#we need more echo in our lives

[leenathegreengirl]

Happy ARC Trooper Thursday! Echo and his true love, Aiko. They’re both such gentle souls, and she’s been good for him, helping him through all his lingering insecurities (as an Aquatic Empath, she is very good at understanding him). Took them a very long time to reveal their feelings for each other, both a bit shy and uncertain. But together they are unstoppable 🥰💚💕

[echoheart0324]

Sorry for just kinda disappearing in and out lately, I recently moved into a dorm (with 7 other people...), and I genuinely feel like I'm going to lose my mind... Q.Q

[littlestarlex]

hearing my political influencer roommate say "I won't promote Biden because he hasnt called for a ceasefire to the genocide, but I am still voting for him" is so genuinely tone deaf and stupid and it alone convinced me I am DEFINITELY not voting for that stupid motherfucker (I already wasn't going to, but it confirmed I was making the right call)

the sentiment I keep hearing is "as long as it isn't Trump" but it's so frustrating to think, for some people, Biden is as bad as Trump, for some people his lack of action on major policy change has altered their lives permanently in ways than will never be undone

"well Trump is going to enact a national abortion ban, doesn't that scare you?" sure, but I'm scared right now for the very real people currently unable to get the Healthcare they need because of loss of roe v. wade, for some people that ban is already in place and they're facing very real consequences of it as we speak

I'm scared for my friends, my family, myself, and all the people I may never know who are being impacted RIGHT NOW by the democratic presidency we're currently under

just because I am not currently impacted does not mean it shouldn't be a priority, just because it doesn't directly impact me doesn't mean I should just let it go

they cannot have my vote just because they're blue, just because they pacify us with small scale wins while continuing to fund the very things that keep us from being in a position of power

shit in the government can take a long time, I get it, but clearly they can move quick when it's something they all want, like ripping the power from the people and silencing voices that want genuine change

they all want the same thing, just because democrats aren't up there screaming on stage doesn't make them any less evil than republicans

[onereallygoodlambonastick]

(taps sign) you're right. It is kill or be killed. You will be killed because you refuse to participate in the social & political & cultural reality where people can not only exist but do more than survive. I will do the killing

a couple months ago i watched a video of a palestinian boy get crushed as a bulldozer ran over his body and the sight still haunts me today. and you expect me not to wish death upon those who are supporting this kind of horror on the palestinian people? zionists deserve to die and i won't apologize for saying it.

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[nevermind-i-forgot-whats-that]

Sometimes, as much as I love internet communities and spaces, I really think a lot of people have spent so much time in sanitized, morally pure echo chambers that they lose sight of realism and life outside the internet.

I live in Alabama. My fiancée and I cannot hold hands down the street without fear of homophobic assholes. We have an abortion ban with no exceptions for rape or incest. We are one of the poorest states in the US with some of the lowest scores on metrics related to quality of life, including maternal mortality, healthcare, education, and violence. It’s not a coincidence that we are also one of the most red, one of the most Republican states in the Union. In 2017 the UN said the conditions in Alabama are similar to those in a third-world country.

Trump gave a voice to the most violently racist, sexist, xenophobic groups of people who, unfortunately for most of us in the Southern U.S., run our states and have only grown more powerful since his rise to power. The Deep South powers MAGA, and we all suffer for it.

We have no protections if they don’t come from the federal government.

I know people are suffering internationally and my heart is with them. However, this election is not just about foreign policy - we have millions of Americans right here at home living in danger, living in areas where they have been completely abandoned by their local leaders. We need this win.

No candidate is perfect, but for the first time in my voting lifetime I’m excited to vote. I’m excited for the Kamala Harris/Tim Walz ticket because they are addressing the issues close to home. They’re advocating for education as the ticket to a better life, but without the crippling student debt. They’re advocating for the right to love who you love without fear and with pride. Kamala has always been pro-LGBT+ and so has Tim. Again, if you’re queer in the South, we don’t have support unless it comes from the federal government, and we absolutely will not have support if the Republicans regain the White House.

Kamala speaks in length about re-entry programs to reduce recidivism and help people who have been arrested and imprisoned regain their lives. Tim Walz supported restoring voting rights to felons. In the South, you know who comprise the majority of felons? Members of minorities. It’s one of the major tools of systemic racism and mass disenfranchisement, and arguably the modern face of slavery (there are some fantastic documentaries and books that explain the connection between the post-Reconstruction South and the disproportionate rates of imprisonment for BIPOC). Having candidates who recognize this and want to restore the freedom and rights to people who have come into contact with the criminal justice system? And keep them from having to go to prison in the first place? That’s refreshing. That’s exciting.

I would *love* to live in a country where women’s rights are respected, where LGBT+ rights and protections are a given, where we treat former criminals and individuals experiencing mental health crises with respect and dignity. I would *love* to live in a country where education is free of religious interference and each and every citizen is entitled to a fair start and equal opportunities.

But I don’t live in that country. Millions and millions of Americans find their rights and freedoms up for debate and on the ballot.

Project 2025 poses the largest threat to the future of our democracy as we know it. We are being called to fight for the future of our country.

We have to put on our oxygen masks first before we can help others.

You don’t have moral purity when you wash your hands of the millions of us who are still fighting for own freedoms right here.

The reality is that a presidential candidate is a best fit, and not a perfect fit. But comparatively speaking? Kamala is pretty damn close.

[lola-writes]

Prince Regent

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking

Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones

Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Playlist

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

[gif @aemondstark ]

AEMOND

Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.

It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.

A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.

My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.

I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.

From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.

The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.

The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.

“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)

I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.

Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering. 

But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter. 

As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.

Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.

I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.

“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.

I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut. 

A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now. 

Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.

Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet. 

A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition. 

There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind. 

The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward. 

A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency. 

_

Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.

“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.

“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”

A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.

“Aegon has fallen,” I said. 

The council erupted in uproar. 

Cries of outrage and accusations.

Obscenities.

Scandal.

“How could this be allowed to happen?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We are doomed!”

The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.  

“The King is dead!”

“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”

My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved. 

It was palpable. 

It was mine for the taking. 

I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.

“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”

A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs. 

“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent. 

I cast my gaze on her. 

“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.

“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.

“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.

Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?

“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”

“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”

My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest. 

“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table. 

A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”

YOU

Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.

The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.

One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain. 

It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.

Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.

The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.

The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified. 

A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.

My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty. 

A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach. 

My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.  

None of it mattered. 

My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find. 

Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut. 

Unanswered questions swirled in my mind. 

Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”

A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.

Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”

Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead? 

My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.

Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.

My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs. 

It wasn’t Alicent. 

A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch. 

“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”

Aemond descended the steps.

“Slayer of the queen who never was.”

Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions. 

“And Protector of the Realm.”

He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”

There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence. 

“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”

Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me. 

Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest? 

My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother. 

As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut. 

“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”

Scattered heads nodded in agreement. 

Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense. 

“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear. 

It felt like he was about to eat me alive.

A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee. 

_

Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape. 

Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.

My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.  

The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider. 

Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current. 

My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. 

An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. 

Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread. 

“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us. 

Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union. 

“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.

He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. 

“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive. 

Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile. 

“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”

Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat. 

A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.

“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”

“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye. 

“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”

“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”

Seven Hells. 

Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash. 

Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic. 

I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown. 

And the crown needed heirs. 

He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head. 

“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach. 

A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea. 

“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)

I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue. 

Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.

A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”

A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”

His reaction was swift and brutal.

One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.

“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”

“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.

A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.

My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose. 

“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea. 

The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths. 

“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”

“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)

“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.

A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us. 

“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips. 

Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.

Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand. 

My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it. 

The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette. 

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all. 

Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges. 

“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.” 

I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.

A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”

He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.

I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike. 

“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”

A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid. 

Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”

Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”

I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”

He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight. 

“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”

A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.

“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former. 

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. 

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.

Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.

“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.

It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace. 

“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.

The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure. 

“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin. 

“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.

My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.

His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me. 

But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate. 

Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.

A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire. 

His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.

Panic clawed at my throat. 

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears. 

AEMOND

The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal. 

Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard. 

A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me. 

A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. 

“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)

I started into the storm-ridden castle. 

YOU

Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath. 

To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.

My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.

None dared defy the one-eyed prince. 

Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room. 

The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air. 

If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches. 

Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.

“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.

Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead. 

“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps. 

“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.

I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze. 

His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder. 

The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.

A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain. 

“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”

A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might. 

He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.

The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him. 

Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease. 

Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt. 

Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace. 

“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear. 

“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.

Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?

My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me. 

This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger. 

“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.

Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other. 

He hummed deeply. “Say it.”

Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood. 

“I haven't.”

“You haven't what?”

Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me. 

“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender. 

A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue. 

His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.

“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)

I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control. 

I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone. 

“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.

The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.

With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip. 

He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.

Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.

Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.

I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release. 

He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.

Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings. 

When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing. 

“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure. 

I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.

He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls. 

Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest. 

His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.

“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap. 

“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries. 

A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm. 

The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body. 

A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.

Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips. 

“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.

I knew that word.

Beautiful. 

AEMOND

I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting. 

So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers. 

But this was not going to make an heir, after all.  

She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire. 

She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips. 

This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.

Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm. 

Untamed, fierce, fuckable.

She was molded just for me.

Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.

“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame. 

“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.

“You have my word,” she said softly. 

The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick. 

I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest. 

I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.  

Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance. 

Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me. 

I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy. 

“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss. 

When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me. 

I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself. 

I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian. 

“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”

Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.

Seven Hells. 

The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her. 

Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust. 

“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time. 

Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire. 

Thunder rolled overhead. 

I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.

She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.

“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.

She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed. 

“Say my name.”

“Aemond.”

“And who is your King?”

“Aemond.”

My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.

“Say it.”

“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”

It set me on fire.

I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.

My muscles shook from the aftershock.

I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down. 

When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.

“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.

“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)

[omgeto]

☆ WHEN YOU BREAK UP AND MAKE UP — NANAMI KENTO

summary: fed up with your stagnant marriage, you serve your husband divorce papers as a final cry to show you're tired of his behaviour. but you forget that, although he doesn't always show it, your husband never goes down without a fight.

w/c: 3.5k

cw: angst to fluff, nanami may come across as an asshole but he means it with love, plot with a dash of porn at the end, so mdni!!, semi-public sex (you fuck in an elevator) afab!reader

authors note: first fic on the new blog (wild) but I actually really fw this fic, hope you all do to. not fully proof read so ignore mistakes!!

nanami's footsteps echo through the dimly lit hallway as he approaches your apartment. his heart pounds against his ribs, a mixture of irritation, confusion, and hurt swirling within him. he had seen the divorce papers, his name scrawled across the top in bold letters, and the shock has left him simmering with resentment.

with a determined exhale, he raises his hand and knocks on your door. the door swings open, revealing his surprised expression. his eyes widen as he takes in your clenched jaw and the tension etched into your features.

"kento," your voice wavers, a mix of surprise and something he can't quite place.

"i didn't expect to find divorce papers on my desk at work," he bites out, his tone sharp and impatient.

your cheeks flush slightly, your gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to meet his stare. "it got your attention, didn't it?" you retort, your voice tinged with exasperation.

"attention?" nanami's voice drips with sarcasm. "you think serving me divorce papers at my job is the way to solve our problems?"

"you've been distant, nanami," your voice holds a trace of weariness. "we've been living separate lives for weeks. i needed you to know that something has to change."

nanami's irritation flares, his patience wearing thin. "dropping divorce papers on my desk is your way of communication now?"

"you've brushed me off every time i've tried to talk," your voice holds a hint of frustration, your eyes betraying a simmering anger. "maybe this is the only language you'll understand."

nanami's annoyance collides with a stubborn resistance, his grip on his emotions hardening. "you know i've been busy," he states curtly.

"busy ignoring me," your voice is edged with bitterness, your expression growing weary.

nanami's frustration deepens, and he steps closer, his gaze unwavering. "you could have talked to me."

you look away, your jaw clenched. "tried that." he reaches out to you but you brush him off, backing out of his space. 

you didn’t know what the exact turning point of your marriage was, but once it came it was overwhelming, swept you both up in a whirl of frustration. nanami didn’t feel like yours anymore – he was a shell of the guy you married. there were no more morning kisses, gentle touches, or late-night talks that once filled your lives. the silence in your shared space became a chasm, widening with each passing day. you pleaded for his attention, for a connection, but it was as if he was slipping away, becoming a stranger.

"you’ve taken this game of yours too far," he scoffs, disbelief and a hint of frustration in his voice. nanami had never imagined it would come to this – the thought of you leaving him was a reality he was struggling to accept. he wasn't blind to the shifts in your relationship, the growing distance, but he had convinced himself that it was a phase. a bad period that could be smoothed out with a little time and patience.

when you gathered your belongings and walked away, nearly a month ago now, he allowed you to go, certain that this was just a phase, a moment of frustration that would pass.

"i thought we were just going through a rough patch," he continues, his voice carrying a self-assured edge. "didn't think you'd take it to this extreme. you really tried to embarrass me at work with that shit, everybody saw y’know, my colleagues, my boss.”

your eyes narrow at his response, the frustration that had simmered inside you starting to boil over. "It's not a game, nanami. this isn't some ploy for attention."

“so you’ve given up on me then? on us?” he asks incredulously, stepping closer to you, studying your face.

your gaze holds his, determination mixing with the hurt that still lingers. "i didn't want to give up, but i can't keep holding on to something that's slipping away."

nanami's eyes search yours, a moment of vulnerability flickering across his features before he masks it with his trademark confidence. "you think i'll just let you go that easily?"

you meet his gaze head-on, the tension between you palpable. "it's not about whether you'll 'let' me. it's about whether we're both willing to put in the effort to fix what's broken."

his smirk fades, his gaze intense as he studies you. "and? are you willing?"

nanami didn’t realise how silent his home was without you in it. when he returned, he sat in silence, the weight of your ultimatum sinking in. ‘it’s not a game nanami’ your previous words repeatedly echo through his mind. he had always prided himself on his rationality, on his ability to see things logically, but when it came to you, it was an unfamiliar territory,

he had grown accustomed to the routine of his life, the predictable patterns that had lulled him into a sense of complacency. he had convinced himself that the distance between you two would eventually close on its own. and now, confronted with the reality of your departure, he couldn't deny the truth any longer.

“you’ve really fucked this up nanamin,” gojo lectures over the phone to nanami, “you deserved getting embarrassed at your job.”

“i didn’t call you to be told off,” nanami says, pinching his nose “i called for you to tell me what to do.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” gojo questions, “you know what she wants.”

“If i did, i wouldn’t be on the phone with you, would i?” nanami snaps, frustration brewing.

“she wants the guy she married.” gojo states, ignoring nanami’s tone.

“I am that guy,” there was a pause, as if nanami could see gojo’s pointed look through the phone, “well i thought i was that guy. but i know she doesn’t want to divorce me for real, she loves me.”

“does she though?” gojo questions, “remember nanamin, i was there when you guys got married, the way she looked at you then… isn’t how she looks at you now.”

nanami ends the call abruptly, pacing around his living room. gojo’s words sticking in his mind. he had reached out to his friend seeking guidance, but it’s becoming evident that the answers he’s seeking might not be as straightforward as he had hoped.

gojo’s words struck a nerve, he was right. nanami remembers the early days of your relationship, the excitement, the adoration - the way your eyes would light up when you looked at him. but now, the distance, the hurt, it was evident.

he was going to make things right, he had to. you were his wife - his soulmate. he’s known that from the day he laid eyes on you, and he doesn’t want to let you out of his grasp.

it had been months since you served nanami the divorce papers – he was stalling. you couldn’t deny that he was trying though, the daily flowers that you received, the take out that was delivered to your house without you asking, was a testament to that.

you got daily calls, texts and emails from him asking you about your day, about your wellbeing. he was showing you that he cared, and it  was as if he was courting you all over again. 

his efforts didn’t go unnoticed, your friends and family could see the subtle smiles you couldn’t suppress and the softening of your eyes when his name was mentioned. they hoped for your sake that nanami would keep consistent.

you felt hopeful, and that made you feel dumb. 

but you just needed one more push to feel secure, to feel like this would work – would last. which is why you were standing in the lobby of your lawyers office, your feet tapping nervously against the floor as you wait for your husband to arrive. 

“hi, my love,” he greets, the familiar pet name coming out like a whisper, but it doesn’t go unnoticed, “i guess we should head up there.”

“yeah, lead the way,” you say, your tone warmer than you expect as you take in his appearance. he was dressed in one of his signature crisp suits, in fact it was your favourite suit of his, and he was wearing the hell out of it.

you follow him to the elevator, the hallway stretching ahead as you both walk side by side. you haven’t felt like this in a long time, like a pair, a union. nanami’s presence beside you is both familiar and foreign, a reminder of the life you once shared and the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

“we don’t have to go this meeting you know,” nanami forces out, but you ignore him pushing the button of the floor you need to be at.

“love listen, it doesn’t have to be this way,” he persists.

“and what way is it kento?” you argue, “just because you’ve been sending me flowers, and asking me how i am each day, doesn’t mean you’ve magically became husband material again.”

“trust me, i know that.” he scoffs, “you’re a real piece of work bu-”

“and you’re a real piece of sh-” you start, stopping yourself as you realise that you were the one going too far.

“as i was saying,” he continues, “you’re a real piece of work, but you’re worth it. you always have been, from the moment i met you i knew you were going to cause me trouble but i ended up loving you for that.”

“well tell that to your actions for the past–” you pause, feeling the elevator coming to an abrupt stop, “why did the elevator just close… the last thing i need right now is to be trapped.”

nanami's gaze shifts to the control panel, his eyebrows furrowing. "looks like we're stuck."

you glance at him, your heart racing for a different reason now. "stuck?"

nanami's eyes meet yours, his smirk undeniably playful. "Seems like fate has its own plans for us," he remarks, his tone holding a hint of amusement.

you roll your eyes, unable to suppress a small smile despite the circumstances. "great, just what I needed today."

he chuckles, his fingers expertly unbuttoning his cuffs as he begins to roll up his sleeves. "well, at least we have some time to ourselves. might as well make the most of it."

your eyebrows raise at his nonchalant attitude, your surprise momentarily replacing the irritation. "are you serious right now? we're stuck in an elevator, and you're acting like it's a casual evening at home?"

nanami's grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "why not? it's not like we can do much about the situation. might as well enjoy each other's company."

you huff out a breath, torn between annoyance and amusement. as you observe him making himself comfortable on the elevator floor, you can't help but shake your head. "you're unbelievable."

he pats the spot next to him, his inviting gesture a silent challenge. "come on, it's not so bad. we can reminisce about old times, or argue about who's the better cook."

you find yourself hesitating, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. with a resigned sigh, you take a seat beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. "old times, huh? you mean the days when you used to bring me breakfast in bed?"

nanami's smile softens, a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. "yeah, and you'd always complain that the eggs were overcooked."

“because they always were.” you retort, with a chuckle. you missed this, being in his space without any of the extra noise.

“i can cook breakfast for you again,” he proposes, “if you just come home.”

“kento i don’t know if i-”

“do you remember our first date,” he interrupts, “my car broke down on the way home from the restaurant, so i put you on my back and carried you for 5 miles.”

“you carried my heels too,” you add, laughing softly to yourself at the memory. your first date with nanami solidified that he was the man for you, the way he shamelessly gave you a piggy back ride, heels and all.

nanami’s gaze locks with yours, his fingers gently grazing your hand “it was worth every step.”

a warmth spreads through your chest, a mix of nostalgia and a newfound vulnerability. "you used to be so sweet," you murmur, your voice laced with a bittersweet longing.

his fingers inch closer, your hands almost brushing against each other. "i can still be sweet, you know," he replies softly, his gaze never leaving yours.

your heart skips a beat, the air around you growing charged with unspoken emotions. "you have a funny way of showing it."

he tilts his head, his lips curving into a genuine smile. "maybe I've been out of practice."

as the silence settles between you, the confined space of the elevator seems to amplify the intensity of your connection. the past rushes back, the moments that you shared, the love that once flourished. but you're both here now, in the present, faced with the choice of whether to rebuild or let go.

nanami's fingers finally find yours, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. "i want to make it right, to fix us," he admits, vulnerability lacing his words.

you meet his gaze, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. "It's not that simple, kento. we can't just go back to the way things were."

his thumb traces a soothing pattern on the back of your hand. "i know. but maybe we can start anew. rediscover each other, learn from our mistakes." 

you study his face, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart ache. maybe he had changed, maybe he was willing to put in the effort to mend what was broken. maybe, just maybe, there was hope for your relationship after all.

the elevator's walls seem to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment. The past and the present merge, and as you search his eyes for any signs of deceit, you find none. only a genuine desire to make things right.

"i've missed you," he whispers, his voice holding a vulnerability that resonates within you.

“you swallow the lump in your throat, your grip on his hand tightening. "i've missed you too."

nanami's fingers burned with a mixture of yearning and desperation as they reached out to trace the curve of your cheek. his touch was electric, sending a surge of heat through your veins. your breath hitched in response, your heart pounding against your ribs as his thumb brushed over your skin.

his touch was no longer tentative; it was a declaration, a silent proclamation of his desire. the air seemed to crackle with tension as his gaze bore into yours, his eyes dark and smouldering.

"i've wanted to do this for so long," he confesses, his voice a low growl sending a shiver down your spine.

his fingers slide from your cheek to your jawline, his touch igniting a fire within you. the space between you seemed to vanish as he closed in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. your eyes flutter closed as his thumb brushes over your lower lip, his touch setting your skin ablaze.

and then, his lips crash onto yours with a fierce hunger that leaves you breathless. it was a kiss that ignites a wildfire, a blaze of emotions that had been suppressed for far too long. his lips moved against yours with a fervour that matched the intensity of his touch, a dance of passion and longing.

his arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepens. his mouth moves over yours with a possessive urgency, his tongue seeking entrance and igniting a fiery tangle of sensations. the taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and nostalgia.

your fingers claw at the fabric of his shirt, needing to feel him, to ground yourself in this moment. his body presses against yours, every contour and ridge igniting a cascade of sensations that pooled between your thighs.

his hands trail down your back, the touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. when he cups your hips and pulls you impossibly closer, a moan escaped your lips, swallowed by the intensity of the kiss.

as the kiss broke, your foreheads rest against each other, your breaths ragged and laboured. the air around you was thick with desire, the space between you charged with an unspoken promise.

"i need you," he murmurs against your lips, his voice laced with desperation.

your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling his head down for another searing kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of pent-up longing, of a love that refused to be extinguished. your bodies moulded together as if they were meant to fit perfectly, every touch a symphony of need and surrender.

“tell me you need me, love,” he gasps out, and you nod against him, “no i got to hear you say it.”

“i need you, i do,” you whimper against his lips, as his fingers slip below the waistline of your skirt, gently grazing your clit, “k-kento we can’t, have you forgotten where we are?”

“don’t tell me you’ve become shy whilst we’ve been separated,” he chuckles, smirking as he continues to toy with your pussy “you don’t remember all the times i’d have you bent over my desk in my office?” 

you bite your lip at the memory, feeling yourself get wetter as nanami’s fingers enter you, his thumb pressing against your clit. nanami knew you inside and out, he knew how exactly where to touch, how to get you whine and writhe against him as you are now.

he took advantage of your exposed neck, biting and sucking against your collarbone as he continues to stroke your cunt. you were gushing over him, repeatedly clenching against his fingers, as he twists and pushes in and out of you. 

“you always get so wet for me,” he praises, pulling his fingers out of you, his digits glistening coated with you. you can smell your own arousal from his hand as he grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at his lust filled eyes. “ride me.”

you didn’t need to be asked twice, you discard your skirt off on the elevator floor, as he unzips his pants. he strokes his dick as it gets harder just at the sight of you. he was back was against the wall, his legs sprawled out widely, the perfect opening for you to climb right into his lap.

you slid right onto him, letting out an exhale as he fills you. he presses a sloppy kiss against your lips as your cunt grips onto him. your hands dig into his shoulder as you bounce up and down on him, his hands having your hips in a firm hold to keep you in place.

nanami couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, the way you were taking him in like you needed him, was a sight he could never get tired off. you were so pretty, all fucked out on his dick, your eyes glossed over in a daze, the only thing you were focused on was him. 

“d’you see now why i could never let you go?” he teases, thrusting upwards into you as one of his hands trails up to caress your cheek, his thumb parting your lips, “because this pussy’s mine.” 

he quickens his pace, eager to get you to come undone all over him, the way your movements became slower, lazier, he could tell you were nearly at your peak. you bite on his thumb, suppressing your moans, as his merciless thrust begin to become too much. 

“m’close kento, i-it’s too much,” 

“I know my love, you’re taking me so well,” he praises, pushing deeper into you, “just hold out for a bit longer.”

“i-i can’t i-” you couldn’t finish your sentence as you feel yourself release all over him. nanami groans out his head collapsing in your cleavage as he finishes inside of you, your juices mixing with his. 

the only sounds that can be heard are you both trying to catch your breath. nanami keeps his head pressed against your tits, still inside of you. you toy with his hair pushing his hair back to leave a gentle kiss against his head, his arms tighten around you and it was as if you could feel him smile against you. you knew from then that you and your husband was going to be okay.

“kento?” your voice wavers, a mixture of uncertainty and hope lacing your words.

“yes? my love,” he responds, his gaze locked onto yours.

your heart flutters as you gather your courage, the weight of the past and the possibilities of the future intertwining in your chest. "I think we can cancel that meeting with my lawyer."

nanami's smile broadens, but it's different this time – it's a smile that carries the weight of understanding and a newfound determination. he holds your gaze, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes, a silent promise of change and rediscovery.

you eventually got out of that elevator and you didn’t go home to your separate apartments, you went home, together. 

extra an: so guys what did you think?? first time writing for smut, and for nanami so if it’s shit spare me. but I love him and I’d never divorce him. DIVIDERS FROM @/CAFEKITSUNE !!

[freshl6ve]

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓. 𝐒 | 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄

⭑.ᐟ : “𝐘/𝐍!” 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭’𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, and I could hear the frustration in his tone. “I need your help in here, and I need it now.”

I walked up the stairs, heading towards the bathroom and I was met with the sight of Matt, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, with Nick and Chris trying to apply the black eye paint.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of them struggling, and I leaned against the doorway, crossing my arms.“Having some trouble there?”

Matt glanced my way, a mixture of relief and annoyance on his face. “You have no idea,” he grumbled. “These idiots can’t seem to get this right to save their lives.”

Nick shot Matt an offended look, while Chris just rolled his eyes. “Hey, we’re doing our best, okay?” Nick retorted. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”

I chuckled at their bickering and stepped forward, saying, “Okay, you two, wash your hands. I’ll take it from here.” Nick and Chris reluctantly complied, washing their hands in the sink while I moved towards Matt, studying his face.

As I hovered over him sitting on the edge of the bathtub, I couldn’t help but tease him. “You need to give them a little credit. They weren’t that bad.” He shot me a sidelong glare, clearly not amused. “Yeah, right. They made me look like I got into a fight with a raccoon.”

I stifled a laugh, trying to maintain a serious expression. “Well, at least now we know that raccoon makeup isn’t your look. Stick to Batman.” He grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Just get on with it, will you?”

I chuckled again and began to apply the eye makeup, carefully coating his lids with the black paint. As I worked, we fell into a comfortable silence, my fingers gently tracing his face. Our proximity was electric, the bathroom suddenly feeling smaller and more intimate.

I could feel his gaze on me, studying me as I focused on my task. Time seemed to slow as I finished the first eye and moved on to the second. Every touch of my fingers against his skin sent a jolt through me, the atmosphere thick with undeniable tension.

My back had started to ache from leaning over for so long, and the subtle shifting was giving it away. Matt, noticing my discomfort, whispered to me. “Sit on my lap, baby, you’ve been on your feet long enough.”

My breath hitched slightly at his casual use of the pet name, but I complied, my legs straddling his lap as I continued to apply the paint. From this position, I was even closer to him, our faces almost touching. His breath was warm against my skin and sent shivers down my spine.

As I continued applying the paint, I could feel Matt’s hands slowly making their way around my waist. He gripped me firmly, holding me in place so I didn’t fall backwards. The warmth of his touch sent sparks shooting through me, and I found it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

I finished applying the paint and stepped back, taking a moment to admire my work. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. “Nick,” I called out, “do you have a small towel you don’t use?”

Nick’s voice echoed from his room as he responded, “Yeah, there should be one in the cabinet next to the tub!” I nodded and opened up the cabinet, rummaging through it until I found a small, unused towel.

As I returned to Matt, I settled back into his lap, the towel in my hand. I began to gently rub off the excess of the black eye paint, making sure to leave a faint, lighter shade. The process was slow and intimate, our faces close together once again.

“There all done,” I breathed, getting off his lap and gesturing for him to look in the mirror.

He stood up and moved to the mirror, studying his reflection. The black paint around his eyes accentuated the sharp angles of his face, making him look every bit the dark and mysterious Batman. He turned to me, a satisfied grin on his face.

He stepped towards me, his arms encircling my waist. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down my spine. He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a slow, passionate kiss.

The world around us faded away as he deepened the kiss, his hands pulling me even closer to him. The tenderness behind the kiss left me breathless and weak at the knees.

Just as I was completely lost in the kiss, the moment was interrupted by the sound of Nick’s voice. “Alright, get a room,” he teased, standing in the doorway. Matt pulled away, a mischievous grin on his face, still holding me close to him.

Nick stepped closer to take a better look at Matt, studying the final product. “You did an amazing job, Y/N,” he admitted, a hint of surprise in his voice.

I smiled at the compliment, feeling a sense of pride in my work. “Thanks,” I replied. “I’m just glad it turned out alright.”

Just as the conversation died down, Chris burst into the room. “The party is almost about to start, we should all get going!” he exclaimed, a sense of urgency in his voice.

We all shared a collective groan at the interruption, the moment of peace shattered by Chris’s announcement. “Yeah, yeah, we’re coming,” Matt muttering, reluctantly releasing me from his arms.

As we all made our way downstairs and through the hallway, Matt veered off to his room, retrieving his car keys from his bedside dresser. He then caught up with the rest of us in the garage, where we filed into his car in a chaotic and haphazard manner.

Matt climbed into the driver’s seat, and I scooted into the passenger seat beside him. The other two filed into the back, jostling and laughing with one another as they buckled their seatbelts.

Matt flicked a button on the visor and the garage door slowly creaked open, revealing the night. He reversed out of the garage and pulled away, the engine purring. I leaned back in my seat, the streetlights flashing through the windows as we made our way to the house where the party was being hosted.

The car came to a stop at a red light, and Matt took the opportunity to glance over at me. His hand found its way to my thigh, resting there in a possessive yet tender gesture. The touch sent a rush of heat through me, my heart skipping a beat.

Matt returned his gaze to the road, his expression a picture of nonchalance. His hand, however, remained on my thigh, his fingers tracing small, lazy circles on my skin, as if he was completely unaware of the effect his touch was having on me.

I could feel myself growing flushed, the warmth of his hand on my thigh sending tingles through my body. As the light turned green and we resumed driving, I wondered if he was intentionally trying to get a reaction out of me, or if he was truly oblivious to the way his touch was affecting me.

We pulled up in front of the house, the sound of music and laughter pouring out of the open windows. The parking lot was already filled with a few cars, a sign that we weren’t the only ones who were fashionably late. I unbuckled my seatbelt and gave one last glance at Matt, who removed his hand from my thigh and gave me a sly smirk.

We all exited the car, the cool night air a welcome relief after being cramped in the vehicle. As we made our way to the front door, Matt reached for my hand and intertwined our fingers together. His grip was firm and confident, and I found myself feeling a sense of comfort from his gentle touch.

Together, we followed the others into the party, the noise and energy of the room washing over us. The house was packed to the brim with people dressed in all sorts of elaborate costumes, the scent of cheap cologne and alcohol hanging in the air.

We wandered through the crowded room, and several people stopped us to compliment our matching costumes. Matt, in his Batman costume, and I, dressed as Catwoman, drew plenty of stares and admiring glances.

Throughout the entire night, I had been by Matt's side at all times. He wasn't one for parties; he much preferred the comfort of his own home and his own company. But tonight, he was putting up with the loud music and the rowdy atmosphere because he wanted to be with me.

Every time someone attempted to pull him away to chat or join a game, he would politely decline, his hand finding its way back to mine, or wrapping around my waist, as if to silently assert that his focus was on me and no one else.

I stood quietly next to Matt who was currently engaged in conversation with Chris, Nick, and a few other friends. They were all clustered together, laughing and joking. His hand held mine firmly, his thumb idly tracing patterns on my skin.

I noticed that instead of alcohol like most others were drinking, Matt had opted for a red solo cup filled with soda or water. He never was one to drink at these kinds of events.

As the conversation continued, I leaned into Matt's side, listening in on the banter. His free arm instinctively wrapped around my shoulders, drawing me closer to him. Occasionally, he would chime in or laugh at a joke, but for the most part, he seemed content just to have me by his side.

My head was slightly fuzzy from the couple of drinks I'd had, and the loud music and laughter around me had heightened my desire to be closer to Matt. I leaned in, my body pressing against his as I whispered into his ear. “Dance with me,” I pleaded, my words slightly slurred but laced with a seductive edge.

“Not now, baby,” Matt whispered back, his voice calm and nonchalant. He gave my waist a gentle squeeze before continuing his conversation with the others.

A pang of slight disappointment shot through me, a mixture of the alcohol in my system and my desire to be closer to him.

I positioned myself in front of Matt, my back pressed against his chest. I rocked my hips, moving my body against his, the fabric of our clothing rubbing against each other. Matt's arm instinctively found its way around my waist, his hand resting on my hip.

He continued to talk with the group as if nothing was happening, sipping casually from his cup. His expression remained calm and nonchalant, although the heat of my body against his was impossible to ignore.

I continued to move against him, each gyration of my hips a silent plea for his attention. But Matt maintained his cool composure, his conversations with the group never faltering. The tension between us was palpable, but he stubbornly refused to give any indication of it to the rest of the world.

Matt's breath hitched, and a low moan escaped him, the sound lost among the music and laughter. He leaned down, his lips close to my ear as he whispered, “Behave yourself, baby.” His voice was low and rough, a hint of warning and desire threading through it.

Despite his words, his grip on my hip tightened. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, contrasting with his outward nonchalance. The mixture of his proximity and the alcohol in my system was making it increasingly difficult to ‘behave myself’.

I turned to look up at him, my eyes roaming over his features. His dark, tousled hair, the sharp angles of his face emphasised by the eye paint, the way his baggy clothes made me want to take them off and explore what’s underneath them — all of it made him even more attractive. I leaned in close, my breath against his skin.

I pressed myself against him, my body flush against his. “Can we go home?” I whispered into his ear, my voice low and sultry. The music and the noise from the party faded into the background as I focused on the feel of his body against mine.

Matt chuckled lowly, his grip on me tightening. His voice was a low husky tone when he replied, “Can’t control yourself, can you?” He lowered his head further, his lips close to my ear. “Patience, baby. We’ll leave soon.”

Matt’s lips found the sensitive skin of my neck, trailing kisses along the column of my throat. As he did, I threaded my fingers through his hair, my touch both reverent and desperate. Our bodies swayed in rhythm with the music, the movements almost languid as we clung to each other.

Matt continued his ministrations, his lips lavishing kisses upon my neck and jaw. His free hand, the one holding the cup, gripped it tightly, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to maintain his composure. Each sway of our bodies brought us closer together, the air around us thick with a heady mix of desire and suppressed tension.

We were suddenly interrupted by a bright flash of light, the camera of Chris's phone capturing our intimate moment. I heard him calling out, “Get a room!”

Matt lifted his head from where it had been buried in the crook of my neck, his smirk visible even in the dim light. He gave Chris a casual salute, unperturbed by the invasion of our privacy.

I twisted in his arms, my face now facing his. I looked up into his eyes, my own pleading and earnest. “Please,” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the music. “Let's go home.” My hands gripped his costume, using the fabric to pull myself up closer to him, our bodies flush against each other.

Matt gazed down at me, his eyes softening slightly at the needy expression on my face. He leaned down, his lips brushing gently against mine in a quick, affectionate peck. “Okay,” he murmured against my mouth. “We'll go.”

Matt reached down and intertwined his fingers with mine. He shot a glance at Nick and Chris, the two of them seemingly unfazed by our need to leave, their eyes already returning to their various conversations.

“We’re heading home,” Matt announced, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the noise. “Get an Uber or call me when you want a ride back.” With that, we began to make our way towards the front door.

Matt led the way, his firm grip on my hand guiding me through the crowd. As we navigated the sea of bodies, he pushed his way through, making sure to keep me close.

The cool air hit us as soon as we stepped outside, a welcome relief from the stifling heat and noise of the party. Matt didn’t stop, continuing to lead me to where he’d parked the car.

Matt opened the passenger door for me, ushering me into the seat before closing it behind me. He then walked around to the driver’s side, sliding in and turning the car on.

The familiar hum of the engine filled the silence, the quiet only interrupted by the soft music from the radio and the sound of his breathing. As we started heading home, the warm glow of the streetlights illuminated his features, each passing second bringing us closer to our destination.

I watched him drive, my eyes tracing the lines of his face, particularly the area around his eyes where the black paint outlined them. The way his focus was solely on the road, his hands firm on the wheel, the way his body moved as he shifted gears, was like a silent taunt, fueling the heat already building within me.

I tried to act nonchalant, keeping my hands still in my lap, but my thighs pressed together involuntarily, a silent plea that he could likely see.

I reached down, grabbing his right hand from the wheel, and pulled it up to my thigh. His eyes flicked towards me, a hint of surprise on his face. “Baby, what are you doing?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I bit my lip, shifting slightly in my seat, the need building within me. “Touch me,” I pleaded, my voice low and breathy. He glanced over at me, his gaze lingering on my face. “We’re almost home,” he replied, his tone firm but laced with a hint of restraint.

I could see the internal battle playing out in his eyes, the struggle between his own desire and his determination to wait until we were home. His hand remained stationary on my thigh, but his fingers flexed slightly, a small sign of his weakening resolve.

“Please,” I repeated, my voice almost a whisper. My own self-control was slipping, and I knew that if he didn’t give me what I needed soon, I would snap. “I can’t wait that long.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and raspy. “You’ll have to,” he responded, his eyes never leaving the road. “We’ll be home soon.”

I huffed, frustrated by his unyielding stubbornness. I continued to cling to his hand, the contact grounding me but doing nothing to soothe the fire burning within.

The car ride felt like an eternity, each second passing by in agonizing slowness. I fidgeted in my seat, my thighs clenching and unclenching beneath his hand, my body silently begging for him to do something, anything, to relieve the tension that was coiling tighter with each passing mile.

Matt continued to drive, his face calm and collected, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on me. His fingers moved slightly against my thigh, the light caress just enough to tease but not satisfy.

The car pulled into the garage, the door closing behind us with a soft click. Matt switched off the ignition, the sudden quiet feeling almost deafening.

He looked over at me, the faint light of the garage illuminating the planes of his face. His eyes raked over me, taking in my state: the way my breathing was ragged, the way my body was tense, the way I was practically squirming in my seat.

Matt got out of the car first, his movements fluid as he stood up. He closed the door behind him, the thud echoing in the silent garage.

I followed suit, stumbling slightly as I got out of the passenger seat. My legs felt weak, my body thrumming with pent-up desire. I closed the door, my eyes never leaving him as he made his way around the car towards me.

Matt grabbed my hand and tugged me forward, his grip firm and urgent. As soon as we were inside he led me quickly upstairs, my feet barely touching the steps as he practically dragged me along.

Once we reached the top, he pushed me against the wall in front of the staircase, his body pinning me in place. His breath was ragged, his eyes dark with need.

The house was cloaked in shadow, the only light coming from the glow of the moon filtering in through the kitchen window. It cast a soft, silvery glow over the room, creating an intimate ambiance.

Matt pressed closer to me, his body flush against mine. His hands roamed across my skin, leaving a trail of heat and gooseflesh. “You’re so needy,” he murmured, his lips against my ear. “So desperate for my touch.”

Matt's mouth moved over my collarbone, his lips trailing a path to my ear. “You couldn’t even wait until we got home for me to touch you,” he whispered, his voice rough and low. “You were all up on me, grinding against me at the party.”

His hands gripped my waist tighter, his fingers digging into my skin. “So desperate for my attention,” he continued. “So impatient for my touch.”

His words, combined with his hands on my body, sent shivers down my spine, a heat pooling in my core. Matt's proximity was intoxicating, his body and words making it impossible to think straight.

I whimpered softly, my head tilting back against the wall, exposing my neck to him. Matt immediately latched onto the exposed skin, kissing and biting lightly. “You need it, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice husky. “You need me to touch you, to take you.”

Matt's lips moved along my neck, the words low and commanding. “Will you behave if I give you what you want?” he murmured against my skin, his hands still gripping my waist tightly.

I nodded, my breath hitching as his teeth grazed my pulse point. “Yes, god, yes. I’ll behave,” I breathed, my words a desperate plea.

Matt pulled back slightly, his face close to mine. He studied my expression for a moment before murmuring, “Good,” and kissing my deeply.

His lips on mine were everything I’d been craving. The world condensed to the feeling of his mouth moving against mine, the taste of him overwhelming my senses.

Matt’s hands on my waist pulled me closer, his body pressing against me. He deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing against my lips, seeking entrance. I willingly obliged, our mouths moving in a familiar dance, a symphony of desire and need. My hands moved to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft locks as our bodies entwined.

As we pulled apart for a moment, Matt’s voice was low and commanding. “Jump,” he whispered, his hands sliding down to the back of my thighs, urging me up. On instinct, I obeyed, leaping up and wrapping my legs around his waist as he picked me up with ease.

He held me tightly, my body cradled against him as he turned, pinning me against the wall. His mouth returned to mine, kissing me with a renewed intensity, our bodies pressed closely together. The sound of our breathy gasps echoed through the dark house, the atmosphere charged with the need for each other.

Matt’s hands held my thighs securely, his fingers digging into my skin slightly. He held me in place, my back against the wall, as he kissed me fervently. The heat of his body against mine was almost overwhelming, every touch and movement stoking the fire within me.

With ease, Matt carried me down the hallway, his footsteps barely making a sound. I held onto him tightly, trusting him to guide us to his bedroom. As we reached the door, he nudged it open, carrying me inside and kicking it shut behind us.

Matt gently set me down on the bed, the darkness of the room creating an intimate ambiance. He stepped back, slowly removing his sweater and, piece by piece, shedding his clothes.

I watched as Matt removed his clothes, my hands reaching out to help him. My fingers grazed his skin, undressing him slowly, the gesture both sensual and reverent.

His eyes never left mine as I undressed him, the intensity of his gaze making my heart race. As each piece of fabric fell away, leaving him completely bare in front of me, I could feel my desire growing, my fingers lingering on his skin as though committing his form to memory.

The faint light from the moonlight filtering underneath the blinds illuminated him, his form slightly silhouetted. The shadows played across his features, highlighting the strong lines of his physique. The world was fuzzy and out of focus, my eyes focused solely on him, the rest of the room a blur.

I knelt before him, my movements slow and intentional. My hands reached out, tracing over his hips and down to his thighs, my eyes never leaving his. I could see the desire in his eyes, the way they darkened with anticipation.

My hands trembled slightly as they reached the waistband of his remaining clothing, my fingers teasing at the fabric as I prepared to remove it. My breathing was shallow, my own anticipation building with each passing second.

I felt his hand on mine, guiding it slightly, a silent indication of his permission. I took a deep breath, my heart beating wildly, and slowly started to pull down his remaining clothes, exposing him fully to me.

My eyes widened slightly as I took in the sight of him, bare and vulnerable before me. I reached out, tentatively, my fingers brushing against his soft skin. He let out a slow breath, his body relaxing under my touch.

Emboldened, I wrapped my fingers around him, feeling his warmth. He moaned softly, his hips bucking forward slightly. I looked up at him, seeking approval. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of pure pleasure.

I began to move my hand slowly, exploring the silky smoothness of his skin and the hardness beneath. His breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“That's it,” Matt encouraged, his voice low and husky. “Just like that. You're doing so well.” His hand covered mine, guiding my movements to speed up and tighten my grip. “A little harder now,”

I followed Matt’s instructions, my hand moving faster and tighter around him. He let out a loud groan, his hips jerking forward eagerly. Pre-cum dripped from the tip, making my hand slick.

“Can I…?” I asked hesitantly, looking up at him. He opened his eyes, the heat in them making me blush. “Can you what?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “Can I… taste you?” I managed to stammer out, my face flushing crimson.

Matt's face softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “No need to ask, baby,” he murmured. “Whatever you want, it's yours. Come here...” He guided my head down, his hand tangling in my hair. “Open up for me...”

I parted my lips, my tongue darting out to lick away the bead of pre-cum at his tip. He shuddered, his fingers tightening in my hair. Encouraged, I took him into my mouth, my lips stretching around his girth as I began to suck.

Matt let out a low groan, his body tensing. “Relax your throat, baby,” he instructed, his voice strained. “You don’t have to take all of me, just follow your instincts.”

I did as he said, relaxing my throat and taking him deeper. The head of his cock hit the back of my throat and I swallowed around him, my nose pressing against his pelvis. He cried out, his grip on my hair tightening.

“Pull back, baby,” Matt gasped out, his voice hoarse. “Not gonna last if you keep doing that...” I pulled back, my cheeks hollowed as I sucked hard. He let out a string of curse words, his hips jerking forward. “Shit, Stop, Y/N...”

I ignored his plea, instead bobbing my head faster, my hands tightening on his thighs. I could feel his muscles tensing beneath my touch, his breath hitching in his chest. “Y/N...” he panted, his voice a warning. “I’m gonna...”

His words trailed off into a moan as he spilled into my mouth, his body convulsing. I swallowed every drop, my hands continuing to pump his shaft until he was spent. I pulled back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and looking up at him with a satisfied smile.

I stood up slowly, my lips meeting his in a deep, passionate kiss. He tasted like salt and sweetness, and I couldn't get enough. Our tongues danced together, our hearts pounding in unison.

Matt's hands grasped my waist, slowly pushing me backwards onto the bed. I fell back with a soft gasp, my breath hitching as he hovered over me, his muscular arms braced on either side of my head. His blue eyes bored into mine, filled with unspoken promises.

His head dipped down, his lips finding the sensitive skin of my neck. He kissed and sucked, his hands reaching for the zipper of my catwoman costume. The sound of the zipper lowering filled the room, the cool air brushing against my heated skin.

Matt slowly peeled the costume off me, his lips following the path of the fabric as he exposed more of my skin. He paused at my breasts, his mouth closing around one peak while his hand caressed the other. I arched into him, a soft moan escaping my lips.

He lavished attention on my breasts until I was writhing beneath him, my hands clutching at his hair. Then, he began to kiss his way down my torso, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my catsuit. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with desire.

With a swift tug, he pulled off my bottoms, tossing them aside. I was now fully exposed to his hungry gaze. His hands caressed my thighs, pushing them apart. He settled between them, his breath hot against my most intimate area. I shivered in anticipation.

Matt hooked his fingers into the hem of my underwear and slowly pulled them down, his eyes locked onto mine. As the fabric reached my knees, he leaned down and used his mouth to pull them the rest of the way off, his teeth gently scraping against my skin.

Matt looked up at me from between my thighs, his blue eyes dark with lust. He placed a soft kiss on the inside of my thigh, his hands caressing the sensitive skin. He alternated between kisses and licks, slowly working his way higher.

His hands gripped my thighs, parting them wider as his mouth finally reached my center. He kissed me there, his tongue parting my folds and delving inside. I moaned, my hips bucking against his mouth as he feasted on me.

Matt hooked his arms under my legs, lifting them over his shoulders as he continued to devour me with his mouth. I was completely open and exposed to him, my most intimate parts on full display as he ate me out. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him close to my aching core.

His hands gripped my backside, tilting my hips to give him better access as he buried his face between my thighs. He growled against my flesh, the vibration sending shivers through my body. I could feel the pressure building inside me, my breaths coming in short gasps. “Matt...”

I was so close, my body trembling on the edge of release. Matt seemed to sense this, doubling his efforts. He sucked my clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud. I shattered, my back arching off the bed as my orgasm crashed over me.

As I convulsed around him, Matt slid two fingers inside me, curling them upwards to hit that spot that made my eyes roll back. He continued to suck on my swollen bud, his fingers pumping in and out of me in a steady rhythm.

Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes as the sensations became too intense. I was so sensitive, yet I couldn't push him away. I needed more. He added a third finger, his hand moving faster as he brought me to the peak of pleasure once more.

I came with a shout, my inner muscles clenching around his fingers. He gentled his touch, slowly licking me through the aftershocks. When he finally lifted his head, his chin was glistening, and his eyes were filled with satisfaction.

He kissed my thighs, then my stomach, and finally my mouth. I could taste myself on his lips, salty and sweet. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down onto me. “I need you inside,” I whispered against his ear.

Matt chuckled low in his throat, his voice husky with desire. “Since you behaved so well, I think you deserve a reward.” He reached down, positioning himself at my entrance.

Matt sat up, his thighs straddling my hips. He rubbed the thick head of his cock along my slit, coating himself in my wetness. The sensation made me gasp, my hips lifting off the bed seeking more. He teased me, denying me the full penetration I craved.

“Not yet,” Matt murmured, his hand pressing down on my abdomen to keep my hips still. He continued to rub against me, his hot, hard flesh parting my swollen folds but never quite pushing inside. I squirmed beneath him, my breathing growing faster and shallower. “Please...”

“Please what?” Matt taunted, his voice low and seductive. He knew exactly what I wanted, how much I needed him to fill me, to move inside me. “Say it,” he demanded, his hand tightening on my stomach.

I was panting now, my body trembling with need. I looked up at him, my eyes pleading. “Please, Matt. I need you to fuck me. Fill me up.” I spread my legs wider in invitation, my wet heat aching to be claimed.

Matt’s expression grew intense, his jaw clenching as he finally lined himself up and slowly pushed inside. He watched my face as he inched forward, his thick length stretching me wide. I bit my lip, my hands gripping the sheets as he buried himself to the hilt.

He started to move then, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in. I cried out at the sudden intensity, my back arching off the bed. He set a hard, fast pace, the wet sounds of our coupling filling the room.

Our bodies slapped together, the sound of our moans and ragged breaths mingling. His large hands gripped my hips, tilting me to change the angle. He hit that spot deep inside me, making me see stars. “Oh god, Matt!” I cried out.

“That's it, baby,” Matt rasped, his voice thick with passion. “Squeeze my hard cock with your inner muscles like a good girl.” His words spurred me on, and I felt the familiar pressure building once more. “Matt...it’s...too much...”

“Too much what, baby?” he asked, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Too much pleasure? Too much love? Too much of me inside you?” He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. “Tell me what’s too much, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Too much...love,” I whimpered, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure washed over me. He groaned deeply, his movements becoming harder and more urgent. “And you’ll take more, won’t you, baby?” He growled, his fingers digging into my flesh.

I could only nod, my words lost to the sensations overwhelming my body. He grunted in approval, his hips snapping forward as he increased his pace. The room filled with the sound of our harsh breaths and the wet slap of flesh against flesh.

Matt’s mouth found my neck, his teeth scraping against my pulse point. He sucked hard, leaving a dark mark on my skin as he claimed me. His lips trailed up to my collarbones, placing open-mouthed kisses along the delicate bones before latching onto the soft skin and sucking.

He marked me as his, leaving a trail of love bites across my chest. He sucked on my nipples, biting down gently before moving to the space between my breasts. He kissed and nipped at the soft flesh, leaving a pattern of bites that only he could decipher.

I moaned and writhed beneath him, the slight pain only heightening my pleasure. “You’re mine,” he growled against my skin. “Every inch of you belongs to me.” He pushed himself up, his hands gripping my thighs and draping them over his shoulders.

He leaned down, his face mere inches from mine. His eyes were dark with lust and something deeper, more intense. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough with need. “Tell me who you belong to.” His hips rolled forward, grinding against my sweet spot.

“I’m yours,” I gasped. “All yours, Matt. Oh god, Matt!” His thrusts became deeper, his pace punishing. Our bodies slapped together, the sound of our moans filling the room.

Matt's grip tightened on my thighs, pulling them further apart and draping them over his shoulders. He leaned forward, his body folding over mine as he increased his pace. He buried his face in my neck, his hot breath against my skin as he moaned loudly.

I turned my head, seeking his mouth. Our lips met in a desperate, hungry kiss, our tongues tangling as we moaned into each other's mouths. He thrust deep and fast, his hips pistoning forward in a frantic rhythm.

Matt pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting our mouths. His eyes were wild with lust as he looked down at me, his chest heaving. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hips never stopping their relentless motion.

I looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, my gaze taking in the changes to his face. His dark hair was damp with sweat, strands plastered to his forehead. The black eye paint he’d worn was smudged.

The dark lines ran down his cheeks like tears, giving him a wild, untamed appearance. His jaw was clenched, the muscles bunching and releasing with each powerful thrust.

“Oh god, Matt! Oh god!” I cried out, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure crashed over me. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” I chanted, my head thrashing from side to side on the pillow as he pounded into me.

Matt's hands flew to the bed beside my head, his fingers curling into the sheets as he propped himself up. He began to thrust faster and harder, his hips jackhammering between my thighs. “Cum for me, baby,” he grunted, his jaw clenched.

He leaned forward, his head fitting perfectly between my neck and shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his back, holding on for dear life as he fucked me with reckless abandon. The bed creaked and groaned beneath their combined weight, the slapping of their skin echoing through the room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Matt bellowed, his voice raw and husky. “Take it, baby! Take my fucking cock!” I screamed in response, my voice hoarse from all the loud moaning. “YES! YES! FUCK ME HARDER, MATT!”

Matt’s hand left the bed, moving to press down on my stomach. He pushed me into the mattress as he continued his relentless pace, his other hand still propping himself up. The new angle allowed him to go even deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside me. “Oh god, right there!”

“This is what you wanted, isn't it?” Matt growled, his hips slamming forward. “Wanted my cock so bad that you had us leave Chris and Nick behind. Couldn't even behave and control yourself.” He punctuated his words with particularly hard thrusts. “And here we are.”I whimpered, my hands clutching at his back as I tried to hold back. "P-Please, Matt...It's too...It's too intense..."He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. "You can take it, baby."

“You better take it all now, like you were asking for it,” he continued, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “Gonna fill this tight little pussy up. Make you scream my name.” His hand on my stomach pressed down harder, forcing me to arch into his thrusts.

His words, combined with the new angle and his powerful movements, pushed me closer and closer to the edge. “Matt...Matt, it’s too much...I can’t...I’m gonna...” My words dissolved into incoherent babbling as he continued to pound into me.

“Hold it,” Matt grunted. “Hold it until I say you can let go.” His pace increased, his hips a blur as he pistoned in and out of me. “You’ll cum when I say you can, understand?”

I whimpered, my hands clutching at his back as I tried to hold back. “Please, Matt...It’ too...It’s too intense...” He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. “You can take it, baby.”

His words gave me strength, and I clenched my teeth, determined to hold back despite the overwhelming sensation. My body shook with the effort, my nails digging into his back. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice low and approving.

He continued to fuck me at a frantic pace, his thrusts hitting that perfect spot over and over. I could feel my orgasm building, coiling tight in my core. I was so close, but I held back, refusing to let go until he gave the okay.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Matt paused, his hips frozen mid-thrust. He held me in place, his cock buried deep inside me. “Now,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. “Let go.”

I screamed as my orgasm ripped through me, my body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. Matt didn't hold back, fucking me through my climax with relentless force. His own release followed soon after, his cock pulsing inside me as he filled me with his hot seed.

“Fuck, yes!” Matt groaned, his hips jerking as he came. I moaned long and loud, my inner walls fluttering around his shaft, milking every last drop. Our combined moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure as we rode out our intense orgasms together.

As the last tremors of his release subsided, Matt collapsed forward, catching himself on his elbows to keep from crushing me. He buried his face against my neck, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “Wow.” His voice was a mere whisper against my skin.

I could only whimper in response, my body still quaking with aftershocks. Matt pressed soft kisses along my neck and jaw as we lay there, basking in the afterglow. “That was incredible,” he murmured, slowly pulling out of me.

Matt carefully extracted himself from me and got off the bed. I heard the faucet run in the bathroom, and a moment later, he returned with a warm, damp washcloth. He gently cleaned me up, his touch tender and caring. “You okay, baby?”

I nodded, a soft smile on my face as I looked up at him. “Mmhmm. That was... intense.” I stretched languidly, feeling deliciously used in the best possible way. Matt chuckled, tossing the rag into his laundry basket and crawling back into bed with me.

Matt pulled the sheets over us, tucking me against his side. “Well, it's what you wanted,” he said, a playful edge to his voice. “And I gave it to you.” He nuzzled my hair, his arms wrapped protectively around me.

I groaned, “I’m going to have such a big headache and hangover in the morning.” Matt kissed the top of my head. “I’ll get you some hangover pills and water later, just rest for now.”

I felt the comforting warmth of Matt's body behind me, his chest against my back. His arms wrapped around me tightly, his face pressed into the crook of my neck, inhaling the familiar scent of my hair. As I closed my eyes, the exhaustion and alcohol finally claiming me, the sound of his steady breath lulled me into a deep slumber.

I woke up to the sound of rustling and the closet opening. I turned around, my eyes still heavy with sleep, and found Matt shuffling through the hangers, searching for a top. He was already dressed in sweatpants, his hair mussed from sleep, and his muscular back was on full display.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes, shifting slightly in the bed as I watched Matt rummage through his closet. “Where are you going?” I asked, my voice raspy from sleep, my words a sleepy murmur.

Matt paused, grabbing a red crewneck and pulling it over himself. “Chris called, said him and Nick need to be picked up,” he replied, his tone casual. He continued rummaging for a second, his gaze focused on the closet as if he was looking for something else.

Meanwhile, I snuggled deeper into the blankets, still drowsy from sleep. “What time is it?” I asked, stifling a tired yawn, my body half hidden beneath the covers.

He closed his closet door and pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen. His voice was low and calm. “It's two in the morning,” he responded. He put his phone back into his pocket and started his search for his keys. He finally found his keys hidden underneath a pile of clothes and pocketed them.

As he moved around, I noticed the change and looked him up and down, my drowsy eyes picking up on the details. His hair was damp, the smell of shampoo lingering in the air, and his black eye paint, a telltale sign of his costume from the party, was completely gone, revealing his natural, chiselled features beneath.

“You showered,” I murmured, still half asleep, the observation slipping out despite the tiredness. Matt turned to face me, his hair tousled, his face devoid of the makeup. I saw the slight amusement in his eyes, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips.

Matt nodded, a small chuckle escaping him as he responded, “Yeah, the black eye paint was getting annoying and sticky.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back. “Had to wash it off,” he added.

He walked over to the bed, leaning against the frame as he looked down at me, his form silhouetted against the light. “Go back to sleep, baby,” he said quietly. His words were a soft whisper, his concern evident despite the nonchalance.

“Will you be back?” I murmured, my words slurred from the remnants of sleepiness. I couldn’t help but feel a hint of worry, wondering if he'd return to the warmth of the bed next to me.

Matt gave a reassuring nod, his voice gentle. “Of course I will, just have to go get Chris and Nick,” he murmured, his tone comforting. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

I felt a small smile tug at my lips, comforted by his words and his gentle touch. “Be safe,” I drowsy murmured, my eyes already closing again, tiredness weighing on my eyelids.

Matt leaned down and planted a soft peck on my lips, his lips lingering for a brief moment. “I will,” he whispered, his voice a soothing promise.

I opened my eyes slightly, my voice slightly pleading but drowsy. “Before you leave can you start the shower for me?” I murmured, my words slurred with sleep.

Matt's expression softened, concern evident in his eyes. He asked, a hint of worry in his voice, “Are you sure? You won’t fall or anything while I’m gone, will you?” It was clear he was concerned for my state, even if I was only half asleep and slightly out of it.

I nodded, a sleepy smile on my lips, my eyes still half-open as I reassured him, “I won’t fall. Just start it for me, please.” My voice was soft and drowsy, the promise of a warm shower before he returned sounding too nice to pass up, even in my tired state.

Matt gave a small sigh, his expression momentarily softening at the sight of my drowsy state. He nodded, his voice gentle. “All right, just let the water heat up and you know where the towel is. Careful, okay? I’ll be back soon,” he said quietly, his words a whispered promise, his hand brushing against my cheek.

With that, he pushed back from the bed, pausing for a moment to watch me as he walked out of the room and into the hallway. The faint sound of water turning on could be heard as the shower warmed up for me, and then the garage door closed, signaling Matt leaving to go get Chris and Nick.

After finishing, I threw on one of Matt's hoodies and a pair of sweatpants, feeling comforted by his familiar scent. I made my way back to the bedroom and crawled back into bed, the comforting familiarity of our shared space soothing.

As I lay there, waiting for Matt, I felt the bed dip slightly beside me, the mattress shifting under the added weight. Warm breath caressed my neck, the faint hints of the night air on his sweatshirt-clad body. His arms wrapped around me as he settled in behind me, his body slotting against my back like it belonged there.

I felt the warmth of his body press against me, comforting and familiar in its presence. He held me closer, his arms securely wrapped around my waist, his nose nuzzling against my neck. His breath was steady and I could sense him letting out a soft sigh, relieved to be back.

Matt whispered playfully against my neck, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Stealing my hoodie, I see,” he murmured, his tone light and teasing. His arm tightened around me, a gentle squeeze that communicated his subtle approval.

“Guilty as charged,” I murmured in response, my voice drowsy but playful in tone. My hands found his, interlacing our fingers as I nestled against him, finding comfort in the warmth and safety of his embrace.

I shifted, turning around to face him, my body nestling closer against his. I grabbed his arm, pulling it over me, draping it like a comforting blanket. My head rested against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart in the quiet room.

He adjusted slightly, pulling me even closer, his arm wrapping around my waist protectively. He kissed the top of my head, holding me in a gentle yet firm embrace, the gesture both possessive and comforting. His fingers traced slow circles on my back, the soft touch an unspoken form of reassurance and affection.

A/N: HAPPY (late) HALLOWEEN!! — FOR @st6rify ❤︎︎

TAGS: @st6rify ✮⋆˙ @jetaimevous ✮⋆˙ @certifiedstarrr ✮⋆˙ @slvtf0rchr1s ✮⋆˙ @l3sbiancvnt ✮⋆˙ @wh0remikasas ✮⋆˙ @r0s3luvr

── .✦ MASTER—LIST ⭑𓂃

[misswynters]

Stormbound

Jacaerys Velaryon x pregnant!reader

[WARNING: pregnancy, mentions of difficult pregnancy terms, fluff

[SYNOPSIS: You were heavily pregnant as you and jace encounter a wild dragon while a storm raged on.

[NOTE: you had poor jace stressed out, we love jace being protective over the reader: also if you would like something specific, send an ask!

"Where are they?" he muttered to himself, running a hand through his dark curls. The maesters had assured him that everything was fine, but he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled in his chest.

Your pregnancy had been difficult, and the tension had taken its toll on Jacaerys. He had tried to be strong for you, but the fear of losing you, or the child, was ever-present. He couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you both.

Just as he was about to go in search of you again, the doors to the hall creaked open, and you stepped inside. Despite the strain of pregnancy, you carried yourself with the grace and strength he had always admired. Your hand rested protectively on your swollen belly, and your face lit up with a tired but genuine smile when you saw him.

"Jace," you said softly, your voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.

He rushed to your side, his hands immediately going to your belly. "Where have you been? I was worried sick."

You laughed lightly, the sound easing some of his tension. "I just needed some fresh air. The castle can feel so confining sometimes."

He sighed, pulling you into a gentle embrace. "You should have told me. I would have gone with you."

"I know, but you worry too much," you replied, leaning into him. "I wanted a moment to myself. Besides, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Jacaerys pressed a kiss to your forehead, his heart swelling with love and protectiveness. "I know you are. But I can't help it. I love you too much to let anything happen to you."

You smiled up at him, your eyes filled with warmth. "And I love you, Jace. But you need to relax. Stress isn't good for either of us."

He nodded, though the worry didn't entirely leave his eyes. "Alright. Let's find somewhere quiet. I need to feel you and the baby close."

Hand in hand, you led him out of the grand hall and towards the more secluded parts of Dragonstone. The storm outside raged on, but within the castle, it felt as if the two of you were in your own world. The soft glow of torches lit your way, casting flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls.

You reached a small alcove near the courtyard, a place where you had spent many quiet moments together. Jacaerys helped you settle onto a bench, his hand never leaving yours.

"You know," you began, your voice soft and contemplative, "I sometimes wonder what it would be like to just... leave all of this behind. To take our child and live a simple life, away from the responsibilities and the danger."

Jacaerys looked at you, surprise flickering across his face. "You've never mentioned that before."

You shrugged, a wistful smile on your lips. "It's just a thought. I know we have our duties, and I wouldn't trade our life here for anything. But sometimes, it's nice to imagine a different path."

He squeezed your hand, his gaze intense and loving. "If that's what you want, we'll find a way. Your happiness means everything to me."

You shook your head, a gentle laugh escaping your lips. "No, Jace. This is our home, and we belong here. But it doesn't hurt to dream, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," he agreed, pulling you closer. "As long as we have each other, we can face anything."

For a while, you sat together in comfortable silence, listening to the distant roar of the storm and the crackle of the torches. The tension that had gripped Jacaerys slowly began to fade, replaced by a sense of peace.

But peace was a fleeting thing in times of war and unrest. As the storm continued to rage outside, a distant, echoing roar pierced the night. Jacaerys tensed, his protective instincts flaring to life. "Did you hear that?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.

You nodded, your own heart racing. "What was it?"

"Stay here," he commanded, rising to his feet. "I'll go check."

"No," you protested, grabbing his arm. "I'm coming with you."

"___, you're pregnant," he began, but the look in your eyes silenced him. "Alright. But stay close to me."

Together, you made your way through the castle, following the eerie sound. The further you went, the louder the roar became, until you found yourselves standing at the entrance to the courtyard.

And there, in the middle of the storm, was a dragon unlike any you had ever seen. It was massive, nearly as large as Vhagar but with a wild, untamed look in its eyes. Its scales were a deep, iridescent purple, shimmering in the lightning flashes.

"Aero," Jacaerys whispered, awe and fear in his voice. "The Catastrophe."

You had heard of Aero, the wild dragon that roamed the skies near Dragonstone, but seeing it in person was an entirely different experience. The dragon's presence was overwhelming, and for a moment, you were frozen in place.

But Jacaerys didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, his voice steady and calm despite the fear in his eyes. "Aero," he called out, "we mean you no harm."

The dragon turned its gaze towards you both, its eyes glowing with an almost intelligent curiosity. It took a step forward, and Jacaerys instinctively moved in front of you, shielding you with his body.

"Jace," you whispered, fear gripping your heart.

"It's alright," he said, his voice firm. "Just stay behind me."

Aero lowered its massive head, sniffing the air around you. For a moment, it seemed as if the dragon was considering whether to attack or not. But then, with a huff that sent a gust of hot air over you both, Aero turned and took to the skies, disappearing into the storm.

Jacaerys let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, turning to pull you into his arms. "Are you alright?"

You nodded, clinging to him. "Yes. That was... incredible. And terrifying."

He chuckled, though the tension hadn't entirely left his body. "That's one way to put it. I can't believe we just saw Aero up close."

You leaned into him, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. "We should get back inside. The maesters will have our heads if they find out we were out here."

He nodded, but didn't move to leave. Instead, he held you close, his hand resting on your belly. "I'm so glad you're safe," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

You kissed him gently, your heart full of love for this brave, protective man. "I am. Thanks to you."

As you made your way back inside, the storm began to die down, leaving a sense of calm in its wake. Jacaerys was still tense, but the fear had been replaced by a fierce determination to protect you and your unborn child. Later that night, as you lay in bed, Jacaerys held you close, his hand never leaving your belly. The events of the evening had only strengthened his resolve to keep you safe, no matter what.

"___," he murmured, his voice soft in the darkness. "I promise you, I will always protect you and our babe. No matter what it takes."

You smiled, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. "I know you will, Jace. You will be a fine father."

In the quiet of the night, with the storm finally gone, you both drifted off to sleep, your hearts full of love and hope for the future.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood

banner by: @cafekitsune

[adispit]

The Crown (100 followers special!)

Alpha! Rival king x alpha king m! reader

content warnings: bitching, reader gets turned into an omega against his will, noncon turned heavy dubcon, reader isn’t in the right of mind, breeding, dirty talk, degradation, cream pie, knotting, overstimulation, pwp, belly bulge

note: kinda went ham writing this wtf lmfao, anyways enjoy!

The tension in the room was palpable. As the one who wore the crown, your duty was just as heavy as the ornate gems that emboldened it. You were a young and green alpha, barely an adult at the ripe age of 18. Hastily made king, as your many brothers in line and father fell in the decades long battle against the opposing kingdom, your choice didn’t matter. The country needed someone to govern as soon as possible and you as the sole remaining heir was responsible. The whispers and scrutiny of the court didn’t help much either, the weight of responsibility of your decisions over the people and the waging war kept you awake at night, cold sweat dripping from your temples as you could almost hear the cries of your fellow soldiers perishing in battle.

Which took you into the present moment, where a heated debate was taking place of the next action that should be taken for the strife between your country and the rival nation. You sat in the heavy, intricately carved throne that seemed to press down on you, both a symbol of your power and a reminder of the immense responsibility you bore. The room was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long, uneasy shadows on the stone walls. Around you, the advisors were gathered, their voices a murmur of concern and debate. “Thousand of soldiers have fallen in battle, we can’t take any more losses!” One of the advisors, his name you couldn’t really remember, argued fiercely with a hint of urgency. “The enemy is approaching closer day by day and the people are starving, we must surrender now to avoid total destruction!”

“Surrender?! That would cut off all means of escape! And you can’t possibly guarantee under the rule of the enemy’s rule, our people will be able to live peacefully!” Another advisor shot back, her voice sharp with defiance. Shifting uneasily on the throne, you felt the weight of their expectations bearing down on you. The advisors’ voices clashed, each presenting their case with unwavering conviction. Maps and documents spread out on the table before you seemed to blur as you struggled to focus on the conflicting arguments. Finally, you spoke, fingers drumming nervously on the table as you tried keep a steady tone amid the clamour. “How are you sure that surrender is the only viable option we have to take?” Your voice strained as you fidgeted restlessly.

The first advisor spoke, his gaze was intense, filled with concern. “The enemy’s forces are overwhelming. Continuing to resist will only lead to greater devastation. Surrender is the most rational choice to save lives.”The other advisor leaned closer, her eyes filled with determination. “We have not explored every diplomatic avenue. Surrender might be seen as defeat, but if we negotiate from a position of strength, we could secure better terms.” The room fell into a tense silence as every gaze fell upon you, the choice to surrender or negotiate hung heavily in the air.

However, you chose neither. “I have heard your concerns and arguments,” you began, your voice filled with unusual resolve. “We will not surrender.” Gasps echoed throughout the room as the disapproving gazes began pouring in but you pushed on. “As your king, no matter the outcome in this long war, we will push to the end. If we must fall, let it be with the knowledge that we fought to the last breath for our sovereignty and our principles. We will defend our country with all that we have, even if it means facing doom.” You were exhausted, the war taken its toll on you and you just wanted it to end. “Your majesty! You don’t understand, we-“ “Silence! This is an order from your king. I will now retire to my chambers.” Leaving no room for argument, you slipped away to the privacy and peace of your quarters, away from the shouts and protests of your counsel.

Chucking the heavy crown aside, you sank in your chair with a deep sigh. The flickering candlelight illuminating your weary face, an expression now often seen ever since you took on the role of king a few months ago. Absentmindedly tracing the patterns of the chair, the advisors arguments burst through your mind, doubt and despair both trapping you. God, not even having a moment to yourself was possible in the castle. You seriously needed a break from all the chaos, so you decided to slip out under the cover of night from the castle to the nearby forest, at the very edge of the country’s borders to seek some time to yourself.

As leaves crunched under your every step, the moon cast a gentle silvery glow over your cloaked form. The leaves in the tree branches rustled softly from the occasional breeze, the peace and quiet bringing about a pleasant atmosphere as you trekked through the woods. Arriving at a small clearing where a babbling creek lay, you finally let out an exhale you had been holding. Under the canopy of the stars, and no one around to constantly screech the phrase “Your Majesty!”, the sense of freedom you felt was truly unmatched. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to at least let out your worries, there wasn’t anyone around anyways… “Damn those old farts, it’s not like I even wanted to be king! I can literally see the court eyeing me like a piece of meat every time they argue about the war like I’m some kind of idiot! God, sometimes I wish I was just some simple commoner!” Fueled by your sudden rage, words rushed out your mouth, the confusion and rage you had held in for so long finally let out.

Oh. That actually felt…good. Unfortunately before you could continue, a voice interrupted you, “Your Majesty, are you okay…?” Whipping your head around, you were greeted at a sight of a golden-haired man donned in a commoner’s garb, standing there awkwardly at the entrance of the clearing. Caught off guard, you stumbled over your words, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Well, I …uh…! Sorry, you had to see that… that was pretty embarrassing of me haha…” You rubbed your neck sheepishly, mortified that one of your subjects had seen you so vulnerable. There was a heavy pause as your words hung in the air. The man’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, his tone empathetic. "Your Majesty, we all have our burdens. There’s nothing wrong with sharing your troubles. If you don’t mind sharing some of your problems with this humble subject, I would be happy to listen.”

The man’s unexpected understanding and calm demeanor helped ground you. Word after word, you shared about how you feel, the weight of the crown and its decisions, and the man patiently listened. Hours passed and you learnt the man’s name was Leo and he was an alpha. “Leo, thanks so much for listening to me.” You smiled shyly at him. “Not to mention, you’re really handsome too, I bet a girl or two would be interested in a guy who is as caring and good looking as you. Well too bad, I’m a male, an alpha and the king at that. Alphas can’t really be together.” You joked, failing to catch a brief piercing look that flashed in his eyes before he reverted back to his gentle expression at what you said. “No problem, Your Majesty, the pleasure is all mine.” He bowed. “I am glad you were able to feel better, but I must go. See you around.” Waving at him, you watched as he left the clearing. Weird, you never saw his face before in the servants of the castle…why did he say see you around? Oh well, you brushed it off as you headed back to the castle, it didn’t really matter.

As you approached the castle, you were greeted by the sight of the once-grand fortress, now a dark silhouette against the burning sky, that was surrounded by enemy forces. Smoke billowed from the battlements, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of battle. Panic and despair filled you, as their king where had you been? Shirking your responsibilities and leaving your own subjects vulnerable! Your heart sank as you rushed into the fray of battle where the throne room lay, as multiple corpses of your former subjects lay there, a stifling numbness filled you. Gritting your teeth, you decided to fight to the end and honour your words as their king. Brandishing your sword, you swung at the enemy soldiers, desperately seeking revenge for your fallen subjects. Unfortunately, resistance was futile at this point, most of your soldiers were dead. The enemy soldiers recognised you as the king and immediately incapacitated you. Just before you passed out, you swore you could see a familiar smile on someone approaching you.

“—— needs to be done.” “That’s not——!” You jolt awake to the sharp, discordant murmur of voices. Groggy and disoriented, you struggle to make sense of your surroundings around you. The invasion! Wide awake, you opened your eyes to see the familiar throne room and your wrists bound together as you sat on the throne. Enemy soldiers surrounded the hall as a golden-haired man in regal attire seemed to be having a conversation with someone. Wait. No way. Was it- “Leo!” You blurted out involuntarily. Noticing that you were awake, the man gestured for the other person and the soldiers to leave as he walked in your direction. As he came closer, his cerulean eyes met your shocked gaze, there was no mistaking it. He was Leo, the man you had confided in hours ago.

The kind expression on his face you had seen was now replaced with a taunting smirk, a sharp contrast to his former soothing demeanour. A wave of disbelief washed over you, leaving you momentarily paralysed. Tilting your chin up with his hand, he smiled evilly. “Oh, you naive thing. (Name), you were just pouring your heart out to me as your subjects were ruthlessly slaughtered…you truly are a great king…” An almost psychotic giggle left him as he sneered at you. “I was honestly surprised. I thought you were be more well, less stupid. It’s almost adorable really! To not even do your research about the very king that you were at war with, your innocence was so cute.” Disdain was evident in his tone as he made cruel jab after cruel jab at you.

“Just kill me.” You snarled at him, a fierce defiance radiating as you bared your fangs at him. However, your words seemed to take on the opposite effect of what you wanted as he only cooed at you mockingly. “Now, now, I can’t possibly do that. You were so cute in trusting me, I can’t possibly let you go now!” He grinned with malicious intent, his thoughts unpredictable as you glared at him. “The elders at home have been bothering me about getting a wife lately, and you seem to like me after our first meeting so why not make you my bitch.” He beamed malevolently, making sure to enunciate every word clearly.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Bitch? Well, you certainly didn’t like that as you let out a guttural growl at that suggestion, your pride as an alpha rising up. “Quiet.” Leo shushed you almost as you were a disobedient child. Grabbing you with almost inhuman strength, you flailed as he hoisted you on his lap with your back facing him. Terror quickly set in as he began sniffing your nape where your scent gland was, his canines lightly grazing it. One bite and it was over. You wouldn’t be an alpha anymore and instead be bound to the very man that slaughtered your people. In a fit of fear, you began frantically struggling as you pleaded with him. “Leo! Please don’t-!” However, it was to no avail as he snorted back with a snarky “No.” He sunk his teeth into your gland, biting down with as much force he could humanly muster. The harsh pain ripping a pained whine from your throat as you scrambled at the air to grip onto anything to ground you. An intense heat began to envelop you, further intensifying your discomfort.

The bite took immediate effect, heat rushing through your veins as you felt your body beginning to change. Agony shot through you as the forced change to your secondary gender was initiated, a relentless wave of pain that refused to ebb. Your once sharp canines that served to give a mating bite shrunk along with your cock, turning into an omega’s tiny cock. Your unused hole began to leak runny slick through your pants, a sign that the bitching had been successful and your first heat as an omega was about to begin. Weakly twitching against Leo, your muscles felt like stone as all your strength was sapped from you. Satisfied with his work, Leo hummed as he licked the bite in satisfaction.

As the pain shifted to an insatiable need to be filled, you unconsciously grinded against the huge tent forming in his pants, seeking reprise from the unfamiliar heat you felt, your slick wetting his crotch. You whimpered, your newly turned body eager to be filled and fucked. Turning you around to face him, Leo tore off your pants impatiently, eager to see the results of his bitching. “Fuck, your dick has really turned into an omega’s useless cock!” He jeered as he thumbed at the slit at the head of your dick, pearly pre-cum forming at the tip. “F-fuck you…” You spat back, struggling to regain your senses in your lust hazed state. He smirked back, his fingers dextrously rubbing your cock in response. “S-stop!” You cried out, the rim of your eyes red. The humiliation of being bitched and getting jerked off was too much. Coupled with the fact you were a virgin, the pleasure immediately began to fill your frayed nerves. With your senses heightened by your heat, you came almost seconds after, the knot in your stomach tightening and breaking as you dirtied your shirt with a loud moan.

Hands moving away from your weeping cock, he spread your rim dripping with slick open. “It’s like a waterfall…” Muttering, he wet his fingers with your slick before slipping in a finger. The calluses on his finger served as delicious stimulation as they rubbed against your sensitive walls, trying to find your prostrate. Biting your lips, you tried to hold your moans in, not letting him have any satisfaction. Your attempts at resistance were once again futile as he quickly found your prostrate and began to abuse it relentlessly, slipping in another finger. Once again, you felt the familiar singsong of ecstasy rush through you as the pressure in your stomach tightened. “Gh! Ngh—no! D-don’t wanna cum again!” You sobbed as he mercilessly grinded away at your prostrate, crying out as cum shot out from your dick for the second time.

His fingers pulled out as he shared a kiss with you, hot tongue twisting and dominating your mouth. Caught up in the kiss, you didn’t notice him freeing his cock which was now circling your hole. The sudden intrusion had you gasping and pulling away as the blunt head of his cock slipped out from your movements. He grunted at you, annoyed as his cock throbbed impatiently. You shook your head at him desperately as your throat was too dry to form words. A sudden gentle expression formed on his face, “Okay, then if you don’t want it, I won’t force it.” He smiled, almost saint-like. You should have felt joy at what he said but only disappointment filled you. Why did you feel disappointed?! The growing emptiness in you made you restless as your instincts cried at you to make your mated alpha put his dick in you deep and knot you.

Conflicted, you stared at him blankly. “Tell me, do you want it or not?” He chuckled carefree, almost as if his cock wasn’t rock hard in front of you. The intense need to be filled overwhelmed your senses, you needed to be bred. Desperation and horniness got the better of you as you as you nodded your head, hole clenching in response. “Use your words.” He scowled in displeasure. Eager to please your alpha, you tossed aside your pride and shame as you uttered a low yes. In a split second, you felt his monstrous cock stretch you open and then white. You had squirted all over him just from penetration. Your mouth gaped as your eyes glazed over, the repeated orgasms leaving you twitching around the fat dick driving into you. “Shit.” He huffed, smug, and gripped your waist as he bounced you up and down his fat dick. “Ah! Ah- ugh!” Whimpers bubbled from your throat as you swore you saw stars from how hard he was thrusting into you, your prostrate kissed again and again. Watching your flesh ripple as his hips snapped against yours, Leo spurred on, your cries exciting him further.

Indescribable satisfaction filled you as he grinded his hips into you, making sure to go deep and bully your sensitive innards, making you pulse around his cock uncontrollably. “You like that, huh.” He growled, voice dropping an octave as he began relentlessly pounding, determined to sate his desire. It didn’t help that he had an incredibly strong stamina, making you orgasm multiple times, your voice too hoarse to even cry out. “Gonna wife you up, put my kids in you.” He groaned, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as the brutal pace of his cock began to stutter and slow down as the base of his dick began to swell. He was going to knot you. Roughly shoving his swelling knot in your hole, the burn and friction against your insides made you mewl in pleasure.

You attempted to move Leo’s hands away, but when that didn’t work, you tried to crawl off the dick destroying your insides. Tears fell from your eyes, your little cock not being able to keep up with the pleasure continuing to wrack his body. He felt you trying to pull away and grabbed you by the base of your throat, pulling his ass flush against his thighs. Leo continued to obliterate your hole, his other hand reaching down to wrap around the tiny dick. He jerked you in time with his thrusts, licking around the scent gland. 

“Don’t run from it. Take it like a good little wife.”

Finally, the moment came. The mast of his swollen knot locked you both together as he sheathed himself in to the hilt. You slurred incoherently as he began stuffing you full of his cum, a small bulge forming on your stomach. In a rare moment of reprieve, he gently placed his hands against your distending stomach as waves of cum were pumped into you. Trapped in a tight bear hug, your yowls of ecstasy drowned out his moans as you both came together. Barely conscious from the rough fucking you just had, your head lolled to the side on his shoulder.

Breathing in his scent as your hole hugged his cock, you swore you were going to kill him. A small hoarse “fuck you” left your lips before you drifted off to sleep, eliciting an amused laugh from him.

note: well that was it haha, Leo’s a bitch lol 💀. Tried a more descriptive writing style this time, hope u enjoyed the fic :)

Reblogs are appreciated! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

check out part 2 !

see some headcanons about him!

[goldfades]

PLAYING WITH FIRE──FATHER CHARLIE

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for this request

─ summary | a preacher's daughter becomes involved in a secret and passionate affair with a priest, challenging her strict upbringing and the expectations of her family and faith.

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x preacher's daughter!reader

─ warnings | NSFW (with plot) under the cut. fingering, heavy make-out sessions, praise/degradation?

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Your father always said the church was supposed to be your sanctuary.

From the time you were old enough to sit still on a pew, the towering stained glass windows and the echo of hymns in the vaulted ceiling had been your world. Every sermon, every candlelit service, every whispered prayer had woven itself into the fabric of your life, wrapping you in a cloak of devotion that felt as natural as breathing.

Now, standing in the shadow of the altar, that cloak felt a little too tight.

The evening light filtered through the stained glass, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the stone floors. Blues and golds stretched in long, quiet beams, like the church itself was holding its breath. Outside, the world was settling into the calm of twilight, but inside, the silence felt heavier than usual. It pressed down on your shoulders, thick and stifling.

You stood there, fingertips grazing the smooth surface of the wooden pew in front of you. The familiar scent of incense and old books filled your lungs as you breathed in deeply, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had been crawling under your skin for weeks now. Something was different, though you couldn’t quite place it. The church, once a place of comfort, now felt... constricting. Maybe it was the weight of expectation—or maybe it was something else entirely, something you didn’t dare to name yet.

Your gaze drifted to the large crucifix at the front of the room, eyes tracing the well-worn details of it, the soft glow of candlelight flickering at its base. You were supposed to feel something here. Reverence. Peace. But instead, a knot twisted in your chest, a tangle of emotions you couldn’t unravel.

Footsteps echoed behind you, soft but deliberate, the sound pulling you back to the present. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel his presence like the air had shifted, like the temperature in the room dropped just a fraction of a degree.

“Evening service is in an hour.”

Father Charlie’s voice, smooth and low, cut through the silence, brushing against the nape of your neck like a whisper. You swallowed, your pulse quickening, though you weren’t entirely sure why. He always had that effect on you, though you told yourself it was nothing. Just nerves. Just... respect. Nothing more.

You turned to face him, forcing a smile as you nodded. “I know. I just... wanted a moment before the crowd comes in.”

His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary, and something in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was the way you felt when he did, like you were being seen for the first time, like every carefully crafted piece of who you were might unravel if you weren’t careful.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice still soft, but there was an edge to it now, something unspoken that hung in the air between you.

You looked away quickly, your fingers curling tighter around the pew. Your father’s words echoed in your mind, reminding you of your duty, of your place. You were the preacher’s daughter, after all. Everything about your life was tied to this church, to your father’s legacy, to the faith you were supposed to uphold with unwavering loyalty.

But then why did it feel like everything was starting to crack?

You forced yourself to stand taller, clearing your throat as you spoke again, your voice quieter this time. “I should probably go help with preparations.”

“Right,” Charlie said, though he didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you.

The silence stretched between you once more, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and unspoken. Something was shifting, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

───

College had opened a thousand new doors for you, each one leading you further away from the world you had known for so long. The freedom was intoxicating—more than you could have imagined. Late nights spent in libraries, impromptu road trips with friends, a city that felt alive beneath your feet, humming with possibilities you had never considered. For the first time in your life, you weren’t tethered to the expectations of your family, the expectations of the church.

But even as you explored new ideas, met people who challenged the beliefs you had grown up with, and carved out space for yourself in a world much bigger than the small town you’d left behind, something kept pulling you back. A tug, a whisper, a lingering sense of obligation that gnawed at you when the campus quieted down in the early hours of the morning.

It wasn’t just the faith you were raised in that haunted you; it was the weight of your father’s voice echoing in your head, the way he spoke about duty, commitment, and sacrifice. His sermons had always been about more than just scripture—they were about life, about how the world tested you, how sin was a slippery slope. How it could seduce you without you even realizing it.

You thought you could ignore it for a while, push the thoughts aside as you embraced everything new. But when the holidays came and you found yourself back home, the old routines settled over you like a heavy coat. The Sunday services, the church events, the constant watchful eyes of the congregation. You could feel them all waiting, wondering if the preacher’s daughter had come back changed, if the world had gotten to you.

And then, there was Father Charlie.

You hadn’t expected to see him again—not like this, not after everything had shifted inside of you. College had given you new perspectives, yes, but it hadn’t prepared you for the way your pulse raced the moment you saw him standing in the front of the church, speaking with your father as if everything was still the same.

But it wasn’t.

Charlie looked different. Or maybe you did. He was older now, though not by much, and there was a certain weight in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just his sermons or the way he carried himself with that steady, unshakable calm; it was the way his gaze lingered on you, the way it seemed like he could see through the mask you were trying so hard to keep up.

You’d always known him as the priest who helped your father, the man who had been an almost constant presence in your home, at dinners, at family gatherings. He was someone you trusted, someone you never questioned. Until now.

There was something about him now, something that made the air feel too thick when you were in the same room. Maybe it was because you had changed, maybe it was because you had seen more of the world and realized how small the one you left behind had been. Or maybe it was because for the first time, you were looking at him not through the lens of innocence and trust, but through something darker. Something you weren’t ready to name.

It started innocently enough—helping your father prepare for services, catching up with old friends from the congregation, falling back into the role of the dutiful daughter. You had perfected that role long ago, and slipping back into it felt almost too easy, like muscle memory. But every time you caught a glimpse of Charlie, that mask cracked just a little more.

You told yourself it was nothing, that it was just the stress of being home again, of reconciling who you were now with who you had been before. But it wasn’t long before you found yourself lingering after church events, staying late to help clean up, just to see if he’d still be there. Just to see if his eyes would meet yours again, if that strange, unspoken tension between you would return.

And it always did.

It was subtle at first, the way he looked at you from across the room, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long before he turned away. You tried to convince yourself you were imagining it, that it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But then there were the conversations, those moments when the two of you were alone in the church hall, the only sound the distant hum of people outside. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way he leaned in just a fraction too close, the way his hand brushed yours when you passed him something.

It was nothing. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But one evening, after a particularly long meeting at the church, when everyone else had left and you were gathering your things, you turned around to find him standing in the doorway, watching you.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. The look in his eyes was different this time—darker, more intense. There was something there that you hadn’t seen before, or maybe something you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as you tried to gather your thoughts. “It’s home,” you replied, though even you could hear the uncertainty in your own voice.

He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. The sound of it clicking shut seemed to echo in the silence, making the space between you feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to find something, some answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet.

You should have felt uncomfortable. You should have made some excuse to leave, to get out of there before whatever this was could unfold. But instead, you stayed rooted to the spot, your breath shallow, your heart racing in your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.

Your heart skipped another beat, a wave of heat washing over you at his words. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to say to the man standing in front of you—the man who had always been so steady, so composed, and now looked like he was standing on the edge of something dangerous.

“Charlie, I—”

“I know,” he interrupted, taking another step closer, his eyes still locked on yours. “I know this is... complicated.”

Complicated didn’t even begin to cover it. He was a priest. You were the preacher’s daughter. There were rules, lines that couldn’t be crossed, things that couldn’t be said.

But here you were, standing in the quiet of the church, and those lines had never felt more blurred.

It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. You knew it deep down, felt it in the pit of your stomach. He was a man of God, your father’s closest confidant, the last person you should have these thoughts about. And yet, here he was—standing before you, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch, like you were the only person in the world at that moment.

He was too close now. You could smell the faint scent of incense still clinging to his clothes, could see the slight furrow in his brow as he struggled to keep his composure. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the muted shuffle of footsteps outside the room.

You should leave. You needed to. But instead, you found yourself taking a slow, steady breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

“I don’t know what’s happening here,” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible.

Charlie exhaled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Neither do I,” he admitted, his voice low, almost broken. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy and dangerous. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be a man above these temptations, above human desires. And you were supposed to be someone who understood that, who respected the boundaries that came with it. But somehow, those boundaries had started to blur long before either of you realized.

His hand twitched at his side, like he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch you, to close the distance between you. For a moment, you thought he might actually do it. That he might cross that final line. But he hesitated, clenching his fist as if to hold himself back.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered under his breath, taking a small step backward, as if the space would help clear the growing storm between you.

You bit your lip, trying to find the right words, the right way to make sense of the tangled mess of emotions inside you. “Charlie...”

“Don’t,” he cut you off softly, shaking his head. “You don’t understand how wrong this is.”

His words hit you like a cold splash of water, but they didn’t stop the way your heart fluttered in your chest, or the way your stomach twisted with something dangerous. You knew he was right. This was wrong, on every level. And yet, the way he looked at you, the way his voice dropped when he said your name—it sent a shiver down your spine that you couldn’t ignore.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something darker—something you didn’t dare name out loud.

“Because,” he finally murmured, his voice thick with restrained emotion, “I can’t help it.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words settle over you. It wasn’t the confession you had expected, and it wasn’t one that made things any easier. If anything, it only made the situation even more complicated.

“I should go,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to take a step back, to create some distance between you and the storm brewing in the space you shared.

That was all you said before turning around, and leaving the room.

───

You weren't sure how this had happened, but sure as hell did. Charlie's lips were on yours, pushing you into the door with force. You hummed into his lips, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

All you remember was his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. The world outside that door no longer existed, fading into a blur as Charlie’s lips moved against yours with a fervor that felt like it had been building for far too long.

All you remembered was the sound of your own heartbeat, pounding so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else—the quiet of the church hall, the soft creak of the door behind you, the whisper of your name on Charlie’s lips before everything had spiraled out of control.

You had always imagined this would be different, more hesitant, slower, maybe even sweet. But this? This was something else entirely. It was rushed, desperate, like both of you had been holding back for so long that the dam had finally broken, flooding every bit of restraint.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to close the gap between you entirely. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as if he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t. His lips were warm, insistent, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, surrendering to the pull you had resisted for so long.

The weight of what you were doing hit you in flashes—between the soft gasp that escaped your throat and the way Charlie’s breath hitched when you responded with equal need. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be doing this. But nothing had ever felt so... inevitable.

The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips, sending sparks through your body that only grew more intense the longer it went on. You could feel the tension radiating off of him, the battle he was fighting between what he knew was wrong and what he wanted more than anything at that moment.

It was a battle you were losing, too.

You broke away for a second, gasping for air as his forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily. His eyes—dark, conflicted, and filled with something so raw—locked onto yours. For a moment, the weight of what you’d just done hung between you.

But then, before either of you could think too much, his lips were back on yours, silencing any doubts. This time, softer.

This time, his kiss was slower, more deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. The urgency had dimmed just enough to let the moment stretch out, to let the reality of what was happening sink in. His hands traced a path from your hips to your waist, pulling you even closer, while his lips moved tenderly against yours, tasting you in a way that made your knees weak.

Your mind was a blur of sensations—the warmth of his breath, the soft friction of his body pressing into yours, the quiet hum of the world outside this stolen moment. Every touch, every kiss, felt like it was lighting a fire inside you that you couldn't put out, even if you tried.

But then, as his lips left yours to trail softly down your jawline, the weight of it all crashed down on you. What had you done? What were you doing?

“Charlie,” you whispered, your voice trembling as reality clawed its way back in. His name fell from your lips like a plea, though you weren’t sure if you were asking him to stop or to keep going.

He froze, his breath hot against your neck. For a long moment, he didn’t move, his hands still gripping your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Then, with a shuddering breath, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression filled with a storm of emotions—regret, desire, conflict, everything.

“I... I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. His eyes searched yours, as though he was looking for some kind of answer, some justification for the lines he had just crossed. “I shouldn’t have...”

You shook your head, still catching your breath, your hands sliding down from his shoulders. “No,” you whispered, feeling the heat in your cheeks. “Don’t apologize. I wanted this, too.”

Charlie swallowed hard, his gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes, torn between the undeniable truth of your words and the overwhelming guilt gnawing at him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he took a step back, running a hand through his hair as if to ground himself, to keep himself from falling further.

“We can’t do this,” he muttered, almost to himself, though the words were meant for both of you. “This... it’s wrong. It goes against everything.”

“Charlie,” you scoffed as you straightened up. “So what? So what if this is wrong, who said we can't have fun every once in a while?”

Charlie’s eyes darkened at your words, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his features. You watched as he clenched his jaw, wrestling with the temptation that you had just fanned back into life with that careless, reckless comment.

“Fun?” he repeated, his voice low and strained, almost like he couldn’t believe you had said it. “You think this is just fun?”

You tilted your head, shrugging, though you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. “Why not? Why does it have to be this heavy, guilt-ridden thing? It’s only wrong if we make it wrong.” Your voice was bold, but there was a trembling edge beneath it, one you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Charlie’s hand ran through his hair in frustration as he stared at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, taking a step closer, and for a moment, you saw the fire in his eyes again—the same fire that had pulled you both into this moment in the first place. “This isn’t just some game. You have no idea what you’re risking.”

You stepped forward, closing the distance again, the tension between you crackling like electricity. “I know exactly what I’m risking, Charlie. And I don’t care. Don’t you get that by now? I want this.”

For a split second, you saw the conflict in his eyes again, the internal war he was waging, but then his hand reached out, gripping your arm, pulling you closer. His breath was ragged as his forehead pressed against yours, his fingers tightening around you like he was holding on for dear life.

“You’re driving me insane,” he murmured, his voice thick with desperation. “This isn’t something we can just... play with. It’s wrong, and I—”

“Do you want me to stop?” you cut him off, your voice soft but firm, your lips inches from his.

Charlie’s breath hitched as his grip on you tightened even more. His eyes searched yours, the weight of the decision heavy between you both. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with anticipation, with the unspoken truth neither of you could deny anymore.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper, filled with all the tension and desire he had been trying so hard to suppress. “But I should. We should.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, and without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Then don’t.”

That was all it took.

In an instant, his resolve crumbled, and Charlie’s lips crashed into yours with a force that sent a shiver down your spine. All the restraint, all the guilt, evaporated in that single moment as his hands gripped you tighter, pulling you against him like he couldn’t get enough.

That was how this little affair had began. What started as a reckless act of rebellion, something thrilling and dangerous, had spiraled into something much bigger, something neither of you could have anticipated.

For Charlie, everything began to shift. At first, it was just the stolen kisses and the hurried, whispered moments behind locked doors. But then, gradually, you noticed the change in him—subtle at first, but undeniable as time went on. He wasn’t the same devout, principled man he’d been before. The conviction that once held him together was starting to unravel, and it wasn’t just about you anymore.

His sermons, once delivered with unshakable passion, began to falter. He spoke the words, but there was a hollowness to them now, a lack of fire that hadn’t been there before. The weight of his role as a priest no longer seemed to sit so heavily on his shoulders. It was as though he was slipping further away from the man he had been, day by day, like he had loosened his grip on the faith that had once defined him.

It wasn’t just in the church either. You saw it in his eyes, the way they lit up when he saw you, no longer clouded with guilt or hesitation. The same man who had once knelt in prayer for hours, seeking forgiveness for even the smallest of sins, now seemed to be the furthest thing from repentant. There was a spark in him that had nothing to do with religion—a hunger for something more, something that you had awakened in him.

You had become his escape, his release from the rigid life he had once lived. And it was clear that, for the first time in a long while, he was having fun. Real fun. The kind that made his eyes light up with a mischievous glint, the kind that left him grinning after each secret encounter. He was no longer the solemn, restrained Father Charlie that everyone in the church knew. Around you, he laughed more, joked more, and seemed more alive than he ever had before.

There was a recklessness to him now, a side of Charlie that had been hidden beneath layers of duty and piety. When you were together, it was as though none of the rules applied. His hands roamed freely, his lips found yours without hesitation, and the weight of his priesthood—the guilt that had once threatened to crush him—seemed to melt away with each touch, each kiss, each stolen moment.

He wasn’t praying for forgiveness anymore. He wasn’t praying for anything at all.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part of all. Charlie was slipping further and further away from the man he had been, from the role he had devoted his life to. But even as you saw him change, a part of you knew—you liked this version of him better. The one who wasn’t weighed down by morality, the one who let himself live, who let himself enjoy this, enjoy you.

Because, in truth, he had never seemed happier.

Then, your family's Christmas Eve dinner came and of course, Charlie would be invited. Your mother and father were practically buzzing with excitement—this was their biggest event of the year.

It would be in your home, just as it always was, with the dining room decked out in festive decorations. The smell of cinnamon, cloves, and roasting meat filled the air, and the flicker of candlelight danced along the walls. Your mother had spent days planning every detail, from the table settings to the perfect holiday playlist softly playing in the background. This was the night your family pulled out all the stops, and the guest of honor, of course, was none other than Father Charlie.

As you descended the stairs, dressed in a modest yet elegant outfit your mother had insisted upon, your stomach churned. The thought of Charlie sitting across from you, pretending nothing was happening between the two of you, made your skin prickle with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. You could already picture him, composed and serene, his priestly demeanor fully intact. But you knew better. Beneath the calm exterior, beneath the collar, there was a man who had unraveled, one you had helped tear apart.

The dining room was a scene of festive cheer by the time you arrived, your parents bustling about, greeting guests and making sure everything was perfect. You could hear your father laughing loudly from the other room, his booming voice full of pride as he told someone about how Father Charlie had become such an important part of the church community. How proud they were to have him there.

And then you saw him.

Charlie stood near the fireplace, talking to a few of the older parishioners who had arrived early, his usual composed expression firmly in place. He looked every bit the part—his black priest’s garb impeccable, his hands clasped in front of him in that familiar posture of calm authority. But when his eyes flicked over to you, for the briefest of moments, something shifted. His gaze lingered, and you saw the hint of heat behind them, a flash of memory that you were certain only the two of you understood. His lips quirked up in a small smile, seemingly innocent and kind. But you knew better.

Your heart skipped a beat as your mother’s voice pulled you back into the moment. “Sweetheart, come say hello to Father Charlie!” she called, her voice brimming with affection.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto your face as you made your way toward him. Your mother was already gushing about how wonderful it was to have him here, how much your family appreciated him spending Christmas Eve with them. You barely heard her, your mind racing as Charlie’s eyes met yours, steady but unreadable.

“Good evening,” he said softly, his voice smooth as ever, though there was an edge to it that only you could catch. The soft smile that graced his features had turned into a small smirk as he took in your shy expression.

He extended his hand, and for a split second, as your fingers brushed his, a jolt of electricity surged through you. It was barely noticeable—a moment so fleeting your mother wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But for you, it was enough to send your mind spiraling back to all the times his hands had been on you in a much different way.

“Good evening, Father,” you replied, your voice steady, though your pulse was racing beneath the surface.

“Such a lovely home, as always,” Charlie said, turning his attention to your mother with a charming smile, ever the perfect guest. But as he spoke, you caught the way his fingers flexed slightly, like he was trying to hold back something deeper.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself painfully aware of Charlie's presence, of the way he seemed just a little too comfortable, a little too close. He wasn’t careless enough to raise suspicion, not with your family and half the parish sitting around the table, but there were moments—subtle, fleeting moments—that made your heart race.

It started with the way he looked at you. His eyes would linger a beat too long whenever you caught each other’s gaze across the table. He spoke politely to your parents, laughed at the right moments, even indulged your father’s long-winded stories about the church’s history. But every time he glanced your way, there was something beneath the surface. A smoldering awareness.

Then, there were his hands. When he passed you the breadbasket, his fingers brushed against yours. Not an accident, not something your parents would ever notice, but it was enough. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and the heat in his gaze told you he knew exactly what he was doing. His thumb grazed your wrist in a way that made your breath hitch, and when you glanced up, he was already looking away, like it never happened. But you knew.

Charlie was being reckless, though not in an obvious way. His behavior was just subtle enough to keep from drawing attention, but to you, it was impossible to miss. His foot nudged yours beneath the table during dinner, a simple tap, but the look he gave you when your knees touched—it was almost too much. You could barely keep yourself composed, your mind spinning with the memory of him pushing you up against the door, his lips on yours.

"Father, would you like more wine?" your mother asked, completely oblivious to the tension simmering between you two.

Charlie smiled, nodding graciously as he held out his glass. "Just a little more, thank you."

As your mother poured, his eyes found yours again. This time, he didn’t look away, not immediately. The corner of his mouth quirked up, just enough to send your thoughts into overdrive. It was like a private joke, one that only the two of you understood. A secret dance of hidden touches, stolen glances, and unspoken words.

You tried to focus on your plate, on the conversation happening around you, but it was impossible. Every move he made felt like it was meant for you, no matter how small. When he reached for his napkin, his hand grazed your thigh under the table, just for a second, but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You glanced at him in shock, and he gave you a sideways smile, the kind that spoke volumes without a single word.

He was playing with fire, and so were you.

Dinner stretched on, with your father telling more stories and your mother doting on everyone, but all you could think about was Charlie. The way he leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping the room, but always coming back to you. It was reckless, the way he was letting his guard down, letting you see the cracks in his calm facade.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” your father asked, drawing you out of your thoughts. His concerned gaze made your stomach tighten.

You forced a smile, nodding quickly. “Yes, just tired, I think. It’s been a long day.”

Your father patted your shoulder, satisfied with your answer, but when you glanced at Charlie, you saw the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t tired at all. He was far from it.

As dessert was served, the tension between you two only grew. He was no longer pretending to keep his distance, not really. His foot stayed lightly pressed against yours under the table, and when your fingers brushed again as you passed him a dish, he let them linger, his thumb trailing over your knuckles for just a second too long.

The worst part? No one else noticed a thing.

Charlie was playing this game with expert precision—just enough to make your pulse quicken, but not enough to get caught.

As dessert came to an end, Charlie's eyes flickered towards you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He had barely spoken directly to you the entire night, but now, it was like he couldn’t wait any longer. You were both playing this game, pushing the boundaries of how far you could go without crossing an invisible line—at least in front of everyone else.

"Could you show me where the coffee cups are?" Charlie asked, leaning back casually in his chair. His voice was calm, maybe even a little too casual, but you caught the subtle undercurrent of something more.

Your mother’s head turned slightly, her brow furrowing in mild confusion. "Father, you’ve been here enough times to know where they are, haven’t you?"

You held your breath, your pulse quickening at the way your mother’s question hung in the air. Charlie smiled smoothly, shaking his head.

"Ah, but every time I’m here, something’s moved around. You know how it is in a busy house," he said, chuckling lightly, the picture of a gracious guest. But his eyes were on you again, and you knew this wasn’t about coffee cups. Not even close.

"Of course," your mother laughed, brushing it off with a wave. "Go ahead, sweetheart, show Father Charlie where everything is."

Your heart was pounding as you rose from your seat, barely able to look at your parents. The room felt too small, too hot, like every eye was on you as you and Charlie stood up from the table. But when you glanced back, your father was already engrossed in another conversation, and your mother was busy with the dishes.

Charlie followed you into the hallway, his footsteps too close behind you. Your breath hitched as you led him toward the kitchen, trying to act natural, but the tension between you two was suffocating. You could feel his presence like a shadow, his gaze boring into the back of your neck as you rounded the corner.

The second you stepped out of view, his hand caught your wrist, pulling you to a stop. You spun to face him, heart racing, and before you could say a word, his body was pressing you back against the kitchen counter.

"Charlie—" you whispered, but he silenced you with a look, his breath coming fast and shallow.

"I couldn’t stand it any longer," he muttered, his voice low and thick with something dark. His hands came to rest on either side of you, trapping you against the counter, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. "I need you, baby..."

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed the side of your face, and you felt your resolve start to crumble. You knew this was wrong—knew it with every fiber of your being—but Charlie’s lips were dangerously close to yours, his breath warm on your skin.

"You’ve been driving me insane," he whispered, his voice ragged, filled with a hunger he hadn’t bothered to hide anymore.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment crushing down on you. There was still time to stop this, to step away, but you knew neither of you would. You had pushed each other too far, and now, there was no turning back.

"I know," you breathed, barely able to get the words out. "I’ve been waiting for you to crack."

A low groan escaped him, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours, hot and demanding. His hands slid down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the heat between you was overwhelming. It was reckless, dangerous, but it was also everything you had been waiting for.

The tension that had simmered all night finally broke, and you melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with the same desperation. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.

Charlie pulled away just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes. "Your parents are in the other room," he murmured with a small smirk, though the way he held you betrayed any thought of stopping.

You smiled up at him, your heart racing. "Then why can’t you stop?"

His jaw clenched, and without another word, he pulled you into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands exploring your body with a reckless abandon that sent a shiver down your spine. The world outside the kitchen, the family dinner, the church—it all melted away as you gave in to the dangerous pull between you.

Charlie pulled away for a second, his hand reaching up to grip your face harshly. "Dirty girl, aren't you?"

You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes never leaving his. "You started this, Charlie."

Charlie's grip tightened, and you felt the heat of his gaze searing into you, both intoxicating and possessive. He kissed you again, his mouth fierce, almost punishing, as if he couldn’t stand the space between you. Your back hit the counter, but the discomfort barely registered—he pressed his body into yours, and you gasped against his lips, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation flooding your senses.

His hands roamed, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before sliding beneath your shirt, the roughness of his palms igniting your skin. You felt him pause, as if savoring the feeling of you under his hands, and when he finally pulled back, it was only to whisper against your ear, his voice low and thick with desire. "You like this, don't you? Knowing we could get caught..."

You could barely think, your body burning with need. You bit your lip, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "Isn’t that what you want?" you whispered back, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin.

Charlie groaned, his grip on you tightening. His fingers found the hem of your jeans, teasing, as he trailed hot kisses down the side of your neck. "Always so defiant," he muttered, his breath warm against your skin. "But I’ll break you yet."

The intensity of his words sent a thrill through you, and you tilted your head back, giving him access to more of your neck as he kissed you, nipping at your skin, leaving a trail of marks behind. His hands, strong and demanding, finally dipped lower, and you gasped as his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your lower abdomen.

"Charlie," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as your hands clutched at his shoulders, needing him closer, needing more.

Charlie’s breath was hot against your neck as his hands traveled lower, teasing the edge of your jeans. His fingers dipped just beneath the fabric, tracing your skin with maddening slowness. "Say my name again," he demanded, his voice husky and filled with dark need.

Your lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as his fingers toyed with you, just enough to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy the aching desire that built inside you. "Charlie," you breathed, your voice trembling, desperate.

His hand tightened around your waist, pulling you harder against him. "Louder," he growled, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He was taunting you, daring you to give in completely, and you could feel the power shift between you. You were no longer in control—he was, and the knowledge only heightened the tension.

You clenched your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, trying to keep your composure, but he wasn’t making it easy. His other hand slid to your throat, not choking but holding you in place, his grip firm as he pressed his lips against yours again, more demanding than before.

"You think you can push me, don’t you?" he muttered against your lips. "Make me lose control." His fingers slipped lower, brushing the spot that made your knees weak, and you gasped, unable to stop the flood of heat that rushed through you. He smiled, wicked and knowing, as if he could sense your surrender.

Your head fell back against the cabinet, your breathing ragged, your body burning under his touch. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again, his eyes dark with lust and dominance. "But you're mine," he murmured, his voice a promise and a warning all at once. "And you’ll break before I do."

Your heart pounded in your chest as Charlie's words sank in, his hand at your throat tightening ever so slightly, just enough to remind you of his control. The intensity of his stare sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you found yourself caught between the desire to challenge him and the undeniable pull of surrender.

"Are you sure about that?" you whispered, your voice soft but laced with defiance, the words barely slipping past your lips as you fought to maintain some control.

A dangerous smile tugged at the corner of Charlie’s mouth, his gaze flickering with something dark and unrelenting. "Oh, I’m sure," he said, his tone low and dripping with confidence. His fingers danced over the waistband of your skirt before slipping inside, his touch both teasing and commanding, and the heat pooling in your lower abdomen intensified, your breath hitching in response.

His fingers played with your panties, that were already soaked before slipping in a finger. You let out a soft hum, your head falling back on to the counter as your eyes squeezed shut. You tried to steady yourself, your grip tightening on his shoulders as you fought to stay grounded, but Charlie’s presence overwhelmed you.

His lips found the hollow of your throat, and he kissed his way down, each press of his mouth against your skin sending shockwaves through your body. When his finger moved deeper, the other brushing against your clit, your body betrayed you with a soft, needy whimper.

"That’s it," he murmured against your neck, his voice a low growl, filled with satisfaction at the sound. "Let me hear you."

The tension inside you built, every stroke of his finger pushing you closer to the edge, and you were losing the battle of resistance. Charlie’s hand tightened around your throat, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you locked in place, at his mercy. His breath was hot against your ear, his fingers moving in a rhythm that had you trembling.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice rough with desire.

Your mind was clouded, your body aching for release, but you bit your lip, fighting the words he wanted from you. The defiance only seemed to amuse him further, his grip tightening slightly. "Still holding out?" he asked, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. "You think you can win this game?"

Your heart raced, your body betraying you as you squirmed under his touch, and you knew you were close to breaking. His fingers moved with more purpose now, pushing you closer to the brink, and a gasp escaped you as your resolve began to crumble.

"I—" You could barely form the words, your body arching into him, desperate for more.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice a rough whisper. His fingers curled, hitting just the right spot, and the pleasure coursing through you was too much to bear.

"Charlie—please," you finally gasped, your voice breaking as you surrendered to him completely. "Make me cum."

A satisfied grin spread across his face, and he pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, his hand finally giving you what you needed as his finger moved deeper and quicker. "Good girl," he whispered against your mouth, his voice dripping with possessive pride. "Cum for me."

That was all you needed to let out a shuddering moan, your knees falling weak as the knot in your lower stomach snapped. Charlie's hand covered your mouth quickly, the sound muffled by his large hand. After you rode out your high, Charlie's hand slipped out of your skirt as you caught your breath.

As if on cue, your mother came in with some dishes in her hand. There wasn't even a trace of suspicion in her expression, she was too busy with the dinner to even question why you two were taking so long and why you two were standing so close.

"Did you guys find the cups?" She asked with a sigh, loading the dishwasher with the dishes.

Charlie casually wiped his hand on his pants, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he hadn’t just had you unraveling under his touch moments before. His lips curved into a smirk, eyes glinting with amusement as he shot you a sideways glance. The contrast between your rapid breathing and his calm demeanor was infuriating. He knew exactly what he’d done to you—and he was reveling in it.

"Yeah," he said smoothly, his voice steady as ever. "We were just…looking for them."

You tried to compose yourself, struggling to regulate your breaths without drawing attention. Your legs still felt shaky, and the warmth of his body so close to yours lingered like a sinful reminder of what had just happened. You forced a smile, hoping your mother wouldn’t notice the flushed look on your face.

Your mother barely glanced at you two as she continued with the dishes, completely oblivious to the tension hanging thick in the air. "Great, we're just about to leave for service," she said with a tired sigh. "I’ll need your help with cleaning the table soon."

"Of course," Charlie responded, his voice filled with an edge of playful charm, though only you could hear the smug satisfaction underneath it all. He took a step closer to you, almost brushing his arm against yours as he reached up to grab the cups from the shelf. The proximity sent another wave of heat through you, and it took everything in you not to react visibly.

Your mother turned her back again, preoccupied with the dishwasher, and Charlie seized the opportunity. He leaned in ever so slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "You’re going to have to work on that poker face, baby."

You shot him a sharp look, your body still buzzing from the intensity of earlier, and now his teasing only made it worse. The urge to wipe that smug look off his face was almost overwhelming, but you had no choice but to keep it together, your mother only a few feet away.

As he moved past you, you caught the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. He knew how much power he held over you in that moment, and he wasn’t going to let you forget it anytime soon.

Your mother finally turned back to face you. "You okay, honey?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she noticed you standing still by the counter. "You look a bit flushed."

You swallowed hard, fighting to find your voice. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a little warm in here," you lied, managing to give her a weak smile. "I'll help with the table."

Charlie glanced back at you, his smirk still firmly in place as he picked up the cups. His voice was smooth and casual, betraying nothing of the wickedness lurking beneath the surface. "I’ll take care of the rest," he said, shooting you a look that made your pulse quicken. "You just… relax."

Your mother nodded, oblivious. "Thanks, Charlie."

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[thewitchandtheassassin]

Life, Death, and the Space in Between Part One (Agatha Harkness x Reader x Rio Vidal)

Summary: Bound together by power and fate, you and Rio are undeniably tied, but Agatha Harkness was something unexpected - yet in the end...

Words: 1664

Warnings: Canon deaths, AAA, uh... language, child birth kinda? Angsty? I dunno, there's things.

A/N: A retake and partial redo of AAA (in the sense of "what if"). This is gonna be a... four part series? I think?

-X-

Cries of pain echoed throughout the trees as Agatha stumbled towards the water, body finding purchase against the trunk of a tree as another contraction washed over her. Everything ached, but she didn’t care. All she had worked for was so close. She just needed a little more strength and her child would be tucked into her arms, a beacon of her love.

She hardly noticed the unnatural silence that befell the forest, the wind dying into nothing more than an occasional puff of air. All she could see was- feel, hear - was the sound of her own heartbeat.

Glancing up as another cramp hit, she caught sight of two familiar figures lingering near. The beating of her heart quickened, so overwhelmed at the prospect of you both being there to meet your son, but the identical expressions you wore sent her heart plummeting.

He is not mine, you conveyed to Rio regretfully, tears prickling the corner of your eyes.

Life and Death stood, watching critically over the mortal who’d stolen their hearts. While bound together forever in a way no one would ever understand or be capable of recreating, you had both found the tiny piece you were missing within Agatha. You’d found a middle ground.

Death took a step forward.

Life took two steps back.

“It cannot be,” Agatha breathed, inching away from the green witch as she neared.

You could feel Rio’s heart cracking, felt the anguish and guilt rushing over her.

“It must be,” she replied gently.

“You do this and I will hate you forever,” Agatha spat fearfully, glancing between you. “Both of you.”

A sob clawed its way up your throat, suffocating and vile. This was the hardest moment you’d ever been summoned to.

“Please let him live!” Agatha cried. “Please, my loves. Don’t take him from me.”

Pleas began falling like tears, and your entire being called out to you. Begged you to rush to her side. To heal your son.

Rio’s eyes drifted closed for a moment before a dark stare met Agatha. You could see the parts of Rio warring. Her nature and her love clashing together in a battle, both reaching out to Agatha before being yanked back.

“I can offer only time.”

She peered at you. Save him.

Your feet moved before you could fully comprehend what was happening. Your knees hit the dirt in front of Agatha, warm light shining from your hands as they touched her swollen belly.

Looking over your shoulder at Rio, you watched the veil that separated you from mortals swirl around her.

Tell him of me, she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks in rivets.

All the time, my love, you vowed.

Attention returning to Agatha, you smiled up at her faintly. “Let’s bring our boy into the world, shall we?”

-X-

Years passed. Years of joining your love to decide the fate of a life. Years of watching your little boy grow, watching him become sick, watching him grow frail and tired…

Watching your lover kill in hopes of distracting your other lover. Watching her use your son to do it but never allowing Rio too close. Watching Agatha grow colder. Meaner. Deadlier.

As life comes and goes, you were often pulled away from Nicholas, helping the other piece of your soul collect and distribute life and death as needed. But for the times you were with him, watching him blossom and shrink, you never let him forget about the woman who offered him time.

As you stepped through the trees, veil falling away into your human form, you watched the beautiful smile break across Nicky’s face before he was bounding into your arms, clinging to you like a lifeline.

“Mother! You are back!” he beamed up at you, his thin arms gripping you as tight as he could. It was devastating to see the sickness ravaging him, knowing you could do nothing to change it.

“Hello, my littlest love,” you cooed, carding your fingers through his long hair before peering over his head at Agatha. “And my tall love.”

“If you are here, will I see Mami tonight in my dreams?” Nicky whispered into your ear, shrieking happily as you lifted him, tossing him over your shoulder and holding him tightly as his little feet kicked.

“Maybe.”

Agatha rolled her eyes affectionately as you pressed a kiss to her cheek, Nicky thrown playfully over your shoulder and squealing as you swung him about. She was surprised to see you return so soon, and her heart thumped painfully as she thought to Rio.

As the afternoon progressed into night, Nicky regaled you with tales of their exploits. Your heart ached, knowing the reasons behind Agatha’s choices but refusing to discourage your son from telling his vivid stories. You were so… angry with Agatha, for doing this to him, but in another life, maybe you would’ve done the same.

After he was tucked onto a small pallet, blanket right around his frail form, you joined Agatha at the edge of the water. Staring out into the darkness, you spoke softly, “This has bid you some time but you know this cannot stop the inevitable, my love.”

Bristling, Agatha turned to walk away, unwilling to hear your truths, but a steady hand caught her.

“You need to hear me, Agatha. She has given all she can. She has fought the universe to keep him here; avoided her own son so that Death would not call him home yet. But we cannot keep him here. He is not meant to be here, yet we let him walk and talk and be here with you. And you still hate her for the time she has allowed me to give him. Without her, he never would have taken his first breath. You need to unbury your head from the sands and accept we cannot change fate anymore than we have.”

Eyes flaring purple with fury, Agatha shoved you but you did not waver. “You are essentially gods! Yet one child unravels the cosmos? Fate? He is my son and you want to let her take him from me!”

“He is our son,” you corrected sharply. “He is her son. As much as he is mine or yours. She made him as we did. She does not get to watch him grow as we did. Hold him. Love him. Because she wanted to grant you time with him and yet you spit in her face!”

Staring into the reddened face of your lover, you softened slightly. “She loves Nicholas. I love Nicholas. And we love you. Gods know we do not wish to hurt you. But he is sick. His body is tired. You know there is only one way.”

“If you cannot understand why I do what I must to keep him here, maybe you should leave,” Agatha whispered, eyes filling with anger and tears. “I will do whatever I can to save him.”

Bowing your head, you tugged her into a tight embrace, pressing your lips to the crown of her head as she cried silently against your chest. It was raw and painful and you knew this was the last time you would see her for a very long time.

By the time she wandered back to camp, you were gone.

-X-

The shadows of night surrounded you as you and Rio approached the campsite one night, hand in hand. Her eerie green torch illuminated the path, her true form hidden beneath a familiar guise.

“I don’t want to scare him,” she had mumbled, cheek resting against your shoulder as time ticked down.

The heavy fall winds dragged Nicholas from his slumber and he slowly sat upright, eyes landing upon the eerie light. His eyes brightened before dimming, realization crashing into his chest. He peered down, watching his body remain as he stood.

Rio gestured for him to kiss his mother and he obeyed, whispering, “I love you,” before meeting you and Rio at the forest edge.

She cupped his cheek sweetly, thumb soothing on his paling flesh. “It’s time, love.”

“I am afraid,” he admitted shyly, wide eyes flickering between you as if ashamed of the admittance.

Crouching down, both of your hands found his lithe shoulders and squeezed reassuringly, letting light and warmth pour from you. “We will be with you every step, darling. I swear it.”

He peered over at Agatha, eyes shimmering in the green light. “I do not fear dying, but I do not want Mama to be alone. She is going to be so lonely.”

Your chest seized painfully.

“Our sweet, wonderful boy,” you breathed, peeking up at your partner, who stared at Nicky adoringly. “I promise, we will not be far from her, even if she cannot see us. Even if she is angry. She is etched into our bones and we will not stray far.”

“I will miss her,” he murmured, “But I will see her again one day?”

“Yes, sweetheart, and someday, we shall be a family again. A complete family.” Looking at Rio, you smiled sadly and cupped her face with your free hand. “One day, we shall never be apart again.”

“A complete family,” Nicholas repeated with a smile, peering up at Rio. “With Mami this time.”

Carefully making your way to the bridge, shadows and light swirled around as you passed through the veil and Nicholas was brought into the embrace of his mother’s domain. You were not ignorant to the pain that would overtake Agatha when the sun rose above the horizon, so once Nicholas found the space crafted especially for him, you returned to the mortal plane and stood above the resting witch.

Stooping down, you patiently maneuvered Nicholas’ mortal body in Agatha’s arms, tucking his blanket tight around him before pressing a butterfly soft kiss to Agatha’s temple.

“I am sorry, my love,” you muttered, pecking her temple again before disappearing with the morning light, soul aching as her wails crested the treetops.

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader #33 Ghost helps fix up your house or makes repairs - for @glitterypirateduck's Ghost writing challenge

His phone rings again on the following Tuesday morning.

It's been a day and a half, since he's seen you and Orion last. Since he made you promise to call, no matter what, if you needed something. Or if you needed a break, or some company.

Anything. Anything, and he'd be there.

You had tried to push him off a bit, tried to assert your independence, which he appreciates, he values. He likes to know you can take care of yourself and the baby when he's not here. But when he is-

"We're really fine, you know. You don't have to be... available for us, whenever. I mean, like if you have other things. Or people, you don't have to be here all the time. I've been doin' it on my own, and I'm fine. We're fine. I don't want you to feel like you have to-"

His fork clatters to the plate, and your eyes go round as he rises from the chair and steps toward you, firm hand cupping your arm. "I'm here because I wan' to be."

"O-okay, I just don't want you to be here because you think you have to... because you're all the sudden saddled with a kid."

"I'm not here because I feel like 've been saddled with a kid. I'm here because I want to be, because I wanted you the night we made him, and I still do. I want you both." Your mouth drops wide before snapping shut abruptly, warmth rising in your cheeks. You're so cute like this, flustered and nervous, and it reminds him of the night he met you, a sweet little kitten, all alone at the bar. "And you've done more than just a fine job, sweet girl, takin' care of yourself and our baby for me, but when 'm here, it's my job."

So, his phone rings, and it doesn't matter that he's in the middle of spotting Soap at the squat rack.

He drops everything.

"Hi." You're a little out of breath when you open the door, eyes wide and wild, chewing on your lip. Orion is asleep in your arms, blissfully unaware, head lolling on your shoulder, clad only in a diaper.

His head buzzes, still trying to reconcile the truth of this entire thing, the fact that this is his, you and his baby. His.

"What's wrong?" He's massive in your door frame, and ushers you back inside, clicking the lock into place behind him. "What's goin' on?"

"It's... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I just... I don't know how to fix it and you said I could... call, right? So-"

"Hey." His thumb gently presses into the inside of your elbow, and then he squeezes slightly. "It's okay. I want you to call me. What is it?"

"It's the laundry." You blurt, and then freeze, eyes flicking down to see if Ry has woken up. "I broke the washer, and today is the day I do the baby's clothes, but I can't get it to work and... it hates me." He chuckles.

"It doesn't hate you, sweetheart. Let's take a look." This, he can do. Things with his hands, mechanical things, physical puzzles, easy. It's not the first time he'll have fixed an appliance, and it won't be the last.

He takes the machine apart as quickly as possible, pieces laid out exactly where he needs them, washers and screws and everything all accounted for. It's the belt, he discovers rapidly, an easily fixed problem with a new part.

"I'll have to run down the street quick," he tells you, drawing up to his full height and motioning towards the entryway, "but it's a quick fix." You nod, stepping out of the way, small smile on your lips. He promises he'll be right back, that he'll have it done in no time, and you pad along to the door, standing back as he pulls it wide.

"Simon..." you whisper, and he turns, "thank you."

"Of course."

True to his word, he's back before the hour. The low murmur of the TV echoes from the living room, and he gravitates there before returning to his task, driven to lay eyes on both of you, to make sure you're here, you're okay-

and the sight of it stops him in his tracks.

You're asleep on the couch, shirt pulled up and bra unhooked from it's strap. Orion is cradled against your chest, his tiny fingers curled in the flesh of your breast, mouth lax around your nipple. There's a dribble of milk sliding down his cheek, and the sight of it all makes Simon dizzy. He knew you nursed him, but seeing it for the first time fills him with something he's not sure how to reconcile, adding onto the heap of adoration and possession pounding in his heart. It's a different kind of puzzle, the same kind of barbaric instinct and need roaring in his blood, the one that tells him to tuck you away and never let you go.

He stares for a second longer, scratching this moment into his memory as much as he can before he realizes how tired you are. You do a good job of hiding it, smiling and buzzing about, but in the early afternoon light, he can see the exhaustion so clearly, and kicks himself for not noticing sooner.

When Ry starts to fuss, your brow furrows in your sleep, and Simon can't stop himself. "Shh, shhh." He soothes, pulling him free as gently as he can. You twitch, hands searching, and then your head snaps up in a panic, breaths stuttered. "It's okay. I got him, you just closed your eyes, is all. It's alright."

"Sorry." You croak, sitting up and fumbling with your top. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay, mama." He's on his knees in front of the couch, in front of you, and you stare down at him, mystified. "What does he usually do after he eats?"

"Uh... burp? And then he goes down to sleep." You yawn. "A change, if he needs it."

"Alright, 've got it, you go rest. After I put him down, I'll finish the washer."

"Oh, no... I can-"

"I've got him. Nothin' I can't handle." He shifts Orion, supporting his head as he props him up over his shoulder, rubbing his back slowly. He wants to do this, wants you to let him do this, wants you to trust him.

He needs it.

You hesitate. "Are you sure?"

"If I need anythin', I'll wake you." There's a burp cloth on the coffee table, and he places it under Ry's chin. "Huh, lad? If we need mama, we'll get her, right?" You soften, posture relaxing a bit, and then you nod.

"Alright, then."

[ithebookhoarder]

Special Delivery (Spencer Reid x F!Reader)

Description: Something's different about Reid and no-one knows what. However, a surprise delivery to the BAU may just have the answer...

Warnings: Food references, mentions of mental health, mentions of medical procedures, references to smutty behaviour, Spencer being adorable

Masterlist

“Ok. Am I the only one who’s noticed something’s different with Reid lately?” Morgan remarked, watching as the said boy-genuis made his way across the bullpen and over to his desk. 

“Yeah,” Emily hummed, watching the young agent over the rim of coffee cup. She had to admit it - as much as it annoyed her - Morgan was right; Spencer has definitely been acting different. If anything, she was surprised it had taken them all this long to say anything. 

Normally, they were all over each other the moment they noticed anything even remotely different about each other. Hell, she’d barely taken a step off the elevator, after getting an extra few inches cut off at her latest haircut, before the team were quizzing her about possible life changes and whether or not they needed to be worried about her. 

It was a hazard of working with profilers for a living; it was almost impossible to keep anything a secret. No wonder they were all intrigued and slightly confused by the fact that none of them had been able to pinpoint what was going on with their friend. 

The most notable difference was the gradual disappearance of the dark circles under his eyes. Reid also seemed happier in general, less quiet and reserved when talking to others, and it was starting to make agents talk. 

Morgan and Emily stood up straighter as JJ walked over to join the unofficial gossip session. She took one look at the pair and knew immediately what they were whispering about. 

“Are you talking about Reid?”

“Oh yeah,” Morgan grinned, “my money’s on him having finally found someone.”

Emily choked, seemingly as a result of inhaling her coffee at the grand statement. “What?”

“Oh, come on, Miss ‘super spy’. Just look at him,” he teased. “He’s been distracted. He’s all goo-goo eyed and he’s been leaving this place at a normal hour. Like… tell me that doesn’t scream ‘I got a date’.”

“What? It could be loads of things. It doesn’t have to be a date, right JJ?”

“He’s probably just happy. We’ve all been getting more sleep lately and our paperwork is non-existent at the moment,” JJ murmured, reaching past the pair of them to grab for the coffee pot. She was clearly doing her best to try and put this line of questioning to rest. She’d always been the first to protect the younger agent she now saw as a little brother. “Besides, we all know he’s not interested in dating, he hasn’t been since…. Well, you know.”

Morgan groaned. “But what about the secret texts, JJ!” he protested, ignoring the look Emily shot him in return. “He’s been glued to that phone of his and keeps giggling like a school kid. Then there’s the lunches! I know he’s always been organised and likes things a certain way, but damn. His lunches have been like next level - and actually healthy? And I swear he’s had jello like every day.”

JJ rolled her eyes. “You’re basing your profile on jello? Is that it?” 

“Well, no I mean… did you not hear the part about the texting and the taking secret calls and the fact he didn’t come out for drinks last night-”

“-Can’t we just be glad for him? Whatever is going on, it’s good for him. Let’s just drop it, ok? He’ll tell us when he’s ready if there’s anything to share.”

“JJ’s right,” Emily echoed. “Reid’s just … happy. End of.”

By the way Morgan frowned it looked like it definitely was not the end of this conversation, but he never got the chance to argue. In fact, he was interrupted as the main doors opened next to them and a rather lost looking receptionist hurried through. 

Normally, this wouldn’t have been worth noticing but all three of them spun around at the sound of him calling out the name, “Agent Reid? uh… Is Agent Reid here?”

“Oh, uh, here!” Spencer shouted, soundly vaguely like he was taking roll call. It didn’t help that he shot his arm up in the air too, almost falling off his desk chair as he lurched to his feet and hurried over. “That’s… that’s me - and it’s Dr Reid, but it doesn’t matter. How can I help?”

“Oh, uh, there’s a Y/N at reception for you,” the unfortunate messenger managed, gesturing back the way they’d came. “I told them to wait whilst I came to check with you as they’re not on your visitor list-”

Spencer didn’t even let the poor man finish. He was already racing for the door before the man had even made it to the end of the sentence. Needless to say, the others were quick to follow, with Morgan smugly boasting “told you soooo” as he went. 

There was no way on earth they were missing this and considering Hotch and Rossi hadn’t arrived yet it wasn’t like they were about to get their asses handed to them for missing their briefing either. 

Despite the amount Spencer had told you about the BAU, you were still surprised by how different the FBI offices were to what you’d imagined. 

The offices were larger and the sheer number of people walking about in suits and carrying a side arm made you feel even more nervous, and that was already a problem considering you were stood there wearing neon blue scrubs, embroidered with jungle animals on the pocket. 

You were like a walking, flashing sign, screaming ‘outsider - does not work here’.  Thankfully, you weren’t going to be there long. You were only swinging by on your way to work, hoping to catch your utterly perfect - and utterly forgetful - boyfriend, before the start of your shift. 

Speaking of Spencer, you had only been standing there for possibly five minutes when you saw him barreling through the doors towards you. 

“Hey, Spence-“

“Y/N? Honey? What’s going on?” he gushed, hurrying over and taking your face in his hands. You could see his wide eyes frantically scanning every inch of you, looking for some kind of problem or sign that you were not ok. “Is everything alright? What are you doing here?”

You felt your cheeks warm at the sudden display of concern, very much aware of the scene your wonderful boyfriend was making. Spencer wasn’t normally the most affectionate in public, preferring to save those rare moments for when the two of you were alone. The fact he was so worried about what might have brought you to the FBI on a Tuesday morning was touching and made your heart swell. 

“I’m fine, Spence. Don’t worry-” 

“Then what are you doing here?” 

“You forgot something,” you soothed, pulling back and reaching into your satchel. It was impossible to miss the way his face reddened as you pulled out a neatly labeled Dr Who Tupperware by way of explanation. “I’m here because you were in such a rush this morning that you forgot your lunch.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’,” you teased. “I couldn’t exactly let you go hungry so I thought I’d drop it off on my way to work. I don’t start till later as I’m covering Amelia’s shift as she’s visiting her sister in Boston, so I thought I’d swing by.”

Sure, Spencer was an adult and you could have let him just buy something from the cafeteria or order something in for lunch, but considering how much effort he had gone to to cook with you the day before you felt bad letting it go to waste. 

He’d been so proud of the way the recipe had turned out, following the instructions and your guidance with extreme precision and care. The result had been a rather tasty looking dish - and it had the added benefit of being healthy too. You were always worried that Spencer seemed to think fast food, like Pizza, was a food group. Then again, he had been forced to be an adult pretty fast and had been in college so young that it wasn’t a surprise that no-one had been there to teach him about cooking and eating right. He had been too focused on his studies to even think about anything else.  

It was something he had been working on since you’d got together and now cooking had become one of your favourite date night activities. It didn’t hurt that you often ended up spilling food all over yourselves and needing to shower together - it was just a lovely bonus. In fact, your screensaver was now a picture of you and Spencer, covered in flour, and beaming ear to ear. 

“Thank you, that… that’s so nice,” Spencer stammered, “but I feel bad. You didn’t need to go out of your way and bring it to me.”

“As I say, it’s on my way to work. It’s no trouble.”

“Well, still-“

“Hey, pretty boy!” 

Spencer froze. 

“You gonna introduce us to your friend, or what?”

Spencer opened his mouth but instantly closed it again. You knew by the way he rolled his eyes and began muttering under his breath that whoever had shouted that had definitely been talking to him. 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Pretty boy, huh?” 

“Don’t ask,” he whined, taking a deep breath as you looked over his shoulder and saw a small group of people now making their way towards you. “I should probably mention that I wasn’t sure how comfortable you were with me mentioning you, so I haven’t told anyone about us yet and those idiots are some of my team and I would say ‘run’ but they’re all faster than me.”

“Ah… I see. So I’m guessing that one is Morgan?” 

“Yes.”

“Well, no time like the present,” you cheered, turning and waving at the approaching trio. “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N - Spencer’s girlfriend.”

“Wow. A girlfriend?” cooed Morgan, reaching over to pull you into a hug before the other two could stop him. To their credit, they looked slightly embarrassed by the display but they were clearly too interested in your identity to care. “And a doctor to boot? Didn’t know he had it in him. I’m Derek Morgan.”

“Oh, I worked that out. It’s good to finally meet you all.” 

The others were quick to echo the sentiment, with JJ and Emily quickly introducing themselves in tandem. They were also quick to invite you inside the office for some coffee, but thankfully you weren’t lying when you said you had to get to work. 

“You know how it is. People to take care of, medical cases to solve, lives to save - same old, same old. All I’m missing is a snazzy badge and I could be an FBI agent.” 

“Ha ha.” Spencer’s smile was genuine as you stole a kiss before making a dash for your car. However, you could see the nerves in his eyes at being left alone to face the great inquisition that now awaited him following the discovery of your existence. You were pretty sure the entire BAU would know about you before it even hit lunchtime. “I’ll see you later, ok?” 

“Of course. Just let me know if you’re coming home or if you’re off saving the world in another state - otherwise I can’t promise I won’t eat all the leftovers before you get back.” 

He chuckled. “Will do.” 

With that, you bid the others goodbye, making sure to agree when they asked (more like insisted) that you came to their family dinner on Friday night at none other than Rossi’s house. The rest of the team were going to be begging to meet you after this, and they were all bringing their families along too. 

If Spencer wasn’t comfortable with you going you were pretty sure the team would believe it if you said you’d got called into a last minute surgery, but you’d check later when you both returned to the apartment you now called your home. Either way, you were going to have to make something to take with you, just in case. 

As your grandpa had always said, there was no quicker way to someone’s heart than through their stomach. Or, as in Spencer's case, with an unlimited supply of Jello...

[gigabyte-flare]

At Your Service

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: You are the daughter of a wealthy family in New Eridu. Lycaon has been your loyal butler since you first moved out from your childhood home. You're about to find out just how far Lycaon is going to go to prove his devotion to you.

Word Count: 4.8k

Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Mild Yandere, implied r@cisim (not by reader or Lycaon), domestic violence (not by Lycaon), attempted SA (not by Lycaon), graphic violence, dubcon, oral (f receiving), pet names, playful biting, unprotected p in v, knotting, breeding kink, creampie

A/N: Just when I thought Jiyan from Wuthering Waves had me in a chokehold (he still does), Hoyo literally said "hold my beer." Does being down bad for Von Lycaon make me a furry? Probably. Do I care? Nope. He's hot and I can't get enough of him.

"As you can see, we had record profits this month. The campaign with the promoters definitely made a huge difference in our profit margin--"

You can't help but let out a loud sigh, resting the side of your face in the palm of you hand as your elbow keeps your head up as you stare into the webcam at your office computer. This is your last meeting of the day, heck, of the week. Unfortunately with the finance department of your family's business: a publishing company for video games and video tapes. Given how popular consumable media is in New Eridu, the business had taken off, you and your family now set for life. This also meant that your parents expected you to take over once they retire; you were still struggling to come to terms with that fact.

"-- that concludes this week's financial overview, I hope everyone has a good weekend!"

You waste no time turning off your webcam and shutting down your work computer. You couldn't get out of the office building fast enough. Getting into your car, you make the drive home to just beyond Sixth Street.

You live in one of the larger homes on the outskirts of New Eridu thanks to the success of your family's company. You park your car, getting out and approaching your front door. Before you even have a chance to dig your keys out of your pocket to unlock the door, your front door opens and you are greeted by your tall, imposing wolf Thiren butler: Von Lycaon of Victoria Housekeeping.

"Welcome home, my lady. I already have dinner started. I trust your day went well?"

"Hey Lycaon… it was alright," you reply as you step through the doorway, Lycaon stepping aside to let you through, "what's for dinner?"

You feel his deft clawed fingers help you take off your jacket before walking it over to the entryway closet to hang it up, his steel mechanical legs echoing in the entryway as he walks.

He answers you while hanging up your jacket, "roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and broccoli, my liege."

You chuckle, "you've been here for years, yet I still cannot get used to you addressing me like someone who's important."

Lycaon turns slightly just as he was about to shut the closet door, his red eye scrutinizing you, "but you are important, my lady."

You feel your cheeks tingle at his response, but quickly shake your head to compose yourself, "Do you… need any help with dinner?"

"I do not require any help. Not that I would trouble you with such trivial matters," he replies, walking away from the closet to head back into the kitchen.

"If you insist…" you hesitate; even after all this time, you're not accustom to having someone else doing all the house work, "I'll be in the living room watching TV. Come get me when dinner is ready, alright?"

Turning to you once more, Lycaon gives you a nod and a subtle smirk before walking into the kitchen. You don't realize your eyes are lingering on him as he walks away; watching the intricate parts on his prosthetic legs move as he walks, the way his right arm his bent behind him, his fist clenched, the way his large bushy tail wags gently as he--

You blink a few times, once again shaking your head and bringing your hand to your forehead.

Fucking hell, girl, get a hold of yourself. He's your freaking butler.

You turn and walk into the living room, collapsing onto the couch. Leaning forward, you grab the remote off of the coffee table and turn the TV on, mindlessly scrolling through the channels before settling on some talk show. You don't focus on the show, instead, you pull out your phone and check your notifications. You notice you have a Knock Knock message from someone, so you open the notification bubble to check it.

"Hey! It's Steve, are we still on for dinner tomorrow?"

"Oh… that's right… I'm supposed to have dinner with that guy Mom hooked me up with…" you say to yourself, rolling your eyes before you type out your response.

"Yeah. Did you still want to pick me up from my house?"

You see the typing ellipses pop up a few times before his response comes through, "if you're comfortable with that, yeah!"

Normally, you would never let some strange man pick you up from your house to go on some blind date, but you know for a fact Lycaon wouldn't let anything happen to you; those mechanical prosthetic legs weren't just for show. You've witnessed first hand the damage they can do a handful of times in the years you've known him.

"My lady," you hear Lycaon call to you from the threshold of the living room, startling you from your thoughts, "my apologies, I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, no… it's fine. I'm guessing dinner is ready?" you reply, turning around to face him while still seated on the couch.

"Indeed. Would you like to eat in the dining room or here, my lady?" he asks as he straightens his posture.

"We can eat in here. Come watch TV with me Lycaon, I insist." you reply, waving him into the living room.

"As you wish, my lady, I shall plate dinner and bring it in here, one moment."

You watch as he gracefully turns around, walking out, the metallic rattle of his legs echoing as he returns to the kitchen. He returns promptly with two plates of food and utensils. He hands you your plate first before taking his own and sitting in a nearby chair. He crosses his legs, his large tail then settling onto his lap as be began to eat his meal. You waste no time digging in; you absolutely loved Lycaon's cooking and tonight was no exception. You're so focused on your meal that you almost miss your phone vibrating in your pocket. You pull it out, seeing another Knock Knock notification.

"I take it you don't want me to pick you up at your house…?"

"Oh shit…" you curse to yourself, having forgotten to respond to Steve.

You quickly text him to that it's fine and send him your address before gently setting your phone onto the coffee table.

"What was that all about, my lady?" Lycaon asks, as perceptive as ever, even while eating dinner.

"Oh nothing," you say, tucking your legs up onto the couch as you continue to eat dinner, "I'm just making plans with someone to go to dinner tomorrow night. I forgot to text him back."

"I see, should I plan to make dinner just for myself then?"

"No, set aside a plate for me… just incase the plan falls through…"

"As you wish, my lady."

The two of you continue to eat dinner in silence, your gaze unconsciously wandering over to him, lingering on his mechanical prosthetics before moving to the mask he wears on his face, which covers one of his crimson eyes. You've always wondered what had happened to him, but Lycaon never talks about himself and you didn't want to pry into something that is probably really painful for him.

Sensing your gaze on him, he clears his throat before speaking, "Is everything alright, my lady?"

"Oh--! Sorry, I was just zoning out…" you quickly retort before returning your attention to your meal.

Once the two of you are finished with your meal, you switch channels and watch the latest episode of Starlight Knights while Lycaon gets absorbed in a book. Exhaustion sinks its teeth into you suddenly and you fall asleep on the couch. Noticing this, Lycaon sets his book aside, standing up and scooping you into his arms before carefully carrying you to bed upstairs, his tail wagging gently the whole way there.

The next morning, you are pulled from your sleep by the smell of bacon. Your eyes slowly open and you stretch your arms out over your head, letting out a loud yawn as you do so. You glance over at the clock; it's nearly 10:00 in the morning. You're shocked Lycaon had let you sleep in this long. Upon setting your arms down in front of you, you come into contact with a breakfast tray. The food on it is still hot, Lycaon must have just brought it in. He made your favorite: waffles with fresh berries, syrup and bacon. You can't help but smile as you grab the nearby fork and dig in.

As you're eating, you suddenly realize you don't recall getting into bed last night, you were still wearing the outfit you had on yesterday. Lycaon must have carried you to bed… again. That's been happening more and more frequently, you feel terrible that he felt obligated to carry you to bed. Still, you feel a warmth in your chest thinking about him taking care of you; you guess that's only natural given he's been your butler for so long.

Your parents had insisted on hiring someone from Victoria Housekeeping when you decided to move out after buying a house, mainly for protection. Being the daughter of a prominent publishing giant came with its risks as you soon learned. As unnecessary as you found it at first, you were very grateful for Lycaon's protection and companionship. Even so, you were hesitant to admit you've caught feelings for the enigmatic butler; could anyone blame you though? Von Lycaon was legendary in both his services and his physical prowess; hence why your family hired him specifically. Only the best for their daughter.

Despite your complicated feelings for Lycaon, your mother insisted on playing match maker. This latest man she picked out is the first one you've entertained going on a date with, mainly to shut your mother up. You honestly had no desire to date anyone; you have everything you could possibly need right now, even with how you feel about your butler.

The rest of the day is uneventful and before you know it, the sun is setting, casting orange rays into your windows. Lycaon is in the kitchen doing up dishes when he hears a loud knock on the door. He stops, his gaze shifting to the front door as whoever is out there continues to knock. Letting out a low growl, he takes his hands out of the dishwater, drying them off before putting his fingerless gloves back on. Tucking one of his arms behind him, he approaches the front door, opening it. He is greeted by short human male, his brown hair greasy and slicked back with a red goatee that is haphazardly trimmed and rectangle glasses. The man's eyes widen upon seeing Lycaon, who is glaring down at him with a furrowed brow. The man tries to speak, but finds himself at a loss for words.

"What business do you have with my Master?" Lycaon asks, his tone dark, his threatening gaze unwavering.

"I… uh… I'm here to pick up… uh…" the male stammers, checking something on his phone.

"It's fine, Lycaon! I'm expecting him, his name is Steve!" Lycaon hears you call from within the house.

Upon hearing you come down the stairs from your bedroom, Lycaon turns to look at you as you approach the front door. You suddenly stop in your tracks upon seeing the man at the front door, your eyes wide.

He looks nothing like the photos your mother sent of him.

Sensing your unease, Lycaon goes to you, giving you a reassuring pat on your shoulder as he shifts to stand behind you, standing tall and puffing his pectoral muscles outward; almost as if he's asserting his dominance. You banish the thought; that'd be ridiculous, he's your butler for crying out loud!

"Is this the person you mentioned you were going to dinner with, my lady?" Lycaon asks, his crimson gaze still locked on Steve.

You nod, swallowing hard as you struggle to get your anxiety under control. Your mother probably sent an outdated picture. Everything will be fine.

It wasn't fine. Steve took you to some dimly lit dive in Lumina Square; you didn't even think a place this dingy could exist. You are not a vain person, but this place is absolutely abhorrent. Steve was rambling on and on about god knows what, you stopped listening awhile ago; wishing desperately to be home where a beautifully cooked meal would be waiting for you. You're glad that you had Lycaon make a plate for you.

"-- so, what's with the Thiren living with you?" Steve asks, ripping you from your thoughts.

Realizing he's asking about Lycaon, you sit up straight, setting your hands onto the table, "he's my butler, why?"

Steve scoffs, giving you a sly smirk, "he's awfully jacked to be just a butler. I've never seen a Thiren built like that."

"He is able to protect me if needed, if that's what you're getting at," you reply, not even bothering to hide the annoyance in your voice.

"You won't need him anymore," Steve says, that stupid smirk still on his face as he leans forward, resting his chin on one of his hands as he rests his elbow on the table.

You lean back, crossing your arms, "and why is that?"

"Because you have me now."

The silence that follows after Steve's statement could have been cut with a knife. You discreetly pull out your phone, opening the Knock Knock app and send a single message to Lycaon.

"Lumina Square please come."

"I don't recall telling you that we're dating," you finally break the silence as you look up at Steve, your heart pounding in your chest as your anxiety heightens.

"You didn't have to, you let me take you to dinner. It's clear you're now my girlfriend," Steve says, gazing at you like you're a slab of meat, "and I want you to get rid of that butler. I don't need some disgusting Thiren third wheeling us."

He's one of those people. Fucking great.

"Lycaon isn't going anywhere, thank you very much," you reply as you suddenly stand up from the table, making your way to the entrance of the restaurant, "this date is over."

Steve stands up, rushing over to you and grabbing you by the wrist, pulling you to him, "you're not going anywhere, sweetheart!"

The small handful of people in the restaurant just stare at the two of you as you struggle against Steve's grasp; no one makes a move to help you.

"Let go of me you greasy asshole!" you yell, spitting in his face.

Steve scowls, wiping your spit from his face before slapping you across the face. You cry out when his hand makes contact, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. One of Steve's hands grasps your back side, squeezing so hard that you know for certain it's going to bruise later. The other hand grabs your chin, forcing your head so it's facing his and he tries to kiss you.

The front door of the restaurant suddenly gets kicked in and you feel a familiar chill in the air. You don't need to look to know that your loyal butler has arrived.

"Get your filthy hands off my Master," Lycaon growls, his heavy steps quickly advancing.

Steve sucks in a breath, his eyes widening as he lets go of you, shoving you away. You can see that he's trembling, frozen in place. You notice a wet spot on his pants, right between his legs.

Oh my god… he's pissed himself.

You stifle a laugh at this realization as you watch Lycaon approach him. The individual parts on his mechanical legs popping out and coating in ice, cooling the air around him. You pick up the chatter around you.

"Isn't that the owner of Victoria Housekeeping?!"

"Yeah, that's Von Lycaon!"

"I wouldn't want to be that guy right now…"

Steve stumbles backwards as Lycaon stalks towards him, his posture confident and his right arm tucked behind him.

"Dude I'm sorry! I was desperate ok?! It won't happen again!"

"You're right," Lycaon growls, his eye shifting up at Steve, his gaze like a crimson dagger, "it won't."

Within a blink of an eye, Lycaon rushes forward, punching him in the gut. Steve hunches over, a splatter of blood coming out of his mouth. Lycaon brings up one of his legs, kneeing Steve in the face before bringing his other leg around to give him a roundhouse kick. You cry out along with the other patrons as Steve is hurled into the back of the restaurant, crashing against the wall so hard, it leaves a large indent in the wall where Steve's body made contact before crashing to the floor. For a moment, Steve doesn't move and you start to fear that Lycaon might have killed him; that is until Steve starts groaning, staggering while standing up.

"You… You hit like a bitch…" Steve groans, wiping the blood coming from his mouth.

You spot a subtle smirk form on Lycaon's lips as he walks towards Steve, ice once again gathering on his mechanical legs, several different parts starting to glow. He stands in front of Steve once more, who is now laughing nervously.

"Say that again, cretin. To my face."

Not so tough now that Lycaon is inches in front of him, Steve remains silent, his legs wobbling as he fights to keep himself standing up. You watch Steve swallow hard, seemingly building up his courage.

"You hit like a bi--"

If you had blinked, you would have missed Lycaon kicking straight upwards, causing Steve's head to violently snap backwards, an audible crack reverberating in the restaurant. Steve drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Lycaon takes a moment to brush himself off before turning around and walking up to you.

"Don't worry, my lady, he's not dead," he says, as if reading your mind as he gently takes your arm to lead you outside, "let's get you home."

The first thing Lycaon had done once the two of you had gotten home was start the shower for you. You have no idea how much time has passed since you stepped inside, letting the hot water fall on you as you silently cry. You should have listened to your gut when you realized Steve looked nothing like the photo your mother had sent you. That is the last time you let your mother play match maker. You felt awful that Lycaon had to basically come rescue you. There's no doubt your father is going to catch wind about what happened, especially considering the amount of damage Lycaon had caused in the restaurant.

You'll worry about that later. Right now, all you wanted to do was get cleaned up and go to sleep. You turn the shower off, pushing the shower curtain aside to step out, but you stop yourself. You find one of your bathrobes folded neatly on the counter next to the sink, but that's not all. A single red rose is placed on top of the folded robe. You carefully step out of the shower, approach the bathroom counter, gingerly pick up the rose and twirl it in your fingers slowly; the rose having been meticulously de-thorned.

Lycaon…?

Another spot of red in the corner of your eye catches your attention. Turning to look, you see that there is a trail of red rose petals on the floor that leads out of the bathroom. You take the robe and put it on, wrapping it around your nude body and tying it before you follow the trail of rose petals. Upon opening the bathroom door, you are once again stunned, too frozen in shock to move. The rose petals lead straight to your bed, the plush white comforter not only covered in petals, but with whole roses like the one you found in the bathroom; there's at least twenty of them, if not more.

You hesitantly walk towards your bed, your heart pounding in your chest. Did Lycaon do this? He must have, who else would have, you're the only two people in the house. But why? What does this mean? Your breaths are heavy, causing your chest to heave as you look down at your bed. You place your hand over your heart in an attempt to calm yourself. Surely, he's just trying to cheer you up after your horrific date. That must be it.

"My lady."

You suck in a breath at the sound of Lycaon's voice, slowly turning around to face him. Standing in the doorway, you immediately notice he's not wearing his signature vest, but just the white button up shirt he typically wears beneath the vest, the sleeves still rolled up to his elbows along with his black pants. The shirt is unbuttoned halfway, a tuft of fur spilling from his shirt. You feel your mouth hang slightly agape as your eyes run up and down Lycaon's form.

"If I had known you were going on a date with that… filth, I wouldn't have let you go."

He slowly approaches you, the sultry look in his eye erasing any doubts of his intentions; the sound of his mechanical legs walking across the floor echoing in your head as he approaches. You unconsciously take a step back away from him, the back of your legs hitting the foot of the bed.

"My liege," he whispers, the backs of his fingers gently caressing the side of your face, "there is no need to be alarmed. Unlike that disgusting drivel, I would never hurt you."

His fingers gently dance across your jaw line, moving downwards until he reaches your throat. You swallow hard as his fingers gingerly wrap around your neck, "that is unless… you want me to hurt you."

You watch his eye darken, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips as his fingers delicately squeeze the pulse points on your neck.

"Lycaon we… we shouldn't do this. If my father finds out--"

"To hell with your father," he growls, stepping closer to you, "I've seen how you look at me, my lady; the way your eyes linger on me when you think I'm not looking."

His hand moves from your throat, sliding down to rest onto your chest, right over your racing heart, "I know you want this as much as I do."

Your head is spinning, being pushed and pulled between all your complicated feelings. You do want this. As much as you want this, he's your butler under your family's employ, you know it's wrong. You hesitantly shake your head.

Lycaon lets out a low chuckle, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "I can smell your arousal, my lady. You should know more than anyone that you can't fool me."

Wrapping one of his arms around your waist, he tenderly coaxes you to lay back onto the bed, his muzzle buried into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he cages you with his body. His hands grasp onto your thighs, gingerly spreading your legs apart so he can settle himself between them. You can feel him grazing his teeth along the side of your neck, to your jawline until his lips linger just in front of yours.

With a deep breath, you finally give in to your desires, kissing him deeply as your hands run up his chest. Your fingers find the buttons on his shirt and begin to unbutton them, his shirt falling open once you undo the last button. As your hands massage his chest, you can feel the toned muscle under his soft fur. Letting out a groan, Lycaon deepens your kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to dance with yours.

You feel like the kiss lasts an eternity and let out a soft whimper when he breaks the kiss. He lets out a low chuckle as he leans down, kissing your collar bone as he unties your robe, pushing off you. Once your body is exposed, he trails kisses between your breasts, over your stomach until you can feel his warm breath over your folds.

"From this moment on, I will be the only man touching you," he states, his gaze locked on yours has he runs his tongue through your folds before continuing, "if a man so much as breathes on you, I will snap him in half like a twig."

Between his ministrations on your cunt and his words, you're completely overwhelmed by pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you lay your head against the mattress; your pussy walls fluttering around nothing. You hear another low chuckle from Lycaon.

"Oh? Do you like that, my liege? Do you like it when I protect you?" he asks with a playful tone.

He doesn't allow you to answer, however, because he immediately seals his lips around your throbbing clit, gingerly taking it between his teeth and caressing it with his tongue, reveling in the sound of the loud moans coming from you as he does so. You dig your heels into the bed as your hands grip the sheets. Your legs trembling, a strained cry comes out of you as you finally come undone on his tongue. Lycaon eagerly laps up your release.

"My lady, you're as succulent as the sweetest fruit," he says softly, licking your release from his lips as he begins to climb back on top of you.

He hooks both of his arms under your thighs, draping your legs onto his shoulders as he looms above you. Staring down at you longingly, he begins undoing the belt on his pants with one hand. Your eyes widen when he pulls out his member. It's massive, easily the biggest you've ever laid eyes on. You can't help but also notice the large knot at the base, causing your heart to flutter.

Is he going to fit?!

Leaning back on his haunches, he spits on your pussy, using his fingers to massage his saliva into your folds before leaning back on top of you. You can feel his cock prod at your entrance, causing your heart to race in anxiety and anticipation.

"Tell me if it's too much, ok?" he whispers as he moves his hips forward.

You nod, sucking in a breath as you feel him penetrate you, his girth filling you up perfectly. As he begins to thrust, you watch his tail begin to wag back and forth, teasing a smile from you. His lips once again lock with yours, kissing you deeply as he fucks you with steady and even thrusts. Moaning softly into his kiss, you run your hands up his chest, then up the sides of his neck before settling on each side of his face, your hips moving in time with his.

He feels absolutely heavenly inside you, your walls squeezing his cock as it bullies its way deeper and deeper. He abruptly stops and pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach before lining his member back up with your throbbing cunt.

"I'm going to breed this beautiful pussy." he says, sheathing himself back inside you up to his knot, "fill you up with all my pups. Would you like that, my liege?"

He begins to thrust again, more aggressively this time. Each thrust forcing his knot into you, stretching you. You nod weakly as more moans spill out of you and before long, his knot is finally fully inside, creating a seal. It's a little painful at first, but that is quickly replaced by the intense pleasure coursing through your body as he pounds into you. Letting out a growl, he bites into your shoulder as his thrusts become sporadic.

You cry out is name, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you claw the sheets with your fingers, your second orgasm barreling towards you. With one final thrust, he pushes himself as deep inside you as he can possibly go without hurting you, shooting his load straight into your womb, painting your insides white with his seed. Your whole body is trembling from your release, your walls squeezing him as his cock continues to throb inside you.

You feel Lycaon's tongue lap where he had bit into your shoulder before nuzzling your cheek with his, his powerful arms wrapping around you, "are you alight, my lady?"

You turn to him, kissing him on the cheek unable to get the huge smile off your face, "more than alight, Lycaon."

"Good. That's what I like to hear."