#still he leaves victory in his wake
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THE FINAL CHAPTER: a rather chaotic compilation of some truly throne-ending stuff, KOTET (Battle of Odessen to Eternal Throne)
Theron: Using yourself as bait is a dangerous game. You're gonna need some help.
Aww Theron... that's nice, but Eight would be so adamant about fighting Vaylin alone since he feels it's his duty to protect them. Plus being bait means you're supposed to be the only target. Self-sacrificial lone warrior whose only ever relied on himself psych eval yadda yadda. Not that Theron or Lana would listen either, which results in an ugh fine from our favorite operative.
I guess he got so stubborn he wouldn't even let Theron on the back of his speeder (which was a glitch where Theron could only run behind him like a pet) in an attempt to leave him behind for his own safety, lol.
To make this whole outlandish scenario worse, Theron not only could not stealth the entire chapter ("Theron, you're ruining my speedrun." 'Theron!' "Well I'm sorry I don't have stealth generators like you two!") he also lost his blasters and started fistfighting Vaylin. Yes, he also fistfought the prior mobs. I was very confused as to why the enemies weren't going down fast enough with 2 comps until I looked over to see him punching skytroopers with all the damage of a wet bagel.
This is why he tried to leave you behind, Theron.
One defeated Vaylin and a storming of Zakuul Palace later, and Theron still was having the same problem of aggro-ing all the mobs due to having no stealth and only his fists, so I tried to stealth out of combat and call him over to see if he could evade them........instead, he died while Eight and Lana buried their faces in their hands.
Which was fine since it let Eight and Lana stealth for the rest of it without him, but his dead body kept showing up after them and it gave me a mental image of the two of them dragging his unconscious body behind them by the legs after he accidentally got caught in an explosion.
Not his best moment.
Valkorion: The Sith who fled her empire. And the charming spy, sired by Republic heroes. Do they truly serve you? Or do they plot your downfall, to claim the throne for their respective factions?
Eight: I'm done listening to you, old man.
"Idiot. It's the other way around," as Eight would say. He's fully aware Valkorion is making a desperate ploy right now to turn him against them, but he has thought about their loyalties ever since the start. It doesn't matter to him: he's bounced between both sides and has no right to judge. Even if they held no thought for him in the end, with him as the means for their own goals.....he'd still have fought for their sake.
Also, I lost count of how many times Eight called Valkorion a decrepit old geezer and told him to shut up these chapters.
Me, shocked: How is he tanking that lightning without a flinch?!
Then again, he did do the exact same thing during the Arcann fight, so maybe it's a combination of his sheer endurance/pain threshold as well as getting used to it. Either way, what a way to stunt on Valkorion. I'd be reeling if I threw lightning at an agent and they stood up. Extremely badass glitch.
Eight: My head's not a halfway house for immortal Sith, but I guess you found that out the hard way.
The only house it is for is Jadus, and you're no Jadus! Get lost!
Arcann: The Outlander didn't kill us. You did.
Oddly enough, I found I liked this ending more than the LS spare everyone version, most likely because it felt more cathartic for Vaylin and Arcann to face Valkorion with their full rage. Eight and Vaylin for some reason....saw eye-to-eye in their brief and vitriolic interactions, which sounds insane to say but can be attributed to how they understand primal emotion more than anything else.
It also felt more rewarding to fight the whole family with little to no help-- as an Echani warrior and one who fights alone, Eight would have it no other way; anything less than their full power would besmirch the honor of their duel and if he cannot have honor anywhere else, he'll make damn sure to have it on the battlefield. No help. No mitigation. Just his own strength, and theirs.
Lana: Theron!
Theron: Go. Save yourself. I'll cover you.
Lana: We fight together, we die together.
Theron: Now that's more like it.
The besties....;_; And poor Theron's sad face getting injured, he looks like a kicked puppy?? Why is he sad? Did it hurt that much? I really love them looking out for one another-- I rarely ever got this moment because it was always Arcann and Senya, so seeing them literally go ride or die was insane. They're lucky Eight can't hear or see them; he'd have thrashed that whole room to bits. What kind of agent would he be if his keepers had to die for him?
EAT THIS RIGHT HOOK VALKORIONNN
Eight followed Theron's example and decided Valkorion's crusty ass was overdue for a massive whoopin', and there's nothing he wanted more than to beat him to death with his bare hands. No powers. No poison. No blasters. Just the feeling of having your skull bashed in with mortal fists. As a martial artist, it was his duty to bring that Sith Lord who'd relied too long on power borrowed from others crashing back down into the cold, hard earth... starting with his body.
Can you imagine the absolute bewilderment he had to feel seeing this goddamn agent crack his knuckles and decide to go mano-e-mano to his godly self? It's the ultimate humiliation.
He beat him. He had to. For Jadus. For himself. Valkorion stood no chance at conquering his mind, to be honest-- for that to work, he himself would have to have a mind like people and on the inside....he is not that.
I'll write out exactly how I imagined it soon, but there's something about Valkorion stepping in and expecting a man, and finding instead what can only be called a wolf in his place.
I also headcanon he only used Eight as a stepping stool to get to Jadus, who shares the other side of the force bond and is his real goal to possess; but where he expected an easy fight he got a mind he couldn't break because it in no way resembled that of any other sentient he'd met. Eight's other personal stake in this is that Valkorion is blocking both sides of his and Jadus' force bond, and for this arrogant Sith to take away what had given him meaning in his life would instill a rage like he'd never known.
Eight: No more nightmares. No more interruptions from a crusty old ghost. I can get used to this.
It's finally fucking over. This was an ultimately tragic part of his life despite the good it meant for others around him and the galaxy; but it had left him isolated and more soaked in blood than the entire agent chapter. It was his duty. It was his burden. It was his wound to bear.
He's laid the dead to rest, and now he will leave. Whatever that means for him.
#swtor#kotfe/et au#it's....crazy how the Alliance usually becomes a home for other characters and it was the exact opposite for Eight#like a duty that had been hoisted on him that he had no choice to fulfill#it fed the side of him that wasn't a person but a weapon and a beast more than anything else until it was fat on blood#and....oh Eight you'll never find what you seek like this#still he leaves victory in his wake#as he always does
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Prince Regent
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader
Word Count: 8.6k
Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.
Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking
Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones
Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby
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Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️
Enjoy the read!
[gif @aemondstark ]
AEMOND
Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.
It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.
A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.
My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.
I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.
From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.
The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.
The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.
“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)
I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.
Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering.
But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter.
As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.
Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.
I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.
“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.
I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut.
A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now.
Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.
I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.
Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet.
A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition.
There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind.
The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward.
A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency.
_
Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.
“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.
“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”
A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.
“Aegon has fallen,” I said.
The council erupted in uproar.
Cries of outrage and accusations.
Obscenities.
Scandal.
“How could this be allowed to happen?”
“What is the meaning of this?”
“We are doomed!”
The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.
“The King is dead!”
“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”
My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved.
It was palpable.
It was mine for the taking.
I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.
“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”
A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs.
“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent.
I cast my gaze on her.
“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.
“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.
“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.
Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?
“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”
“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”
My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest.
“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table.
A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”
YOU
Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.
The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.
One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain.
It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.
Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.
The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.
The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified.
A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.
My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty.
A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach.
My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.
None of it mattered.
My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find.
Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut.
Unanswered questions swirled in my mind.
Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”
A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.
Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”
Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead?
My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.
Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.
My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs.
It wasn’t Alicent.
A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch.
“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”
Aemond descended the steps.
“Slayer of the queen who never was.”
Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions.
“And Protector of the Realm.”
He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.
“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”
There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence.
“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”
Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me.
Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest?
My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother.
As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut.
“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”
Scattered heads nodded in agreement.
Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense.
“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear.
It felt like he was about to eat me alive.
A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee.
_
Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape.
Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.
My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.
The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider.
Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current.
My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her.
An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs.
Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread.
“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us.
Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union.
“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.
He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips.
“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive.
Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile.
“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”
Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat.
A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.
“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”
“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye.
“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”
“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”
Seven Hells.
Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash.
Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?
The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic.
I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown.
And the crown needed heirs.
He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head.
“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach.
A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea.
“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)
I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue.
Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.
A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”
A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”
His reaction was swift and brutal.
One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.
“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”
“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.
A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.
My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose.
“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea.
The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths.
“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”
“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)
“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.
A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us.
“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips.
Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.
Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand.
My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it.
The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette.
Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all.
Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges.
“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.”
I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.
A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”
He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.
I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike.
“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”
A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid.
Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”
Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”
I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”
He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight.
“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”
A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.
“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.
I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former.
“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands.
A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.
Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.
“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.
It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace.
“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.
The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure.
“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin.
“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.
My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.
His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me.
But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate.
Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.
A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire.
His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.
Panic clawed at my throat.
Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears.
AEMOND
The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal.
Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard.
A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me.
A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me.
“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)
I started into the storm-ridden castle.
YOU
Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath.
To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.
My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.
None dared defy the one-eyed prince.
Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room.
The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air.
If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches.
Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.
“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.
Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead.
“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps.
“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.
I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze.
His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder.
The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.
A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain.
“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”
A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might.
He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.
The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him.
Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease.
Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt.
Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace.
“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear.
“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.
Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?
My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me.
This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger.
“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.
Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.
Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other.
He hummed deeply. “Say it.”
Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood.
“I haven't.”
“You haven't what?”
Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me.
“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender.
A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue.
His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.
“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)
I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control.
I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone.
“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.
The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.
With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip.
He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.
Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.
He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.
Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.
I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release.
He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.
“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.
Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings.
When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing.
“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure.
I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.
He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls.
Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest.
His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.
“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap.
“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries.
A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm.
The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body.
A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.
Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips.
“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.
I knew that word.
Beautiful.
AEMOND
I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting.
So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers.
But this was not going to make an heir, after all.
She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire.
She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips.
This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.
Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm.
Untamed, fierce, fuckable.
She was molded just for me.
Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.
“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame.
“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.
“You have my word,” she said softly.
The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick.
I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest.
I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.
Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance.
Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me.
I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy.
“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”
A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss.
When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me.
I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself.
I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian.
“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”
Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.
Seven Hells.
The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her.
Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust.
“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time.
Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire.
Thunder rolled overhead.
I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.
She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.
“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.
She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed.
“Say my name.”
“Aemond.”
“And who is your King?”
“Aemond.”
My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.
“Say it.”
“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”
It set me on fire.
I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.
My muscles shook from the aftershock.
I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down.
When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.
“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.
“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)
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Celebrate Pride with Tor Publishing Group!
Rakesfall by @adamantine
They met as children in the middle of the Sri Lankan civil war. Later, in a demon-haunted wood, an act of violence linked them and propelled their souls on a journey through the ages. As they reincarnate ever deeper into the future, a truth emerges: Some stories take more than one lifetime to tell.
Running Close to the Wind by @ariaste
In this queer pirate fantasy, Avra Helvaçi has accidentally stolen the single most expensive secret in the world. To avoid capture, he flees to the open sea, where only his on-again, off-again ex aka pirate Captain Teveri az-Ḥaffār can help him survive, profit, and become a legend.
Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker-Martin
Something evil is buried deep in the desert. It wants your body and wears your skin. Welcome to Camp Resolution, a queer conversion center where everyone leaves a different person. In 1995, seven queer teens were abandoned here by their parents, but survived. Sixteen years later, they’re scarred and broken, but back to face an evil that threatens the world.
Kinning by Nisi Shawl
In this alternate history where barkcloth airships soar and former colonies claim freedom from imperialist tyrants, the identity of the island of Everfair still wavers. Victorious in the wake of the Great War, a new threat looms. Can Everfair continue to serve as a symbol of hope for anticolonial movements around the world, or will it fall to forces within and without?
Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea by @rebeccathornewrites
Can one of the Queen’s private guard and the most powerful mage in existence leave their lives behind to settle down in their new bookshop that serves tea? This cozy fantasy is steeped in sapphic romance and nestled on the edge of dragon country.
The Fragile Threads of Power by V. E. Schwab
Once there were four worlds, nestled like pages in a book, each pulsing with fantastical power and connected by a single city: London. After a desperate attempt to prevent corruption and ruin in the four Londons, there are only three. Now the worlds are going to collide anew—brought to a dangerous precipice by the discoveries of three remarkable magicians.
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The Archive Undying by @emcandon
This is a story about misplaced faith, complicated love, so much self-loathing, and yeah—giant robots. Plugged into his AI god when its apocalyptic corruption renders him unfortunately immortal, sad gay disaster Sunai takes a die-again-or-die-trying approach to things. Unending life’s tough when intimacy is somehow scarier even than either of the warring police states set on turning you into a weapon or the rogue undead mecha-fragment of your old god that wants to eat you.
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The Bell in the Fog by Lev AC Rosen
A dazzling historical mystery that dives into the shadowy, closeted world of the Navy, emerging in the gay bars of the city. It’s a whirlpool of missing people, violent strangers, and scandalous photos in 1952 San Francisco.
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♡ TW: nsfw, dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced/accidental bonding, subjugation
♡ part one
♡ fem reader
Once you wake up in the morning, you feel… changed.
Your body feels full—as though you’d indulged too much last night—heavy and sticky and sore all over. There’s a strange taste in your mouth—sweet, somewhat salty, and metallic. Geez, you’re head’s pounding—how much did you drink last night? No, this feels different from a hangover—more full-bodied than that—a withdrawal of some kind or another. You must have done more at the party than drink, and yet, you can’t remember having stayed there all that long. No, you left with someone. That’s right. You went with… that overgrown Omega.
Oh no.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!”
He comes in only wearing a pair of snug boxers—body stacked with brawn, not a single hint of Omega-like softness aside from his tousled bed hair. There’s a big toothy smile on his face—eyes are creased in cheer while carrying an overfull breakfast tray. You know you’re hungry, and yet you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but sick to your stomach by the horrid sight of his flaunted neck, decorated by a gory ring of your bitemark.
No. No, no, no, no, no! Fuck! “Tell me that’s not what I think it is…”
He laughs lightly with an awkward smile, apologetically scratching the back of his neck while balancing the tray in the other hand. “I’m afraid so…”
The world stops spinning, and for a moment, you think it might actually never start up again. Your throat snares, and you think you might throw up. How the fuck could this happen?
He sets the tray down next to you, then himself. The whole bed takes waves upon his weight. You remain still—eyes unrest and mouth hung.
“Hey, I know this might not be what we had planned, but…” he starts.
But you don’t let him finish before declaring, “I’ll take full responsibility.”
There’s nothing else to do, you think. The red string of fate has tied the two of you together. It’s sealed.
“There is no going back now.”
His face expresses shock, but if you’d taken a closer look, he’d probably not be able to hide it—the overwhelming sensation of victory. Oh, bless your Alpha pride. He knew you would say that.
He smiles softly. “I’m in your care then.”
It’s a work in progress after that—slow in the beginning, but that’s to be expected. You never pegged yourself to be the type who got caught up in the unmendable mistakes of a one-night stand, but then here you were—mated with a stranger, moving into his apartment because it’s bigger and closer to work, sharing the same bed and eating the same meals and helping each other through one another’s ruts and heats.
He's still no closer to being your type. In fact, he’s the total opposite—too giant to give you even a semblance worth of superiority over him. A couple of days ago, when he’d been searching for the remote in the couch you were lying on, he’d taken to pick you up instead of just asking you to move. It was completely humiliating. He’s so brazen, and it’s starting to become clear he’s doing it all on purpose!
He doesn’t get fussy when you state your claim of being the one on top—no, but what he does instead is somehow worse, going along with it with snide praise, grinning up at you, his big hands weighing heavy on your haunches as you roll them, calling you his good girl. It seems to humor him how it angers you—chuckling behind your hands as you layer them both atop his mouth, growling at him to “Shut up!”
No, he doesn’t mind letting you take charge. He rather enjoys the view of watching you ride—working so hard to appease him while he rests pretty and admires your body—all soft edges and plush curves. You tire quickly, though—poor thing, why don’t you leave the rest to him?
You had rejected it the first few times he’d offered. Your bruised pride simply wouldn’t have it—you’d rather you both stop than let him finish you off. But a couple more nights and you’d quicker come around than either of you expected—perhaps worn down by his constant nagging or simply fed up with your own failure—you let him assist by bouncing you on his lap.
You wouldn’t admit it to his face, never, but you’d enjoyed it far more than you could have ever thought…
Thankfully, your face in and of its own glory told him all he needed to know. It didn’t take long before he’d taken full advantage of it, nor for you to begin allowing it without being asked. Soon you were letting him fuck you against the wall, making the entire room shake—wall creaking and shelves rattling, pictures falling down. You hold your tongue and hold on tightly, arms and legs wrapped around him—moaning sweetly right by his ear. Fuck, you even bite him again.
As time passed, you came around to indulging more and more of his antics. Letting him fuck you from behind—hard and heavy and deep—thrusting into you while grappling your waist. You even go down on all fours when he does it—digging your claws into the sheets.
Lying belly-up beneath him still makes you feel nervous—and slightly ashamed—almost convinced something’s wrong with you for liking it. And yet you can’t help it. You know any other Omega wouldn’t fuck you like this. They wouldn’t have the stamina, the drive, or the desire. Not like him, who does it all like it’s his nature even when it shouldn’t be.
Guess you’re both freaks.
♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki
♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto
♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou
♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi
♡ DS – Doma
♡ WB – Suo, Togame
♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist
♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist
#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere smut#yancore#smut#yandere my hero academia#yandere boku no hero academia#boku no hero academia smut#mha smut#yandere mha#yandere bnha#my hero smut#my hero academia smut#bnha smut#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere jjk#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#yandere boyfriend#boyfriend#boyfriend scenarios#omegaverse#alpha beta omega
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Thou Shalt Not Covet.
summary | Aemond loved her first, and it would be Aemond who loved her last.
pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Fem!Reader
tags | infidelity (cheating), cussing, alludes to smut, mentions of drinking, whores etc (normal Aegon things), typical Targcest, jealous and possive Aemond
w.c | 1.2 k
note(s) | This is my first Aemond fic! I haven't read the books, and have only seen the show so if Aemond is ooc then I'm sorry!
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She was his. By the way of his mind she belonged to him. His brother, first to everything and last to nothing, got everything Aemond wished he had. The iron throne, the crown, her. The marriage between her and Aegon was strictly political; there was no love, no affection between the two. If Aemond was honest with himself he liked that, liked how her affection could be saved and harboarded for him only.
Aegon had his spoils. He had bastards, he had whores, he had wine. He did not need her, nor did Aegon particularly want to have her. But Aemond did.
Because of Aegon’s particular disdain for his wife, the times that she was left alone and in the confines of her chambers were more than not. On these nights, Aemond would find himself climbing up the stairs, his hands shaking slightly, and his mind racing as the guards opened the door and let him enter his niece's chambers.
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“Uncle.” Her voice rang out over the fire in her chambers, and Aemond felt his heart rate pick up. She held a book in her lap, no doubt trying to wrap her mind around the philosophies written into the texts. Aemond felt himself shiver lightly, the sound of her voice seemingly always doing things to him.
He said her name softly, and he smiled to himself as he walked over to sit next to her. She smiled, her hand wrapping around his and her voice soft.
“How do you fare?” That is how all of their nights began. The light conversation of “how do you fare?” eventually led to her bed.
Aemond’s eyes caressed her skin, his hands worshiping her body as his voice sung praises of her victories over his mind, soul, and body. He would not ravish her like his brother did, no. He would worship and glorify her body before him as if she was a temple, he would exalt her pleasure to the highest of highs before he even thought of his. Aemond treated her like a goddess, and she was reminded of this every time her name fell from his lips and his seed spilled inside of her.
When he would finish he wouldn’t leave her to clean up on her own, or fall asleep. He would kiss her body softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back as she came down from her high. He would hold her until she fell asleep in his arms, and in the morning he would wake, admire her body and her face that still shone in the glow of intimacy, before he would dress and leave.
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She liked the garden. She, truthfully, adored the garden. It was, she thought, the only place where she would be free from listening to the moans of Aegon’s whores and the drunken laughs that would escape his lips.
She found solace in the way the leaves swayed in the wind, the way the sun shone lightly through the cracks of the trees. But, what she truly waited for was Aemond. Once his duties were done he would come into the garden, and they would walk, and talk with one another for what felt like hours.
On this particular day, the two walked and talked about nothing in particular-just how both of them liked it. But, a pair of seething eyes followed the two as they walked. Angered and betrayed, Alicent turned and walked away.
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When Aemond entered his chambers later that night, he was met with the burning gaze of his mother. His face remained stoic, and he slowly started to take off his belt that held his sword.
“Mother. I did not expect you.” He spoke, his face illuminated by the fire as he sat in a chair, getting comfortable. His mother stood, standing in front of him as she glared down into her son's stoic expression.
“You do not hide it well.”
“I do not know what you speak of, mother.”
Alicent gave Aemond a look, seeing straight through his stoic expression and hardened gaze.
“You know what I speak of. You covet what is rightfully your brothers-”
“Rightfully?” At these words, Aemond stood, glaring down at his mother with a complexed expression. “She is not rightfully Aegon’s. She is not rightfully the crowns-”
“She is his by law,” Alicent got right into her son's face, her hand pushing against his chest as she spoke. “By the law of the seven kingdoms she is his! You cannot parade around the castle, promenading as if you are an enthralled teenage boy courting a noble girl! She is married-”
“You do not think I know what she is, mother? You do not think I see the ring she wears, or the name she bears now as a continuous tie to my brother?” The pain etched into the cracks of Aemond’s voice were subtle but not unnoticed. The way he spoke of his brother's wife with so much undignified and raw emotion made it clear to Alicent what he truly felt. Despite herself she sympathized with her son, trying to take his hands in hers as she spoke.
“I understand, Aemond, how you feel. But you cannot go about so shamelessly coveting your brother's wife-the queen!”
Aemond roughy pulled away from his mother, a sharp look hidden behind his amethyst eyes as he spoke.
"Do not speak to me as if my sorrows where your own!" Aemond seethed, pulling back a few paces as he glared at his mother, “Aegon is no husband! He may be my brother-my closest kin but he does not know how to properly care for her as I do. I know her mother, I know her wants, her desires, I know her more than Aegon has ever even tried to comprehend so damn all the gods and fuck Aegon because I would soon rather feed myself to Daemon’s dragon then let a man like Aegon sew his seed into her and ruin the beautiful women that the gods have given to me!”
The words coming out of her son’s mouth shocked Alicent. She never knew him to be so passionate about something-someone-so fiery as, gods be good, his brother’s wife.
“Aemond she was never yours-”
“She was,” his voice dropped and he stepped closer to his mother, breathing down as he glared, “The gods gave her to me, they made her for me! Her body was made to fit with mine, her soul was mine to know! Mother, it was all for me! But you? You are the one who gave her away to my brother. You are the one who took her from me.”
Wishing for no more of this, Aemond turned, feeling himself breaking a little as he went. He knew he would never be hers, that she would never truly be his.
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“You are troubled tonight.”
She knew him better than he knew himself. Aemond’s head rested on her lap, her hand gently stroking through his platinum white hair. He breathed out slowly, his thumb idly stroking her knee.
“I am thinking, sweet girl.”
“I know that you are thinking, I just wish to know what it is you are thinking about.”
At this he went silent. He knew no matter what lie he told her that she would always know the truth between the lies. So, instead, he sat up slowly and he gripped her cheek, kissing her softly. As if the words would be lost, and the meaning behind them burned. He made love to her like she was truly his, like she was his wife. As if..she wasn't even able to be coveted.
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#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond x y/n#sebastian sallow x you#aemond angst#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen imagine#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond fic#house of the dragon aemond#prince aemond
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Hand Warmers
Lando x Fem!Reader
*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: swearing, mentions of boobs and touching them, super short, no use of y/n, I'm American (I think that should be a warning 🤷♀️ ), images used are not mine as are from pinterest, possible grammatical errors (its late and I have brain rot from little sleep)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 0.6k
*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: its cold and Landos hands need to be warmed
.ೃ࿐request: Can you do a lando x reader
where reader doesn’t want to let go of his hand but she need to open something with both (or whatever you can think of) and she put his hand on top of her boob and something like that ??
Please if you have the time
*ੈ✩‧₊˚Note: Feel free to let me know if something is wrong or weird. Also feel free to request something
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Lando had been holding your hand hostage the whole day, refusing to let go despite the inconvenience. As the day progressed, his hold on your hand tightened. It was impossible to escape his hold, even as you ate your lunch, having to beg to be let go to use the bathroom. His only excuse was the freezing temperature, claiming that your hands were warmer than his and you had to help him warm up.
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The cold winter weather had taken over your apartment despite having closed the door immediately after waking in. It was more frigid than the average year, and the abundance of layers did nothing to keep you warm as you lay on the couch cuddled with your boyfriend. “I think we should turn the heater on.”
“I don’t want to get up; this is comfortable, plus your hands are warm,” Lando grumbled into the side of your neck, pulling you closer to himself to prevent you from leaving.
“Don’t."
“What? I’m not doing anything. We can warm each other up. I don’t want to let you go,” his hold on your hands tightened, placing a few kisses on your neck, snuggling closer to you.
While Lando had always been clingy, more so during the cold winter days, this was a new extreme. His cold hands firmly gripped your own, a continued desperate attempt to keep you from leaving his side. "I promise to come back once the heater is turned on."
"Promise?"
"Pinky promise," you reassure him, feeling his grip loosen, and finally, you break free. You could feel his eyes on you, closely watching as you walked to the heater and turned it on. He was skeptical about the promise you had made. The way his eyes followed your every move proved that.
"You're taking too long," he complained, voice whiny as he sat up in his spot, grabby hands reaching out in your direction. The slower you walked back to him, the more childlike he became. His pout only increased as he realized you were purposefully taking your time.
"You're being mean," he continued to whine, only stopping when you finally sat next to him again, hands immediately grabbing your own. He briefly let go of your hand to turn on the television, quickly grabbing and kissing them.
"Don't you think you've held my hand enough?"
"No, I think I've held your hand for too little," he says, slightly pouting again, leaning forward to press a light kiss to your lips. This was always his tactic for getting what he wanted. The constant pouting and occasional kisses were well-known to you. It was almost expected from him, especially when things weren't going exactly the way he wanted them to.
"Let go, Lando," you said, refusing to fall victim to his ploy– knowing that if you allowed him to get away with this, he would only use it against you.
"Noooo," he said, voice high and whiny, squeezing your hand tighter, peppering your face with kisses, gently stroking your hands.
"It's getting warmer in here," you struggle against him, letting out a sigh of relief as he finally lets go of your hands. This was a victory in your eyes, though you knew it would be a short-lived victory– Lando being a very persistent person.
"I'm still cold," he says after a few minutes, resting his hand on your waist.
“You’re annoying,” you say, moving his hands under your shirt and placing them on your breasts, shivering at the freezing touch, “You're fucking freezing.”
“Yeah, but I'm definitely getting warmer,” he gently squeezes your boobs, stealing their warmth for himself.
"At my expense," you say, your body beginning to relax as Lando's hands warmed themselves between your breasts and bra.
"You're the one who offered," he continues to softly but firmly massage and squeeze them, "I think these might be the best hand warmers."
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#f1 fanfic#lando norris x reader#f1 imagine#f1 x you#f1 x reader#lando norris fanfic#lando norris imagine#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#lando norris x y/n#f1 fic#lando norris x you
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Satoru Gojo, your scarily perceptive teacher, takes it upon himself to help his horny student, you, with your over-abundance of cursed energy.
paring :: Teacher!Satoru x Student!Reader, Student!Megumi x Student!Reader (undertones).
warning :: age gap, teacher-student relationship, public sex, virgin reader, corruption kink (kinda), straight penetration, no foreplay, cherry popping, Gojo is cocky, reader is horny af.
note :: reader is 18 and a third year with the other students (Yuji, Megumi, Nobara).
“That much cursed energy isn’t good for you.” Megumi eyed you, a weary frown resting on his face.
“I’m fine.” You grunted. The vast aura of cursed energy angrily whipping around you only seemed to surge more when he continued his lecture.
“You’ll get sick.” He added, a noticeable warning in his tone.
“I’m fine.” You sharply returned.
You had not been fine, in fact, you were tensed beyond belief. Being a Jujustu sorcerer was hard, anyone with a brain could tell you that, but the past weeks had taxed you physically and emotionally to an extent you had never experienced. Mission after mission had lead you to lacking personal and intimate time. Each night you'd black out the moment your head hit your pillow, sometimes still in your sweaty uniform.
Each morning you'd wake up with a noticeable wet spot between your legs, but before you could set your barking pussy to rest, you'd be called up and sent on another mission. The only way you could release the building tension was by taking it out on curse spirits, leading to relatively swift victories. The higher ups seemed to consider your constant wins as a challenge because they continued to throw cursed spirits your way.
This had been going on for a whole month, and now it came to the point in your womanly cycle where you yearned to be fucked the most; Ovulation.
"What's up with you?" Yuji questioned.
"Frustrated?" Nobara grinned. You'd made the mistake of venting to her about your situation during a paired mission. Your body tightened with searing regret.
"Don't pester her. You'll make it worse." Megumi cut, keeping his narrow eyes targeted at your surrounding classmates.
Maybe if Megumi liked you enough to defend you, you could test the waters and see if you could get him under the sheets. Idiot. You palmed your forehead, attempting to smack away the thoughts. Megumi was your friend. You'd just embarrass yourself.
"Woah, look at that aura." Satoru had finally slipped into the classroom, about twenty minutes late to the class. Twenty minutes you could've spent getting yourself off. Stop thinking about it. "Someone's seeming a little moody." He jested, lifting the side of his blindfold to eye your irritated cursed energy.
You huffed a depressing sigh, Satoru's harassing would just frustrated you more, especially considering he was so hot. God you would do anything to be dicked down. Especially by him.
The majority of the class time was spent with your head resting in your folded arms. Each low syllable pronounced by your teacher would make you fantasies about what his moans would sound like and whenever you felt his eyes gaze over you, a tingling shiver meddled with your legs. You were too far gone. Even if you had time to masturbate, would it be enough?
Even after the class had finished, you delayed leaving your chair, hoping to grind your thighs together just a little longer to the thoughts of your teacher.
"Coming?" Megumi asked. You wished.
"She should stay back." Satoru stated, casual smile on his face.
You lifted your head, blinking.
"Bye." Megumi waved, you returned the gesture.
"So you going to tell me the deal with all your cursed energy, or should I just take an educated guess?" His hand landed on the base of your desk, slender pointer finger tapping it.
Unintentionally, your voice left you in the form of a meek whimper. "I'll deal with it, you don't have to worry."
"Educated guess then," He shrugged, finding no satisfaction in your answer. "I know you've been shoved a heavy work load, being asked to defeat cursed spirits every day for.. how many weeks now? Four?" You nodded. "Rough. I dealt with a similar thing back in my youth, the strongest is always busy. Never any time to be alone."
You swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth. "Uhm, yeah."
"So that's it then? You're just a bit pent up." You flushed at his casual discovery.
"I-I said I'll deal with it. We don't need to be talking—"
"Want me to help?"
That’s what landed you on Satoru’s desk, papers scattered over the floor, with your bottoms hanging off your leg and his pants resting just above his hips. You’d moved from your desk to his with a frazzled fanaticism, not caring to question Satoru’s sexual intentions as he lead you, merely chasing the end of your drowning lust. In that moment, your teacher seemed like the solution to all your problems, so you let in.
His thumb dipped beneath his boxers, leisurely pulling them down to expose the lines of his hips and the beginning of his shaft.
He’d pulled your bottoms off with an intense haste, unfairly compared to how slowly he teased you with the sight of his dick. He watched your wide, glossy eyes gape like a virgin at him.
“Wet dream come true?” He asked, chuckling behind his words.
Your response was a breathy hiccup, filled with astonishment and embarrassment. Did he know you had the hots for him? Well, he must’ve had some clue, because you were currently naked from the waist down on his desk.
“Cute.” He added, finally allowing his cock to spring free and give you the sight you longed for. Your fingers began to ache with how hard you gripped the table, skin blanching and nails digging into the wood with stressed intensity.
The size of him was larger than what you’d imagined, thicker too. His pale skin, littered with blue-ish veins, perfectly blended into a lip-pink tip, already damp with his own pre. The reality that his was the first dick you’d seen in person, and were about to feel inside the chasm of your pussy made your stomach pile with anxious butterflies.
The sudden heat of the moment dampened in your mind, as your virgin inexperience hit you like whiplash. You pressed your lips inwards, biting them. You couldn’t tell him, not now, not while he was slipping between your legs and his hands were rising underneath your uniform.
“So tense.” He murmured, towering posture leaning into your figure as his fingers skimmed the lining of your ribs, then reached the fabric of your bra. “Relax babe, no one’s gonna disturb this.” He kissed your clothed shoulder, then your neck. The softness made you burn and melt into him.
“Gojo—” Your tone was weary, and Satoru cut you off before you could utter any confused regret.
“I’m your teacher, I know what’s best for you. I’ll take care of your problem, yeah? You just sit there and enjoy it.” His lips latched onto yours, sucking away any words you were thinking of speaking from your lips.
One hand returned to his base, taking his cock whilst the other held your body, his thumb rolling over your supported boob in a needy motion.
His cock dipped between your folds, gathering the pooling slick that dripped from your cunt. The connection made you jolt and grab the arm he used to grope you.
“Forgot how quickly younger girls get wet.” He muttered aloud. Your face must’ve churned at the words, because he immediately backtracked. “I don’t go searching to fuck young women, I’ve just had plenty of experience over the years.”
Your face eased, but still you squinted in distrust. He laughed.
“I mean, c’mon, you’re gushing just at the sight of me.” Embarrassed, you averted your eyes and uttered a unintelligible disagreement. Satoru took your flushed face into his hand and brought your attention back to his grin. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, you’re the youngest I’ve had.” Unable to move yourself from his grip, Satoru leaned down and planted a wet kiss to your lips.
He licked over your bottom lip, retreating when you moaned in his mouth. He’d become impatient, needing to feel your wet warmth hugging his dick. He thrusted his cock into your clit, once, twice before planting his tip in the crook of your weeping hole.
“Fuck, Megumi is gonna hate me.” He drawled, a contradictory excitement lacing his tone.
You hadn’t time to question his statement as his cock dived between your folds, slipping into your chasm and stretching the thin skin of your cherry.
“Ah! Fuck.” You huffed, the stretching ache rumbling through your abdomen causing your legs to restrict around him. Your hands shot to his chest, weakly and frantically grabbing at the loose fabric of his uniform. “Gojo—”
“Oh, I know, baby. I know.” A certain weak pity jesting his words. “Fuck, you’re tight. Don’t tell me, am I your first?” His smirk grew at the concept, as did his cock.
You hadn’t given him an answer, only spurs of moaning huffs as you concentrated on dealing with ache of being split open by his lean dick. He retracted his hips sharply, you gasped and hit his chest.
“Tell me, c’mon. Am I your first? Am I?” He sunk in again, then retracted with an agonising speed.
“Gah! Yes, yes— fuck, you are.” You huffed, hitting his abdomen again.
“Fuuuck. Lucky me.” Satoru slowed his hips, returning to sliding inside you with an uninterrupted slowness. “I’ve been so selfish, jus’ wanting to fuck you right away, next time it’ll be all about you. Promise.”
“N-Next time?” You heaved, clawing at his chest.
With a deep drawl, he responded. “You ain’t the only one who has needs, baby.” You could feel the words puff into your neck.
The realisation hit you. Satoru was just as pent up as you were, having no time to hookup or masturbate. His situation was just as bad as yours, likelier worse. As much as he might’ve wanted to seem like a teacher just helping his student get off to alleviate their cursed energy, he craved sex twice as much as you did.
He continued to sink in, sliding against the pleasurable nerves decorating your gummy walls. You whined and Satoru hushed you, halting once his hips pressed into yours. “There you go, perfect fit.” He praised.
“God.” You choked, gasping at the air. You felt him, felt his hot cock press into the parts of you nobody else had, parts your own fingers had barely reached.
“I know. Big, huh? You can take it, I know you can.” His slender hand cupping your breast squeezed in feeble reassurance.
Your teeth clenched and your chest fell with fast puffs. “Perv.” You breathed.
His cock twitched, tapping the roof of your sticky canal. “So rude. Don’t you know you need to respect your elders?” He drew his hips out and you winced.
“Just wait, hmpf, God—” You ripped at his shirt. He’d been pushing you this entire time, eager to fuck you silly.
Satoru brought his hands to his mouth and licked his finger, pressing it to your clit and rubbing the saliva into the nub. The pleasure it brought you fought against the aching and you rested your head against his chest, allowing the sweet feeling to soften your body.
“Good girl. Loosen up for me.” He murmured kindly. The words alone added another wet layer of slick around his cock.
His thrusts started off slow and long, pulling his cock so out that your entrance ring danced around his tip, then sweetly sliding back in until your pubes met. Each time he’d penetrate your deepest part, tip dangerously close to tapping your cervix, you’d whine and moan, making him chant mindless remixes of the phrase ‘I know baby, just take it. It’s okay.’
Even at his slowest pace, your mind went hazy with the intensity of sex. Hot, wet, wrong sex. Each time you revisited the reality of your own teacher fucking you, it made your pussy clench around him.
He grunted, taking a calming breath. “‘M gonna pick up the pace, okay?” He was hardly asking for permission, practically tripling his speed before he finished his warning.
You moaned into his chest, hands dragging around his body, wanting to feel him and begging to hold onto something. Satoru placed them on his shoulder, squeezing your wrists in an attempt at comfort, though you could hardly feel anything other than the overwhelming sensation of your gooey insides being massaged.
The curves of his cock flittering past your cloying walls began to feel impossibly familiar, like you were born to be filled with Satoru’s cock. Each drawl made his cock head slide against the spongy part of your g-spot, building you up and up into ecstasy.
The buildup from inside your chasm was intense and ticklish, otherworldly compared to the orgasms you’d rub out alone in bed. You only wished Satoru had perused you sooner.
“I’m gonna cum— oh fuck.”
“I know, baby. I know. Keep taking it.” His nose dipped into your hair, rubbing your side like a cat.
Your climax hit hard and fast, turning your legs to jelly and releasing muscles you hadn’t known were clenched. Your pussy walls cramped and fluttered around Gojo’s cock sucking him in and prompting him to cum inside you. He whined at the intensity.
Satoru Gojo, your teacher, the strongest Jujustu sorcerer, whining as you clenched around his cock. The power trip collided with your electric orgasm, forcing a weak smile to your lips that made your cheeks burn and welled searing tears in your eyes.
He moaned desperately loud, enough to make your heart sink at the idea of it being heard. However the fear was short lived as hot liquid seed pooled in the deep parts of your pussy, thickly coating your walls. You shivered, unable to recongise the foreign feeling of being cummed in. Slower now, he rode the spurts of his orgasm.
“You came inside?” You lazily questioned, unable to reprimand Satoru besides an unsteady slap to his shoulder.
“Don’t worry about that baby, I’ll handle it.” He murmured, upper body now resting against you while his hips slowed to a halt. “Well done.” He cooed, nibbling at your neck.
“You say that like I just defeated a cursed spirit.” You sighed. His lips curl into a smile against your skin and you cringed.
“But you deserve it, pretty girl.”
Peering down at where his cock stilled inside you, you could see the drips of cum froth around his base, dots of pinkish blood swirling with your juices too.
He left you with another curt cheek-kiss, removing himself from your bullied cunt. The feeling of loosing his warm thickness was a discomfort comparable to when he first entered you.
You cursed, the words catching in your throat. Finally able to relax your legs, they attempted to shut however Satoru’s hands grappled the plush of your thigh and pried them open.
“Don’t close your legs, I’ve got to clean you up.”
Akin to a guardian placing a Band-Aid over a sulking child’s scraped knee, Satoru dabbed a tissue to your sloppy cunt, gathering up the mix of blood, cum and slick until you were semi-dry. He pressed a kiss to your clit and you gasped. The sugar-sweet noise begged him to dive between your lips and suck up the mess he made inside you. Next time, he thought, next time he’d leave you ruined.
“The others are still waiting for you, go meet up with them.” He looped your underwear and bottoms through your legs, allowing you to stand and pull them up all the way.
Standing added another pressure to your core and you wobbled. “It hurts.” You uttered into your chest.
“You’ll be fine, a little pain never bothered you out on the field, one of the reason you’re my favourite.” His words tasted like butter and you pressed a frustrated palm to his chest.
“Don’t say stuff like that.” Your reserve was questionable, considering how you two just fucked.
He took your wrist and kissed it. “It’s true.”
A weak scoff left you, and you turned on your heel penguin-walking outside the classroom, Satoru sending you off with a tap to your ass.
“You seem a lot better.” Megumi mused, a quick shine of surprised relief on his face.
“You’re glowing.” Nobara added, an upturn brow and narrow eyes taking in your afterglow.
Strategically, you avoided Nobara’s comment and directed yourself towards Megumi. “Yeah, Gojo managed to actually help for once.” You let out an uneasy chucke, adjusting your blazer.
Just as you were about to suggest grabbing some food, likely sushi, to your classmates, Satoru’s voice called out to you.
Crap, had you forgotten something? You put your underwear on, right?
“This is for you.” He extended a hand, holding a plastic sheet containing one singular pill. Your face and ears immediately flushed, turning a bright pink. You snatched the plan B off him, placing it deep into the crevice of your pocket and turning your back to him.
“Thanks.” You hissed.
“Bye then.” He flirted, giving his other students a wave before backing away.
“What was that?” Yuji asked.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
#jjk#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader#Jjk smut#Jjk x reader smut#jjk satoru#Satoru Gojo x reader smut#satoru x reader#gojou satoru x reader#megumi fushiguro x reader#megumi x reader#gojo smut#Satoru smut#gojo x reader smut#Gojo x student reader
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“So,” Grian says, “this is awkward.”
Scar says nothing. Scar had said nothing for quite a while, honestly, sitting cross-legged in the void and playing with the hem of his cloak. Or with the flower stems woven through the hem of his cloak, as it were. Lilacs and poppies. Grian had thought it painfully ironic the first time he saw them. Scar hadn’t. Not until now.
“So,” Grian says, again, “I can explain? I think?”
He can hear stifled giggles behind him, Scott and Pearl discussing the last moments of the fight. He feels Martyn’s heated glare between his shoulder blades too, knows that he’ll be getting an earful about taking his final life whenever the fourth winner can get his hands on him, but at least Martyn’s been kind enough to leave him at the mercy of the fifth for now. Or not kind enough, as it were. Whether or not Scar has any mercy for him is an open question.
“Explain what,” Scar says. It’s not a question, which is just as well, since Grian doesn’t really have an answer.
Can he explain?
“Well,” he says, “there’s these death games.”
The death games he technically started, and then technically couldn’t stop. The death games that weren’t meant to be blood sacrifices, but probably count as happening on somebody’s altar. The death games that no one ever wins, but technically–
“Technically, the people who win them get to keep their memories.” He scrunches up his nose. “Or, uh, recover their memories of the previous ones, I suppose. Which is what’s happening to you. And Martyn, and Pearl, and Scott, and I was the first, so–”
“One heck of a headache, right?” Pearl yells behind them. “Was even for me, and you’ve got four whole timelines to deal with!” She flops backwards onto the floor, which is the void, pressing the back of the palm to her forehead theatrically even as she peers up at Scar through parted fingers. Scott rolls his eyes and grabs her hand.
“Give them a moment, Pearl,” Grian hears him whisper. “I know you weren’t there for Third Life, but I’ve explained it to you a dozen times, so–“
“So,” Scar says. “Third Life was real.”
It’s a strange way of putting it for someone who hadn’t remembered it at all until now.
“That’s a strange way of putting it for someone who hadn’t remembered it at all until now,” Grian says, because he’s always loose-tongued after dying. Scar stares at him, unblinking.
“That’s a strange way of thinking for someone who declared the first ever game a double victory,” he says. His head is tilted to the side.
Grian stares back.
“That didn’t count.”
“It didn’t not.”
“You didn’t remember until now.”
“I didn’t not.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it?” Scar shrugs. He plucks a flower from between the dark threads. It’s a poppy. “No less than the rest of it. No less sense than me waking up with sand between my toes, or burns on my arms, or bamboo in my pockets. No less than the dreams. Those didn’t make sense either.”
“It’s not like you ever asked me to explain.”
“Would you have?”
“Not the point.”
“Isn’t it?”
Pearl is still giggling. Martyn is still staring. Scott is quiet.
“Maybe it is,” Grian admits, quietly. It’s not an apology. It never will be.
Nor is it forgiveness, when Scar leans forward to tuck the poppy behind his ear. Nor will it ever be.
Sure feels like it sometimes though.
#OMG IM FINALLY SHOWING UP IN THE TAGS SO YOU GET THIS#is this good? idk i’m too drunk to tell. but i sure am obsessed about secret life ending.#secret life smp#secret life#secret life spoilers#grian#goodtimeswithscar#gtws#scarian#desert duo#desertduo#slsmp#slsmp spoilers#shells writes
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━━ star-shaped .
War was never pretty. Death comes for both enemy and ally, and even as a healer, you cannot save everyone. Wearied by the war that seems to drag on for years, with no victory in sight, you join Jiaoqiu at the campfire for a rare moment of peace.
jiaoqiu x gn!reader
contains: based on leaks abt jiaoqiu's character stories !! but honestly its kinda implied in the quest but idk. has death, war, depictions of injuries and diseases, things are rough, can be read as platonic or romantic !!
word count: 1.7k
a/n: i love this man and his potential because goddamn war stories??? in my hsr??? sign me UP. also this was inspired by The Things They Carried by Tim Burton that i was forced to read in highschool. i loved the soldier death scene in that book so YEAH
taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven @camellia-rabbit , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace
The man you killed had two eyes; one was closed, and the other a star-shaped hole.
You wake when the sky is still dark and the sun bathes the other side of the planet. Harsh winds beat unrelentlessly at the tent’s folds, and hail pelts at the sturdy fabric.
Some of your comrades, fellow healers, sleep soundly as they can on the battlefield, while others work tirelessly in the makeshift hospital next tent over, keeping an eye on injured and diseased soldiers’ conditions.
Fire crackles outside. The sound is sharp, yet barely audible over the snow storm.
With a sigh, you pull your sheets off of you and as quietly as possible, make your way outside the tent. You aren’t going to get much sleep anyway - you might as well do something useful.
The man you killed resurfaces in your mind. He had two eyes - one closed, the other a star-shaped hole.
You pull your fur-lined coat closer around you as you step out into the camp. Snow crunches under your boots and you have to hold your hood in place to shield yourself from the hail.
To say that this planet is freezing would be an understatement. Here, the cold chilled you from your bones to your skin, seeping into your veins and leaving icicles in its wake. Frostbite was an everyday occurrence here; you’ve had to amputate more toes and fingers than ever in your life.
A silhouette sits before the fire, their back turned to you. As you get closer, you make out tall, Foxian ears and the same winter coat you’re currently wearing.
“Jiao?” you wrinkle your nose as you near, suddenly slammed with the strong scent of chili. Your comrade acknowledges you with a brief flick of the ears, but nothing more.
You don’t blame him. This war has been a harsh one, with less soldiers returning to camp every time they’re sent out. Unknown territory and harsh weather conditions made the battles long and exhausting, and healers could only do so much.
Not to mention, time passed so quickly yet so slowly here. You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been stationed, but it feels like several lifetimes.
Everyone is tired. You can see it in the hollowed cheeks, the eyes that have grown numb to death, and the despondent numbness that has overtaken the camp. They no longer cared who won or who lost. All they wanted was to return home in one piece.
The man you killed had two eyes. One was closed, and the other was a star-shaped hole.
You sit down next to Jiaoqiu on the log. The Foxian makes no move to push you off, only shifting to the side to help make room for you. Hugging your knees to your chest, you stare blankly at the drifting embers that dance in the air.
Jiaoqiu absentmindedly stirs at his soup. It boils in a small pot just above the fire, the thin liquid a red so bright it’d be threatening… if you had the energy to be threatened.
“It’s late,” you say into the crisp silence. “You should get some sleep before the sun rises. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”
Even as the words leave your mouth, you know it’s pointless. In war, sleep is something you have to force your body into. You have to lie down in the tents, look up at the fabric sky and listen to the hustle and bustle outside as soldiers are carried in and out, and close your eyes to the screams as yet another frostbitten knight has their arm cut off. You have to put yourself first, even for that small second, and allow yourself rest while your comrades fight on the front lines.
Sleep is a luxury that no one can afford. It is an escape. It is shameful.
And from the looks of Jiaoqiu’s darkened eye bags and mindless stirring, it’s a sin he won’t be partaking in tonight.
And neither will you.
Your gaze falls to the small bag of spices lying next to Jiaoqiu on the long. You can see peppercorns, cloves, fennel, cinnamon, and… star anise.
You look away.
The man you killed had two eyes. One was closed.
“How are you faring?” Jiaoqiu finally speaks. He doesn’t look at you and keeps his eyes on the flame.
Another gust of wind runs through you.
“As well as anyone else is, I suppose.”
Jiaoqiu swirls the soup with one hand. A bubble bursts and sprays the snow in little sizzling red freckles.
“How about you?” you ask.
The snow has already covered the soup’s spill by the time Jiaoqiu replies.
“As well as one can be,” he mutters. His hands, gloved with thick leather, clench once before relaxing.
A hollow chuckle leaves you. You sigh, kicking your legs out onto the snow and leaning back on the log. You look to the sky, to the cryptically beautiful cosmos. Blues, purples, and reds merge together like watercolor clouds above you, and small, white stars bejewel them.
Stars… Your gaze becomes lidded.
The man you killed had two eyes. One was a star-shaped hole.
“Do you think that man had a family?”
If Jiaoqiu was surprised at all by your question, he didn’t show it.
“Does it matter?” He takes a small taste of his soup. Despite it practically glowing in red, he doesn’t seem satisfied. “He was the enemy, need I remind you.”
You close your eyes briefly. “But I’m a healer.”
“You are.” Jiaoqiu opens his pouch and dumps in the rest of his chili rations - what for, you don’t know nor do you care to know. “You are also a soldier of the Xianzhou Yaoqing military. War always ends up in casualties, you know this. So did the soldier.”
There’s a bitterness in his tone that makes you wonder if he was talking to himself as well as to you. Your eyes soften.
“You did what you could, Jiao,” you offer. You want to put your hand on his shoulder, but you aren’t sure if that is appropriate, given the circumstances. “What happens outside the camp is beyond our control.”
Jiaoqiu sighs. His hand tightens around the ladle.
“Then what’s the point?” he whispers. His brows furrow, and his eyes open - a gem of amber reflecting years worth of grief and hopelessness. “What purpose do I have as a healer if I cannot stop my patients from hurtling towards their deaths?”
He turns to you, searching your face for any sort of answer that could satisfy him, that could reassure him that there was meaning, there was a point, that all of those bandages and surgeries and amputations weren’t for naught.
But you cannot answer him, for it is a question that no healer knows the answer to.
“You gave them another chance at life,” you say softly, unconvincingly. “That’s all that matters.”
“Even if that life is destined to end regardless of what I do?”
Dead eyes meet dull ones.
“What happens outside the camp is beyond our control,” you repeat blankly.
The man you killed had two eyes.
Jiaoqiu searches your gaze once more, before ultimately giving up. The amber of his eyes close, and he returns to the cauldron.
In a feeble attempt to console him, you go against your earlier thoughts and rest a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. But with the roughness of your gloves and the cold limiting the dexterity of your hands, it isn’t much - but it’s enough.
Jiaoqiu glances at your hand, then back at the cauldron.
“Do you feel bad?”
You blink, a bit caught off guard by the question, but you settle down soon enough.
“No,” you say after a brief pause. “He would’ve killed us if I hadn’t killed him.”
You lean forward, resting your head in your palm as you watch the flames swallow up what little tinder the others managed to collect.
“I’m just glad to be alive.” You don’t sound like you believe it.
Jiaoqiu’s ear flicks. You hear him stand up and scoop some of the soup up into his ladle, and dash out his tongue to taste it. His tail swishes, and his eyes widen momentarily, amber flashing like lightning.
A smile, a weary, tired, but grateful smile, slips onto his lips.
He turns to you, vitality returned, even if it’s just for a moment.
“Try this,” he says, holding the ladle out towards you.
You eye it warily. The liquid drips down the sides of the ladle and drops down onto the snow below, sizzling the second red touches white. You didn’t think it was possible for the soup to get even redder, but Jiaoqiu somehow did it.
“I won’t die if I eat it, right?” you try to joke. Jiaoqiu huffs, his breath steaming in the air.
“You doubt my cooking capabilities?”
You shake your head. “No, but whatever you have in there doesn’t exactly look… edible.”
And yet you’re already leaning forward to taste his concoction. Jiaoqiu carefully holds the ladle still as you take a sip.
Instantly your senses are flooded with pure, unyielding heat. Fire blazes on your tongue, searing your throat and bringing tears to your eyes. Your stomach burns, and for the first time since you’ve come to this planet, you stop shivering.
It’s painful.
It’s exhilarating.
“It’s delicious,” you praise despite the coughs that wreck your being. “Although… did you have to add so much chili?”
Jiaoqiu hums out a laugh. “But that’s what makes it special.”
You don’t bother denying it. Instead, you laugh alongside him, eyes crinkling with joy instead of pain after years of constant war.
You’ll have to return to the war eventually. The sun is already beginning to rise, and soon the soldiers will be awakened to go out into battle once more. You’ll have to take over for your comrades who had spent the night in the hospital.
But you don’t have to do it just yet.
For now, you just want to enjoy this moment, this second of normalcy and peace in the battlefield.
The man you killed had two eyes.
One was closed.
The other was a star-shaped hole.
reblogs w comments are appreciated !!
#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#hsr#hsr x reader#hsr jiaoqiu#jiaoqiu#hsr jiaoqiu x reader#jiaoqiu x reader#jiaoqiu hsr x reader#jiaoqiu hsr#x reader#reader insert#y/n#archives 🏵️
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shy, shy, shy..?
where they finally meets their match in the most unexpected opponent..
includes: nsfw! dom reader, sub top characters!
a/n: this one is short! was originally just for heizou, but i could see so many subby men and i couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by
you can only giggle as you shake your head. “you talk a big game. i’ll remind you of this when you’re begging me to let you cum.”
his voice is still teasing, eyes locked dead on yours.
“i’d like to see you try.”
unfortunately for him, it only ends in your victory. the way your words are digging into him as you instruct him on how to thrust into you. your voice is soft and mellow, making him whine and nuzzle into your hand that rests on his face while he ruts into you like a dog in heat. it’s his fault after all, and you warned him that he wouldn’t be able to handle the punishment. now he knew you weren’t bluffing.
you take your time,
his pleas start to fill the room, begging you to let him cum. you’re slightly overstimulated from how long you’ve been tormenting your precious baby, but you have a point to prove! alas, you’re not that mean, so you push him off you onto his back and slowly start to pump his cock. his tip is red and leaking. he’s starting to cry out again, but you’re already shushing him. your lips are dragging across his skin and leaving a bruising trail of marks in their wake.
when you’re satisfied with your work, you give him one simple instruction. cum. and he does, hard. his legs are shaking along the bed as thick ropes of white hot pour from his body. you’re smiling down at him as you’re hands card through his hair. you whisper out a small ‘i told you so,’ and his groan draws a laugh from you. thus certainly won’t be the last time you’ll have him breaking under you like this.
-scara, venti, heizou, tartaglia, cyno, aether, tighnari, lyney, aventurine, luka, sampo, + your favs!
#genshin impact smut#genshin smut#honkai star rail smut#hsr smut#childe smut#aventurine smut#scaramouche smut#venti smut#heizou smut#tartaglia smut#cyno smut#tighnari smut#aether smut#lyney smut#luka smut#sampo smut#botttom genshin men#bottom hsr men
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⠀ ⠀ ── (✴) dream on dreaming !
nct dream sfw headcanon. fluff, comfort. library
jeno has an assigned place where his head rests: on your shoulder. with one leg intertwined between yours, there is no living space when sleeping with jeno. still in morpheus' arms (or his, you're not sure) you detach yourself from his firm grip to shift position; jeno simply can't sleep without overlapping your body, so he quickly rolls to your side to pull you to him, letting you be the one to curl up against his warm neck. the sudden move will take you out of lethargy, hearing him mumble your name softly while he's still in his dreams as if he's looking for you there too.
sleeping with haechan is one of your favorite things. he got the softest combo of blankets, pillows, and bed ever, and if that's not enough, then you have your own body heater to hug. he's so warm and so cozy; you just have to get used to being the big spoon. he likes to crush you when he sleeps with you. placing his head on your chest and listening to your heartbeats, he has this habit of making sounds when he falls asleep while you playing with his hair. he purrs in his sleep and a grin blooms on his lips, and it's the last thing you register in your memory before joining him in the rem.
you've noticed that mark dreams in korean. it's a sweet and tender observation; he often smiles and talks in his sleep, his arms wrapping you into his embrace while he's lost in the clouds. you like to fall asleep watching his expressions change and finally relax when he says a word you do understand the meaning of in his language: honey. you hum drowsily as you begin to fall and fall, feeling him wake up fleetingly to snuggle up more against you and whisper that he loves you.
jisung has the sweet quirk of talking while asleep. and those conversations are so wholesome and dearest to you. he talks about his day, about his friends, his family. it's silly late-night conversations that in occasions, it's hard not to chuckle. you like to hear him tell you little secrets, sometimes you let him go on a little longer because that's when he talks about this girl he's in love with. your heart threatens to explode when he says your name so tender, snuggling closer to you before he goes back to sleep, because even when he's dreaming, you're there with him.
even though renjun is sleepy to death, he insists on telling you everything while you weren't with him. you usually have better sleep endurance than him, but you know that he is an innate stubborn, he will never go to sleep before you, so your fingers circle his forehead as you feel his tongue getting heavier and heavier, unable to formulate sentences without slurring the words and cutting them halfway, until you see him smile right before saying your name softly, finally realizing your victorious attempt to put him to sleep.
jaemin's been having a light sleep lately and any movement or sound you make causes him to shed sleep and give you a wary look. his heart skip a beat when his hands reach out and don't bump into you to pull you to him, calling your name in the dark. he finds you drinking a glass of water in the kitchen and calms down; for a moment he thinks you've left. he can't help it, he's afraid you'll not be there when he wakes up. so you comfort him, and promise him you won't leave. so that night, he falls into a deep sleep.
for chenle, it's difficult for him to admit that he's fallen asleep. his eyes flutter as he tries to stay awake because he likes to hear you talk, but your voice gradually begins to lower making him lose ground against sleep. he also, has a habit of lying that he didn't fall asleep while you were talking. and it doesn't matter if you don't make noise, or if you stay still in hopes for him to have sweet dreams, he always battles against it until you start to get drowsy too, listening to you and the soft babble until you give in and draw him to you, asking him to meet you in his dreams.
#nct dream reaction#nct dream fluff#nct dream imagines#haechan fluff#mark fluff#jeno fluff#jaemin fluff#chenle fluff#renjun fluff#park jisung fluff#♡dream
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Indulge || Sylus Qin L&DS
pairing: Sylus x MC
genre: 16+, domestic
cw: newly established relationship (MC is shy and clingy), bratty MC, sexual tension, morning after, marking (biting, scratching)
note: i just know Sylus is WILD in bed
"Do you really think this is the proper way to get my attention?" Sylus hummed in his deep baritone, sending shivers down her spine. Still, she didn't let up, wiggling on his lap. A red and black wave surrounded her, freezing her mid-wiggle. "I already told you that I would indulge you when I was done with my reading. Stop acting like such a brat."
"Can you really blame me, Sy? You've barely spoken to me today." He sighed at her pouting, releasing her from the hold of his Evol and instead, placing his hands on her waist. "That's better." She snuggled into his chest, appreciating his hands around her body.
"Sweetheart, you know I can't continuously drop my work for you. We've talked about this far more times than I can count." MC raised her head from the comfort of his chest, eyes downturned at the seriousness in his voice. Though his eyes said something different. He didn't want her to move. "However...taking a quick break wouldn't halt any progress of mine."
Internally cheering with her victory, she planted a chaste kiss on his plump lips. "Should we watch a movie?" Sylus's red eyes had a mischievous glow to them, a glow she knew all too well. "Or... did you have something else in mind?" Her fingers trailed up his torso, stopping just before she reached the bare skin where his robe was unbuttoned.
"You're playing a dangerous game, dearest." His hands around her waist grew possessive, needy, urgent. "Are you sure you would like to continue?"
MC let her fingers run over his bare skin, causing his breath to hitch. She looked up, peering into his deep eyes. Suddenly lost for words, she breathed out one word. "Please."
7:24 AM
She woke up, rolling over to hide from the lights beaming in from outside the window. "Sylus?" Her hand felt around the bed, feeling his absence in the cold bedsheets and neatly tucked in blanket.
Her body ached and her throat was sore, hair tousled. The clothes she was wearing the night before now sit in the laundry bin, and now she was covered in a familiar black button up. The bathroom door then opened, a warm fog flowing out into the bedroom. Sylus emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving very little to the imagination. Her face flushed deeply when she saw the markings that littered his body.
"Oh, you're awake," Sylus's mouth curved, eyes doing a quick once over seeing how she looked in his shirt. "I didn't want to wake you but it seems I failed, how do you feel?" He spoke so casually as he picked out a simple, stay-in kind of outfit for the day.
She cleared her throat to the best of her ability, flicking a stray piece of hair away from her face. She decided to answer honestly, "Sore." His eyebrow quirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. One could say it was confidence. "I-... I'm sorry for leaving so many..."
"What? Oh, these? Hm, no need to apologize sweetie." The towel dropped and he began to dress himself. "You should see yourself, you truly look ravishing."
Realizing she was still between the sheets, she quickly made her way to the mirror. A sharp gasp escaped her mouth as her eyes made their way head to toe.
Her body was covered in markings, from bite marks to bruises and the odd scratch. Sylus smirked, feeling pride in his work. "Sylus! I have to go to work today!"
"You didn't seem to care last night, don't you remember?"
She scrunched her nose, whacking his arm. "I swear, you're going to get me in trouble one day."
Sylus kissed the crown of her messy bedhead, "I love you too, sweetie."
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace sylus#sylus x reader#lnds sylus#sylus love and deepspace#lds sylus#sylus x mc
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ᴍɪɴᴇ • ᴊ. ᴊᴀᴇʜʏᴜɴ
𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: ~4.6𝘒
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘧𝘸𝘣2𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘱𝘪𝘷, 𝘖𝘊 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦 '𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭'
it didn't surprise you when jaehyun's name popped up on your screen.
you two weren't speaking. hadn't spoken at all in the last three weeks due to a less-than-kind exchange of words at the last frat party you had gone to.
that frat party happened in the frat house in which jaehyun lived. you were no stranger to these parties. were no stranger to the smoke, the music, and the lights. you attended most of these parties, your goal being only one - to see him.
and you always did. his eyes always caught yours the minute you stepped inside his house. even among everyone else's gaze, his was always the first one that you noticed.
you and jaehyun had met at uni. you still remember the repetitive sound of his fingers tapping the table next to yours, while you tried to focus on the physiology paper you had to turn in until the next day. jaehyun was incredibly annoying, not stopping even when you politely asked him to, which resulted in you picking up your stuff and leaving the library and jaehyun with a victorious smile on his face. just to find him at the frat party your friend had dragged you to, sporting that same smile.
just to end up in his room. naked and screaming his name.
you always ended up in jaehyun's room. since then frat parties had become a constant in your life - you never stayed in them for too long because jaehyun always managed to drag you away quick enough.
the deal between you two was fairly simple - you slept together. nothing more and nothing less.
there really wasn't anything more to it other than sex. and you never expected more, seeing as the first thing you learned about jaehyun was how unruly he was - the complete opposite of you, the straight-A princess (as he liked to call you).
but you two were used to each other at this point - no one seemed to satisfy jaehyun the way you knew how to and because of that he liked to keep you around.
no one did it for you the way jaehyun could. not only when it came to sex, but in everything else too. you genuinely had a good time whenever you were with him, despite him taking every chance to get on your nerves. you two just got along.
but still, three weeks ago, at one of the frat parties you used to attend, you ended up in mark's room.
you would've never chosen mark over jaehyun. especially because the sole reason you were coming to these parties was to see jaehyun.
but not to see jaehyun's mouth working against a random blonde girl you had never even seen before. they were sitting on a couch, smoke all around them and she was straddling his hips, sitting on his lap. jaehyun's arms were rolled around the girl's waist, pulling her closer. meanwhile, you stood with your back pressed against the wall on the opposite side of the room, head tilted back while mark, who stood by your side, talked your ear off about this awesome new shot mixture he had made up with johnny, trying to talk you into trying it out.
it didn't take long to say yes to that shot (and to the countless shots mark and johnny offered after the first one) after that sight.
after that, you went dancing with mark behind you, absolutely inebriated, and no longer than five minutes after you started making out in the middle of the living room. it didn't shock you a whole lot when you woke up the morning after in a room you weren't familiar with, soft snores coming from beside you that didn't really sound like jaehyun's.
you were light on your feet as you picked up your tight black dress from the floor, squeezing yourself into it, grabbed your heels and walked barefoot out of mark's room, closing the door behind you softly, successfully not waking him up. your way down the stairs was a challenge as the wood squeaked with every step you took. you reached the end of the stairs, thinking you had succeded as no one seemed to have woken up, letting out a soft sigh and running a hand through your messy curls.
"had fun last night?" you heard from the kitchen, just a few steps away. you couldn't see who was inside the kitchen but you could recognize his voice anywhere. you took light steps towards the kitchen door, stopping when jaehyun came to view. you leaned to the side, resting your left hip on the wooden doorframe.
jaehyun looked like he had just stumbled out of bed. he was in the kitchen with a mug full of coffee in his hand, wearing an oversized black t-shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. his hair was messy, and his glasses were on. "yeah," you answered, your voice still heavy with sleep.
"was he any good?" jaehyun asked, and your brows immediately furrowed at his question. he chuckled at your reaction and pressured you, raising his brows in question. his voice had a playful light-hearted tone, but you knew him well enough to sense the hint of aggressiveness underlying it. "was he?"
"yes, he was good," you said and watched jaehyun's head tilt slightly in indifference. "better than you,” you added at that, loud and clear, letting your tongue quickly wet your lips in excitement.
jaehyun had always been the cool, calm, and collected guy who was never bothered by anything. and it stressed you out.
how could you be so indifferent to him?
but one thing jaehyun was, was competitive. both you and jaehyun knew that. jaehyun had a competitive side to him that few people dared to cross. but you... you did it all the time. because it was the only way to get a reaction out of him.
he raised his eyebrows in surprise and let out a giggle - you amused him.
“oh yeah?”
“yeah.”
“well… it doesn’t really take a lot to satisfy you, so i won’t really trust your judgment,” he said, placing his cup of coffee on the marble countertop. he walked to the fridge taking out a box of washed strawberries. he extended the box towards you as if asking if you wanted some, and you let out an ironic chuckle at that.
“and even tho it doesn’t take a lot to satisfy me you’re still at the bottom of the list,” you fought back and jaehyun smiled your way, resting his forearms on the countertop, taking a red strawberry to his lips and biting into it.
“hum,” he hummed as he chewed, wet lips and eyes still fixed on yours, absolutely unbothered, as if your comments didn't faze him in the slightest. “it’s long, that list of yours, isn’t it?”
your breath was quick and heavy in anger, your hands fisted and your jaw clenched. jaehyun knew how to get to you. he knew how to hit you where it stung and he never, ever, hesitated in doing it. never afraid of hurting you.
“i’m leaving,” you muttered, immediately turning your back to him and walking to the door.
“not saying bye to mark?” you heard him ask in a slightly louder voice, followed by a mocking chuckle.
“fucking asshole,” you said back, hoping he’d still hear you, which he did given by the amused laugh he let out after your comment.
three weeks had passed and now here you stood, in the middle of your skincare routine with jaehyun’s name plastered on your screen as he called you at 11:30PM. you didn’t even bother picking up, knowing he’d find another way to contact you.
jaehyun: stop ignoring me
jaehyun: saw your ig
by that, he meant the instagram story you had posted, which was not that special - just you, lying down on your silky pillow, makeup and hair done.
jaehyun: cmon pick up babe
by the time he called you for a second time you had a random vinyl playing, your favorite pink little pajama set thrown on, your curls down, your skin glowing, and your lips glossed. jaehyun was coming over.
you picked up. “can i come over?” was the first thing he said.
“why would i let you come over?”
“we both know you miss me,” he said immediately to which you let out a snort. “you don't? be honest y/n” he asked and you could already hear the teasing smile in his voice.
“are you sure it’s not the other way around?”
“as in me missing you?”
you hummed and he stayed quiet for a while “nope, you just looked cute in your story.”
“yeah right. you can go find some other cute girl then,” you said.
"no one's as cute as you-" and you hung up on him.
ten minutes later your doorbell rang and you knew it was him. you opened the door, greeting jaehyun with an annoyed expression. “i told you not to come over.”
“you still mad at me?” he asked, as his eyes ran over your figure. bare legs and perky nipples on display for him - small and delicate, just the way he likes you.
“was never mad. i don’t get mad at you jaehyun, you’re not that important,” you deadpanned, left brow raised.
“yeah, right,” he hummed and took a few steps forward, coming closer to you and closing the door behind him. he didn’t say a word, just staring down at you as you crossed your arms in front of your chest defensively, while starring back at him.
jaehyund sighed when a minute passed, and you did not look away. a teasing smirk grew on his lips, as he buried his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants. “why did you sleep with mark when I was right there?” he said, phrasing the question as if he had been waiting for you to answer it for the past three weeks - almost tiredly, letting out a short breath at the end of it.
“he was also right there,” you shrugged, settled on not telling him that what had really worked you up that night had been his interest in that other girl.
he rolled his eyes in annoyance, and you almost squealed at the sight of jaehyun losing his temper. “c’mon y/n, don’t make me lose my patience with you.”
“maybe that’s what I want,” you teased, raising your head, nearing your face to his to look into his eyes, almost daring him to do something. “you get so fucking boring after a few weeks, jaehyun.” you whispered against jaehyun’s mouth, watching as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek in annoyance. “that whole calm and collected thing you have going on,” you gestured with your hands before placing your pointing finger against the center of his chest. “it gets fucking tedious. that’s why I slept with mark. at least I can see some actual desire in his face.”
jaehyun’s anger was almost pouring out of his eyes. you could see that if he could just pick you up and throw you out the window, he absolutely would. instead, he grabbed your jaw in a tight grip, pulling your face even closer to his. “you don't think I desire you, that’s it?” he asked, an almost sadistic grin growing on his face.
when you slowly nodded your head against his grip, his hands moved to tightly grab both your shoulders, throwing your body against the wall across from him. “gonna show you just how much I want you, then."
and then, his lips were on yours, relentlessly working against them. his tongue parted your lips, invading your mouth as you moaned against him. his hand tightly gripped your ass, signaling for you to jump to his lap, which you did. your legs immediately wrapping around jaehyun's waist, with his hand still squeezing your ass. he pressed your body against the wall, rutting his hips against your clothed core, his mouth still fast and almost aggressive against yours.
you couldn’t keep up. you could never keep up with jaehyun.
“what was it about him that you liked so much, hum?” he asked, heavy breath and ironic tone of voice, while still humping his hips against yours in quick motions, almost desperately. “did he cry? he looks like he’d cry.”
“he could cry and still be better than you,” you moaned and jaehyun laughed at how your body’s reactions to him were so opposite to what your mouth was saying. “feels like I’m fucking a corpse with you,” he let out a burst of genuine laughter at that, and you couldn’t help the affectionate smile that grew on your lips at the sound.
“that’s taking it a bit too far isn’t it, princess?” he asked, and you looked down at him.
“is it tho?” he rolled his eyes, moving one of his arms to your waist to carry you to your bedroom. he had been in your flat so many times that he knew where everything was - even his spot on your bed was already defined (he slept closer to the door).
jaehyun laid your body down under his and stopped to awe at your figure, your face all flushed, long curls perfectly laid out on your mattress. lotioned skin shining under the yellow light of your bedroom, body pliable to his touch when he moved a hand to your knees to spread your legs further. he could feel his heartbeat quicken every time he looked at you.
“you’re so annoying,” he muttered, under his breath, his hands moving to take your tight pink tank top off your body, over your head, your tits coming right into his vision. “god, can’t believe you let mark touch these,” he breathed out, more to himself than to you, as he reached down, pressing his nose against your skin. "always smell so good, baby," he whispered when you rolled your arms around his neck. he moved down to mouth one of your tits, his tongue rolling around your hard nipple, his fingers massaging the other one.
“jaehyun,” you cried and thrust your hips up against his abdomen, as your hands ran through his back, gripping his sweatshirt, signaling him to take it off.
he pulled away from you to take it off and you almost moaned at the sight of his bare torso. he let you run your hands through his skin, your nails scraping against his nipples, to which he hissed and then surged forward to latch his lips to yours again in a messy kiss.
his kisses ran a hot wet path from your neck to the valley between your tits, across your abdomen and then reaching your tight pink pajama shorts. the cotton material was so thin and tight that he could see you weren’t wearing panties underneath it. he let out a loud moan at that, resting his forehead against your pelvis, closing his eyes in restraint trying not to rip the material off your body and fuck you senselessly. he opted to stick out his tongue and lick the whole expanse of your pussy through the pink material.
“oh god,” you gasped, your hands immediately finding purchase in his hair. “d-don’t stop,” you cried as jaehyun messily licked against your already-soaked shorts.
it didn’t take him long to grow tired of the last piece of clothing in your body and get rid of it, throwing it somewhere in your room. he leaned back, to appreciate the sight of your body, completely naked, laid out, and waiting for his touch. you were glowing. “so perfect,” he whispered, and you almost came at that. you extended your leg to his hip, trying to pull him closer again. and jaehyun got back to his previous position with his head between your legs, pressing a quick kiss to your exposed clit, making you breathily curse out his name.
as soon as jaehyun's tongue made contact with your pussy your legs shook against his head. you let out a drawn-out moan and his hands grabbed tightly at your thighs keeping them spread open. you were reduced to a series of gasps and cries of jaehyun’s name as he hummed sounds of pleasure, and repeatedly fucked you open with his tongue, going in and out of your hole, to then run up your pussy and circle your clit in quick motions. “jae, i’m gonna c-“
“you can come, baby, come for me,” he muttered against your pussy, feeling the muscles of your pussy clenching and unclenching repeatedly, his hips already rutting against your bed in search of relief at the sight of your body withering before him. the vibrations of his voice against your pussy were enough to send you over the edge. you threw your head back, your legs shacking against jaehyun’s head, making him let out repeated whimpers. his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as his tongue lapped at your pussy, relentlessly working against your clit. your fingers pulled at his hair, and you cried out loud moans.
if it wasn't for your feet on his shoulder pulling him away, you’re not sure he would ever have stopped the motions of his tongue against you. when he did pull away, with the bottom half of his face covered in your juices, you smiled at him, hazy with lust, and he let out an amused chuckle at your fucked out expression. “mark could never eat you out like that,” he whispered against your lips, his face hovering over yours when his hips settled between your open legs.
he reached down, aligning his tip with your pussy, and immediately thrusted forward, not giving you any time to process the high you had only came down from.
“ah- jaehyun, what the fuck,” you cursed at the sharp pain of his thick girth filling you up in the way that only jaehyun knew how to. you had never felt anyone as big as jaehyun, someone who fit inside you like jaehyun did, satisfying all your needs. "fucking asshole," you hissed.
“stop whining like a fucking bitch and take what I give you,” he groaned through his teeth. “so fucking tight baby,” he said, moving in and out of you in quick motions, causing loud desperate cries to leave your mouth. “hasn’t he been fucking you loose, hum?” he asked as his pace got exponentially faster. “you need to learn that this is my pussy, you hear me?” he growled against your ear when you turned your face away from him, eyes scrunched and furrowed eyebrows. “you’re mine, only I can touch you like this,” he continued, and you let out a loud cry of his name. “say it, say it baby,” he growled again.
"jae, slow down- oh my god-" you gasped when he decided to do the exact opposite, his thrust getting harder.
when you didn’t say what he wanted you to, his hand reached your neck, applying enough pressure on it to cut your breathing short. “fucking say it,” he said and you moaned at the feeling of his hand on your neck. he laughed when your pussy clenched harder. “you like it when i choke you? fucking slut,” he said, chocking you even harder. “my slut-“
“yours,” you screamed. “only yours jaehyun,” you cried as the tears in your eyes ran down your cheeks. he rammed your pussy as you cried, letting out loud desperate moans. he grabbed your jaw, bringing your parted lips to his in a messy kiss, his muscle immediately intruding your mouth. drool was rolling down the side of your mouth, as his tongue and yours fought for dominance.
it was a mess. everything was a mess. you. jaehyun. the sound of jaehyun’s hips slamming the back of your tights. your blanket, covered in the juices of your previous orgasm.
it was when jaehyun let out again breathy whimper against your mouth that you knew he was close. he reached down, rubbing quick harsh circles against you clit. “can i come inside?” he asked against your mouth and you nodded fervently, muttering followed please’s against his lips. “gonna fill you up baby,” he moaned. “that’s all you’re good for isn’t it? just need someone to fuck you dumb don’t you? you don’t even care who it is,” he groaned and you cried, shaking your head in denial, to which jaehyun let out a smile of victory.
“no one fucks me like you do, jaehyun,” you cried and pulled him closer to hide your face in the crook of his neck.
“my baby,” he moaned, his tone suddenly softer than ever. “not mark’s. just mine.”
and with that, you came around his dick. your legs shaking violently against his hips, you threw your head against the bed, arching your back, pulling your chest flushed against jaehyun’s. and at the feeling of your velvety walls pulsing tightly around him, jaehyun’s pace inside you became almost animalistic until white spurts of his cum were filling you up.
he fucked his cum into you until there was nothing left, making you moan in overstimulation. “jae, s’too much,” you whimpered, and he stopped his motions, collapsing on top of your body, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
you ran the tips of your fingers through his spine as he peppered gentle pecks against the skin of your neck. his dick was still inside you when he asked, with his voice still raspy. “why did you sleep with mark?”
you sighed, noting the almost unnoticeable hint of disappointment behind his words. “you were busy.”
“what?” he asked, pulling his face away from your neck to look you in the eye, his brows furrowed. he hissed at the feeling of your sticky center against his. “what do you mean?” he asked while reaching down to get off you, laying by your side and throwing one arm on top of your waist with his palm against your tummy, staring at the side of your face.
“the blonde girl,” you mumbled, mindlessly playing with his fingers resting on your tummy.
he thought back to the party, remembering the blonde girl chasing around him through the party as he searched around the house for you, just for johnny to tell him that you had gone up to mark’s room. then, he thought back to when she was grinding on him as he kissed her mouth. “oh, you saw that?”
“yeah.”
“nothing really happened. we just kissed, then i found out you were in mark’s room and just went up to sulk in my own room,” he explained and you couldn’t help the little chuckle that left your lips at that.
“ i only went to mark's room because you were grinding on someone else! also, how do you say nothing happened and then say you ‘just kissed’” you mimicked. “I literally saw her on your lap. only I get to be on your lap during parties,” you mumbled as jaehyun watched you helplessly ramble from beside.
“we never said we were exclusive, y/n,” he said and you looked to the side, raised eyebrows, and parted lips, watching a teasing smirk grow on his lips.
“I thought it was explicit,” you whispered and jaehyun bit his bottom lip, enjoying your reaction to his teasing remark. "I mean, I wasn't sleeping with anyone else- and I'm not, it was really just that one time with mark, and just because I was angry and drunk." you stopped your rambling, feeling jaehyun's eyes on you and stopped playing with his fingers, building up the courage for your next question. "are you sleeping with other people?"
“I’m not,” he whispered, sighing dreamily and pressing a kiss to your cheek.
"you're being weirdly affectionate," you said, laughing at his reaction.
"you literally asked for it. I don't want to be a corpse," he answered making you let out an amused chuckle. "about the blonde girl," he said and you looked at him, your eyes boring into his. "I'm sorry I kissed her. the truth is that the night before, johnny hadn't shut up about how I was so in love with you and you didn't feel the same," your eyes widened in shock, and jaehyun laughed. "I freaked the fuck out and decided to sleep with someone else that night. but when i was about to take her up to my room, i basically just chickened out and went looking for you. and that's when i found out you had gone up with mark."
he explained, honesty overflowing in his voice, his eyes still fixed on yours. you sighed and looked back at the ceiling of your room. “I'm sorry, princess,” he whispered and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his hands starting to lovingly stroke the skin of your waist.
“are you in love with me?” you asked after a few minutes of silence and his hand stopped it's motions.
"I don't know," he answered. "probably."
you looked over at him. his hair was messy over his forehead, his eyes looked at you, hesitant, and with his bottom lip tucked under his teeth. you rolled around, laying on your side with your chest now pressed to his, and pulled his face closer with one hand behind his neck to gently press your lips together, your lips molding to his in a soft, slow kiss. his arms rolled around your waist as he hummed against your mouth and pulled your body on top of his.
"and what are you gonna do about that?" you asked when your lips parted.
"I don't know, I've never done this before," he whispered against your lips.
it was a known fact to you that jaehyun had never dated before. all his associations with other women were resumed to one-night-stands or one-month-long flings (and that was pushing it). so it was no shock that jaehyun really was clueless about what to do when it came to actual relationships. "you should probably take me on a proper date," you said between chuckles.
"aren't we a bit past that?" he asked, smirking. "I mean, I literally just fucked you," he laughed when you rested your forehead against his chest in faked disappointment. "will you make me the happiest man alive and go out with me?" he said when you moved to rest your chin against the center of his chest.
"oh my god, you're not proposing, jaehyun," you complained and jaehyun burst out laughing again. "try again."
"just let me take you on a date," he said, closing his eyes in annoyance, and you chuckled. "please?" he added, slowly opening his eyes to look down at you. at that, you reached up to press repeated pecks against his lips, unable to control the affection you felt towards the boy. it was endearing how clueless he was.
"how 'bout breakfast tomorrow?" you whispered against his lips and he nodded. "no fucking until then. we can't rush things," you warned and jaehyun laughed loudly, surprised you would even propose that knowing you two had had sex countless times before.
also, he was sleeping over. "you can't be serious," he deadpanned.
"I am! there are rules when it comes to dating, jaehyun!"
jaehyun ended up fucking you twice in the shower and, once again, in bed, before you went to sleep. in the morning, while you were getting ready to go out for breakfast, he fucked you against the wall of your bedroom and then again, with you bent over the bathroom counter. after that, as he was driving you two to the brunch place he had chosen, you argued about how he couldn't keep it in his pants. you argued, really, because he spent the whole ride mocking you. then, he fingered you under the table during brunch and had the guts to blame you for wearing a skirt.
nothing with jaehyun was according to the norm. he didn't believe in rules and he wouldn't ever do anything the way he was told to. you weren't ever sure of anything when it came to jaehyun and it infuriated you, but later that night, about 12 hours after your first date, jaehyun asked you to be his girlfriend, and you couldn't do anything except let out a burst of laughter and mutter an infatuated 'yes'.
and you couldn't be more certain of your answer.
#jaehyun#jung jaehyun#nct jaehyun#nct 127#jeong jaehyun#jaehyun smut#jaehyun fluff#jaehyun ansgt#jaehyun drabble#jaehyun oneshot#jaehyun au#fwb!jaehyun#fwb2lovers#college!au
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ONE OF THE BOYS [PART 2]
-> While you pine hopelessly over your best friend, Eddie Munson. You hear the sentiment 'one of the boys' one too many times and you've decided to change that. All in the name of the one boy who won't even look at you, or so you think.
-> eddie munson x you (she/her)
-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst
-> warnings - strong language and suggestive themes [no smut]
-> a/n I tried to tag everyone I saw, but some of y'all weren't linking. Also, there is a part three because part two became so long. Whoops!
[Part 1] Part 2 [Part 3]
-> <-
“You're eventually going to have to talk to them,” Robin shimmies her backpack into the empty chair next to her rather than being strewn across the lunchroom table. “As far as they know, you changed your hair and your clothes and now you hate them.”
You place your lunch tray onto the open space, then sit across from her.
Distancing from your friends was cruel, and you knew that. Robin is also right. Still, you wake an hour early to get to school ahead of them. Taking windy pathways past the gymnasium that stunk of socks to avoid Eddie on his way to his classroom that is two doors away from yours. You carry all of your heaviest books now because Gareth’s locker is across from yours. You do regret leaving that sandwich in your locker though. Gross.
With a routine schedule, two months have flown by without a hitch in the plan. Robin likes sitting with you at lunch, but she does wish you chose to sit here rather than watching you screw away at a tight bond with the boys over at the other table.
Things were desperate by the first week when you shoved toilet paper up your nose in order to fib to Eddie that you were too sick to go anywhere. You missed two days of class just so you could keep away from him.
Then, there was the band performances. You never missed a single night that Corroded Coffin played music at the scrappy biker bar at the outskirts of town. The boys had stopped inviting you after “missing two,” but you snuck into the shadows in the back of the bar. No one really bothered you there. Stage lights distracted the performers enough to where they could only see the front row of drunks.
All of the practice in Gareth’s garage paid off. Corroded Coffin was good - no, excellent. You were so proud of the boys.
You wish you could tell them.
And, so, maybe Robin is right. All of this running around is silly and reckless. You miss all of your friends dearly. Even Eddie, who still you find absolutely and undoubtedly the most complicated soul you ever met in your entire life. Your friendship is more to you than desperately clinging to his ankle like a shaken chihuahua in heat.
Maybe there is a part of you that still wishes he’d see. All the effort you put into your hair, your skin and your nails isn’t just about proving that you aren’t just one of the guys. You knew this from the very beginning. Still, even after your conversation with Gareth that one night, you still play out this plot a little longer.
You like the shiny bling and the tighter clothes that get you a bit more attention. But, you didn’t have to change yourself completely - right?
“Isn’t it time for me to mingle with people who have similar interests as me?” You say finally out of your head. Snagging one of Robin’s fries, you drop down in the seat across from her.
“You've proven you can be a chick with or without that frizzy haired freak. Don't act like you don't like the same stuff they do,” she flicks your jacket, which has hours of patchwork done. You had sewn on patches of your favorite bands. Most of the bands, you had learned from Eddie, himself.
Hours of listening to music together in his trailer, while sharing a blunt. Eddie would get a wind of energy and then he’d leap onto his bed for a solo performance. Fingers stroking a guitar that never existed. You laugh as he tumbles over his mattress, and he tells you that’s when the crowd will carry him - to victory!
You warm at the memory.
Eddie is the only person at his lunch table. Kicking his foot up onto an empty chair, he lounges and he waits for his friends. He’s always the first to get there because his class is so close to the cafeteria. It takes Gareth and Jeff a longer time because they come from the gym. And, the freshman come from the opposite side of the school, so they take the longest to get to the cafeteria.
“Go on,” Robin nudges you. “I’ll see you in math later.”
By the time Robin kicks you thrice in the shin, you get over your worries. You want to patch your friendships up with the boys, but you’re not sure what to tell them. Explaining the truth felt horrific. That you like - er - liked Eddie. Gareth’s confession in the kitchen.
Yeah, the truth seems far fetched.
Your second option is to beg for them to quit calling you ‘one of the guys,’ but that too came off risky. You've never had a problem with their comments before, or their disgusting antics and habits. Once you smell a Jeff fart, then all of the other farts seem forgiving. Seriously, no one should ever give him cheese again. Yet, they do.
Anyway, talking to Eddie first feels less daunting then to come up to all of them at once. But, with your stalling, your wish comes to late. The boys rush the table, hollering and whooping like unkept animals.
You stop in your tracks fully when you see two women beeline for the table. They never invite people to their table. Or at least, they never invite just anyone.
Roxie is easy to recognize. Candy coated red lips meet that of Eddie’s pale cheek that blushes a deep crimson at the affection. Eddie hangs his head, so he can smack a wet kiss to her lips. She uses a free hand to swipe the spare lipstick from his mouth.
“Sweetheart,” Eddie cooed.
Roxie touches his hair in a way that makes his eyes droop low, and he rests his head on her chest. All while he keeps his conversation with Jeff going.
Meanwhile, the other woman is her opposite.
Brunette hair cascades down her back, and tangles amongst her woven sweatshirt. Arms wide open with her slender fingers covered by the net sweater she hid under. She sneaks up on Gareth, and hangs over his neck. Gareth cranes his neck, and whispers in her ear making her laugh sweetly. He touches her wrist with gentle fingers and he pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose with his free hand, before they have a chance to slip further down her face.
“Indie!” Dustin shouts.
The girl hanging from Gareth picks her head up, and grins with a shining sparkle in her eye at the young freshman. She reaches over to ruffle his hair.
You panic.
Slamming into someone’s shoulder, you apologize and you retreat like a mouse being stepped on. Time slows down. You move around people as fast as your feet will carry you.
You can hear your breath in your ears meeting up with your heart banging against your ribcage.
Robin calls to you, but you can’t hear her. Blood rushes through you, and you swear your can feel the swimming and the tingling. Your fingertips tingle when you push open the door into the hallway.
Technically speaking, you couldn’t be out here if you're on our lunch period. A few classes still go on, but mostly the teachers didn’t want anyone to catch them smoking in their classrooms where they shouldn’t be. It’s not like the smell lingers.
Somewhere down the hallway, a classroom is having a heated debate. Voices bounce from wall to wall. Echoing into your eardrums. All. Too. Much. You aim for the big showy doors at the front of the building.
Cool damp air hits your cheeks. Trees stand tall. Birds hold meetings on their branches. They sing soft melodies. Outside smells earthy.
Immersing yourself in the sourness of the damp remains of rainfall, you slow your jagged breathing. Your heart beat regulates.
Keys trembling in your fist, you find your car parked not too far away in the parking lot. Some asshole has blocked your passenger side in, so even if you wanted too you wouldn't be able to get in that way.
Kicking yourself for taking the cowards way out, you catch a tearful glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Mascara slips down your cheeks. Your drowning in two inches of water.
Eddie's bandana sits in your glove compartment. It still remains his with the lingering tang of old cigarettes and sweat. You told him if he left that nasty thing in here that you'd wash the stink out.
You haven't.
Clinging to a tissue, you use that to pat your face dry. Dabbing at your eyes, you don't want to disturb your makeup. Funny how a few months ago, you would be scrubbing your cheeks raw to get anything off of your face.
The tapping on your window startles you because you think a teacher has seen you. However, you find only Robin with a pitiful expression on her face. She waves for you to roll down your window, then holds out your backpack and your jacket that you’ve left behind in your scurry to get out of school.
“You left your things,” she looks at your puffy eyes and your worn out makeup. “Are you okay?”
“No,” you reach out for your things, only to put them in the passenger seat next to you, “I think I’ll go home.”
“Indie is a really nice girl-,”
“I’m not worried about Indie.”
Robin winces at the sharpness of your tone slicing through the air like butter. You apologize to her.
“I’m going to go home, Robin.”
“Roxie and Eddie are only going to last for a day - I guarantee,” her shoulders bobble. “It’s Roxie.”
“Yeah,” you say thinly.
Robin taps your car. “Get home safe.”
“Will do,” you say. “Thank you.”
-> <-
When you arrived at school the next day, you're in class for less than fifteen minutes before your name blasts on the intercom to report to the main office. Robin salutes you from her seat in the back of home room like you’re taking a final walk, before they take you around the back and shoot you between the eyes. Well done, soldier.
Although not as dramatic, you were served a detention slip for after school. You suspected as such, since you left halfway through school without an explanation. Next time you'll go to the nurse, and heat up the thermometer with your tongue. Give her a cough, or a sneeze and she would send you home.
You tap your fresh manicure across the etchings in the desk. Profanities. Markings of once was, and forever will be.
Low rumbles cause for distraction. You pick a desk next to a window where you see the gray clouds clustering in close. They spit at the ground. Droplets of water slip across the glass. You guess which droplet will get to the bottom first, and silently cheer the winner.
Your eye drifts to the front of the class where your chest rises and falls at the next person to walk through the door. All those months of hiding your head felt worthless when Eddie shows up.
For a moment, you think, he’s looking right at you. You swallow, but you try waving. Eddie does ignore you and plops himself into a chair at the front of the classroom. His backpack drops with a thunk.
Tipping your attention back to the window, the rain comes down harder in flashes of wet thunder and lightening. Dark and stormy weather is your favorite. Because, after the rain stops, you like splashing in every puddle until you can’t see the color of your boots anymore.
You can’t do that in your new sneakers. Not a speck of dust on them. Barely out of the box.
“Everyone in their seats,” a man in a blazer walking with an arch to his spine tells us. He hovers at the front of the classroom with both hands on his desk, while peering just above his square framed lenses. Wild gray hairs stick out on end near his ears. You wonder if he’s done this on purpose to accentuate that despite he’s bald on top of his head, he still in fact has hair. “I’m Mr. Clark, and this will be an hour long detention session.”
You came prepared with notebooks and homework to do for the next hour.
“I’ll be taking attendance, and then you may quietly do your homework or read . . . for all I care, bang your head against the desk just be quiet,” he aims the metaphorical bullet at Eddie and misses, and hits the wall just over the top of his head.
Eddie clicks his teeth. “You got it teach.”
“Mr. Munson,” Mr. Clark groans. “Will I ever get tired of seeing your face?”
Eddie grins famously. “Oh, you know you’ll never get tired of me, Dick.”
“It’s Richard,” he clears his throat, then straightens his tie, “Mr. Clark to you.”
You miss the banter. The smart mouth Eddie that has you drooling. Oh, God, please resist getting sucked in again.
The notebook in front of you has pages of blank white paper. You focus on filling in the lines with your math equations.
“Solve for E,” you tell yourself in a hushed whisper. “What ever happened to X?”
So, you solve for E.
You raise your hand when your name is called for the attendance. Pretending that Eddie didn’t whip around at your name, instead you solve for E. You solve for E because E is the equivalent of- E is the equivalent of-
Eddie can’t help, but watch your eyebrows get closer and closer to your nose. You get frazzled easily when you know you’re close to an answer that’s on the tip of your tongue.
You’re breaking now. Keeping your head down, as Eddie burns holes into the top of your head. E isn’t an equivalent of anything. E is the most complex and confusing letter of the alphabet. You swore up and down that you would avoid E. E’s in front of you. There’s no way to escape E for an entire hour. Even when you think you've solved E, you still have to see E living in a trailer across from you. E’s lights still on. Eating. Watching TV. Changing. Sleeping. Dreaming.
Crap, you are not thinking about the fifth letter in the alphabet. And, you are certainly not thinking about math.
You throw down your pencil in frustration.
Eddie waits for Mr. Clark to finish his attendance taking. In mere moments, the old geezer passes out despite his fifth coffee of the day. He rocks back in his chair, arms at his side with a trail of drool spilling out down his chin.
That’s when Eddie moves.
“Hey,” you have your head down on your desk by now, but Eddie doesn’t care.
He doesn’t understand why you’re avoiding the group. Obviously, he misses when you would sit at the table and you correct his homework from the night before. You’re too smart for him. Eddie knows this. You’re more than a brain to him, though. The way you speak with your hands more and more when you get excited.
Eddie likes to pretend not to understand why he gets nervous when you lean over his shoulders to show him how to work out a problem in one of his classes. He pretends to not notice the scent of your soap that smells so sweet and delicious. That the smell lingers when you leave.
What he can't shake, however, is why you haven’t been speaking to him for the last two months. Darting into empty classrooms when you think he’s not looking. When your home, you'll keep the lights off or low enough that he might forget you’re home (he doesn’t). And, you think you’re clever sneaking into the back of his performances with the band, but Eddie sees you there dancing by yourself with a grin on your face that could break apart the gray days and bring back the sunshine. You haven’t missed a single performance yet.
So, where have you been?
You bring your head up from the table because you know Eddie is smarter than to think you’ve fallen asleep. Sometimes you talk, or you twitch your arms - Eddie’s seen this when you knock out after a long day. He'll let you sleep there, but he'll take off your shoes so that you're comfortable. And, he'll even place a blanket over you because you'll start to shiver. But, he never stays. He doesn't want you to wake up because Eddie is notoriously clumsy. Instead, Eddie would sneak into the living room twiddling his thumbs making no noise until you wake up. He wouldn't turn on the television. He wouldn't warm anything up in the microwave. He wouldn't even open his fridge. He would sit on the floor of his living room kicking his feet together, and plucking at the carpet fibers.
You never sleep long - thirty minutes at most.
Eddie thinks about how much time you spend together in his trailer at this moment. You’ve shared everything. Clothes. Towels. Blankets. Toothpaste. Food. Secrets. You've made a mark on him when he wasn’t looking. If there is a way to tattoo someone into their brain, into their heart, you're there.
That terrifies him.
“Hi,” your voice melts him.
Eddie stumbles over his words. “Erm-,”
“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I just-,”
“How are you doing?” Eddie wants you to keep talking. He’ll ask about anything to keep you here with him. Tempting you like a rabbit, and him holding onto a carrot, he waits for you to bite.
“Good,” you reply. “You?”
“Yeah, good.”
You can’t hold back. “You’re with Roxie, now?”
“Hm?” He hums. “It’s casual.”
“Casual,” you repeat. “Like I said- erm- I’m sorry that I haven’t been around. My classes-,”
“Don’t lie to me,” Eddie’s eyes swell, and you fall deeper into the trap. “What’s happening to you?”
Okay, truth time.
“I liked a boy, and he didn’t like me back,” you stretch out your top. “I even tried changing my look, but that seems pretty pointless now. But, I guess I just got tired of being compared to a boy.”
Eddie could faint. You're infatuated with someone so much that you changed your entire wardrobe. Guilt rubs at him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie's denying what he already knows about himself. That if he kept comparing you to one of his guy friends that certain emotions couldn't grasp hold of the surface for air.
“Who's comparing you to a boy?”
He had to be sure.
“Seriously?” you frown. “Everyone. You. Gareth-,”
Confirmed.
“Is this about Gareth?” Eddie clenches his fist around the back of his chair. “I swear to God, I’ll pummel that little sack of shit.”
“Eddie,” you scold. “It’s not Gareth- never mind.”
“Wait, who’s the guy?”
You hum. “What?”
“You said you liked some guy?” Eddie pieces together. “It has to be one of us, right? I mean you stopped talking to all of us specifically, so which one of us is it?”
“That’s not important,” you suck in a breath. “Eddie, I’m doing homework.”
He snorts, the flips the page so he can read the question, “you’re doing it wrong.”
You roll your eyes. “Aren’t I usually the one who’s correcting you?”
“Gareth’s girlfriend has been helping me since you- never mind,” Eddie sees the tension in your jaw. “Okay, so to solve for E, you plug in this number here and then you take the square root there.”
You’re irritated, but Eddie is right and you mark your paper up how the equation should be.
“Thank you.”
“So, it’s Gareth,” Eddie presses on.
“What?”
“The boy you like that doesn’t like you back?”
“No,” you write another math equation out on your piece of paper. “Actually, Gareth liked me, and I didn’t feel the same.”
Eddie knows this, but he just needs to hear you say you don't like his friend.
“The plot thickens,” he gets comfortable. “Is it Jeff? Come on, Jeff is a catch.”
“Eddie, please drop it,” you beg.
Eddie throws a few more names out that you can ignore over your homework. But, slowly he begins to run out of ideas. You know where he’s going, and you’re not sure how to react when he says,
“It’s not me is it?”
Your pencil stops scribbling, and if you’re careful you can pretend to be thinking really hard about - what two plus two equals. Oh, damn.
“It is me.”
Those three little words trip you up more than Eddie’s jaw being on the floor right now. You stammer for a little too long. Tripping over the right words to say to him.
This is it.
The moment you’ll lose him for good.
You want him to just tear your heart from your chest and squeeze it until it pops. Make the pain of an aching heart go by so much faster.
“Mr. Munson,” Mr. Clark rose like a zombie from the afterlife. “Is there a reason that your seat is empty?”
Eddie whirled around. Still stunned, he replies,
“Uh. . . right, sorry.”
Without making too much noise, Eddie puts himself back into his original seat towards the front of the classroom. Fidgeting with his pencil, someone might mistake that he’s doing homework for the first time.
Eddie lives across the trailer park from you. How could he not see this coming? All the nights he's spent rescuing you from the clutches of your mom, who, despite being a wonderful host, has this unnecessary plea that you embrace your ‘femininity.’ That’s what you call it, he thinks.
Oh, and now to let you down.
Eddie’s seeing someone great. Roxie. She’s - she’s - she’s not as much of a slut as people say. And, he likes - no he loves that thing she does with her tongue.
Okay, he’s getting distracted.
You’re one of his closest and longest friendships he’s had. And now, you, have to go and change that.
Eddie’s mad. Angrier than angry. How dare you bring this to him.
Two months you kept away. You ran around the school like a chicken with your head cut off trying to avoid all of your loyal friends. And, you brought Robin into this mess?
Robin, at the very least, is a sweet and a neutral party. Okay? She doesn’t involve herself with anyone’s drama. She just sticks to the side of the drama like she's riding in a sidecar, and she takes notes. She lingers.
Eddie rubs his eye.
Maybe if you and he went on one tiny - the tiniest - date. As in, he doesn’t pay for food, kind of dates then you’ll get whatever you want out. You can go back to being friends, and Eddie can still see Roxie. Because, he likes Roxie.
He doesn’t like you like that.
Eddie wants nothing more than to forget the conversation you two just had. Yet, you’re lodged in his brain like a damn tumor. Yeah, a tumor. Growing at an alarming rate, he wants to smush your pretty little face. Not in a violent way - no, he’s not like that. He just wants to get out the tension, and - and hold you for a night? Does that make sense?
No, Eddie it does not.
Eddie wishes you didn’t smell so good today . . . and all the other days. If you smelled like an ogre, he could stop thinking about taking you on that ‘barely-call-it-a-date’ date. Although, if you were an ogre and you did smell as good as you do right now - ugh, that doesn't matter!
None of this matters. Why is he thinking like this?
In theory, he’ll take you somewhere romantic. To release you of your crush faster, he’ll spend the money - okay? He decides to break the bank for you.
Only once.
There’s a little spot outside of town that has the most delicious steak dinners. They have a dimly lit dining room, so Eddie wouldn’t have to see the dress you spent hours deciding on wearing. Your bare skin softened by the scented lotion you bought just for the night. He can hear your laugh like a song he knows by memory. You tilt your head back, exposing the flesh of your neck.
After your dinner, that he pays for - not you, he’ll walk you down the street where he parked his van earlier. He’ll have cleaned out and scrubbed the seats until every stain kicks the bucket. Driving you home, he’ll feel that knot in his chest that he knows from watching cheesy romantic comedy movies as practice for when that crap happens to him (he doesn't do that . . . shut up.). That knot tighten a little more by the time he gets to the trailer park. And, by the time he gets out of the car his fingertips start to shake.
Eddie will open your door, if he can get there before you. Taking your hand in his, he’ll feel the warmth of your skin against his. How right the moment feels. How nervous your breath is against his. How close you are to him. He’ll be the one to learn in first - you're too nervous to make that leap.
Lips as sweet as milk and honey. He would kiss you for a long time, always coming back for more. Eddie won't find himself getting enough of you. You’re touching his hair, and he melts.
Eddie will never want the night to end.
“Munson!”
Eddie doesn’t recall falling asleep. Yet, his eyes snap open. Mr. Clark’s slobbering from the side of his mouth. He’s so close that Eddie makes out the patches in his face where he’s forgotten to shave.
The classroom is emptying. He only catches a glimpse of you leaving.
“Go home, boy,” Mr. Clark begs. “You and I both know you don’t want to be here for any longer.”
No, Eddie does not.
In fact, Eddie would much rather be wrapped in your arms in either his bed or your bed.
Eddie shoves his notebook and his pencil back into his backpack knowing full well he heard something crunch unhappily in there. Racing out of the classroom, he sprints after you in the hallway.
But, you’ve already gone.
-> <-
tags: @hellfirenacht @queercodedcharacter @ogoc-19 @littlewinchester1 @stardustingold @ghost4love @spenciesprincess @animechick555 @foggyfooz @aactuaaltraash @loves0phelia
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things#stranger things imagine#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson preference#angst
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picture this: you're a busy working mom whose husband died on the job under mysterious circumstances, leaving you alone to raise your young son in a town with none of your family or support network, at a job that will never pay enough, no matter how much good work you do. your son at once idolizes his father and resents him for leaving, and has channeled all of his energy into solving mysteries without regard for his health or well-being.
you watch him get bullied, watch him get into fights constantly as he searches for his missing babysitter and the other missing girls in town. he wears a nickname given to him by a bully with pride and tries so hard to impress his friends. you see him build up a group of friends, only for them to go to jail. after your apartment is attacked, you go with him to prom to take down his evil vice principal, who killed your husband on an impulse. you devour the dragon who killed your husband and it tastes like hollow victory, like revenge for the man you can't bring back.
the next year, your son goes on spring break with his friends after he gets accosted by an entity that used to work with your husband and some kind of mirror entity that leaves shards in your apartment. you don't hear much from him on the trip until you see a pit fiend choke him out and kill him, on a livestream. your son gives up his worldly possessions for the sake of defeating an entity that was raised for the sake of the status of an elven family.
your son comes back from spring break with the name of an eldritch entity tattooed on his chest and tells you his father died because the being he used to work with put a target on his back. your son met his dead father in heaven after he went to hell as a litigator for his friend. your son has been threatened with death for existing and come back.
that summer, the eldritch entity is summoned out of your son's body, and he spends the entire summer tracking down a cult and sealing the entity once more. you've left your (thankless) job to become a public defender for people like you, getting nothing for years of work, of doing your duty to bring home a little more for your son, and they won't give you your pension.
your son works himself to the bone for his friends, knowing he can't go to a good school unless he somehow ensures they all succeed. he does everything: perfect grades, every extracurricular, running the student government campaign for his friend, and he's still tracking down another missing girl. he gets dominate monster cast on him by the principal despite doing nothing wrong.
you chat with him in the car, driving to school, and he can't afford a moment of rest. people have been killed following the leads he's tracking, he warns you of the danger of following up and yet he still aims to find the clues.
and you wonder, is this all i've shown him? stretching yourself thin, never more than a moment's rest, and yet others don't appreciate it? after spending your lives in this town, and you're still goblins, still punished for the crime of existence, having to work twice as hard for half the credit.
they call him "the ball".
every day sklonda gukgak wakes up.
#dimension 20#dimension 20 spoilers#fhjy#fhjy spoilers#sklonda gukgak#riz gukgak#d20 prose & verse#d20 poetic thoughts
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One-Love! (Harry Styles Oneshot- Tennis player! Harry x Tennis Player y/n)
Synopsis:- This is a one shot inspired by Paris Olympics Gold medalists Katerina Siniakova and Tomas Machac, a beautiful couple who broke up before the olympics to focus on their game, and teamed up in the mixed doubles event to win the gold for their country. They shared a sweet kiss after their victory.
Word Count: 4,219
Warnings: Smut. Some sweet sex, a little bit of angst, and lots of fluff.
_______________________________________________
The sun was bright, warm, and not harsh, falling over y/n’s face through the small gaps of her window blinds. The alarm goes off and she wakes up with a soft groan, expertly reaching out a hand to silence it, without having to look.
“Wakey wakey, it’s a beautiful morning!”She hears her boyfriend, Harry, and curls up on her side, hiding further under her blankets and acting like she’s still sleeping as she hears his footsteps coming towards her.
She feels the bed dip down with Harry’s weight as he climbs on, and leans over her, his breath fanning her face. “Aw, look at you, my sleepy head.”
y/n has to trap in her smile as she feels his gentle fingers stroke over her hair, moving the strands away from her face. “What am I gonna do to wake her up?”Harry wonders, smiling as he knows she’s playing with him. “Maybe I should go with a tickle attack.”
y/n gasps as his arms wrap around her waist, and hands sneak up to his oversized shirt she was wearing. “You can’t wake people up with tickle attacks!”, she says.
He laughs, pulling her so her back is to his chest. “You’re awake then?”
“No.”, she grumbles, turning around in his arms, and resting her forehead on his shoulder blade.”Why is it morning so fast?”
“Well, we did stay up till late. You wanted to go another round and then-”
“-Oh shut up.”, she cuts him off, and opens her eyes, meeting the forest green ones staring back at her. Harry’s face splits into a big smile as he rubs his nose with hers, something they always do. “There’s my girl.”
y/n has known Harry since years. They grew up in the same neighborhood, and their parents are friends. y/n and Harry didn’t get off to a great start though. Harry and his friends were playing football when y/n and her friend were walking by, and one of them kicked the ball towards them, making it splash onto a puddle right in front of them. The murky brown water fell on y/n’s friend’s new white top. Of course the boys didn’t mean to and they apologized, but since then, her friends wouldn’t look eye to eye with those boys. It seemed like a good grudge to keep at their young age.
y/n had a love for tennis. She loved watching the matches with her dad, and her dad even set up a net for her in the backyard so they could play. He enrolled her in the nearest coaching academy, where she didn’t know that Harry was training as well.
“Oh Harry! It’s her first day today. Good that you have a friend already, eh?”Her dad smiles as he pats little Harry’s shoulder. The older curly haired boy smiled at y/n, a little smile playing on his lips. y/n tells her dad that she would be okay, and he leaves, promising to come pick her up after two hours.
“So, you like tennis?”Harry asks, looking sideways at her as they walk inside.
“Yes. You too?”, she asks, and he nods, putting out a hand. “Friends then?”
y/n smiles, shaking his hand. “Friends.”
“Someone once told me that mornings are the best time to train.”, Harry tells her as he brings his hands up to cup her face.
“Must be a crazy person.”, she smiles, admiring how some of his brown curls fell over his face. “Yes, she is quite crazy. But I love her.”, he smiles back, dimples popping as his thumb stroked over her bottom lip. “Let’s go, sunshine. Made our smoothies ready.”
“Kiss?”, y/n puckers her lips. Harry looks at her fondly, before pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss. “I love you too.”, she says, ruffling his hair when they pull away and sits up, stretching her arms above her head.
Harry and y/n get into their training clothes, after y/n freshens up and they get going to the court where they practice. They did their warm ups, and ran some rounds around the court first. Harry and y/n had different coaches, but they train together a lot of times.
“You’re going down, Styles.”, y/n says, pushing her hair back with her head band before picking up her racket.
“You can try, y/n.”, Harry grins, who was jumping on his toes on the opposite side.
Harry was easily the best player she had played with, and played against. He was quick on his toes, his eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s, and he moved on the court like a panther. He was something you would call a mastermind, he had moves saved until the last moment and surprised his opponent when they least expected it. Harry had the saddest time of his life when he failed to qualify for the Tokyo Olympics. He got injured during the qualifying match, and he couldn’t be at his best.
“One- Love!", Harry smirks, as he gets a point.
y/n’s coach thought she wasn’t ready yet during Tokyo, so she was now looking at the Paris Olympics. Winning a medal for her country was her dream and she would do anything to get that.
“Yess!”, y/n cheers as she gets the match winning point to beat Harry. They always get so close, and playing against y/n sends the gears in Harry’s head turning, and he has to be at the top of his game. y/n walks to the bench, sitting down tiredly and Harry walks to her, giving her a fist bump. “Nice one, babe.”
“Thanks.”, she smiles, taking her water bottle out of her bag and pouring some over her face before chugging it down. “Wanna go again?”
“I’d like to, but I’ve got a session with the coach in the evening, don’t wanna over work myself.”, Harry tells her and she nods. “Shall we go grab breakfast?”, he asks her.
“Sure.”
Harry and y/n get some breakfast, then spend the day with each other before they part for training with their coaches in the evening.
“y/n, you have six months from now for the qualification rounds.”, her coach tells her. “We have to make a game plan for that soon.”
“I’m at the top of my game right now coach, I just have to keep doing what I’m doing, right?”, she asks. She had won silvers, and golds in the previous tournaments. She was one of the country’s best at the moment.
“This is the Olympics, y/n, it’s not going to be easy.”, he tells her. “You have to work double as hard.”
“I will. I’m gonna go to Paris this time.”
He smiles at her, keeping his hands together over his knees as he leans to talk to her. She was sitting on the court, arms around her knees. “You know you have to let go of all distractions, right?”
“My social media and stuff? Yeah, I can do that.”
“I’m talking about Styles.”
She raises her eyebrows. “What about him? He isn’t a distraction coach, we make each other better. Besides, we’re competing in different categories, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I want your focus to be on Tennis completely, y/n.”, he stresses. “You can’t do that if you’ve got a love life. And you know as well I do, that Harry will do anything to get this win. He needs it. He’s getting older, and he’s under a lot of pressure. It’s good for both of you to stop dating for a while, at least until this gets over.”
y/n opens her mouth and closes it. “You’ve got what it takes y/n, you are so talented. Isn’t this your dream?”
“Yes..”, she whispers.
“Then you have to let go of everything and give me your best in these next few months.”
Harry was fed the same things from his coach, and they both stopped seeing each other so frequently. They stayed over less, and there was this air of tension around them as the days grew closer.
“Babe..”, Harry says. He pauses the show they were watching, making y/n turn to look at him. “Hm?”
“W-We, um, we need to talk.”
y/n nods, sitting up, and Harry takes her hand. He didn’t want to tell her this, but he had to. Tennis was important to him. This could be his last chance to finally make it. He had to make sacrifices.
“I think we should stop seeing each other.”, he murmurs. “They’re right, we have to focus on the sport. It’s our dream.”
y/n’s heart squeezes in her chest. “Y-You’re just as important to me, Harry.”
Harry quickly looks up to her eyes, squeezing her hand. “y/n, you mean the world to me. You’re my person, and my everything. Trust me, I thought about this a lot.”
“Me too.”, she agrees quietly. “This is it, then?”
“No. No, please, don’t say that.”, he shakes his head, leaving her hand to scoop her into his lap. One of his hands cups her cheek, while the other lays at her hip. “We can get back together..when things are not so hectic.”
“So..we break up for a few months to focus on Tennis?”, she asks, tears springing in her eyes, and Harry’s heart breaks as he sees that. He nodded. “M-My dad..he wanted me to win in the Olympics, it was his dream. He even told me about it before he d-died. I-I have to do this, y/n.”
She nods, understanding. She had the same love for the sport. An Olympic medal is the best achievement for any sports person.
“I love you.”, she whispers, her forehead touching his.
“I love you too.”, he whispers back, kissing her. His tongue strokes over her bottom lip and she opens up, to let his tongue explore her mouth. Her fingers play with the curls at the back of his head, as his hands run up and down her sides. “One last time?”, he whispers against her lips, eyes looking at hers.
“One last time.”, she agrees, joining their lips again. Harry’s lips trail down her neck, and her jawline, leaving his marks. “N-No seeing anyone else, right?”, she asks.
“Do you want to?”, he asks, slipping his hand under her shirt to grope at her breast. She moans, pressing closer to him as she feels his boner through her shorts. “No..n-no one’s as good as you, Harry.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”, he smirks, rubbing her nipple between his fingers. “Let me see you, baby.”, he whispers, tugging her shirt off her body. y/n does the same to him, and continues to straddle his lap as he marks her up.
She runs her hands over his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and over his inked chest. “Just like that baby, go down on me, just like that.”, he murmurs, hands moving to her hip to get her into a rhythm. He plays with her breasts and showers her in kisses, groaning against her skin.
“H-Harry I need you.”, she moans softly. “Please.”
“Anything for you, baby.” Harry picks her up, hands under her ass as he takes them to the bedroom, their lips connecting again. He lets her back hit the bed softly, before hovering over her. “You are so beautiful.”, he punctuates each word with a kiss down to her stomach, while his hand moves to her core, feeling the sleekness of her wet folds.
“Right back at ya, Styles.”, she says, pulling him closer as she runs her hands down his back. Harry groans, not able to hold on any longer. “Let me get inside you, darling.”
She spreads her legs, and he pushes his dick inside her. She moans at the feeling of being full. Harry fills her up so well. He starts moving in and out of her, his eyes looking at hers. “You feel so g-good, y/n.”, he moans. “So perfect for me.”
y/n looks at the love of her life, her chest bursting with emotions. She wished they could be here like this, with only the two of them in their own world forever.
“H-Harry?”, she asks, opening her palm, wanting him to hold her hand while he fucked her. Harry looks at her, also brimming with emotions. He tangles his hand with hers immediately, squeezing it tight. “I-I love you y/n. I love you so much.”
“I-I love you too.”, she smiles, her body starting to shake as she feels her orgasm coming. She clenched around his dick, and he brought his other hand to rub her clit. Her eyes roll back in her head as she whispers his name, again and again, as she reaches her high. Harry cums after she does, and he lays on top of her, exhausted.
“We’ll be fine, love.”, y/n whispers, running her hand through her favorite head of curls.
Harry smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “We will.”
_____________________________________________
y/n and Harry hadn’t seen each other, or talked to each other for months. Harry missed y/n so much that he felt a constant tugging in his heart. He trained alone with his coach, and he missed the times when they would mess around with each other. He missed her laugh, the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, he missed her scent in his room, on his clothes, he missed everything about her. The only thing that kept him going was his game.
y/n wasn’t any better. She was alright for the first few weeks, but then the empty space next to her on the bed, the lack of warmth when she woke up in the mornings, and the lack of cheesy jokes made her think about Harry. She was on a strict diet, and her coach put her on a different workout regime. It was so extreme that after a while, the only thing on her mind was Tennis. Her mind was trained.
Over the months, y/n’s agility improved along with other aspects, and she became great at reading the game. She was beating everyone she played against. Finally, it was time for the qualification rounds.
Harry had finished his match, and he had won, so he had booked his spot in Paris, representing Britain.
“Back to the hotel now?”, his friend, who’s also under the training of his coach asks him.
“Next match in court number five! y/n y/l/n versus Yasmin Reinardo!”, Harry hears the announcement and his eyes widen. He wanted to go see her.
“Um, you go ahead.”, he told his friend, before rushing off to court five. He joined the audience, making it just in time.
He felt so many emotions when he saw her. It had been six months. His sunshine, his baby, his love. She looked incredible. Gorgeous as always, and she had gained some muscle around her arms. Her hair was tied into a high pony, and she wore her favorite white head band which she thinks is her lucky charm.
Harry was so proud as he watched his girl on the court, she was on fire. Her opponent was good, but not good enough.
y/n won the game, and the other girl broke into tears. After all, she also had the dream for representing her country at the Olympics. y/n pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back as she mumbled something Harry couldn’t hear, but he smiled. He quickly went down to meet her, as she wiped the sweat off her body with a towel.
“Congratulations, love.”
She spins around so quickly when she hears his voice, and her eyes melt. She was overjoyed with emotion because of the win. She was going to compete in the Olympics for the first time! And the first person that she wanted to see was Harry, who was right in front of her.
“Harry.”, she gushes, before throwing her arms around him. Harry didn’t mind the sweat, he needed the hug just as much as she did. He squeezed her to her chest, holding her close. “O-Oh my god, I can’t believe it.”, she shakes in his arms.
“You made it love, you’re going to Paris!”, he rubs her back, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He heard the camera click, and knew their photos were being taken. Oh well. He couldn’t worry about that now.
“Y-You?”, y/n pulls back to look at him. Harry grinned at her, dipping his head down to rub his nose with hers. “I’m coming along too.”
She grins back and squeezes him. “I would have been so mad if we broke up for no reason. We get a free ticket to Paris!”
________________________________________
The Olympics will be held in another four months.. They caught up that day during the qualifications, grabbed a dinner together to celebrate, and then they were back to training.
They would see each other more often now, because all the British representatives trained together. Harry and y/n were both in better spirits now that they could see each other frequently, even if it was strictly during practice.
They would exchange subtle glances, touch hands when they exchanged things, and talk when they got time, but it was mostly about the game. One month before the Olympics, their team was yet to decide who would play for the mixed doubles.
“You both have played together before, right?”, one of the coaches asked Harry. “y/n and I? Yeah, in the commonwealth, we won bronze.”
“I think they’re our best shot.”, the guy says, looking at the other coaches and the players.
“What do you guys think?”
Harry looks at y/n, from across the room, like I’m okay if you’re okay.
Yes, there was their break up thing, they hadn’t kissed in months, there would be sexual tension having to play right next to him as his team member, and she couldn’t let that affect the event she was competing for. But it was an amazing opportunity, she had two chances to get a medal.
“Yes, that’s a good idea. We’ve played together the most, and we make a good team.”, y/n said, and Harry smiled.
So that’s how they started preparing together, for the mixed doubles along with their own events.
“Are you nervous?”, y/n asks one night, as she sits on the floor stretching. “We’re flying to Paris tomorrow, Harry.”
“I’m excited about going to Paris, but am I nervous about the actual reason we’re going? Yes.”, he says, making her chuckle. They were the only ones there, and Harry was putting his racket into its case. “It’s gonna be unreal. I mean, we’re getting a step closer to our dreams.”
y/n nods, stretching her legs out. “Any tips from your experience? About the whole adjusting to playing in the world’s biggest tournament thing.”
Harry laughs lightly, turning to her. “Babe, this is my first time too.” He crouches down so he’s looking at her. “But I’d say just focus on your game. You are the best, believe only that. Tune out everything else. You might feel like listening to the crowd who’s cheering for you, but tune that out too. You focus on doing what you’re good at. You’ve sacrificed so much for this, and you deserve to win. Play with that feeling.”
y/n looks into his eyes, and nods as his words seep into her brain. Her eyes moved to his lips, he was so close. Just one kiss.
Harry leaned closer, but it was to grab her leg. “Let me stretch you out.”
“Y-Yeah..”, she looks away from him. Harry had only gotten more attractive, and she loved seeing him in his short tennis shorts and a loose shirt. His tattoo covered muscular arms made her go weak in the knees.
“Lay back.”, Harry says and she does. Harry’s hands slowly lift up her leg, one of his hands on the back of her thigh and the other on her foot as he applies some pressure to it. She can’t stretch herself out so well.
“Other leg.”, Harry smiles, keeping that leg down and his hands reaching for her other leg. She lifts it up, and he stretches it out like he did with the other. He was on his knees in front of her. Then he folds her leg, making her knee touch her chin.
“Hold it for another second..”, he hums, counting down. He did the same for the other leg, and she feels like her muscles are dissolving under her touch.
“Pancake time.”, Harry pats her thigh, and she sits up, leaning over with her hands on the floor, going into something called the pancake stretch. Harry goes behind her, and applies pressure to her back. “Head down..that’s it, hold it there.”
She groans, feeling the stretch. Harry can’t help but smile, she can’t see his face anyway. “Alright, arms up.”
He stretches her arms, holding them above her head, and when he’s done, he kisses the top of her head. “All done.”
“Thanks, H.”, she smiles. “I’m gonna get going, make sure I’ve packed everything.”
“Mhm.” He wishes he could go with her.
“Soon.”, she promises, like she read his mind, and he smiles as she kisses his cheek before walking away with her bag.
_____________________________________________________
It was crazy. Harry and y/n were in the Olympic Village, competing in the Paris Olympics. It was unbelievable. y/n had to pinch herself when she got there. It was every sports lover’s dream. They got a little tour when they arrived, and she was awed by all the different areas for the numerous sports competitions.
She stood beside Harry for the opening ceremony, along with their other team members as they were welcomed. She was overwhelmed, thinking about how hard she had worked to get there.
Her own event was going to be after a few days, the first event was her mixed doubles with Harry. They knew very well each other’s strengths and weaknesses, who should cover what, and everything else. They were well prepared and planned.
They won every game they played, and made it to the finals.
y/n wanted to win this for Harry. She was going to give it her best.
“We got this.”, Harry squeezes her hand as she jumps around, minutes before the match. “y/n, we got this.”
She nods, taking a deep breath and looking at him. A medal was sure. If not gold, silver. But their eyes were on the gold. Everyone wants to win.
She walks to Harry, and hugs him. “We’ve gotten this far love, this is the final stretch.”, Harry whispers against her hair. “I am so fucking proud of you.”
“I-I’m proud of you too.”, she pulls back to hold his face. “A-And I can’t do it anymore. I-I can’t live without you, Harry.”
“Neither can I, baby. I need you in my life, I can’t fucking breathe if I think about losing you, ever.”, Harry squeezes her tight. “Now, it’s time to win a medal. What do you say?”
“I say yes.”, she grins.
Everyone cheers as Harry and y/n enter the court, shaking hands with their opponents. The fans loved to cook up theories about Harry and y/n, being seen out a lot of times with each other and their chemistry on the court is just magical to watch. Harry and y/n give cheeky responses when they're asked about it during interviews. They never confirmed their relationship, but their fans think it's obvious.
“One- Love!”
They score a point, and grin at each other before their hands meet for a fist bump. It was a tight game, keeping the people watching at the edge of her seats. They won the first set.
y/n and Harry are seen whispering to each other and their coaches as they drink their water and electrolytes during the break. They knew where their opponents were weak and just how to win the second set just like they had won the first.
And they do.
y/n screams in joy and astonishment. The fact that she just won an Olympic Gold Medal for her country felt so unreal! Harry was going through the same emotions. He made his father proud, he achieved what he had been working towards for years.
The whole world was looking at them, but Harry could only see one person. His partner and the love of his life.
“We won Harry! We won!”, she jumps high into the air, before wrapping her arms around his neck and clinging to him. Harry laughs as he lifts his girl up, spinning her around. They were laughing and crying at the same time. When Harry lets her feet touch the ground, she grins at him through her tears, and he cups her face. “I love you, y/n.”
“I love you too, Harry.”, she chokes back, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. He kissed her. He kissed her like he didn’t for 10 months, he kissed her like he couldn’t breathe, and he kissed her like they just became World Champions.
Kateřina Siniaková and Tomáš Macháč- Gold medlists, Mixed Doubles. Paris Olympics, 2024.
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