#please don't guillotine me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitchimasnake-sss · 3 months ago

Note

Hiii could you please write a shanks x f reader who is virgin/not experienced? Thanks you💖

of course i can, guillotine-enjoyer! this is my comeback into the op fandom after a little bit of hiatus, so, i hope you like this filth mwuah mwuah

🍒a lil' hands-on session!

synopsis: seeing your incompetence, the captain of your ship offers to teach you some lessons. after all, experience is the best teacher, is it not? pairing: f!reader x shanks [implied age gap.] wc: 1.3k cw: nsfw includes: dirty talking, teasing, pet names (angel, sweetheart, pretty, baby and such), guided masturbation(f!), fingering, soft!dom shanks. NOT PROOFREAD. WRITTEN CAUSE I LOVE ME ONE (1) GOOD DILF! MDNI. m.list

"really?" and you knew that your captain wasn't trying to be an ass, knew that he was just curious — albeit, a little too curious.

it was hard not to allow a blush to creep up your cheeks when you repeated for the nth time, "no."

"you've not done anything?" shanks repeated, a certain gleam in his eyes at the way you squirmed under his casual scrutiny.

"no." hands folding across your chest, you slumped back in your seat as if to escape his heated gaze, "and what's it to you if i have or haven't?"

"nothing." the older man laughed, chasing the action with another sip from bottle full of alcohol. wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he shrugged, "it's just a bit weird."

you know what else was weird? this.

tucked away to one dark corner while the rest of the crew danced and sung around in a random party while discussing your virginity with your goddamn captain definitely wasn't on your bingo-card this lifetime, but here you were. weird, right?

"seriously?" you found a soft pout across your lips, looking at the man who's body was half-audacity and half-alcohol, "it's not weird. you're like a bajillion years old, so, it'll be weird if you didn't have any experience." you shrugged, bringing your own bottle of alcohol to your lips, "'m still young. i've got time."

"hm?" shanks cocked an eyebrow, experienced hands setting his bottle down on the wooden, creaking table. "i'm how old?"

warmth crawled up your face and you repeated slowly, "a... bajillion?"

shanks laughed at the slight waver in your voice, taking in your suddenly scarlet appearance, "did i scare young, little you?"

"no." you sipped the liquid again, trying to soothe your weirdly-parched throat with the volatile liquid, "don't flatter yourself. 's just the... alcohol."

"the alcohol's got you looking as red as a cherry, pretty?" and you nodded, scrunching your nose in retort, "it has. mind your own business, shanks."

you're not quite sure which part of "mind your own business" meant sitting on shanks' bed in shanks' room as he peered down at you far too late in the night.

the bridge of his nose was flushed red, eyes drooping down as he licked his lips.

"what do you know?" there was a slight slur in his speech, the kind that excited you when combined with the way his slow gaze drifted against your hot body.

"n-nothing." your thighs clenched shut, lips wobbling under his thick inspection.

"nothing at all?" and you swear you saw the slightest curl across his devilish lips at your small nod.

shanks dipped his face downwards, his skin smelling of cheap booze and bad decisions as he dragged his index across the soft slope of your cheek. his gaze held steady against yours, "do you want me to teach you?"

at your soft nod, shanks trailed the same hand down your cheeks to your collarbones. his eyes stayed on you, never once wavering. "have you ever done things... yourself?"

you shook your head, finding more confidence in your actions rather than your jelly-like words. and this time, he gave you a careful, cashmere smile, "want me to teach you?"

next you knew, shanks was nudging open your thighs, dragging your slick-soaked panties to the side far too easily. his hot breath fanned across your inner thigh, and your essence beaded out at his inspection.

you brought your thighs together, trying yet again to escape his filthy, filthy gaze, but he held your thighs apart with the same skilled hands. never once looking up at you, he breathed out, "don't run away, pretty."

his adept hand dragged yours down to your heat, guiding your thumb to swipe across the throbbing, neglected clit. the pad of your thumb collected the sweet nectar, and you shuddered at the soft touch.

shanks pulled his hand back to himself, looking at you transfixed as you experimentally swiped against the nub again, and then yet again. moments passed and you found a comfortable rhythm to coax an orgasm out of yourself.

as the touches become more natural, the circles grew sloppy against your sopping, desperate pussy. your back arched, the sensation building up in the pit of your stomach so fucking deliciously. your jaw slacked open, inaudible moans brewing in the back of your throat.

and at your actions, shanks groaned.

bringing up a steady hand up to your throat, he clasped your soft skin under his harsh palm. as shanks pressed down on your neck, your finger stuttered against your heat with the lack of air, "s-shanks."

"put your fingers inside."

your eyes widened, words twisting at his request, "i-inside?"

shanks nodded, bringing his own hand to play against your swollen nub with easy, calculated strokes. your back arched at the foreign touch, his fingers were so much rougher, so better experienced.

you slipped in a finger, followed by another. curling your digits against the velvet, you shivered at the way your gummy walls responded to the intrusion.

shanks was unyielding in his touches, never once leaving the swollen, fluttering clit and letting you breathe. no. he pressed down on your clit, fingers strumming against your heat.

the heat pooled out of your cunt, dripping down to his bed obscenely as your eyes rolled back. your hips rutted against your own palm, the friction drawing out pornographic mewls out of your wobbling, wet lips, "'m go-gonna cum. oh fuck—"

his swipes grew sloppy, no longer shapes or words but rather just primal, raw actions to make you come undone. you clenched your eyes shut, your back arching into the mattress at the way his and your touches made you combust and burn up from within. your stomach tightened, head growing lighter with each second, "—fu-fuck, fuck, fuck— ngh shanks-!"

"look at me." a gruff voice forced you back into reality. your captain hissed, a delirious look in his eyes to match yours, "fucking look at me as you cum."

"sh-shanks." your voice wavered, your fingers pistoning in and out of your addictive cunt as your body broke itself inwards. face flushed, hair growing matted against your skin, you sunk your teeth into your bottom lips, mewling out, "ngh— f-fuck, fuck it feels s'good."

"it does right?" shanks pressed forward, dipping his face against the crook of your neck. his stubble rubbed against your sensitive skin, and his breath stuttered out a falsetto as your muscles spasmed against your own hand.

shanks raised his face, locking his gaze against yours, "feel good, right?"

you nodded, already delirious and half-gone past mad, "i-it does. so, so s'good aah fu—"

one more drivel into your pathetic, fluttering pussy and you came undone with a needy moan of your captain's name, "s-shanks. i-fuck oh my god, ohmygo—"

"that's it." shanks cooed, his eyes burning up the lewd image of your flooding, sensitive folds against his hands, "that's it, baby. let it all out."

words barely coherent, your body spluttered and shivered until it steadied against the same head-board shanks had perched you against.

when you caught your breath, you met your captain's hungry gaze. a strong grip brought your limp hand to your lips, and shanks hummed wordlessly to suck off the remnants of honeydew splattered against your own digits.

wobbling, unsteady, you pushed the two fingers past your lips and sucked on them. your cheeks hollowed, eyes doe-like as you stared at your captain.

the older man snuck in a quick breath, huffing out a soft laugh at your antics, "you're a quick learner, aren't ya?"

you hummed against your skin, nodding so innocently as you let go with a pop! you licked your lips, staring up at the man, "got anything else to teach me?"

shanks laughed, the sound reverberating and setting your pleading cunt alight with need. the captain brought a steady hand to your flushed, warm cheeks, "think ya can handle it, angel?"

"uh huh." daringly, without ever once breaking the eye-contact, you caressed your hand against the obvious bulge in his pants, "not to mention, you're such a good teacher, cap'n."

"alright then." something in his gaze hardened, some unmasked desire ready to guide shanks to become your god, "on your fucking knees for me, sweetheart."

a/n: op fandom, i return with more filth! eat up well🤭 (okay, don't tell anyone but i'm trying to answer all asks asap. no promises though, okay?? so incase you sent one, hold on tight.) m.list

#one piece #opla #op #one piece smut #shanks smut #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks #shanks #shanks x reader #op smut #opla smut #one piece x reader smut #one piece shanks #red hair shanks

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 2 months ago

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Beware the Wolf || Loki

A/n: I'm not entirely happy with the smut on this, but I pushed through somehow. One thing to remember while reading is that during the Goldberg scene, I used the way the manga depicts his lisp. Please enjoy.

Warning(s): arranged marriage au, gender-neutral reader, Charlotte Reader, Devil Fruit, family drama, sins of the mother, angst, distrust, teasing, dirty talk, understanding, size kink, losing control of ability, oral, rough sex. Words: 5,985.

Tag list: @marsilis @hoo-hoo @jj-ma26 @guillotine-enjoyer @whateverthought

No Minors Allowed!!

I should have known.

The attention is a dead giveaway, shoved down your throat like the island's best confectionery; so saccharine that it rots your common sense and infects your mind. Mama’s attention is a delicacy all her children crave. Including you. So when the truth comes out, you are irritated. Blaming yourself certainly will not soothe the pain, so you spare yourself the pity.

“Don't give me that sour look,” Big Mom orders. She leans forward in her candy-themed throne; the eyes of her Homies watch in silent glee as she chastises you. “Make yourself bigger. It's easier to talk to you that way.”

You suppress a sigh. Activating your Devil Fruit, you grow in height to an appropriate size for her, replacing your expression with a look of aloofness. While it is a useful power, you hate to use it like this. Height is no easy property to master, especially for something so mundane as preventing Mama from putting stress on her back.

“Are you certain it's me you want to do this?” You ask. “I'm not being ungrateful but there are far more suitable replacements.”

The Homies retort to spite you, uttering obscenities.

“Ungrateful shit.”

“Asshole.”

You could be both; you honestly want to be. The temptation to bare your teeth at the woman who controls your life like a puppet on a string is almost too hard to ignore. You are mad; you deserve to express yourself. But in the end, you opt to tuck tail. Disobedience will cost your soul. You slide your hand behind your back, clenching it into a fist. Hopefully, Mama will reconsider, but her mind is set.

“There certainly are, but none I care to expend,” she simply states.

You tighten your jaw. Of course. Expendable; that's an appropriate word for what you are.

“I understand,” you lie. Your Haki gives away your annoyance, however.

Big Mom raises a curious brow, then leans forward in her seat again. The air in the room suddenly feels heavy as her menacing presence swallows you like quicksand. It is almost hard to breathe.

“You do understand the importance of this union, don't you? I won't settle for another setback, not after the amount of groveling I had to do to that stubborn king.”

You understand. But why must you be the one to suffer? You have an island to tend to, a responsibility as a Minister. No, you do not wish marriage on any of your siblings, especially a loveless arranged marriage, but such is the fate of Mama's less-liked children.

Besides, as desperate as Big Mom is to have the power of the Giants beneath her finger, choosing you to bear the weight of a political union is ill-advised. You simply are not spouse material. She could offer better. Thinking badly of yourself puts a bitter taste in your mouth, but it's true. The Giants are going to see how lightly she is taking the union; they are not dumb, and again, she will suffer their scrutiny.

There is another reason, however, that you are against marriage to King Harald's youngest son.

“I do, but–”

“But what?” Big Mom interjects in annoyance.

Her Haki is so suffocating that you shrink back down to your normal height to show her that you mean no disrespect. Even the Homies cease their insufferable chattering. Would she understand your reasoning?

I'm not Lola.

Loki of Elbaph will not accept you. He had turned down Chiffon. You are certain he will do the same to you.

The irritated expression on Big Mom's face urges you to swallow your worries, however.

“Nothing, Mama. I'll leave for Elbaph in the morning.”

Big Mom smiles widely. Her Haki vanishes, a weight off your shoulders that makes you feel much better.

“Good, child. When you return in a week, a grand tea party will await you. Ma Ma Ma!”

You force a smile. A week. That is a lifetime in Hell for someone like you. But what does she care if you suffer for her? You are expendable after all.

–

It's comforting to know, during this stage of the trip, sailing east toward Elbaph, that you are not entirely alone. Mama, to ensure your safety, had sent two of your siblings with you.

The first, standing with you on the deck of the ship near the bow, you almost wish had just remained home. He will not leave you alone, even when it is clear that you are not entirely listening to him.

“You lickity better start listening to me if you don't want to disappoint Mama,” Persospero argues.

He gently thumps you over the head with his cane for the third time. You are tempted to roll your eyes, but to avoid being thumped again, you nod.

“I am listening, Brother Peros. You said to be as sweet as possible. Mind my Ps and Qs in front of the royal family. I plan to.”

He groans as though he is suspicious of you, but does not give a response. Lifting his cane, he gives it a taste. You curl your nose in response; germs must not be a word he is familiar with.

“And?”

You hum. And what? The clueless expression on your face makes him narrow his brown eyes.

“I knew you weren't lickity listening.”

He raises his sticky cane to thump you again, but a calm, yet serious voice interrupts him.

“Refrain from teasing our sibling too much. We're here.”

Katakuri ambles onto the deck from the bowels of the ship, joining you and Perospero near the bow. You give him a grateful nod, then turn to the eldest brother, sticking out your tongue as if to goad him. He simply glares and ignores you for the moment.

“I contacted the king in Warland. He will send an escort to meet us at the docks,” Katakuri mentions. “As instructed, we will remain here on the ship for the time being.”

You frown. There is the kicker. Neither of your brothers are allowed on the island. You will be alone, though, to an extent, you are sure. Katakuri would never let you go completely alone. You glance at him.

“Will I be able to contact you?”

“As if we'd trust you to behave yourself. Kukuku,” Perospero answers teasingly.

He removes a baby transponder snail from his coat and tosses it to you.

“If you need us, you can call us,” Katakuri adds.

You smile at him. It feels better to know that Katakuri will have your back, should you need him. Perospero not so much, but you are grateful to have him along for the trip regardless.

Moments later, the ship docks in Elbaph. What you see both shocks and awes you. It's something you will never forget. A colossal tree rests in the center of the island, growing high into the clouds; so high you can not see where it ends. At its base, near the center is a frozen forest, leading to a grassy plain that ends at the coast. You can make out a mountaintop castle in the forest, but not much else.

A dreadful silence fills the air, and then suddenly the heavy sound of footsteps meets your ears. You stiffen as a Giant emerges from the frozen forest, a woman with long blonde hair. She reaches the coast quickly and stands before the ship, gauging you and your brothers with a sharp expression. It almost feels like a showdown. The air is tense and it's obvious why.

You step forward, offering her your name and your hand. There is an obvious size difference, but it would be rude not to show her some respect. The woman stares at you a moment, as though she is unsure, then leans down and lifts out her finger. It's an awkward shake, but you are glad she recuperated.

“My name is Gerd. We should head on to the castle. My King requested to meet you.”

You understand. Turning to your brothers, you nod to show that you are ready. Katakuri says nothing, but the comforting look in his crimson eyes indicates that he believes in you. Perospero, on the other hand, appears less than enthusiastic.

“This is important. Don't you lickity mess it up.”

You consider flipping him the bird, but to give off a good impression in front of Gerd, you simply nod. There are no goodbyes exchanged, no loving words. The children of Big Mom do not express their care openly, but for once, you kind of wish both of them would have told you how much they appreciate you for not running when you could have. You certainly thought about it.

Departing from the ship down the gangplank, you join Gerd on the shore. She rests her hand on the ground and for a moment, you stare at her in uncertainty. Does she want you to–

“It will be faster for me to carry you to Warland. The bridges connecting the two regions are not suited for those smaller than the people of Elbaph,” Gerd explains.

You hum in understanding, but you still don't like it. Would it be appropriate to use your Devil Fruit instead? You can not directly match the height of a Giant, but she would not have to carry you. It would probably be best to ask the king first. In reluctance, you step up onto her hand, sitting down so that you don't make an ass out of yourself and fall.

Gerd slowly stands and begins to walk toward the tree. You can hear her footsteps as she enters the forest. The frozen air nips at your body, not yet accustomed to the weather, but she shields you with her hand in an attempt to keep the wind from reaching you.

“Thanks,” you say in appreciation.

She seems hesitant to speak to you. A deep uneasy sigh leaves her mouth, jostling your hair, but in the end, she gives in. Her sharp light blue eyes fall on you.

“This union most likely will not happen. After everything Linlin has done, I do not see my people welcoming you with open arms, least of all Prince Loki.”

At least she is honest. You understand, though. Years of bad blood can not easily be ignored. You do not know what made the Giants turn on Big Mom, but you know she is not as innocent as she claims.

“It's no problem if you don't,” you state. “Mama should let this one go, but she is desperate to create a utopia for all races to live in peace together. I'm not sure why it's so important to her, but as her child, I have to at least try.”

Gerd's expression softens.

“I'm sorry you have to go through this.”

“Don't be,” you retort. “It should be me who is sorry. Your people should not have to cater to her or me.”

The conversation soon dies off as Gerd takes you across a wooden rope bridge into the upper region of Elbaph. She, to your relief, unshields you, allowing you the chance to glimpse upon the primary village. It's impressive, an entirely different environment than that of Totto Land. The buildings, for one, are massive; houses and watchtowers made of sturdy wood as opposed to candy and chocolate.

The Giants roaming around look a bit on edge, but their smiles hold no secrets; they do not hide the fear of their souls being taken, not like the people back home. It's comforting and it makes you wish that they had turned you away immediately. You have no idea what Mama wants with this union, but something in the pit of your stomach fills you with dread.

It's fine. So long as Loki turns me down.

At the entrance of a fortified castle, Gerd kneels. You take it as the journey is over, so you stand and leap to the ground, pleased to be on your feet again.

“Stay here. I'll be back to get you once the king is ready,” Gerd orders.

You reply with a brief nod, watching as she opens the door to the castle, sinking into the darkness within. The door closes behind her. In the meantime, you sit on the upper step with your feet dangling off the edge as you stare out at the village. A few Giants spare you a look, but none of them approach you. It's better this way, you reckon.

A short amount of time passes, then the door opens again. Before you can glance back, the shadow of a hand dwarfs you. It's so unexpected that you do not move in time before a Giant grabs you by the back of the shirt, lifting you in the air.

“H-hey. Put me down.”

A deep chuckle is the only reply you get. Whoever they are, leads you into the castle like a mother cat carrying her kitten. You have no idea where they are taking you, more focused on keeping your shirt from choking you to death, but thankfully, the trip does not take long. Behind another door, you see Gerd and another Giant resting on an enormous throne; King Herald, you are certain. The former stares at you with wide shocked eyes.

“Look what someone left on our doorstep,” the Giant carrying you says with a chuckle.

“Loki,” Herald chides.

You hear him hum in disappointment, then he unceremoniously lets you go. You shout in fear, but thankfully Loki catches you in his other hand. A clever ruse. On your back, trembling, you stare up in shock and irritation at him, but he simply sticks out his tongue to mock you. This is him? Prince Loki.

She wants me to marry him?

He is extremely handsome, yes, with long light hair and muscular tattooed arms, but his people skills need work. You understand that you are the child of Elbaph's nightmare, but treating you like a toy is uncalled for. Standing on your feet, albeit unsteadily, you straighten out your clothes, then square your shoulders. Loki tilts his head.

“Oh.”

“That was–”

No. No, no.

Behave. You had promised Perospero that you would be sweet. As much as you want to cuss him for scaring the hell out of you, doing so would only exacerbate the situation. You take a deep breath, relaxing your shoulders.

“Thanks for catching me.” Despite your appreciation, your tone has a bite to it.

Loki hums. He gives you a look of disappointment, but like the flip of a coin, his expression changes.

“I'm undecided.”

“Undecided,” Herald repeats.

What does he mean? You stare at him in disbelief, waiting for an explanation, but Loki gives none. He rudely lifts you again by your shirt, then ambles over to Gerd, handing you off to her. You are never going to get used to this.

“But Loki…” Herald tapers off, then sighs. “A week, son.”

Whether he heard him or not, Loki walks out of the room without a word.

You are in shock. This is not at all what you had expected.

He was supposed to say no.

Why didn't he?

–

It takes three days, three long and infuriating days for you to come up with an answer to an existing question of yours. Why didn't Loki say no?

At first, you had thought that he might have warmed up to the idea of marrying you, but based on the past, and the blatant display of displeasure he seemed to show when you met his gaze, you quickly dismissed it. Then, you had thought that maybe he just needed some time alone and away from you, but somehow, no matter where you had escaped to he always seemed to be. In this time, he went to any length to annoy or fluster you, either by humiliating you or making comments that boiled your blood.

The reason for his answer is simple, you come to realize.

He's torturing me.

With a sigh of annoyance, you flop down on your bed, a frame made of blocks with a foam mattress that Road reluctantly put together for you. Gerd leans down, giving you a look of pity.

“Are you OK?” She asks.

No, you certainly are not. The memory of the last confrontation with Loki is still fresh in your mind. Your face feels heated.

“Did I set myself up for that one?” You ask.

Gerd snorts. “You sort of did.”

Wonderful.

“I should have just kept my mouth shut.”

You could not help it, though. Loki had been itching for a confrontation. You had been down at the river when it happened.

A bright pink salmon several times bigger than you leaps upstream and then disappears within the water’s depth. It's truly unbelievable just how massive everything on Elbaph is. You can hardly contain your curiosity as you rest on Goldberg's shoulder as he prepares a fish net - Gerd claims that he's an amazing cook.

“Do the salmon get bigger than that?” You ask him.

It's been like this most of the day. You ask questions and either Gerd or Goldberg answers you, seemingly unphased by your curiosity. There is still an air of uncertainty around them whenever they meet your eyes, but at least they are kind enough to talk to you. Some of the Giants turn up their noses and ignore you - Prince Hajrudin for one - but you do not hold it against them.

“Shome do. If they shurvive the Underworld below, they will shpawn and leap back up the waterfall,” Goldberg lisps.

You imagine fish as big as ships in the Underworld. It makes you feel a little uneasy with your brothers docked below, but you know they can take care of themselves if the need should arise.

The sound of heavy footsteps nearby catches your attention, but immediately you come to dread looking as you meet eyes with Loki. Even resting on Goldberg's shoulder, amongst the folds of his gray cape, you know he sees you. His tongue slips from his mouth, wetting his upper lip, and then, much to your dismay, he approaches.

Strands of the cook's dark orange hair brushes you as he, too, takes notice.

“Prince Loki.”

“That won't do,” Loki opines. He looms over you, staring into the water with a thoughtful look, then hums. “I know. The best way to catch a fish is bait.”

Bait. You gasp in shock as he suddenly lifts you, dangling you threateningly over the water. The fucker. He's getting off on how much power he has over you; it's annoying. Regardless, you bite back and insult, yanking aside the neckline of the shirt that Road had made for you.

“Put me down, please. This isn't fun for me.”

“That's a shame,” Loki teases. “I'm enjoying it.”

Of course, he is. You tighten your jaw.

“I'm sure you can satisfy your entertainment with something else aside from teasing me.”

“I'm sure I can, but right now, you're the only thing I want to play with,” Loki retorts.

For some reason, your mind goes straight to the gutter. It's his tone; the way his tongue peeks out from behind his teeth as though he might at any second taste you. Swallowing hard, you feel a tad bit warm under his playful gaze. It is not your intention to speak without thinking, but the words like vomit seem to pour out.

“Go play with yourself. You have two hands, don't you?”

The grin on his face falters a moment, then Loki guffaws. You feel like a ball hanging from a string, rocking unsteadily back and forth until his sudden bout of laughter stops. Not even Goldberg knows what to say, staring in confusion at the interaction in front of him. His gaze changes, becoming predatory. Like a lone wolf about to take a bite.

“You wouldn't match up to my size anyway. But it might be fun to see how far I can take you before you break.”

You aren't quite sure if he had said anything after that, but you are certain he left you with an unexpected size kink. By the time you had returned to the library - your temporary room - it felt like your body had been left out in the sun too long.

You are exhausted; this entire situation is exhausting. With a groan, you sit up and face Gerd. The same question has been plaguing you since the day you met the youngest prince.

“Why do you think Loki hasn't made up his mind yet?”

It's an honest question, one that Gerd does not seem to know. She hums with uncertainty.

“That's something you would have to ask him.”

Of course. You sigh. Maybe tomorrow, but certainly not today. You don't think you can ask him with a straight face so soon after the interaction, not while you are drunk on the memory of a spiteful quip.

Unfortunately for you, the question is left unanswered. You start to see less and less of Loki throughout the week until you are six days in. At breakfast, you see him briefly. He wanders by when you are seated between Gerd and Goldberg, telling the former to bring her pet Piper, a giant owl with light and dark alternating feathers, with her during the morning hunt. You consider asking him to come see you when he is done, but in the end, you decide against it. With one day left, despite wanting to know, you figure it does not matter as much as it had on day one.

The question, at the time, slips from your mind and so too does the Prince of the Giants. Until that night.

You are sitting on the sill of the library window, staring out at the vast landscape of Elbaph when the door creaks open. It's not unusual for someone in the castle to wander in during the night when sleep is far from their minds, but normally they knock first. You don't care to peek, expecting a thrall, but when the glass reflects the muscular, yet thin frame of the youngest prince, you quickly glance over your shoulder at him. What is he doing here?

Swallowing hard, you ignore his sudden presence, turning back toward the window. You watch him in anticipation as he rests, legs spread in a wooden stargazer chair. A tense awkward moment passes, and though you had expected him to speak, his question makes you tense up.

“You have a Devil Fruit, no?”

You take an uneasy breath.

“Yeah.”

It's not like it's a big secret. While considered rare, a great many notable people have eaten them. Though oddly, you have not seen anyone on Elbaph with a Devil Fruit power.

“Show me,” Loki demands.

“I can't,” you admit. “I made a promise to your father, the king, that I would not use my power while I'm here.”

Loki whistles, impressed.

“You must be something special then.”

An air of sadness washes over you. No, not really. The reality of the situation is a bit of a letdown.

“It's not impressive. I can increase and decrease the size of whomever or whatever I touch,” you explain. “Including myself.”

Which would come in handy on an island like Elbaph, but promises are promises, something Loki does not seem to care about.

“Show me.”

You tighten your jaw.

“I already told you, I–”

“Do you always do as you're told? Things would be so much easier if you lived how you wanted to,” Loki interrupts. You watch him tilt his head back, as though he is lost in a memory.

He has a point.

But you can't.

“Only those with power can live how they want,” you utter.

Loki snorts.

“So we can agree on something.”

How ironic. You stand with a grunt, turning toward him. He rests his head against the backboard of the chair, lazily watching you as you do so. It's hard to deny, but he looks tempting, so tempting, you feel a bit overwhelmed.

“Did you really come here to ask me about my Devil Fruit power?” You ask while tilting your head.

“Maybe,” Loki answers. His grin widens. “I'll tell you if you show me.”

He's persistent. You sigh in annoyance. Does it honestly matter though? Aside from your curiosity, it satisfies nothing.

“I'm not that interested.”

His humor fades and though his expression becomes aloof, he straightens in the chair.

“Oh. Then I guess you won't be interested to know I am in favor of the marriage proposal.”

What. Why? You knit your brows.

“You can't be serious.”

“You'll never know,” Loki states.

The nerve of him. With an irritated grunt, you climb down the sill, then use your power to increase your size. It's a known fact the Giants of Elbaph are around 20 meters tall, and though you can grow much taller than Big Mom, you still pale in comparison, which you soon learn, as Loki stands to gauge you.

“Is that all?” He asked tauntingly.

“I don't have awakened powers yet. 13.50 meters is as tall as I can get,” you admit.

Mid chest is as far as you can reach.

“We made a deal. Please answer the question,” you state.

“Did we?” Loki asks. He hums as if to say ‘I don't recall ever doing that’.

Closing the gap in a heated rush, you place the palm of your hand against his chest.

“I told you how my power works. Unless you want to be the one looking up at me, then I suggest you tell me why.”

Loki brings up his hands in defense. He seems more humored than scared, to your annoyance.

“Hey now. I was only joking.” His abs flex, and though you are flustered by this action, you keep your hand where it is as if to warn him. It gets worse when his tone changes, becoming lax. “As far as I can tell, you don't actually want to go through with the arrangement.”

“That's…not true,” you attempt to lie. “I do want to marry you.”

Snorting, Loki takes hold of your wrist, lifting it above your head.

“Is that right? Because the entire time, you've been here, you've done your best to avoid me, and I know better than to believe that you were just giving me space,” he explains. “As desperate as your mamma is, she would have you try a lot harder.”

He's right. She would. Wooing him is what she would want. Or to turn yourself out to him. You tighten your jaw.

“I didn't because it wouldn't matter. I'm…not Lola. You never would have said yes to me.”

At the mention of Lola's name, he frowns. You wonder if he still thinks about her from time to time, about how she rejected him. In a way, you are a bit envious of her. She wanted to live her life freely and marry who she wanted to. You aren't sure you could ever disobey Mama like that.

Why couldn't I?

The woman clearly did not care about you. She had the right idea, to unite the races of the world, but her dream had become more of an obsession. Her gluttony and greed knew no bounds.

“You're a bargaining chip,” Loki states.

Hearing it out loud from the mouth of someone else just feels…heart-rending. You tighten your jaw. Regardless, it's true.

“Don't you think I know that?”

Loki bends to your ear. You aren't sure why, but his tone sounds almost wicked.

“What if I said you don't have to be? Agree to marry me, and you can live as freely as you like.”

You don't understand. He should not want to marry you, a child of Big Mom.

“Why?”

Loki grins. His tongue mischievously slips from his mouth.

“Because I don't like to see that woman get her way, and something tells me you don't either.”

The entire kingdom will be at war if you flee the wedding, but perhaps that is what Loki wants. But why? Because of Shanks, the Yanko who protects the island. Or because Loki knows he can beat her. Either way, it's a terrible idea. The consequences are too great, but there is something about the promise of freedom that hangs over you.

Under Big Mom, it's not possible.

“I want to live my own life.”

As free as Lola.

As if your words of rebellion light a fire in him, Loki releases you and runs his fingers down the length of your spine. It tickles, prompting you to arch your back, but more so, it feels good, too gentle for someone like him. Your heart races as you come to realize maybe you like how warm and defiant you are around him.

“You have a silver tongue, you know.” And muscles I'd love to bite, you opt not to mention.

“Oh,” Loki coos. “Trying to flatter me, are you?”

“No. Just hung up on what you said at the riverside,” you breathe.

To be honest, you haven't been able to think of much else aside from just how he would break you.

“It might be fun,” you echo back at him.

Loki snorts.

“Is that the aspiration of your mamma?”

He is going to kill the mood if he keeps spouting off about Mama. It's her aspiration to bring the Giants into her country. You don't have to sleep with Loki to achieve this, but you have a feeling he already knows. It's as you told Gerd; he loves to torture you.

“You talk too much.”

Loki fakes a pout.

“Do you wish for me to shut my mouth that badly?”

At this point, it doesn't matter if he does or doesn't, but to tease him, you answer.

“I honestly don't think you can.”

Pulling you closer, to your shock, his lips touch yours for a brief moment. When he leans back, he pokes his tongue out between his lips as if to say ‘Be careful what you wish for’. As it happens, this is exactly what you want.

“That's a start,” you state.

It's at this point, you realize you had bit off more than you could chew. Everything after that progressed so fast. It had started with a rough kiss, then moved into a sloppy make-out that sent shivers down your spine.

In a warm haze, you remove your clothes, losing yourself to salacious thoughts the moment Loki slides his pants off, revealing his cock to you. Unfortunately, you do not get to take in the moment. He presses you against the nearest bookshelf; the musty, lightly sweet scent of old books fills your nostrils.

With another brief, wet kiss, Loki hooks your legs over his shoulders and stands. The shelf to your back erases the fear of falling, but still, you bury your fingers in his hair to keep yourself steady. You have a feeling, however, that your attempt will soon be in vain. A pregnant silence looms in the air as you wait, anxious and in need of his attention. The moment it comes, you sigh in relief.

Loki gently tastes your sensitive skin as though he's testing your limits. It's when your back arches and your thighs tighten around him that he devours you. In an instant, your worries fade; you can hardly concentrate on anything but him, the lewd wet noises coming from between your thighs, and the way that he makes you feel.

Desperately, you want this pleasure to never end, but you are a fool for hoping. His calloused fingers tease your hole, one easing inside, then another to prepare you. The way you stretch to take him drives you feral. The first coherent thought that comes to mind sends you spiraling over the edge. You tighten your jaw, trying not to make a noise but your attempt is in vain; your body feels electrified. If oral feels this good, how will he feel inside you? Will his cock ruin you?

With a whine, you push against his head, pleased when he parts from you. While it is not terrible, the overstimulation is a bit too much.

“You did well, my betrothed,” he coos.

“Stop talking,” you utter, narrowing your eyes.

Loki chuckles. He sets you back on your feet, wobbly at first, then leaves you by the bookcase to rest on the stargazer chair, knees wide apart, giving you a teasing glimpse at his cock. Even at a height that will make this easy, you can tell that it will still be intense. Your heart races as he motions with two fingers for you to join him, the two fingers you are certain were inside you moments ago.

Breathe. I can take him.

You stride in confidence toward the chair, straddling the Giant's waist. Comfortable, you lean against his chest, capturing his lips a third time as he readies you, an action you are thankful for, especially when the head of his cock catches at your entrance, threatening to penetrate you.

It happens slowly, to your relief. Your body tenses as Loki raises his hips, easing as much of himself into you as he can. It's a tight fit, but one that is not too unbearable. You take a deep breath, remaining as still as possible. To you, it feels like losing your virginity all over again; the careful steps, the nervous anticipation. It's comical.

Once you are ready, you set the pace, rocking your hips deliberately slow. The muscles beneath you tense, eager but at your mercy. You offer Loki some relief, bouncing your hips, but then spitefully like a selfish god, you take it away, returning to the same slow and torturous pace as before.

It isn't all fun for you either, to be honest. You want to be fucked hard, left numb and satisfied, but the desperate look on his face tempts you to continue. Another round of inconsistent teasing passes before all the power you have over Loki gets torn away. You should not have tempted the wolf.

Warm calloused hands seize your hips. Loki eases you down, filling you, then bounces you on his cock, raising his hips to intercept each thrust. You can hardly keep up with him. After a few seconds of trying, you give up, allowing him to use you however he wishes. The most you can do is stimulate your sex; the combined pleasure makes you melt. Wave after wave courses through your body, growing stronger. A thin sheen of sweat covers you as you desperately hang on. Whatever sanity you have left vanishes the moment you lose control of your ability.

Your size wanes, a head or two shorter than before. Honestly, you are not sure. All you can tell is that the cock inside you feels thicker. The lewd sounds of flesh on flesh filling the room and the image of your hole stretched to its limit are enough to push you over the edge. Arching your back, you come hard, lost in pleasure, body trembling. For a moment, you swear you lose all sense of where you are.

When reality sets in, your thighs and stomach are coated in release, from both you and Loki. The man beneath you grins, leaning your breathless form against him. Your walls feel bare and worn, throbbing in protest. You hum.

“That could have been bad,” you utter, referring to your slip-up.

“You'll have plenty of chances to get used to me,” Loki retorts.

If anything, he's humorous. Sitting up, you give him a serious look.

“I don't know what you’ll be getting out of this marriage, aside from the thrill of angering Mama, but I agreed only because you promised me freedom.”

Loki grins. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Have a little trust in me.”

If only you had known how much trouble in the future those words would get you. Perhaps you would have declined. Perhaps not.

#one piece loki #gender neutral reader #loki x reader #one piece fan fiction #one piece fandom #Spotify #one piece smut #elbaf loki #op loki x reader #op loki

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 days ago

Text

Pent Up 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The night is long and torturous. When sleep comes, it's accompanied by the same man that invaded your waking hours. Thor is like a shadow, following you from one plane to the next. You wake in a sweat, disoriented and dull.

What are you going to do? Even if he wasn't a dangerous felon, you're no match for him. He's like if someone made a bear human. Despite how nice he can be, you fear the flip side of the coin.

You force yourself to get up as Andy's voice echoes beneath the thunder of Thor's. Your mom would flip if she found out. And do nothing. It's your problem, you're grown, just don't bring that around your siblings. She's with Andy for a reason; several.

A day off would typically be an occasion for delight. Everything is off. Everything is tainted by the consequences of your stupid action.

The idea of eating makes you want to puke. Getting washed up is a task on its own. You read about Marie Antoinette in her cell and the looming threat of the guillotine. Is this how she felt?

Light blue jeans and a tiered lilac top. It would be cute in any other context.

You don't know when but you know he's coming. He promised. He made many promises and you never took those seriously. Now you know just how committed he is.

It's absurd. He has to see that right? You're too young. You're naive. He needs someone who can relate to him. Someone who isn't terrified.

The doorbell rings as you pace in circles. Shoot. Ugh. You see him on the little smart screen.

You freeze for a minute. Fight or flight has you stuck in the middle. You make yourself move. You have no fight but also nowhere to run.

You open the door and let out a gurgling noise. He's surprised you again. Not as frightfully as that first encounter, but still. Thor wears a tidy button up in a shade of pale blue and navy slacks. His hair is braided along the sides and drawn back into a low pony. He smells like fancy pine cologne. Your eyes go wide.

"My queen," he offers you a tiny gift bag, dwarfed by his large hands.

"Um, hi," you take it by the ribbon handles with a trouble furrow in your brows.

"While you always look stunning, might I ask you to change into something more...than casual?" He smiles sheepishly. "I have many surprises and I would have you in style."

"Oh, uh, yeah, I just... threw this on," you look down.

"It is no trouble. I only thought you would want to match your gift," he gestures to the gift bag.

"Ermmmmm," you drag out the fizzy murmur.

You reach into the bag and take out the ivory box. Your stomach storms furiously. You pull open the lid on the hinges to reveal a ruby necklace. The heart-shaped stone is trimmed in diamonds. You blink and babble.

"It's so... pretty, but I can't--"

"My queen, please, it would be a great honour to have you wear it," he insists. "Might I?"

He opens his large palm. You stare at the deep lines and gulp. You carefully pull the necklace free and hand it over.

You turn and he steps closer to drape it around your neck. It rests along your clavicle as he clasps it. You're no great judge but you think it's real. Did he steal it?

"Thank, er... I'll go find something to go with it," you draw away as he tickles your neck.

"As ever, I shall patiently await my queen," he assures.

The bag crinkles as you face him again, "can I meet you at the truck? I don't want you standing out here that long."

"It is no trouble--"

"Please, I would feel bad," you plead.

He touches his chest, "aw, my queen, you do treat me well. Yes, I shall wait for you there."

You nod and watch him go before you retreat inside. You hurry to the guest room and shove away the bag. You sift through your bag. You didn't really bring anything fancy... Wait.

You trip out of the room and head down to the basement. Your mother holds onto everything. You clamour down to the basement and push through the hangers. It's not your fave and she chose it, but your semi-formal dress hangs amid the forgotten thread. You really don't think it goes with the necklace but it will have to do.

You change quickly and steel some of your mom's shoes and a thin white shawl. You probably don't look any more ready than you feel. As you come out, clutching your purse against your side, you catch your breath. You lock the door and brace yourself.

You come down the walk as Thor stands up straight from leaning on his truck and touches his hair to check that it's in place. Oh gosh, what've you done?

This man is delusional. Sure, you helped build that fantasy, but for him to take it this far? You feel sick.

"My queen," he opens the door.

You smile and let him help you into the truck. The dread settles with you in the seat. He shuts the door gently as you look down at your hands. You busy yourself by buckling the seat belt.

He gets in and you peer down the street with wide eyes. He reaches over to pet your knee, "that colour is wonderful on you. You always are perfect, darling." He leans over and kisses your cheek. He squeezes your knee with his large hand, fingers swirling on the bare skin. He growls. "How I dreamt of this. Of you. When I was locked up. But now I'm free, we are free, and together."

You put your hand on his and squeak, "Thor."

"I understand now. It is new to you. I wish you'd said. But now I can take it slow for you, my kitten."

He kisses your cheek again and rescinds his hand. He grips the wheels and you watch his knuckles pale. Your throat constricts as if his fingers are around your neck.

"Um..." you shrink into the seat, "where are we going?"

He chuckles, "it's a surprise."

You twitch. This is how those true crime shows start. Your lips tremble but you keep your smile in place. He pulls away from the curb.

"Okay, but er, you know, my stepdad is very... strict and I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on the house, so I can't stay out long," you explain as you mash your palms together.

"Your stepdad. Hm. Yes, he seems controlling."

"Well, you know, he's just... particular," you shrug.

"Mm, it makes sense," he nods.

"Makes sense?"

"Yes, why you thought to try to block me. To deny our love," he clucks. "You speak of this man as he is. A dictator. Well, I am your king, he will not keep me from my queen, so you needn't worry for him."

You don't argue. It's a better explanation than you had and if he knew the truth...

"I don't know the man and yet he makes my blood hot. I could throttle any who would stifle you, my queen," he snarls. "As I have sworn to myself to always keep you safe. And close."

You cringe. You remember his long rambling emails. You skimmed a lot of those flowery monologues. You assumed he read a lot of poetry in jail. What else did he have time for?

"Please, be calm, and yourself," he glances over at you. "No need to be scared, my queen. Not ever."

🩷

Your confusion mounts as you watch the grand house rise before you. The property is maintained; trimmed hedges, marble statues, a fountain, a drooping blossom tree akin to some whimsical fantasy movie.

It's unlike anywhere you've ever been. How would Thor know of this place? Are you trespassing?

You peek at him nervously as he pulls his bright red truck in behind the luxurious ivory and gold car. You search around for anyone to come calling intruder. Thor gets out as you're too reluctant to move further. He comes around and opens the door. As you step down, his hand around yours, his name booms in the air.

An older man with white hair marches over in a velvet jacket over a sleep shirt. He's eccentric with his long white hair and bird-headed can.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns," the man proclaims, "and he has brought... fresh meat?"

You squirm as you look between them.

"Father, she is not to be spoken of such," Thor warns.

His father? Your mouth falls open.

"Odin," the man offers his hand. "And you must be wildly out of your mind."

You open and close your lips. He laughs and you finally unclench your hand to shake his. He squeezes firmly and brings your hand up to kiss the back.

"So, has she read the court report yet? Is she aware?" Odin chirps.

"Father, I am reformed," Thor snatches your arm back. "You needn't mock me so. I've done my time. She knows this."

"Does she? She is rather young. How much can she know?"

Your brows rise up and down. You're speechless. This is both awkward and humiliating.

"Come then, your mother has been fussing over breakfast all morning. It is why I had to flee the house. You get your madness from her," Odin mutters as he turns.

He walks airily despite the cane, swinging it more than he uses it. Thor holds your hand as he pulls you along. Maybe your family isn't so weird.

Odin whistles as he swings the door open and enters. Thor squeezes and you fear he might dislocate something. You squirm and he lets up.

"Oh, the love of my life, where are you?" Odin calls out, his voice echoing along the high ceilings.

Your eyes rove around the extravagant decor. Refined but not stuffy. Elegant with subtlety. You could only aspire to be any of those things.

You can't help but wonder how he got locked up. By the looks of it, his family is wealthy. Better off than your own. Your mother is comfortably middle class but she's stingy as heck. Andy is worse.

"In here," a trill sounds through the large doorway with the curling detail over the archway.

Odin strides through and Thor drags you in to see the older man kissing a blond woman on the cheek as she juggles a covered tray. "Oh, you rogue."

He purrs and keeps his arm around her as she sets her armful down. Her eyes brighten as she looks in your direction and they flick between you and Thor.

"Oh, my son! You've brought her!" She claps her oven mitts together. "And she is absolutely stunning."

She sweeps out of her husband's embrace and around the large square island. She brings the warm mitts to your cheeks and presses a kiss to your forehead. She holds you at arms length and admires you.

"My, my, so lovely," she praises. "And you're with my son?"

Thor grumbles, "mother."

"Well..." she shrugs and pulls away, then wraps her son in a hug. He wraps his arms around her as she turns her ear to his chest. She giggles as her green eyes flash. "His heart is racing. He must be in love."

"Mother," he gently nudges her away. "You're embarrassing me."

"I embarrass myself," she turns to you again, "Frigga, darling, and you?"

You peek up at Thor before you give your name. She repeats it, rolling it over her tongue.

"Just as beautiful as the rest of you," she turns and taps away in her heels. You don't know how a woman her age has so much energy. "Oh, and have you heard from Loki, Odi?"

"You know his excuses. Work. A very busy man," the white-haired patriarch shakes his head.

"My brother," Thor explains in a whisper.

You nod. Does it make much of a difference?

"My son tells me you've been a wonderful support. Gods know he has always been such a handful," Frigga arranges a silver tea pot and porcelain saucers on a tray. "Even after they put him away, oh, it was awful. When I called, they told me he was not permitted to take his calls." She hums in disappointment and sends Thor a sharp look. His shoulders slump. "I didn't raise him like that. I want you to know, I've only ever taught him to respect women and I do hope he treats you as well as you treat him."

"Mother, you know I would never," Thor insists.

"Oh, and you promised you would not go to prison. Yes, I see how that panned out," she sniffs. "Ah, but let us not cling to mistakes. Let us move on." She smiles at you as she lifts the tray. "I know, dear, that you will fix him. From what I hear of you, it cannot be any other way."

Heat crawls up your neck. What has Thor told them? How can you live up to expectations when you don't even know what they are?

"Um, may I help with that?" You offer as you near her.

"Oh, but you are a guest," she chimes.

"Really, it's no problem. All this food smells delicious. It must be a lot of work," you insist. "It's the least I can do."

You take the handles of the tray as she relents. You hold your smile and turn. You don't let the facade fall until you're out of the room. She calls after you that the dining room is left not right. You correct your path and bit the inside of your lip.

You're really not that helpful but you'll take the excuse to get away. If even just a few minutes.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #pent up #avengers #marvel #mcu

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needtobehisprettyboy · 2 months ago

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I hate the CaitVi Sex scene

Everytime I see someone thirsting after the scene and gushing about how it's so hot, I feel so disgusted and ticked cause of how the scene came about and where it's located.

Before we get onto my rant about the scene itself, I want to mention the CaitVi scene that happened before that.

"She saved your life!"

"If you will just calm down for on-"

If you will just calm down for once? Hypocrite. Caitlyn's allowed to be pissy, allowed to call Zaunites animals (oh, "except" Vi though) and then fight like an animal by biting Sevika—

Sidenote:

That's also another scene I don't find hot at all. Any time I see it, I can't focus on how attractive Sevika is when she's smug (even though she totes is). All I can focus on is how Caitlyn bit Sevika. I don't remember who pointed it out, if it was on Tumblr or TikTok which I have promptly deleted since the ban, but someone pointed out that Caitlyn is fighting dirty—like a Zaunite. Caitlyn was backed into a corner, so she fought like an animal.

Fuck her.

I guess now she can somewhat understand why Zaunites fight the way they do. When you're backed into a corner, feeling helpless, feeling desperate, you fight like it and she did the same exact same thing she judged them for.

Bastard.

Lol can you tell I'm feeling bitter over her character?

Back to OG rant

—biting Sevika, gas the undercity and harshly interrogate someone who was a victim of Jinx's shenanigans, hit Vi for trying to calm her down from her grief driven rage, but oh, no Vi must calm down even though she's barely angry compared to when Caitlyn's angry. Not to mention that Caitlyn throws a tantrum herself and throws the tiny figure in her hand to the ground.

"—since you don't trust her enough not to shove her in a box."

Can we please take note of the tremble in Vi's voice when she says that? 'Oh, Jinx brought back her trauma from being in Stillwater!1!2!1' First of all, shut up. Second of all, yeah. . . So did Caitlyn?? Caitlyn may not have known what to do with Jinx, but the option for her to let Jinx go to prison was there and Vi hated it.

"Cait, she's changed."

"We can't erase our mistakes. None of us."

All the while not doing any time of her own for the crimes she committed—and no, I'm not talking about her gassing the undercity. What she did as a dictator, letting Noxians take over, and hardly doing anything afterwards even though she caused so much pain and misery to both Piltovians and Zaunites goes unpunished. Her losing an eye is nothing compared to the fear many people will feel while living under a dictatorship.

Get the guillotine!!

"Who decides who gets a second chance?"

Exactly. Caitlyn did no better than Jinx. She knows it too. It tears her up inside—as it should!!! Besides, did she think Jinx wasn't going to eventually get out of Stillwater? Or was one of her options to let Jinx rot there until she died? Yeah, I'm sure your girlfriend would love that.

Now, let's get to the scene itself!

But first let me talk about what happened right before that—

Vi tries to get Jinx on her side, Jinx rejects her, and Vi watches her sister leave while being told by her that Vi "deserves to be happy" and not to "worry about her anymore".

Yikes.

People say that what happened next with Caitlyn was Vi "finally being selfish", but it just feels wrong to me. Don't get me wrong, Vi deserves to enjoy herself after everything that's been done to her; however, you aren't going to have normal, healthy, healing sex right after seeing a loved one leave you for good.

Trust me lol I've had enough grieving/traumatic experience to know that you can feel upset for hours and won't immediately be able to get into a happy mindset even if you find something to entertain yourself with. You can have people try to cheer you up and you feel a bit better, but you still feel that lingering horrible feeling inside that will eat at you for who knows how long. You could give me Steb wearing the cutest little red panties I have ever seen in my life and I'd still be sad while trying to eat him out. You need to give me that like a day or so AFTER my little breakdown cause I won't enjoy it right after crying about losing my sis.

Sidenote:

Someone please remind me to draw that.

It would take at least an hour for Vi to get back to normal with the way she was reacting. At least. Vi was in that cell for who knows how long, but she was still upset and rather vulnerable when Caitlyn found her. No doubt she needed more time to get herself together.

Okay, now, let's get to the scene itself!!!

Bro, don't fuck me while I'm crying unless I'm crying cause I'm laughing too hard or because of sexy overstimulation. Fuck me? Nah, fuck you.

"I choose wrong every time—and because of it. . . I've lost everyone."

"Did you really think I needed all the guards at the HexGates?"

SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT AWWWWWUUUPPPPPPP—anyway,

Your girl is clearly upset, grieving her lost relationship with her sister (and likely other loved ones shes lost like Vander/Warwick), feeling guilty, and clearly not in any type of good mood yet your first reaction is to smirk???? You think this is funny?? Now is not the time to tease, Ms. Dumbass.

Vi needs compassion and reassurance not. . . Whatever that was. Yes, showing that you knew all along and didn't do anything to stop her shows that you do care for her, but it also isn't what she needs. Caitlyn did not reassure her that Vi wasn't going to lose her so easily.

Mainly because if she did, that'd be a lie, but that's neither here nor there.

"Sorry to say, you've grown a bit predictable."

Girl, you are not sorry. Quit lying. I can smell the smoke coming off your pants, but I'm not getting the fire extinguisher.

Again, this isn't what Vi needs. Any therapist would be able to tell you that you should seek healthier coping mechanisms other than sex. Does cuddling not exist? Does making out and then putting a stop to it because you realize your girl is not in the right state of mind for this exist??? Seeking sex after feeling so vulnerable and horrible about yourself is in no way, shape, or form okay. Shit isn't cute.

Caitlyn, you are more of an animal than you realize.

"Listen! While you were gone, I. . . Saw someone."

All of a sudden you realize that you should stop things because you feel guilty, but that guilt isn't over letting your girl go down on you after being upset and grieving, but about. . . Having another girl while she was gone???? Girl, seriously, your priorities are wack.

She does hesitate for a moment once she sees VI's injury (I can't remember where the injury came from. I stg if it came from Caitlyn or whatever Caitlyn ordered her to do. . .) yet she continues on. There are multiple reasons why they shouldn't do it right then and there, but Caitlyn is so horny she lets Vi pleasure her.

The reasons:

1. Vi is not in the right place of mind, she just lost her sister. Please let her grieve.

2. That is a jail cell. After what happened to her, their first time should be somewhere comfortable. Vi deserves comfort. She deserves to be spoiled. You're in Piltover, Caitlyn has a mansion with a really good bed, but your first fuck is in a dirty jail cell??

3. That is a jail cell that contained her sister. Vi can't reclaim shit about having sex in a jail cell if it's a cell that contained her sister. If there was better writing, she'd feel guilty over having sex in the cell she lost her sister. Her guilt isn't going to immediately go away because of one fuck. That's not how it works. Wish it was, but it's not.

Can I also note that Vi is the one pleasuring Caitlyn and not the other way around? Maybe Vi prefers to eat out rather than be eaten, but I think it just speaks more to her always servicing others rather than servicing herself or being serviced. If the sex scene was gonna happen, at least show Vi being completely selfish and enjoying herself by showing Cait be the one to kiss her down to her coochie. Maybe she's a stone top, but she gives off switch vibes to me.

Fuck you, Cait. Always wanting things to benefit you.

(If it was me, I'd eat Vi out, but, again, that's neither here nor there. . . She's not even in my top favs. I just want the best for her cause I hate Caitlyn lol.)

"I'm feeling fantastic."

FUCK YOUUUU

Okay *drops mic* , rant over

#sesbian lex #anti caitvi #anti caitlyn kiramman #orignally didnt care for Vi much but I want better for her #sorry for the messy text but I wanted to try and not lose people's attention by making it one bit paragraph #also #fun fact about me but i prefer big text over anything else #im so blind man and my prescription is getting worse cause i have no idea how to take the eye tests #my docs were so concerned and the only reason my results changed so drastically is cause i dont know how to take eye exams #rant post #emotionally loaded language #love that #the thinker #just spitting words but you get my drift right?#lol this is a mess but idc #dedicated to all the CaitVi stuff i have to get off my tumblr dash or whatever #im a hater #arcane #arcane rant

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joelsprettyprincess · 3 months ago

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Taming of the Shrew - Part 3

Pairing: dark!Arthur Morgan x f!reader Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures. Series-wide tags: Toxic relationships, manipulation, obsessive behavior, smut, secretly unprotected piv, babytrapping, pregnancy, canon-typical violence, slight canon-typical misogyny. Wordcount: 3.4k A/N: This is the final part to this mini-series! I meant to upload it last night but I added in some things last minute. Thank yall so much for all the love on the first two parts, and thank you for reading!! As always, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Tags: @dandelion-ranch @i-will-give-you-love @amaranth-writing @heloixe @buneio @warmsideofthepillow03 @thoughts-of-bear @luzzbuzz @batmandallyboy

Part 2

You remained holed up in your room all day, alternating between sobbing and staring blankly at the wall. No matter what transpired, your life was irreversibly altered. Even if you gave away the baby and came home, you would still be the loose hussy. The unruly girl. Doomed to a life of being a spinster and an example to the younger girls in town.

At some point you started praying, hoping God would hear you and somehow lift you from this awful predicament.

All too soon, Elisabeth knocked on the door, saying you were being summoned to the sitting room. You were on edge; it felt like you could feel your individual neurons pulsing and transmitting a network of regret all over your body.

You dragged your feet downstairs and trudged to the sitting room, feeling like you were approaching the guillotine.

Your two executioners sat on the couch. Your mother had an angry, nasty look on her face while your father seemed a bit apprehensive. It was clear she hadn’t told him yet, choosing instead to let him wonder.

“Sit down,” your mother said icily.

You sat.

“Our lovely daughter has something to tell us, darling,” she said in a sickly sweet voice.

You were starting to think she was genuinely evil. You kept silent. Lord, save me.

“Go on, don’t be shy.” Your mother chuckled. “Or shall I?”

There was no way you were going to admit to your father what you’d done. Eating nails would be preferable to this.

She scoffed. “Alright then. Our daughter…this woman…has gone and got herself with child.”

Both you and your father flinched, him with surprise and you with shame. You bowed your head low. Your secret was out in the open now.

“With child?” he repeated incredulously. “How?”

How, indeed.

“That is the question,” your mother said. “She won’t tell me who the father is, or she doesn’t know.”

Your father struggled to form words. You didn't dare meet their gazes.

“Is this true?” he finally asked you.

Of course it was true. It was the worst, most painful truth of your life. “Yes,” you admitted in a tiny voice.

He shook his head in disappointment. “I just don't understand how this could happen,” he remarked. “What happened to our little girl?”

You hadn’t been a little girl in a long time, but you didn’t bother pointing this out.

“Do you have any idea who the father is?” your mother demanded. “Or are you such a loose hussy that it could be any man in town? Is that what you’ve been doing every time you sneak out? Answer me!”

I hate you.

You put your head in your hands and sobbed.

Your mother sighed. “Now I suppose you’ll wash my feet with your tears next? Stop with the crocodile tears. If you thought yourself mature enough to partake in such activities, you’re surely smart enough to know the consequences.”

The tears came harder and faster. You could barely stand to be here any longer. This was pure torture. You just wanted…well, what you wanted was far away right now, and also the cause of your problems.

“I’m sending you to the nunnery,” your mother announced, raising her voice above your noisy sobs. “Until this…issue is resolved. You clearly need the fear of God put into you.”

Anything but that! “No!” you cried. “No, please, I can’t! Mother, please!”

“We have no other choice,” she replied flatly. “I will not allow you to bring shame upon this family. Now, you’re dismissed back to your room and don’t you dare try to leave and corrupt anyone else with the knowledge of your actions. Just the sight of you disgusts me.”

“Father,” you pleaded. “Don’t let her do this!”

Your father, the coward, was already standing up. “Well, I don’t think I should disagree with your mother-”

“To your room,” your mother spoke angrily.

You ran out of the room, despaired, fearful, and angry all at once.

It had been less than 3 days since your parents were made aware of your pregnancy, and your mother moved like she had firecrackers under her feet, directing the packing up of your room.

You were being sent to a convent north of Valentine, many, many miles away. According to your mother, you would stay there until the baby was born and either raise it there or give it away.

“If you ever return here, I have no desire to see a crying brat with you,” your mother told you bluntly. What a pleasant woman.

Well, you were not going to any nunnery, that was for sure. You had a plan. An admittedly rough around the edges one, but a plan nonetheless.

Late at night, you quietly packed a large satchel with clothes and essentials. You were getting the hell out of here, and you were going to track down Arthur.

It was his fault this was happening, and you would refuse to leave until he took responsibility. As much as you hated the idea of groveling at his feet, you had no other options. Raising a baby by yourself was basically unheard of, and you were almost certain to screw it up somehow.

The gang was no longer hiding at Clemen’s Point. You knew this because you’d (ashamedly) ridden down to see Arthur about a month after your final meeting, and saw that the land was abandoned.

At the time you figured it was best he was gone. That toxic energy was better off not being in your life, and so what if you craved his red-hot touch every single day, and touched yourself thinking of him, hoping to replicate the feel of his thick fingers massaging your pussy?

Anyway, you had an idea of where he was. He’d told you before that the gang would probably move further east to outrun the Pinkertons, and he’d expressed his distaste of Saint Denis.

So, he was possibly somewhere near Saint Denis, maybe on the outskirts. You’d have to ask around a bit. It would be a daunting task– a single, defenseless woman in a big, strange city.

Not to mention pregnant. Maybe you should have taken those shooting lessons after all.

And it wasn’t like he was waiting for you there– surely the gang was laying low, after that crazy shootout with the Grays in town.

You finished packing and sneaked downstairs, careful to stick to the edge of the stairway. Your parents were apparently asleep, and only some of the help was awake this late.

Elisabeth, as kind as she was, couldn’t be trusted. She was in the pay of your mother and therefore on the enemy’s side.

So you had no one, no companion but your horse, Maverick. He was a very dependable creature and honestly your only friend.

You attached your satchel to his saddle, then got on and quietly directed him off the property. Luckily the help wasn’t paid to ask questions, so no one batted an eye as you passed by.

You didn’t dare make a sound, or even breathe, until the manor disappeared from view, and all you could see for miles was the forest and the midnight blue sky.

Sighing in relief, you sped up almost to a gallop, going towards Saint Denis. It wasn’t a terribly long ride, but it was long enough and made more difficult by worrying about your…Arthur’s...child. You still couldn’t quite get used to saying that.

After some time, you arrived in Saint Denis. It was about 12am, and you were eager to be off the road after getting lost several times and nearly falling into a swamp. You led Maverick to a hotel, where you purchased a room for the night.

You laid down on the bed. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the one back home, but it was miles away from your troubles. That was the important bit.

Snuggling into the pillow, you sighed deeply, formulating a plan to look for Arthur. You would try the saloon first; he’d spent a lot of time there in Rhodes, and you were sure he hadn’t changed that habit. After that, perhaps the post office, or the stables.

You fell asleep dreaming of his beard scratching against your face and his fingers exploring your filthiest bits.

The next morning, you rode over to the saloon and inquired about Arthur with the bartender. “Tall, broad, very handsome, with brown hair,” you explained. “Looks like a gunslinger.”

“Oh yes, him and his pals have come here a few times,” the bartender exclaimed. “They was just down here last night, even.”

Dammit. You’d just missed him. But that confirmed he was in Saint Denis. “Did he say anything about where he was staying?”

He shook his head. “No ma’am, not that I can recall. But just turn up here ‘round six and he’ll surely be here.”

That was that, then. You would come back to the bar later tonight and catch him.

You left the saloon and remounted Maverick in hopeful spirits. Now that you knew for sure he was here, it was okay to relax a bit. And you definitely felt worn out after that long journey.

You stopped by the general store to get some fresh food and an apple for Maverick. A bit of rum would have taken the edge off, but you supposed it wasn’t good given your…condition.

Arriving back at the hotel, you bathed and washed your hair. As silly as it probably was, you wanted to look nice for Arthur. To show that you were a survivor.

Your thoughts drifted. What kind of a father would he be? What kind of family unit would you be? What with him still on the run, still following that silver-tongued Dutch, it would be difficult for you to run from place to place with him. Perhaps he would just tell you to get a room in Saint Denis and he would visit when he could. What if he walked out of your life one day, and never entered it again?

A scenario like that would effectively doom you for life. You weren’t certain you could stomach giving the baby away, but the thought of raising a child with no money or prior knowledge made you equally queasy.

But even if Arthur let you stay with him– what then? You’d seen the mess that was John Marston’s relationship with his family. And Jack, the little boy. Did you want your child in the same circumstances?

Arthur is not like John, you told yourself firmly. But really, you had no way to tell until he knew.

You spent the day milling about Saint Denis, exploring the markets and seeing the many entertainers on the streets. The people were definitely ruder here, more coarse and quick to anger. It almost made you miss Rhodes.

Almost, anyway.

At about six o’clock you came back to the saloon. Your heart was pounding like crazy, and you mentally prepared yourself for what you were going to say.

Arthur, I’m expecting.

Arthur, I’m pregnant…and it’s yours.

Please help me.

I’ve nowhere else to go.

Please?

You opened the doors, swallowing hard and gritting your teeth.

“Arthur,” you squeaked, then looked around. It was quite full of businessmen, factory workers, and the odd prostitute.

You carefully took a pace around the room, searching for that familiar form. You looked all over, but didn’t hear him nor see him. Nor anyone from the gang.

Sidling up to the bartender (a different one this time), you asked, “Excuse me, sir, have you seen a…a gunslinger-type fellow here? Brown hair with a beard. Super handsome. You would remember him.”

He thought for a bit while pouring glasses. “Don’t think so, madam. But a lot of people come through here, I might just not remember. If you don’t see him here, you can sit near the door, watch it n’ see if he comes in.”

Sigh. “Alright, thank you kindly.”

You took up a post near the door, awkwardly clutching your satchel, examining everyone that came through the door. More men, some women, even a couple rough-looking folks that looked like the company Arthur kept. But no Arthur.

Unbelievable. Had the bartender from yesterday been mistaken? Or did the gang skip town already?...Most likely, it was just a fluke and they decided not to come today. Dammit!

After about half an hour of waiting, you gave up, just wanting to lie down. You dejectedly got up and exited the saloon.

However, as soon as you did, you almost ran face first into someone’s horse.

The horse nearly trampled you, and you screamed in fear as you tripped and fell to the ground.

“What the hell?!” you cried, shaken. What idiot couldn’t control their horse?

“Dammit, sorry, lady,” a gruff voice spoke. The man got his horse under control after a bit of calming. “You okay– wait…do I know you?”

You got up, dusting off your skirt, looked closer at the man and gasped. It was Bill Williamson, another member of the Van Der Linde gang!

This was an extremely lucky situation. “Bill?” you asked, praying you were right.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Ain’t you…wasn’t you Arthur’s little thing?”

You crossed your arms. “Yes, I know Arthur. Is he here?”

Bill shook his head. “No, he’s back at camp–, err, well, no. He ain’t here. You know, he acted mighty strange after you left–”

“Can you take me to him? Please, Bill,” you begged. “It’s imperative.”

He sighed and scratched his nose. “I was plannin’ on gettin’ drunk…but I s’pose so. But keep your voice down, we’re not exactly best buds with the Pinkertons right now. You got a horse?”

“I do.”

You quickly mounted Maverick, then followed Bill out of Saint Denis towards the gang’s camp. You were practically buzzing with nervousness. The courage you’d had last night had been used up, and now you were just scared. Would he reject you, force you back to your parents? Or claim that the baby wasn’t his? What if he had a new girl?!

You cleared your throat. “Has he…err, has Arthur…been seeing anyone else since I left?”

Bill laughed. “Arthur? Hell no. I swear, all he talks about is you. Back in Rhodes, he swore up and down you would be back soon. Heh, we all had a good laugh at him then. But I guess the joke’s on us, now that you’re here.”

Well, that was good at least. But why was he so sure you would be back? You’d mutually agreed never to contact each other again.

It was kind of ironic. You’d insisted on cutting him off, yet here you were, chasing him down.

After a few minutes of riding, you finally arrived at the dilapidated house the gang was calling their home. It looked more like a demolition zone to you, but you supposed they would take what they could get after Rhodes.

“Here we are, little lady,” Bill announced. “Arthur!”

You dismounted your horse and went into the main campsite. Karen, Javier, Charles…the gang was all here. You got a few greetings and hand waves from the women.

“Arthur,” Bill barked. “You got a visitor, get out here!”

You stood awkwardly by the entrance of the house, looking in the propped open door, waiting for Arthur with bated breath.

Dutch was sitting by the front door, reading. He looked up when you approached. “Well, welcome back, sweetheart,” he said in that demeaning voice. “You wasn’t followed, were you? A lot of people want us dead right now.”

“Err, no sir, I don’t think so,” you squeaked. Dutch made you uncomfortable. You got the feeling he thought of women as delicate creatures that were lesser than men. Even with the few times you’d been to camp, you had heard the cruel words he flung at and about Molly.

You just hoped none of it had rubbed off on Arthur. You knew he was fiercely loyal to the man.

Heavy footsteps could be heard from inside the house. “Alright, I’m comin’, shut up,” a familiar voice grunted.

A lightning strike bolted down between your legs and you gasped softly when Arthur’s familiar, muscular form filled your vision.

“What-” he started, then froze when his eyes landed on you. His lips parted, but no words came out for a second. “You-”

“Arthur,” you whispered.

This was the greatest day of his life.

Arthur was certain he’d failed to impregnate you. That you’d been living fine all this time, not sparing a single thought to his well being.

But you were here. You’d hunted him down, somehow, and you looked scared out of your mind. And he could guess why.

He licked his lips. “What’re you doin’ here, sweetheart?”

You stared at him for a good few seconds, transfixed by his rugged beauty. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

Arthur took you to the back of the house. The two of you sat in the grass, legs crossed.

“How’d you find me?” he asked.

“By chance,” you said. “I knew you went east, so I asked around at Saint Denis– then I ran straight into Bill.”

He nodded. “You…you got somethin’ to tell me?”

You took a deep breath. Now that the moment was actually here, every nerve in your body was thrumming with anticipation. “I’m…well, actually, I’m…pregnant.”

The only sound was the chirping of birds.

“Excuse me?” he said quietly.

You felt ashamed. “I’m with child, Arthur. My parents done kicked me out because of it. S’why I came here.”

“You’re pregnant,” he said slowly, like he’d never heard the word before.

“Yes. And you’re the father for sure.”

He stayed silent for a bit, but you could hear his breath accelerate sharply.

You felt scared of what he was thinking. “Arthur?”

After a long period of silence, he said, “Are you showin’ yet?”

What an odd question. “A little.”

“Can I see?”

What? But you obliged, letting him lift up your skirt high enough to show off your bump.

Arthur inhaled sharply, then put his hand on your belly. “That’s– that’s my baby,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“I’m about 4 months along, I think,” you said, fixing your clothes. “So…so are you going to…step up? I don’t have anyone else, Arthur.” Your voice turned squeaky and desperate, and tears threatened to fall from your eyes. “My parents wanted to send me to a convent–”

“Baby, hey, shh. I can promise you I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Arthur said hoarsely. “You’re staying here with me.”

You felt butterflies in your stomach at his declaration. He was such a…man. Never afraid to take responsibility or action. You were supremely glad that he was going to take care of you and the baby. However long the gang could outrun the Pinkertons, he would, you knew it.

Arthur embraced you, curving his hands around your stomach and kissing your cheek. The two of you rocked back and forth for a minute, in unadulterated bliss. Everything melted away: the camp, the law, your parents. It was just you and him. And the baby between you.

"Told ya, you belong with me," he whispered in your ear.

Arthur was right. You came back again and again and again because you craved the action. You craved excitement and freedom and yes, even bloodshed to a certain extent. There was no use trying to leave him when he represented everything you wanted in life, even the most sinful things.

He was made for you.

Arthur hustled you back up to where Dutch was, fighting a raging erection. Seeing his girl growing round with his baby was insanely satisfying. He felt that was an appropriate reward for everything he had worked for.

And now you were certain to be stuck with him. With a baby in you, you couldn’t do much of anything, much less run away again. He would gently insist that you stay in Shady Belle to recuperate from your no doubt difficult journey east, then as the months went by you would grow more and more dependent on him, stomach getting bigger every day, till you needed his help with the simplest tasks.

He would do it all for you. All this time, Arthur had tried to make you see that your place was by his side. It was just unfortunate that he’d had to resort to deceit to make you realize the truth.

But no matter. All was forgiven. He couldn’t wait to see your pregnant body and show you off to everyone in camp.

And just maybe he would put another kid or two in you, in case you had any doubts after the first one.

Arthur sighed in contentment as he approached Dutch to explain the situation. No matter what, he knew your love was genuine. It burned brighter than the sun, certain to destroy anyone that dared cross its path.

You, him, and your child– you would make a picture perfect family. He was certain of it.

End.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #low honor arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #red dead redemption

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loggiepj · 7 months ago

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To Love A Lannister

chapter 2 | chapter 3

The crowd had gotten louder the moment you opened your eyes, squinting at first against the sun. You wanted to shield your sight but with your hands tied behind your back, all you could do was wiggle your head to the opposite direction. And when you looked to the sides, there Cersei stood, her lips curved into an evil smile, along side her son, King Joffrey. The sound of a man grunting beside you made you turn your head. A masked man was pulling some kind of rope beside you. Your eyes followed where it leads, ending on a machinery located on top of you. It only took you a second to figure out it was a guillotine.

Thwak!

You abruptly woke up, grasping your neck as if on instinct if it was still connected to your body. You weren't scared to die, not for now, anyway. But you'd have a far chance getting killed from drowning rather than execution.

It was only a harmless threat, you thought. Cersei was known for it. And even when you knew what you were getting to in the end, it couldn't hurt you a little less to try, that maybe the endless looks you get from Cersei during dinners and passing meant something other than distaste.

Sleep was hard to get by after that. With nothing else left to do, you decided to wake up for the day.

Oberyn and Ellaria were still fast asleep so you tried to find food for breakfast. And if luck permitted you, you might bumped into the Queen herself.

It was not the Queen you met by the courtyard near the Kitchen's Keep but Tommen, her youngest son. It appeared he was chasing something that scurried further away into the bushes.

When he didn't see you standing behind him, he bumped into your chest. "Apologies My Lady, I was just chasing my cat."

"No worries, My Prince," you greeted back as you bowed. "In fact, I saw him running towards those bushes. I'd help you, if you'd allow it."

"Please, I don't want to bother-"

"Nonsense," you said, then you and Tommen crouched unto the dirt and began looking for his cat. Fortunately, a sliver of gray caught your eye before it jumped to the nearby fence.

"Got you," you said as you caught the furry cat, brushing its fur as you returned it to a smiling Tommen.

"Thank you, My Lady," he said.

"Does it have a name?"

"Ser Pounce."

"An honorable name."

"Do you think so? Joffrey doesn't think so," he said sadly. "He always says he'd kill him and make me eat it."

"I'm sure he's only kidding, My Prince," you said, though you didn't doubt Joffrey wouldn't do it. "If you need any place for him to hide for the meantime, you can always ask me."

Tommen smiled from ear to ear. And that was when you finally noticed you two weren't alone.

"It's time for breakfast, Tommen," Cersei called, her hands tightly clutching against the post. The Queen possessed a kind of beauty no one could compare. And you were completely enamored.

"Your Grace," you greeted, bowing your head.

"Coming, Mother!" Tommen answered before turning back to you. "Would you like to join us for breakfast, My Lady?"

Before you could reply, Cersei added, "I'm sure Y/N has something else to tend to this morning-"

"Of course, I'd like to dine with you," you interrupted, chuckling softly. "I feel famished myself already. Tommen here can tell me more about Ser Pounce and how he became a knight."

Tommen laughed as you walked together towards the dining hall, ignoring Cersei's warning glare she was sending your way.

Luckily, Joffrey wasn't around to join. And that meant Tommen was free to discuss with you about his cat and about the cats in Dorne. You had shared with him how you used to have a pet cat who died due to old age. You mentioned it was your late cousin Elia's cat.

"That's terrible, I don't want that to happen to Ser Pounce," Tommen said as he brushed the furry cat on his lap.

"I'm sure he'll live a long life, My Prince," you assured him. "In fact, Myrcella has also gotten herself a cat in Dorne."

The mention of Cersei's daughter made the Queen drop her spoon.

"Really? I can't wait to meet them. Mother, can we go visit Myrcella in Dorne?" Tommen asked.

Cersei could only force a smile. You didn't mean to put the Queen on the spot so you eventually changed the topic.

When Tommen had excused himself to chase after Ser Pounce, who suddenly jumped from his lap to chase a mouse, the air in the room grew thick.

"You seem to have gotten close to my daughter," Cersei began, after sipping her wine. "I'm glad hospitality is still being practiced in Dorne nowadays."

You smiled at her. "Yes, Your Grace. Myrcella's a bright girl, kind and exceptional. I loved having her around when we're reading scrolls about the night sky and the history of Dorne."

"She doesn't need to know the history of Dorne, when she'll be back to the Capital once she's of age," Cersei said.

"Well, Myrcella always seems curious. And there's no harm seeking more wisdom when there's nothing left to lose."

There was utter silence as you both continued to eat.

"She misses you, Your Grace," you said sincerely. This softened the Queen's stature. It even brought a little smile on her face.

"Mm, we do send each other letters from time to time," Cersei answered.

"You know no words would be tantamount to physical presence-"

"Are you suggesting I should visit Dorne?" Cersei asked, chuckling.

"Why not, Your Grace? I, myself, could give you a tour."

Cersei laughed softly. And it was the kind of laugh that didn't sound evil. It was a genuine one. A soft one. One that's full of longing.

The conversation went on as you both talked about Dorne, about Myrcella, about Cersei's travels when she was young, how being a Queen caged her from exploring and how she once had a dream she had a boat of her own and she'd be the captain.

It only ended abruptly when Jaime arrived, setting his helmet on the dining table rather loud and harshly, as if he was intentionally interrupting your conversation.

~~~

Later that night, Tywin held a small dinner for the guests. You would have enjoyed it, however, the sight of Cersei and Jaime rather close together only made your stomach churn with spite.

And there was King Joffrey, boastfully showing off the wild boar he had caught earlier that morning. You knew he had ordered a servant to do that for him. You were about to counter his speech but decided against it, remembering how you had promised to control yourself around Cersei's first son.

The only time you couldn't pretend to be happy were the times Cersei was with Jaime. Jaime came back a week ago with a decapitated hand. You felt pity for the man who had suffered being a hostage by the Starks yet you couldn't help feeling bitter whenever he and Cersei had gotten close.

You knew the rumors. Drunk Tyrion even confirmed it one night you accompanied your cousin in certain brothels. That Cersei was truly involved with her twin brother Jaime. That the King was not the true heir. Even Myrcella. Or Tommen.

You decided to ignore them when you could still control yourself. One wrong comment from you would make your nightmare come true.

And then there was Ser Loras Tyrell from Highgarden, brother of the bride to be Lady Margaery, the one Cersei is arranged to be married.

This made you feel more hatred as if you had any right at all.

Cersei was staring outside the window alone with a glass of red wine in her hand when you noticed Loras approached her. She immediately dismissed him the soonest he opened his mouth to talk before she went to watch by the next window instead.

The disappointment on Loras' face brought comfort in yours.

This was the time you finally approached Cersei.

If she'd dismissed you like the way she did to the poor guy, it was probably a sign from the heavens to give up on pursuing after her.

"Your Grace," you greeted, bowing your head before standing beside her by the window. The celebration had spread outside the Red Keep, where you could see a couple of people drinking loudly and yelling outside their houses.

"Parties in Dorne are different," you commented. "It's lively and thrilling."

Cersei snorted before she sipped her wine, her eyes still on the horizon. "And what of the Capital?"

"It's dark and dull, the complete opposite to be honest, but I mean no offense, Your Grace," you replied.

"If it was such a bore to you, why bother come?"

You smiled. "And miss this chance to meet you, Your Grace? I wouldn't trade it for anything in this world."

Cersei's cheeks flushed but your eyes could only be imagining it for the torches inside the castle could be playing tricks on you.

She licked her lips before speaking, "What do you want?"

"What?"

"You've been certainly making it your priority to catch my attention," she went on with disdain in her voice. "Sparing with Joffrey, getting close with Tommen and Myrcella. Is it Tommen you want? I'm sure Dorne won't tolerate such a thing."

It made you laugh. "I believe you're right, Your Grace."

Cersei chuckled darkly. "I'd better be dead before I'd allow your marriage to my youngest boy."

You quickly shook your head, still laughing. "No, Your Grace. It was just to catch your attention."

"To what end?"

And you only stared at her as if you had nothing else to say.

She scoffed, suddenly realizing. "You must be out of your mind. In fact, I believe you want to get yourself killed."

"Dorne is amazing," you reasoned. "In fact, richer and more powerful than Highgarden. And we all know Ser Loras is a pillow biter. And. . . Myrcella already loves it there in Dorne-"

"I don't think you have noticed one wrong physical aspect. How would you even gift an heir to my father?"

You smiled. "Trust me, I have no problems with that, Your Grace. I'm sure the rumors about me have also spread upon my arrival."

Cersei only fell silent as her eyes quickly darted to your crotch back to your face before gazing out the horizon.

"If you think I'd entertain such a ludicrous idea then I suggest you guard your doors at night because I myself will slice off your tongue. You're not even a known Martell. What makes you think degrading myself to your level would even be a fair comparison as to marrying Loras?"

"Forgive me, Your Grace." You bowed, hurt upon the admission. "I didn't mean to offend-"

"Offend? You insulted my family name."

"Cersei, a word?"

Both of you turned to Tywin's voice.

"Apologies My lady Y/n, I have something to discuss with my daughter."

"Of course, Lord Tywin," you said, then you looked at Cersei, avoiding her eyes. "Your Grace."

#cersei lannister x reader #cersei lannister #game of thrones #g!p reader

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cheshireliam · 8 days ago

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Victor Main Story: Chapter 0

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

If life were a fairytale, finding happiness would be simple.

All one would have to do was to avoid “doing the wrong thing”.

But in this lifetime, that was already impossible for me.

There was no “happy ending” waiting for me at the end of this path soaked in blood.

I will fall into the darkness, and rot away unnoticed by anyone.

That was the ending I wished for.

— I had long given up on everything.

…

Middle-Aged Politician: Did you hear about Her Majesty?

Short-Haired Politician: About her not saying a single word to the foreign envoys who came to visit?

Short-Haired Politician: What laughable behaviour for the ruler of a country.

I was on my way to a parliamentary meeting when I overheard the gossiping.

Middle-Aged Politician: Her Majesty is truly strange, isn’t she? She never shows her face, and never speaks.

Middle-Age Politician: She leaves all her duties to that guy (the Queen's Aide).

Middle-Aged Politician: I wonder if that Aide’s actions are really made on Her Majesty’s will.

Short-Haired Politician: Who knows? But considering that man with an unknown origin holds the position of Queen’s Aide…

Short-Haired Politician: Maybe “this” is the reason.

The man raised his pinky finger with a smirk.

Middle-Aged Politician: I don't know what tricks he pulled to secure his position, but there’s no other explanation for it.

I stopped behind them.

Victor: The conversation sounds enjoyable. Mind if I join in?

Middle-Aged Politician: Wha—

The blood drained from their faces the moment I spoke.

Victor: I wonder what Her Majesty would think if she knew there were people in the palace insulting her.

Short-Haired Politician: T-that’s…

Victor: Her Majesty is a kindhearted woman, so she might not punish you directly.

I placed a hand on one of their shoulders and whispered in his ear.

Victor: But what about me?

Middle-Aged Politician: —!

They stood petrified on the spot, unable to move.

I started walking away without sparing them another glance.

(As always, this place is like a battlefield.)

A ruler was no different from someone whose head was under a guillotine at all times.

Even if the people they were meant to protect threw stones at them and the throne was drenched in blood, they must do what was necessary for the sake of the country.

And if their death was what the country and its people needed, then they must willingly offer their head in sacrifice.

(Even if it goes unrewarded, because that’s what duty means.)

When I turned my gaze toward the clear blue sky, a white bird flew in the air.

(It’s a robin.)

I was captivated by the sight of it flying freely, and I paused for a moment to watch.

When its white wings disappeared from my sight,

I had a strange premonition that something was about to change.

…

After the parliamentary meeting was over, I went to meet up with William, who left ahead of me to gather information.

I soon spotted him in the distance, looking unusually pleased.

William: I kept you waiting, Victor.

Victor: For you, I’d be more than happy to wait for hours. … My, did something good happen?

When I asked the question, he glanced back in the direction he came from and his smile deepened.

William: Indeed. I met a lovely little robin with a beautiful voice.

(A robin…)

I was reminded of the bird I saw earlier, but what interested me more at that moment was William, who rarely took interest in people.

Victor: Oh? … If it’s someone who’s caught your attention, then I’d like to meet them too.

William: She's someone you would certainly be interested in as well. … Well then.

William’s facial expression shifted into a more serious one.

William: Did you get the information on our target?

Victor: Yes, the target’s wife and children will be attending a play tonight.

Victor: Afterwards, they’ll stay over at a friend’s house and won’t return until morning.

Victor: Meanwhile, our target will give the play a miss to spend some quality time with the maid.

William: I see. This is the perfect opportunity, then.

Victor: However, it's best if we still remain cautious. Apparently, security around the estate was recently tightened.

Victor: In order to strengthen our bond, why don’t we all go together?

William: I have no objections, but I imagine they would be rather surprised.

He spoke with a hushed voice and turned to me with a smirk.

William: I doubt they’d ever imagine all members of Her Majesty's imperial organisation would show up at the same time.

He appeared satisfied seeing my smirk that matched his.

William then hailed a carriage to return to the castle.

However, I declined to go with him, intending to pick up some gifts for my beloved Cursed Ones, and so we parted ways.

…

The moment I arrived at Leadenhall Market, I happened to witness a spectacle unfolding in my line of sight.

Man: Stop right there!!

A man whose face was twisted in fury twisted the arm of a poorly dressed young girl.

Girl: That hurts!

The girl held a necklace in her hand, and it was obvious she had stolen it.

Man: I’ll make sure you can never use this hand again!

The man raised the fire poker in his hand, ready to hit her.

No one moved to stop him.

— Except for one person.

Kate: Wait.

A clear voice rang through the air.

Man: Hah!? Whaddya want!?

All the attention was instantly focused on the owner of that voice.

Kate: H-hey, return the item you stole. I’ll listen to what you have to say afterwards—

As the man turned his gaze toward the lady slowly approaching them, the young girl seized the opportunity to land a kick on his arm.

Girl: Take that!

Man: Ouch!?

Breaking free from his grip, the young girl darted off and disappeared into the crowd.

Man: Get back here, ya thief—! Damn it! Look what ya just did!

Kate: I-I’m sorry…

Man: Ya gonna pay for what she stole!?

Kate: Yes, I will!

I narrowed my gaze as she pulled her wallet out with tears welling up in her eyes.

Victor: … I see. A wonderful little robin indeed.

Taking a step back, I turned around and began walking away.

She didn’t notice.

(It’s better this way.)

Without doing any shopping, I went back the way I came from and returned to the castle—.

…

William: Oh, you’re back already.

Victor: Will, if you ever see that little robin again, I’d like to meet her too.

Fate brought along emotions that couldn't be abandoned, along with happiness.

William: What’s this all of a sudden? It’s rare for you to take such interest in someone.

Vivid memories of my past resurfaced.

Victor: I’d like to meet her only once.

Victor: Naturally, I’d be curious about someone one of my beloved Cursed Ones has taken interest in.

The time that had stopped until now started moving again.

William: … Alright, I’ll call for you if I meet her again.

Victor: Okay, I’m counting on you for that.

And so, the little robin came flying to us.

…

Victor: Welcome back, my beloved Cursed Ones!

Victor: … Hm? And who might this young lady be…?

She came to me, who had given up on everything.

William: This is Kate. She happened to be at the target’s residence.

(Right, this is something you’re unaware of.)

Victor: Wow. That’s… quite the fateful coincidence.

— A fateful “coincidence” indeed.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #ikevil translations #ikevil victor #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #ikevil main story #victor main story

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the-sleepy-conductor · 18 days ago

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Hot take that will probably earn me a ticket to the guillotine:

I've seen a lot of discourse going around all over the place about Blankshipping and Blankshippers in general, and after thinking about this for almost a whole year, I just have to get this out.

Can we please just stop the hostility and threats to Blankshippers?

If you do not want Blankshippers to interact with your content, you can say so politely, without threatening people we don't know behind a screen. Set boundaries in an intro post for instance, but don't attack anyone while doing so.

Lately I have seen literal death threats towards Blankshippers, with a good number of them being insanely graphic. I don't care if it's in a "joking" manner, that is never ok. So many people comment about how the Submas community has been growing toxic and problematic and such, and these same people are out here posting death threats to people they don't even know simply for just existing in the Submas community. In what world is that not toxic itself?

Are you allowed to feel uncomfortable about Blankshipping and proshipping? Yes. Is it ok to insult, threaten, and ridicule those who participate in making such content? Absolutely not.

If Blankshipping makes you uncomfortable or if the content is upsetting or triggering to you, block the tag and move on. Please do not harass or berate the original poster, it solves absolutely nothing. The internet is for everyone to use and it will not revolve around others' preferences. It is up to you to curate your own experience.

For example, I have the Submas Angst tag blocked because sometimes having gut-wrenching angst suddenly pop up in my face while I'm scrolling can make an already bad mood worse. So I filter the tag so I get a warning on a post with that tag, so if I don't feel like seeing it, it's as easy as that. Do I harass the original poster for posting content that could potentially make me upset? No!

Speaking of tags, I feel like as long as content is tagged appropriately, there shouldn't be a problem. As long as the original poster makes an attempt to tag things accordingly, then that should be perfectly fine. And again, as for interaction, kindly state your boundaries, everyone is human just like you and sending threats directed at certain individuals for what they take interest in is downright wrong. This applies to Blankshipping, as long as content is tagged as Blankshipping, especially if it's NSFW, then there is no problem. As far as I know, I've only had to block one Blankshipper and that was because they kept creating several different accounts and following me one by one, all of which had NSFW Blankshipping as the profile picture, and I repeatedly told them to stop. That being said, not all Blankshippers are bad.

That being said, do I enjoy Blankshipping or consume such content? No. In fact it makes me very uncomfortable but I have no issues whatsoever when it comes to Blankshippers interacting with what little content I have made. However, I have made it very clear I do not want my content tagged as Blankshipping. They can like and reblog if they want, but as long as there's no Blankshipping tags, we're all cool here.

Please understand that nine times out of ten, Blankshippers are not going to shove Blankshipping content in your face like you think they will. They most likely have a whole separate account dedicated to that ship, and a different account for whatever else they want. There's no need to act like folks who "secretly" have a Blankshipping account have committed a war crime. What harm is being done?

Long story short, can we please stop harassing each other? Not just over Blankshipping, but in general? Especially when it comes to gatekeeping the twins, I don't know why there's been so many people doing that lately. But my overall point is, can everyone please just stop fighting? I'm not trying to be a pick-me or whatever you may want to call it, it's just exhausting and draining seeing so many threats aimed at so many different people. I know this essay is technically controversial within this community but I can't keep my silence anymore.

#submas #subway bosses #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #blankshipping #cw blankshipping #please read what i have to say before blocking me for the tags #i am not a blankshipper but there is something i need to address in regards to that

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changbunnies · 1 year ago

Text

All About You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Royal Knight/Bodyguard!Minho x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: age gap, royal au, historical au, arranged marriage au (reader only), angst, kind of forbidden love? (maybe more than kind of), basically porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.5k

♡ Summary: You, the princess who ran away from the castle after finding out your father, the king, has finalized your arranged marriage. Minho, your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, tasked with bringing you back home at all costs. When found, you hit Minho with a very interesting proposition- for him to be the one you share all your "firsts" with, instead of your inevitable husband.

♡ Warnings: age gap !! reader is ~23 while minho is in his 40s, please don't read if this makes you uncomfortable!, uneven power dynamics, outdated traditions and views on women to suit the setting, brief reference to death by guillotine and death in general, mentions of injury and swordfighting

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): lowkey corruption kink, loss of virginity (reader), pet names (princess (mostly as a title), good girl), slight sub + dom dynamics, soft dom minho, a lot of kissing (should be expected from me atp), nipple play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight overstim, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie

♡ Notes: at this point i am determined to write a royal au fic for every member, and my newest offering to you is minho <3 i was literally possessed writing this like once the idea hit my brain i had to get it out asap

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked.

In recent years, he had one job, and one job only, and that was to take care of the princess. Make sure she’s safe, escort her to where she needs to be and watch over her at all times– that’s all. Not always an easy job, but one of vital importance that Minho took with utmost seriousness. In the 3 years it’s been since becoming your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, he never messed up this critically.

You always had a rebellious streak and challenged authority, everyone in the castle knew that. And part of Minho’s job, apart from keeping you safe, was keeping you in check– and the king made it extremely clear that failing to do so was not an option.

He lost track of the amount of times he uttered the words “Princess, please think rationally,” or “please consider your responsibility to the kingdom, don’t do this,” in a near desperate attempt to get you to listen to reason.

And today, he fucked up the worst he ever had. He knew you were upset tonight, but he was under the impression he successfully calmed you down, and that you wouldn’t do anything rash. He turned his back to you, thinking the storm had been quelled, and that you’d listen to your father, even if doing so felt like pulling teeth. He underestimated however, just how deep your sadness and anger truly ran, and the very moment you saw an opening, you took it.

You fled from the castle with blind determination, nowhere to go and with little of value in your hands, fueled purely by the desire to escape your unfair circumstances, and live your own life by your own means. You may not believe it, but Minho understood, and felt for you– he really did. But that didn’t change what his duty was, and even if it made you hate him, he had to do his job to the best of his ability.

So now here he was, roaming the streets looking for you, the hours passing in a blur. You must’ve done a good job of concealing your identity, because no one he asked had seen a young woman matching the princess' description. And as the minutes ticked by, and sunset turned to midnight, he was at a complete loss of what to do.

He made record time combing the entire bustling town, stopping into places full to the brim with people in the hopes he’d catch a glimpse of you in the crowd, and yet there seemed to be no trace of you anywhere. It was easy for someone to hide their presence in a crowd, or in the rowdy environment of a tavern, and you were more than intelligent enough to blend into a crowd and divert attention away from yourself.

It was entirely possible that Minho had seen you at some point, and simply didn’t realize it, though he liked to believe he’d recognize you anywhere, no matter what you wore. Minho scowled, clenching his teeth as he scanned the dark horizon of the treeline; should he check the outer walls of the town for a clue, or double back and check the streets again?

He doubts you made it out of the town easily, considering you likely had no money on your person and little experience with the realities of the world. You were intelligent, yes, but sheltered; he could easily imagine you quickly getting in over your head, thinking you could make it to the next town without issue, only to end up lost and in need of help, with no one for miles to hear your desperate cries.

Fuck. If he couldn’t find you, his head would most certainly be meeting the cold steel of a guillotine. He had no family who would mourn his loss, but still, he wasn’t ready to face his mortality. And the king, despite being someone he could call a close friend, would spare no mercy if he failed to keep his one and only daughter safe.

But really, there was more to it than just the threat of death that kept him searching for you. Believe it or not, he genuinely wanted you safe and well, and he'd do anything to ensure you made it back home, even if it made you curse him for the rest of his days.

As if God himself heard his prayers and decided to grant him a miracle, Minho sees you– there, on the outskirts of town, holding your cold hands up to your face and letting your breath warm them. It’s dark, the street barely even illuminated enough to discern your recognizable features, but he knows without a doubt that it's you standing there in the cold street, because truly, he knows you anywhere.

By the time you realize you’ve been spotted and recognized, it’s already much too late to flee. Minho approached you with utmost haste, reaching out and grabbing your arm, lest you make the foolish decision to try to escape again. His hold, while not rough enough to hurt you, is firm, and it only takes one attempt at pulling your arm from his hold to know this is it; your escape attempt has failed, and you’ll be dragged back to the castle and reprimanded for your “temper tantrum.”

Your father never listens to you, no matter how hard you try to make him understand and see your point of view. Maybe if you were born a boy, your opinions would be important to him, and he’d see you are more than an object to pawn off to whatever man gave him the most political power.

“Princess–” “I’m not going home,” you interject before he even has a chance, though you already know it’s in vain. There is no avoiding returning to your glorified prison now that Sir Minho has you in his grasp.

He sighs, but his face changes to one of sympathy, his grip on your arm loosening ever so slightly. “Can we at least go to an inn room? It’s not safe for a young lady to be on the streets at night,” he reasons with you, as gently as he can manage.

Normally Minho is quite stern with you, but you get the impression that he feels being stern isn’t the right approach tonight. You’re known for expressing yourself very vocally, even when doing so is extremely ill-advised, and he is well aware of how opinionated and fiery you are.

But treating this display as anything other than a genuine act of desperation, a culmination of years of perceived disrespect and conformity, would be another critical error– one he can’t afford to make. So he will be firm, yes, but gentle in his approach.

You frown as you look at him; you’re stubborn by nature, and part of you wants to fight against him until the bitter end, but he’s not wrong about the streets being unsafe for you at night. You know he won’t let you escape again come morning, but that’ll have to be a problem for later; for right now, you really should heed his advice and go to an inn for the night.

“Fine,” you concede, much to Minho’s relief. He could’ve forced you to go with him if he really needed to, but he’d rather avoid doing something so unpleasant. He leads you to a nearby tavern, which is still bustling with activity even at the late hour.

He keeps you close as he pushes through the crowd of rowdy drunks to the dual innkeep-bartender, hoping that there is still a room available. The man departs, coming back with a key dangling in hand, “You’re in luck. Last room’s all yours.”

Minho thanks the man and pulls out his satchel to pay him, leaving a few extra coins as a tip before stashing it back in his pocket, along with the key he was given, and the two of you go up the stairs together.

“There’s only one bed,” you comment as you step inside the room, though Minho doesn’t seem to care much about that fact. “That’s fine, don’t plan on sleeping anyways,” he says as he removes his leather scabbard from his back, resting it against the back of the chair in the corner of the room.

You frown as you sit on the bed and watch him; he must’ve been in a hurry when he received word you fled from the castle, as he wasn’t wearing any of his armor, strictly in casual wear you’d very rarely seen him in. Probably for the best, you think, because if anyone saw a royal knight desperately searching the streets, multiple alarms would be raised.

He lights the fireplace, hoping to quickly spread some heat throughout the cold room, before he sits in the chair, crossing his arms and watching you carefully. Deserved, you suppose. How is he supposed to trust you’re not going to flee at the first available moment just as before?

You certainly don’t make his job easy for him; he can’t take his eyes off you for a second. The silence between you lingers for some time, the crackling of the fire the only sound either of you hear, apart from the muffled patrons enjoying their drinks downstairs. Minho, despite his relaxed posture, looks like he’d be ready to jump up at a moment's notice should he need to.

You sigh; should you just try to sleep? It’d feel awkward and uncomfortable to try to fall asleep with someone's eyes boring holes into you, but you really didn’t give him much of a choice. “Do you want to tell me why you ran away from the castle?” Minho asks suddenly, breaking the tempered silence between you. “You already know the answer to that,” you respond, crossing your own arms now.

“Is marrying Sir Jin really so bad?” he asks, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yes, obviously. I don’t want to. Not that you or my father care about me or anything I think.”

Minho’s brow furrows, the frown on his face growing. “Princess, you know that’s not true. I do care about you.”

“Do you? I haven’t been able to tell in the slightest,” you counter a bit harshly, “and you could help me if you wanted to, you know. I’d be fine out there if I was with you.”

Okay, maybe you’re not being fair to Minho right now. You do know he cares, but realistically, what is he supposed to do? If he disobeyed your fathers orders, he’d be lucky if his only punishment was a swift death.

He was assigned to you because your father trusts him to do the right thing and follow orders dutifully, a trust that is usually not misplaced. But he has to admit, the more and more time he spends with you, the more he feels for you.

Minho never knew your father, the king, to be an unreasonable or cruel man, but in your eyes, he might as well be the devil himself. And maybe he is cruel– because how do you strip someone of their freedom and choices for your own gain, and not see the harm it causes, the wrong in it?

You are more than a pawn, more than a subject, more than his daughter– you are a person. A person with thoughts, feelings, and opinions as real as any mans, who did not deserve to be treated lesser than for the simple crime of being born a girl.

But what is Minho if not an upholder of the status quo? He was just a single man, and even if he recognized how unfairly you were treated in comparison to the golden child that was your elder brother, what was he supposed to do? He always performed his tasks dutifully and without question, and it wasn’t until he met you that he began to struggle with what he should do, and what he wants to do.

And maybe he could get you out of this town, help you live a quiet, modest life somewhere new, away from the watchful eye of your father. Where he could be your protector, same as now, but without the guilt, burden, or threats.

You know you shouldn’t take your frustrations about your life out on Minho, but he’s really all you have. You trust him with your life, and he’s shown you multiple times that he cares about you beyond the duty he has to you, or to your father. He's your only confidant, the only person in the world you can rely on.

Your eyes linger on the scar across his nose– he got it protecting you, the other man’s sword barely missing his eyes and cutting just across his face, and it was only one of many scars he obtained in his service to you. He’d pick you up and run with you in his arms when you were injured, he’d fight off attackers without breaking a sweat, sustain injury after injury all to make sure you were safe.

You’d watch his back, always stunned and mesmerized at the ease at which he cut down your enemies, as if they were nothing but paper. When he’d turn back to you, breathing heavy and sweat only just starting to trickle on his brow, his eyes would turn from the harshest winter chill to the gentle warmth of a spring morning.

He was quiet, stern, but his care ran far deeper than one would think just by looking at him, and all you had to do to see the true depth of his feelings was look in his eyes. So you knew it was unfair to accuse him of not caring about you, to expect him to go above and beyond for you, to ask that he go against your father to give you what you want. But you were just so sad, frustrated, angry, that you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Maybe you’ll grow to love him if you give him a chance,” Minho suggests; you both know that’s never going to happen, but what else can he say? He never married, and had no children, dedicated to his duty as he was; he had no real advice to offer someone when it came to love, romance, and the like, but he imagined it wasn’t impossible to fall in love if you just met Sir Jin with an open mind.

But as stated, that’s never going to happen. You’re stubborn to a fault, and once you’ve decided something, there’s no changing it. The best Minho can ever manage to do is get you to reconsider, but even then, you’re still likely to go about things the way you originally wanted to, with no regard for consequences or keeping up appearances. You’re a fiery woman, there was no doubt about it, and you don’t let go of things easily.

“The mere thought of giving that man all my firsts makes me sick, it’s vile,” you scrunch up your nose, making your distaste for the man very clear. Minho doesn’t even think you’ve actually met the man yet, but you’ve already decided you hate him– you don’t want to marry him, and so you’ll be firmly stuck in your opinion, no matter what anyone says.

“Maybe this isn’t advice I should be giving you, but.. You don’t necessarily have to. To give him your firsts, or love him. Find someone you do love, even if you have to keep it a secret, and hold him with all you’ve got. It still wouldn’t be ideal, of course, but.. Well, it’d be something, at least.” Really, Minho is supposed to encourage you to be an obedient daughter and listen to your father without question, but he knows you well enough to know that’s a fool's errand.

You’re never going to listen, never going to be obedient, never going to stop being opinionated. So what’s the next, most realistic piece of advice he can give? Lie, of course. Make your father and inevitable husband believe you’re a good, obedient wife and daughter, and then go live the life you really want behind their backs.

It's dishonest as all hell, and there would be consequences if you got caught, but if you’re going to be miserable no matter what you do, you might as well try, right? It’s what Minho thinks he would do if he were you, anyways.

“What about you?” you ask and Minho raises a brow in question. “What about me?” he asks, and what you respond with makes him feel like the air has been punched out of his lungs. “What if I gave my firsts to you?”

Did he hear you right? There must be some mistake with his ears, there’s absolutely no way you said what he thinks you did. “You– what?” Surely you can’t be serious about this. You’re the princess, and he’s just the man who happens to be your guard; a man who is your fathers age at that. But the way you look at him, he can tell you’re not joking in the slightest.

“Princess, I couldn’t possibly accept that,” Minho says sternly, his arms no longer crossed but instead resting on the arms of the chair, hands beginning to grip tightly so he can ground himself and try to make sense of this insane situation.

“Why not? I’d be happier if I gave it to someone like you. I trust you,” you say so nonchalantly it makes his head reel. What the fuck is happening right now?

And truly, Minho was the ideal man; at least in your opinion. He was handsome, mature, realistic and practical, knew how to reel you in without disregarding the root of what you feel or being disrespectful to you.

He never dismissed how you felt, made you feel over emotional or like a fool who overreacts; he’d ask you to see reason, sure, urge you to think more before acting, but he never, never made you feel like your feelings were invalid. And he genuinely cared about you, and you liked him, were attracted to him, so if the opportunity presented itself then.. Why not take the chance?

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked.

You were just freshly 20 when Minho first met you and became your guard, and hard as he tried to never see you beyond the platonic, he’s always viewed you as an attractive young woman. He liked your fiery spirit, liked how you had the bravery and gall to challenge authority, a skill that in recent months he felt he was sorely lacking. Your attitude was refreshing, and despite your circumstances, you never acted like a damsel in need of his help.

In a different life, in another world, maybe you two could have met as equals, not painfully stuck to the rules of an unfair, unforgiving reality. You’d be each other's foil; you, the impassioned dreamer with as many thoughts and ideas as there were stars in the sky, and he the realist, who didn’t dim your light but tempered it into a steady, sustainable flame.

You’d take him out on adventures, out of the strict box of his comfort zone, and he’d ground you more firmly to reality, never discouraging your dreams but making sure you took the necessary steps in the right way, responsibly. You'd match one another perfectly, complementary and meant for each other.

But that’s not your reality, and you both know it. There would never be any coming back from this if you go through with it, and there’s no ideal, happy future for you two to share. “I’m not so disillusioned to think this would be anything other than sex for you,” you continue, and he swallows, mind still racing impossibly, “but it’d be much more meaningful for me with you than some bastard I don’t like in the slightest.”

You’re wrong. So wrong, and you don’t even know it. It would never be “just sex” with you. You mean much, much more to him than you even realize. “You won’t regret asking a man like me? There’d be no taking it back once it’s done,” Minho can’t help but ask, rationality and reason desperately trying to gain control.

Despite what your father may believe, you’re a grown woman capable of making your own decisions. And this is a decision you make with full knowledge of what it means for you, more than willing to accept whatever consequences may arise for committing such a sin.

In an ideal world, you’d be allowed to love who you wish, live where you wish, do what you wish. But this isn’t an ideal world, and if there is only one thing you can ever be granted in this life that feels as if it isn’t even your own, it would be this– to have one night, just one night, where you can be the person you want to be, with Minho by your side.

“You’re free to reject me if you’re not attracted to me, but.. My only regret would have been not trying. So I ask, are you not attracted to me?” He looks you over carefully following your question, grip on the armrests tightening.

Admitting that he’s attracted to you may as well be a death sentence. But he can’t lie to you, completely at your mercy. Fuck the king, it’s you he’s really loyal to. All he’s ever done, all he ever will do, it’s always for you. He’s always tried to act in your best interest, to do the right thing, to keep you safe and protected. But does keeping you safe even matter if you’re miserable?

“I am,” Minho swallows, answering honestly despite his better judgment, “You have no idea how attracted to you I am.”

“So why hesitate?” you ask, fingers trail down your lap, over your knees, to where the very bottom of your dress lies. He watches you, eyes darting from your hands back to your face. You’re watching him too, carefully, considering his every reaction before you make your next move, impressively calculated.

You take the hem of your dress in your hands, pulling it up leisurely, getting it halfway up your thighs before Minho rises from his chair. He's is in front of you in an instant, his hands grabbing your wrists and stopping you from lifting it any further.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Princess,” he breathes, voice low and strained; he can’t lose control of his desires, but fuck, you’re making it so hard. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with the same fiery determination you always have, but there’s more there than just that this time. Desire, want, need– all for him.

Fuck it. He’s going to get burned, but maybe it’s worth it. You’ll be his funeral pyre, engulfing him in your flame until all that remains are the ashes of the man he was supposed to be. And what a beautiful way to end his life it will be, lost between your thighs, feeling your nails dig and claw at his skin.

He lets go of your wrists, one of his hands coming to cup your face, thumb tracing over your bottom lip. “Has anyone ever kissed you, Princess?” he asks and you give a slight shake of the head, breathing a soft “No..”

He hums, and there’s a twisted sort of pleasure he derives from knowing he’ll be your first in every conceivable way. You’re not “innocent,” he knows you’re not, but there’s something about being your first kiss, your first cock, your first everything that makes him crazy.

“And you want me to be the first one to kiss you?” he follows up with another question, corners of his mouth threatening to twist into a smile when you nod, a soft, honest “yes” leaving your lips effortlessly. He leans down towards you, keeping your head tilted up so he can easily meet your lips.

He does so softly, treating you with care. His lips are softer than you expected, and the feeling of them against your own fills you with butterflies. He carefully tilts you back, and you let your body fall back onto the mattress, head hitting the surprisingly soft pillows.

Minho crawls over you, spreading your legs apart just enough to get between them, your dress now hiked all the way up your thighs. He’s hovering over you, looking down at you with so much love and lust and that it leaves you speechless. “I’ll need you to listen to me tonight. Can you do that for me?” he asks, pressing light kisses to your jaw, under your ear, your neck.

You can, because it’s Minho. He’d never hurt you, never try to control you, never make you feel lesser than. So you can listen to him, because you trust him with your care; he’ll take good care of you, you know he will. He smiles when you nod, and you see him smile so rarely that it makes your heart skip a beat; his role always requires him to be so stern and straight faced, that seeing him smile down at you like this is enough to melt you into a puddle.

“You’re a good girl when you want to be, hmm?” he hums against your neck, resuming his trail of kisses against your skin, and you can’t explain why, but the words and tone he says them in makes your stomach flip.

If you were in a different world, and didn’t have to return home to the castle tomorrow, he’d take his time marking your neck, filling it with pretty shades of blue, purple, and red, sinking his teeth into your soft, supple skin. He just knows you’d look so pretty like that, and the way you react when his breath tickles your skin and his lips linger, tells him you’d like it too.

His fingers trail down your body, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up over your chest. You lift your back off the bed when he separates from your neck, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and discarding it to the floor. He kisses you as he fiddles with the straps of your bra, effortlessly unhooking it in the back and pulling it down your arms and off your body.

He may have never married, but he’s no stranger to being with and pleasuring women. And he’ll make sure he makes this a night you’ll always remember for all the right reasons. Capturing your lips in another kiss, his hands take in your now bare breasts, gently kneading and squeezing.

You try to squeeze your legs together, but his place between your thighs stops the act from happening, and he chuckles against your lips when he realizes what you’re doing. “Be patient, Princess, I’ll take good care of you,” he whispers before kissing you again, and you let out a small whine, not knowing exactly what you want but knowing you want something.

You gasp when he takes your nipples between your fingers and pinches them, not too hard of course, but enough to give him the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your body shudders, you feel dizzy with pleasure and excitement, and the feeling of his tongue circling yours is impossibly intoxicating.

One of his hands travels down, over your stomach, coming between your bodies to feel your heat over your panties. He’s barely even begun and you’re already soaking the fabric, your eager anticipation for more of his touch palpable beyond all else. He nips at your bottom lip, gently tugging it between his teeth before soothing the sting with kitten licks, his hand slipping inside your panties to feel how slick you’ve gotten directly.

Your body jolts when his fingers run between your folds, and he barely has to move them at all to get his fingers completely coated in your arousal. He pulls back to look at you, taking in the sight of your flushed face and swollen lips, pretty and perfect.

You’re panting, breathless, overwhelmed in the best way possible. You keen when his fingers rub over your clit in circles, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you lift your head from the pillows to watch. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, suppressing a grin when you whine and quickly nod your head.

“Want more, want you,” you mutter, the most timid you’ve ever been in regards to a man. He coos, giving you a sweet kiss as he continues his stimulation to your sensitive spot. “Remember what I said? Patience, Princess, you’ll get what you want. We can’t rush and have you getting hurt, can we?”

You pout as you concede, and God, he finds that so cute; he’s never seen you actually act shy and pouty before, and it makes him want to give you the entire world. He’ll give you everything you want, anything you ask for, but he’ll have to remember to tease you first so he can see that cute expression on your face before he gives in to your whims.

“I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready for my cock, so just be a good girl and follow my lead until then. You can do that for me easily, can’t you?”Another shy nod, another adorable flushed look that makes his cock throb in his trousers.

It was a little intimidating for you, knowing how experienced Minho must be due to his age, and feeling like you must fall short in comparison to other women– women who knew what they were doing. But really, that was just your own insecurity talking. He didn’t mind at all that you were inexperienced; in fact, it excited him for reasons he didn’t entirely understand.

Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the first to touch your skin, or maybe that someone as determined and fiery as you are is allowing yourself to concede control, to let him be in charge of your pleasure, trusting him to bring you to utmost bliss. What bigger display of trust could you ever show him? Your glassy, pleading eyes, begging him for more but still waiting for it just as he asked– you’re too good for him. He’s going to ruin you.

He takes his fingers away, and you have to physically stop yourself from whining at the lack of contact, lest he remind you again about “being patient.” “Open your mouth for me,” Minho requests, and though you are a bit confused, you do as he asks immediately, obeying without question.

Fuck, that’s hot; the image of you, mouth open, tongue slightly sticking out and waiting to receive whatever he gives you is something he never wants to forget. Minho slides two of his fingers into your mouth, instructing you to lick, to get his fingers nice and wet.

Truthfully, you were more than lubricated enough to take his fingers without this step, but he couldn’t resist the urge to see you this way. He pushes his fingers in your mouth down to the knuckle, and you persist with coating them in your saliva even as you gag and tears prick the corners of your eyes.

He showers you with praise, slipping his fingers out of your mouth when he feels satisfied with the work you’ve done on them, kissing your cheeks, feeling the heat of your face on his lips. Slipping his hand back inside your panties, he presses the tips of his wet fingers to your hole, and you instinctively suck in a breath, body unconsciously tensing from the anticipation.

“You have to relax, Princess, it won’t feel good if you’re tense,” he explains sweetly, shaking his head when you mutter a soft apology. “Don’t be sorry, not for that. Just focus on me, hmm? On this,” he whispers, his lips lingering on yours in a deep, impassioned kiss.

His fingers stay completely still until he feels your body start to release its tension, heeding his advice to focus more on his kisses than the motion of his fingers. He keeps kissing you even as the first of his fingers finally starts to push inside you, and you moan into his mouth, hot pleasure licking your skin.

He moves his finger in and out slowly, making sure you’re well adjusted before he pushes in another one, hooking his fingers to find that delicious sweet spot he knows will have you crying his name in no time. You gasp loudly when he finds it, your hands twisting the sheets beneath you between your fingers, your entire body trembling.

It feels so good you almost can’t breathe, and when he picks up his pace, hitting your spot over and over as he brings his thumb to your clit, you know you won’t last long at all. “M-Minho, I’m– 'm gonna–” you try to warn him, but the words die in your throat, the pleasure too overwhelming to continue to try and form a sentence.

He simply hums, continuing his motions until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, sharp, shuddery gasps and moans tumbling from your lips as your orgasm takes you. “That’s it, just let go, just like that, I’ve got you,” he praises, pressing kisses to your hot skin, helping you ride out your high.

Before you can even fully recollect your breath and get your racing heart back under control, he’s pushing a third finger inside, the trembling in your body intensifying from the addition. “You need more to get ready for me,” he tells you, and in your fucked out state all you can do is nod, taking his word as gospel truth, “need to stretch you good to make sure my cock fits.”

All you can do is lay there and take the onslaught of pleasure, unable to think of about anything other than how full and good his fingers make you feel. You don’t even register that he’s moved your down your body and tugged your panties to the side until his tongue is meeting your clit, swirling around it in expertly practiced circles, making you desperately cry out his name.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harshly as your hips buck up to keep feeling the delicious sensation his tongue provides you. He flattens his tongue and lets you grind against it as you want, the motions of his fingers not stuttering or ceasing despite the movement of your hips.

You feel the familiar heat pooling your stomach, another orgasm approaching quickly, the sounds you release turning into desperate whines and whimpers as you chase the feeling. It only takes a few more rolls of your hips and thrusts of his fingers to have you releasing all over his face and gushing around his fingers.

He sits up and pulls his fingers out when your body falls limp, chest heaving and ears ringing as you try to recover from the mind-blowing experience you just had. Your eyes are closed, and you can feel his weight shift, can hear the soft clink of his belt unbuckling, followed by the rustling of clothes.

You open your eyes to see Minho’s cock is now out, his hand lazily pumping it and spreading the pre-cum that accumulated and dripped over his time focusing on you. You reach a hand out to touch it, to replace his hand with your own, but he grabs your hand before you can, instead making you intertwine your fingers.

“Tonight’s all about you, Princess. Don’t worry about taking care of me,” he says, kissing the back of your hand and then holding it down right above your head. You’re not quite pinned, easily able to snake your hand out of his hold if you wanted to, but you have to admit, you like the feeling of his hand keeping yours held down.

He rubs his cock between your folds before he lines himself up with your entrance, though you didn’t miss the subtle smirk on his face when you whined from the feeling of his tip rubbing against your clit. “Squeeze my hand if you need to,” Minho tells you before taking your free hand and bringing it up to his shoulder, “and hold onto me.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest; the hidden romantic in you yearns to tell him you love him, to thank him for taking such good care of you, to express how you never want this night to end, but you know that would be a mistake. Neither of you can afford to let your emotions spill out, so you swallow them down the best you can, deciding to just live in this moment, to experience it for all that it is and all that it means for you.

The initial push is slow, and thanks to his diligent preparation, there is little physical pain or discomfort you experience from the stretch of his cock. A slight sting, sure, but nothing you can’t easily handle, and it’s barely even recognizable when compared to the pleasant fullness you feel. So when you squeeze his hand, and your eyes well with tears, it’s not because you are pained; it’s because you finally have something you want, a happiness you thought would forever elude you.

He takes his free hand and wipes away the tears from your eyes, a soft look of concern on his face. “Hurts?” he asks, but you shake your head quickly.

“Feels good, I just– I..” you struggle with the words, knowing you can’t express how you actually feel about him even if you felt you could. “I know. You don’t have to say it, I know,” Minho speaks to you softly, and the kiss he gives you very nearly makes you sob.

There’s still a few inches left before he’s fully inside you, and he pushes the remainder in slowly as he continues to kiss you, his free hand now rubbing soothing circles on your hip with his thumb. Minho does well at maintaining composure, staying firmly in control of himself and his body despite the way your walls squeeze and suck him in, despite the way you whimper when you feel him throb, or cry out against his lips when his tip kisses your deepest spots.

“That’s a good girl, taking all I give you, doing so well,” he praises you some more, and you love when he tells you how good you’re doing if the way you clench around him is any indicator. “Fuck, Princess–” he groans when he finally starts to move, pulling out and pressing back in much more slowly than he normally would, but the wet friction you provide him is delicious.

“Minho, I–” you start, interrupted by a sharp gasp when he finds your sweet spot with his cock.He looks at you as he stills his hips, patiently waiting for you to continue in case what you have to say is important, or a request for him to stop.

You swallow, face heating up but determined to get out what you want to say. “J-Just this once, I don’t want to be the princess. Call me by name, please–” Oh, that’s what you want? He can do that, easily; he’s already groaned your name countless times in the privacy of his room, stroking his cock to the thought of you.

The sound of your name falling from his lips as he resumes the thrust of his hips has you clenching hard, stars erupting in your vision as he picks up his pace, beginning to quickly and mercilessly hit your spot, over and over again. He takes one of your legs and props it up over his shoulder, allowing more of his cock to fill you up, the creaking of the bed and the sound of skin slapping beginning to overpower the noise from downstairs.

Taking his other hand away from yours, you’ll have to forgive him, he licks his fingers and then brings them to your clit, wanting nothing more than to see and feel you release on his cock. It only takes a few more thrusts and circles from his fingers to have you crying out his name as you cum, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you as your body shakes and legs tremble.

But Minho hasn’t cum yet, so he’s not quite done with you– not that you mind in the slightest. You’ll let him chase his pleasure as long as he wishes, even if it leaves you a drooling, fucked out mess in the end.

He pulls out of you, just long enough to sit against the headboard, and then he’s pulling you on top of him, guiding you to sink back down on his cock and sit fully in his lap. The new position has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head, Minho guiding the movement of your hips with his hands as he thrusts up into you.

He’s quite literally doing all the work, but that’s perfectly fine; this night is supposed to be about you, after all, and he doesn’t want you to lift a pretty little finger. Just let him use you a little until he cums, that’s all he needs.

You’re panting against his neck, head laid on his shoulder and nails digging into the skin of his back beneath his shoulder blades. The sting of your nails in his skin is just how he imagined it to be, and his head is falling back against the headboard, low grunts and groans of your name leaving freely as his cock throbs and twitches, getting closer and closer to his release.

He uses one of his hands to grab your face and lift it up to his, crashing his lips to yours in a desperate, impassioned display of love and lust. A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his cum spurting inside you in long, thick ropes, the sensation sending you forward into yet another orgasm of your own, your desperate sounds muffled only by Minho’s mouth on yours.

Your body collapses against his when the moment slows to a stop, both of your chests heaving and breaths heavy as you lie against him. His arms wrap around you snuggly, and keep you upright against his chest. You can hear the quick, erratic beating of his heart as he catches his breath, looking up at him to see his eyes closed and sweat trailing down his brow towards his cheek.

He looks beautiful like this, you think; you hope he thought the same of you. Even as his cock starts to soften, neither of you move, and though your legs protest and beg to be stretched out, you refuse to leave your spot on Minho’s lap.

“Are you alright, Princess?” he asks once he’s collected himself, pushing your hair from your face and wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Mhm, just want to stay like this,” you reply, and Minho smiles softly, rubbing over your shoulders and down your back in a sweet gesture of comfort. You’re silent like this for some time, just simply enjoying the feeling of him, the sound of the crackling fire, the warmth he and this room provides you.

“Does my happiness really have to end here?” you can’t help but quietly ask, and Minho is quiet for a moment, carefully considering before he speaks.

In a different world, in a different time, in a different place, maybe the two of you are meant to be. There’s comfort in imagining yourself there, truly happy with Minho, letting him care for you while not snuffing out the flame that is your pride, ambition, and spirit.

It’s not meant to be, you both know that to be true. To be with each other required great risk, sacrifice, hardship. But again he has to wonder, is being safe worth the cost of happiness? Would you even truly be “alive” if your every moment was spent miserably?

He doesn’t want to see the very core of what makes you you be snuffed out by selfish, idiotic men and their expectations of what you should be. You’re much younger than him, and it would be impossible for him to be there for you for the rest of your life, but he can be for the rest of his, at least.

“Maybe not,” he answers, unsure of what the future holds for the two of you, but not entirely ready to give up so easily. He could accept his fate, accept that love is something out of his reach, but it’s your happiness on the line that makes him want to fight for it.

There’s a lot he could lose by helping you escape this life you feel trapped in, but he’d rather see you happy than wasting your days away in the castle, subservient to a man you loathe. Your love isn’t meant to be, but that’s okay; he’ll help you all the same.

He’s loyal to you, and only you, he’s decided– so if you make your future husband, your father, or even the entire kingdom your enemy, then they’ll be his enemy too. And it’ll all be worth it just to see you smile for a little bit longer.

#skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #skz smut #lee know smut #lee minho smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #not me posting a fic again literally 4 days after my last one i am serious when i say i was possessed to write this #also not posting between the hours of 4-7am for once that is a win for me !!#mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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