as if to help deal with any of this but when you start toying with yourself he lets out the loudest whine he’s ever produced. You look up smiling, grazing your teeth lightly along him and he hisses at the feeling. Proudly, you fit him back into your mouth.

“God, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he manages to get out before you solely start jerking him off.

“What about my hands?” you seductively tease. The sounds coming from both your hands and his cock should be considered a sin itself. He groans as he looks back to make eye contact with you.

“Your hands too, baby.”

He knows he’s close the moment you twist your wrist perfectly. So so good. You know he’s close when he begins to twitch underneath your fingertips.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” he chants as you continue your dirty movements. He makes sure to look at you, focused, eyes drawn to his cock.

“Cum for me, Charles,” you coo as he finally bucks his hips into your hands and hot cum shoots all over your face. You wickedly smile as your lips reach his cock to continue swallowing the rest that is being released. He grabs you face to pull you off him and hauls you once again onto his lap. He’s about to kiss you before you pull away and point at the mess on your face.

You wipe two fingers along your face and bring them to your mouth to clean them off. A pop is released when you let go. He shudders.

This is the moment, Charles realizes, he’s so screwed.

When you make it back to Italy you realize that all you’ll have are a few fleeting moments together. With Charles going back to racing and you continuing your online classes, you’re both bound to be booked.

Though, Charles just isn’t ready to let you go. And a fucked up man will make fucked up choices when due.

So, he strings you along with him to the Miami GP. He realizes there’s a strong chance you might bump shoulders with Lando, but to be completely honest, he was past caring. He was completely smitten with you.

You wear your white summer dress as you are sprawled on his hotel bed. You’re a mess.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper as Charles fingers slip in and out of you. He’s feverishly kissing down the side of your thighs, bites left in between. You groan in slight pain as you tug on his soft hair. This man has brought out the moon and stars, for you.

“C’mon baby, look at me,” he whispers as he paints you with hickeys in between your legs. Somewhere no one else will ever be able to catch a glimpse of. You nod your head as you look down to find him gripping your dress over your thighs, eating you out like a starved man. You shut your eyes as you release a few soft pants, the heels of your feet press deeper against his Ferrari polo.

“Open you’re eyes.”

You shake your head. You wish you could look at him, you really wanted to, but it’s just too much take in. You wanted to make this last.

But Charles was greedy. He wanted to taste you. He stops everything all at once. You let out a cry. Fuck him.

You bring your arms around his neck, loosely, as he kisses your shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”

“You weren’t looking at me.”

With all your strength you open your glittered eyelids.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos as he picks you up and sits you at the edge of the bed. You look down at him confused as he gets on his knees in front of you.

“If you can’t look at me, then you’re going to have to look at yourself,” he directs as he begins to push your dress back up your waist. You lean against your elbows as you realize what other than Charles is in front of you.

A shiny glass mirror.

With a slightly open mouth you’re about to protest before Charles picks up right where he left off. He spits on your clit before rubbing it. You bite down on your bottom lip so hard, you draw blood.

“Don’t tell me I have to get you to moan now?” Charles stares at you with furrowed brows. You shake your head no before he kisses your knee. “Good.”

He makes sure you look straight at your reflection before he curls his fingers inside of you. You mewl at the touch. Your legs beg to bring him closer.

He lets out a light chuckle before repeating his motion. With sleepy eyes, you stare at the way your legs rest against his shoulders. You had painted your nails bloody mary a few nights before, in support of him and his team. Your face all fucked up singly by Charles’ long fingers and delicate touch, red lipstick all over your mouth from how heavy your make out with Charles had been.

To him, you looked like an angel.

You squeal as he presses his nose against your pussy. You grind against his face. He pulls away and you whine, looking at him desperately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he reassures you as he moves up to kiss your cheek and then your pouty lips.

“Cha, please,” you beg hopelessly. He grins as he pushes your hair out of your face and runs his thumb across your lips trying to clean you up a bit.

You take a chance and wrap your lips around his finger, and you begin to suck. Expertly, you swirl your tongue. Eyes look back at him, almost challenging. He lets out a strained groan.

With all the willpower he has left, he removes his finger from your mouth. Nicely wet, he presses it back where you needed him the most.

“Thank you, baby, you shouldn’t have.” You cry out at the sudden size of his thumb now being inside of you. He switches out his thumb for his middle and ring finger. You throw your head back. All the back and forth almost has you blacking out a few times. Charles gives you a quick peck, fingers building speed, as he pulls your dress down a bit to release your plump tits.

Now he’s at a loss for words. Quickly, he regains his composure and starts sucking on your left nipple, legs squeezing around his waist as a reflex. One hand flies to the back of his head as one makes its way to cup his cheek adoringly.

He moans against you, sucking hard before moving his attention to your right nipple. The way you’re wailing against him has him painfully hard against his jeans.

“Yes, God yes right there, Charlie,” you let out as you grind against his hand. He detaches his lips from your chest as he smiles up at you.

“I’m right here, baby. Cum for me, yeah?” You let out the most pornographic moan as you finish around his hand. Tears make their way down your cheeks. Cleans his fingers, he shuts his eyes satisfied, before he towers over your body, pressing kisses all over.

You giggle. “That tickles." The 25 year old’s heart doubles in size at the sound of your fucked out voice.

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up before the race?”

The race results weren't the best Charles has had, that’s for sure. Head hung, he makes his way to his motorhome. There he finds you on the tiny little bed, curled up, watching the rest of the ongoing interviews. As soon as you notice him you jump up to your feet and walk to him.

It's almost as if you knew how down he was feeling when you wrap your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. He instantly feels better as his arms swaddle over your shoulders, chin atop your pretty hair.

“You did good,” you mumble. You press a faint kiss on his suit before looking up.

“I fucked up. I got P7.”

You frown at him before holding his face between your soft palms. “P7 is good, what do you mean?” He just shakes his head. “You’ve never heard of seven being a lucky number?”

He scoffs, but not at you, never you. More at himself. “Lucky?”

You pull away and sit back on his bed. “Oh yeah, seven bring all the luck in the world!” you squeal, as you plop on the bed. He laughs lightly as he lies beside you.

“Guess I’ll just take your word for it.” He hums with his eyes closed.

You turn on your side as you try to memorize his face. Like the small mole that sits on the left side of his face that makes him even more handsome, if anyone asks for your opinion. You scold yourself for not having noticed it before. As if to fix things, you name it one of your favorite things about him.

“You should. Things will get better, you’ll see.”

For once, he really believes it.

You both are walking out of the Ferrari home when you're suddenly stopped by someone calling Charles’ name.

“Hey, Charles! Great race man!” A familiar voice rings through the air before you both have a chance to turn around. Both you and Charles, unknowingly of one another, want to make a run for it.

“Thanks, Lando,” Charles replies as he prays he might not notice you. But a girl as beautiful as you can’t go forgotten.

“Holy shit it’s you!” Lando wails as he instantly recognizes you from dinner a few months ago. You cringe. What the chances?

“Hi,” you squeak as you hide behind Charles a bit. You had no idea Lando was a Formula 1 driver too. You ought to do your research better next time.

“Mate! This is the chick I was telling you about over dinner last time!” Lando says, eyes almost popping out of his face from the shock he’s in.

“You don’t sayyyy.” Charles tries to hide it, though inside he’s freaking out as if he’s broken every FIA rule in the book.

“Hey, I want to say sorry for that night, I should have been more clear,” Lando begins to spill his apologies, as all you can do is silently stand there, accepting them all.

“Of course. Long forgotten,” you comfort the Brit. He’s actually a pretty sweet guy.

“Charles, I’ll wait for you outside, alright?” you utter as he nods. Once you walk out, he turns to Lando frantically.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was the same girl you were upset about!” he tells him. Liar. “You must be mad at me and I get it-”

“Nope.”

Charles stares back, caught off guard by Lando’s response.

“You’re not?”

Lando rolls his eyes. “I’m not. I just hope you realize what she’s capable of.” He leans in closer to Charles’ ear and Charles leans in too, expectantly. “I’ve heard stories, man…”

Charles immediately pulls away. “Okay, we’re done here. Bye mate!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

But Charles knew you better. He saw the way you looked at him. The way you felt. You were different. Fuck your following reputation.

“Ready?”

When you got back from Miami, something had shifted. He couldn’t quite name the moment it had, but he was sure of it. He didn’t care though. He would put up with just about anything as long as that meant having you around.

“And then he told me to test the car again, said it was fixed. Fixed my ass!” Charles tells you over FaceTime. You were sitting in your bedroom, painting nonsense on a canvas. You wore some old overalls with loose space buns. Strands of hair would hit the paint from how messy it was.

“No way,” you say, not looking up. Charles smiles fondly.

“You look lovely by the way.” Though, you don’t seem to catch his affirmation for you. Your eyes are focused on something out of frame, in front of you. A quick smirk appears on your face but slips so fast that he almost begins to think he’s imagined it.

“Thank you, Charles,” you reply with a much bigger smile now. “Hey, how about I meet you at your house at 9? I’ll cook you a nice meal, promise.”

Like always, he knows he shouldn’t ask and also knows he can’t say no to you.

“I’ll be waiting.”

That night when you step into his house he notices things he wishes weren’t there. Like how your hair was a tad bit messy or how there were light bruises on your neck. He knows those didn’t come from him. He’d always been mindful to mark you in places no one else could admire, just him. Something bugs him knowing someone has seen them already.

“I’m so sorry I’m late." You rush in with bags from the nearby market, the one just around the corner from his flat.

“No worries. So, what will we be cooking, my little chef?”

That night you seem so infatuated by him, he truly thinks this all was his imagination. Maybe the wind blew your hair on your way here; he should have offered to pick you up. Maybe he forgot he had also marked your neck; he’ll make sure to be more careful next time.

He wraps his arms around your waist as you cut pieces of basil. Giggling, you turn around to peck his lips. Craving more from you, he lifts you up onto the kitchen island. He stands in between your legs as you stare up at him, ever a vixen.

As you lock lips, he picks you up, you yelp all giddy. He makes his way over to his bedroom, your lips lingering on his neck, he almost drops you from how good it feels.

“Careful, don’t need another wack in the face,” you mumble from his neck, light spirited. He rolls his eyes at your comment, but yeah, he should probably focus.

Finally reaching his room, he kicks the door open so hard, it flies and instantly makes a hole through the wall. You gasp as he groans.

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” he murmurs as he takes you to his bed where he drops you. You giggle as your hair covers your face, he makes his way to hover over you and brush it away.

“You know I would do anything for you?” he asks, tenderness lacing his voice.

You stare back at him with bright and eager eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

He smiles as he leans down to kiss you and you instantly melt into the mattress beneath you. He kisses you so fast, so hot, that it has you feeling lightheaded. I’ve been kissed before but never, ever, like this, you think as he slips his tongue as a quick trick. You moan with pleasure. He smiles into the kiss.

He picks his head up to get a good look at the angel the universe had ever so nicely sent his way. He caresses you gingerly. “Are you sure, chérie?”

You nod up and down eagerly, ready for more he’s willing to give. You are so desperate you would gladly take anything as long as it's from him. A flash of sadness strikes your face before it’s replaced with a warm smile.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he comforts you as he begins to take a step back. You quickly hold onto his veiny arm.

“I want to,” you confirm. You bring him back to you as you kiss him for the millionth time that night. Even that would never be enough.

His hands make their way to slip your dress off. Once you're left in your matching lingerie, you push him on his back and straddle him.

“Holy shit,” he nervously laughs as you started to unbutton his linen shirt. He pulls his arm out as you sloppily brush your lips down his smooth chest, fingers tracing his firm abs. Then, as you’re about to pull his pants down, he grabs your hands firmly. You glance at him, confusion written all over your face.

“Ladies first,” he teases. You roll your eyes, but still slip out a quick, okay, before settling under him once again. He kisses down your neck gently as you hum out, finding peace with his lips hovering your body. Every new kiss he places on your soft skin makes you feel thousands of butterflies. You’d never experienced something like this before, you’ve never felt so flawless.

Clumsy fingers roam your back as he unclips your bra then strips you from your panties. Seeing you completely bare has his dumbstruck. This is something he could easily get used to.

His hands make their way to squeeze your tits, your head digs deeper into the mattress as you release a soft whimpers. Charles grows harder by the second, already getting rid of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he can.

He tugs you closer to him by your legs. A laugh rolls past your lips. Resting both arms by either side of your head, he pushes into you. Synchronously, you both let out a moan. You dig your nails into his shoulder as he grips onto the sheets.

You feel so tight around him that it takes all of him not to lose control. You throw your arm over your face, face scrunched.

Putting his feelings aside, Charles leans down and plants a kiss on your arm. “C’mon baby, not again. Look at me.”

“I can’t…,” you cry out weakly, “...too big.”

“You just have to adjust,” he reassures you as he begins to move in and out of you. Your arms fly up to his neck and you grab on tight, as if he’s keeping you ashore. You moan loudly.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers as he thrusts deep inside of you. Your velvety walls feel like home to him and he never wants to leave.

You squirm when his cock hits your sweet spot. You yell into the nothingness and your grip on his hair tightens so much, he groans at the sensation. His hips pick up speed, and suddenly, he’s kissing you again. You whine into his lips, needy for more. Harder.

As if he could read your mind, that's exactly what he does. Your lips form a silent O as you stare at him with eyebrows drawn together. He just feel so fucking good.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, voice deep. You shiver at the sound. “God, you feel so good, you’re doing so good,” he praises you as he now looks into your eyes. You wail in response, too fucked up to form any kind of sentence.

“I love you so much,” he announces so suddenly, you almost push him away. He keeps moving rapidly as he makes out with you eagerly.

As you kiss him back you realize something scary; you love Charles Leclerc. You think you’ve loved him for a while now, but having never been in love, you didn’t seem to notice the feeling. But you do now.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his lips. When he pulls away you notice you’ve never seen him smile so big. You like being the reason behind it.

He immediately pounds into you harder, not holding back anymore and you’re both a mess. You moan so loud, you’re almost embarrassed but Charles seems to love it.

“If you love me,” he pants, “then tell me his name.”

He continues normally, but you swear you feel your heart stop. There’s no way.

“What are you talking about?” you manage to spit out, but the way he’s handling your body has you seeing stars.

“Please,” a desperate look flashes across his face, “just tell me his name.” His watch covered hand makes its way to your clit and he pushes his finger against it. God, his fingers are so-

“There’s no one.” Liar. “There’s just you.”

With that, you flip him over so now you’re on top of him. Hastily, you start to ride him, making sure to move your hips just the way he likes it. His head falls back against the bed frame as his fingers dig into your hips. You bite your swollen lips in slight pain, but also, just by looking at his current state.

Cheeks slightly pink with sweaty hair covering his face. Long disheveled hair that you pressed him not to trim quite yet. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Please,” he chokes out, “just tell me his name and I swear I’ll never bring it up again.” He opens his eyes to look up at you. His voice hitches when he sees you hopping on his dick, tits bouncing up and down. You throw your head back and circle your hips much harder.

“Fuck.” Charles gasps as he reaches up to attach his lips to your chest. He licks before softly biting down against your bud. You exhale sharply. He then lays back and holds onto your hips harder before helping you move on top of him. Wrapped around him, the motion between both of you picks up so fast you start shaking your head no.

“Yes, amour, say it. Please just tell me before I lose my fucking mind,” he grunts as he stares down at your juices as they make the filthiest sound against his own.

“I swear Charles, I promise, that I have never loved anyone the way I do you,” you confess as you sink your nails against his chest, red marks instantly mapping themselves down.

“Beautiful fucking liar.” Charles smirks as he moves his fingers against your clit rapidly. With that, your walls clench around him as you cum so hard around him he can’t help but follow. You moan loudly as you fall against his chest as he groans lowly.

Trying to even your breathing, you grab onto his hand. Instantly, he brings it up against his lips. Just the touch of his makes you want to ride him until you can’t no more.

You meant what you said that night. Though you both should have known better. Being naive can’t always last forever.

“Then she left a note saying it’s best we just remain friends,” Charles reveals a few nights later over dinner. Everyone shares glances of empathy to the distraught Monegasque. Even Lando.

“It’s alright man, you’ll be over her before you know it,” Lando states as he shares a knowing smile. Charles bites down on his tongue knowing all this pent of anger wasn’t towards Lando. Not even for you.

He would like to say that he learned his lesson and that he should have listened to everyone, all the warning signs that glowed above his head. But he knows damn well he would do it all over again if given the chance. He would say, do anything, to change your mind. To make you stay, but people like you never settled.

Moping, Charles changes the topic as he begins asking how everyone’s break was. He didn’t really care, but he tried to pretend.

Out of breath, Oscar rushes over to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he says as he sits down in between Lando and Charles.

“No worries, mate, Charles was just filling us in on his expired love life,” Daniel fills in, nonchalantly. Charles immediately shoots a dry frown. Daniel shares an apologetic shrug.

“Oh. That sucks man,” the young Australian replies as he gulps down some water. “Speaking of love lives, you guys won’t believe it! I just met the prettiest girl of my entire life just now outside of the restaurant!”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 months ago

Text

cw: discussion of past parental death due to overdose, mention of drug use

Steve stumbled upon the article when he was helping Robin collect articles for a project for her Industry Studies course.

He didn’t think much of reading about another small time musician getting caught up with the wrong crowd, and overdosing or getting in a drunk driving accident. It seemed like a pretty common theme. It was terrible, sad, horrible, but he’d seen about 30 stories like that in the last two days and he was kind of getting numb to it all.

Until he saw the name Munson.

Until a picture of a woman with long, curly hair and Eddie’s smile stared back at him next to a headline that read: “Kentucky Country Queen Dead at 27.”

He read the article with tears in his eyes.

Elizabeth “El” Munson, a hopeful country singer and guitarist, was found dead in her home by her six year old son, Edward. The boy reportedly tried calling his father at work with no luck before finally calling his uncle, Wayne Munson.

Toxicology reports show that she overdosed on multiple illegal substances. At this time, it is believed to have been accidental and no foul play is suspected.

It has now been made clear that Elizabeth was seeking a divorce from her husband, Al Munson, but had not been successful as lawyers were unable to locate him until her funeral. Their son has been put in the care of Wayne until further notice.

Robin found him 20 minutes later, staring at the page with swollen, red eyes. She took the paper, read the article, and put it back in the files wordlessly.

“I don’t think he wants us to know,” she finally said.

She was probably right.

But Steve had grown pretty close to Eddie over the last six months, had opened up to him about his parents, his fake friends, his concussions and nightmares. Eddie had started opening up to him, too.

He thought he had, anyway.

He told him about how his mom died when he was young and his dad was awful so he moved in with Wayne. He told him about how his dad appeared every couple years looking for money or a place to stay and Wayne always turned him away.

But he never really talked about his mom, always said he barely remembered her.

Did he know what happened?

——

Steve asked Wayne the next morning.

He’d come by to pick Eddie up for a day with the kids, but Eddie hadn’t set his alarm and was still asleep.

Perfect opportunity to find out more.

“So. Eddie’s mom.”

Wayne tensed over his plate of toast and scrambled eggs. He didn’t look up, just took another bite of food.

“Does he know how she died?”

“Do you?”

“Newspaper said overdose,” Steve tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Says Eddie found her.”

“Trauma messes with your memory.”

It was final, a statement that left Steve with more questions, but a certainty that he’d get no answers.

“Yeah.” He gulped. “I’ve heard.”

——

Steve doesn’t bring it up to Eddie for a while.

He figured Wayne’s reaction said a lot about what Eddie knew or would be willing to share.

But they were a little high and alone and Eddie’s hand was warm in his and his filter was broken.

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to find your mom.”

The air around them was thick. The silence was deafening.

“Me too.”

Eddie’s voice was quiet, nothing like his usual playful tone.

Steve immediately wanted to put this conversation in reverse, pretend his curiosity didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie moved closer to Steve, his arm a constant pressure against Steve’s. His head leaned against Steve’s shoulder.

“Wayne doesn’t know I know how she died. He doesn’t know I know my dad gave her bad drugs, convinced her all the up and coming musicians were doing a new strain of heroin. She’d kicked him out of the house,” Eddie’s breath caught. “She shouldn’t have let him come back that day. I heard them arguing before I left for school. She told him she was finding a manager and recording an album and that she was divorcing him. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was bad.”

“Eds, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I know, Stevie. But you know everything else.” Eddie’s face turned until his nose and mouth were pressed against Steve’s arm. “I went to school. Didn’t think about it. Figured my dad would be gone when I got home and might come back in a few days once they cooled off. But when I got home, he was gone and my mom’s bedroom door was closed. And I opened it and there she was.”

Steve turned so he was face to face with Eddie, cupping his jaw and rubbing his thumb along his cheek in encouragement.

“I don’t even know why I tried calling the store first. I didn’t even know if he still worked there. But then I called Wayne and it’s like he just knew.” Eddie’s eyes closed for a moment. “Don’t think he’d ever gotten to our house so quick.”

“Did he know all this?”

“He knew enough. I stayed with him and then my dad gave up his rights. Lied to the counselor about what I knew so Wayne wouldn’t freak. Kept it up for a while,” Eddie let out a small exhale that slightly resembled a laugh. “I read the article about eight years ago. A kid in my class made a joke about me being an orphan because of the drug problem in America as if he even knew what that meant and I decided to see what the newspaper reported.”

“Do you play because of her?” Steve asked.

Eddie blinked back at him.

“I play for a lot of reasons. But I started because of her, yeah,” he whispers. “You’re the first person to ask me that instead of give me that look of pity.”

“I’m sad about how it happened, but giving you pity doesn’t change it. I’d rather hear how it changed you,” Steve whispered back.

They were close, legs intertwined, hands touching bare skin under shirts and on faces and necks.

“It changed everything for me. Wayne packed us up and moved us here as soon as he legally could. Probably for the best. Well,” Eddie gave a small smile. “Definitely for the best. Wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t.”

“Do you ever go back?” Steve did his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

“Her birthday every year. She’s got a nice spot near her mom.” Eddie bit his lip. “It’s actually coming up in a couple weeks. Maybe you could come with me?”

“Me? Are you sure?”

Eddie nodded. “If it doesn’t weird you out that I talk to her. I like to give her updates on my life, Wayne’s life, music. Think she’d find it quite funny that I bring the guy I’ve had a crush on for two years.”

It takes a minute for the words to sink in.

“Two years?” Steve’s lips curled up into a smile. “I hope I live up to expectations.”

“I think she’d like you. She’d definitely make fun of me for having a boyfriend who wears polos though.”

“Is that how you’d introduce me?”

“If you’re okay with it.” Eddie leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “I know we haven’t talked about what we-“

Steve pressed his lips to Eddie’s, nearly knocking their noses together painfully in the process.

After the initial shock, they both relaxed into the kiss.

“I’d love to go. As your boyfriend,” Steve said after pulling away for air. “What was her favorite flower?”

“Gardenias. Always wore perfume that smelled like it. Why?”

“Because I have to impress her, right?”

“You realize she’s not gonna actually see or hear you? She’s definitely dead.”

Steve snorted. “I know. But she can still have nice things. Maybe us bringing her nice things in death is a way to apologize for the not nice things she had in life.”

“You’re a pretty incredible boyfriend, sweetheart.” Eddie kissed the tip of his nose. “And you now know more than Wayne, so it’s time for a pinky promise.”

Steve giggled before holding up his pinky. “I swear I won’t tell Wayne anything.”

“And you’ll kiss me whenever I want…”

“That’s a guarantee.”

“And you’ll let me win at Go Fish…”

“Not a chance, Eds.”

Eddie laughed. “Worth a try.”

Steve curled his pinky against Eddie’s. “So do you think she’d like me?”

“Oh. Oh god. She’d love you. You’re exactly who she’d want for me,” Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve flipped his hair back confidently. “And she’d braid your hair every night while you gossiped and sipped tea.”

“And what would you do?”

“Probably just soak it in. Appreciate having her and you around. You’ll just have to gossip with Wayne.”

“Wayne doesn’t strike me as-“

“Oh, he’s got you fooled! He’s a worse gossip than the ladies at the hair salon. Just ask him about the mailbox at the end of the road sometime. Make sure you’ve got an hour to spare.”

“Really?” Steve’s eyes lit up. “Is he home now?”

Eddie pulled Steve forward until he was flush against his front. “No and I have much better plans than gossiping with my uncle.”

“Oh?” Steve’s brow raised.

“It involves my bed and handcuffs. You in?”

“Hopefully you’re in.”

“God, you’re ridiculous. C’mon, now I’m even harder from your stupid flirting,” Eddie sat up and tugged until Steve followed. “Can’t believe this is how my night’s going.”

“Believe it, baby.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #picturing Eddie’s mom as someone similar musically to Wanda Jackson #she was big in her part of Kentucky #might’ve made it even if not for Eddie’s dad #cw: parent death #cw: mention of overdose #cw: mention of drug use #first kiss #getting together #angst with a happy ending #sorry for the sad part #they kissed about it at the end tho

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skzdarlings · 6 months ago

Text

the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part iii

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader is described with curly hair, mention of curves.

content warnings: a royal affair between queen reader and guard jisung. the king is a violently abusive man and continues to disrespect reader in this part. this chapter has an additional content warning for violence, assasination attempts and explicit sexual content: guided masturbation, mirror action, and skirting the breaking of chastity vows.

word count: 13000 words.

As promised, rest comes an hour later. Some stay in the woods with the wagons while the king and his party make for the nearby village.

The edge of the forest slopes downhill, the bustling city centre at its base. Civilians gather to watch the arrival of the royal retinue. Most villagers duck out of the king’s path well before he reaches them. You suppose the party might have stopped at this village on the journey in and you can believe the king did not leave a kind impression on its denizens.

You struggle with your skirts on the steepest slope. Because your husband pays you no mind, Jisung helps you, swishing back the length of his own robes as he climbs onto a boulder to reach you. You thank him, placing your hands on his shoulders while he clasps your waist. He swings you down on the path.

No sooner have you stepped down does a little voice ask, “Is that the queen? Why is her hair down?”

You look over. Some children are gathered nearby, staring at you with wide, curious eyes. A mother scolds the loud one, putting a hand over the child’s mouth.

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry,” the woman says, bowing deeper than necessary.

“It’s all right,” you say. You smile, maintaining some distance as the children seem skittish. You drop into a crouch to look at them. “Yes, I am the queen,” you say. “I’m sorry I’m bit dishevelled. The road is very bumpy and I was quite uncomfortable, but I am very happy to be in your village now.”

When they determine you are not going to lash out at them, the children get closer. Soon they are all yammering away, each of them wanting your attention for an introduction or story.

“Can you have lunch with us?” a little boy asks. He looks back at the woman. “Mama, can the queen have lunch with us?”

“Oh, I would love to,” you say, smiling to placate the very startled woman. “But my guard needs to eat too and we shouldn’t keep the others waiting.”

“He can come too!” a little girl says.

A little boy goes right up to Jisung, his eyes wide with awe. Though Jisung is not especially tall, the boy looks at him as though he is a towering titan.

“Whoa,” the boy says. “Are you a real kingsguard?”

“Aha, I am,” Jisung says. “Are you?”

“Me?” the boy asks. “I’m not a kingsguard!”

The children all squeal with laughter while Jisung grins down at them. You find yourself smiling too, surprised by how easily and naturally it comes.

“Is that your sword?” one of the children asks, tugging on his black robe but eying the silver sword hilt. “Can I touch it?”

“Ah, maybe no pointy objects,” Jisung says, giggling nervously.

“What’s the delay?” Chan strides over. The king has already entered a nearby inn to eat and drink. A few kingsguards linger outside, minding the door.

Remembering your actual place, your smile fades. You stand and smooth the creases of your skirt. You remember the king insulting your appearance and making comments about weight, so you are not particularly keen to sit down and eat a meal with him. Anxiety swallows your hunger.

“We were invited to lunch,” Jisung says, laughing. He looks from Chan to you, his grin faltering when he sees your solemn expression.

Chan notices too. His thoughtful gaze flicks between you and the children. After some deliberation, he nods.

“Right,” he says. “The king is occupied anyway. Would you like to spend time in the village instead?”

Your heart brightens. You nod.

“I’ll send Jeongin for extra security,” Chan says. He shoots Jisung a stern look. “Protect the queen.”

“Always,” Jisung says, hand over his heart as he bows.

It is just his duty, but that brightness in your heart turns incandescent with joy.

You sit with several villagers at tables in the square. There is more food than you can reasonably eat as several different families jump at the opportunity to feed the queen, at least once they realize you are more polite than the king. You easily eat your fill.

Jeongin and Jisung stand behind you, eating their own food as they pace and supervise. At one point, they agree to let the children see their swords. They even conduct a short bout of fencing while their little crowd oohs-and-awes.

You chat with the local craftsmen and some working women. One of them makes a less than flattering comment about the king’s manners. It garners Jeongin’s keen eye. When the kingsguard looks over, the villager ducks his head in shame, but he does not retract the comment either.

You do not say anything, merely remark that you are proud to be chosen by the gods and you are serious about the responsibility they have bestowed upon you.

“I care about this land very much,” you say.

“Well, we’re all just glad someone at the capital does,” a worker says.

“The gods have chosen a queen we can be proud of,” says another.

You are better at offering kind words than receiving them. You demure and look away. When your gaze wanders, you see Jisung already looking at you. He nods, offering you a smile so warm and kind that it leaves you even more flustered than before.

Lunch ends and the king returns. The villagers wave until you crest the hill, then it is a quiet trek to the horses and carriages. The group in the woods have packed away their things too. Everyone is ready to depart.

The king once again disappears without acknowledging you. Jisung helps you onto the horse, holding it steady while you mount, then he swings up behind you. A little girl gave you a ribbon to tie your hair, but he still gently brushes the low tail aside. He is wearing black riding gloves, the leather up to his knuckles, his fingertips bare as they leave goosebumps on your nape.

It does not take long to get back on the road. This path dips towards the sea and the great cliffs, so this is the last city for a while as the forest trail winds uphill. The next village is a day away. It lays on the other side of the descent, so camp will be constructed in the woods tonight.

You are not sure if you will be sharing a tent with the king. He claimed he would not have you until back in the capital, but that was before his mistress ran off. You shudder, imagining him taking those frustrations out on you. You may have to put that sleeping draft to use sooner than later.

“Are you cold?” Jisung asks.

Before you can answer, he presses his hand gently on the curve of your hip, guiding you back, closer to him. He is just offering his body warmth, mistaking your shiver for a chill. You remind yourself that he is a kingsguard. He has sworn a vow of chastity that he takes pride in maintaining. You are the silly one, starved for a kind touch, who feels the burning imprint of his palm long enough after he stops.

The journey continues. Songs are sung to pass the time, though Chan throws a look over his shoulder when Jisung starts a relatively dirty one. Jisung presses his lips together, smothering a laugh.

You suspect his relentlessly goofy shenanigans are for your benefit. He keeps trying to make you laugh and it keeps working. You find yourself giggling helplessly into your hands on more than one occasion. He seems determined to wring an embarrassingly loud guffaw out of you.

The joviality does not last.

No one is expecting the arrow that flies straight through the window into the queen’s carriage. You and Jisung are a few feet behind it and he rears back, swift but startled, the horse baying its own agitation. You also yelp, clutching the saddle as he steadies the horse.

Minho was close so he also rears back, settling faster without the extra weight.

“Arrow!” he shouts. It starts a cascade of action, the guards shouting orders back and forth to each other.

You do not really hear them. Your heart pounds from the sudden jolt, but it worsens as you stare at the carriage. If you had still been in there, that arrow could have pierced a leg, shoulder, or even your throat.

“Jisung…” you say, voice wobbling.

He lays a protective hand across your middle, all his silly theatricality gone, replaced with a sterner determination. His eyes dart around the treeline. His moves the horse just in time for another arrow to whizz past.

Chaos unfolds as a veritable horde pours out of the treeline, charging the royal train.

You never fathomed being at the centre of such violent mania. You were always safe and sheltered at home with bandits and assassins relegated to the world of stories. You fantasized you would be brave under duress, but the reality of such quick-moving danger is very different than a slow-told story.

You are terrified, especially after two close calls, though you have no time to consider the coincidence. You are too lost in panic, clutching your chest like you can restrain your racing heart.

The kingsguards take formation to combat the onslaught. Jisung opts to retreat, prioritizing your safety, especially when another arrow flies your way. He is quick dodging it, racing further down the line.

Chan seamlessly takes down an adversary while shouting, “Get the queen to higher ground! Hyunjin! Go with them! Fuck, I wish Felix was here. Go!”

While Chan barks orders, you look at the man he cut down. Even though these bandits are the instigators, it is still a vile sight. You have never seen a man die under such violence. Your panicked heart seems to stutter and stop and start again.

Jisung is unphased, quick to follow Chan’s orders. He turns the horse and gallops towards the opposite treeline. Hyunjin comes thundering after you.

All the kingsguards are armed with an array of weapons but it is fairly obvious which tools are favoured by which guards. Hyunjin has the most arrows and the most elaborate bow. You wonder if Felix was the other bowman, hence Chan’s exclamation.

They race you through the trees. You can only trust they know their way, seeking higher ground where they can defend you until the horde has been dispatched.

You look back and shriek. Some bandits are giving chase on horseback. You have never moved this quickly in all your life but it still feels too slow.

“Hyunjin,” Jisung says, loud but calm.

They criss-cross their horses, racing past each other. With rapid-fire precision, Hyunjin drops his reins, seizes his bow, and fires a shot behind him. It knocks the closest bandit off his horse. The other three fall back and continue their pursuit at a safer distance.

Hyunjin takes his reins. The horses cross each other again, making it difficult for anyone to get a clean shot at you.

All you can do is hold on for dear life, keeping your eyes ahead. The guards race uphill. Once situated at an advantage, Hyunjin dismounts and takes position, firing an arrow without delay. The bandits below duck and take cover. You curl towards Jisung when they fire an arrow back.

“Take her further in,” Hyunjin says, lining up another shot. “I have this.”

Jisung continues into the woods. You are very far from the trail now, surrounded by clusters of tightly packed trees. Weaving in and out slows your pace.

After a time, Jisung eases his horse to a stop, giving you both a moment to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

His hands are thoughtless with his concern. More intimately than a guard should, his comforting hand settles on the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle. The other pats your side to inspect any injuries.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your shaking voice betrays you. “Against all odds.”

“Against all odds,” he repeats with an airy laugh.

You let out a laugh too, halfway to a sob, an exhale of emotion.

You look at him. You are curled right into him, his hand on your nape, the other wrapped protectively around your waist. Your heart is a wild animal, frantic in your chest, and adrenaline fills your whole body with warmth. When you meet his gaze, that warmth gathers low. It finds all that tangled anxiety and loosens every knot.

His thumb slows. The arm around your waist lifts, just a bit, his hand hovering. He seems to realize you are too close but his own adrenaline holds him. He does not let go, though he knows he should, instead staring back at you, his dark eyes running all over your face.

“Your eyes are so—” he starts then stops. His face contorts with more terror than it showed during the attack.

“Pardon?” you say.

He swallows. You watch the bob of his throat.

“I mean—” he starts, but then he hears something. The softness in his gaze hardens as he whips his head up, catching sight of different bandits approaching on foot.

“They’re after me, aren’t they?” you say, thinking of the arrow in that carriage, the men on horseback. You are not sure if they intend to kill you or ransom you, but it is obvious they are less interested in the wagons than you.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jisung says, seizing the reins. “They won’t have you.”

He is faster on horseback but the trees are so dense that it is still slow-moving. The bandits on foot gain speed. One lets loose an arrow. Jisung dodges it, but the next arrow flies so close that you feel the wind as it breezes past your face.

“Fuck,” Jisung says. His arm tightens around your waist, so firm it steals your breath. “Hold on,” he says. “We need to dismount quickly.”

His idea of a quick dismount is essentially throwing himself off the horse. It surprises the bandits but it also surprises you, wrenching a scream as you fly towards the forest floor. He keeps his grip and yanks you into his arms.

“Run,” he says, taking hold of your hand. “And get behind me when I say.”

You run through the trees, holding your skirts in one hand and his hand in the other. He is much faster but your adrenaline propels you. You already anticipated sore legs from so long on horseback, but you are going to be in agony from so much running. Of course, that is provided you survive that long.

“Jisung,” you say in a warning voice. The treeline ends up ahead but it does not open into a clearing; it opens to the edge of a cliff, looming over the sea. You can smell the brine before you see the blue beyond the branches.

Jisung does not seem surprised. He barrels right towards it. When the edge nears, so close you can hear the ocean crashing into the cliff face below, he spins on his heel. Somewhere in the swirl of black cloth, he draws his sword, twisting it in the air and catching it as swiftly. He braces himself in a fighting stance.

“Get behind me,” he says. “And maybe close your eyes.”

His first order is easy, your shaking legs happy to halt. The second order is more complicated because you cannot help but watch as he runs straight towards the three adversaries. Your own adrenaline peaks. You want to chase after him and somehow help, but your remaining sense wrestles that instinct back under control. There is nothing you can do.

He does not need help anyway. Someone charges him but he disarms the man in two short moves. You do not even see the moment Jisung reaches back, but suddenly there is a knife in his other hand and he sends it hurtling towards the farthest opponent. It thunks into the man’s chest and the spurt of blood startles you out of your frozen panic. You finally obey his second command and close your eyes, covering them with your hands for good measure.

You have many skills but swordplay is not one of them. You do not like the sight of gore. You never imagined needing a stomach for it. Is this my life now? you think, trembling to the sound of metal on metal.

Through all your fear, there is one constant reassurance: Jisung will protect you. You do not doubt him for a moment.

When someone touches your shoulder, you do not scream, knowing it is him before you open your eyes.

Those familiar brown eyes gaze back at you. You release a long held breath in an embarrassing sputter, eyes filling with tears.

“It’s okay,” he says, cupping your cheek, the leather glove warm against your skin.

You are shaking with adrenaline, your hands still raised. You look behind him and see three bodies strewn across the forest floor.

He moves his head to block the view. He carefully takes your quivering hands. He squeezes one gently.

“I know, it’s a lot,” he says. “The first time is the worst. You’ll be okay.”

The first time. There will be more. Of course there will be more. Your shaking worsens with the thought.

You cannot find your voice. You lift your eyes and meet his gaze, imploring with a glance and nothing more. His lower lip wobbles with an unsteady breath, his brow furrowed. His eyes are deeply sympathetic.

He seems to battle some internal thought before he shakes his head and surrenders. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles. His other hand goes behind your head then he pulls you towards him, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

You grab him around the middle, burying your face in his neck. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly against his steadier body, but his relative calm tempers you. Some of your hair has fluttered loose from the ribbon, unsurprisingly, and he smooths it down.

“It’s okay,” he says.

Your shaking slows but your heart still races, all that anxiety twisting again. You keep your arms around him, lifting your head as you ask, “Are there more?”

As if in reply, there is a disturbance in the trees. Jisung spins and draws his sword again. He sweeps you behind him, blocking your body with his own.

Hyunjin emerges from the trees on horseback, a hand on his bow and the other clutching his reins. Jisung exhales then curses, sheathing his sword.

“You missed all the fun,” Jisung says as Hyunjin rides past the bodies. “Were you fixing your hair?”

“Funny,” Hyunjin replies dryly. “Where’s your horse?”

“She’ll find her way,” Jisung says. “Are there more of them?”

“There might be,” Hyunjin says. He dismounts and walks up to Jisung. They clasp hands but do not linger, both scrutinizing the forest, their gazes calculating. “I don’t like this,” Hyunjin says. “That wasn’t a robbery. They were after—” He glances at you but does not say it out loud.

You look at Hyunjin, at the long hair that has come loose from his tie, the sweat along his forehead, the sharpness of his gaze. You remember him getting catty with Seungmin, his haughty expression and pointed glance. That playful agitation was very different from his expression now. Rage burns behind his dark eyes.

“Whoever planned this,” he says, bitingly, “is targeting the gods, as far as I’m concerned. And I don’t care who he thinks he is.” He swings his sword free just to stab it into the ground. “And I don’t care what Chan has to say about it. This an offense too fucking far. She’s the queen.”

“I know,” Jisung says, softer but just as thoughtful. He looks at you, pity in his eyes. “It’s not right at all.”

“Fuck this.” Hyunjin yanks his sword out of the ground and sheathes it again.

That anxiety turns to lead inside you, your stomach sinking. You want to curl up on the ground and stay there. Even Hyunjin has deduced the attack was too targeted to be a coincidence. He is trying to sound vague but you hear the underlying accusation in his thoughts.

Someone wanted to kill you and someone was probably the king.

It makes sense. The union has been sealed. The money has been granted. The only thing that would stop him from killing you is a sense of honour and responsibility, but this king has neither. Of course he would try and eliminate you, but he could not do it himself. The king is a font of power, a representative of the gods on earth, but he is bound to his own holy vows. The queen is chosen by the gods. He cannot kill you himself as that would be an unholy offense.

No, if he wanted you dead, he would have someone else do it, and he would never consult the kingsguard on the matter, knowing their holy order would be vehemently opposed. The kingsguard protects the king. It also metes his punishment if he betrays the gods. It is why their own oath-breaking is so serious a crime.

Before further accusations can be made, distant shouts carry through the woods. It is not the kingsguard, nor any of the king’s men.

Jisung unsheathes his sword. Hyunjin draws his bow.

“Get the queen out of here,” Hyunjin says.

“Where are we supposed to go?” you ask, shoulders already shaking as the voices get louder.

Jisung turns around. His eyes dart right past you but there is nothing there except the expanse of sea. He stares at the open water, shimmering under the afternoon sun.

He looks at Hyunjin. Hyunjin seems to understand him without any exchange of words.

“You’re crazy, but I guess you’ve had worse ideas,” Hyunjin says and sighs.

“As usual, Hyunjin, your confidence in me is inspiring.”

“I miss when we hated each other.”

“I love you too, man,” Jisung says. “We’ll meet you at the inn. Tell Chan we took a shortcut.”

Hyunjin snorts and shakes his head. The guards part ways. Hyunjin swings onto his horse and rides towards the noise while Jisung sheathes his sword and sprints back to you.

You take his hands the second he offers them, needing the comfort. He squeezes yours tightly.

“You trust me, right?” he says.

“Trust you? Of course. Why do you ask like that?” you say hesitantly. “You’re not about to suggest something crazy, are you?”

“What?” His eyebrows jump. “Crazy? Me? Of course not. I mean, if it makes you feel better, I don’t have to say out loud—” He looks sideways again.

A sea bird calls as it swings over the water.

“You are not going to suggest we go over the cliff.” Your voice shatters on a high-pitched squeak.

“If anyone else comes this way, they won’t assume we went over!” he answers quickly. “They’ll assume we went farther into the woods and look for us there! It’s perfect!”

“Yes!” you say. “They will assume that! Because that is the sensible direction to go, not over a cliff into the sea! Over the cliff! Over the cliff!”

While you rant, he removes his leather riding gloves. You fall silent when he touches you, his bare palm curved around the slope of your jaw. He guides your face to his so he can look at you, really look at you, his eyes intense.

“Trust me,” he says. “I swear on my life and my honour as a kingsguard. My queen. Please. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

Those intense eyes first found you in a room full of people who looked right past you. They have found you again and again.

You exhale.

“Yes,” you say, scarcely more than a breath. “All right. I trust you, Han Jisung.”

“Hold my hand,” he says, drawing you close. “We’re high but not fatally high. It shouldn’t hurt but we are going to break the surface quickly. Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.”

“I won’t,” you say. “I promise.”

He squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

You never had a fear of heights but maybe that was relative. Taking a running leap off a cliff is certainly one way to find out for sure.

It seems feasible with your eyes ahead, the sea rolling out in a vast carpet before you. Then your feet leave the ground and it feels as though the cosmos shift and the entire universe drops out under you.

It lasts an eternity but also seconds. You break the surface quickly, just like he said, with a crash more forceful than the white waves on the cliff-face. It feels like a shatter in the fabric of reality. For half a heartbeat, you think it killed you, the force so impossibly brutal.

Then it settles. You open your eyes underwater. As promised, Jisung did not let go of your hand even though you landed heavier and faster, weighing more especially with your dress.

Your dress.

You try kicking towards him. He is pulling your arm but it only draws him deeper, sinking with you. His black robes swirl around him, the material light and loose in the water, but your dress turns into a silk anchor.

An instinctive cry leaves your lips, a desperate attempt to say his name, but it bursts in a flurry of bubbles.

You grab at him when he kicks down towards you. He guides your arms around his neck. You cling to him, not thinking sensibly but with the frantic desperation of a dying animal.

You do not pray to the silent gods. You put all your faith in Jisung.

He does not let you down.

Jisung tears the back of your dress, ripping apart the seams with his bare hands. You feel the threads pucker and pop, the cloying material giving way around your neck. You help him, pulling at the neck and pushing at the sleeves. You get the bodice down your hips, then the rest falls away. It sinks without hindrance. You are left in a white shift, long but light, so freeing that you can practically taste the air.

Jisung grabs you. You cling to him. Together, you kick towards the surface. You shoot through it with a gasping breath, coughing and sputtering.

He shakes his head, whipping water droplets everywhere, then smooths his hair back in a single sweep. The blackness of his hair looks even darker when wet, an obsidian tinted blue in the sunlight and seawater. You think it is ridiculous how he cannot look bad even when soaking wet, while you feel like a drowned rat, your copious amounts of hair plastered to your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, laughing in spite of himself.

You splash him and he laughs some more.

“If that wasn’t your worst idea ever,” you say, “I’m not sure I want to know what was.”

“No, probably not,” he says, still giggling as he paddles towards you.

You duck underwater to smooth back your hair. When you surface, he is even closer than before. The flow of the water pushes your bodies together. There is very little between you, black and white material so thin you can feel his body heat. You are not sure if that racing heart is his or yours.

Your hands find his shoulders instinctively. He keeps his arms out, treading water, keeping you both afloat.

“I—” he starts then stops, staring into your face. He releases a breath. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get to the shore.”

You emerge from the water, drenched and dripping, your white shift not only translucent but clinging to every curve. You notice first and a fiery storm of embarrassment ignites inside you. You wrap an arm over your ample chest and try to tug the material away from other sensitive places.

Jisung has his back to you. He is wringing out his black robes as best he can. When he does see you, his eyes widen, then he slips on nothing and faceplants in the sand. The tiny grains stick to his wet body like a second skin.

It makes you feel a little better about your own state, watching as he lifts his sand-covered face off the ground. You laugh and also apologize for laughing as he gets back in the water to wash it all off.

“Um, right,” he says, still scrubbing his face as he marches ashore. He does not look at you, glaring ahead at nothing while pushing his hair back. “Just… just wait.”

He gathers the hem of his robe to squeeze it dry. He determinedly keeps his eyes off you, muttering what sounds like a prayer.

You are about to make a comment, a joke at your own expense, when he abruptly strips off a layer.

Your eyes widen as you stare at his back.

It is true that Jisung is not as bulky as Chan or Changbin or even Jeongin. His build is a more slender athleticism. Those robes nonetheless concealed more than you thought. His under layer is far more revealing, a sleeveless black shirt and pants. His shoulders have a fair breadth, sturdy and strong, and his torso tapers down to a slim waist. His exposed arms move with a subtle musculature that catches you off guard.

You already considered him objectively handsome, but the starkness of his sudden masculinity has your knees knocking. A regular man seems to emerge from the robes of the kingsguard and that is somehow more intimidating. You feel your own exposure more keenly.

Jisung folds the material over his fists and wrings it tightly. It makes the soft slope of his lean biceps strain.

You drop your gaze too. It makes for a comical effort when he tries to pass you the robe when neither of you is looking.

In the end, he turns around, holding the robe to block his face. You laugh shyly and step into it. He wraps it around your shoulders and you pull your arms through. Even though it is also wet, it does a better job of preserving your modesty.

“Thank you,” you say. You meet his gaze and say sincerely, “For everything.”

He laughs a short laugh. It sounds more disbelieving than truly humorous.

He tilts his head as he looks at you, like there is something he does not understand. It makes your stomach twist and your heart skip. Even when he caught a glimpse of your body, it did not feel as raw as this regard. He looks at you and he sees through to something far deeper than skin and much more vulnerable.

“You know,” he finally says, “the king has never thanked me for anything.”

You do not know what to say to that. You hold the neck of the borrowed robe closed, fidgeting with it. He seems to remember himself and he shakes his head. He looks away, towards the trees that line the beach.

“Ahh,” he says. “It’s fine. The king shouldn’t have to thank me. Neither do you. It’s my duty.”

“It’s not because I have to,” you say defensively. “I want to. Jisung, I want you to know that it wasn’t meaningless. Everything you’ve done – I appreciate it. I appreciate you.”

He looks at you again, his face a storm of different emotions. The pinch of his brow looks almost sad. It makes you want to reach out and touch his face, smooth out his features under your fingers.

He steps back before you can.

“My Queen,” he says, bowing. He does not look at you when he stands, strutting past, heading down the beach. “Come on,” he says. “It’s still a couple hours to the city from here.”

You walk on foot to the next city, the one that will take the retinue a day to reach. Going over the cliff is certainly faster than travelling through the forest path, though obviously a less sensible approach. You entertain yourself with thoughts of the king’s carriage careening over the cliff.

It is a warm summer’s day so your wet clothes do not bother you. It feels rather refreshing. With the king far behind you, you can breathe a little easier.

You and Jisung amble along the beach. There is an awkward silence at first. Though he was chatty on horseback, having the other guards around made the conversations feel less personal. Now it is just you and him.

Fortunately, he is a natural showman. It does not take much to wrestle funny stories out of him. He has many, gleefully recounting every embarrassing story about his fellow guards. He tells you how he and Hyunjin didn’t get along at first. When you ask if it was for any political or religious reason, he laughs and says, “Nope! Just hated that handsome face. Seriously, who looks like that? Everything he did was annoying because he did it with that stupid smoulder.”

You laugh. At least an hour has passed and the sun has dried your clothes now. Your curly hair is partially dry but a tangled mess. Everything feels a little stiff and grimy with seawater, but you hardly care. Here, under the sun, cool from your impromptu swim, you feel more alive than you have in weeks.

“Why would it matter if he’s so handsome?” you ask. “With all due respect, it’s not as though that is especially handy in your occupation…”

He laughs maniacally at that. You swat his arm.

“It’s a valid question!” you exclaim.

“It is! It is!” he says, hands up in surrender. “And I don’t know, ha-ha. Old habits, I guess.”

“It wasn’t hard?” you ask. “Giving up your worldly goods? Swearing your vows?”

“No,” he says, a little more serious. He looks down at the ground, kicking a little stone. “I didn’t have much to my name. And for the other part – ah. It’s never been that hard for me, to be honest. Serving the gods felt right. Before I was a guard, I didn’t really have a purpose. A reason to be here on this earth. But now… now I do.”

“I see.”

“Did you…” He clears his throat. He seems to know his question is audacious, inappropriate for a guard, but you give him an encouraging look. Maybe because you are alone, or maybe because you have shared an ordeal, or maybe because you are in his robes, he gives in. “Did you ever want a different life?” he asks. He then winces as if suddenly remembering last night. “Sorry,” he says. “That insensitive. I’m sure you—”

“It’s all right,” you say. “I know what you mean. It’s just… the question is a little overwhelming.” You look across the sea and stare at the long edge of the horizon. “Last night… I felt a lot of things for the first time. I didn’t really know how to process it. I grew up with expectations. I didn’t know I would marry a king but I was raised to expect a match. I knew I was in a position of privilege and that meant conceding other things. I… I just wanted to make things good for other people. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It does,” he says sincerely.

You smile at each other.

“Good,” you say. There is a moment of silence. You look at the horizon again. “I don’t think I really know how to want something, to be honest,” you say, more to yourself than to him. “Not deeply. Not truly. I was wealthy. All my needs were met. I was never aimless. I always had someone telling me what to do. If there was ever time I wanted something, something I couldn’t have, I don’t remember. Maybe that’s for the best. I imagine that would be more painful than not wanting at all, right? Maybe it’s better to simply commit to duty. But I don’t know if that makes sense either.”

“It… it does,” he says. “It does.”

You eventually leave the beach and cross a short forest trail, intersecting the path the royal train will ride tomorrow. You walk into the city and look for the inn. It will be empty tonight in preparation for the royal visit tomorrow.

You reach the doors at dusk. The innkeepers recognize the kingsguard and usher you both inside. When Jisung introduces you as the queen, they fall over themselves, apologizing for being unprepared.

“It’s all right,” you say. You share a laughing glance with Jisung. “We took an unexpected shortcut.”

You are seated by a fireplace and given some food while they prepare a room for you. The innkeeper’s wife provides you with a more appropriate cover so you can return Jisung’s robes. He drapes them loosely around his shoulders but they are stiff with sea salt. Fortunately, you will both have an opportunity to wash.

When the room is ready, the innkeeper’s wife escorts you upstairs. She has prepared a bath in the bedchamber.

Jisung departs for a moment, just long enough to wash himself in another room. His outer robes are taken to be washed along with your grimy shift, though he stays in his shirt and pants as a kingsguard is not supposed to wear anything but his uniform. His spare robes are in his saddlebags.

You wash your hair while the bath water is hot. You try to focus on the heat, the water sluicing over your skin. You fight to keep your panic down as you think about encountering the king tomorrow.

You are wringing out your hair when the door opens. At first, you think it is the innkeeper’s wife returning for some reason. When you see it is Jisung, you duck down so the water covers your shoulders.

Jisung stumbles to a stop, eyes widening when he sees you in the tub.

“Oh!” he says. He spins around and walks right into the door.

You cover your mouth, watching as he stumbles back into the room, holding his face. For such a skilled swordsman, he can be remarkably clumsy.

“Are you okay?” you ask. You kneel in the deep tub, pressing yourself to the edge so it covers everything sensitive.

“Fine,” he says, pinching his nose. He waves a hand in your direction. “Fine. Sorry. They told me you were washing, just not in a bath.”

“They just sent you in here?” you ask. “Why?”

“Uh, well, I mean…” He dances over the threshold, rocking back and forth with uncertainty. He keeps his back to you. “I mean, it, uh, it is my job to, um, watch you.”

“In the bath?” you ask dryly.

“Well, everywhere.” He pinches his nose again and takes a breath. “It’s not unusual. The vows and – you know. The kingsguard is a different order. The gods see everything and we serve the gods. It, uh, it is fairly normal for at least one guard to be around at all times, regardless how the king… or queen… is… um… occupied.”

You feel a bit flushed, not just from the hot water.

“At all times?” you ask.

“Yup,” he says, popping the syllable. “The king used to have Felix stand guard in the room all night, even when he was with his mistress and ohhh wait a minute. Wait a minute. Hold on. I think I just put something together. Yeah, wow, okay. That was probably a bad idea for everyone involved.”

He always makes you laugh, even when you feel anxious or embarrassed. It untangles that knot of dread faster than anything else.

You fold your arms on the rim of the tub and rest your cheek there. He is still standing with his back to you, the door open. It is letting in a slight draft.

“Jisung,” you say. “It’s your duty. It’s fine. Can you please come inside and close the door? It’s getting cold.”

“Ah. Right. Okay. Sorry.” He finally enters the room, though he pointedly does not look in your direction. He busies himself with closing and bolting the door, taking far too long testing the locks.

His hair is a bit damp. He runs his fingers through it and your own fingers twitch. You have never wondered what it would feel like to run your fingers through someone else’s hair, not until now. His hair looks like it would be pleasant to the touch.

You shake your head and look away. Such foolish thoughts. You settle in your bath and leave Jisung to his busy work. He inspects every corner of the room and verifies the windows are securely sealed and locked. Eventually, he seats himself in a chair near the fireplace, warming his hands and staring into the flames.

You absently splash a bit of water, watching the droplets plink around you. Your thoughts stray to the king then his absent mistress. You cannot imagine any woman willingly and happily submitting to that man. You wonder when she and her kingsguard connected. You are glad she got away. You hope it stays that way for their sake.

Your own future is less certain. The king wants you dead. You do not know if he will make another attempt soon or if he will concede defeat for the time being. You already know he will never like you. It is obvious he is not that type of man. He was born to power, raised believing he was divine. Rather than use that blessing to aid his people, it has given him a cruel sense of superiority over them.

The best outcome is that he will decide it is too much work to kill you.

Or maybe death would be better. You thought so last night, which seems so long ago now. You remember the king’s violent hands on you, the demands he made, the way he looked right through you, treating you like a wretched thing. You shudder to think he intended to hurt and use you, knowing he was planning to kill you the next day.

“Are you all right?”

Jisung’s voice draws you out of your reverie. You are slouched in the tub, the water preserving your modesty at his distant vantage. His face is illuminated in the firelight, the flickering light revealing his obvious concern. Those dark eyes are wide as they gaze at you.

“Yes,” you say. He lifts a disbelieving eyebrow in reply. You cross your arms over your chest, though it is your heart that feels exposed. “No. No, I’m not all right.” You whisper as though you can conceal it from the gods even while their servant listens. “I’m sorry, Jisung. I know he’s the king. I know he is heaven’s earthly sovereign. I know I’m his wife. I know, no matter what he has done, if he has done anything, I have a responsibility, but I—” You wipe your tears when they start to fall. You sink a little lower in the tub.

Jisung stands. He goes to the bed where the innkeeper laid out a robe for you. He smooths it out and picks it up.

“Here,” he says.

He does not look when you step out of the tub. He wraps the robe around your body. The fleeting contact makes you shiver. You pass each other, avoiding eye contact. He returns to his seat by the fire and you sit on the edge of the bed.

The room is quiet except for the crackling of the flames.

“It’s not right,” he says after a moment.

You were picking at lint on the robe, your thoughts far away, but you look at him now.

“Pardon?” you ask in a small voice.

His hand is curled in a fist. He unclenches it slowly, then occupies his hands by removing his sword belt. He holds the weapon in his hands, running his thumb across the silver hilt while he frowns.

“It’s not just because you’re the queen,” he says. “You’re— you’re kind. You’re good. Your people cried when you left. The king’s people only cry when he returns. The way you talked to the villagers... The respect between you... The way you… the way you were good to those children…”

You recall the story of his own childhood, a poor peasant boy on the capital streets with nothing to his name but a song. His journey has been difficult. Given the way he speaks about himself, you believe there has been little reprieve or kindness.

He rubs his forehead, then shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t have to suffer,” he says. “No one should. But you... It’s not right. It’s not right.”

“I’m not special, really,” you say, not even to be self-deprecating but because you can see him sinking into his thoughts. You do not want him hurting for your sake.

“You are! You’re the queen!” he exclaims. “By the will of the gods! And I really do believe that. Because you... You are everything.”

You jump when he drops his sword, the metal clattering on the wooden floor. He puts his hands together as if he intends to pray but then he looks at you, aglow in the firelight.

“Your Majesty,” he says. “You are good and kind and funny and gentle. You are a heaven-sent queen. You are everything I ever dreamed of worshipping.”

Your wild heart breaks free. It is not with the pounding terror of adrenaline but like a drumbeat, a rhythm that has you taking a long, shuddering breath to keep pace with it.

No words suffice in reply. You sit in tense silence until the innkeeper’s wife knocks at the door. She has come to empty and clear away the tub.

Jisung lets her in. You smile and chat while she works – because she adamantly refuses to let you help – and she confirms everything is to your liking. You assure her that everything is perfect and she can be proud of her work. Jisung watches silently the whole time, leaning against the fireplace, loosely holding his sword.

When the room is clear and the bed turned down, the woman leaves, and the silence feels even heavier than before. You sit on the bed in your robe, drying your hair with a cloth. Jisung locks the door then takes his seat by the fire again. You suppose he is going to stay there all night.

He slouches very low, his elbow propped on the armrest and his hand on his face. His knees are spread wide enough that you can imagine kneeling between them. You do not know what would follow, just that you want to be there.

Yes, you want that, you realize. You want to be there, looking up at him with a reverence equal to his words. It would be easier than finding something to say. Your gaze would speak for you, in a position that should be reserved for the king and the gods.

You know you cannot do that. Your roles are very different. When he speaks of devotion and worship, it is as a kingsguard, not a man, even if your heart aches.

Because whether or not it is blasphemous to imagine, you would worship a man like that all the same.

The very thought has your blood racing. You imagine him looking down at you, his hand your face like before – guiding, gentle, good. You cannot imagine Jisung hurting you the way the king did. No, it would be different. The king seized your waist with a proprietary aggression. Jisung has touched your waist again and again, always to help you, always to protect you. You know his touch would not hurt. You know his touch would not leave you curled in pain for hours afterwards.

You know what it would not be, though you cannot imagine what it would be. You just know the thought makes you tremble.

That is not your fate. It is ridiculous to imagine. It will be the king in this room tomorrow night.

You tremble for a different reason.

“He’s going to hurt me,” you whisper. You are not sure if you even want to Jisung to hear but you simply cannot keep it inside. “Even if he doesn’t kill me,” you say. “He’s going to hurt me. He already tried once. I won’t be able to stop him again.”

You dare a glance at Jisung. He is staring at you with those wide, sympathetic eyes. After a moment of contemplation, he stands. He paces a little, back and forth, seemingly debating himself in his head. It turns to incoherent muttering as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Jisung—” you say, prepared to apologize. It is not appropriate for the queen to complain to a kingsguard about her duties. You are putting him in a difficult space because he is a good man who does not want to see you suffer, but he is a holy man and he should demand you pray and do as the gods bid you.

Instead he claps his hands and sighs a musical sigh.

“There are…” His voice breaks and he laughs, a nervous little giggle before clearing his throat. He says more seriously, “There are, uh, ways… things… um… yes… that you can do… so it doesn’t… so it doesn’t hurt.”

“Ways,” you repeat slowly. “Things.”

“Yes,” he says, gesturing nonsensically, waving at nothing. “Ways and things.”

“What ways and things?”

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“You do?”

“Ahhh…” Jisung looks sheepish, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He gives you a too-toothy smile. In spite of everything, warmth moves inside you, a bright and delightful joy, even if it is temporary. “Well, um. I’m chaste, obviously, so I don’t – I don’t know much. But I maybe know some things… There’s a ritual the kingsguards do… before they are, um, initiated…”

“Do…?” you say. You wave him onward with an amused smile.

“Uh, yes.” He stands ramrod straight and clasps his hands behind his back. “Don’t tell anyone I said anything, but, um. They send you to a brothel. It’s for a decent reason!” His hands fly out again, waving defensively even though you did not say anything.

You prop your elbow on your knee and your head on your fist, more entertained with his ranting than anything.

“You know,” Jisung says, speaking as much with his hands as his words, “They just want to make sure you are actually going to be okay with a vow of chastity, especially if you’re a virgin like, um, like I was. Am. Anyway. They don’t want a Felix situation, you know? Where you change your mind later. The vows are a serious, serious, serious thing. Felix was an exception, that whole thing was just – it was crazy, you know? But the vows. The vows. Oh, I was ready for the vows. My life… it wasn’t great, you know? I was worthless. I was a street kid. I was a thief. I came back from the war to nothing. The kingsguard gave me a reason to live. So I wasn’t tempted, oh nooo, I was never tempted. But they, um, they sent me anyway to make sure I knew what I was giving up.”

“I see,” you say. You want to correct him when he insults himself, but you suspect he will deflect any argument. Instead you ask, “What happened then?”

“Um, a very nice lady took me to a room,” he says. “I told her what I told you. I was ready for the kingsguard. I had my calling. I was finally going to matter. My friend had helped me and I couldn’t let him down.”

“And what did she say?”

“She just… listened,” he says, looking a bit fond in his recollection.

You find yourself feeling a little jealous, not so much because he is thinking of someone affectionately, but because you have no one to think of that way. The closest is a previous betrothal that fell through, but there was no intimacy in that arrangement either, only a single kiss that was more cordial than romantic. You have done your duty and reserved yourself and your affections for marriage, only to be given a very unaffectionate man.

You can only watch as Jisung reflects and says, “She said she knew a lot of men like me which, personally, I don’t think is true, I’m one of a kind, thank you. But she said, um… she asked if I wanted to, um, watch her. Touch herself, I mean. And, um, I, uh, did. Just to, you know, make sure. It didn’t count anyway because I didn’t touch her. It, um. Yes. Yes. That happened. So now I know ways and things.”

You blink at him. His awkward story-telling coupled with the twisting narrative leaves you more than a little perplexed.

“Touch herself,” you finally say. “Touch herself how? What does that mean?”

Jisung squeaks. He looks at you pleadingly, as if you can rescue him from the conversation he started.

“You don’t…” he says. It starts desperate but turns a little morose, his shoulders flattening with a sorrowful defeat. “No,” he says softly. “You don’t know anything, do you?”

He does not say it offensively but you bristle at the accusation regardless. You sit straight and lift your chin.

“I know exactly what we are talking about, thank you,” you say. “I am not a child, Jisung. I was raised to know my duty as a wife. I am very aware of what copulation entails.”

He raises his hands in surrender. You sit there, maintaining an air of haughty disinterest while he takes his seat again. He rubs his bare arms, absent-mindedly squeezing a bicep as he massages himself.

Watching her touch herself, repeats in your head, your eyes on his hands as they move up his arm, rubbing his own shoulder.

Your wild heart gets the better of you.

“Do you mean… it doesn’t always hurt?” you ask in a slurred rush. You look away when he looks at you, ashamed as you say, “I still don’t know what you mean by ways and things.”

“Well...” His tone is kind and patient. He waves a hand through the air. “I just mean… No. No, it doesn’t always hurt. Or it shouldn’t hurt, at least. So I’m told. I’m, uh, chaste. Obviously.”

“But you’ve seen a woman touch herself.”

“Yes.” The tips of his ears go red, or maybe it is the firelight. He scratches the back of his neck.

“And that… helps,” you say. “So it doesn’t hurt?”

“Yes, I think so,” he says, rubbing his hands together in a nervous fidget. “Again, I don’t really know for sure because I’m chaste.”

Yes, you know, especially with his constant reiteration of that fact. He has given you much to think about, though. Everyone always told you that a wife’s nightly duty was a painful, unpleasant thing, something to be endured to keep a husband content and create children.

You feel very foolish, much like you did last night when you tried and failed to run away. You have always considered yourself very intellectual and pragmatic, but lately you are feeling so many foreign things, encountering the world for the first time. It makes you feel younger than your age.

That anxiety twists in you again, its tangles and knots familiar by now. It is the nervous kind of adrenaline as you consider your next words carefully.

“Could you…” You cannot look at him, staring at the fire while you speak. “Could you… instruct me?”

“In-instruct you.” His voice breaks again. It feels as though you are both pubescent fools, falling over each other as you dart around this perilous subject.

Your eyes meet and that twisting anxiety becomes something else entirely. It burns hot as the fire, coiling inside you like some impossible, holy flame.

“Just… just so I know,” you say. “I don’t expect you to do anything like – oh, Jisung, I would never ask that, you know I would never! You’re a kingsguard!”

“I’m a kingsguard,” he repeats, like for a second he wasn’t sure.

“Yes, of course,” you say. “I’m sorry. It was a foolish question. I just – I trust you. And I hoped—” Hope. Something you should stop doing. The gods have made their decision and there are no prayers that will move them. You must resign yourself to your fate, whatever that is. “Forget it,” you say. “I know my place. Whatever happens, whatever he does – I will bear it. I will.”

You smile a forced smile, but it is bright and encouraging. It usually fools people.

Jisung does not smile back. He runs his hand through his hair again. He takes a deep breath and releases it as slowly. It is as loud as the flames, louder than the thunderous heart in your chest.

Despite it all, you keep smiling, determined to mask your emotions.

Then he looks at you and your mask immediately crumbles. Why do his eyes have this effect?

“Come here,” he says.

When the king commanded you, your body felt weak, terror coursing through your veins. It felt like an injury, so discombobulating that it incapacitated you long after.

Your body feels weak now but the terror is not the same, not that dark, cold dread. It courses hotly, like the water on your skin, like the heat in this room, like the look in his eyes. You try to convince yourself that your body is just sore from so much riding and running, so of course your legs feel shaky as you stand and approach him.

But you know. You know. Well before you reach him, well before he guides you towards the floor-length mirror, you know.

You look at your reflection. You almost do not recognize the woman looking back at you, so undone when she has always been so meticulously composed. No emotions got in, no feelings got out, no wants were had, and no disappointments either. Now your eyes burn too, meeting his through the reflection.

He gently gathers the hair that is loose around your shoulders. You shiver, fingers twitching, that coiled heat unravelling. He draws your hair back, guiding it over your shoulders and down your back. He briefly runs his fingers through the half-damp curls. He stares at his hands, eyes wide like he is holding some much more precious than hair.

He swallows. With a final pat, he lets go. His hands fall to his sides where they curl into tightly bound fists.

“I can’t touch you,” he says. “That’s not – I’m not – I mean.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “This is not that. But you’re the queen and you shouldn’t suffer. It’s just not right, okay?” He looks at you again through the mirror, eyes shiny and sad. “I’m a kingsguard. It’s my duty to protect you. From everything.” He smiles weakly. “Let me show you how to protect yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, surprised by the rasp of your voice.

“Okay,” he says, rasping too. He clasps his hands behind his back, standing straight as if preparing for a military inspection. “I’m a kingsguard,” he repeats. You know that, so you are not sure who he keeps reassuring. “I’m not – I’m not looking at you like that, okay?”

“I trust you.”

“Right. Right. Um.”

His hands are restless. At his sides, behind his back, now crossed protectively over his chest. You find yourself looking at the subtle curve of his bicep.

“Lower your robe,” he says. Your startled eyes dart up the mirrored reflection. “Just as much as you want,” he adds.

You stare through the mirror. You never imagined your own eyes could look so heated, but they are twin to his, and you see a sort of beauty in yourself because of what you see in him.

You shrug the robe down your shoulders. He pointedly does not look down, keeping his eyes on yours. That is for the best. That is for the best?

You let it fall a little more. You feel the flickering heat of the nearby fire, warming your skin as it is revealed. Your heart jumps at the sensation, the feeling of exposure.

You forget how to breathe. In that held breath, you let the whole thing spill to the floor in a soft puddle of fabric.

He blinks, once, twice. On the third, his eyes dart down, but just as quickly up. He swallows. His voice shakes as he says, “Close your eyes.”

You look at those warm brown eyes one more time before obeying. You slip into the dreamy darkness, acutely aware of the world around you. Everything feels more pronounced. You feel every touch of heat like a burning mark, his breath like a kiss on the back of your neck. That coiling heat tightens again.

“What now?” you ask.

“Bring your fingers to your lips. Yes, like that.”

You raise your hand, resting two fingertips on your bottom lip. You feel his slow exhale.

“Kiss them,” he says. The word kiss feels like a touch. “On your tongue.”

It feels a little ridiculous but you do as he says, wetting the tips of your fingers. It does not garner any particular sensation. No, that comes from knowing he is watching. You cannot see him, but you know his gaze is fixated on you, rivetted to every movement to ensure you comply with his instructions. It makes that heat turn molten.

“Okay,” he says, his voice a much lower rasp than before. He clears his throat but it still comes out rough when he says, “Touch your neck – on your pulse, right there – slowly. Slowly. Bring your fingers down your throat.”

You do so, shivering a little at the wet trail it leaves as you trace your fingers from your jaw to your collarbone.

“Does it feel like a kiss?” he asks.

At his suggestion, the touch no longer feels like yours. You imagine him in front of you, his open mouth, his tongue darting past his lips. Your whole body tightens and heat rushes inside you. You imagine him taking his time, his tongue travelling from your jaw to your chest.

“Oh,” you say, a musical note of a sound. You hear his breath catch. “Yes.”

“Good.” He clears his throat again. “Keep – keep doing – that. Bring your hand – yes.” His voice gets softer, barely more than a whisper as you bring your fingers down the curve of your breast. “Yes.�� Like that.”

“Like this,” you repeat. It is easier to follow instinct with your eyes closed, listening to the beat of your own heart, the call of your own skin. You trace your fingers around the tip of your breast, where the peak is already stiff. You breathe harder, your heart faster, as it sends a shock of sensation firing through your body. “Oh. Is this what you meant?” The small touch feels torturous. You cup your whole breast and squeeze. The pleasure leaves you trembling.

“Yes,” he says. “But there’s, um. There’s more.”

“More?” You already feel dizzy. You never knew so many sensations were hidden under the surface of your skin. You cannot imagine what else is waiting.

“Lower,” he says.

There is a leap in your bloodstream as you obey. You chase it to no conclusion as the caress of your waist does not feel like much.

“No, um.” He moves. Maybe his hands are making gestures or maybe he is running his fingers through his hair. His voice is still rough so he clears his throat again. “To—towards the – the centre. The centre of your – body.”

Your hand hovers above your middle. You feel flushed, suddenly understanding his direction. Your tension must show, because he says softly, “You don’t have to. You can just—”

“I want to,” you say. The truth spills out of you in a desperate rush. You have never wanted so much. It has never been so clear in your voice.

“You do?” he repeats.

You answer by following the call of desire and touching the only place that makes sense. You make a noise when you do, surprised when you find evidence of all that coiling heat, wet on your fingertips.

“Are you – are you wet?” he asks.

You nod. “Is that good?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s – that’s good. Very good.”

You soak in the praise, humming a sweet little sound as you move your fingers inexpertly. You brush somewhere sensitive, feeling like you struck every nerve at once, and your gasping cry gives it away.

“There,” he says. “Right there. Touch yourself. Don’t stop.”

You shuffle your feet apart, just a little. A jolt of pleasure shoots down your body when he nudges your bare foot with his booted one, easing your legs further apart. He does not address it so neither do you, accepting it as a simple gesture of help.

“You can use your other hand,” he says, because one is between your legs and the other just curled at your side.

You take his advice and cup a sensitive breast with your free hand. The noise you make will embarrass you later as it echoes in your mind, but right now you let it carry you away.

You cannot use both hands for long. One stays between your thighs and the other moves through the air, grasping at nothing. You need an anchor. Your legs are shaking and you are swimming in the darkness of your closed eyes. Spots of colour begin to dance across your shielded vision, twirling in dizzying motions. Your core feels tight.

“Oh – Jisung. Jisung, I—”

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice more strained than ever. “Trust me. Don’t stop.”

“Trust you,” you murmur. It sends another wave of heat rolling through you. The dizziness gets too much, your legs buckling. You reach back instinctively, blindly grasping for him.

He catches you, his soldier instincts fast. Your eyes fly open as you crash into his chest, so much of your weight supported in the clasp of his arms. His eyes look so dark, almost a solid black, his whole face flushed as if he was the one exerting himself. You whimper at the sight of him, at the sight of yourself in his arms, all sloping curves and fire-hot skin, soft and naked against his firm, darkly-clothed body.

“It’s okay,” he says, holding your trembling body.

You feel his hands on your sides, clutching you tightly, his front slotted alongside your backside. His clothes brush your too-sensitive skin, his hands hot on your body. You move just a little, rearing up under your own hand. You feel him behind you, undeniably hard, straining at the material of his uniform. He sucks in a breath, makes a rasping, hungry groan, but does nothing about his own desire, even while it makes you gasp.

He does not dare move his hands. He does not dare look away from your eyes in the mirror.

“Come to me,” he rasps. “I got you.”

All that coiling tension gives way. It feels like the moment the cosmos shifted, when the world disappeared under you, when you crashed through the surface of the water and felt as though you entered another world. Your body throbs under your fingers. Your mind is gone, your body in animalistic pursuit, needing him, pressing against him.

“Shhh,” he says gently.

You are gasping, every breath a watery sound. He exhales roughly, even his breath shaking, his nose pressed to your temple as he holds you another second.

“Shhh,” he says again. “Good. You’re okay.”

“Oh.” It is all you can say. You slowly withdraw your hand, your fingers embarrassingly wet.

You are not sure what possesses you. Perhaps it is the same instinct that compels you to clean blood off a finger pricked from needlework. You bring those fingers to your lips to suck the evidence away.

“Good fucking gods,” he says, his eyes wide.

He abruptly lets go and steps back. Fortunately, you have your footing so you do not fall, but it leaves a chill along your exposed backside. You shiver.

He looks around the floor then dives down to gather your discarded robe. He is on his knees when you turn around.

For a long moment, he stays down there, staring at the fabric in his hands. His knuckles whiten with the intense strength of his grip.

“Jisung?” you say softly. With your adrenaline dwindling, you feel shy. Even so, your heart is still an erratic thing. It seems physical release cannot temper whatever has taken hold of that creature. It continues to pound and stomp as Jisung lifts his head.

“My Queen,” he says, his voice so shot that it is barely above a breath.

You feel a jolt inside you, some trembling aftershock, intensified because he looks at you. Oh, he looks at you, forgetting himself at that vantage, his eyes everywhere from the curve of your knee to the slope of your thighs. His shiny brown eyes roam slower than a lover’s touch to the place between your legs, up the curve of your waist, your heaving breasts, and meeting your eyes with a near-crazed desperation.

“Jisung,” you say, a whisper as well.

He drops his head again, cursing under his breath as he closes his eyes. He shifts to one knee then finally rises, stumbling a little once upright. He wraps the robe around you without any delay, then he throws his hands out to his sides like he is issuing surrender.

“Good,” he says, avoiding your face, avoiding everything as he stumbles towards the fireplace and his discarded sword.

You close the robe around yourself. You do not know what to say. Words seem woefully insufficient, especially with his frantic energy as he fumbles with his sword belt, fighting to get it secured around his waist.

“Thank you,” you finally say. You sit on the end of the bed, holding the neck of the robe closed, looking at him with nothing but raw and open emotion. “I – I don’t know what else to say.”

He stares back at you, a hand on the hilt of his sword. The other sits over his midsection, curls around his belt. He looks like he might burst into flames with all that white and gold flashing behind him.

“If I can ever repay you…” you say.

You don’t mean it like that, but his eyes flash with unmistakable desire, then terror.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he says, bowing low. “You owe me nothing. You’re my – you’re my queen.”

He moves so quickly, it makes you jump, raising from his bow and striding across the room. He is at the door in a matter of seconds, his hand practically crashing onto the lock. There, it freezes, his fingers curled around the iron.

You stare at him. His shoulders are tense. Your lips part though you have no idea what to say. There is a feeling inside you but you cannot name it, cannot catch it with your voice. You can only take another breath.

He whips back around. You jump again.

Before you can even think to move or speak, he is in front of you. He slams down onto his knees and bows again, more frantic than before, the top of his head hitting your legs. You reach for him instinctively, the curve of his neck looking so desolate and desperate. He seizes your hands before they can touch them, bringing them together then to his lips. He kisses your knuckles, though it such a hard and needy press that it feels more like a collision. You feel his lips and the bump of his teeth. He hisses on an exhale and drops your hands.

Without another word, he stands. He marches to the door. This time he does not hesitate, flicking open the locks. He steps into the hall without looking back. The door closes between you.

You hear his body hit the door, the drag of it as he sinks to the ground. He is sitting on the floor outside.

You move towards that door without thinking. You sink to your knees as well, pressing your ear to the wood. You can hear him breathing on the other side – heaving, frantic breaths that sound like crying.

Perhaps it is all the sensation catching up to you, but your own eyes fill with tears as you slump against the door. You remain a long time, listening to each other with the divider between you.

#han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #jisung x reader #jisung smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #han jisung x you #skz x you #stray kids x you #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction

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mydearesthrry · 1 year ago

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honeyed bliss - h.s.

a/n: hi! here’s another one. post hslot harry, and dadrry, which should be a warning in itself. enjoy!

🎀 warnings/cw: nothing, fluff, ITALYRRY AND DADRRY. im a wreck.

🐇 pairing: husband!dad!harry styles x fem!reader

💐 wc: 800

“Babe, can you come here? I need to tan, but I can't get the tanning lotion on my back.” Y/N shouted sweetly to her husband, voice soft as she turned on her tummy.

“Yeah m’love, give me two seconds. ‘M cutting up some watermelon for Daisy.” He called back, standing at the drink bar, a knife in his hand as he watched his daughter toddle around in the small area that he stood in. Daisy knocked on the doors that were in the square, knocking on the door to exit as she babbled quietly to herself.

“Mumma, want mama,” Daisy pouted, perking up when she heard her moms voice. She stumbled a bit when she turned around to look at her dad with pleading puppy dog eyes, her axis of gravity not perfect quite yet.

“Oh, y’want mama, baby? Okay, let’s get y’to mama.” Harry plucked her up off the ground and hiked her up onto his hip, scooping a couple blocks of watermelon into a yellow bowl. Harry pushed open the door to the drink bar, walking over to his wife who was laying down on a beach chair. His wife turned onto her side, reaching out for her baby who was already squirming in her dads arms.

“Hi baby! You wanna come lay down with mama? Wanna sunbathe?” Y/N turned on her mom voice, babying her daughter.

“Mama, mama, mama,” Daisy giggled, patting her mom’s face, a wide smile on her face, looking almost identical to Harry down to the dimples.

“God, H. I can’t believe I birthed her, held her in my stomach for months, the whole nine yards, and she just looks exactly like you. Like, not even an inch of me in here. She’s got her Daddy’s curly hair, pretty green eyes, and cute little dimples… Don’t you, Dais?” She smiled, turning onto her back to place her baby on her thighs, Daisy’s head coming up to rest on her knees, her legs laying on her torso.

“Guess so, m’love, but don’t worry, she still loves her Mumma waaaay more than her Daddy.” Harry comments, munching on watermelon on the beach chair next to you. She turns her head to him and raises an eyebrow, and he smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he scratches his nose awkwardly. “I didn't mean that.”

“Good, y’know she loves you just as much as she loves me.” She gave him a stern look, and he could see her eyes through her sunglasses.

“Yeah, I know. Bad joke, didn’t land. Tough crowd, eh?” He smiled sheepishly.

“Mmm, guess comedy isn’t for you, hm? Better stick to singing, pretty boy.” Y/N muttered before bringing her baby up to her chest, pressing small butterfly kisses to her head.

“M’sweet girls, prettiest girls ever,” Harry grins, pulling your phone from underneath the throw pillow your head was resting on, snapping a few precious pictures. “Can’t believe ‘M so lucky.”

Twisting his back to look behind him, he reached out to switch the bowl of watermelon for the camcorder, turning it on and recording his wife and daughter, a wide grin plastered on his face. “Today is July 26, 2023, a couple of days after the final Love On Tour show, and we’ve just gotten home to the Styles Villa in the Amalfi Coast of Italy. Here we have Mama and baby bunny in their most rawest forms,” Harry narrated, a grin on his face when he heard a sweet giggle emit from his wife’s chest. “Baby bunny’s sporting a cute swim set gifted to her from her favorite uncle, Uncle Alessandro, and Mama’s wearing a Gucci swim set as well, looking as beautiful as ever with the most beautiful and glowy skin-”

“H, shut up!” She guffaws, placing an embarrassed hand on her face. “Dais is gonna watch these one day and be scarred by the way you’re talking about me.”

Harry turns the camera so it’s on his face, “Little Daisy, if you’re watching these right now in the future, never settle for less than how I treat Mama. Y’deserve to be treated like a queen, m’soul, never ever settle for less.”

He flips the camera around again to face his girls, catching a tail end of YN’s eyeroll on camera. “Yes, sweet girl. I agree with Daddy, never settle for less.” She places more sweet kisses on Daisy’s head, cooing with Harry when a soft snore leaves their baby’s lips.

“Well, since y’asleep now, I think that’s a good place to leave it. We love you, Daisy. Byeeeee!” Harry waves, turning in his seat to have the camera face him and his small family. YN giggles and blows kisses, waving until Harry turns off the camera.

“We’ve got it good, Lovie.” He smiles, leaning forward to peck a kiss to her cheek, her temple, and then one on her lips, being cautious of the sleeping baby on her chest.

“Yes, we do.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry <3 #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry edward styles

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enviedear · 1 year ago

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holy terrain ⟶ anakin skywalker

description ⌙ anakin can't deny the pull his bratty princess has over him, or rather, has always had over him.

pairing ⌙ anakin x f!princess!reader

warnings ⌙ nsfw, 18+ mdni i will block you. mean(ish)!anakin, equally mean(ish)!reader, they're toxic 'friends', an unreciprocated childhood kiss, also an unexpected kiss, mention of alcohol, brief mention of anidala (they're not tg), a flashback (it's not long dw), improper acts in a royal garden, fingering f!receiving, use of the nicknames petnames princess and jedi, no use of y/n.

word count ⌙ 4.1k

— request | masterlist

ur gonna have to pry anakin & princess!reader fics from my cold dead hands

loosely based off of mother's song.

to the untrained eye, the elaborate ball around you would seem perfect, flawless even. a truly divine display of political power and proceeds all around, but all you're able to take note of is the glaring absence of a certain jedi knight.

it's not your place to ask for his whereabouts, and the idea of anyone knowing that you're looking for him has your head throbbing.

you'd grown up with him, running around the halls of both the jedi temple and your castle respectively.

while your mother, the queen, would discuss and debate with the senior jedi and pompous planetary delegates— you were off getting the young padawan into trouble.

you've never been the most considerate to him— rather, you liked to tease and push him around. anakin was your first and only acquaintance to allow you to deter from the rigid nature of your regality.

he'd take your witticisms and throw some back at you with even more vigor, and when you'd roughhouse with him he never drew back his hits.

he was anakin, and to him, you were just you.

but since the war, and its recent end— you've seen little of him. the most, if only, of him you've seen has been on your holopad.

'hero without fear', the words most always surrounding his likeness.

you're half inclined to think that the boy you grew up with may now be too substantial for you.

you fiddle with your dress' skirt, trying to keep your eyes from drifting back to the jedi and their apprentices who are present, lined in an almost perfect row against a wall. one more glance and you fear you may be drawn into a long conversation about the force, and you'd rather brood in your corner than deal with that.

your body goes stiff at the feeling of two hands coming from behind to clutch your shoulders, "princess, don't tell me you're sulking."

the voice that hits your ears is familiar and warm, and you fight back a grin as you turn to face the young man, "no. but i will now you're here."

his lips upturn in a simper, "oh, then shall i leave you? all alone?"

you hum, in faux thought, "never! i always need a jester at my side. what could be better than your funny face?"

you take him in while he laughs off your quip. his hair is neatly out of his face, longer and more curly than you've ever seen, and his long arms have become fuller, muscles apparent even with his tunics and robe.

his black and flowing garments starkly contrast your fitted and fair-shaded gown, and you take it as a reminder of your evident differences. anakin is a warrior now, while you're left to relegate menial court duty. in a strange way, you envy him.

his path has standards and steps to prove to him and everyone else that he is growing, learning, and becoming more. in your case, you come up lacking.

most people look and speak to you as though you're an idea. a sheltered royal with little to no concept of the galaxy around her.

you like to believe their whispers weren't true, but as you look upon your jedi companion, you feel a deep sense of ineptitude. how could you compete or compare to someone who has seen more planets than you could even name?

you put a small smile on your face, trying to block out your thoughts, "how have you been? i heard a certain senator has been keeping a close eye on you."

anakin's eyes narrow, "royal gossip? may i be privy to such information, your highness?"

he's being coy and you know it, you bring your voice to a whisper, "amidala. i hear you've been seen fleeing her chambers."

he hums, hands coming to rest at his hips, "well, princess, are you asking if the whispers are true," he pauses, head dipping closer to you and whispering, "or are you confused as to what goes on behind closed doors?"

you roll your eyes, "i most certainly do not need any aid in understanding such matters. i have my fair share of suitors. i just wonder how long until such information finds itself back to your council."

he gives you a contemptuous look, "you think too highly of my affection toward her. besides, i've heard she's found someone new to engage with."

"you've heard, or you were told?" you can't help the smugness in your words. truthfully, you've known of anakin's obsession with the young senator for years, and when you learned of her shared interest in him at the beginning of the war you had a strange aggression towards the idea.

the knowledge of the endeavor finally coming to an end relieves an unidentified weight on your chest.

anakin waves you off, "the specifics aren't important, however..." he trails off, looking you up and down.

his words and look pique your interest, "yes, anakin?"

you watch as his eyes leave your form to scan the ballroom. guests are everywhere, leaving the room crowded— and the walls seem to reek of whiskey and nectar wine— usual amongst 'high status' officials.

anakin leans down to you to whisper into your ear, "follow me."

your eyebrows knit together but you do as you're instructed, slipping away from the noisy ball and out into the night air.

there are a few stragglers outside, either intoxicated, engaging in less than pure actions, or a mix of the two.

you look away from a couple touching each other hungrily to glower at anakin, "why are we out here?"

his head turns to look back at you before he continues forward, "patience, dear princess."

your face scrunches in confusion but you continue on, hands pulling your skirts off the ground as you enter into the royal gardens.

you've walked the path beneath you countless times, and one of your earliest memories of the footpaths was shared with anakin. his boyish face covered in dirt after you had convinced him to unearth a large plot of soil for a lake— in your honor of course.

he had spent hours on his assignment, promising that you'd get what you desired.

in truth, a twelve year old you desired no lake, you simply wished to see how far you could get him to go for you.

it was you who held the power then, and he was a faithful devotee— albeit to his masters' chagrin. no one was able to really understand the hold you held over him.

not even the pair of you.

the incident landed both of you in a great deal of trouble, and you were forced to spend the next morning filling said hole. little you was apt to make anakin do most of that chore himself.

not that he had complained.

after a few quiet minutes of walking, anakin stops at one of the smaller fountains in the green. one of the oldest landmarks in this garden, predating the lavish castle on its horizon. it sits surrounded by tall fruit trees, leaving the area sweetly scented and mostly hidden.

"do you remember when i pushed you into this fountain?" anakin asks, voice deviant and deep.

you ponder up at him, "yes, and i also remember how i pulled you in with me."

he hums, a light chuckle falling out of his lips, "hm, and what did i do right after?"

you think back to the day, you, fourteen, and he fifteen. your defensive action had made him so outraged at you. his teenage face had been vibrant pink and his knuckles white.

"maker, you're such a brat!" anakin's voice was riddled with annoyance as he pushed himself out of the fountain, "look at me! i'm all wet and master obi-wan is never going to let me hear the end of this."

you had simply laughed, following him out of the chilly water, "i'm not a brat, and you pushed me first! goodness anakin, you're so boring now."

he turned to glare at you, "don't say that— i am not!"

you rolled your eyes, "are too."

in one quick movement, he had your back pressed hard into one of the trees, "i'm not boring. and if you say it again i'll make you regret it, princess."

you weren't scared of him, you could never be scared of anakin, "well, skywalker, if you're not boring, why don't you prove it."

it had been a silly and childish remark, and you weren't exactly sure how you wanted him to showcase opposition to your teasing. you weren't sure if even he knew how, but his thumbs traced along the veins at your wrists. his touch had left the air around you soft and hushed.

his blue eyes met your own for a split second before he leaned down to you, flushed lips parting ever so gently. he let his hands drop from your wrists down to your hips, and you stiffened at the touch. he had never behaved in such a way before, and the contact had your heart racing.

with little time to think, you watched him erase the space between the two of you, pausing for a short instant, before closing the gap between you. your eyes had gone wide at the feeling of his lips on yours. those perfect lips, full and chapped, lamented at your own— so foreign and new to you.

there wasn't much to the exchange, very little movement on your end and your eyes had stayed open in shock the entire time. just as you thought to kiss him back— he had pulled away.

he had then wiped his lips with the back of his hand before speaking, voice higher than normal, "there. i'm not so boring." and with that, he ran away, back to the castle, and you didn't see him again until months later.

you'd never brought it up and neither had he, so his question had you reigning yourself in, eerily motionless. he had taken your first kiss and never mentioned it again, why would he bring it up now?

you can't shame him much for it, as you had replayed the memory back in your mind thousands of times. commonly going so far as to try and remember what he had tasted like, to memorize the feel of his hands on you.

your mind often wondered what your reaction would be now, you hoped you'd at least be able to kiss him back now. but anakin didn't need to know that.

with a sharp look at him, you reply, "you robbed me of my first kiss, jedi." you inflect when you mention his title, reminding him of his virtuous position.

his left hand finds a place on your waist, drawing you into him, "i've never been considered a thief before— is that really how you recall it, princess?"

you fight your fluster, refusing to cower down to whatever game he's playing at, "oh? what would you call it?"

he quirks an eyebrow, "unfinished."

your stare up at him, body turning to fully mirror his own, "excuse me?"

"incomplete, insufficient," you watch as his other hand, metal, and cool comes to a rest at your shoulder, tugging you even more so to him, "i'd hate to think that was as good as you could do, sweet princess. you couldn't even rally the courage to kiss me back."

you look at him and decide that the jedi knight before you has changed. no longer was he the boy who followed along with your every whim with silent invocation, no longer the young man who engaged in your childish games— instead, the man before you had a presence that alone could send your mind rushing into quite debauched places.

"who said i ever thought about kissing you back in the first place." your voice is barely a mutter, despite the teasing intention.

anakin gives you a smug look, head tipping to the left, "you've grown to be quite the liar, princess."

your words go pointed, "you've grown overconfident."

in truth, he hadn't. his assumptions were correct, but how could you give in to him so easily? anakin is almost entirely overpowering, but you can see the soft pink tint on his cheeks. and you know you have an equal, if not greater, effect on him.

his metal arm is stern against you, and you feel his grasp growing stronger, almost evidence of your words.

lips upturned, he speaks, "overconfidence isn't what this is, i only wish to be useful, princess. how cruel it is to have my dedication be met with apprehension."

his words inflict a firey sensation deep within you, and the atmosphere between you seems to build, fizzling around. you feel as though your sanity has become severed— evolving into an amalgamation entirely made of him.

"and how remiss would i be if i didn't let you fulfill your favor?" your voice feels shakey, but you allow your own hands to find his shoulders, digging in ever so gently and forcing him closer.

he chuckles, eyebrows darting up in surprise, "horribly remiss i'm afraid."

your lips curve, "and this favor," you pause, narrowing your eyes, "you think it should be a kiss? that seems self-seeking."

the knight looks down to your lips, mirth clouding his features, "this is purely for your benefit, princess. don't you deserve the practice?"

in the back of your mind, you could find a tactful solution to this situation. perhaps something that involves stepping farther away from the man peering down at you, but strangely, you've never wanted to be closer to him than you do now.

"as if i need it, jedi." your voice is low when you speak, and you catch anakin's adam's apple hitch up.

you feel like your body is humming as you slide your hands from his shoulders— grazing over his clavicle, up, and towards his neck. you watch his eyes widen slightly, and you can hear his little intake of breath— you got him right where you wanted.

you look up at him once more, silently looking for approval, gratitude, need— something. the blue eyes peering down at you fail to disappoint.

you let yourself stand a bit taller and pull him down to you, inching up until your lips graze his own. you feel his smile when your lips brush, and you bite your tongue before kissing him.

your kiss is deliberate and delicate, but you're fully in control.

he gives into you so easily. he waits for you to pull him closer before he follows suit, nose pressing into the side of your own. he tastes of fruit, and you let your tongue slide into his mouth, greedy for him.

he exhales at that, palming your hips and pressing himself into you ever so slightly. you let out a lewd breath at that, and anakin breaks the kiss to lean his forehead on your own.

you wait a second before looking up at him, and he stares back down at you. his lips part again, but this time you expect them to be followed by words. possibly an apology or a rejection.

he surprises you instead, by dipping down to you once more. his hands trail up from your hips, stopping just below your breasts. you groan when you feel his lips begin to leave kisses along your jaw, trailing down toward your neck.

your shared behavior is absolutely improper for both of you, but you can't seem to care while he's leaving lingering kisses upon your neck, sending goosebumps along your flesh.

your hands push upward, fingers knotting themselves in his hair. you let yourself give his locks a little tug just as he begins to suck on your skin.

you catch your breath from his raw and desperate action. your heart pounds harder, the sensation overcoming you, sending a swell of pleasure through you. he takes every signal you give him, pulling himself closer to you until you can feel the flutter of his heartbeat against your chest.

his lips graze your ear before he speaks, voice barely a whisper, "i'd say we're even now, princess."

your eyes remain closed at his words, enjoying the feeling of his breath against you, "i'm not so sure, jedi."

his hands find a home at both sides of your face, and you look up at him, "and how does my crime of stealing your first kiss continue to go unpunished?"

you're not sure of what to say for a second, shocked still by the look of conviction caught in his eyes, "i never said i wanted to punish you for it."

he moves one hand from the side of your face, tracing it back down towards your hips. he smiles at your words, and looks up at the sky before answering in a low voice," then how else should i show my appreciation?"

you take a step back, leaning against the tree for support. you can feel his gaze on you, but before he can say anything your own bravery speaks up, "appreciation?"

he lifts an eyebrow at your remark and tilts his head inquisitively in response, "yes princess, don't you want me to show you how grateful i am?"

you grin devilishly in response and answer him confidently, “i think i could come up with something."

he grins back lazily, humming a response, and moves closer, hands still firmly positioned on either side of your face. his lips meet the corner of your smile. he leaves a gentle kiss there before meeting your lips with so much passion that your body feels faint.

each trace of his lips sends electric sparks through your body as his kisses fall down your neck towards your collarbone. you shiver at the touch, as he brushes across each sensitive spot. you feel as if he's satirizing you in some way until his lips finally meet the delicate area around your shoulders— leaving soft nipping kisses that cause an uncontrollable moan to escape from you.

you feel his hands drop to your dress' skirt, bunching up the tight fabric and inching it up. when his skin makes contact with the flesh of your thighs, you let your forehead drop to his shoulder.

anakin seems to like this motion, breath hitting against your ear again, "do you want me to touch you, princess?"

you feel overwhelmed, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. you manage a slight nod before finally croaking out, "yes."

anakin's hands immediately respond, brushing up the side of your thighs until they find their way near your pulsing cunt. you feel obscene and exposed by your own need, but anakin seems to grow more confident the closer his fingers dance to you. you hear him laugh lightly as you press yourself into him, silently begging for more.

he abides by your wish, nimble fingers beginning to stroke your clothed slit. you moan at the contact, voice somewhat muffled as your head remains at his shoulder. anakin however chooses this moment to speak, tone falsely saccharine, "sweet princess, aren't you going to tell me what you want? use your words."

for a brief second, you feel impossibly hot and annoyed. you'd rather not voice your desperation for him. you'd be reckless to follow his orders so blindly.

"you're the one with your hands under my dress. what is it you're wanting, jedi?" you finally draw your head back from him, eyes catching his.

anakin lets himself grin, haphazardly letting his thumb brush your needy nub. he watches as you attempt to hide the roll of your hips, "i want you."

he doesn't continue with words, no, he slides your underwear to the side and feels your wetness against his fingers. he lets out a low groan when you grip him tighter.

your back is pressed into the tree behind you and anakin's body seems to lock you in place, not that you'd move away from him now. not when he's teasing your opening and causing your mind to go wild.

"tell me what you want," he smirks, one digit dipping ever so slightly into your heat, "and i'll obey."

you screw your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself. your voice is uneven when you respond, "touch me, please."

he doesn't neglect your demand and he lets his finger slide into you, slow. you clench around the digit, hands snaking into his hair and forehead pressing against his own.

he lets you feel him, as deep inside you as he can possibly get, before sliding out and back in again. you want to scream at the way his digit barely hits the spongey part inside of you, but instead, you let your hands grasp him harder.

he takes pleasure in your whiney noises, pushing further into you before sliding out once more. you whine at his teasing, and you catch the softest grin on his lips as he presses into you, two fingers this time.

you feel more full of him, and the notion has you reeling.

"maker, anakin." you barely hear yourself when you speak, voice so low.

he arches his fingers inside you, hitting the spot that sends your weight fully into his being, "yeah? am i doing a good job princess?"

you hum in assurance, blissful and teetering the edge. you feel drunk with how good he feels, how good he's making you feel.

"good," you moan. "so good."

you cry out his name in praise, only to be met by a lament. the rumble that answers you sounds like distant thunder colliding with sand and stone. a rolling sensation races through your body at the sound of it. your heart thuds in your chest and he watches its movements in delight.

he seems to like the way you're falling apart for him, eyes unwavering in their view of you. slowly but surely, you feel him putting pressure right where you need it until you can hardly handle it anymore. anakin thrusts his digits faster and faster, and you can't help but pull quite firmly at his curls.

his throat elicits a wanton groan at the feeling, and you feel yourself rock your hips to meet his hand. you're so close to the brink.

"do you want to come? hm, want me to make you feel good?" you can hear the strain in his voice.

"please, ani." your voice begging, warm at your own words.

his thumb finds your clit again, this time though, his touch isn't feather-light. no, instead he's cruel in the way he massages the bundle of nerves, leaving you a moaning mess beneath his body. he knows exactly how much pressure to use as he presses down on your bud repeatedly. making it impossible to form a coherent thought inside your head.

instead, all you can focus on is the thumb on your clit and the two digits in your core—driving into you relentlessly and the other pressing into you until your eyes shine white, you can feel yourself blanking.

his digits continue to pump in and out of you, humming his approval at your vulgar display— your eyes are heavy, legs unsteady, and lip slightly raw from biting it.

"i'm so close, anakin." you pant, fingers stiffening in his hair.

he whines, "yeah? let go, princess, i've got you."

and with one final plunge of his digits in and out of your warmth you feel a rather sudden wave overcoming your body, jolting everything inside and outside too. the sensation is a pure high, and you claw at anakin's shoulders until the feeling begins to subside. the night air suddenly feels so chilly, but you nuzzle closer into anakin. with you face hidden, you allow yourself a satisfied smile upon your, as well as anakin's, lips.

anakin grins down at you and kisses the top of your head in adulation before slowly removing his hands from you. you feel him trail his fingertips up your spine before speaking in a raspy tone, "how was that, princess?"

your body feels as if it could quaver at the sight of this man before you— a strong and assertive jedi warrior— so taken with you, eyes brimming down with a mixture of pride and adoration.

he pushes himself back slightly, still hovering above you, and looks down into your eyes with an unmistakable warmth in his gaze. you'e sure no one had ever looked at you like that before—like they wanted to consume every fiber of your being, of your soul.

anakin's eyes search yours for a moment before he presses his lips gently against yours in a temperate kiss.

as he moves away again, this time, drawing away enough to extend his arm above your head, fingers now clutching the tree's trunk.

you both remain still there for some time, taking comfort in each other's presence, until finally, anakin speaks softly again,"i thank the force to have met you, to know you. i've missed you, princess." his voice sounds brazen yet gentle.

his free hand lifts, raising your chin up to look into his eyes once more.

you hum, "you've grown better with apologies."

anakin huffs, lips upturned, "maybe, or perhaps solely for my benefit regarding you."

you roll your eyes, "is that what this was? some self-aggrandizing ruse?"

he smirks, eyes widening in faux horror, "never, princess. i only mean to say that i seem to behave best in your company. you wield a tight reign."

you can't help but smile at the compliment, unabashed. "i have no hold over you, jedi."

anakin's lips quirk into a fiendish grin as he reaches up to gently brush his thumb along your chin, "of course you do, princess," he murmurs softly. "of course you do."

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koliejeon · 11 months ago

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Tainted by You - JJK

╰┈➤ 𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: nerd yandere jk x queen bee reader!

╰┈➤ 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: who would have thought that being tainted by the nerd Jeon Jungkook would feel this good.

╰┈➤ 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 3.3k+

╰┈➤ 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: manipulation, gaslighting, dumbification cock riding, fingering, dom jk, sub! reader, cream pie, squirting, size kink, blackmailing, yandere jk, slightly mean jk, degradation.

You're considered the queen bee of your university, the one who's always seen as the epitome of perfection, with everyone admiring how much of a pretty face and a smart student you are. Being looked up to by everyone on this kind of level really boosts your ego, so it's a shame if anyone would know how much of a moaning bitch you are while riding the cock of the biggest nerd in school, Jeon Jungkook.

But It's not your fault that he just fucks you too good...

He’s just too good at it that you can’t help youself coming back for more, even if you fully knew that this would taint your reputation as a queen bee. I mean, everyone’s expecting you to date someone who’s on your level, and not just a nerd dude with a messy curly black hair and thick glasses that just covers his features.

But to your defense, he’s not what everyone is thinking of him of. That boy who’s always shy around people, and just keeps himself accompanied with his books has a totally different persona when it’s just the two of you alone. He’s not shy, he’s actually arrogant, mean, manipulative and hot…

Yeah, hot… like how hot the depts of hell could feel like.

It all started last month when your stupid history professor decided to paired you up with him for a project. You didn’t have a problem with it, you thought that with this project, he might open up with you and to others instead of being that awkward nerd guy that everyone hates.

╰┈➤ 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙝

The bell rang as a sign that the class discussion has already ended and that it’s now time for lunch. “You may now leave the class, don’t forget to communicate with your partners and discuss the project” Mr. Lim, your History professor, reminded to everyone as they started packing their things to leave the class. Some replied a simple “yes” to him, while some didn’t bother and just hurriedly leave the room before the canteen seats would run out.

“Y/N, hurry up, let’s go now!” Jennie, who’s one of your friends said to you as she’s waiting for you near the classroom’s door. You smiled at here and was about to say something along the lines of “Yeah, i’m coming,” but you got distracted when you saw the boy in one of the backseats, he looks so lonely in there packing his things ever so slowly – probably taking his time since no one is inviting him anyway to go for a lunch, and for some reason you felt pity for him. “Actually, just go ahead first, I remember I have something to do this time” you lied to her, and she simply just agreed to what you said as she quickly tag along with her other friends.

Now it’s just the two of you alone in the classroom, you awkwardly approach him… unsure of how to start a conversation with him. “Uhm… Jungkook right?” you asked even know the answer is already obvious. He looked up at you and stared at you for atleast 5 seconds before responding “Y-yeah that’s me” he managed to mutter that out with a little stutter. You thought he was just shy, and you hate it. This is literally the reason why he’s being made fun of by those bullies. You brushed off that thought as you brightly smiled at him, “Great! I’m Y/N, Mr. Lim paired us up for the project. I suggest if we start doing it as early as possible”

“I’m okay with that” he simply replied.

“I’m free later, are you okay with that? I just don’t know where we can do the project though, My apartment is not that great since it’s small and I’m sharing it with Jennie” You stated, already feeling comfortable in conversing with him even though he’s not literally replying anything and just looking at you. You guess he’s more of a listener rather than a talker. “Aha! How about we do the project at your place?” you suggested out of nowhere. The project has to do with arts and crafts, so coffee shops are not the best place to do the project.

Jungkook eyes seemed to widen from being shock with what you’ve said. He can't even believe it. You want to go to his house??? This is something straight out from his dreams.

“Y-yeah…sure, why not” he was really glad and euphoric that you’ve said that, but his reply came like he was just forced to say yes. “Great! You can send me your address” you said, and he frowned but not enough for you to notice, what do you mean by that? You don’t wanna go with him together at his house later? “Uhm… lets just go together later” he suggested, and you nervously chuckled, no way your gonna go with him after class, people might see you and probably make fun of you for hanging out with a weird guy like him.

“But-”

“It’s kind of far away from here and you might get lost” he explained without stuttering, while straightly looking in your eyes. Those thick glasses might have cover his intense gaze, but definitely not the tension that’s starting to form in the room.

There’s this something from his aura, it’s like a sudden change that you could clearly figure out, but it surely made you nervous as you gulped. You wanted to say something but you were unable to get the right word out of your mouth, so instead you simply just agreed with him “...m’kay” you said while looking at the ground like a child who got declined by your parents to buy the toy that you wanted in the store.

Yeah, you wanted to somehow talk to him, but not like this! You were sulking with the idea and Jungkook found it cute that he smirk at your behavior. He broke the silence by saying good bye to you for now, “So I guess were already settled? I’ll see you at the parking lot”

╰┈➤ 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙥𝙨 - 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙩

It’s already 6 PM when I headed in the parking lot as I try to spot where Jungkook might be. Classes are already finished at 5:30 PM but I made sure to be late so that no one familiar would spot me getting onto Jungkook’s vehicle. This almost feels like I’m doing some sort of a crime, even though I am not. After a few minutes of searching he spots me and raised his hand to get my attention. I immediately went into his direction and damn… I just don’t know how to feel.

He’s leaning in a black sedan that I suppose is his with his left hand in his pocket and the other hand holding a cigarette. This is the only time that I’ve noticed he has veiny hands. Just what the actual fuck! It feels like I’m looking at the same person from an hour ago! He’s definitely not the typical nerd you get to see everyday. I mean, a nerd with a sedan who’s looking hot as ever while smoking?! I was basically gawking at the new sight, and I only got out from my delusions when he cleared his throat.

“Let’s go?” He said as he throw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. “Yeah” is the only thing I was able to mutter as I went to the passenger side of his car. I buckled my seatbelt on, and he started driving. He was wearing a ripped jeans and a grey Calvin Clien hoodie that he later on re-adjusted, exposing his left arm that is covered with tattoos. Do I even fully know this guy??? It seems like all those school gossips about him are just pure lies.

He was not lying, his house was really a bit far from the University, not to mention the slight traffic on the way. His house was located somewhere inside of an expensive looking village.

“You live here?” You asked after getting out of his car. The house was big, and looks expensive with a modern touch to its’ architecture. “Yeah, my parents gifted it to me last year” he replied like it was nothing as he guided you through the main entrance of his house. What kind of parents would gift their child an expensive house?! For fucks sake he didn’t even graduated yet or is about to get married. His parents must be crazy rich like those in the movies.

“I already have the needed materials, is it okay for you to wait here? I just needed to freshen up”

“Ugh… yeah sure. I’ll just play some music in my phone” I said, and he simply chuckled before opening the television for me without saying anything. I feel poor being here., well yeah my parents are also well-off, but not on this level! Waiting for him for at least 25 minutes was boring so I just made myself at home as I watched the movie playing in the television.

“You should take a picture” he suddenly said which caught me off guard

“I- what?”

“You’re looking at me a little too much”

“No I wasn’t!” I tried to deny it even though it was already obvious as my face became as red as a tomato from being so embarrassed, that I choosed to look on the floor, being shy to even look at him” Inside of my head, I was scolding myself for acting that way, he must have now think of me as a pervert!

He started approaching me, and before I knew it, he lifted up my chin as he cupped my face with both of his hands so that I would look at him. We we’re both looking at each other’s eyes, and then everything just happened so fast, I didn’t even know why I let It happen, but we we’re now passionately kissing as both of our tongues fought for dominance in which he obviously won. We were now in his bedroom but before things could get even more heated, I tap his shoulder thrice as a sign that I want it to stop. Gladly, he accepted my request and pulled back, “This is wrong” I simply told him, and a that made him ‘tsk’ as his face contorted an annoyed look.

“Wrong? Tell me what’s wrong about this Y/N?!” He answered back, he’s clearly not liking what I’ve told him but him. I can’t just answer him by saying that I don’t want to be associated with someone like him, people would make fun of me, and my reputation as a queen bee who’s always been perfect would be tainted. I don’t want them to think that choosing Jungkook was a bad decision, and that I’ve made a wrong decision. But I just can’t also tell that to Jungkook, I don’t want him to feel bad himself even though those are the true reason. I remained silent without moving a single inch of my body, my hand are still in his shoulder while he’s arms are wrapped on my waist. We were standing in the middle of the room, but even though were close enough, I didn’t had the urge to look in his eyes even though I know that he’s looking at me with burning gaze.

“What? You don’t know how to answer now? Cat got your tongue? Or you’re stupid little mind can’t just comprehend simple things?!” All his words hurt like hell, I didn’t even realize he could say such mean things to me, when all I knew is that we was that shy nerd boy at the back of the class who doesn’t even know how to fight back from his bullies. “Stupid Y/N, can’t even explain herself” he continued belittling me and it was all to much that I burst out and cry myself in his chest. He was shocked for a while but then embraced me in his arms as he let me cry all my worries while shushing me down “Shhh it’s okay darling, I know you’re little brain hurts from thinking too much, you don’t have to think, that’s my job, and you only have to follow what I say, right? It’s true, my mind was clouded and it hurts, so I just let him embrace me while drawing circles on my back.

It stayed like that for a while but then Jungkook drop the bomb, “I know you think it’s wrong because it would taint your reputation. Their poor queen bee Lee Y/N dating the nerd Jeon Jungkook? Doesn’t sound good to them right?” I look up at him, unable to say anything, and that just made me tear up more. “I’m sorry” I muttered to him as I buried myself in his bare chest, the citrus scent of his body wash engulfing my nostrils.

“Shhh… it’s okay baby, I know how much you love the attention the campus is giving you, it makes your dumb ego grow right? But the thing is, you ONLY need my attention”

“I’m sorry - Y/N’s really sorry” I said, already at my worst point as I continued to cry. I feel like a bad person based on what’s he’s telling me, but that’s the truth, I’m too self-concious of what people will say to me, I’m someone who starved attention, and I just feel bad that Jungkook has to know that side of me, and I’m now thinking that I hurted his feelings because I was too selfish. So I kept on apologizing “Gguk, Y/N’s sorry, please forgive her”

Jungkook smirked in victory, he knew he fully had you in control, oh just how easy it is to manipulate you. To break you into pieces so that he can fix you again, and then make feel like he’s the only one who can fix and save you from yourself.

“Shh… I was really hurt, darling. What you did was wrong, how come you think of me as a person that would taint your reputation when all I do is love you from a far?” that made me feel guilty more…

“But I would forgive you if…

“If what? Please tell me, Gguk, I will make it up to you, I promise!” I said, feeling determined to fix my mistake.

“If you make love with me. Prove me that you love me, that you need me, and that you’re not afraid to be tainted by me” and so, without much thought, I kissed him deeply, I opened my mouth, inviting him to intertwine his tongue in my hot cavern, as he lifted my shirt and carry me on his bed. I am now laying on my back, the tension from both us rising as I hurriedly removed my pants, leaving me in my underwear. The sight infront of me, him hovering above me as he continued kissing me while exploring every inch of my body had me whimpering in his bed. He started attacking my neck, making sure to leave as many hickies he could so that everyone knows I’m his.

His right hand started massaging my breast while the one started licking and sucking my nipple. The pleasure was just too good to be true, and after a seconds, my buds now sensitive and hardened as I continued moaning shamelessly. The pleasure that he’s giving me was just too god that I started unconciously buckling my hips to his hardened dick. “Too impatients aren’t you?” he teased, and I just whimpered. He took off my panties, looking at my dripping core, already wet for him. “Please hurry,” “Easy there, princess we have to to adjust your pretty little pussy first so it woudn’t hurt that much, okay?” he’s talking to me as if I’m some dumb kid, it was embarrasing but it makes me more turned on. Two fingers were pushed in my hole, I was shocked at the sudden intrusion but he soothed it by drawing circles on clit. “See? My fingers are even too much for you, how can you properly take my cock if you’re like that?” I wanted to disagree with him but I coudn’t utter a single word as he started fastly moving his digits inside me. “One more, please” he only chuckled after hearing that, and I’ve never felt so pathetic in my entire life. He must’ve known that I’m being dumbly determined just to impress him, but I later regret that when he fulfilled my wish.

“As you wish, darling” the third finger definitely burned my inside like hell, he’s fingers are not just long but also thick. After some time, my moans got louder and louder as I trembled in his fingers, and before I knew it, I squirted a lot, but he didn’t stop from fingering me, until I was begging him to stop “Ggukie…. To-too much please” and with that he removed his fingers on me...

“You haven’t even got the real thing yet. Plus you promised me, you would make it up for me, right? I was really hurt you know?”

“Sorry, I forgot” I embarrassedly admitted with a pout and he only chuckled at me “I know, it’s okay, I’m always here to remind you”

“Have you tried riding a cock before?” his question caught me off guard,

“What??? No I’ve never! Plus… you’re actually my first”

“Good, cause I will make sure that that person would die, if someone comes first on you before me. How about you become a good girl and right my dick, yeah? Prove me that you’re really sorry” I blushed at his statement but I didn’t bother to disagree with his request, I was at fault and I should make it up.

He’s leaning on the headboard right now, and Ii’m straddling his lap, while he lined up his cock in my entrance. I started moving down ever so slowly, but Jungkook was patient enough. But you know what they say, patience can also grew out easily, “What if it hurts?” I dumbly asked him, knowing that it would hurt more after seeing his size. He’s length is around 7 inch and it’s very thick, “It’s supposed to hurt, Darling” and with that, both of his hands pushed me down on his length, it hurt at first, but after a few seconds of adjusting, it felt like a bliss of heaven. I continued to bounce up and down on his length while moaning loudly as he played with my boobs, “Touch your clit, love” I did as what I was told and it was the best feeling I could ever imagine. Later on, I grew tired and cummed on his dick, but he didn’t stop there, instead he controlled my hip movement as he buckled is hips to reach his high and cum deep inside me. I was already pliant as black out after the session.

You may have not seen it, but Jungkook had the biggest grin of victory on his face, as he removed his now soften length inside your pussy. You’re already passed out, so Jungkook took the time to clean both of you as he covered your body with clean sheets. Little did you know, everything was recorded, from the moment the two of you step in his room. Jungkook would surely play the video sometime to jerk on you, and maybe use it for blackmail if you started acting up. But for now, you don’t have to know anything, what the two of you have, the thing that he made you believe, is already enough for him, cause he succesfully tainted you.

#yandere jungkook #jungkook #bts fanfic #fanfic #jungkook ff #smut #bts smut

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sweetbonniebel · 6 months ago

Text

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Eleven

Daemon x reader

Synopsis: Laenor’s funereal, politics. Alicent being a bad mom, Viserys being a idiot. Talk of Rhaenyra having more power.

Note: If you wish to be added to the taglist, comment. Greatly appreciate it.

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122 AC Driftmark

Five dragons left Bloodstone for Driftmark. Another funureal of a Velaryon. Baelon sat in front of Daemon, strapped by leather belts. Vhaenor was in Aegon's saddle and Aerion was held by you.

Vermithor the largest of the beasts flew ahead. Your youngest slept soundly strapped to your chest with cotton wraps. Occasionally involuntary moving in the swaddle.

You felt sorry for Rhaenyra, not only did she loose Harwin not long ago now her husband has perished. And what of Jace, Luke and Joffrey.

You heard the familiar screeches of Caraxes and the warmth of dragon fire, you glanced upwards to see the blood wyrm, Sunfyre and Moondancer chasing each other.

Rhaenys and Corlys looked awful, they lost all of their children in the span of four years.

Your favourite cousin looks bad clad in black, but that colour seemed to follow her. You wrapped your arms around Rhaenys, offering her your comforts.

"I am so sorry, Rhaenys, Corlys." You said taking Rhaenys's hands in yours.

"Thank you, cousin." The Queen who never was answered.

"We are glad you could make it." She forced a facade of confidence.

"It is all right, you do not need to fake being nice. You just lost your son, I would except you to scream, cry and rage."

"I have done my fair share of mourning already, Laena and now Laenor." She whispered, tears prickling her waterline.

"Whatever you need we and the Stepstones are at your disposal." You offered.

"Thank you, y/n." Corlys answered placing his palm on your shoulder, squeezing thankfully.

You returned to your family at the side of the cliffs, on the other side closer to the casket stood Rhaenyra and her three boys.

"Mama." Vhaenor tugged at your black mourning skirt.

"What is it?" You questioned leaning to his level.

"I'm sad." He muttered shyly, you smiled sadly at him. "I don't like it."

"Oh sweet boy, it is normal to feel sad sometimes. Especially when a member of your family passed. But soon you will feel better, the feeling will pass." You tried to console the two year old

"It will?" He hopefully asked.

"I'm sure of it."

Laenor's sea stone casket was being wrapped with ropes, soldiers of house Velaryon prepared to lower it into the salty sea.

You saw tears escape Rhaenya's and Laenor's children, the three boys wore teal doublets adorned with silver seahorses and black trousers. Jacaerys looked the most like his grandmother, Rhaenys with dark hair and indigo eyes.

Lucerys was most like his mother, silver-gold hair and blue eyes, while Joffrey named by Laenor was most like his father, curly dark hair with silver streaks and violet eyes but his face was entirely Laenor.

Your children with Daemon on the other hand were of typical Valyrian beauty. Baelon had silver hair and bright violet eyes, his eye and nose shape were just like Daemon's. Vhaenor was your spitting image with your red eyes and face shape.

Aerion was most like his grandmother Alyssa, Daemon said so. You never met your father's first wife but from what your brothers said, Aerion was very much like Alyssa.

You wondered what will Rhaenyra do now, her husband has perished, she has three children but she is still young. The realm will expect her to marry again.

You took your children by their hands and walked over to where the realm’s delight was standing. You stared solemnly at Rhaenyra, you placed a hand on her cheek and brought the princess into a warm embrace. No words exchanged but that was fine, none were needed.

The three boys standing around Rhaenyra on the other hand, looked at you with muted curiosity.

„Jace, Luke, Joff this is your aunt Princess y/n.” Rhaenyra introduced, you kneeled next to the boys.

„I’m sure you do not remember me, but we have met a few times before.” You said placing your palm on Jace’s rosy cheek.

„Good morrow, princess.” Jace shyly answered.

„You can call me aunt, Jace.” The dark haired boy nodded his head sheepishly.

„I would like to introduce your cousins to you.” You slightly pushed Baelon and Vhaenor in front of the three Velaryons.

The eldest of your princelings slightly bowed his head at them.

„I’m Baelon.” He introduced himself „This is my brother Vhaenor, and the babe is Aerion.”

„I’m Jacaerys this is Lucerys and Joffrey.” You watched as the two boys interacted.

„How are you faring?” You questioned Rhaenyra leaving your sons to themselves.

„It is not as hard as I thought it will be. I did love him, but it was more of a brotherly love. I’m thankful for the children we have…” She told you her thoughts and you listened intently. „I’m glad we left for Dragonstone when we did, I do not think I could have endured more of that vipers den. And Laenor, gods save him. He was a good father but not much more than that.”

You slightly chuckled as you talked in a secluded area.

„Do you think you’ll remarry?” You suddenly questioned.

„I have a lover I am very close to… But I do not want to marry so soon. I wish to experience more freedom.” She answered smoothing her black gown with teal accents.

„A lover you say?” You curiously asked, you saw as a blush spread on Rhaenyra’s pale face.

„He is a noble man from Lys.”

„Lys?”

„Darys Ormollen.” She said without beating around the bush.

„You do not mean… Aunt Saera’s son.” You remembered the name you heard in passing conversation. The heir only nodded. „How did you come to meet our cousin?”

„It is a long story.”

„I would love to hear it some day, and meet him. Perhaps we could even invite aunt Saera to the Stepstones.”

„I don’t think she will accept but you can always try.”

„It is important for our family to be together. Besides I didn’t even know she was married for a long time, Jaehaerys told me of Saera a few times but nothing of her life outside of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The funereal procession started. The heads of house Celtigar, Massey, Darklyn and Bar Emmom were present. Corlys’s brother Aethan, delivered the eulogy. You watched with Rhaenyra your children and Daemon as Laenor’s casket was lowered into the sea. The same way Laena’s was four years ago. Baelon and Vhaenor were standing next to their cousins. Aerion was in your arms and Joffrey was in Rhaenyra’s.

„May the winds guide into the the afterlife, nephew.” Aethan recited „For our words are the old, the true, the brave. You may not have been old, but you were true and brave.”

You saw tears stain Jacaerys’s and Lucerys’s cheeks, your palms rested on their shoulders. With the back of your palm you wiped their tears.

…

You watched as Viserys stumbled down the cliffs with Alicent and Otto by his side. Helaena and Aemond following after them. You approached his grace with Daemon and your children.

„Your grace.” You bowed before your sickly brother.

„Oh, y/n.” He wheezed „You certainly are a sight for sore eyes.” He placed his boney palm on your cheek.

„Brother, you do not look well. Are the maesters treating you well? If you wish I can call upon my healers from Essos.” You offered putting your hand over his.

„The maesters are taking great care of his grace. They do best they can.” Alicent butted in.

„Perhaps their best isn’t enough.” Your husband snipped staring with wide eyes at his brother’s worsening condition.

„Hush now husband I am sure the maesters are… healing our brother to the best of their abilities. Even if they are not enough.”

„And your children, your highness?” Otto muttered chanting the subject „Happy news reached King’s Ladning that new dragons hatched.”

„Yes, lord hand. Five dragons indeed hatched.”

„And since when are you interested in dragon, Otto? I remember you said they are an abomination to your gods.” Daemon carelessly said. You tried to surpress a chuckle. Viserys through his hazines glanced disappointed at Otto.

„Speaking of children, your graces we must return to them.”

„And where is Aegon? He has not come greet me or his lord father.” Alicent questioned accusatory.

„Aegon is with his cousins.” Your brother answered for you.

„So you saddle him with taking care of babes, now?” The green Queen made a snide comment.

„Oh not at all, your grace. He is simply offering his comforts to Baela and Rhaena. After all they just lost and uncle.” You intertwined your arm with Daemon.

„I see.” She only muttered and the two of you left, returning to your children’s side.

„Have you seen him? He looks like the stranger is eating him alive.” You whispered to Daemon, he nodded and squeezed you hand reassuringly.

„The greens are ordering the maesters to be worsening his condition.”

„We need our healers to take a look at him.”

„And what if they don’t do anything?”

You stayed quiet, consumed by thoughts on how to turn this situation in your favor.

„What are you thinking of?”

„Do you remember when our grandsire named father his hand when he was too sick to rule?”

„You do not think..?”

You nodded at your brother.

„Viserys is sick, the greens control the throne. Rhaenyra is his heir, she should become her fathers regent and wear his crown.”

The two children of Baelon the brave stared at Rhaenyra from afar. She and her children stood alone amongs the cliffs and salty sea.

„It could work, but Otto is still hand. He will go against this, the council will side with him.” Daemon noticed, caressing your hand affectionately.

„Then we have to think of a way to find new members of the small council, those who will be unwaveringly loyal to ’Nyra. And us of course. Still we have to get rid of Otto somehow, name a new hand.”

„Corlys…He hates the greens as much as we do. His house is the richest in the seven kingdoms. He is old and experienced.”

Your eyes widened surprised.

„You would not want to be hand? I know you pestered Viserys for that position.”

„I used to, but we would have to move to King’s Landing. I do not want to leave the Stepstones, I do not want our children to be raised there. At least on Bloodstone we are the rulers of our own lives, Baela and Rhaena are happy there and so is Aegon.”

„You have changed.” You stated, a warm feeling spread in your insides.

„Does my wife, enjoy it?” He teasingly questioned placing his large palms on your waist.

„Very much so.” You smiled leaning into his warm embrace.

„Your highness.” Annora approached the two of you with Aerion in her arms. He was fussing, you could see tears stain his chubby cheeks. „I’m sorry but he could not stop crying.”

„It is fine, thank you.” You answered taking Aerion, he will be turning one soon.

„You coddle him.” Daemon stated taking him from your arms and into his. You could see that he started to wiggle in discomfort.

„Maybe he’s hungry.” You said feeling your sore breasts.

„No, he is spoilt. You always hold him, you didn’t do that with Baelon or Vhaenor.”

„It’s just… he’s so small.”

„He’s healthy, my love. He’ll be fine without your embrace for a while.” Your husband answered keeping Aerion in his arms.

You walked with Daemon through castle Driftmark. A dreary seat, even more than Dragonstone. Your children were taken to a spare nursery, that left you and Daemon in your temporary chambers.

You sighed and begun to unlace the black mourning dress with silver accents.

„Do you need help?” Daemon approached you from behind, without and answer he began to unlace the bodice and dress.

„I need to change into something more comfortable.” You announced „This dress squeezes my breasts and I cannot take it anymore.”

„Perhaps you are due to a visit to the tailor?” Daemon muttered sliding the fabric off your body. You raised your silver eyebrow.

„Are you saying I’m too fat for my dresses?”

„No, your tits are too big to fit in that dress. Although I do like to see them spill out of your cleavage. Perhaps I was wrong to mention a tailor.” Your husband teased caressing the side of your breast with his thumb.

„I wasn’t so big after Vhaenor…” You stated staring at yourself in the mirror.

„You aren’t big, y/n.”

„Do you want more children?” You questioned turning to face Daemon, dressed in cotton underdress.

„I want as many children as you will give me.” He leaned against your forehead.

„A girl, then.”

„A girl?” Daemon pressed a kiss to your neck, his hands roamed over your body. „As you wish, wife.”

…

You slept comfortably tangled in Daemon’s arms, the bed was not as comfortable as the one you shared on Bloodstone. A knock stirred you out of sleep, you tried to ignore the sound but it was persistent. You groaned and wrapped your body in a silver robe and opened the door.

„Aegon? What has happened so early?” You questioned leaning on the door frame.

„His grace invited you and your family to break fast together.” He nervously said.

„Now?”

„In an hour or so.”

„Why are you telling me this? You are not a servant.”

„I’m… What if they order me to return with them?” You sighed at his broken heart expression, you wrapped him in your arms and caressed his messy silver gold hair.

„I will fight to keep you with me.” You answers pressing a kiss to his temple.

„Promise?”

„I promise. Now go back to your chambers and dress, preferably in black it is a funeral after all.”

He nodded and skipped off to your chambers, you sighed and pressed your hand against your forehead. It was too early for political warfare, you felt tired and a bit sore from the strenuous activities of the night before.

You walked over to the bed where your husband laid, his naked back spread comfortably over the bed.

„Daemon.” You nudged him, he groaned and turned away from you, you chuckled and sat on his abdomen keeping him in place. „Daemon.” You whispered into his ear.

„hmm?” He murmured waking from sleep.

„We are invited to break fast with our brother.”

„How do you expect me to leave when I have you on top of me?” He cheekily said, your cheeks warmed and you felt him growing hard under you.

„We do not have time…” You whispered.

…

Your black dress with embroidered red dragon’s breath swayed with your movement. The long sleeves of the dress were in Baelon’s clutches as he walked next to you unsure. He did not like castle Driftmark nor did he like the sea.

„Your highness.” Ser Erryk and Arryk Cargyll bowed as they guarded the King’s chambers.

„Sers.” You answered and entered your brothers room with your family.

Viserys barely lucid sat at a round table in the corner of the room, a weird smelling incense was burning in the chambers.

You kissed his healthier cheek and took a place on his right, Daemon to his left.

„Where is Alicent and the children?” You questioned.

„It will be just us, my siblings.” He wheezed back, motioning for the servant to bring the food.

„What is that smell?” Daemon asked sniffing the air.

„Oh it is- it is an ailment the maesters prescribed.” Your brother answered breathlessly, you nodded at Daemon to put out the poison and open the windows.

„I’m afraid it’s making the children a bit queasy, you do not mind if we open the windows?” You took Viserys’s hand in yours. He simply nodded and glanced at your eldest, Baelon.

„And how are you, my nephew?” Viserys asked, the two boys looked at him unsure. Aerion stayed in the nursery.

„I’m well, your grace.” The four year old answered playing with the hem of his doublet under the table.

„There is…no need to call me your grace. I am your uncle you may adres me as such.” Your brother said, you smiled seeing the love he held for his family. „I heard you have a dragon.”

„Yes! I call him Aegarax, he’s brave like Darren!” Baelon exclaimed happy to talk about his hatchling, simply forgetting the uneasiness he felt before.

„You named him right, Baelon a strong name.” He turned to you.

„Thank you, I do not remember our father but the stories grandsire told me of him makes me feel as if I did get to know him.”

„And where is the babe?” He questioned.

„In his nursery.” Daemon answered.

„Viserys… do you think it well to name a regent?” You gently coaxed him into the new topic.

„Regent? Otto is my hand, he does well in my absence.” His grace wheezed.

„And how often does he rule in your absence. I’ve been hearing that he sits the throne every day.” Daemon a bit more harsh added.

„My sickness keeps me abed most days, yes.”

„Even the greatest Kings get sick or old and they need help. Their family’s help. Remember Jaehaerys? He named Baelon his hand and regent.”

„Yes, father was an excellent hand despite his short time serving the role.” Viserys agreed. You noticed that once the incense cleared your brother seemed to get a bit better. More lucid.

„Rhaenyra is your heir, you should let her take more responsibility. She is after all the future Queen.”

Viserys pondered for a moment, he glanced at you then at Daemon.

„Perhaps you are right…” He admitted. „I will have to talk with the council of this change.”

You sent a small smile in your husbands direction, he returned the gesture smugly. The Hightowers have controlled the throne far too long, as true dragons it was your duty to stop their rule.

The bigger problem however was Alicent Hightower, you couldn't dismiss a Queen as easily as a Hand. You knew Viserys never loved her, he may hold some affection for her but it couldn't compare to the feelings he held for Aemma.

"Have you thought of Aegon returning to King's Landing?" You suddenly asked, your brother raised his eyebrow. It is as if he just remembered he has a son.

"Oh yes... Aegon."

"He's turning into a man soon, brother." Daemon added.

"I suppose he is... what is the issue then?"

"Aegon doesn't want to return to the Red Keep." You stated matter of factly.

"Why wouldn't he? His siblings and mother are there." He said unaware.

"That castle is a viper's den, it is no surprise a boy of only five and ten wouldn't want to stay there. After he was raised for over a decade in a loving home."

"Alicent is his mother it is her choice in the end."

"You are the King, Viserys. I'm sure it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for you to have the last say. I'm sure Aegon would be thankful." You stated

"I..." He wheezed "Bring him." He ordered.

Aegon dressed in a black doublet and trousers, the cape on his shoulders was of a deep crimson.

"Your grace." He bowed his head slightly at his sitting father "Aunt, Uncle."

"Aegon, sit." He ordered, the boy took a seat next to his little cousins. You smiled symphatically at Aegon as he uncomfortably cowered under Viserys's gaze. "I have heard you wish to stay with your aunt and uncle, is this true?"

"...Yes, father." He nodded unsure.

"I see no reason to-" Viserys was cut off in the middle of the sentence, the doors opened and Alicent stepped in the chambers. Her dark green dress flowing after he movements.

"Husband, son. Princess y/n, Prince Daemon." She was out of breath as she acknowledged your presence.

"Alicent." Viserys wheezed "What are you doing here? I... I didn't call for you."

"I came to see my son." Aegon tensed at his mothers words.

"We have just been talking of extending his wardship." Viserys answered and in that moment you wanted to commit treason and strangle your brother for his idiocy.

"What?" She asked in disbelief.

"I wish to stay with my aunt and uncle, your grace." Aegon meekly said.

"That is out of the question. Your wardship has come to an end, there is no reason for you to stay on that rock any longer."

"Lady Mother-" He wanted to speak but Alicent silenced him with a flick of her wrist.

"And you would allow this?" She glared at Viserys "For them to take away my son from me? Again?"

"I am not taken away anywhere, I want to remain with my cousins and aunt." Aegon explained but Alicent ignored his pleas.

"Aegon..." You whispered to the boy who had tears in his eyes.

"Don't you see Viserys! She has raised my son! Poisoned him against me, and his family!"

"Alicent! Mind your tongue. My sister has done and admirable job at raising Aegon, you should be thanking her instead of spitting such vile accusations." Viserys said angrily glaring at his Hightower wife. "If it is Aegon's wish to remain in the stepsons he may do so until his eight and tenth birthday when he shall return to King's Landing."

"My King-" Alicent tried to speak.

"My decision is final, Alicent."

King Viserys's health has deteriorated over the years making him incapable of sitting the throne. He named his heir Princess Rhaenyra regent until he would be able to rule once more. Many believe that is is Princess y/n and Prince Daemon's doing for the realm delight to sit the throne. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

Taglist:

@nessjo

#aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd x reader #hotd #daemon targeryan #viserys targaryen #daemon x reader #rhaenyra targeryan #rhaenyra x reader

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aryxchse · 10 months ago

Note

hey pookie!!

firstly, CONGRATULATIONS 🥳🥳🥳 SO PROUD

secondly, could i get some love talk with my fav boy, leo??🤭🤭🤭

cabin three girly 🫡 who who just wants like silly goofy kisses, ya know?? like i just want to have a silly goofy time with my bf 🫶😖😖😖 (hopefully that’s enough info, if not, reach out, honey!!)

ANYWAYS I LOVE YA AND YOURE SO AMAZING AND DESERVE ALL THAOE LITTLE FOLLOWERS 😘😘

"leo, you're literally dying my forehead!" you whined.

"sorry!" leo said, quickly wiping the hair dye from your forehead.

for the past 30 minutes, you and leo were trying to dye your bangs blue. you already finished dying leo's hair, so it was your turn. and since he insisted on dying your hair because you did his, it all lead to here.

"you look so cute," leo giggled like he was making fun of you, placing a soft kiss on your nose. "i think it's done."

"yeah? you didn't left any places right?" you asked, looking at your hair from the bathroom mirror. leo carefully twisted your bangs on your forehead, which is the sight made him laugh loudly.

it was funny for you too, a twisted blue hair just staying on your forehead. you laughed with him as he kissed your neck between his giggles, keeping his hands away to not get any hair dye on your camp shirt.

the idea came from percy and annabeth, since they had matching grey strands in their hair. the reason it's being blue is because you love blue. and leo loves you, so he's down to anything you ask.

"we should wait like, around what?" he asked, lifting you up with his arms, careful enough to not touch you with his dyed hands. you sat on top of the counter, looking at your watch.

"40 minutes should be enough." you said, wrapping your arms around his neck lazyly. leo kissed the inside of your arms, leading his lips to your cheek. you giggled because his kisses made you tickle.

you guys chatted until the 40 minutes passed. you two almost forget it and start to make out, but leo suddenly burst into laughter when your bangs stick up to his forehead. you wiped his forehead then washed his hair, then he started to wash your bangs.

"people are gonna be sooo jealous lemme tell ya," he said, carefully applying shampoo on your bangs. "you look even hotter."

"i could say the same." you giggled. "blue really is your color."

the light blue strands shined in his dark curly hair, but he didn't mind. as long as it made you happy.

"alright, all done." he said, drying your bangs with the same towel he used.

"it's time to style it!" you cheered, chuckling.

you started to style your bangs with hair straightener. you smiled at leo and shaked your head a little bit to make your bangs move. "so?" you asked.

"very cute," he said, pinching your cheek. "how is mine look?" you looked at his blue curl that you did your best to style it like the rest of his hair. and to be honest, it looked so cute!

"aww, you're so pretty valdez," you said, holding his chin and kissing his nose. "look at you, like a barbie doll."

leo smirked and blinked a couple of times like a girl showing her mascara. "i know right?" he joked, you laughed and kissed his lips.

"let's show percy and annabeth who's the cutest with the matching strands."

a / n ; the queen wants the queen gets! and hopefully she likes!!

#arya's 400 follower event #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson series #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson imagine #all da ladies luv leo !#leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x you #leo valdez headcanons #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez imagines #leo valdez

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an-abyss-of-stars · 4 months ago

Text

𖤓 Don't You Dare Do This Without Me 𖤓

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: Smutty hints...mainly consensual

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Rhaena THOUGHT she was merely dismissing her husband's call for affection after an argument. Little did she know, her rebuffing had instead sent her petulant husband off on a tirade to burn an enitre village to ash.

Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ao3

Note: (THIS fic is intended to be a little mini-series. It's a piece of a plot I've been toying around with for a month or two. A Dark King Aemond story with Queen Rhaena grappling with her horrid situation. I do have an entire long form story/idea for this premise, that would start immediately after the war and span over several years. It would be much darker than this smutty snippet, like practically 'dead dove' really! But this little fun fic here entered my brain and I just figured I'd throw it out here as a mini 5-6 part thingy.)

So hopefully it's an enjoyable little something something!!

——

"I can't believe him, I can't fuc-" Rhaena's anger induced muttering died upon her tongue as she stepped into her shared royal chambers, her feet halting almost immediately as her legs stiffly stood right in front her three-year-old son. Little Aemon had run up to her as soon as the doors flew open, rushing to hug her skirts as he stared up at her expectantly.

What was he doing here?

It was early, still the middle of the afternoon, she was certain that by all accounts her toddler should only be nearing the end of lessons now. Not dawdling around in her chambers to play-

"Darling! Sweetling, you are early," Rhaena schooled her previously set scowl into a bright affectionate smile, lilting her voice as her eyes took in the visage of her charming little boy. It was beginning to feel like such an effort, schooling her emotions from her son these days, seeing as he seemed to be so perceptive already. Any slight twinge upon her face, and his sweet little face would scrunch into a look of instant concern for his mother's wellbeing. Followed by the little hand he'd place upon her leg before he asked 'are you well, mama?'.

It was a wonder where he'd managed to inherit such sweetness, surely not from his father.

With a gentle sigh, Rhaena began to crouch herself down to Aemon's level, careful to keep her balance as her swollen belly carried a true weight to it now. Her back felt it, her thighs and her knees worked to compensate for it. Offset the weight she'd put on for the health of this third babe. Though she was eight moons along, so she was nearly to term. It was a motion she navigated with skill now, for she knew her body well and so she knew her limits when it came to this stage of her pregnancies. Soon enough she'd seat herself down or lay abed for an hour or two before the ache creeping along her calves worked down to her swollen feet.

In the meantime, however, she placed a soft hand upon her eldest son's check and smiled warmly at him. Eliciting an equally dazzling giggle from her little boy, the adorable sound almost immediately soothed her heart. Allowing her to push aside the stresses of the day, the endless aggravation only her husband could muster within her, just long enough to focus in on her child. Meeting his gaze, she sought to pry just a tad, "what of your lessons in the library, sweet one? Have they truly concluded or have you managed to escape from your maester yet again?"

At that, Aemon teetered on his toes for a moment. His hand absentmindedly holding onto Rhaena's shoulder for balance as he happily gurgled at the playful accusation. Gently biting his thumb with his free hand, a near bashful blush spread upon the apples of his cheeks as his attention was just as quickly drawn away. Distracted already, the mop of curly platinum blonde hair that reached the nape of his neck swished with the motion he'd made. His pale cinnamon brown skin glowing in the rays of the afternoon sun.

Ah, dear...she did love her son dearly, but his mind did tend to wander off all too easily at times. If he was not obsessively focused on something of his interest, his mind was liable to dawdle. It was Rhaena who had to work to lure his attention back to her, nudging his chubby cheek with the caress of her thumb. Adding an accompanying prodding hum for him to both listen and follow the sound.

Thankfully it was enough, her toddler was quick to turn back to her. His distraction, the glittering rays of beaming sunlight, had poured in through the paneled windows of the room. Illuminating everything within sight of the spacious solar, the various deep crimson red furniture, the large round oak table that was just off center. It was still covered with stacked books and rolled scrolls that Aemond had left out to continue analyzing later in the day. Toys still remained scattered by the fire upon the maroon fur carpet, Rhaena supposed Aemon had been sat there waiting for her return. Most likely playing there with his young wet-nurse, Elaya.

The nineteen-year old maid from the Riverlands was currently sat by the fire in one of the cozier armchairs, rocking Rhaena's second born son, Daemion, in her arms. Now, Daemion shared many features with his elder brother, the same almond eye-shape and rounded bow-shaped lips…both a blend of their parentage. They held the same curly hair texture, although, Daemion’s little tuft of curls shone more silver than Aemon’s blonde in the sunlight. And Aemon’s skin was slightly paler than Daemion’s. His eyes were a shade of bright lilac as opposed to Aemon’s pale indigo. Daemion’s little button nose reminded Rhaena more of her own than Aemond’s, although the point at the end of it still spoke of the boy’s inheritance from his father.

In either case, little Daemion’s eyes were levelled low as he relaxed in the arms of his wet-nurse. It was to be expected, Rhaena had only nursed the babe but an hour ago, so it was more than likely that her one-year old was simply feeling the drowsy calls of his milk-filled stomach. She'd left her younger son in the safe arms of her trusted wet-nurse perhaps a half hour ago when she'd initially left her chambers to visit her twin sister, Baela.

In the case of her eldest, however, Rhaena knew well that the bright afternoon sun was an enticing thing to a young Targaryen. It promised games in the garden, playful training in the training yard...but most of all, it promised the possibility for dragon riding. Aemon was newly minted in the activity, having gone for his first flight with his father just a few days ago. It was all he would talk of, on and on he happily talked the ears off of anyone who'd listen. From Maesters to maids, to his aunt, Baela, to his uncle Aegon, and especially to his equally young cousins Maegelle and Laena. The two daughters Baela had birthed for her husband under Aemond's reign as King. All of a part of rebuilding their family's line, restoring the Targaryen bloodline.

A bloodline Aemond more than single handedly destroyed himself...but Rhaena had gone down that road before. It never led anywhere, it never returned what she'd lost.

It was easier to focus on what she did have. The title of Queen may have been thrusted upon her, as well as her first born son...but she'd found her stride. Settled herself into motherhood, her new station, her new title, her seat next to the throne. She'd even willingly taken to her main duty as Queen, found her own pleasure in conceiving her second and soon to be third child. She'd found her way to loving and at times controlling the psychopathic irate dragon she'd been made to call 'husband'.

Besides, he had his moments, she supposed, he was always good to their sons and their nieces. He quite frankly adored all of the young children they’d brought into the world for House Targaryen. He was prideful over their very existence, especially that of their own two sons. He spent every moment in their presence showing them love and acceptance. Their young princes were dotted on ever since their births, they wanted for nothing. They were always made to feel wanted. A sense of innate yet nurturing compensation on Aemond's part, Rhaena was sure. He went wordlessly about it, but she could surmise that he wished to give his sons everything he did not have in his youth.

Everything his own father failed to deliver.

As seen by the flight he'd taken Aemon on, their little boy had loved flying upon Vhagar so much. The experience improved greatly by the fact that Aemond had eagerly taken the time to indulge their son of his own accord. Vhagar was the most magnificent dragon to her young son, his favourite of all that he'd seen in his little life.

And that was why he'd loved that day more than any other.

Though it was unfortunate, Rhaena always thought.

For while she agreed, Vhagar was a magnificent dragon, a relic of times long gone...a living piece of history. But she couldn't help but think that her young Aemon had missed a truly glorious age of dragons, he'd never be able to meet his true Targaryen grandparents or two of his other aunts…the rest of his uncles. He'd never be able to see any of their dragons...Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes, Meleys...so many lost. So many gone...and sometimes four years seemed just long enough to put the darkness behind her, to call it all history so that she might distance herself from the pain of it all.

But other times, it was just too blatant...just too obvious.

So many members of her family were missing from this current family portrait. The chasms were there, Rhaena’s current life would always lack because of their absence. The vacant holes they'd made upon her person, upon her heart, forever cutting slivers away from her there. No amount of new Targaryen babes could replace them.

They were all dead and gone...and she was made Queen of the rubble in the aftermath, wed to a kinslayer...the second usurper King.

What a fate.

And her little son knew none of it truly.

"No, mama! I finished, my lessons are all done! Maestwer...um...maestwer Alfa...Alfadwer-" Aemon blurted out his little rambled response, finally recalling that he'd been asked a question nearly ten minutes prior. He'd taken so long, Rhaena's mind had drifted to far darker memories. Though as she'd learned through her experience with motherhood, it didn't do to dwell on such things with children around. They always noticed it...they weren't naive enough to miss it entirely.

"Maester Alfador, you mean," Rhaena gently corrected, smoothing a couple of his curls back behind his ear.

Aemon was quick to nod eagerly, pointing towards Elaya to add, "yes and...and he told Elaya how papa went out!"

'Out' was putting it mildly, for while Rhaena knew not the extent of Maester Alfador's knowledge on the matter at hand. She did however know exactly what sent Aemond 'out' of the castle just a few hours ago. As she recalled it, Rhaena had received the order from the Kingsguard guarding her door earlier this morn.

See, earlier in the morning, before the sun had properly risen. Rhaena had awoken to a rather...regularly expected act, a warm delicious pleasure that crept up between her thighs in long wet languid swipes. The feeling seeped into her peaceful slumber until the aching arousal dragged her back into consciousness. Where she'd awoken to find her husband settled between her legs, his arms tangled around her thighs keeping them spread as he lapped at her quivering wanting cunt.

Eventful as it was... she'd awoken to many mornings with such activities to pull her from her sleep. Aemond was always eager, he had been ever since he’d stolen her from the Vale and made her his wife. Only now the urges seemed heightened, especially since she began to reciprocate his wantings. The conception of little Daemion was the birth of these feelings...and now the conception of another babe barely a year later had shown the realm and their present court that their union was—mending.

Into what, exactly?

Something feral and animalistic, surely. A complicated mess of attraction, love and loathing.

In either case, once Aemond had brought her to the brink of ecstasy itself...he pressed a kiss upon her rounded belly and readied himself for the training yard. From there, she hadn't seen him. Assumably he'd returned to bathe and dress himself again for the early morning council meeting, but she'd fallen back to sleep in-between that time. Only normally, he would have woken her. Normally, they'd have readied for the meeting with his council together...she'd negotiated that right of hers from her husband after the birth of Daemion. As his Queen, she wanted a spot upon his council, to be an active participant in his rule. Time after time, whether it was another one of their vicious volatile arguments between them or an instance of a sweet and tender domesticity as they lazed naked within their bed. Aemond had spent the last two years echoing the sentiment to her, that she was more than just his broodmare.

And then he did this.

He removed her from the council this morning. Without even the gall to tell her himself, he left for the meeting without her and then left the information for their guard to relay to her.

Of course, later upon his return, when Rhaena was properly woken. Bathed and dressed herself in a lovely velvety gown, a dark Targaryen red with intricate black lace linings. With added black lace and sewn jeweled dragons and floral embroidery woven along her bodice and the hem of her skirt. She'd been sat upon her favourite chaise, providing their second son with his early morning feeding.

That was when Aemond burst through the doors with a look of exhaustion and a need for attention.

A need she had no intention of abiding by as he sought to exclude her so soundly this morn with no warning once so ever. In all honesty it had tainted the way she'd sweetly awoken in bed with him, as clearly that was more than just his hungered need to taste her first thing in the morn. As it was just as equally his act of service to placate her for what he had planned on doing all along.

As it happened, Rhaena had burped their babe upon her shoulder, before she swiftly handed him off to Elaya to take to the nursery. It was only once the young wet-nurse had left the room that Aemond moved for Rhaena. Taking long strides to meet her upon the chaise, she'd scoffed at him then, knowing exactly what he wanted. His heated gaze lingered on her still exposed bosom, lustful and wanting...though she was too annoyed with him to indulge him.

Perky and engorged as they were, she knew he more than likely wished to lay with her. To rest his head upon her swollen breasts as she caressed his hair and allowed him to unwind from his otherwise stressful meeting. And perhaps, had she'd been present for said meeting...or at the very least privy to the information that had been shared or delved into there...she would have sympathized. She would have given him exactly what he wanted, she'd placate him, hold him as he sometimes wishes to be cuddled.

But no, not then.

Instead she pulled the buttons of her chemise closed, lifting herself up off of the chaise, she walked around him and made her way to the long ornamented wall-length mirror that stood on the northern side of their chambers. There she stared purposely at her reflection only, working to ignore the way his perplexed expression morphed into one of burning irritation. As Rhaena casually touched up the ends of a few of her long loosening twists, it would soon be time to undo them, free her curls and wash her hair. A task she'd take to later this evening before bed.

In the moment, however, Rhaena focused on herself. The vast majority of her maternity gowns had elegant buttons upon the front of the gown, made for easier access to nurse her babe at any given time of the day. A stipulation that had always been a part of her marriage, Aemond would have no one but her to nurse their children.

Though it was in that mirror's reflection that their argument had started. He'd made his way towards her, and she'd turned her dragon's fire directly upon him. Perhaps she'd been warranted in it, that inundated rage of feeling belittled and undermined felt all too consuming for her to ignore in the face of Aemond's condescending rebuttals. That she was apparently in no 'condition' to need to be present for council meetings, that she would be filled in on the most ‘pertinent information’ when needed.

Perhaps it was her body now, so late in her pregnancy, hormones ran amok fluttering dangerous levels of heightened emotions throughout her. Though even still, she was certain of it.

He was sidelining her...she could feel it.

And she didn't know why.

‘Confinement’ felt like such a half-assed answer.

He was hiding things from her and yet he still sought rewards for such blatant behaviour. Was it any wonder she denied him those rewards, she was in no mood to lay tangled in bed with him. She was in no mood to allow him to nuzzle his cheek upon her ample chest while he caressed her belly and teased her core with soft presses of his slender fingers. She knew him far too well for that. The progression of him starting off by claiming that he just wished for her to 'set him at ease'. Only, within the hour he'd seduce her to the point of having her gown torn off with his cock working her with rough deep wanting strokes.

It was something he could never resist, especially when she was this far along with one of her pregnancies. All he wanted was to be inside of her, to feel her heated walls clenched tightly around thick length. His ever constant need to sink into her warmth, soak himself in her wetness. All as he held her tightly against him, nestled between her thighs as he rocked into her with perfect rhythm. Set at a pace of his choosing, with his teeth grazing her neck marking her body. And that ironclad grip of his, enough to set bruises, enough to make her shudder with want…the sort of hold that prevented the mere idea of escape.

Letting her go...it was never an option, it always seemed a foreign concept to him.

This would have been no different and seeing as she was cross with him. She chose to stand her ground, to hold fast to her willpower against his handsome seductive charms. It was a hard thing sometimes these days, seeing as her body almost always wanted for him...a true traitor, really. Her body had always betrayed her when it came to him. Ever since her early days, even when she firmed her way through every bedding session. Even the nights she cried through the utter heartbreak of allowing the acts done upon her…in the name of her safety…in the name of her duty.

It’d been disgusting then, to think that her body had still enjoyed it even when her mind screamed the opposite. The thought of taking in the cock of the man who’d killed her first love, her second love…her grandmother…and then her father.

Perhaps some days still…she found herself disgusted with herself. Because she didn’t hate it as much as she should anymore…because she’d found her way to enjoying it all.

Surely the Gods’ frowned upon her.

Thankfully, though, in that moment, when she denied him she stood by it. And because she stood so harshly against his whims, he stormed out of their rooms. A dark thunderous slam of pent up aggression and building animosity, he needed a different outlet seeing as his preferred choice had repudiated him. And in that knowledge, Rhaena knew well that he'd only ever go to Vhagar next.

In this world Aemond Targaryen had two sanctuaries.

Vhagar…and Rhaena, herself.

And if one would not have him…then he’d storm his way over to the one that would.

That however, had been several hours ago now. Rhaena had spent the rest of her morning in peace, she'd bathed and dressed Aemon herself. It was a good distraction from her own frustrations. She broke her fast with her young son, watched on as he ate his oats and banana slices messily. Biting back small amused smiles as she corrected his loose hold of his spoon and dabbed a napkin to his grubby mouth. Nibbling on her own custard pastry, delicately sipping her spiced tea in between. Their meal had been nice, they'd spoken about the day's activities her son wished to partake in. The lessons he was most excited to learn about today, as well as his hope to go flying with his father again later in the afternoon.

Seeing as Morning was still growing, now a much larger beast over the last four years...she was still too small for Rhaena to fly upon herself. Let alone for her to take her son up with her. No, the choices were limited. Aemon could either fly with his father upon Vhagar, with his aunt upon Moondancer, or his uncle upon Sunfyre. As his own little golden hatchling, Golding...was his current name for his bonded beast, the he-dragon was still far too small for him to mount. Though Golding was surely a temporary name as Aemond intended on convincing their son to choose a more suited name for the dragon. But that was a conversation they'd have to shelf for now. Aemon was still a toddler and so he quite enjoyed the name he'd chosen.

In either case, as Aemon's choice for dragons to fly upon was scarce...he would always choose Vhagar first, he was painfully enamoured with every facet of his father. Even the less than savoury parts of him.

Once Maester Alfador came to fetch Aemon for his lessons to attend with his cousins, Rhaena turned her attention back to her younger son. Playing letter blocks with Daemion, reading to him and singing lullabies as he grew sleepy in her arms. She'd taken him and sat upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard so that her babe could take some sun and fresh air as he slept soundly, there she listened to sounds of the busy castle. The birds chirping in the wind and the distant roars of the dragons near the pits.

And there she'd thought of Vhagar and her husband. There was so much she still wished to say, so much he'd simply chosen to walk out on just because he could. With the full freedom that came with the title of King...he expressed that power either as intelligently as he wished or as childishly as a man of four and twenty could.

But now with Aemon in her company once again, she'd have to deal with the boy’s father, Aemond later...once he returned from his petulant flight upon Vhagar... she'd deal with him then.

Returning her focus to her son, she pressed a sweet kiss upon Aemon's forehead. Gazing down into his pale indigo eyes, a mirror of his father's own. In fact, in all honesty…Aemon's entire visage was simply a little mirror to Aemond's own. They shared the same face shape...or at least the pudgy round face Aemond once held in childhood. It was a good indicator for the features their son would one day mature into. The two of them also shared near identical noses and lip shapes. Although, Rhaena's own added genes had ensured that the tip of Aemon's nose was just a tad bit more rounded. His lips more rounded than Aemond's own plush sharp bow-shaped lips.

It was in the little things, Rhaena supposed. How their son had inherited her curly hair, a pinch of her tawny complexion. Her soft curved eyebrows and her almond shaped eyes.

Yet still, all in all, their son was the living embodiment of a namesake, one Aemond had purposely bestowed upon their first child. Either to flood his own ego or in a dubious if not blindingly obvious attempt to flaunt his supposed legitimate reign over the one he'd stolen. The one he’d slaughtered in order to usurp the throne.

Though surely the realm was privy to the fact that it was Rhaena's own blood that made their son and the rest of their children so pure, they'd made both a purebred Valyrian heir and a spare for the throne. A union that started with a form of forced coerced duty...now led by something far more complicated.

Something that existed between the bounds of love and hatred.

For the moment, Rhaena gave her son leave to return to his toys. He'd want to play with her, but she needed a moment to herself first. She'd only just returned from spending some time with her sister in the gardens, where she'd divulged a splintered version of the events of this morning. Not that it mattered really, Baela may have joined Rhaena in their unified ridiculing of their King. But at the end of the day Baela would remind Rhaena of the same fact she always had, that Aemond Targaryen was a fickle psychotic being…and that she should be careful to never push the bounds and risk her life in the process.

Because she’d already done so years ago…she’d already made such attempts in the past. And while she still had her life granted to her, she did not walk away the victor in those situations.

So in that way, her elder sister’s advice had always been sound…but it was hard to swallow at times. Seeing as Rhaena’s forced marriage barely compared to the near bliss Baela was lucky enough to experience with her own spouse. In their case, her union with Aegon was a long time coming, a match Baela had hoped for since she was six and ten. Though it was a shame that just as she'd gotten used to the idea of marrying their sweet and loyal Jace...he'd been plucked from their lives.

Although Rhaena always supposed that as devastating as his loss was, he was spared in a way. For while he’d come to love his betrothed, his daring Baela…she…she still secretly harboured feelings for the enemy. The night before Viserys had died, Baela had spent one final night with Aegon before he was set to wed Helaena. She'd left that passionate encounter with the settling seed of a man she was most likely to never see again. The Gods, though, they could be funny in that way. Tearing the realm apart, bathing a family in blood and tragedy only for the fates to align yet again. For Baela to finally have Aegon as she once wished, just in time to make her not-so hidden pregnancy legitimate before it was too late. Only now both their hands were tainted. War had taken both Jace and Helaena. War had taken everyone away from the dragon twins except their lone grandsire, Corlys Velaryon and his now legitimized heir Alyn Velaryon.

*KNOCK, KNOCK...KNOCK*

The pounding knock at the door drew Rhaena back out of her thoughts once again, she was losing it slowly but surely. She really did need her husband to return, she needed to clear her own mind...she needed to focus on something, anything else. The knock was hard, blunt and formulaic, it could have only belonged to a member of the Kingsguard. So when Rhaena swung the door open to see Ser Willis Fell, she was not surprised to come face to face with his hardened visage. Expressionless as he was, the redheaded man simply stepped aside for a young squire to hold out a silver platter in front of their Queen.

"For you, my Queen. A raven hath just arrived," the young lanky boy bowed his head, as a sign of sheepish reverence and respect.

A small scroll.

A missive.

How odd.

Tumultuous as this reign had been over the years, at this point in time, nothing beyond yet another rebellion could warrant the urgency of a missive like this.

—

Part 2 coming soon...maybe Friday!

#aemond targaryen #rhaena targaryen #rhaena x aemond #aemond x rhaena #rhaemond #hotd fanfic #hotd #catch my ass posting Rhaemond now that s2 has effectively soured everyone's feelings for the show and these characters all together 🤣💀#ANYWAYS #instead of working on the series i already have on-going 😭😭😭#here's a mini-part fic I started!!#YES there will be smut #Don't You Dare Do This Without Me

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 months ago

Text

Fallen angel; Dean Winchester x reader

*Author's note*

Well this request was really starting to collect dust in my inbox but I finally got around to doing it so I'd like to thank @topstory21 for being so patient with me for their request and hope that you enjoy it.

Warnings: Swearing, violence (this is SPN after all), mentions of family death, some angst and fluff.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@queen-paladin

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@remussl0vers

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I awoke to find myself out in a field and the sound of mooing next to me. I turned with a groan to see a few cows staring at me as they continued their grazing, their deep brown eyes staring deep into my very soul. Slowly I got up feeling nothing but aches and pains in my body which I found strange.

Normally my body heals on its own pretty fast being an angel and all that but now my powers weren’t working. Wait, how did I even get down to earth in the first place? Dean didn’t pray for me and Cas wasn’t in trouble nor was big brother Gabriel causing any trouble.

After composing myself I walked out of the field and followed the road to the nearest town where I managed to find a convenient store. I walked in and saw on the tv above about a meteor shower the like of which these humans had never seen before. It was then I remembered what had happened.

I—I had fallen. And not just me but—every angel in heaven had been cast out and fallen to earth. I tried to tap into the angel radio but I came up with nothing, not even static. No, no, no, no this couldn’t be happening.

“Miss? Miss? Are you alright?” I turned to see a young man in his young teen years and I asked him.

“Where am I?”

“Miles City, Montana.” He answered. “Do you uhh—need me to call someone?”

“No, no I….thank you. Forget I was here.” I then walked out of the store and felt a sudden overwhelming feeling after realizing that I had now become a fallen angel, I wasn’t in Kansas, I can’t communicate with any of my brothers and sisters, and I had no access to my powers. “Why didn’t I accept that cellphone that Dean offered me? I just had to follow the rules. No human technology in heaven. I could’ve played off like big brother Cas but nooo.”

Okay (Y/n) just calm down and think about this. You’ve got a location, now all you need to do is find a way to get in contact with either Dean, Sam or Cas. Surely someone will let me use their phone for just a moment or two to make a call. I saw a group of skater teens gathered by another convenient store and I walked up to them and asked.

“Excuse me, could I use one of your cellphones to call someone?”

“Why can’t you just use your own lady?” asked a rude boy with face acne.

“I—seemed to have misplaced it. Please it’d just be for a minute or two.”

“Sorry lady. We don’t even carry our own phones. Parents tracking us and all that shit. That’s why we just have our go-pros.” Said another boy with long brown hair.

“Your parents only worry for your safety.”

“Jesus Christ another Karen comin to tell us to what to do. Let’s get out of here.” The teens then got on their skateboards and bikes and soon left me in the dust (quite literally as they purposefully kicked up the rocks and debris nearby).

“I swear children today have no respect for anyone. And why do they keep using that term Karen?”

“The rise of social media and technology raising them and careless parents not fit to discipline them.” I jumped at the voice and saw a woman with curly blonde hair. She appeared to be around her early to mid-40’s but she still held someone of a youthful glow about her. Her hypnotic green eyes glared out towards the teenagers that had just left me in the dust.

“They do seem to think they’re above authority nowadays don’t they?” I vocalized my thoughts.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to intrude or anything but I had heard you were in a bit of a bind and just thought I’d offer my help.” She said turning toward me.

“I’d greatly appreciate it, thank you Miss…..”

“Agatha. Agatha Dubois.” She extended her hand out and I greatly took it as we shook hands.

“Thank you Miss DuBois, really I do appreciate it. You would not believe that I’ve been through today.”

“From what I heard about those meteor showers, I’d say it was quite an event. Some people have lost their homes due to collateral damage from the explosions that had been happening.” Oh my….I hope I didn’t cause anyone any harm when I had landed. “If you don’t mind helping me load up some stuff into my truck, I’d be more than willing to allow you to use my telephone. Maybe even get you a nice home-cooked meal. Lord knows you look like you need it.”

Being an angel I’ve never really had the taste for food. But now with my grace potentially gone and now feeling 100% human, I could feel the extreme hunger that was now knowing at the edges of my stomach.

“Are you sure about all that? All I’d really need is just to use a phone.”

“Ahhh don’t worry about it. Besides, my mama always taught me to help out a stranger in need.”

“Well, thank you Ms. DuBois.”

“Oh you can call me Agatha. Now c’mon, these gas tanks can get pretty heavy and you’d be a life savior if I didn’t have to make more than two trips.” I walked over towards her truck and helped her load up the gas tanks that I’ve seen be used to grills for barbecuing. Once we were done, I got up in the passenger seat and she drove us towards her cabin out in the woods.

We unloaded her truck and after storing away the last gas tank in her shed, I wiped my forehead of the sweat that now clamped onto my brow. Whew, who would’ve thought this is what humans feel like after every work day?

“I greatly appreciate you helping me out (Y/n).” Agatha thanked me.

“I’m glad I could help out. Now may I ask where you’re phones at?”

“Come with me to the kitchen and it’ll be right by the sink. Sometimes cell reception gets a little funky so I keep a landline just in case.” She escorted me towards her house and it was like any other home I had seen.

Decent cabin with various trinkets, knick-knacks, furniture and pictures. Some by herself and others with what appeared to be either friends or family. We got into the kitchen and she pointed the phone out to me. And boy I hadn’t seen phones like that since the 1970’s. I walked over to it, picked it up and began dialing Dean’s number but just as I started to press the last two numbers, I felt something hit the back of my neck and I was knocked out like a light.

*Dean’s POV*

Now we’ve had crazy things happen to us before, hell we started the freakin apocalypse for crying out loud. But this shit…..this was way beyond anything we’ve come across. To be told that the trials for sealing off Hell for good was nothing but a rouse, a filthy lie. And now hundreds maybe thousands of angels, including my girl are scattered throughout the world.

“Anything coming up yet?” I asked Sam who was on his laptop typing away.

“Nothing other than the news talking about the supposed ‘Great meteor shower of 2013’.”

“How bout Cas, heard anything from him?”

“No.” I let out a growl as I paced through the motel room.

“I told that girl to keep the damn phone, why doesn’t she ever listen to me?”

“You can’t blame (Y/n) for this.”

“I’m not! She’s not the one who casted the angels out of heaven. And don’t go thinking I’m blaming you either, we both believed that those trials would be for the demons of Hell. If I ever see Metatron again…..”

“You won’t be able to do anything Dean.” We both jumped at the sudden voice of Cas appearing behind us.

“The hell have you been?! We’ve been calling and praying to you and you just ghost us!”

“In case you hadn’t noticed Dean, I’ve been a bit busy as of late.” Cas sneered sarcastically.

“Cas, what exactly is going on out there?” Sam asked him.

“The angel radio has been blaring nonstop of angels in a state of panic. However it’s about half the normal voices I usually hear. I fear that most of the angels that had fallen had also lost their grace. Including (Y/n).” oh fuck no! If she’s lost her grace then…..she’s practically useless out there.

Unlike most angels, she’s more of a diplomat than a soldier, hardly ever really fought unless her life depended on it. She’s confessed that the only real wars she’s participated in was the 100 years War with Joan of Arc and some battle during the Civil war. But she’s had her powers to use to take down any demon or monster that came at her, without it she’ll—NO!!

“Do you know where she might be?” I asked.

“I’ve tried everything in whatever power I have left since my own casting out and I’ve come up with….how you guys say, squat.” My breathing sharpened, “However, there might be someone we could see in order to find her.”

“What do you mean Cas?” I asked.

“In her secret visits down here to Earth back during the Civil war, I’m told she once connected with someone who was able to see and know all of the past and the future.”

“What you’re saying she met with a fortune teller?” asked Sam.

“No, not people who claim to know your fortunes I literally mean a deity that can see the past and the future. An oracle.” Said Cas.

“You—you serious? Like an actual oracle?”

“We’ve come across dragons before Dean, oracles don’t seem so farfetched.” Said Sam with a shrug.

“Alright well, how do we get in touch with this oracle?”

“If I recall, their last known location was deep in bayou of New Orleans.”

“Then Louisiana it is. We’re wasting time let’s go!” I ordered as the two of them followed me outside to the car and I floored it till we got to Louisiana.

We reached the city within a day and a half and managed to book a ferry ride down the bayou to where Cas would guide us. He said the oracle lived on a small island on the bayou known as Moonscar isle. I leaned up against the railings of the ferry staring out into the murky waters and creepy swamps. Normally I’d be saying we’re living out an actual Scooby doo location but all my mind was thinking about was (Y/n).

“Dean.” Cas voice called out to me. I felt his hand on my shoulder, “We’ll find her. She might not be the strongest fighter of my sisters but she is clever. If she does run into trouble, she’ll find a way out of it.”

“You better be right Cas. Cause I don’t know what I’ll do if we find her too late.” We soon reached the dock of Moonscar isle and I drove us through the bumpy roads. I know you ain’t used to these roads Baby but I promise you, we’ll be back on the smooth road soon.

“Okay Cas did (Y/n) say anything specific on how to find this oracle’s location?” Sam questioned.

“It should be the only thing living on this island. No one has lived here since the days of the Civil War.”

“Seems easy enough.” I floored Baby a bit faster until we hit a hump which caused all of us to hit our heads on the roof.

“Dean I know you want to save (Y/n) but maybe try to go easy on the gas. At least until we hit smoother terrain.” Suggested Sam. As we drove through the thick mist, we soon caught sight of what appeared to be torches lighting the way. We followed the light until we came upon a small cabin.

I turned the engine off and the three of us got out of Baby and closed the doors.

“Typical, witchy and spooky. Remind me to question her friends when we find her.” I told them both before trudging through the wet mud and marshes towards the cabin. I climbed up the ladder which lead to the cabin above and I opened the door only to be greeted by a hissing snake. “JESUS…..”

“No Jesus Christ be ‘ere. Only the one who speaks between the realms of gods and mortals.” A female Cajun voice spoke up. The snake retreated backward but kept its unblinking eyes on me as hand reached out and stroked it’s head.

Soon a woman in an old, and when I say old I meant like past century or two old, dress. Long and elegant yet battered and weathered by time. Her hair was styled in dreads and styled much like Eddie Van Halen’s hair. But what had me unsettled was the snake-like eyes that she had. Give me black, red, yellow, or even white eyes but not snake eyes.

“Calypso.” Cas greeted.

“Castiel.” Her wicked and rotten smile greeted. Seriously I’ve seen vampires with better dental hygiene than this woman. “And de Winchester brothers. Calypso ‘erd many tings about you two. Destiny and fate twists around you both like puppets on a string.” Calypso said as the snake that scared me now began wrapping itself around her neck.

“Yeah we uhh—get that a lot. Listen we’ve come to…..”

“I know what it is that you come for cher.” Calypso interrupted my brother. “Enter but be weary of your step.” Oh yeah sure that’s comforting. We entered inside the cabin and saw that the entire place was filled with jars, voodoo stuff, jars with the most randomness, weird, freaky and creepy stuff I had only seen be put in movies. Snakes, bats, and rats also made their home in this cabin. “Sit down.”

We were lead to a table that held scrolls, maps and books that would make even Bobby’s library seem like the kid’s section at the library.

“You ‘ave come to seek ma Cherie (Y/n).”

“Yeah, do you know where she is?”

“To answer such a question must be bound. For her heart may soon be in de ground.” I soon felt my chin being tilted upward as I was now forced to look up at her. “You above the two share that bond with ma cher.” I forced my way out of her strong grip.

“I may have failed Spanish but I know what that endearment means so don’t be trying to call her any of that when she’s already spoken for.”

“Angels ave lived many lives. To stick to one partner is never just enough.” She said with me with a seductive smirk. Okay so did she mean that she and (Y/n) once…..okay not that I don’t think it’s hot but c’mon Dean now’s really not the time to be thinking about things like that right now.

“Calypso. We’re worried about her, Cas has said she’s lost touch with angel radio. And if that’s true then that means she’s lost her grace when she fell from Heaven.”

“When de angels fell from the sky, Hell itself shook. More demons seep out now to destroy their lifelong foes. The balance between them has now shifted to Hell’s favor, and if not set straight, all will be lost.” Calypso said as she walked over towards one of her bookshelves and allowed the snake to slither down her arm and track down a rat.

As she spoke, just seeing the snake hunt down the rat and catch it before wrapping itself around it and squeezing it to death made me feel uncomfortable.

“Calypso, you and (Y/n) were close with one another. If you still care for her at all, will you help us find her?” the oracle remained silent before she said.

“I ave wha you seek, but I demand special payment before I can give this precious gift away.”

“What is it that you want?” I demanded. A slow, wicked smirk came across her face.

*My POV*

I woke up feeling groggy and with a massive headache but I also felt my hands and feet were strapped down. I struggled to get up but I heard Agatha’s voice.

“There’s no point in struggling.” I turned my head to see her cleaning up an angel blade. “That there is angel blades mixed with the strongest iron melted and forged into handcuffs.”

“You know what I am?” I asked her.

“Trust me sweetheart, you’re not the first angel we came across.”

“We?” I then thought back to the photo’s I saw in her cabin. “Your family.”

“Yeah. My husband Frank, and my two boys Nathan and Jake. My husband and I had left the hunter’s life behind in order to raise our two boys. But when word got out that the apocalypse and the end of the world was happening, well…..let’s just say the Winchester’s weren’t the only ones on the demons radar. Soon the angels started coming after us, all because we refused to be their pawns.”

“I take it that the angel that came to you was called Zachariah?”

“Yeah.” She sneered.

“Figures. I hated that douchebag so much. Out of all my brothers, I hated him more than Lucifer and Michael combined.”

“Just because you claim that, doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.” She said as she stood over me and placed the angel blade right to my neck.

“Listen Agatha, even if you do kill me it won’t change anything.”

“I’m not gonna kill you. At least not yet. First you’re gonna tell me where I can find that rat bastard, and then once I’m through with him then I’ll kill you. And finally be rid of you angels.”

“I don’t think the angels will be the least of your concern these days. If any hunter out there knows all lore, then they’d know that what they witnessed wasn’t a meteor shower.”

“They were fallen angels yeah, yeah I read up more on the lore once we kept running into Zachariah and after he had killed my boys. That’s why I’ve been hunting down you angels that came here. And you dearie, make number three.”

“Who were the other two?”

“Didn’t care to ask them. But they proved useless to me in the end. But oh do I remember seeing your name in some of the lore books. The Angel of Mercy. So any angel that’s out there, you would know where they are.”

“That was before I had fallen. Now I’m as mortal as you are. I’m of no use to you Agatha. And even if you were to kill me, no angel is going to tell you where to find Zachariah.”

“Then I guess I’ll keep killing your kind until someone screams.” Gunshots suddenly fired just a few feet away from her and I heard Dean’s voice roar out.

“THE HELL YOU WILL!” we looked up to see Dean with his revolver pointed right at Agatha.

“The infamous Dean Winchester.” Agatha mocked in praise. “Should I be honored by your presence?”

“Cut the small talk you psychotic bitch, I ain’t here to make friends.”

“From one hunter to another, I thought the job was to kill any monster that got in our way? That includes these so called ‘angels’.”

“Look, I’ll admit that most of them were douchebags with wings but the one you’ve got right there. She’s about as harmless as a kitten. So I’m only gonna say this one last time, let her go or I pump you full of lead.” It was then I saw Castiel and Sam sneaking in from the back, when I caught my brother’s eye, he pressed his finger to his lips as I withdrew his own angel blade while Sam took out his own pistol.

“Not until I get what I want. And I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way.” It was then Sam came up and grabbed Agatha in a headlock with the gun placed at her back.

“First rule you should’ve remembered. Never bring a knife to a gun fight.” Sam sneered in her ear. Castiel then came up and freed me of my bonds and cupped my face checking me for injuries.

“Are you hurt?”

“Besides the ache in my head and the aftermath of falling from heaven, I’m fine.” I brushed his hands away from my face and stood up and walked over to Dean. I placed my hand over his gun and gave him the look to lower his gun. He stared at me wide eyed in anger but I gave him a harsh look which got him to obey my order. “You misunderstood me what I had said earlier.”

“What do you mean?” Agatha snarled as she tried to struggle but Sam kept a firm hold of her.

“When I told you that no angel was going to tell you where Zachariah was. It’s because he’s no longer with us. This man here,” I gestured to Dean. “My boyfriend, he’s the one who killed Zachariah and ended his endless lies and deceit. So your vengeance is wasted.”

The harsh look in Agatha’s eyes slowly began to soften as her struggling ceased.

“He’s…..”

“Yes. He’s dead. And no one is bringing him back, but nor would killing him bring your family back. Ask yourself this Agatha, if your husband and boys could see you now, would they want this from you? To be so consumed by hatred and vengeance that you’d lose yourself to it?”

“So you’re telling me all of this was an Inigo Montoya scenario?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Not now babe.” I hushed him. “You’ve been consumed by your hate for long enough Agatha, it’s time to let it go.” I then gave Sam a nod and he released Agatha who just fell to her knees.

“Three years felt like an eternity. Everytime I close my eyes I can still see how he did it. He snapped my youngest boys bones like twigs, I can still see his limbs all twisted and contorted. My eldest boy, he stabbed him right through the back. I still can’t get the blood off my face from it spurting out. And Fr—Frank he……” Agatha wept into her hands.

The guys’ anger soon turned to sympathy as they stared at their potential enemy they were so adamant on killing now break down in tears. I walked over to Agatha and knelt down beside her. I placed my hand to her head and she looked up at me, tears slipping down past her lashes.

“Know that didn’t blame you. And they’ll always be watching over you until you are all together again.” Agatha crumbled once more as she wept into the floor and I chose to walk out with the guys following behind me.

There was a moment of silence as we walked away from Agatha’s property until Sam spoke up.

“I still sometimes can’t get over how you can still find the mercy and compassion in situations (Y/n).”

“That is who my sister is Sam. As the Angel of Mercy, she knows when force is needed, or when someone needs a compassionate hand. Agatha Morrison was just a grieving wife and mother, not a monster.” Cas explained.

“Doesn’t mean I’ll forgive her for what she did to you.” Dean said to me.

“That is up to you. But if you choose to continuously live with hate in your heart Dean, that’s all your life will ever be. You already carry such a weight of regret on you already Dean. Don’t add hatred to the mix.” I said stopping him as I placed my hand over his heart. He looked me in the eye and said.

“How is it that you always have to get the last word in whenever we argue?”

“Cause you know I’m always right. Even when I’m wrong, I’m right.”

“But now will this show you to at least carry a phone with you? Not every human is like Agatha. Be thankful she was mourning as you said she was. Next person could’ve been a John Wayne Gacey or Ted Bundy copy-cat.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“No, no thinking about it. I’ll give you one of my old burner phones. You don’t have to upgrade to a smartphone.”

“Fine, I’ll take one of the burners.”

“Thank you.” Dean then brought me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “I was so worried about you. And you’re sure you don’t got a concussion or something?”

“I’m fine Dean, really. But question though, how did you guys find me so quickly?”

“We called in a favor from your old…..uhh—lover.” Dean groaned out the last part.

“My old lover? Dean what are you talking about?”

“The Oracle, Calypso.” Sam said. I bit back my laughter but it soon escaped me as Dean demanded.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh you guys are a riot! Hahahaha! Calypso and me lovers! Hahaha!”

“Again not to say there’s anything wrong, especially now with people more accepting….”

“Sam, Calypso is just a friend. Nothing more. Being the child of Eros they’re a natural minx and will flirt with just about anyone, including me. But they never take it further than that cause they know I’m straight.”

“So you—you guys weren’t ever…..”

“Dean Winchester were you jealous?” I teased with a raised brow.

“What? No! No! No I’m completely comfortable with my masculinity and won’t be like those insecure bastards that feel the need to be possessive over their girls.”

“Tink again Winchester!” a portal soon opened up to Calypso’s cabin and there stood the old minx themself holding Juju, their albino python around their neck. “You really got dis one wound up cher! Him really thought he was de only partner you ever had.” They laughed as they stroked Juju’s head with their index and tall fingers.

“Cally you are a card.” I shook my head as I entered through the portal and stood beside them.

“You know I can never resist a good joke mon cher.” I walked through the portal followed by Sam, Cas and Dean who was still flabbergasted.

After finding a motel in New Orleans, Dean lay down on the bed while I brushed through my hair.

“So you had us be sent out while you and Calypso talked. What did she—I mean they want? I mean the way they had it made, it sounded like they wanted something else like…..you know.”

“As I told you, being the child of a God of Love and lust, they can’t help but be attracted to anyone they see. But Calypso and I have no romantic feelings for one another. They merely demanded a poker game rematch.”

“Seriously? A poker game?”

“Yep. Our last poker game I had beaten her 10 games out of 12 and got 20lbs of their weight in gold they had collected. I’m gonna play against them in three days’ time to see if they’ve improved their skill to win back the gold.”

“And that’s all they want?”

“Yes Dean, now will you let this whole thing go?” I walked over to him and lay down beside him cupping the side of his face. “The only one meant for me is you.”

“Your damn right I am.”

“Whatever happened to ‘not being the possessive boyfriend’ and ‘completely secure about my masculinity’?”

“I swear if you ever tell Sam this, I’ll deny every word of it.”

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to say it. And like I just told you, you don’t have to worry about anything.” I leaned in and gave him a soft kiss which he soon deepened before we proceeded to make love all night long after that.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural imagines #spn imagine #castiel #castiel x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester imagines #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #spn imagines #supernatural fanfictions

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