#the way i fervently prayed

[thebirdandhersong]

I think I'm over the "men are the WOOOOOORST" hill of irrational rage :D

[starrbishops]

⟡Touch⟡

John Walker x Reader

Part 1 - This is Part 2 to Crush but can be read as a standalone!

Summary: After confessing your feelings for each other, you and John finally act on those feelings.- ao3 version

Notes: Idiots in love, SMUT!!! oral sex (fem rec) fingering, p in v sex, protected sex (that man does NOT need another child to neglect) silly sex idk they're both goofy.

Word Count: 1.8k

a/n: So the day I wrote Crush I couldn't sleep and typed like 85% of this out deliours in a google doc and um here it is. I think a horny spirit possessed me or smthn man. Can be read as a sequel or standalone!

When John claimed he was “exceptional” at sex, you took it with a grain of salt.

You were undeniably attracted to him, and he’d already exceeded your expectations kissing, but could you really trust a man, let alone a blond one, let alone John Walker to accurately estimate himself in the bedroom?

As it turned out, you could.

John practically ran to his room with you in his arms, the two of you laughing quietly as you tried not to draw the attention of the others. Most of them were out grabbing lunch, although you vaguely remembered Bob and Alexei planning on watching some old Russian comedy.

Any thoughts of the others left you mind as John pressed another kiss to your lips as he pushed his door open with his hip, not breaking the kiss to close it with foot before gently laying you down on the bed.

“God, I’ve fucking dreamed about this.” He all but groaned as he pressed kisses to your jaw, trailing down your neck and to your collarbone.

You grabbed at the hem of that damn t-shirt that drove you so insane, a hint which John took as he wrestled it over his head.

You paused to admire him; he was well-built, not in an overly showy way, but hard and taut in the right places and blond hair smattered across his chest. Your eyes trail down to his abs-you’d seen them before, when he’d structured once and his shirt had gone up just a bit. It stayed with you for weeks, but that glimpse was nothing to having him bare on top of you now.

“I think it’s only fair you take yours off, now.” His cocky grin make a reappearance, although the usual smugness in it was replaced with a sense of genuine joy and isbeleif, like he was in a dream praying to never wake up.

You chuckle nonetheless and reach down to the bottom of your own shirt. John beats you to it as he yanks the fabric off of you, eliciting a gasp as he tosses it away somewhere.

His eyes take over you, landing on your breasts. You prop yourself up on your elbows to provide better reach as he reaches around to the glass, giving you small nod and a look of is this okay? You nod fervently, and he unclips your bra with a practiced ease, all but ripping it off you as he stares down at your chest.

“Rusty my ass.” You smile.

The joke goes in one ear and out as his lust-addled brain is fixated on your body. “You’re perfect,” he mutters as he leans down to kiss each of your breasts, his hand kneading the other as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth.

You gasp at the sensation, his tongue running around the sensitive bud, pebbling beneath his touch. He moves to the other and you can feel his smile on your tit as he ravishes it just the same.

He pauses to look back up at you, a pensive look on his face. “Can I go down on you?”

You’re a little taken aback to be honest, but you nod vigorously. “Yes. God yes, John-“

Then he’s sitting up and reaching for your jeans, pulling the zipper as you unbutton them before wiggling them off. 

He’s got a single-minded focus now, the look in his eyes turning a little feral as he grabs at your panties, running a thumb over the wet spot where your arousal pools.

“That's all for me?” He asks, part of him stroking his ego, another still insecure in your feelings for him.

“All for you John, all yours-“

Your breathy moans make something snap in him then. He grabs the sides of your panties and rips them from your body, with an ease you suspect is not Al serum strength.

Your mind races but You’re too shocked to make a joke, as John lowers himself between your thighs; planting a kiss to your inner thigh. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles as he peppers your legs with soft kisses before moving towards your dripping cunt. He noses your clit, eliciting a gasp as electric shocks run through you at his feather-light touch.

“So fucking beautiful,” he groans as he moves to lick a long, wet stripe up you, hands moving to grip your hips into place as you writhe under his touch. His beard is rough against your skin, contrasting his soft, passionate touch.

His tongue licks into you, spreading your srousal all over you as he devours you like a man starved. You never took John for a fan of oral, but God you are not complaining as you feel the pleasure build in your stomach.

“John, fuck, so good, Jesus…”

“That’s right, baby,” he grumbles against your skin, “that’s my girl.”

He moves to your swollen clit, latching on as you grip the sheets beneath you. You try and fail to push your hips towards him, to get more of his mouth on you, but his grip is firm and holds you back.

He smiles as he looks up. “Greedy.”

“Asshole,” you manage to breathe out.

“You love it.”

“Are you going to get back to- ohhhh!” Your tease is interrupted by him inserting a finger into you, the sudden intrusion sending shockwaves through your body. His fingers are just as good as you’d dreamed.

“Hey, eyes on me.” he pauses until you swiftly open your eyes once more, seeing his blue eyes stare you down as he adds another thick finger.

He pumps the two of them inside you as you swiftly approach your climax. His mouth returns to you clit, alternating between flicking and sucking in a way that makes you crazy with lust. 

“John, I’m gonna, gonna cum-“

“That’s right baby, come for me.” John presses a kiss to your clit as he adds a third finger, creating a delicious stretch within you before he crooks them just so, in a way that sends you over the edge.

You’re seeing stars, as you come, John not letting up with both his fingers and his mouth as you writhe with pleasure beneath him. 

He slowed with you as you caught your breath, gazing down at him, his beard wet with you. 

“You look so pretty when you come.”

“Should do it again sometime, then.”

He smiles as he removes his fingers, prompting a whine at the empty feeling. You don’t have much time to think about it as you watch him suck the fluid off of them, relishing the taste as if it were a five star meal.

“You taste incredible.” He positions himself ove you once again, kissing you so you can taste yourself in his lips. You grab the nape of his neck as your desperation for him only increases.

“Please John, inside me now.”

He nods, a soldier receiving his orders. He quickly unbuttons and pulls down his jeans as you reach for his boxers, ogling the tent beneath them. 

You yank them down, exposing his cock to you, red and needy, perfume beading on the tip. It matches the rest of him-thick, veiny, not inset long but enough to make your mouth water.

“You like?” He jabs as you nod fervently.

“You’re perfect.” You wrap a hand around the base, getting hiss from the man above you as you slowly pump him.

He grabs your wrist, pausing you. “I’m not gonna last if you keep that up.” He groans, his eyes scrunched up in an attempt to hold it together. You reluctantly relinquish him, as he stands to dig through his nightstand.

He grumbles something, before triumphantly displaying a condom in a bright blue wrapper, with the Avengers logo front and center.

“Where the hell-“

“Alexei.” Ah. The Red Guardian did have a penchant for purchasing any Avengers related merch he could get his hands on, even if it was dollar store condoms.

“Please never bring up Alexei during sex again.” You chuckle as he tears the wrapper and rolls the condom on.

“I get a next time?” He grins, with the face more suited to a lovesick teenager than a grown man.

“We’ll see how you do here.” You lay back on the pillow as he returns to his lace above you, gently running his cock against your folds.

“You ready.” you nod at hinm, as he begins to push into you, the stretch already palpable as just the head enters you. 

“Fuck me, John, Christ…”

“That’s what I’m doing.” he mutters with a grin as he slowly inches into you, the concentration visible on his face. “So fuckng tight, God.”

You both gasp in sync as he bottoms out, your nails digging into his broad shoulders as you wrap your legs around him, drawing him just that much deeper.

“Jesus fucking christ, John…” you mumble, drunk on the feeling of him, inside of you, on top of you, all over you. You don’t think you could ever get enough of him.

John is silent, his deep concentration nd effort to hold it together apparent as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“What happened to eyes on me, huh?”

“Shut up.” he jokes as he hangs in his head in the crook of your shoulder, enabling you to place a kiss to the top of his head. 

“You can move.” you whisper, him responding with a nod as begins to pull out, before thrusting right back into you.

You gasp at the sensation, the breath turning into long moans as he sets his pace, verging on fast but not rough, reverent and cautious to not hurt you.

“More, please, John.” you hear an almost animalistic grunt emerge from him, and you imagine if you could see his face he’d bear the same near feral expression he had earlier.

Sure enough, he lifts his head, his bright eyes dakrned with lust as his thrusts go faster, letting himself go.

And it’s perfect. The feeling of his thick cock rubbing asint you, the way you feel so full, the feel of him, of John. You imagine he’s feeling pretty good too, based on the dirty nothings he’s muttering nonstop.

The room is quiet save the wet sound from where your bodies meet, and the sounds of pleasure the two of you make. You’re too blissed out as you feel another rorgasm approaching to care if the others hear you.

And then John is shifting, reaching a hand down between you, his thumb pressing gently against your clit in a way that makes you almost dizzy with pleasure.

“God, you’re everything.” he groans, “so fucking perfect, and all mine. My girl.”

You try to say something but your thoughts are all too jumbled and incoherent to convey. You’re on the brink again, and from the way his thrusts are beocmong more and more frantic you can tell John is too.

With a final curse, John plunges himself deep inside you as he cums, with you following soon after. He stills as you both come down from your highs, panting from exertion.

“Told you I was good.” he grins down at you.

“Fuck you.”

“Just did.”

a/n: So. I've never actually had sex so this is more of a research based fic (the research being other fics) but um hope you like it! I do this for the people 🫡

[daddy-dotcom]

Sports Car

Red!Clark x Female Reader

Warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected p in v, maybe like 1 swear word?

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To say that Clark had been acting strange was an understatement. The once wholesome farm boy was now mouthing off to teachers and riding around on a motorcycle. It was almost as if his personality had done a complete 180 overnight. However, this sudden change had almost no effect on your massive crush on Clark. If anything, his new persona had only increased the amount of salacious thoughts that ran through your mind as you stared at him during class. You chalked up all of his typical chivalrous acts to him just being a nice guy. But his longing glances and lingering touches made you think that just maybe, he might feel the same way about you.

As the bell signaling the end of class rung, you were making your way out of the room until a familiar husky voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

"You're looking nice today, Y/N."

You turned around to see none other than Clark Kent sitting nonchalantly on a desk, eyeing you up and down as if you were on display just for him. Was it delusional to think that he was checking you out?

"That skirt fits you real nice, Y/N." He rose from the desk and walked closer, almost too close, to where you were standing, frozen in place.

"You wear that just for me?" he asked, now inches from your face. Up close, you could see his blushy cheeks and perfect dimples. His pouty red lips that you had daydreamed about looking more kissable than ever. Stunned by his brazen attempts at flirting with you, you paused a minute to consider your response.

"Maybe I did," you reply, shy smile forming on your face. Clark, in turn, began to smile back. It wasn't his usual earnest grin. This time, a sly, knowing smile had overtaken him.

"I knew it," he began, "I always notice you glancing over at me during class when you think I'm not watching."

Your eyes widened as weight of Clark's revelation hit you. Maybe your secret crush wasn't such a secret after all.

"Relax, Y/N," he assured you before leaning in close, "I've been watching you too." He took both of your hands in his before continuing.

"Look, Y/N, I've had feelings for you for a long time, and I know you have feelings for me too. So I think we should stop pretending."

Unsure of what to make of his confession, you ask "so, what? Is this supposed to be some all new Clark Kent?"

"That depends, do you like him?" he quips before pressing his lips to yours. You let him kiss you, hoping that this is one dream that you'll never wake up from. He cups your cheek with one hand while using his other to steady you at the waist. His touch even more dizzying than before. Your hands press on his chest to confirm that this is all really happening before he pulls away.

"You wanna go for a ride?" he asks. While you'd assumed he meant a ride in his car, you fervently nodded in reply, down for whatever he had in mind.

Clark took your hand and led you through the hallways and out to the parking lot, only to find a red sports car with the letters LEX XIV spelled out on the license plate. Confused, you raised an eyebrow and asked Clark, "what happened to the big red pickup?"

"Figured I needed an upgrade if I was going to be driving around with the prettiest girl in school."

Just then, you felt a surge of heat creep up to your cheeks and down to your core. He motions for you to get in the car and you oblige without a second thought. You barely had a moment to fasten your seatbelt before the engine revved and Clark took off. His driving was erratic which had you gripping the “oh shit” handle and squeezing your eyes shut. You could feel the car swerving and you just prayed to God you made it to wherever you were headed. Sensing your uneasiness, Clark's hand found its way from the steering wheel to your bare thigh. Between the new jacket, the car, his behavior, you didn’t know what to make of him. Is it bad that you liked this version of Clark? He was bold and daring and not afraid to make a move, which was exactly what you both needed.

As you made your way further and further down the backroads of Smallville, Clark's hand made its way further and further up your thigh. The tension in the car becoming unbearable as you spread your legs just enough to let him snake his hand up to your soaked panties. Delighted by the surprise, a wicked grin began to form on Clark's face.

"Wow baby, all this for me?" he teased. A breathy "mhmm" was all you could muster at this point because his fingers had pushed their way past your panties and into you. "Why don't we see how wet you can really get?"

He drove another mile or two before abruptly pulling off the road down a dirt path. When he finally parked the car, we were in an empty field just past a thick covering of trees. You moaned at the loss of contact from his fingers, but you could barely comprehend what was happening before his lips smashed into yours. His left hand tugged forcefully on your hair while his right hand went straight for your lips. Before he could even ask, you sucked your own juices off of his fingers.

"Such a good girl," he cooed as he removed his fingers. "Come here baby," he said, reaching for your waist with one hand and pulling you onto his lap with an insane amount of strength.

"We could share one seat,"

"Clark, who even are you right now? What is this" you giggled, pointing between the two of you.

He let out a chuckle of his own before replying, "I think you know what this is." And just like that, his lips were attacking you once more. This time, his kisses trailed from your lips down to your neck with his hands firmly gripping your ass. While his lips got to work on your neck, his hands pushed your skirt all the way up to your waist. You were both a mess of grunts and whines as your hips ground against each other in perfect sync. Inspired by Clark's bold actions, you took matters into your own hands and began unhooking his belt.

"Woah somebody's eager," he teased as his cock sprung free from his boxers. God it was even bigger than you’d imagined all those times you daydreamed about him during class.

"Shut up," you shot back before finally sinking down onto his length. It was at this moment that you lost all control in the situation. Your hips were bound by Clark's tight grasp and he drilled into you from underneath. He was fucking you with such fervor that you had grip onto his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

"Oh my god, Clark!" you practically screamed.

"Not so shy anymore are you, Y/N?"

Growing accustomed to his pace, you began to grind down on his cock as he railed you from below.

"Fuck, Clark, you're gonna make me cum," you groaned.

"I know baby, just let it out for me." His words were enough to send you over the edge, with his name tumbling out of your mouth and your juices completely soaking his lower half. But Clark was relentless. He kept pounding into you until finally you felt his cum coating your insides.

"Jesus, Y/N, I didn't know you had that in you."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Clark."

"We're gonna have a lot of fun together aren't we?" he slurred. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before replying, "definitely. . .but we should probably get the car cleaned up before returning it to Lex."

"I wouldn't worry about it, I don't think he'll be getting this car back for a while." ;)

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AN: this is my first time writing for Smallville Clark Kent and it was inspired by a tate mcrae song that I’m currently obsessed with. lmk how I did <3

[mintmatcha]

Even with the warming spells, the cold breeze off of the Northern Sea rips through your cloaks. Snow has already melted through your pants, shivering your skin and sapping away your body heat. It's a full days walk to the nearest port, then a ferry ride back to the mainland. In three days, you'll be out of his hair forever and he can move on, live a happier life than you could even provide.

The salt air burns your cheeks.

That is, if you can even make it there. You might die on the way. You don't know if that's a bad thing; not when the pain you carry is so heavy. Maybe it would be easier to just lay down and succumb.

Obsidian had said that you would break his heart one day, but it turns out that the opposite was true. His silver tongue bewitched you and you had lost track of the truth: men would always hurt you, always-

Your name is carried on the wind.

Obsidian. When you turn, he's running, barreling towards you with all the might his body can muster. Snow is caught on his shoulders and stuck to his coat, building as he rushes down the path.

There's no reason for you to run towards him. Your decision has been made, your die has been cast. This man has broken your heart beyond repair.

And yet.

Your legs move on their own. Just as you always do, you run towards him. When you meet, almost colliding with force, he takes you by the forearm and pulls you in close, arm wrapped around your shoulders.

"You're so cold." His voice is haggard, not entirely from panting. "I thought-- you're so cold."

You can feel his heart pounding under his skin, racing faster and faster. His body jerks with each breath and you suddenly realize he's on the brink of crying, sucking in air to hold back tears.

"Why did you follow me?" you ask. The real question you want to ask is why is he crying, but you bite it back, afraid of the answer.

"Why did I--? I would follow you to hell and back. I would swim oceans to find you." He drops to his knees, sinking with the snow, clutching at your legs with a fervent need, as if you'll slip away once again. "Every step I've ever taken was bringing me to you."

His frame is so big that when he looks up, his head rests against your torso. Those bright green eyes stare up at you, the whites red stained and glossed with tears. the ones that have escaped have frozen to his face, sculptures to his misery.

"Why did you go?"

The tears you had swallowed escape all at once. You sob, body heaving and shaking even as you cover your mouth.

"Obi..." you mourn as you wipe away his frozen tears. "I need to go. I'm not right for you."

He squeezes you tighter, gathering your coat in his hands.

"I don't belong there, Obi." You stroke the crest of his head, trying to engrain every ridge into your memory. "I know your mother wants-"

"I do not give an everloving fuck what my mother wants." Obsidian spits out the curse. It shocks you a bit. "I want you. I want you. I want you."

He kneels for you like it's worship, like he's praying for something he cannot have. It's mournful, hopeful, pained and healing. His expression is soft, even as his tears continue to roll.

"I want you."

Love is cruel, you decide. Vicious and cruel. The two of you cry together, frozen in place by the cold.

"Sorghum told me about the other girl," you say.l once you gather yourself. "The one you're going to marry."

Obsidian shakes his head together. "Other women don't exist to me -"

"The one your mother chose. The white-"

"Bubble?!" // He is so aghast the it makes you laugh through your tears.

"Sorghum translated your conversation." Laughter has freed more tears. "She said Umi matched you two-"

"She clearly did not translate well!" He swallows down his anger, over and over again. "Bubble and I were matched together, yes-"

You try to pull away, but he grips tighter, another plead. His manicured claws don't hurt when they dig into your skin.

"When we were children," he stresses. "I rejected the offer years ago-- before I ever left for school. My mother just wanted me to visit an old friend before we left."

The statement sits with you for a long moment. The bitter night has left both of you quaking and wet, shivering into each other's heat.

"But, Sorghum said-"

"Sorghum is a horrible, bitter woman who is caught in her own misery," Obi says. "I told my Umi under no certain terms that you are the love of my life."

He releases you to sit back on his heels, fishing into his pocket. From his pocket, he produces a familiar item- your abandoned earring. He holds it out with reverence, like it's a precious jewel.

"A direct translation would be that I have placed my heart in a silver dish for you to dine on," Obsidian says. "I am yours."

You uncurl your hand. The other earring had been gripped so hard that its edges cut into your palm. A perfect, heartbroken set.

"Loving me means we can't stay here. You'd be losing your culture," you whisper, barely audible over the howl of the wind.

"I don't want to stay here!" Obsidian gestures to the world around you. The ice barren cliffs, the white capped sea, the dot of a town behind you. It's lifeless, frozen and snowbound. Obi had always preferred the warmth, sun to bask in, warm waters for swimming. It had never occurred to you why he had ventured off, why he had chosen the life of a traveler when his family was waiting.

"I adore my family, but they do not control my life. They do not dictate my happiness. I left to explore the world to become my own self, to choose my own life." He stands finally to brush the hair back from your face. It's frozen in tendrils to your forehead. "And I choose you with every bit and fiber of my being."

He takes his earring and loops it into its place. His hand stays extended expectantly, waiting for your half of the set.

"I should have told you about Bubble, but I knew you were feeling othered. I didn't want to make it worse."

"I will always be a human." You place the earring into his palm. You look at him, truly look, drink in every curve of his face, every scale and horn and tooth. It's yours, all of him is yours and yours alone. "Loving me will never be easy."

He loops your other earring in for you. "It's always been easy to me."

Suddenly. you press on to your toes and press your forehead against his.

"Come home with me." Obi whispers. He holds you again, softer this time, now that he knows you won't slip away. "Let me warm you tonight."

This time, it's you who holds tight. "Keep me warm for the rest of our lives."

[reminiscingthesea]

Sypnosis: Thinking about… History teacher Phainon (who everyone adores) x Strict maths teacher reader….🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️

A/N: this is a bit long, so it might not be good because I don’t write often due to exams, so sorry for any cringe I might put you through! Set in college environment. Both Phai and reader are in their early 30s/late 20s btw!

Laughter, excitement, jokes thrown around, were a common staple in Phainon’s lecture hall, as he’d teach fervently about ancient historical texts to a bright, motivated bunch of young students ready to learn!!.. His lectures were full of elation, that was for sure. There was never a dull moment in that room, no matter how gloomy the day was, how sad his students were, and especially, no matter how sad he was.

..it made you sick to your stomach.

The mere thought of trying to handle such a chaotic bunch of freshly turned adults in a classroom, whilst simultaneously differentiating a long string of formulae on your blackboard, made your stomach churn in pure discomfort and fear. Luckily, however, your group of students were disciplined and trained, driven- not just motivated- and ambitious, thanks to your exceptional guidance.

Through strict measures, harsh grading, full threats of failure, you had managed to mould what you believed to be, the perfect set of students. Students, who, as mentioned before, were determined to succeed and excel, strive in all. Students who’d achieve perfect grades, keep quiet and respectful, and speak when spoken to. That’s how you liked it.

But that’s not how Phainon liked it, that’s for sure.

Everyday, one of the two of you would have the misfortune of having to walk past the other’s classroom, to get to your respective subject offices, due to lectures being arranged at different times during the day. Whenever you’d pass by his lecture room, you’d have to cover your ears and sigh out an air of disdain and walk quickly, avoiding the chance of hearing his boisterous speech boom throughout the hall brightly, with the occasional laughter and claps from his students. Gosh, such a rowdy bunch, it’s no wonder so many people decided to take up his lectures, it’s practically a free space of time, given to waste.

Now, when it was his time to walk past your lecture room, he’d stay completely silent. Not to anger you, in case he’d walk past too loudly, and disturb your trajectory of tranquility and focus, but instead, to try and hear at least something out of your ever silent hall. But alas, nothing, just pure silence and the focus of both you and your students. However, there was the rare moment where he’d hear your voice echo throughout the hall, just not in a cheery manner like his, but rather, anger.

And it just so happens that today, he’s standing right in front of your hall’s door, listening to you berating a student for getting, what you deemed an easy question, completely wrong. Without a moment to think, his hand reached for the door’s handle, swinging it open dramatically, a gleaming smile on his face, awaiting gasps or any sort of reaction from your pupils.

“..Aha, tough crowd we have here!..” He exclaims awkwardly and quietly, a silly, toothy grin on his face as he scans through the sea of pupils, sat on their benches, some looking at him awestruck, whilst others clenched their jaws and kept their heads down, focusing on whatever was in front of them. His dawn blue gaze then falls onto you. Your face was a mix of pure irritation and annoyance, and he could see the way your hands clenched at your sides slightly.

“Sit down. I’ll deal with you in a minute.” You’d say sternly, dismissing the poor student you were previously reprimanding for their lackluster performance on hyperbolic functions, before turning your head back to Phainon with an exhale.

“Pray tell, Professor Phainon. What on earth are you doing in my hall? Barging into my space unannounced, distracting my students? Don’t you have your own hive to tend to?” Your voice was laced with vexation as your teeth gritted together ever so slightly, eyebrows knitted, eyes narrowing as you stared him down from across the hall, in front of your blackboard, where mathematical proofs and equations lay sprawled out across it unevenly.

To this, Phainon only laughed, indulging in the sight of your scarily scornful look.

“I just couldn’t help but overhear you yelling out one of your dear students! And for what, not understanding whatever… ahem, this is?” He asked, charisma, charm, and lightness entwined in his tone, as he gestured towards your black board with his hand, his face becoming gloomy for a second, as he’d try to make sense of whatever was on there.

“This is complex mathematics. Surely the all knowing historian would remember at least some of this from past mathematic lessons from his youth?” You’d reply back sharply, wit and judgement supporting your words, as you’d continue to stare down at Phainon, who had now crossed his arms, leaning his hip against the doorway, smirking slightly.

“Complex mathematics? Mm.. I wasn’t too strong on that back in school, so no, I don’t remember any of this from my old days. But that’s besides the point, my dear mathematician! I’m here to ask you one thing, and one thing only.”

“Out with it.”

“Are your students students, or prisoners?”

In response, you’d shoot him a glare, a dirty look, a snarl that perfectly captured your absolute shock in his audacity to even ask such a thing. Now, some of your students had lifted their focused heads up from their work, now glancing between the two of you.

“Excuse you? I’ll have you know, Mr Phainon, that my students are my students, not prisoners. To even insinuate such a thing about me and my methods of teaching, is incredibly unprofessional and rude. Did you come here to berate me? I’ll have you know, that all of my students here are excellent people, the brightest in many fields, the-“

Phainon quickly cut you off with a hand held up, to begin speaking once more.

“I never said your students weren’t exceptional prodigies, so don’t get it twisted, Miss [Name]. All I’m saying is that they.. could use a little more friendly encouragement, y’know? Not threats of giving them a failing grade just because they went below slightly their target, which I will say, goes against school rules, does it not?”

Phainon now stood up straighter, taller now, his own, cerulean, eyes now narrowing as he looked down at you from the topper end of the hall. At this, your gaze fell to your side momentarily, lips thinning into a line, cheek bitten slightly to come up with a good retort back. However, your eyes suddenly met his once more, full of dispute.

“My lessons, are strict, and perfect. I only want the best for my students. So yes, warning them of a failing grade because they went below their target grade, is perfectly fine. It disciplines them, and I have no shame in saying this in front of them, they’ve been made aware of this countless of times in the past. But it is by no means going against the rules, I’ll have you know, it’s just not.. supported by the board, that’s all.”

You then let out a huff, your expression shifting from one of indignation, to one of pride and provocation, lips curling into a sly grin, eyelids becoming slightly hooded.

“However, what I do know that is against school rules, are teachers who encourage disarray and lawlessness in the classroom. And you, Sir, have been acting onto these desires this whole semester. Wouldn’t it be such a shame if I were to go to the board right now, and complain to them that Mr Phainon is not creating a habitable working environment for his students, and that I’m oh-so worried for his poor little students? That wouldn’t be so good, would it?”

Your tone was now laced with sarcasm and ridicule, pride seeping into your being as you waited for Phainon’s reaction.

But there was nothing.

His eyes widened slightly, but not in shock, but rather in intrigue and interest. His pink lips curved up into a small grin, as he began to relax once more.

“Hmm.. you bring such a great argument, dearest mathematician! Bring it up for the wondrous, brightest mind of Miss [Name], folks! She’s absolutely outdone me here!”

His voice was high as he sung artificial praises for your name, grinning ear to ear, holding his hands up in leisurely pleasure, before beginning to speak once more.

“But alas, being the great holder of knowledge, must make you so much better than the rest of us, isn’t that right? You wouldn’t have to play by the rules like the rest of us, because you’re so above the rest of us, right?”

His voice grew lower now, less soft and happy, and more imposing and stern. It was a sound no student was familiar with, considering his laid back and joyous attitude to all. He watched as your eyes widened ever so slightly, lips separating a little as he backed you into a corner yet again.

“You- that’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m not better than everyone else, we’re all equals. So don’t you dare twist my words- facts- into opinions driven by petty, haughty belief, got that? I strive for equality and fairness, I don’t put myself above the rest because of my capabilities, what an absurd argument, Mr Phainon.”

You huffed once more, trying to keep yourself calm and collected, your hand now gripping your desk’s corner besides you tightly, shutting your eyes to control your utter displeasure.

“Get out of my hall, now, Phainon. We can discuss this in my office after class, personally.”

Your unsmiling eyes met with his, which were now dark with demise and irk, you swore you could see one twitch quickly.

“Fine. I’m more than willing to discuss this away from unknowing students, [Name], maybe then you’ll show your true colours, instead of breaking your fingernails trying to suppress them.”

Before you could bite back with even more poise, he left without a word, making you even more irritated, vexed, and hurt. You glanced down at your nails, which were now on the brink of bending back and snapping painfully, from how hard you were digging them into the wooden table of your desk. Quickly removing them and pressing them to alleviate the pain, you turned back to your students, who swiftly put their heads back down on their work.

“Carry on with your work, or you’ll end up just like him. Berating others with strings of lies, woven by opinions and beliefs. Pathetic.”

You spat, your voice lingered with traces of venom and cruelty as you sat back onto your chair, tidily, rubbing your forehead in exasperation.

Little did you or any of your students know, Phainon was fixed right outside your hall’s door again, listening to every word you said about him. He chuckled to himself, before lazily making his way to your office now, which was situated right at the top of the building. He then spoke like there was a bitter paste on the tip of his tongue.

“Pathetic? Oh I’ll show you pathetic, all knowing teacher.”

It was now rest time for students and teachers alike, a time where many could leave the campus to go out and eat with friends, or study quietly in a library. Some lecturers stayed in their respective offices, whilst some ventured out into the general staff room, to gossip about students, or other teachers in this case.

“Did we all hear about the dispute between Mr Phainon and Miss [Name]? I overheard some of my students talking about it during my Epigenetic’s lecture.” Ruan Mei began, sipping some sweet tea from her teacup, before politely taking a bite out of her delicious plum cake.

“Ah! Mine were talking about it too, such a dramatic turn of events, especially for Sir Phainon! Perhaps I should have my students reenact the scene during a practical lesson next time…” Argenti responded enthusiastically, before scribbling down notes for his next drama lecture, regarding the argument between you and Phainon, his pretty lashes now fluttering with thought as he wrote.

“I must say, I’m quite intrigued myself. To really tick Mr Phainon like that is one thing, but to have him personally meet you in your office is another thing indeed!” Herta mused, fixing the purple flower adorning her light brunette hair, letting Ruan Mei, who was now finished with her snacks, fix up her hair in a prettier style.

“They’re both idiots to say the least. To argue in front of students like that? They’re both asking for sanctions from the head board.. I won’t be surprised if I find the history and mathematics department both missing a teacher tomorrow, looking for replacement and all..” Veritas Ratio groaned, rubbing his forehead in frustration as he poured himself a cup of dark coffee, swirling it around in the cup, which was adorned with the picture of a large ducky in the centre; having been gifted to him by a grateful student.

“Then I’m surprised Mr Phainon didn’t come for you first, Veritas. You and [Name] both share similar ideals and teaching methods. Though, I will say, less students have dropped out of her course compared to how many have dropped out of yours..” Ruan Mei spoke again, having now fixed Herta’s hair into a cute, braided hairstyle, adorned with her favourite purple flowers. She stepped away, now fixing up her area free from her food and plates, beginning to wash them in the sink next to Veritas, who scoffed at her ideology.

“The difference between me and her, is that I have class and she doesn’t. She mindlessly berates and torments her students for not understanding the fundamental laws of quantum physics, whereas I opt for patience.” Veritas replied elegantly, not missing a beat in his tone.

“..I wasn’t aware physically picking up your students and throwing them out your classroom because of their bribery tactics was considered ‘classy’, Dr Ratio.” Argenti murmured quietly, ignoring the horrifying death stare Veritas shot at him from across the room, simply focusing on the work ahead of him, a slight smirk adorning his face.

As the teachers chatted amongst themselves, you entered the room, putting down your heavy stack of folders and papers on a lone desk near the door, panting and huffing softly, not realising the glances the other teachers shared between each other. But the silence of the group said enough.

“Why are you all staring at me? If you have something to say, say it.”

You quipped coldly, keeping your head fixated on the notes within your files.

“Ouch. I didn’t realise we had a walking thorn among us. Argenti, you might wanna deal with this..” Herta teased, before walking up to you and standing next to you, helping you sort out your work, since you were prone to stress at times, and such disarray wouldn’t help.

“Say.. don’t you have a certain historian waiting for you in your office, [Name]? I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, especially considering it’s approximately been.. four system hours since your argument?” Herta spoke faintly now, bringing you back to your senses. You sighed gently, blinking back the tire from your eyes.

“I know that. I told him to meet me there. I just hadn’t assume he was stupid enough to actually wait there for this entire time. Doesn’t he have his own lectures to lead as well?”

“Hmm.. well. He cancelled all of them today, just to talk to you. So you better get up there quick. Don’t worry, I’ll sort these out for you.” Herta answered, basking slightly in the look of shock on your face.

“He cancelled his lectures.. what about his students? Does he have no shame? What a joke. Whatever, I’m leaving. I’ll be sure to tell you the details of his utter demise, trust me.” You responded, before dusting yourself off and making your way out the door again, leaving the group to their own thoughts as you made your way up to your office.

“I have a feeling that this meeting of theirs will be a little more than a simple discussion..” Argenti contemplated loudly, noises of agreement could be heard from the other teachers as they went back to their own issues.

You had now made your way to your office, which was situated at the topper end of the campus site, overseeing other departments and areas of the school. Opening the door, you were hit with the smell of fresh oranges and citrus fruits, and the sight of Phainon sat at your desk, on your spinny chair, fondling and playing with a random elastic band from your shelf. Upon seeing you, he looked at you with playful lint in his eyes, the sunlight bouncing off of them prettily.

“You can put that band down Mr Phainon, we have things to talk about.” You spoke harshly, leaving no room for his jokes or playful banter, standing in front of him, looking down at him in anger.

“Oh, come now, Miss [Name]! Surely you’ve already forgiven me for my past mistakes. You know I didn’t mean any of what I said, really.” Phainon replied, putting the band down and getting up, letting you sit in your own respective seat, having made a mental note of the tired look on your face as you sat down with a puff of air. Phainon sat at the other end of your desk, staring at you with an unreadable face.

“I mean it when I say you were truly so disrespectful to me this morning. To barge into my lecture, distract my students, trying to cause an uproar! Are you trying to put dirt on my name? Have my students rebel against me Insulting my methods of teaching, absurd.” You spat out bitterly, hands on the table as you’d glare at him with pure disgust, to which Phainon could only awkwardly laugh at in return of it all.

“Look. I’m aware I wasn’t the nicest or most courteous with my way of speaking. And yes, you’re right. Barging into your lecture hall mid speech is incredibly disrespectful, and I apologise for that.” His tone was now softer, kinder, not as spiteful as how yours currently was, or even as his from before. He gave you an apologetic look, trying to at least sympathise with you, but no avail.

“Not only that, you said things about me that just weren’t true at all, Phainon. You made it out to be that I had some sort of superiority complex regarding the other teachers and staff, which I can I say, I most certainly do not. You should know better than to say such horrid things about your co-worker, especially in front of young people.”

Phainon looked at you with a look of incredible sadness and shame, his gaze downturned as he looked away. Any notes of charisma, eloquence, and jest were all now long gone from his face. He almost looked like a kicked puppy, how sweet.

“I am.. truly sorry, for that. I really didn’t realise how much my words may have affected you. But please, you have to understand that I couldn’t just walk past, ignoring the way you yelled at that poor student. I mean, from what I’ve seen, the work you assign them, teach them, preach about, seems so incredibly difficult, especially for new learners.” His hand was now unconsciously entwined with yours, rubbing it, as if to calm you down.

“Phainon.. I understand what you mean, but this is just my method of teaching. I’m aware it may not align with your more.. laid back, easy-going approach, but I strive for my students to be disciplined, especially with such a hard course. I don’t mean to shame your course, Phainon. But my course requires deep, in depth, focused, cognitive skills. Whilst you may be able to preach so enthusiastically about historical events, I must take a more forward, pragmatic approach to teaching my students the fundamentals of mathematics. And yes, that includes stricter methods of teaching, that does indeed include harsh criticism of failure and mistakes made.” You watched as Phainon contemplated for a minute, glancing to his side as he’d take in your words, humming softly to himself in thought. His hand, still entwined with yours, squeezed it gently, as if to remind you he was still there. He then began once more, looking at you directly in the eyes, trapping your gaze onto his.

“Whilst I am aware that your course requires more focus than mine, and is less to joke around about, I still believe embarrassing a pupil over a small mistake is wrong. Mistakes are bound to be made, but as you mentioned before, what you teach is difficult, but mistakes are bound to be made, that’s what we as teachers were told at the start of this academic year.” He now leaned back in his chair, hand still interlocked with yours, looking out the large window lazily, the sun casting a pretty glow over his face.

Sighing in response, you got up and started to fix up some books and rearrange some discarded notes of scary looking formulae left on the table in disarray.

“You do make a very good point, Phainon, as expected from an ever so talented and optimistic person, such as yourself.” You praised genuinely, a slight teasing edge lilted in your tone as you spoke. Phainon could only chuckle in response, you could’ve sworn his cheeks flushed slightly, before returning back to their normal pale hue.

“I never expected to be praised by the hard going, strict maths lecturer, feared by all, never spoken up against before today.. it’s making me blush. But back to our original point. We both screwed up. Provoking each other, acting out of turn in front of students. It was incredibly inappropriate on both of our parts. I say, we put this past us? Make amends and learn from this like the adults we are?” He asked cautiously now, silently praying you weren’t still too angry at him to move on and away from it all. He felt himself relax as he heard your soft laugh and saw a rare, sweet smile, adorn your features.

“We’re not children after all, Phainon, despite how childish we’ve been acting today, I’m willing to let this slide and forget about this. I’m glad you took the mature route out of this. I won’t shame your methods of teaching, or report to the committee for your classroom etiquette, and in return.. I’ll consider being a bit nicer to my students from now on, no promises though.”

You were now stood in front of him as he got up from his seat, standing in front of you, a soft smile now gracing his features on his face. The pair of you looked into each other’s eyes for a few moments, before a faint flush creeped onto both of your cheeks from the long moments of staring at each other.

“Apologises. I was just thinking to myself.” You spoke quickly, looking away from him.

Phainon laughed quietly, lifting his index finger and placing it below your chin, bringing your gaze back onto his.

“It’s no worries.. besides, you look a lot nicer up close than far away..” He mumbled softly, studying your unique features carefully with his dawn-blue eyes, that almost resembled suns as you looked closer into them.

His eyes locked onto yours once more, a mutual agreement between them, as you both leaned in for a soft kiss.

.

.

.

“They did it.” Herta quipped quickly, eyes fixated on the screen in front of her, the other teachers now huddled behind her as they viewed the security footage.

“Oh my.. such a romantic scene! I’ve never seen such intense emotion in movies before..” Argenti rambled, his emerald orbs shining enthusiastically at the scene.

“Oh? What’s Phainon doing? He seems to be taking off his tie-“

“okay enough of this.”

[sapphiremusings]

you’re how i pray | aemond targaryen

summary: lady baratheon does not fear her newly wed husband, prince aemond, anymore. she does, however, fear the consummation of their marriage. aemond is eager to show her that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

PART ONE

MASTERLIST

cw: explicit sexual content, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, breeding kink, ooc!aemond (i made him too sweet), baratheon!reader, no use of y/n

With the sound of their marital chamber doors closing behind her, trapping her inside the dimly lit room with only her newly-wed husband before her, Lady Baratheon– or would she be called Lady Targaryen now?– has never felt more nervous. Her heart is racing a thunderous beat within her chest, its rhythm only increasing as she sweeps her gaze across the large, four-poster bed that sits against the wall.

The thought of marrying Aemond ‘One-Eye’ Targaryen had once terrified her, and she had spent most of her time in Kings Landing avoiding him and anything else that had to do with her wedding day. But after the events that perspired between the two betrotheds just a few nights ago, she has felt as if she is burning from the inside out, flames licking up her sides and traveling deep into her bones. Recently, she had been avoiding the prince for a much different reason, one that is all the more unfamiliar to her.

She thinks of him constantly. In the morning when she awakes, lying among rumpled sheets with her aching thighs rubbing together, skin flushed from a vivid picture she painted in her mind, where he had bent her over the Iron Throne and licked her cunt fervently once more. During her daily walks around the Keep, holding her breath when she turns every corner, remembering how he had trailed behind her, heavy gaze searing into her back. At night, when she takes her bath, her handmaidens running their fingers through her soapy hair, and she imagines how it would feel to have him beside her, hands roaming her naked flesh as she admires his own bare form. Even in her dreams does he appear, lustful as he does unspeakable things to her, leaving her flustered and ashamed when she comes to.

Aemond hadn’t sought out her company since, or perhaps he had but she had just been too good at evading him. It wasn’t until she was walked down the aisle of the Sept, handed off to the prince by her lord father, that she had seen him since that night. His face gave nothing away as they gazed into each other’s eyes, hands clasped together as the septon spoke, but occasionally she would catch his single lilac eye dip down to her lips. She had wondered then if he has been plagued by the same thoughts, and now, as she stands frozen before him, she feels dizzy at the thought that he too wants her the same way she desperately wants him.

Goosebumps begin to form along her skin, now only covered by a thin nightdress, her handmaidens having undressed her in preparation for the bedding. She finds herself drawing closer to the lit fireplace, eyes lingering on the crackling flames. Aemond is quiet behind her retreating figure, yet she can feel his molten gaze on her timid frame, and she shivers at the familiar feeling. That beautiful eye of his seemed to always follow her, even when she was alone in her chambers late at night did she feel the weight of it, piercing and all-consuming.

She feels bare in her state of undress, the sheer fabric doing little to hide her shape, and when she dares to look down, she flushes red hot at the sight of her nipples, stiff against the cotton. Her arms come up to cover her chest, eyes flickering to the side to look at her husband, who still watches her, lifting his cup to his lips. She has already had her fill of the wine, a special import from Dorne that had tasted tart on her tongue, which left her with a clouded head and the urge to laugh at every little thing that amused her. By her fourth cup, her husband himself had decided she had enough, ending their night with the announcement of the bedding. Thankfully, there was to be no traditional ceremony, but it had still sobered her up immediately.

“Are you cold?”

His voice jolts her from her thoughts, making her turn to face him, her heart nearly stopping in her chest at the sight of him, closer than he was before. No longer does he stand by the table, cup in his hand, stoic in his leathers. Now he stands before her, tunic unclasped, showing his white undershirt, partly opened to let her catch a glimpse of his skin. Her mouth feels dry, and she slowly darts out her tongue to lick her lips, eyes trailing back up to stare into his hooded one. His iris is blown wide, clouded with the same emotion she had seen that fateful night, when he had ducked beneath her skirts and licked her cunt until she was crying out on his skillful tongue. The memory only serves to tighten a coil in her stomach, the very core of her beginning to throb incessantly.

She opens her mouth, then closes it. Her words have escaped her, throat parched and unwilling to cooperate. Instead, she nods, fingers tightening in their grip on her arms, still crossed over her chest. Aemond hums, dipping his head to nose along the crown of her head, hands making their way to rest above her own, dwarfing them in his grasp. His skin is burning hot, and the feeling of his flesh against her own makes her gasp out, her grip immediately loosening under his, giving him the chance to push her arms down, exposing herself once more. Hands run up them, leaving a trail of flames in their wake, before reaching around her shoulders and pressing flat against her back, pulling her frame against his own.

His lips brush the shell of her ear, breath steady along her cheek. “Let me warm you up, ābrazȳrys.” (Wife).

Flushed together, his warmth seeps through her shift, her nipples hard against his chest. Timidly, she reaches up to tug on his leather tunic, wishing to feel more of him, fingers shaky as she pulls it down his arms. He helps her, throwing it off to the floor, before immediately returning to wrap his arms around her, pressing her closer until she can feel every ridge of his chest beneath their undergarments. His lips begin to travel along her cheek and down her jaw, her hands finding purchase in his hair, the silver tresses feeling like silk between her fingers. In a daze, she searches for his lips against hers, chin dipping down as he comes up to meet her, searing in their wet embrace.

She wishes to never stop kissing him. His tongue is slick as it slides across her own, the taste of wine still lingering around the roof of his mouth, and she blames this for her faltering will, which grows thinner and more precarious the longer his lips are moving in time with hers, his hands gripping her waist tightly. A whimper leaves her lips as he brings a hand up to her shoulder, fingers slipping under the strap of her nightdress, tugging it down before moving to the other side. Her eyes scrunch up as her heart begins to hammer a racing beat within her chest, stomach twirling into a tight knot, and she breaks away from the kiss with a gasp for air. His lips move to trail down her neck, teeth gently nibbling the skin right below her jawbone, and she is quick to bring her hands to grab at his arms.

“I am scared.” Her mouth quivers around the words, her voice barely a whisper. “W-will it hurt terribly?”

Aemond lifts his chin, dark eye flickering across her worried face, flushed from the feel of him against her. “I told you I do not wish to harm you, little storm.”

When she continues to shiver before him, the straps of her dress resting along her forearms, he brings a hand up to caress her soft cheek. Her eyes flutter at the sensation, and she takes a step closer to him, now wishing she hadn’t expressed her fear. She is grateful for his tenderness, something she has never thought him to be, in all his harsh stoicism. A dragon prince, with the fiery blood and temper of a Targaryen royal, whispered to be as mean as the beast he rides. But his touch is gentle, and so are his words, filling her with a warmness that seeps through her veins from head to toe. Slowly, she lifts herself onto the tips of her toes, lips puckering as she embraces him once again.

In her movement, her nightgown slips down her arms, pooling at her feet in a heap of cotton. Aemond groans at the feeling of her bare form pressed against him, pert nipples stiff along his light tunic, and he wraps his arms around her back, pulling her as close to him as he can. Their lips move together in a sensual dance, teeth clashing and tongues rubbing against each other, and even as her toes begin to ache beneath her weight, she still tries to push herself up taller, wishing to melt into him. She brushes her hands down his neck and underneath the collar of his shirt, pushing and tugging until her fingers are scratching along the skin of his chest, warm beneath her fingertips. She nearly sobs at the feeling. “My prince…”

“I am your husband now,” he murmurs against her lips, wet with their shared spit. “I shall be addressed properly.”

They begin to gravitate towards the bed, until her legs bump the very edge of it, the furs and silks that line the mattress sliding across her flesh as she lays back, a whine leaving her as she becomes separated from her husband. He peers down at her, the black pupil of his single eye blown wide, until only a ring of dark violet remains. She resists the urge to cover herself, goosebumps lining the entirety of her as she shivers under his smoldering gaze, and she only hopes that he is satisfied with her. Back on Storms End, her septa had instilled in her the importance of pleasing her future husband, saying that if he does not find her comely she may never be blessed with babes.

Aemond squashes these worries with a satisfied rumble. “My perfect little wife…”

She shyly smiles, the arousal between her legs growing slicker the longer he stares, and she unconsciously rubs her thighs together. He follows this movement, hands moving to unbuckle his belt, lips twitching as she holds her breath, watching as he begins to undress. Soon enough, he is as naked as her, and he joins her on the soft bedding, sitting himself between her legs, which he presses open with a lift of her knees. His palms are hot as they slide along her thighs, until they rest on her hips, which he tilts upwards, leaning down with a pleased hum. Her back instantly arches off the bed as his nose nuzzles within her slick curls, tongue smoothing along her weeping slit, before flicking the very apex of her. A sob escapes her gaping mouth, head thrown back against feathered pillows, fingers scrambling around until they find purchase on the top of his silver head. Unlike last time, he’s quick to press a finger within her, hips bucking upwards at the intrusion, brows furrowed as her pleasure begins to swell over.

“I’ve been dreaming about this pretty cunny,” he grumbles against her, pressing another finger in, joining the other. She squirms at the sting of it, but when he curls them upwards, her hips still at the white-hot flash of pleasure that hits her. “So sweet… I could lick you forever.”

His words sound far away, her ears clogged in the throes of her rapture, and tears gather at the corners of her eyes as she moans. “Aemond…”

Between his tongue and his fingers, she can feel her peak beginning to wash over her, and she quickly wiggles her hips, trying to push herself away from his ministrations. He doesn’t allow her to go far, bringing his other hand up to press against her stomach, and she keens at the feeling of his weight over her womb, intensifying the pleasure and bringing about her end with a shattered cry. His tongue laps up her release, fingers still curling upwards against that spot inside her that makes her feel as if she is floating above her body, even as she whines at the overstimulation that starts to tingle across her. Another wave begins to rise within her, causing her to kick out her legs from beneath him, unable to stay still.

Aemond groans as she gushes around his fingers once more, tongue reaching down to catch every last drop. “There we go… good girl.”

Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, whining as he pulls away, hands immediately reaching out for him. He pushes his two fingers into his mouth, cleaning himself off, before crawling over to rest upon her, his lips finding hers in another searing kiss. She wraps her quivering legs around his waist, jolting against the feel of him pressed between her legs, hot and hard as it slides across her wetness. Her arms tighten around his shoulders, pulling him down to lay atop her, wishing to feel him everywhere. When she thinks about him inside her, chest pressed against hers, lips locked as they indulge in a lover’s embrace, she feels an overwhelming sense of adoration for her newly-wed husband. His kisses, despite the ravenous nature of them, are sweet, and so is the way he holds her, arms slipping beneath her as he hugs her to his chest, their hearts thumping together.

“Husband…” she whispers, her lips resting below his, in the dip of his strong chin. “Please…”

His eye opens to stare into her pleading ones, nose nuzzling along her cheek. “What do you need, ābrazȳrys?”

She slowly rocks her hips upwards, the immediate friction causing Aemond to hiss, jaw clenching as his eye flutters closed. Her lips begin a trail across his face, stopping right under the leather eyepatch he still wears. It’s the only piece of fabric between them, and as she brushes along the jagged scar that peeks out from beneath it, she frowns. “Will you show me, husband?”

He tenses, pulling away with a furrowed brow. She flushes pink under his stare, yet doesn’t back down from her request, bringing her hands up to cradle his jaw. Her fingers slip under the leather strap, eyes searching his own, waiting patiently. It seems like an eternity passes before he dips his chin in a nod, closing his eye once more as he allows her to slip the patch over his head. The sight surprises her. A gleaming sapphire, broken skin surrounding its edges, glares back at her. He’s as still as a statue as she gazes at his wound, and it isn’t until she lands a soft kiss against the jewel does he open his eye, curiously. Instead of fear or disgust, she merely looks at him in awe, a small smile on her face as she brings a finger up to run across the stone.

“It’s beautiful,” she presses a chaste kiss to his lips this time, a hand brushing back his hair. “You are beautiful, husband.”

His eye searches hers for any trace of dishonesty, yet he finds none. At her words, he surges forward again, tongue slipping between her gasping mouth, the ache in his cock becoming unbearable as he ruts against her, hissing when the tip of him catches along her wet slit. Her hands scramble for purchase, resting atop his shoulders, fingernails digging into the bare skin. Thighs clench around his waist, trying to pull him in, and he pulls away to look down, the sight of him nestled between the lips of her soaked cunt the most arousing thing he’s ever seen. She mewls, wanton as she squirms beneath him.

“Shhh,” he hushes her, his hand going down to wrap around his pulsing length, bringing it to press against her entrance. “It’s alright, little storm.”

When he pushes in, she squeezes her eyes shut, mouth agape in a quiver as he slowly enters her. He holds himself above her, arms flexing as he sharply inhales, the scrape of his jaw brushing against her lips. The pain is slight, and her cunt is greedy as it pulls him in, her soft walls clenching around him as he bottoms out, until his thighs are pressed against her own, chest heaving as she adjusts to the feeling of being filled. Her arms wrap themselves around his torso, pulling him down until he rests atop her once more, trapping her into the soft mattress, hips starting to thrust in a slow rhythm. She presses kisses along his neck and jaw, tongue lapping against the skin, relishing the taste of him. When she begins to inch her hips upwards, matching the steady pace of his, he groans, bringing himself up to rut into her faster, hand going under the bend of her knee, lifting it to rest higher around his waist. She lets out a cry at the new sensation, his cock deeper now as he slams into her.

“You were made for me,” he whispers, lips brushing against her own, swallowing down her moans. “My pretty little wife… made to take my cock.”

A flush forms across her bare chest, the tips of her ears going hot as she whines at his words. She adores how he calls her wife, even as he drills into her, the sounds of their coupling echoing throughout the candlelit chambers, and she can’t help but moan out ‘husband,’ the word saccharine on her tongue. He seems to take pleasure in this, his pace becoming rougher, fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he sits up on his knees, looking down at her with a dark eye. His sapphire glimmers as the glow of flames dance across it, and she finds herself attracted to the jewel like a moth to a flame, mouth agape as she stares into it, pushing herself up to embrace him again. She grinds down against him, the scratch of his pubic hair rough as she presses herself harder, fingers tracing up the side of his maimed face.

Under her attention, Aemond grows frenzier, ravenous as he thrusts into her, his strong arms wrapped around her back, pressing her close to him. She leans in to kiss him, their mouths slick, her tongue tracing the inside of his mouth, savoring the taste of wine that still lingers. Just as quickly as the last two, her peak begins to rush over her, her moans growing louder as tears begin to dot at the corners of her eyes. He gazes at her face, watching the way her brows furrow, sweat gathered along her hairline, strands of hair stuck to her damp cheeks, and she rests her forehead against his as she clenches down, alight with pleasure, grinding down so her pearl rubs along his navel. His cock twitches within her, and he releases himself with a shudder, keening forward until her back hits the mattress again, hips stuttering as he rides out their highs.

“Are you going to give me a babe, ābrazȳrys? Gonna take my cock every single night until you’re pumped full of my seed, hm? Ñuha dōna byka jelmāzma…” (My sweet little storm).

He rambles on, and she moans and whines as she lays limp, in a daze after peaking three times, her cunt still fluttering as he spills into her, the warmth of his liquid coating her womb. She nods at his words, arms still wrapped around him, sated among the soft sheets and feathered pillows. When he finally finishes, he lays beside her, his cock still nestled within her as he maneuvers her frame until she is on her side, leg across his own, fronts pressed together once more. He embraces her, and she nearly expects him to start thrusting into her again, yet he merely nuzzles against her, skin warm against her own. She has never felt happier, she thinks, as she gazes across at him, eyes trailing along his bare chest, flushing when she looks lower at the sight of his soft cock inside her. His lips quirk into a small smile, barely noticeable, but she basks in it anyway.

“Did I please you, husband?”

A hand brushes against her exposed breasts, fingers circling around a stiff nipple. Her eyes flutter shut at the feeling. “The gods have blessed me with a perfect little wife, my love. I wish to never be parted from you, or this pretty cunt of yours.”

She smiles, a wide grin that makes her cheeks ache. He leans over to kiss her for what seems like the thousandth time that night, and she meets him halfway, her heart swelling within her chest as she holds her husband close. Between her legs, she can feel him begin to harden once again, and her own slick grows as his tongue runs across the edge of her teeth, and she wonders how she was ever afraid of him; this handsome dragon prince who can turn his enemies into ash, but caress her with the softest touch and the sweetest lips. Aemond hums as she begins to move her hips, pulling back to look at him with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“I think we should try again,” she gives him an innocent look, reaching a hand out to dance across his chest. “Just to make sure the seed takes…”

Her laughter bounces off the walls as he sits up, a devious smirk on his face, fingers digging into her sides. It turns into moaning, hips snapping into hers, and she becomes tangled in the sheets, blissful under the hands of her terrifying prince husband.

*

A/N: i know it’s been so long i am soooo sorry!!!! i kinda just lost inspiration for this lil two-parter, and tbh i kinda really hate how this turned out but it’s been like 4 months and i know a few of u were looking forward to this so… i hope u guys enjoy it nonetheless <3

TAGLIST: @jmablurry @minas27 @veggie-eggrolls @anthonys-viscountess @letmeloveyouuuu @bellaisasleep @blackswxnn @imaginativeworld @littybeech @m1sschanel @ozzeryyyo @beebeechaos @ka1afbr

[cheralith]

hear me out… i feel like roommate!karasu is the type to walk in on you sobbing (lowk js pms) and immediately console you without question. he doesn’t bother to ask what’s wrong until you finally stop crying under his arms. to his surprise, when he finally asked, you let him know that you were crying over a movie…. (these boys would know know ANYTHING about these damn period hormones😭)

"hey, just wanted to let ya know that eita and i are—" karasu pauses momentarily, the sudden hiccup that sparks out of you making him freeze and tighten his grip on your doorknob. he squints , adjusts his eyes to the darkness of your room only lit up by your tv with a limp lamp in the corner and widens them when he sees you.

you're underneath the covers, sitting up with the duvet over your head and a wet river of tears flowing down your face with every blink. a stuttered breath pulls out of you, your voice tight and raw, a disposition that doesn't take karasu too long to deciper.

you turn towards him, revealing the full nature of your face. your eyes are red and heavy, a certain sadness swirling that makes karasu's chest tighten.

at his appearance, your lips tremble.

karasu is quick on his feet— going to quickly close the door to hide your state from yukimiya and otoya who sit outside the walls of your enclosure and sprint towards you, a magnetic pull bringing him to offer you comfort before anymore sorrow can wring more tears out of you.

"woah, woah, hey there," he mutters and lands on your bed, an arm wrapping around you to bring you warmth from other than your blanket. "what's goin' on? you alright?"

a dam bursts suddenly within you and you wail quietly, another stream of tears going to drip down from your swollen eyes. the words that you try to convey to him suddenly tangle in your throat and you can only reply in weak gibberish that karasu can't comprehend.

"talk to me when ya can," he murmurs with patience, you only hiccuping weakly in response.

one large hand goes to rub up and down your back soothingly, the other holding your head tenderly and letting you lean into his chest as another sob wracks your body, a mix of a cry and a cough echoing in your dark room. karasu doesn't know what's wrong, but based on your current state, something must have happened badly enough that it's blurred your voice of reason, so he doesn't need to. the way you leaned into him told him all he needed to know—that you just needed someone here with you.

part of him thinks that he shouldn't be doing this—being so close with you like this, especially in such an enclosed environment and touching you so delicately, fervently even maybe.

if anything, karasu thinks this is the closest you and him have ever been with each other since you started living here. your relationship has bloomed fruitfully, reaching new heights that he thought didn't even exist with you during the first few months, and karasu can't help the flutter in his chest when you give a bright smile or sing a giggle to him at his antics.

so to see you like this makes his heart ache heavily. he's seen you upset, but never in the manner where words are drowned by a sudden sadness. and while he's glad that you've grown comfortable around him to let you see this side of you, karasu doesn't like seeing you overwhelmed with a weeping melancholy.

he lets you cry it out for a moment more, letting his sweater be soaked with your tears as your body slowly settles back into a more composed state.

he swallows when he hears you no longer hiccuping, just soft sniffs here and there.

"ya ready to tell me what's wrong?" he asks.

he feels you nod your head and lets you take it away from his chest that he prays you don't hear the beating of his heart from.

you sigh out heavily, blinking bearily and looking up at him. he raises his brows, as if to let you continue on your behalf.

a finger suddenly points your television, where some ending credits are rolling from a movie.

"the dog died..." you whimper suddenly.

karasu blinks, finding your sentence strange.

"huh?"

you jut your finger again towards the tv.

"hachiko..." you mutter, "the dog... he died waiting for his owner for nine years..."

karasu whips his head at the tv suddenly, where the logo of the movie rolls onto the screen momentarily and finally revealing karasu all he needs to know.

“you were..." karasu clears his throat, "you were sobbing over... a movie?"

you nod feebly, eyes still glazed.

karasu lingers in his place for a moment, trying to make sense of the situation and sighing so heavily, his lungs nearly give out. then, he lets out a shaky chuckle, before it bursts into full-blown laughter.

"hey!" you shove him suddenly with a crease in your brow at his antics. "you can't laugh! why are you laughing at a dog's death?!"

he lets himself settle down for a bit, some leftover laughter still shaking his body every few moments or so. "darlin', ya nearly scared the wits outta me. i thought someone died or yer ex did somethin' to make you cry like that."

you frown. "god forbid someone cries over a sad movie every once in a while..."

"i can't lie t'ya," karasu shrugs, grin still on his face. "it's not that sad of a movie."

you scoff, reddened eyes widening. "it is too!"

"it's not."

"yes, it is!"

"it's really not."

your jaw grits, sadness now replaced with a slight aggravation. "how would you feel if your dog waited for you for nine years and you never returned?"

karasu shrugs, getting up and dusting himself off to prepare you a glass of water to clear up your senses with a relief that nothing too bad happened to you to cause you to cry.

"beats me," he quips, "i'm a cat person."

a/n: apartment 345 masterlist

[madame-fear]

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄. being a Septa, and Jace having an obsession with you.

Many times, the firstborn son of Rhaenyra would find you quietly praying in the Sept to yourself. And along those many times, you’d find yourself sinning.

“your devotion is admirable— satisfying, I’d dare to say.” you’d hear him say, as his face was buried between your leg, grasping his rosy lips against your inner thigs; planting soft kisses & smooches. Jace would try to convince you that “the Seven would want someone to be as devoted to you, as you are to them”.

Guilt often overwhelms you, or at least, it did at the very beginning of your private meetings— but the Prince is a pleasure you can’t deny, especially with the way he takes care of you in every sense.

Your fingers would be interwined in between his brunette curls, head thrown back as you mutter his name in between heavy pants, your hand fervently kept in the back of his head, rubbing yourself against his lips — already moistened with your oozing fluids —, feeling them placing gentle kisses all over your aching cunt before his tongue teasingly abuses your clit.

“You should be praising me instead, though.” Jace’s voice would coo in a lower tone, his own breathing hitting against your throbbing genitalia— the ghost of a proud grin forming on the corner of his lips, as you, the seemingly innocent-faced Septa, pants his name in a trembling tone; legs trembling from the pleasure you receive.

“Or, perhaps, I should be begging to be allowed to praise you as you deserve.”

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` taglist .ᐟ

@damatheirin @jacesvelaryons @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @mstxdes @valeriecash @cookielovesbook-akie @zzz000eee @bellarkeselection @feliuuuksks @visenya-reigned @maria699669 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @sweethoneyblossom1 @jamiemydeer @snowprincesa1

@aegonswife @cloveradora @angrybirdxx @crack240 @number-0-iz

@nerdyphantomlady @julekaa @arabelllatargaryen @mduds @taylordaughter

@hibari-maika-muller @bailey1212 @aniisbavk1 @housetargaryenloyalist @imanewsoul

@withjinkoo @hearts4li @atargaryenlover aaand last but not least, my Queen Velaryon @lady-ashfade. ♡

[yongvillage]

ⓘ jaehyun x reader

face fucking, suffocation, dubcon, name calling, idk jaehyun is mean and gross

wc 0.9k

jaehyun almost felt bad. key word: almost. but he couldn’t help but laugh, being quickly interrupted by his own moans. he looks down at you, mockingly.

your jaw ached with so much intensity you were certain it was going to fall off at any moment, and your tears blurred your vision. maybe it was for the better, seeing jaehyun’s smug face made you angry.

you tried to tap him, scratch, hit, anything to warn him that you couldn’t breathe, but all he did was laugh breathlessly, choking out, “you’ll take it, baby, jus’ a little longer.”

he’d been saying a little longer for an eternity by now. you felt the caps of your knees go numb from the hardwood floor of jaehyun’s bedroom, and your core ached. but you knew better than to touch yourself. no, jaehyun wouldn’t like that one bit.

jaehyun’s hips snapped into the back of your throat fervently, a jumble of curses and praises and groans clouding the room. your gags and tear stained face only egging him on further, “fuck, w-wish you could see how you, ah, looked right now.”

you sputtered as jaehyun’s cock went especially deep on one thrust, only able being able to hear his strangled chuckle as your eyes were screwed shut. his grip on your hair was vicious, tightening as his hips somehow managed to go faster.

you wanted to scream, to let jaehyun know that you were surely going to faint at any moment, black spots scattered across your plane of vision and limbs starting to tingle and go numb, and as if god somehow heard your prayers, jaehyun slowed down.

you look up at hm through your eyelashes curiously, wondering what prompted him to suddenly show mercy. his thumb came down and hooked onto your right cheek, tugging at it, creating an almost x-ray type of vision as he was able to see how the inside of your mouth looked with his angry cock hitting the back your throat. you could feel it twitch at the lewd position you were put in.

“fuuuuck, ju-jus’ let me look at you for a bit baby,” jaehyun said, panting. his eyes were trained on your mouth, on your lips, mesmerized by the way they molded around his cock perfectly.

your body relaxed a bit at jaehyun’s calm pace, thanking his fascination with your mouth for giving you a moment to breathe. it continued on for a bit, jaehyun was seemingly hypnotized by the sight of your mouth, the pad of his thumb starting to wrinkle from the saliva of your inner cheek that he was still holding open.

“i think i could cum just from looking at you like this,” he panted out, his mouth agape in awe and eyes half open.

and before you could even think, jaehyun’s other hand pushes your head all the way down, the tip of your nose hitting his crooked happy trail. his other hand pulls away from your cheek, and you inhaled his musk for what was probably going to be the last time as his thumb and forefinger pinched your red, snotty nose, his brutal pace picking back up.

your eyes widened at jaehyun’s action, tears immediately brimming and then quickly falling down your face as you felt your throat tighten.

jaehyun laughs, “mm, s-stupid bitch, you’re gon’ choke on this dick,” he grins, watching the way your mouth gives up on trying to even suck him and just lays open for him to play with. his eyebrows furrowed as his face contorted, “y-yeah, shit, you’re gon’ choke and you’re gon’ like it.”

saliva bubbled out of the corners of your mouth, running down your chin and neck. you begin to sob, or at least try to, snot leeking out of jaehyun’s hold on your nose and beginning to trail down your lips. your eyes burned from how much you’d been crying, and you wondered how jaehyun was lasting so long, praying that he’d break and come down your throat.

“wha-, ah, what’s wrong baby? c-can’t breathe?” he cooed, his head craning down to take a better look at your helpless and damp face, hair sticking to your forehead and the sides of your face, your eyelids beginning to droop at how lightheaded you were starting to feel.

your nails clawed at jaehyun’s thighs, glancing down for a second to see you’d actually drawn blood. you accepted the fact that jaehyun probably wasn’t going to stop, his sick self was going to keep going till you passed out and your body went limp. your muscles were sore from constricting and tensing at his pace, bracing yourself for each thrust. you’re vision began to darken again.

jaehyun smiled down at you lazily, his pace quickening as he finally felt himself getting close, hoping that you’d hold out a little longer so he could cum down your throat and have you swallow it, letting it pool it in your tummy, “mmf, j-jus’ a little longer baby.”

you tried to shake your head, but your current half-conscious state, the lack of air, and the fact that you had jaehyun’s enormous cock in your mouth made it almost impossible.

jaehyun laughed down at you, his breathing becoming labored and hips stuttering, “gon’ go sleep sleep? fuck, go ahead baby, you’re gon’ wake up looking s-so pretty f’me with cum all o-over you.”

in your final moments of consciousness, hot, sticky cum rushed down your throat, jaehyun’s groans sounding almost pained as his large hand kept your head in place, forgetting his other one was still pinching your nose.

jaehyun looked down to see your head had gone limp, smirking to himself as he pulled you off him.

@yongvillage | ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

nobody comes this way anymore (Jason Todd x god!reader)

It’s been a while since someone’s tried to find you. But you’ve heard Jason’s prayers, if anyone was going to follow the old ways and track you down, it’d be him.

god!reader and believer!Jason au. I read this (great!) fic by @petalbcrnes and then wrote this in less than a day.

Angst, but not sharp. Jason is sad because I can’t write him any other way.

Swearing, as always. I don’t know how long this is.

———

He’s been looking for you.

You can feel it, of course you can. The little tug when a mortal grabs hold of their string and yanks. Sharper than prayer, though he’s done that, too.

He’s moving today, pulling the string hand over hand until there’s nothing left but your battered little house. He’ll arrive by nightfall.

You’ve been found before. Back when people believed in Gods like you just a little bit more. But the prayers have thinned and the visitors have died out completely. People don’t worship like they used to.

But you guess this ‘Jason’ is a true believer.

His prayers aren’t the throwaway ones people toss your way. Please, please, let her love me too; please, I’ll do anything to get him back; please, let me find someone.

Jason’s are more fervent. Please, let me be worthy.

Poor fucker.

He’s getting closer now, maybe a mile from your small cottage. You sigh, getting up from your table and leaving your home, closing the door behind you.

Moving quickly, you head due east from the path he follows, walking cleanly into a forest. Picking your way around trees and boulders, you come to a stop in a small clearing, stones tucked away along the grass. You park yourself on a rock and wait.

It’s dusk.

Soon enough, there he is: your lone true believer.

Jason is tall and broad, yet light on his feet. His eyes are sharp, darting here and there in the twilight before they alight on you. His gaze tightens. You incline your head.

You suppose he’s handsome, but that’s not what you’re about.

He clears his throat. “Are you the God of love?” Quick and to the point.

“Something like that.”

His gaze darkens, he’s angry with you. You’ve seen this before.

“I’ve been praying to you. Why don’t you answer?” he demands.

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?” he spits. “Aren’t you supposed to work for us? Take care of us?”

“No,” you say simply. “We exist because of you, and you exist because of us. Beyond that, we owe each other nothing.”

Jason scowls. “So you could not exist, then?” His hand twitches toward his hip, you’re sure there’s a knife there.

“You would find it difficult.” As if this man could threaten you. “And it would spell your end as well.”

He scoffs, turning his face from you. You see his shoulders quiver; he’s given up the ghost.

When Jason turns back toward you, his face is pleading.

“I need your help,” he says brokenly. “Please, please, make me easier to love. Make it easier to love me.”

Ah.

“There is nothing I can do that will give you what you are asking of me,” you say carefully.

“Fuck you.” You take the blaspheme on the chin. “Why not?”

“Your problem is nonexistent. Everyone is easy to love.”

“Not me,” he says harshly.

“Yes, you,” you say gently. That seems to take him aback.

His eyes harden again. “Then help me see that!”

“There is nothing I can say that will help you see that. The only answer I have to your prayer to ‘make you worthy’ is ‘you are.’”

His eyes widen. You can see tears glistening. “Then…then find me someone who will love me!”

“Jason.” He freezes; did he think you didn’t know his name. “Enough.”

He bites his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut. “What do you even do, anyway?”

“Maintain.”

He opens his eyes incredulously. “Maintain what?”

“Balance.”

When he sees that’s all he’s going to get from you, he scoffs. “You’re not very helpful.”

“I’m not meant to be.” You stand up. “Jason. It’s dark. Go home.”

Shockingly, he complies, turning around to leave the forest. “I’ll be back,” he says over his shoulder.

“I can’t give you want you’re looking for,” you call to him. He’s already turned around, giving you a small wave as he disappears into the night.

You remain where you are. Soon, another presence reveals itself.

“He’s meant to be one of mine.” Tim appears by your side.

“Really.” Interesting. You can’t resist, he’s presented you a knife and you’re going to twist it. “How’d you let that happen?”

Your counterpart grimaces. “A mistake.”

You nod. This changes things.

A Tim problem is a you problem. You work…together. Or rather, you maintain the balance from opposite sides. Jason had said ‘love,’ but really, your domain is Connection.

And Tim, though people call him ‘death,’ is Separation.

What is the opposite of love, if not separation, ad infinitum?

Tim’s domain is separation, but Jason had slipped through. And now he’s come to you because he’s having trouble with connection.

You and Tim look at each other. This is a tricky one.

“I think you’re going to have to get involved,” Tim says apologetically.

You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. “Clean up your mess, you mean.”

“Oh believe me,” Tim says darkly. “I’ve got a mess to clean up on my end, too.”

Your eyes meet again, face in matching grimaces. Damn.

“He says he’s coming back,” you, say, resigned. “You wanna be there?”

“Hell, no.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “He’d probably use his knife on me.”

“And what about me?” you demand.

“You’ll be fine,” Tim says dismissively. “He likes you.”

Not really. “I’m likable,” you shrug, smiling. For humans, you have a personality like wallpaper.

Tim gets a gleam in his eye that you really don’t like. “Maybe you could be the person,” he teases, “that shows him he’s worthy.”

“Not a person,” you remind him, but then you go quiet.

“He likes you,” Tim says again, shrugging.

“It’s…a potential solution,” you grumble. You don’t think it’s the right one, but since he’d slipped, all bets are off.

“Well, we have to find another.” Tim steps away from you. “And I have to figure out my own shit.” He makes to leave.

“Let me know if you need help.”

“This is help.” He smiles at you, then turns and walks into the night.

You exit the forest, moving toward home. Your “true believer” Jason is going to be more trouble than you’d thought.

———

And Tim’s here, too!

[ecstxsyy]

SO HIGH. | E. DIAZ

Eddie Diaz is one hell of a drug.

18+ mdni !

eddie diaz x fem reader

warnings: alcohol use, intoxicated sex, p in v, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, slight edging (f receiving), squirting, facials, porn with very little plot, unprotected sex (wrap it up), slight degradation, cum eating.

EDDIE DIAZ is unexpectedly the life of the party. Sure, he seems like he’d be fun, but never like this.

It started at Chimney’s “bachelor party”, which he never actually showed up to. Buck had been excitedly planning it all week, all the while Chimney was telling him that he never wanted a bachelor party and Buck being Buck, insisted that he planned one for him. Now, here you sat.

You, Eddie, and Buck counted the minutes as they passed, praying at least someone would show up or at least come back to keep them company.

After about 20 or so minutes, Buck finally realized no one was coming and made the bright decision to invite the other people outside clubbing into the private suit.

After many tequila shots and bad decisions, the group of you had somehow ended up at Chimney’s hotel room. You all stormed in, immediately beginning to party all over again.

You, Eddie, and Buck raced to Chimney’s door, knocking to try and get him up. When you received no response you joined the rest and continued to party.

You couldn’t remember what part of the night got you to where you were now, pinned beneath Eddie’s weight as you kissed fervently.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Eddie asked for what you swore was the millionth time.

“Yes, Eddie, I’m positive.” You said through sloppy kisses.

“Just don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you.” He sighed as he kissed down the side of your neck.

“Eddie.”

“Hm?” He hummed as he looked up at you through his eyelashes, kissing down your collarbone.

“Shut up and fuck me.” You moaned as he sucked on your skin, hickey’s blooming in his wake.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Eddie mumbled into your skin, tapping your elbow to raise your arms so he could remove your shirt.

Pieces of clothing continued to fly as he stripped you from head to toe, worshipping your skin slowly as it was revealed. He loved the way you tasted, his tongue peaking out occasionally to lick the skin beneath his lips.

At this point, you were a sensitive writhing mess. You wanted nothing more than for him to just fuck you, but if you knew Eddie at all, you knew he’d tease you until you physically couldn’t take it anymore.

“Eddie please,” You begged, your pleas falling upon deaf ears.

Eddie continued on like he’d never heard you, trailing kisses down your inner thigh, getting dangerously close to your pussy without ever actually touching it.

You bucked up into his face, attempting to get some relief from the heat bubbling in the pit of your stomach. This made Eddie nip your thigh, soothing the area with his tongue immediately after.

“So impatient, Cariño.” Eddie teased, “but, I suppose I’ve made you wait long enough.”

Eddie dove straight in, eating you out like a starved man being set in front of a feast. He immediately sucked your clit into his mouth, teasing your entrance with the tip of his index finger, never actually inserting it into your heat.

Gasps and moans tumbled from your lips, his assault on your nether regions felt amplified. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe he really was just that good at giving head. Either way, you couldn’t care less. The only thing on your mind being how good he was making you feel.

Eddie felt like he could stay in this position forever, you tasted like heaven on his tongue and now that he’s had a taste he doesn’t know if he could ever stop.

“God you taste so good.” Eddie practically moaned into your pussy.

Those words made your stomach flutter as you looked down at him, the sight that greeted you nearly made you cum immediately.

Eddie was practically fucking the bed beneath him, grinding his hips into the sheets. He was getting off on just eating you out.

“God, Eddie. Look at you, you’re so pathetic.” You moaned, loving the idea that he’d suppress himself of pleasure just to get you off.

“Only for you,” he mumbled into your heat.

Eddie began pistoning his fingers inside of you, speeding up the pattern of his tongue. Your moans got louder and louder with this change, signaling to him that you were about to cum.

This made him halt his actions immediately, sitting back on his heels to watch you writhe and complain.

“Why’d you stop? I was so close.” You pouted.

“‘Cause i’m no where near being done with you.” He smirked, unclasping his belt and pulling his pants down barely enough to get his cock out.

Your jaw nearly fell off when you saw the size of him, pondering how and where it was supposed to fit inside of you.

You couldn’t lie and say you hadn’t thought about Eddie in that way before. You’d figured he’d be big, but, Eddie was hung.

“There’s no way you’re gonna fit.” You said in shock while Eddie stroked his cock slowly, spitting in his palm to lube himself up.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go slow to start, okay?” Eddie reassured.

You nodded as he lined himself up with your entrance, giving him silent consent to begin pushing himself deep inside your aching pussy.

“Oh fuck.” You gasped out, the ache of him stretching you out hurt so good.

Eddie slowly began giving you shallow thrusts, fucking more of his length into you with each thrust. His pace began to speed up quickly, he wanted to be patient for you, but he just couldn’t bring himself to hold back. Tears of pleasure pricked your eyes as Eddie filled you to the brim. You’d never felt so full before, you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“Oh God.” You moaned loudly, your nails scratching down his back, leaving small scratches and blood droplets in their wake.

“God isn’t the one making you feel this good, baby. I am.” Eddie said cockily, pressing down lightly on the slightly visible outline of his cock in your stomach. You yelped with pleasure, your legs trembling around his waist as you struggled to put together a coherent thought.

His thrusts got deeper and deeper each time, his cock stroking a place inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. The little bundle of nerves shooting waves of pleasure all throughout your body.

“Eddie ‘m gonna cum.” You whimpered, your fingers moving to rub your clit while Eddie fucked you relentlessly. Eddie, noticing this, immediately slapped your hand away, using his hand to replace yours. He rubbed quick small circles into your clit that sent shivers up your spine.

“Go ahead, baby. I know it feels so good, go ahead and cum for me.” Eddie encouraged through panting breaths.

Your orgasm plowed through you in waves, a scream tearing its way out of your throat. Your body convulsed as you sprayed evidence of your orgasm all over the sheets and Eddie’s lower abdomen, you couldn't tell how long your orgasm lasted. All you knew was your ears rung for a solid 10 seconds after it finished wracking its way through your body.

“Got you gushin’ for me, Cariño.” Eddie smirked, catching a drop from his stomach on his finger and sucking it into his mouth.

Eddie eased his way out of you, pulling you up off the bed and pushing you to your knees on the floor.

His cock sat above your face in all of its glory, still hard and leaking precum. His tip was an angry red color and you knew he wanted to cum so bad.

“Open wide for me, I know you can take it.” Eddie encouraged, easing his cock between your lips.

You sucked him into your mouth immediately, too cockdrunk to think about anything else but the man in front of you. You swirled your tongue around his tip, taking his balls into your hand to massage them softly.

“Shit, baby, you’re so good at this. Such a good girl f’ me.” Eddie mumbled, pulling all of your hair into one of his fists, using it to guide your head up and down his cock.

All you cared about was pleasing him, he made you cum so good, the least you could do was return the favor.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum all over that pretty face.” Eddie said, beginning to use your hair to face fuck you. You simply sat back and relaxed, letting him do whatever he pleased to you to make himself cum.

When his hips began to falter, you knew he was about to cum. He pulled you up off of his cock and began stroking his length above your face, throwing his head back with a groan.

His load shot out onto your face in warm spurts, his hips thrusting to meet the strokes of his hand while he moaned.

Once he made sure his entire load was on your face, he smiled, patting your cheek softly before using his first two fingers to collect some of his cum off of your face.

“Open,” Eddie instructed firmly, your mouth falling open for him. He took his fingers and pushed them into your mouth, your lips closing around them as you sucked the salty fluid off of his fingers.

“Such a good girl for me.” Eddie smiled at you.

You could’ve sworn you felt high, maybe that was just the effect Eddie had on you.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Hey I just wanted to say I'm OBSESSED WITH chubby servant reader x knight 😭🙏 I honestly love anything you write with them

As much as I wanna be a horny pervert, I kinda want some fluff 😭 (I'm sure there are enough horny perverts in the ask to make up for this 💀)

One of the reasons I LOVE this series is the way they YEARN for each other, especially the knight 💜

Can I ask for some more pre-relationship shenanigans?

Ahhhh thank you thank you, i have become obsessed with them!! And your ask gives me the perfect opportunity to share his name!!

"How was the knighting yesterday?"

"Oh, quite nice. The ladies looked so lovely in their dresses. And the new knights are quite handsome." She looks at you with a smile. "And of course the food was magnificant."

"You flatter me, Cathy," you say, smiling back at her, going back to kneeding your loaf.

"I heard there was a man who was knighted that was especially handsome. Pray tell, is it true?"

"Ah, to some he is. He made the princess giggle when he kissed her hand." The women coo and lean closer to the speaker. "He was quite handsome indeed. Perhaps his jaw is sharper than his sword." The women fall into a fit of giggles but continue their work.

"Do you know his name?"

"Why? So you can try to seduce him?" The woman denies it but is blushing furiously, shaking her hands.

"Oh, but I'm curious, Cathy! Please, tell us his name so we may know who we are speaking of."

"Fair, fair." She brings her hands to her chest, looking off into the distance, thinking. "His name... oh, it was... Adam... Adam... Fischer! Adam Fischer, that is who he was."

He sees you by accident at first.

He was ordered to guard this section of the grounds tonight, and he takes his time to admire his new home in detail. The gardens here are lovely, vast and expanse.

He sees open windows, and the flickering of a fire. He decides to investigate.

When he approaches, he is able to see into the kitchen. He sees you sitting by the fire, your back to him, bonnet discarded and hair loose. You are writing something fervently, too enraptured by your words to notice that he is right there, watching you.

You put down your pencil and stretch upwards, moaning softly at the action. He stares at you, your free hair, the curve of your bodice. He has not seen your face, but he decides you are beautiful.

You rise from the chair and he panics, tiptoeing quickly to a nearby tree and hiding his frame, still watching. You approach the windows, leaning forward and closing your eyes, soaking in the moonlight. He sees the way it makes your skin glow, and his heart flutters.

You close the windows one by one. He waits, then moves back toward the kitchen window, to see if he can catch a glimpse of you again.

By the time he reaches the window, the fire is out.

The next time he sees you, there is more purpose behind it.

He has returned from training on the outer walls. He is tired, and so is his horse, but the two return together to the stables.

To his surprise, you are there.

He recognizes you from a distance as he dismounts his horse. You are speaking with the young stable boys, holding a basket over your arm.

He approaches, curious.

"What is one and one?"

"Two!" cheers one of the boys.

"Very good!" You hand him an apple from your basket. "Now, what is two and two?"

"F-Four!" chimes in another. You hand him an apple, smiling.

"And four with four?" The boys quiet, glancing at each other. One of them lifts his fingers slowly, staring at them.

"Sev... eight?" he asks, looking up at you. You clap with joy.

"Yes, yes! Very good, my love." You give an apple, which he takes happily. "Very good, my boys, very good!"

"I do not believe these are your children, my lady."

You jolt, looking up at him. He towers over you, as he does with many others, but for some reason seeing you look up at him gives him a different feeling.

"I, um... no, sir, they are not mine."

"But you feed them and teach them numbers?"

"I... uh..."

"You are not in trouble, my lady. I am merely asking."

"I... yes, I do."

He hums. His squire approaches, takes his horse from him before walking away again. He raises his hand towards you.

"May I?"

You stare at his hand, then at your apples.

"I... what is... what is three fortnights?"

He stares at you, thinking you are joking. When you don't give him the apple, he thinks.

"It's... eight, two... forty two nights, my lady."

You blink. A smile creeps up on your face, and he does not think he has ever seen anything so lovely.

"Very good, sir."

You give the apple to his outstretched hand. He takes it, briefly admiring how small and soft your hands look compared to his. You clear your throat, making him look at you.

"I-I must be on my way, children. I have dinner to prepare. Now, what do you say?"

"Thank you lady Y/N!" they cheer in unison, making your smile widen.

"Very good." You turn to him and briefly curtsy before scurrying off to what he assumes is the kitchen.

He savors the apple after dinner. It is sweet, and he thinks only of you as he bites into it.

"What do you think of lady Y/N?" he asks on the next expedition. His captain glances at him, then back to the trail.

"She is a fine lady. She gives sweet things to the younglings and teaches them to write. Why do you speak of her?"

"I was merely curious," he lies.

"She is cursed!" one of the younger men announces, riding his steed closer. "She seduced a man before he went to battle, and then he died. She should not be messed with."

"Wha—"

"She is not a witch, Michael," another man chimes in. "They were in love. They were to marry, but the war started before they could wed. Twas merely battle that made him lose his life, not witchcraft."

"Regardless," Michael moves his horse closer to Adam, "you should steer clear of her. Besides," he gives Adam a knowing smile, "I heard the princess is very fond of you. Why not pursue her?"

"I have no interest in that brat." The men of the party 'oo' in shock.

"You should not speak of the princess in such a way, Sir Adam! She is a fine woman, who reads and studies art. You don't meet many women like that nowadays."

"You would, Sir Michael," he says, looking at the younger man, "if you knew where to look."

He kicks his horse and moves past the rest of the party, trying to clear his head.

When they reach a town, they find a tavern. They eat and drink and play silly games when a woman in the corner of the room catches their eye. She claims to be a witch. She has a ball of glass or crystal before her, urging them forward. The other soldiers go first, paying a gold coin to hear their fortune.

"Come, Sir Adam, have your fortune read."

"I do not wish to waste my gold on childish games."

"Well, then I shall give you a coin."

He is pushed towards the table, into the chair before the cloaked woman. She takes the coin from Michael, and smiles.

"Think of what you want most, and it shall appear to me here." She motions towards the clear ball. He sighs, sitting back and thinking. The ball becomes clouded, most likely due to a party trick, and she leans in close.

"I see..." She cocks her head, furrowing her brow. "I... I see..."

"Well? What do you see, woman?"

"I... my lord, I am sorry, but... are you perhaps hungry?"

"What?" The men crowd the table, trying to see into the ball. "What do you see?"

"I... I see a loaf of bread, sir."

Adam gawks, leaning closer.

"You... you see what?"

"Bread, sir."

"What kind?"

"I-I do not know, sir. Tis merely there, with a design."

"Can you draw it for me?"

She pauses.

"For another coin, I can."

He scurries to give her a coin, watching her take a pencil and paper and draw the design from the crystal ball. When she is done, he takes it, staring at the design, memorizing it, still thinking of you.

He carries it the entire expedition. Some of the men tease him for holding so tightly to a drawing of bread, but he does not care. Every night he stares at it, memorizing each line like scripture. He thinks of you all the while, even as he stuffs the drawing in his pocket and takes out his cock.

When the party returns from the journey, he rushes to the kitchen. If it is truly fate, the bread in the kitchen will have a score just like the one on his paper.

When he arrives, the bread is being pulled from the ovens. You are not there, much to his dismay, but he checks each loaf of bread regardless. When he finds that none of them look like the picture at all, his shoulders sag, the paper falling from his hand to the floor.

The other knights do not ask what happened when he returns. They can see the answer from his face alone.

He is still glum by morning, not wanting to get out of bed, not wanting to go to the dining hall to eat. But he must continue, despite everything.

The knights are giving him knowing looks when he finally arrives to the hall. They smile, raise their brows, and he squints in confusion. He finds his seat, reaching for the bread, although he's not sure he can stomach it.

The bread.

He bolts upright, grabbing the load before another soldier can grab it to cut. The design, it is exactly what the drawing showed, the drawing he memorized so clearly over so many nights.

The knights laugh as he runs from the dining hall, carrying the loaf of bread.

When he reaches the kitchen, he is breathless. The ladies working stop, stare at him, confused and perhaps frightened.

"Is something wrong, my lord?" one of the women asks, making you look up and stare at him. He stares back, panting.

"Who..." He inhales deep, standing straighter. "Who scored the bread?"

The ladies instinctively look at you. You bring your hands to your chest.

"D-Did I offend you, sir?"

"No, no, I..." He takes a step forward, holding the bread so hard that it cracks. "How did you come up with the design?"

"I... I found a drawing, sir." You reach into your pocket and unfold the paper he dropped, placing it on the table. "I thought it was quite lovely. I thought the queen would enjoy it, s-so I practiced on the loaves for the rest of the castle."

He huffs, his lips curling. You swallow, glancing at the other women, in search of help, but they stay silent.

"I-I am sorry if you do not like it, sir. I-I know that it is far too... delicate for the knights." You reach for the loaf in his hand. "I shall bring you a normal, fresh loaf in a moment."

"No!" The women in the room jolt at his booming voice. He brings the bread loaf to his chest, shaking his head. "No, I... I do not wish for another loaf. I shall have this one, and nothing more."

The silence in the room is overwhelming. He glances around the others' faces before falling back to yours. He bows and leaves.

He returns to the dining hall. He eats nothing but the loaf he had taken. The knights chuckle about it for the rest of the day, but he does not care. All he can think of is you.

[hopefulceladon]

︶⊹ wherever you stay, i will stay | sunday x reader

summary: after many months in light of his newfound freedom (and his wardrobe change), sunday makes a visit home to you. notes: drip marketing and the worms influenced this one. because of course they did. i honestly might delete this one i'm not even sure yet word count: 1.9k ao3 link: here!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ ⋆ ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The night's chill had settled bitterly into the quiet premises of your chambers, ripping you away from your beloved comfort and carelessly substituting it with an eerie cloak of loneliness.

As if upon instinct, you tried to seek out the familiar warmth of your beloved's feathered form, haphazardly guessing your hand's landing upon what would be there and what truly ought to be there, but a tensed sigh had crossed your lips once all your palm had planted itself upon was the lifeless, cold, white linen of the lavishly sized mattress you rested upon.

It was far too easy to loathe the evening when its’ brisk bite was so eager to remind you of your solitude, after all.

Still deeply disappointed, you curled the sheets against the grasp of your fist in frustration before fumbling around for the partially completed book on your nightstand with the other, retrieving it from atop the ever-growing pile of its familiarly half-read brethren, ever so careful to not knock over the candle that flickered nearby as you reached for your hopeful distraction.

You sat up and rested the book upon your lap, your eyes slowly trailing over every last detail of the front cover; it was a highly detailed guide to different factions across the galaxies that Sunday had recommended to you in passing. Despite your initial hesitance to comprehend such daunting knowledge back then, you’d chase down even the smallest of traces your beloved had interwoven into your life in the midst of his absence now.

Once you cracked the book open, however, you had found that you were struggling far more than you really should've.

Not only had you sworn that the nearby clock formed an elaborate conspiracy against you, desperate to drive you to your wits’ end with every second-span tick, the author of the book was prone to rambling up to the high heavens—everything truly reminded you of him now, did it not?—allowing for none of the words to have a chance at nestling within the crevices of your memory long enough for anything to click.

Before you could helplessly toss the book onto the wooden floor below and tirelessly fuss with the comfort of your pillows, as if the mere absence of your life's light was of their doing, a soft, unassuming knock rapped against the door of your house.

All the worsts were what had flown through your head first, and so you remained silent, far too alarmed to say a word as you quietly grabbed a dagger from the nightstand drawer and pocketed it.

As if dissatisfied by the lack of response, the one who knocked finally decided to speak.

“Please, I insist that you open the door.”

If you hadn't valued your life so much for the hopes of seeing your beloved once more, you would’ve audibly scoffed at the request. Still, you had to force your voice to not waver. “I... I do not open my house up to the likes of strangers!”

In the silence that fell, you had prayed whatever had intruded upon your property had lost interest and simply left you alone.

“Ah... should I be deeply offended by your words, my star?”

You froze at the familiar lilt in the ‘stranger's’ voice.

Either you were now indeed face to face with impending doom, or...

Feeling emboldened by what you fervently hoped was an abrupt rush of assured clarity, you tiptoed your way to the door and, with a candle in hand and a small dagger concealed within your pocket, opened it wide enough to see who it was, but hardly wide enough to allow them in.

All it took was a glimpse of familiar, soft grayish-blue hair to grace your line of sight before you abruptly nudged the door wide open.

“Sunday?”

The aforementioned Halovian quickly looked around and placed a finger to your lips, murmuring a small ‘shhh’ before lowering his hand and welcoming himself inside, shutting the door behind him with a small thud as he led you both over to a nearby seating arrangement.

Your eyes were still wide with disbelief, though your words were far quieter. “You’re... you’re here?”

“I... suppose you could say that, couldn’t you?”

It was then your bewilderment had melted away into a grin in light of his soft chuckle. There had been points in time where you weren't sure if you would ever hear such a simple sound again, and to have it fall upon your ears so gracefully like the beautifully familiar melody it was had made your cheeks ache from the overabundance of smiling.

Finally taking the time to refamiliarize yourself with the pleasant sight of your heart’s solace, it hardly took long at all for you to notice that he was no longer adorned with his priestly garments. Gone was the gray blazer that had been accompanied by a white vest, for they were both now replaced by a half white, half navy-blue ensemble.

You could’ve sworn the duality in colors and all the new embellishments that decorated his attire seemed to bring out the shine in his brilliant golden eyes.

With trembling hands, you briskly cupped your palms against the tops of Sunday’s stress-ridden shoulders, absentmindedly kneading your fingers against the soft material of his new apparel as you desperately tried to reassure yourself that he truly was standing before you.

Sunday’s focus trailed up from your wandering hands to gaze into your own eyes, his lips upturning slightly. “I take it you must’ve missed me?” he asked softly, as if he hadn't already been assured of the answer.

You hummed in agreement before abruptly resting your head against his chest, growing ever more grounded back within the fabrics of reality with each passing beat of his heart.

“Probably more than you ever could’ve imagined.”

The Halovian gently pulled you closer towards him at your heartfelt answer, resting his chin atop your head as he enveloped you in a more-proper attempt at a hug. “I’ve missed you dearly, too.”

You clung yourself taut to his form as if he would disappear into thin air if you hadn’t, your arms wrapped snug around his waist as your breathing synchronized with his.

How many hours had you spent aching for this? All the miniscule moments that made your chest clench with longing upon every reminder of his presence? All the passing thoughts of his actions? Every fleeting memory of his mere touch alone?

After multiple moments worth of resting yourself against him, you lifted your head away from his chest and, without much thought put behind it at all, delicately cradled your palms against his skin.

Sunday tilted his head at the gesture, his wings fluttering from his surprise.

It seemed as if, despite all the other visible changes in his appearance, his expressive plumage had yet to differentiate themselves away from the likes of those in your memories.

“What's on your mind, I wonder?” he questioned, pressing his cheek against one of your palms.

Abruptly broken out of your love-stricken stupor, your hands retreat to your sides. “I... am unsure, my love,” you murmured. “Please, forgive me.”

“Ah-ah,” Sunday tutted softly, the weariness in his eyes melting away into a rare form of playfulness, the very kind you missed oh-so-dearly. “Surely you had a reason? I’d love to hear it if you did.”

You were afflicted with disbelief as Sunday grasped your wrists and brushed a brief kiss against the right one, before settling both of your hands back against his cheeks.

Sunday hadn't known this, of course, but you had desperately craved for him to initiate any sort of contact against your skin.

What you hadn't know, however, was that he, too, had whispered a quiet prayer that he’d be at the mercy of your gentle grazing, aching for your touch like the rising sun yearned for the waning moon.

“It's just...” you began, swallowing down the lump of anxiety that had dried out your throat. “I’ve missed you so dearly, and...”

“And?” he urged you on, his patience never faltering in light of your hesitance.

You hated yourself for the hesitant, all too obvious glance you took at the very lips that had rested against your wrist only mere moments prior.

“I mean, for heaven’s sake, Sunday, it’s been months since I last saw you, and...”

Utterly fed up with the way you suddenly couldn’t finish a sentence around him, you silenced Sunday’s future words before he could even dare to speak them with a desperate, abrupt press of your lips against his.

Every brush spoke a thousand feelings more than your stammered words ever could’ve hoped to amass, and you quickly pulled away with a shaky breath.

As Sunday’s expression morphed into surprise, a rush of shame had snuffed out any feelings of relief you could've gathered from the intimacy.

You looked away with an embarrassed huff, tightly squeezing your eyes shut.

“I... should’ve warned you.”

Albeit still taken aback by your boldness, Sunday carefully guided your chin back to face him.

“You must know that you never have to do so by now, surely?”

Braving yourself into opening your eyes, you were met by the visage of Sunday gazing at you warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkled by the depths of his fondness.

You found yourself pushing him backwards for yet another kiss soon after.

As you both fell forth against the comfortable expanse of the couch ahead, you let out a small hum against Sunday’s lips as your hands hastily clutched against his chest for support.

After you had successfully steadied yourself, you allowed one to fall down to his leg, absentmindedly rubbing circles beneath the bottom blue belt wrapped around his thigh, whilst the other hand cradled his steadily-warming cheek, your thumb brushing slowly back and forth against the starting, downy feathers of the nearby wing.

Once your hand had squeezed itself against his lean yet soft upper thigh, Sunday had let out a trembling breath.

“Ah, love,” Sunday murmured breathlessly as his shimmering, pleading eyes locked upon yours. “I do believe that, we, ah... we shouldn’t...”

Quickly, you retracted both of your hands as if you had seared them on scorching coals, fastening them behind your back before scooting away from him on the couch.

Sunday was keen to the unspoken guilt that had marred your countenance, and he was quick to try to eradicate it. “Please, don't take my words harshly,” he began, reaching for your arms to slide his gloved hands back down their expanses to reunite with your hands, as if a simple, gentle squeeze would soothe your fears.

He had assumed correctly—it did. It always, always did.

“It's merely that I didn't imagine our reunion would... I simply don’t want to rush...” he stumbled. In light of his abnormal struggle with mulling over the perfect words, he soon relented to brushing his apologies against your knuckles in the form of a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips upturned at the way your breathing had fluttered. “Not here, my star.”

Sunday’s gaze turned distant as it lingered near the door, as if he were peering beyond the barrier and off towards distant horizons.

“Perhaps, maybe in the future, should you continue to follow me as I search for wherever within the stars that'll make a place for me...” he continued on, before turning to look at you. “Though, I beg of you, please don't feel the need to fasten yourself down to me.”

“Sunday...”

He tilted his head at the soft calling of his name.

“Wherever in this star system you roam is where I will roam, and your future planet shall be my future planet,” you whispered tenderly, pressing your forehead against his. “My home is where you are. Can't you see that?”

A shaky breath escaped Sunday's lips at your heartfelt confession, and he leaned in closer against you in kind.

“You truly mean so?”

“With all my heart.”

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʟᴀᴛᴇʟʏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ..."

Word count: 3,800.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

MEETING — 1. Her.

Her legs, without any command and with an unstoppable perseverance, set off through the labyrinthine corridors of the red keep towards her mother's chambers long before the phrase fully reached her ears, the one she had so longed for: "The baby has been born, my princess."

Her family was her most loved treasure and when her mother announced the big news, time seemed to slow down. She couldn't wait to have that baby in her arms and cherish every second the gods, those she fervently prayed to, would allow her to spend with him.

Every night, in silent supplications, she repeated to any who would listen: "Please, let him be born healthy. Please, take care of my mother."

Rhaenyra painfully held in her heart the memory of her mother Aemma's early departure from the world. She wanted to shield her little ones from all fear and anguish, so she didn't dwell on details about that traumatic episode, one that, despite the years, remained as a deep and open wound. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop the whispers, those that seeped into her daughter's ears, creating such intense fear that she barely had room to breathe during those long nine months.

She felt a smile so wide it would ache her cheeks later and feet that weren't fast enough. Upon reaching the large wooden door, she took a few seconds to take a deep breath, calm her racing nerves, and finally push it open with determination.

Her entrance went unnoticed, as all eyes in the room were on the small human being now peacefully resting in her father's arms.

Except hers, no, those were on the woman sitting on the couch. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, her hair tousled and a tired expression adorned her face; yet never, in her short years on this earth, had she seen her so beautiful.

"Mother" she murmured almost voicelessly, taking her hands in hers and seeking her gaze. She felt her eyes sting, tears threatening to spill, and a lump forming in her throat. She wanted to speak again, but her voice got lost along the way. Fortunately, it wasn't necessary; Rhaenyra knew her as well as herself and could read her like an open book.

"My love, please, have no fear, we are okay" with those simple words, her lungs filled with air, swelling her chest. She let out a sigh, laden with relief, laden with love. She could only nod in response.

"Sister, look!" Jacaerys exclaimed, drawing her attention. He lifted the lid of the large steel chest, releasing steam and revealing a dragon egg. 

"We choose an egg for the baby" Lucerys added.

"That looks like the perfect one, brothers" she said with a smile, though a bittersweet taste filled her mouth. Unlike her brothers, her own egg had never hatched, a disappointment she carried permanently with her, though she tried not to show it in these moments of happiness.

"I let Luke choose" he said, she messed up the younger one's hair and planted a kiss on his head.

"Thank you, Jace."

"Not every day an egg leaves the dragonpit, my princess, I thought it best to escort the lads" intervened Harwin Strong, adorned in his imposing armor and golden cloak. It didn't surprise her seeing him there; in fact, despite having a different last name, she considered him part of her family.

He was her protector, who always escorted her to her room, pampered her with luxurious books, and listened attentively to every word she said. She had more memories of him than of her own father, but she didn't complain; she knew he was a busy man. Harwin had tried to teach her the art of the sword, insisting on the importance of knowing how to defend herself, but she always found herself more interested in books. Besides, she had the feeling that he would never neglect watching her back.

"Laenor and I thank you, Commander" she heard her mother say.

"Father, may I see it?" she asked. Laenor knelt down, allowing the three of them to meet the new member of the family. It only took one look for him to completely captivate her. She mentally swore that nothing would ever harm him as long as she breathed. "What a fine knight you are going to make, eh?"

"Another boy, I heard" Harwin cleared his throat. "Might I?" he asked, seeking her mother's approval. She thought she saw a glimpse of the same relief that filled her eyes.

"Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey" she said, smiling. Upon hearing that name, her lips formed another smile. Of course, she would have been equally happy if it were a girl, but she was glad to still be the only one. It had its advantages.

"Of course" Laenor agreed. Rising, he gently placed Joffrey in Harwin's arms.

"Joffrey, is it?" her father nodded in agreement to the question.

"Mother, please may I hold Joffrey?" she asked excitedly, reaching out her arms towards him. A futile attempt, of course, the man in front of her easily doubled her height.

"No, mother, let me go first! I'm the strongest, I won't let him fall!" her twin brother vociferated.

"I won't let him fall either!" she countered.

Her younger brother joined in the pleas, arguing that he had the right because he was the youngest. Soon, the words melded into an indistinguishable uproar, as all three clamored in unison.

"No, no, no" her father hastened as Harwin turned his back to them, trying to prevent the disturbances from reaching the ears of the newborn.

"I think you left your septa waiting, my little lady, and back to the dragon pit for you two, before they send out a search party" he ushered the three younger ones out of the room, and gently pushed their shoulders, guiding them down the hallway. First, towards the room she had left only minutes ago, where her septa awaited along with Helaena, her mother's younger sister.

Her father left her at the door, and the expression on her face, the one she believed she was successfully hiding, betrayed her. Laenor crouched down to her height, gently taking her cheeks in his hands, making her look at him.

"You know, Leana had an egg that didn't hatch... and she didn't ride a dragon until she was five and ten. Now she rides Vhagar," he tried to cheer her up, "your time will come, dear daughter, I promise."

She was filled with hope at her father's promises. He always had the right words. She thanked the man she loved so much with a kiss on the cheek, and now with renewed energy, she entered the room.

Despite the repeated complaints from the septa, they remained on the floor; she leaned her back against the wall, while Helaena rested her head on her legs. She explored the pages of the book while playing with her hair, and when a passage caught her attention, she read it aloud to her aunt, who entertained herself by watching a long insect walk on her hands. They didn't share the same interests, not even could it be said that they understood each other, but they enjoyed each other's company and were grateful of having another princess of almost the same age as a confidante.

"This one has 60 rings and two pairs of legs on each. That's 240" remarked Helaena.

"Yes, you're right, I think... Did you know that Vhagar is 170 years old?" she responded, her eyes widening at the new information. "That's exceptional."

"The last ring doesn't have legs," Helaena pointed out, overlooking her niece, more interested in the insect "it has eyes, though I don't believe it can see."

She furrowed her brow. "Why is that so?"

"It's beyond our understanding."

She didn't know how much time they had spent in that position, but when she shifted her attention from the book due to noises approaching from the corridors, she noticed that the septa had already left and in her place was Alicent. The new companion was sitting a few meters away from them, holding a cup of tea and with her gaze lost in the window.

Suddenly, two king’s guards burst into the room, each holding one of Aemond's arms, alarming her.

"Your Grace" they left without waiting for any response, closing the doors behind them.

"Aemond, what have you done?" Alicent approached him quickly, scrutinizing him, and exclaimed exasperatedly while gripping his shoulders firmly, "after how many times you’ve been warned, must I have you confined to your chambers?"

"They made me do it!" the young prince shouted in his defense.

"As if you needed encouragement. Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding" she furrowed her brow again upon noticing the same phrase that had come out of Helaena's mouth minutes ago.

Returning her attention to the argument in front of her, she noted that the prince's platinum hair and his green garments were stained black. Realization fell into her, she widened her eyes, astonished. Had he really ventured into the dragon pit? Alone?

"They gave me a pig!"

"A what?" the queen asked.

"They said they found a dragon for me, but it was a pig" detailed, his voice breaking slightly.

She knew Aegon and she knew her brothers, and even though she was certain the last two had only been pawns used in the prank, a mixture of anger and disappointment washed over her. How could they tease and deceive the good prince in such a way? Worse still, with something that was also the cause of her tears.

"If he wants one, he'll have to close one eye" the princess beside her said, her gaze still fixed on the tiny entity. She spoke loud enough for only her to hear.

Her words were puzzling, and she didn't know how to interpret them. They could either indicate that she was still in her little world or suggest something deeper; it wouldn't be the first time for either option. She had heard her say... things before; at first, they seemed like mere nonsensical words, and suddenly something happened, something that reminded her of her words, something that led her to believe that her aunt had some kind of magic. No one had paid much attention to her when she shared her theory, dismissing it with disdain, saying they were just coincidences. But to her, it seemed like more than mere chance connections.

"Everyone laughed" Aemond murmured, trying to hide his sadness. Her anger now replaced by deep empathy. Alicent wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back.

The prince looked just as distressed as he left the hug and walked away as he did when he entered. It reminded her of her own feelings of desolation and loneliness, and she thought that there was no one in the kingdom who could understand her like he did. Not really.

She always had a special connection with Jace, a twin connection, as they enjoyed calling it. They understood each other with just looks, laughed at the same jokes, and shared the same tastes, except for the obvious; he loved his sword, she preferred her books. On the other hand, Luke had always been her little and spoiled one, her sweet and innocent child. That's why the situation had affected her so much. She didn't believe her brothers had meant to hurt Aemond, but they did anyway. They were insensitive, and she didn't want to see them grow up like Aegon, who with his character showed that he didn't know the true meaning of consequences.

It had been a few days since the incident in the pit and the birth of her brother, who was under the care of Diana, her mother's lady-in-waiting.

She tried not to lift her gaze from her plate and ate in silence, ignoring her brothers, offering them only monosyllabic responses. She was furious and intended to make it obvious. She huffed in frustration, trying to get her mother's attention so she could bring up the issue to the table.

"My dear, what troubles your mind?" she heard her mother ask as she gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

"Mother, have you heard about the incident in the dragon pit?" noticing her mother's concerned and confused look, she hurried to reassure her, "no one is hurt... not physically, at least."

"What happened?" her mother looked inquisitively at her sons, their heads looking down, ashamed.

"Jace, Luke, and Aegon played a prank on Prince Aemond. They told him they had a dragon for him and gave him a pig with wings, they even named it! Pink Dread." The children couldn't contain their laughter at the memory, which only made her angrier.

"Is that true?" her mother asked, wiping the smile from both their faces. It wasn't common to hear her upset or see her with a serious expression.

"It was just a joke!" Jace tried to justify.

"Aegon planned it!" Luke interjected.

"I don't want to hear justifications" she silenced them. "What if that joke had been towards your sister? Would you still be laughing?"

"It's different" Jace muttered, while Luke's lip trembled in a pout.

"No, it's not. Tomorrow during training, you will offer the appropriate apologies. From the heart. Aemond is family, and we must look out for each other. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, mother" they chorused, serious and repentant.

"Now you may retire to your chambers and think about what you've done," their mother pronounced, and before they could respond, she added, "no complaints." They nodded and left in silence.

"I think Aemond could use some kind words, don't you agree?" Rhaenyra suggested minutes later, breaking the silence. She responded with a smile, thanking her for understanding the importance of this to her. "Who better than you to do it?" She rose from her seat and embraced her gently, for she could see her still in pain. She planted a kiss on her forehead, the kind she cherished so much.

"Rest, mother. I'll ask the maester to make you some tea."

She smiled after hearing her daughter, thinking that any pain felt and to be felt would be an insignificant price to pay considering all she had gained. Jace, the next heir to the throne, who would reign with peace and intelligence; Luke and Joffrey, who would be the greatest and most honorable knights; and her daughter, her eternal and sweet companion.

There was no need to ask questions; she knew where to find him. A few floors up was the library, her second room, her refuge, where the world became a little quieter and she could transport herself to other times, places and lives.

She ascended the long stairs quickly, and within minutes, she stood at the door. This hallway had always been one of the least traveled, practically deserted, except for them and the king’s guards. It seemed there weren't many avid readers in the keep.

They used to be at opposite ends of the table, immersed in each of their books. She had always wanted to talk to him, ask him what he was reading and maybe ask him to teach her High Valyrian. However, she never did; she had been too shy in his presence, and Aemond's distant form didn't help. Perhaps he was shy like her.

Or perhaps he simply didn't want to talk to her.

She tried to push those thoughts to the back of her mind as she entered the library. She smiled to herself when she saw she hadn't been wrong.

"Good morrow, uncle" she announced her arrival as she headed to the usual shelf and picked up the book she had left halfway through a few days ago.

"Good morrow, niece" he responded with his usual seriousness.

She walked to the table and hesitated. Should she sit closer to him this time? She didn't want to invade his space, but she also didn't believe that a conversation should start at a distance.

She arrived at the table before deciding and stood there for a few seconds. She ended up placing her book at the usual spot and sat down, feeling uncomfortable.

Why was she feeling this way? She wasn't the one who played a distasteful joke, besides, he was family; they had grown up together in the castle, it shouldn't be so difficult.

Suddenly, she felt warmth engulf her when she noticed Aemond looking at her, puzzled. With the book still closed, her cheeks turned red as she realized she had been staring at him all this time, lost in her thoughts. She mentally cursed herself and searched for the page she was on. He looked away, not saying a word.

Her mother had asked her to talk to him and she had really wanted to, so she didn't understand why she found it so hard to approach him.

She audibly sighed and abruptly closed her book. He did the same seconds later. As always.

It was curious; every time they were here, they seemed… united, connected in their readings; when she finished, he did too, shortly after. They put away their books, and he walked to the exit, hurriedly, and then held the door, patiently waiting for her to exit. They parted ways upon reaching the floor of their chambers, all without exchanging a word other than greetings or thanks.

The king and the queen did a good job with him and Helaena. She couldn't say the same about Aegon, unfortunately.

She knew it was only a matter of seconds before he got up from his chair, so, with her book in hand, marched towards him.

Aemond furrowed his brow; he didn't seem upset, rather bewildered by the new proximity when she took the seat to his right and opened her book again, an action he imitated seconds later.

She found it impossible to read; she observed the page, but the words blurred together as her mind was occupied with something else. How should she start? It was clear they had something in common. Two things, in fact. Long conversations weren't necessary to know it, so she ventured there.

She cleared her throat, trying to get his attention, without success. Then, timidly, she placed her hand on his, causing an immediate reaction.

He remained still, stunned by her movements. He just looked at her, with eyes wider than usual. It was then that she realized how different they were from the rest of their family. Her grandsire, her mother, Aegon, Helaena, they all had eyes as clear as the sky on a sunny day. But not him, his were darker, bluer, with a trace of purple in them. As deep as the sea, and as beautiful as a sapphire. His hair was straighter, platinum, and even softer, she would dare to say.

How she wished to have the Targaryen attributes, just as distinctive as they were beautiful. Another one of her biggest insecurities and sorrows. It wasn't uncommon for people to be surprised when they saw her and her siblings next to their parents, as they hadn't inherited such beauty. They were equally pale, but with a tumultuous mane, full of curls, of the darkest black and eyes sometimes green, sometimes brown.

Once again, she felt the red fill her cheeks, her gaze lost in him as her thoughts swirled.

"Do you know that my father's sister also had an unhatched egg? Just like us," she said, softly, looking him in the eyes and trying to comfort him, "now she's the rider of Vhagar, the oldest, largest, and most feared dragon in the entire kingdom." 

She waited for a response that didn't come. "I like to believe that our wait will be rewarded, don't you?" then added. He only nodded, almost imperceptibly, without taking his eyes off hers, "I wanted to apologize."

Now with a confused look, Aemond finally decided to respond, "why?"

"They shouldn't have done it... It was cruel." Understanding dawned on him.

"No need to apologize for something that you did not do, niece." She couldn't help but smile at his words. Was he always so serious and formal? She thought he was like an adult trapped in the body of a little boy. An old soul.

"Can I ask you something?" she inquired.

"Yes, of course."

"Did you really enter the dragon pit? Alone?" she asked, curious. She noticed his face changing, a smirk of pride forming, his lips curling up into a small smile as he straightened up in his chair, now more upright.

"Yes, I did."

"Did you see any?"

"Yes, but it was too dark to know which one..." he began, with a spark in his eyes, and noticing her attentive gaze, he decided to continue "it throwed fire in my direction" he added, her eyes wider than before, conveying her astonishment.

"Gods! You must have been so terrified."

"Not really" he simply responded.

"That was... you're incredibly brave, my prince. I wouldn't have had the courage" she said and received a wide smile in return. She had never called him "my prince" before and she had never seen him smile.

She continued to listen attentively. No history book had ever excited her as much as the prince's adventures, and seeing him so enthusiastic about telling them filled her chest with something she didn't know how to name. Something warm. She liked it.

Despite it being their first real conversation, and the first time they looked each other in the eyes, there was a mutual understanding, a connection, different, special. One that went beyond being dragonless riders or relatives raised under the same roof.

It seemed to her that only a few minutes had passed when she felt a knock on the doors and a voice announcing that it was supper time and Alicent awaited for her son's presence. Both of them showed disappointment at the interruption; he seemed to have so much more to say and she hadn't had enough of his words. She thought she could listen to him for the rest of her days.

"Forgive me, niece, I must have tired your ears," he said before standing up, "and I didn't ask about your stories; you must think me rude." His words elicited a laugh from her lips, as it couldn't be further from the truth.

"Not at all, I would have liked to keep listening to you. Besides, I don't have stories as brave as yours, and I wouldn't want to bore you to exhaustion" she replied.

Once they had put the books back in their place, they walked to the door.

"I do not think that's possible" Aemond communicated with his hand on the doorknob. There was silence as they descended the stairs with the guards behind them.

"Goodnight, my princess" he said once they reached the floor, calling her that way for the first time.

"Goodnight, my prince."

"Perhaps tomorrow we could... continue?" It came out almost as a whisper from Aemond's lips. A smile on hers.

"Nothing would make me happier."

[ru8yx]

Jeremy from A Stepmother’s Märchen fluff headcanons please 💕

JEREMY VON NEUSCHWANSTEIN X READER

Jeremy, bound by the unbreakable ties of unwavering loyalty, stood beside you like a steadfast sentinel, ready to come to your defense at a moment's notice.

Scandal, gossip, or accusations held no sway over him, as his devotion to you remained unshakeable.

No matter the situation or the challenges that arose, Jeremy would be your first line of defense, unyielding and resolute in his allegiance.

When Jeremy falls for someone, his heart is consumed by an eternal devotion.

He believes that you truly deserve the world, even if your desires may seem peculiar. Your words, no matter how outlandish, become a melody of beauty to his ears.

Even if your affections may be elsewhere, his love remains unwavering.

He fervently prays for your happiness, knowing that genuine love is about selflessness, and he finds contentment in serving as your guide and supporter, no matter who your heart may ultimately choose.

Jeremy, devoted to your safety and honor, will fiercely defend you against any noble, regardless of their status.

Should even the slightest suggestion of misconduct arise, he would not hesitate to unsheathe his sword in retaliation.

The noble offender would not only face a battle against steel but also a public humiliation, as Jeremy would ensure that the offender's transgressions are exposed for all to see.

Jeremy's protective nature and unwavering loyalty ensure that no harm shall come your way, and he will fiercely guard your safety at all costs.

Jeremy, upon glimpsing you, would instantly push aside any sense of exhaustion. He would rush to your side, his gaze filled with tender affection and curiosity.

Gently lifting your hand, he would bring your knucklesto his lips, all that while maintaining a warm and intimate gaze.

His eyes would speak volumes of admiration and devotion, their intensity mirrored in the slight tremble of his lips as he bestowed a gentle kiss upon your hand.

In that moment, time would stand still as he savored the connection and inquired about the details of your day.

Jeremy would pay meticulous attention to every facet of your being, taking notice of even the smallest details.

He would present you with exquisite jewelry that reflected his own features, adorned in the same shades of verdant green and golden hues.

With these gifts, he aimed to silently proclaim to both you and the other nobles that he held a special place in your heart.

He envisioned himself as your devoted partner, the one who would greet you with a smile each morning, offer solace in times of sorrow, and stand steadfastly by your side as your adoring husband.

Jeremy longed for the sight of you and his family bonding as one, sharing moments of genuine happiness and laughter.

The thought of you forming a relationship with his younger siblings and stepmother filled him with joy, for they held a special place in his heart. He envisioned you all coming together as a unified family, cherishing each other's company and support.

Though his presence may not always be guaranteed, he yearned to see you continue to lean on one another in his absence, creating a tight-knit and loving family bond.

|❝ im sorry if it wasnt what u wanted!!! I took me 20 mins to write it since i was in a hurry😭❞

[buttercandy16]

Corrupted Vows

PAIRING(s): Nun!Agatha Harkness x Novice!Reader

SUMMARY: Sister Agatha, a revered nun with hidden desires, becomes obsessed with corrupting the pure-hearted novice under her care.

WARNING(s): Religious themes, manipulation, power imbalance, corruption, morally ambiguous behavior, and dark themes.

A/N: Sinful...

The abbey was cloaked in silence, its heavy stones steeped in centuries of prayer. The air was cool and faintly scented with wax and incense, a comforting cradle for your thoughts as you knelt in the chapel, whispering soft, fervent prayers to the Divine. It was your sanctuary—your refuge—until Sister Agatha arrived.

Her presence was undeniable, a velvet shadow slipping between the stained-glass windows and casting its allure over the sanctity of the room. There was something magnetic about her, something in the way her eyes lingered too long or her voice curled sweetly, like forbidden fruit on the tongue.

"You work tirelessly for your faith," she said, her voice low and tender. It startled you. You hadn’t heard her enter, but here she was, her face serene under her veil.

You looked up at her, blinking like a doe caught in lantern light. "I... It is my duty," you murmured, averting your eyes. Her gaze always felt too heavy, too piercing, as if she could read every stray thought that strayed from the righteous path.

Agatha smiled, stepping closer. Her robe whispered against the floor, brushing the silence aside. She reached out to tilt your chin upward with a gloved finger, forcing you to meet her eyes. "Duty," she repeated softly, as if tasting the word. "Such a heavy burden for someone so young, so delicate."

You flinched slightly under her touch but didn’t pull away. You told yourself it was respect, but deep down, the fluttering in your stomach betrayed an unease you didn’t understand.

"I was praying," you said quickly, retreating to the safety of your well-rehearsed habits. "For strength and for wisdom."

"Strength," Agatha mused. "Wisdom." Her fingers slid from your chin, lingering against your cheek, too intimate to be innocent. "Those are noble requests, my dear. But are you sure that’s what you truly need?"

Your eyes darted downward. "I... don’t understand."

She knelt beside you on the pew, her presence warm and overwhelming. "Do you think the Divine asks us to deny the very desires They instilled within us?" Her voice was velvet, an insidious comfort.

You froze, your mind reeling. "Sister... we are taught to resist temptation. To walk in the light."

Agatha chuckled, a low, melodious sound that felt sinful in itself. "Temptation is not the enemy, child. It's a lesson. To feel it, to embrace it, is to truly understand your faith. How can you resist what you do not know?"

Her hand brushed against yours, her fingers curling softly around it. Your breath hitched at the contact, a pang of guilt piercing through your chest even as you remained motionless.

"Sister Agatha..." you whispered, unsure of whether you were protesting or pleading.

"Shh," she soothed, stroking the back of your hand. "You work so hard, always giving, always sacrificing. But what have you been given? What warmth, what love, have you received for your devotion? Tell me."

You felt tears sting your eyes. It wasn’t something you’d allowed yourself to dwell on, but her words cut too close to a hidden wound. "The love of God is all I need."

"Is it?" she murmured, her lips close to your ear. "Then why do you look so lost, so lonely? Faith is powerful, yes. But it is not enough to fill a heart meant for more."

You shuddered, her breath warm against your skin, her grip firm now, anchoring you. "I’m not lonely," you insisted, but your voice cracked under the weight of the lie.

Her lips brushed the shell of your ear, not quite a kiss, but enough to leave you trembling. "Let me show you what it means to be truly loved, to be truly seen. The Divine isn’t just in the light, my dear. The shadow holds Its secrets, too."

For a moment, you were caught in her thrall, her words weaving a web of doubts and dangerous possibilities. But when she pulled back, her smile was soft, her eyes tender. "Think on my offer, little one. I’ll wait for your answer."

As she stood and left the chapel, her departure was like a storm receding, leaving you adrift in its wake. The air was colder without her, and the familiar silence of the abbey felt suffocating.

You clasped your hands tightly, bowing your head once more, but the words of your prayer faltered, her voice and touch lingering too deeply.

Somewhere in the depths of your soul, a seed of doubt had been planted. And Agatha, with all her charm and shadowed intentions, would be patient.

You lingered in the chapel longer than you should have that night, trying to exorcise the memory of her voice, the whisper of her touch. But even as you murmured prayers to drown her out, her presence clung to you like incense smoke—heavy, invasive, intoxicating.

When you finally left, the halls of the abbey were silent, save for the soft patter of your footsteps. You paused outside your cell, hesitating before entering. It felt too small, too quiet. The walls pressed in, as if they were accusing you. But of what? You had done nothing.

You thought sleep would bring respite, but it didn’t. Dreams came instead, vivid and strange: Agatha’s voice echoing, her hands on yours, guiding, possessing. The darkness around her swallowed everything, and you couldn’t stop walking toward her.

When you woke, sweat clung to your skin, your heart racing like you’d been running. The morning bells tolled, and you hurried to begin your duties, your shame a constant specter at your side.

But she found you again—of course, she did. She always found you.

This time, it was in the garden. The sun had dipped below the horizon, the twilight air cool against your skin. You were trimming roses in silence when her shadow fell over you.

"Good evening, little lamb."

You stiffened at the sound of her voice but didn’t turn to face her. "Sister Agatha," you said, trying to keep your tone even, though your hands trembled on the shears.

"You’ve been avoiding me."

It wasn’t a question. She stepped closer, her hands clasped in front of her, the picture of serene authority. "Do I frighten you?"

"No," you lied, swallowing hard.

Her fingers trailed over a rosebush as she watched you with that predatory gaze. "Good. Because I see something in you, something… untapped."

"Sister, please," you said, voice shaky as you turned to face her. "I don’t understand why you keep… saying these things."

"Don’t you?" Her voice was silk, sliding under your skin. She moved closer, invading your space, the scent of her—warm and faintly spiced—intoxicating. "You’re a bright little spark trapped in stone, and I cannot stand to see you dim yourself. Your God does not demand you be less than you are. Why should they?"

Her words struck a chord, unearthing a bitterness you didn’t even know you’d buried. You flinched, and she saw it—she always saw too much.

"I’m fine as I am," you said weakly, trying to step back, but she caught your wrist, her grip firm.

"No," she said, her voice darker now, carrying an undercurrent of steel. "You’re not."

The gentle tenderness in her face twisted into something sharper, a mask cracking to reveal the dangerous power beneath. "You’re wasting your light here, giving yourself to something that cannot love you the way you deserve. Why do you punish yourself for wanting more? Why do you fear me when I am offering you freedom?"

"Because it’s wrong," you whispered, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them.

She tilted her head, her grip on your wrist tightening just enough to send a shiver of unease through you. "Is it wrong to want what you’ve been denied? To step out of the shadows of guilt and into the arms of someone who sees you—truly sees you?"

Your breath hitched as she stepped closer still, her other hand rising to cup your cheek. The look in her eyes pinned you in place, a storm threatening to engulf you. "You know it already," she whispered. "Deep down, you’ve always known. All you need is someone to take your hand and lead you to the truth."

Her lips brushed against your forehead, light and reverent like a prayer. You shuddered, frozen under her touch. "I can give you everything you’ve ever denied yourself," she murmured, her voice heavy with promise—and threat.

Her hands fell away suddenly, leaving you cold and bereft. She stepped back, her expression softening, though her eyes remained predatory. "The choice is yours," she said, turning to leave. "But I’ll make it simple. Tonight, after Compline, come to the east tower." She paused, her smile slow and wicked. "Or don’t. We’ll see if your devotion is as pure as you think."

You stood there trembling as she disappeared into the shadows, the roses around you whispering in the wind. For the first time since you’d taken your vows, you didn’t feel safe within the abbey walls. Worse still, you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

You couldn’t focus during Compline. Your lips formed the words of the prayers, but your heart wasn’t in them. Every moment dragged, the solemnity of the abbey’s rituals weighing on you like chains.

And through it all, the thought of her lingered. The east tower.

Your mind swirled with doubt, fear, and something darker—something you refused to name. Every warning from your teachings echoed in your ears, but they felt distant, drowned out by the sound of her voice, the memory of her touch.

When the prayers ended, and the sisters began retiring to their cells, you hesitated. Your legs felt like they belonged to someone else as they carried you through the dim corridors, each step a betrayal of everything you’d vowed to uphold.

The east tower loomed ahead, its staircase spiraling up into darkness. You paused at the base, your breath coming in shallow gasps. This was your moment to turn back, to prove you were stronger than whatever spell she’d cast over you.

But something deeper pushed you onward.

The climb was silent save for the soft shuffle of your shoes on the stone steps. The air grew colder the higher you went, the shadows darker. When you reached the top, you hesitated again, your hand hovering over the heavy wooden door.

Before you could knock, the door creaked open on its own. She was waiting for you.

The room was dimly lit, a single candle casting flickering shadows across the walls. Sister Agatha stood by the window, her back to you, the moonlight outlining her figure. She didn’t turn as she spoke.

"I wondered if you’d come." Her voice was calm, almost pleased.

You stepped inside, your throat dry. "Why did you ask me to come here?"

She turned then, her expression unreadable, her sharp eyes cutting through the low light. "Because I couldn’t bear to see you suffocating any longer," she said simply, stepping closer. "You’re meant for more than this, little lamb. And I mean to show you."

Your back hit the door as you instinctively stepped away from her. "This isn’t right. It—it’s not what God wants."

She laughed softly, a sound that felt cruel in its mockery. "And who told you that? The priests? The abbess? Have you ever asked God what they want, or do you simply recite the rules you’ve been given like a good, obedient servant?"

Her words cut deep, stirring something rebellious and bitter in your heart. Still, you shook your head, clinging to the shreds of your convictions. "No. I—I have faith."

"Do you?" she challenged, now only inches away from you. Her hand lifted, brushing against your cheek again, her touch electric. "If you had true faith, why are you here? Why are you trembling?"

You didn’t have an answer.

Her other hand slid to your waist, holding you firmly but not cruelly. "The truth, my sweet little lamb, is that you’re afraid. Not of me, not even of sin, but of the freedom I can give you. Because freedom is terrifying, isn’t it?"

Her grip tightened slightly, her lips so close to your ear you could feel the heat of her breath. "You could leave right now," she whispered. "I wouldn’t stop you. But we both know you won’t, don’t we?"

Your breath hitched, tears springing to your eyes as you fought against the war raging in your chest. She pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, her face softening as she saw the conflict within you.

"I don’t want to break you, my lamb," she murmured, her voice strangely tender now. "I want to save you. From this place. From this life. From yourself."

Her lips hovered over yours, an unspoken question hanging in the air between you. She didn’t move, didn’t take the choice from you.

It was yours to make.

You closed your eyes, your head swimming, every nerve in your body screaming for you to decide—to turn away or to fall.

You stood at the edge of a precipice, the storm of emotions inside you threatening to consume you. Every teaching, every prayer you’d clung to in your short life wavered, fragile as the flame of the candle flickering behind Agatha.

You opened your eyes, and her face was still there, so close, her gaze unyielding. She was waiting—patient, confident—but her eyes betrayed something else: hunger. She wanted you to choose her, to step willingly into the darkness she offered.

Your lips parted, trembling as your breath mingled with hers. And in that moment, you let go.

You leaned forward, barely aware of the decision, and your lips brushed hers, soft and tentative. Agatha let out a soft hum of satisfaction, her hands tightening on your waist as she deepened the kiss. It was overwhelming—her warmth, her touch, her control—and for a moment, the world around you dissolved.

When she pulled back, her eyes burned with triumph, her smile wicked. "There, now," she murmured, her voice dripping with honeyed sin. "That wasn’t so difficult, was it?"

You staggered slightly as she released you, the weight of what you’d done crashing over you. Your fingers went to your lips, trembling, as the shame seeped in.

"I—I shouldn’t have—" you stammered, taking a step back, but Agatha caught your wrist and pulled you to her with a strength that belied her graceful demeanor.

"Hush," she whispered, her fingers threading through your hair as she tilted your head back to force you to meet her gaze. "No more lies, little one. Not to me, and not to yourself. You came here because you wanted this. You needed it."

"I… I don’t…" The words faltered, your resolve crumbling under the weight of her conviction.

Agatha’s hand moved to your throat, her touch firm but gentle, her thumb brushing along your pulse point. "Don’t fight it," she murmured, her tone soothing. "You’ve been caged your whole life, chained by rules and guilt that were never yours to carry. I’m not asking you to abandon your faith. I’m offering you something truer—something deeper."

Her lips found yours again, this time demanding, devouring. You tried to resist the pull of her darkness, but every part of you betrayed you, leaning into her, clinging to her. You hated the way her touch made you feel alive in a way that prayer never had, hated the fire it ignited deep in your chest.

When she finally broke the kiss, her hands still cradling your face, her expression was softer, though no less commanding. "You belong to me now," she said simply, her voice like the closing of a door. "Body, soul, everything. Say it."

You shook your head weakly, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I can’t…"

Her thumb brushed away your tears, her gaze unfaltering. "You already have, my lamb. You just haven’t admitted it yet." She leaned close, her voice lowering to a whisper. "Say it, and I’ll show you a world beyond the walls of this prison. Refuse, and you’ll stay trapped, forever haunted by the taste of freedom you denied yourself."

Her words wrapped around your mind like chains, pulling you deeper into her orbit. You were drowning, and she was the only hand reaching to pull you out—but into what?

The words left your lips before you fully realized you’d spoken them, trembling and quiet: "I… I belong to you."

Agatha smiled, her eyes gleaming with victory. She pressed a kiss to your forehead, reverent in its tenderness. "Good girl," she purred. "Now, the real work begins."

Her hand slid to yours, her fingers entwining with your own, and she led you toward the window, the cool night air washing over you as she opened it. The moon hung low in the sky, full and luminous, casting everything in shades of silver and shadow.

"This world," she said, her voice soft yet commanding, "is far darker than they’ve prepared you for. But don’t fear it. It is only in the darkness that we find the truest light."

You stared out into the night, your heart pounding as her words sank in. You couldn’t go back now. Even if you wanted to, the part of you that craved her, that had always longed for something more, was awake.

Agatha stepped behind you, her arms wrapping around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder. "It will hurt," she said quietly, her voice almost tender. "Transformation always does. But I’ll be there for every moment, shaping you, remaking you. Until the only chains left are the ones you choose."

And as the wind swept through the open window, carrying the scent of freedom and danger, you closed your eyes and let yourself fall.

The following nights became a blur of shadows and secrecy, a rhythm you couldn’t break, even if you had wanted to. Agatha’s hold on you tightened with every encounter, her presence an intoxicating blend of tenderness and cruelty that left you more disoriented with each passing day.

She began isolating you in subtle ways—requesting your assistance during communal prayers, leading you to walk with her when the others gathered, always ensuring your focus remained solely on her. At first, you told yourself it was coincidence, but deep down, you knew better.

One night, she summoned you again to the east tower, her presence colder now, sharper. You hesitated at the threshold, the memories of her touch pulling you forward even as your instincts screamed to turn back.

The candlelight illuminated her silhouette, and for the first time, the shadows in the room seemed alive, flickering and dancing unnaturally. Her voice was soft when she spoke, but there was no warmth in it. "You came," she said. It wasn’t a question.

"You… asked for me," you murmured, your voice weak and brittle as you stepped inside.

"I did," she said, turning to face you. Her gaze pierced through you, her expression unreadable but heavy with something sinister. "And you came because you belong to me, don’t you?"

Your mouth opened to reply, but the words caught in your throat.

Agatha stepped closer, the air around her charged with something oppressive. "Say it," she commanded, her voice low and firm.

"I belong to you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, and yet it echoed in the silence of the tower.

Her smile was slow, almost predatory. She reached for you, her fingers brushing over your cheek. The touch felt colder tonight, no longer tender but claiming. "Good girl. You’re learning."

She turned abruptly, moving toward a small table in the corner of the room. You hadn’t noticed it before—though how could you have missed it? On it lay a single black book, its cover worn and marked with strange symbols, and a slender dagger glinting faintly in the candlelight.

"You’ve prayed to the Divine all your life," she said, her back to you as she traced a finger over the book’s spine. "And yet, here you are—willingly giving yourself to something far darker. Do you know why?"

You swallowed hard, unable to answer.

She turned, her eyes burning with something unholy. "Because your prayers were never enough. Because no matter how pure you tried to be, there was always that voice in your head, wasn’t there? The one that whispered of things you could never name. Desires you buried. Pleasures you denied."

You shook your head, your breath shallow. "I—no, I’ve always been faithful."

"Faithful," she said mockingly, her voice cutting like glass. "And yet, you’re here. Kneeling before me as if I’m your god. Isn't that what you’ve always wanted? Not salvation, but surrender."

Her words wrapped around you like chains, binding you tighter as she stepped closer, the book now in her hands. "I told you before, my lamb, that transformation would hurt." She set the book down, her eyes never leaving yours. "Tonight, we begin."

You took a step back, dread pooling in your stomach. "What do you mean?"

Agatha smiled, a dark, cruel thing. "This innocence you cling to—it’s a lie. And I will burn it away until there’s nothing left of the girl you were. Only then will you be truly mine."

Her fingers wrapped around your wrist, her grip ironclad as she dragged you to the table. The dagger glinted ominously as she pressed it into your trembling hands.

"Cut away the veil," she whispered, her voice a velvet command. "Offer a piece of yourself, not to the Divine, but to me. Show me your devotion, your true faith."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you tried to pull away, but her grip was unrelenting. "I—I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," she hissed, her gaze unyielding. "Because I own you. And you will prove it."

The blade trembled in your hand, the weight of her gaze suffocating you. Your mind screamed to resist, but your body obeyed her command, as if your will no longer belonged to you.

You pressed the edge against your palm, the sharp pain bringing a gasp to your lips as a thin line of blood welled up. Agatha’s smile widened, triumphant.

"Good girl," she purred, taking your hand in hers and holding it over the book. The blood dripped onto the ancient text, the crimson stark against the dark leather.

You collapsed to your knees.

You knelt there, trembling, clutching the blade in your hands as the tension in the room suffocated you. The glint of metal against your bloodied palms seemed more symbolic than dangerous—a mark of your crumbling will, etched into flesh by your own choices.

Agatha’s presence loomed above you, her hand resting on your shoulder in a gesture that was almost comforting, though it carried no warmth. Her grip tightened slightly, possessive, reminding you that there was no escape, even if you wanted to flee.

"There’s no power in that blade," she said softly, her voice carrying the same chill as the cold stone beneath your knees. "The only power here is mine. And the only reason it matters is because I have chosen to give it to you."

You looked up at her, your tear-streaked face illuminated by the pale candlelight. There was no trace of kindness left in her expression. Her features were serene but unnervingly controlled, as though her emotions were held behind a wall, deliberate and impenetrable.

"What… what do you want from me?" you whispered.

Her hand slid from your shoulder to your chin, tilting your face so your gaze met hers. Her smile was faint, and the silence stretched uncomfortably before she finally spoke.

"I want everything."

The words settled heavily between you, an undeniable truth wrapped in her commanding tone.

"You cling to these walls, these prayers, as if they’ll save you from what you truly desire. But deep down, you know they won’t. No one here will." She leaned closer, her eyes fixed on yours, her voice low and intimate. "I am the only one who sees you for what you really are, and you can’t bear to look away. Admit it."

"I don’t understand," you stammered, though you did. You understood perfectly, but admitting it would mean giving her the power she claimed—and more terrifyingly, that she already wielded.

Agatha chuckled softly, a sound devoid of humor. "Oh, but you do. You came here tonight, not out of fear or obligation, but because you wanted to." Her fingers trailed lightly down your cheek, a touch that sent shivers of confusion and guilt through you.

"I came because—"

"—because you couldn’t stop thinking about me," she interrupted smoothly. Her confidence was unnerving, like a hunter closing in on its prey. "Every word, every touch, every breath I take has haunted you, hasn’t it? And now, here you are, begging me for something you don’t even have the courage to name."

Your throat tightened, the air in the room too thick to breathe. "This isn’t right," you said, the words barely audible, more for yourself than for her.

She smirked. "Isn’t it? Who defines what’s right? The same voices that told you to suppress your desires, to live in quiet servitude while they hold the power over your life? Or is it me—the only one who truly knows you?"

Her grip on your chin firmed, and her voice dropped, colder, sharper. "Don’t play the innocent with me. I see you, really see you, and you disgust yourself because I am everything you can’t admit to wanting."

The truth of her words struck like a slap, and you flinched.

Agatha released your face and straightened, towering above you as she studied your trembling form. "Stand," she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

You hesitated, but the force of her gaze compelled you. Your legs wavered as you stood, and she stepped closer, her body almost brushing yours.

"You are not leaving this room until you admit the truth," she said, her tone deceptively calm. "And it isn’t the blade that will cut away the lies—it’s me."

She circled you slowly, her eyes never leaving you as you stood frozen in place. Every step she took amplified the weight in your chest, the humiliation of her scrutiny unraveling you piece by piece.

"I could break you," she said, her voice a cruel whisper in your ear. "I could shatter every illusion you have of yourself and leave you as nothing but a hollow vessel for me to fill. But that’s not what I want."

Her hands rested on your shoulders now, firm but strangely gentle. "What I want," she continued, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, "is for you to choose me, willingly. Because deep down, we both know you already have."

The words hit you like a knife to the chest. She was right. Every action, every choice you’d made up to this moment had been in her favor. You hadn’t fought; you hadn’t resisted.

And she knew it.

"I… I don’t know who I am anymore," you choked out, tears spilling freely now, and you hated the way her touch steadied you, grounding you in the chaos she’d created.

Her lips curved into a smile against your skin, predatory and satisfied. "That’s the first true thing you’ve said all night," she murmured.

Her hands slid from your shoulders to your arms, holding you firmly as she stepped in front of you again. "But you will, little lamb," she promised, her tone softening into something almost tender. "Because I will tell you who you are."

And for the first time, you felt the chains wrap around you—not of her making, but of your own submission.

Her hands never left your arms as she held you firmly in place, her piercing gaze locking you in place as surely as iron shackles. The dim candlelight flickered in the space between you, shadows licking at the edges of the room as if they too were captivated by her presence.

"You've fought so hard to hold onto this idea of innocence," she murmured, her voice as soft as a prayer, yet laced with wickedness. "But innocence is nothing more than ignorance dressed in virtue. And you, my sweet lamb… you crave knowledge. Don’t you?"

"I don’t—" you began, but her fingers moved, brushing down your arms, and the words faltered in your throat. The touch was slow, deliberate—a map being drawn along your skin, one line at a time.

"Shh," she interrupted, her voice almost soothing. "No lies, little one. Not now, not after you've already given me so much."

Her hands found your waist, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of your habit. She tugged you closer with such ease, you wondered if you had moved yourself. Her breath was warm against your cheek as she leaned in, her lips hovering near your ear.

"Tell me," she whispered, her voice low and intoxicating, "what does it feel like to surrender?"

You shook your head, though it was more a reflex than defiance. "I haven’t—"

"Oh, but you have," she said, her tone firm now, almost chiding. "Every time you step into this room, every moment you stand here shaking under my gaze… every time you look at me like that."

"Like what?" you asked, though you hated the desperate note that crept into your voice.

"Like you’re mine," she answered easily. Her hands slid upward, brushing over your ribs, her fingertips grazing the edges of your vulnerability with surgical precision. "And you are, aren't you?"

"I don’t know," you managed, the tears welling up again as your mind swam with confusion and guilt—and something else, something that simmered low in your stomach and climbed higher every time she touched you.

"Let me make it simple for you," she said, her tone gentler now, like a teacher coaxing a student toward understanding. One hand moved to your chin, tilting your face up so you couldn’t avoid her eyes. "Obedience. Faith. Devotion. That’s what they’ve told you your life is meant for, isn’t it?"

You nodded shakily, unsure why you were even answering.

"Good." Her thumb brushed over your lips, a fleeting touch that left you breathless. "Then let this be your new faith. Me. Let this be your devotion: giving yourself entirely to what you feel, without shame. Let me show you the freedom they would deny you."

Her other hand traced the line of your back, her nails grazing your skin through the thin layers of cloth. The sensation was subtle but electric, sending a shiver down your spine that you couldn’t suppress.

"I don’t want to hurt you," she continued, though her voice carried a weight that made you wonder if that was entirely true. "But if that’s what it takes to strip you bare—of your innocence, your guilt, your denial—then I will."

Her lips brushed yours, featherlight but deliberate, and you froze. The kiss lingered there, her proximity overwhelming, her breath mingling with yours until it felt like there was no air left for either of you.

"You don’t have to fight anymore," she whispered against your lips. "Just say the word, and I’ll give you what you’ve been too afraid to ask for."

And yet, she didn’t move closer. She didn’t take that final step, leaving you in the suffocating limbo she’d created. The decision, cruelly and mercifully, was yours.

Her eyes bore into yours, expectant, unyielding. "Say it, lamb," she commanded softly, her hands now resting just above your hips, firm yet still offering the illusion of gentleness.

"I…" You hesitated, the war raging inside you as tears blurred your vision. Everything about this moment felt like a plunge into something you could never return from—a fall orchestrated solely by her hands.

"Say it," she urged again, her voice growing darker, less patient. Her grip tightened slightly, her fingers digging into your flesh just enough to remind you that she held all the control here.

You closed your eyes, trembling as your lips formed the words you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting to say. "I’m yours."

And as the room fell silent, save for the sound of your uneven breathing, Agatha smiled.

"My sweet lamb," she murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now… we begin."

Her lips claimed yours then, not tender or patient, but consuming, pulling you deeper into her grasp as her hands explored every vulnerability she could find. Her touch was both a reward and a punishment, each movement calculated to dismantle what little resistance you had left.

Agatha Harkness was nothing if not thorough.

Agatha’s lips moved with calculated precision, coaxing you deeper into the moment as her hands roamed your body—not rushed, not hurried, but deliberate, every touch a claim that made your skin burn under the weight of her possession.

Her kiss was all-consuming, and in it, you felt the dissolution of everything you thought you knew about yourself. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t affection. It was domination veiled in intimacy, her way of branding you in a way no eyes could see but that you would feel forever.

Her hands slid up your sides, her touch searing through the thin fabric of your habit. She gripped your shoulders with gentle force, breaking the kiss to study your face, her eyes dark and unrelenting.

"Look at me," she commanded, her voice like velvet laced with steel.

You tried to avert your gaze, overwhelmed by the intensity of her stare, but she tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet hers.

"No hiding now, little lamb," she said, her tone soft but laced with warning. "I want you to feel every part of this. Every piece of the girl you were falling away until there’s nothing left but my creation."

Her words sliced through the silence, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. She wasn’t asking for your consent; she’d already claimed it in every moment leading to this. The tension in the room was unbearable, the candlelight throwing long shadows that seemed to stretch toward you like witnesses to your undoing.

Her fingers traced along the neckline of your habit, her touch maddeningly slow as if savoring your trembling beneath her hands. "This," she murmured, brushing the fabric lightly, "is a shroud. A shield you think protects you from the world—and yourself. But all it does is hide who you really are."

She began to undo it, each motion deliberate, giving you ample time to stop her—not that she believed for a second that you would. And you didn’t. You stood frozen, paralyzed by equal parts shame and desire as the heavy fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet like an offering.

Agatha stepped back, her eyes dragging over you with an expression that made your stomach twist into knots. It wasn’t hunger in her gaze; it was victory, as if stripping you of your barriers was the real prize she sought.

"Look at you," she whispered, her voice low and almost reverent. "Do you feel it yet? The freedom? The weightlessness of leaving behind the person you were forced to be?"

You wrapped your arms around yourself instinctively, your shame warring with the part of you that longed to be seen by her—truly seen.

"None of that," she said sharply, stepping forward and prying your arms away. "You are mine now, body and soul. You will not hide from me."

Her hands found your waist again, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Her lips brushed against your ear as she whispered, "This is where you belong. With me. No prayer, no god, no doctrine will ever make you feel this alive."

Your heart hammered in your chest, your breathing uneven as her words sank deep into your mind like hooks. You wanted to argue, to plead for some semblance of salvation, but there was none left—not in this room, not in her grasp.

"I’ll ask you one last time," Agatha said, her voice softening slightly as she pulled back to look into your eyes. "Will you give yourself to me completely? Without hesitation, without shame?"

You swallowed hard, the enormity of her question pressing down on you. She wasn’t asking for a fleeting moment of vulnerability. She wanted everything—every part of you, stripped bare and given over willingly.

Your lips parted, the words hanging on the edge of your breath.

"I will," you whispered, the final crack in the dam holding you together.

Agatha’s smile was dark and all-encompassing, her hands tightening their hold on you. She leaned in, her lips hovering over yours as she murmured, "Good girl."

And then, she took you fully—not gently, not kindly, but with the same measured cruelty that defined her every action. She unraveled you piece by piece, her touch leaving marks on your skin and mind that no prayer could ever erase.

This was her victory, and you knew it. You were hers, entirely and irrevocably.

The room was cloaked in an oppressive stillness. The air felt heavier now, the flickering candlelight casting warped shadows on the stone walls. You sat on the cold floor, your limbs heavy and your mind a hollow, swirling abyss. Agatha remained poised beside you, her presence as dominating as ever, though her silence held a suffocating weight.

"You’re trembling," she murmured, her tone deceptively soft as she reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked brow. Her fingertips lingered just a moment too long, a constant reminder that nothing about this closeness was accidental.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Words had abandoned you, slipping from your grasp as thoroughly as your innocence had.

Agatha exhaled slowly, her fingers tipping your chin upward, forcing your eyes to meet hers once more. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze piercing. She searched your face as if savoring the wreckage she’d left behind.

"I expected more fight," she said casually, though the faint curl of a smirk betrayed her satisfaction. "But no… you gave me everything. So easily, so completely."

You swallowed hard, but your voice refused to rise. The fire you once thought would guide you had been extinguished, replaced by something raw and consuming. Shame twisted in your stomach, mingling with the dark thrill that you hated to admit still simmered beneath your skin.

"How does it feel, little lamb?" Agatha asked, her voice a mockery of concern. "Knowing there’s no part of you I don’t own now? No thought, no desire, no boundary that belongs to anyone but me?"

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to give her that final triumph. And yet, the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them.

"I feel… nothing," you whispered hoarsely.

Her smile deepened, a mix of condescension and triumph as she cupped your face in both hands, forcing you to hold her gaze. "Oh, but you will," she purred, her tone laced with an unsettling intimacy. "What you feel now is fear. Emptiness. But that’s what I want. I’ve stripped you down to the core, burned away all those useless pieces of you until there’s nothing left but… potential."

Her hands dropped, and she stood, her towering form casting a long shadow over you as you remained kneeling at her feet. "And now," she continued, her voice taking on a sharper edge, "we begin the process of rebuilding. Of shaping you into exactly what I need. What I want."

She turned, walking leisurely toward the small table in the corner. Your habit lay crumpled nearby, and she picked it up with a slight sneer, letting it dangle from her fingers as though it was a discarded shell.

"This no longer suits you," she remarked, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. She dropped the fabric back to the floor and gestured toward the remnants of your previous self. "These trappings of piety, of humility—they’re meaningless now, don’t you think?"

You stared at the crumpled garment, your mind struggling to reconcile the life it represented with the one Agatha had forced you into.

When you didn’t answer, she stepped closer, her shoes clicking softly against the stone. Her fingers trailed over your shoulder, down your arm, sending shivers through your exhausted frame. "Speak," she demanded, her voice suddenly sharp enough to make you flinch. "Do not make me ask again."

"They are meaningless," you said quietly, the words like lead on your tongue.

Her smirk returned, and she crouched before you, her face inches from yours. "Good girl," she murmured, brushing her thumb over your cheek. "I knew you’d come to understand. But remember this—what you are now is not a failure. It’s freedom. Every choice from now on is mine to make for you, but it will feel like it’s yours. Do you understand?"

You nodded hesitantly, and her smirk turned into a full, wolfish grin. "Wonderful."

She stood again, but her hand lingered, tangling in your hair for a moment too long. Her grip tightened slightly, enough to send a spike of fear through your chest before she released you.

"You’ve pleased me tonight," Agatha said, turning to face the door, her silhouette regal and unyielding. "But know this—pleasure is earned. And obedience is only the beginning."

She turned back toward you, her gaze pinning you where you knelt. "Clean yourself up," she said, her tone now cold and commanding. "And tomorrow, you will come to me for your next lesson."

With that, she swept from the room, the sound of the heavy wooden door closing behind her echoing in the suffocating silence.

You remained on the floor, trembling in the dim light, the imprint of her words—and her touch—burned into your skin and soul. For the first time in your life, you felt unmoored, untethered to anything but her.

And as you reached for your discarded garments, you realized with a sickening clarity that you no longer wanted to resist.

_-_-_

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