#young k : guard you

[livvyofthelake]

well i did all i could at this time. get ready this saturday to celebrate one of five possible ninth anniversaries of me starting city of bones! it’ll be like sophie sheridan celebrating father’s day, you know who’s to say which of the five days it was. in theory i could go out to my garage and maybe dig up an old planner or notebook from seventh grade, but i simply do not want to do that. it’s cold out there and i am tired and sad, and frankly, i probably didn’t save even one notebook from that year because as soon as i was old enough to choose what school stuff of mine my parents saved i was very into the mindset of just throwing all that shit away. didn’t save anything again until i was like 16. years have been lost due to a child’s disbelief in the importance of artifacts rip

[wttcsms]

i'll pretend you'll stay forever ; kento nanami.

pairing kento nanami x f!reader  word count 2.4k  synopsis no one knows that the bodyguard for the prime minister's daughter fucks her on a daily basis. content contains bodyguard!nanami x prime minister's daughter!reader, big, beefy, strong nanami hehe, creampie, slight brat taming, pet names (baby, good girl, bad girl), cockwarming, dom!nanami, hair pulling, car sex, nanami makes you call him sir author's notes s2 was animated for the nanami girlies

Kento Nanami is good at his job.

Granted, he’s been practically bred for the position. Born and raised by a mother and father who also dealt in espionage, sent to boarding schools that would feed him directly to The Academy, constantly being reminded of his purpose. Agent Nanami serves as one of the Prime Minister’s most trusted secret operatives. A select few who are given the most sensitive assignments. 

“K-Kento — too much,” your shaky whines sound even louder than they actually are, emphasized by the silence in his car. 

Sensitive — yes, that’s what you are. 

“You can take it.” He tells you, gently stroking your cheek. His calloused thumb wipes away a stray tear, and he takes you in. You’re still tearing up, your lashes slick, and you’re pouting at him. You’re always pouting, probably because growing up, you’ve never been told no. It’s not required according to his assignment file (most of what Nanami has been doing with you has decidedly been not required), but Nanami’s been trying hard to give you lessons that will have you behaving politely and like a good girl rather than the spoiled brat you actually are.

Kento Nanami is good at his job.

When he’s told that he is to be the primary bodyguard for the Prime Minister’s daughter, he accepts it without hesitation. Everyone else has had no luck with you, and you certainly don’t seem to be bothered by that fact. You’re in college now, and you want nothing more than to skip lectures and go to parties, both of which is rather difficult when you have a bodyguard watching your every move and reporting directly to your father.

Nanami goes about his assignment in a different way. There’s another bodyguard, one who is also watching you, but young Itadori cannot possibly go about protecting the Prime Minister’s most beloved daughter safe all by himself. He’s barely graduated from the Academy.

Besides, you automatically dislike any of the guards assigned to you. Itadori is a nice, young man, and in different circumstances, everyone is certain that you would have enjoyed his company. The fact that his job is to protect you seems to be his only fatal flaw in your eyes.

Nanami is no stranger to undercover work, and so posing as a final year doctoral candidate at the university you’re attending is an easy cover. Setting up the perfect chain of events that leads to you specifically choosing him to be your economics tutor was also an easy enough task. 

And somewhere along the lines, you got this idea inside of your pretty, little head that you’re just the smartest, sneakiest girl around. You think you’re evading Itadori’s watchful eyes, taking advantage of his rookie status even though he’s always aware you’re “sneaking off” to meet with Nanami. You think you’re finally rebelling against your father’s strict instructions to stay out of trouble. 

And while Nanami does ensure that you keep out of trouble, he’s not sure if your father will approve with how he’s keeping you so obedient.

Kento Nanami is good at his job.

You’re not the first brat that he’s had to train, but you’re proving to be quite the star student. You hold back any more whining complaints, and instead, you’re straddling his lap like the good girl he knows you can be, his thick cock fitting snugly inside your pussy.

Both of your hands are clutching onto his broad shoulders, your pretty, manicured nails digging into the stiff cotton of his blue button-up. His mind doesn’t register the sting of your nails practically sinking into his skin. All he can focus on is what a pretty, dazed little mess you are. 

“See?” He coos, sounding not the least bit condescending. The warmth of his baritone, the reassuring strokes on your cheek — Nanami is a gentleman. You practically beam with pride as he tells you, “I told you you could take it. Such a good girl.”

You still haven’t moved yet, and Nanami whispers more words of praise for you. It only took two weeks of training to get you to understand that you can beg for his touch, his attention, his cock, all you want, but he gives it all to you under his terms and conditions. He knows you want some friction, knows that you need it so badly because why else are your walls clenching down so heavily on his length? You’re being so patient with him that he feels himself getting impossibly harder at the thought of your perfect behavior. 

“You want to ride me, baby?” The question comes out as a throaty whisper, the clear desire he has for you evident in his rough tone. 

You nod eagerly, damn near salivating at the thought of finally being able to take what you want. 

“Use your words.” He demands, moving his hand to caress your face once more before letting his thumb toy with your bottom lip. 

“Yes,” you whimper out, trying your hardest to resist the temptation to start moving, to have the feeling of his cock brushing against your walls, in and out, in and out.

His eyes narrow, and his cold demeanor is enough to keep you frozen in place. Oh, you’ve upset him. 

“You were being such a good girl, too.” He shakes his head in disappointment. “When you answer me, what are you supposed to say?”

“Y-yes, sir.” 

“And if you knew this, why didn’t you say it the first time?” The way he snaps at you shouldn’t give your tummy butterflies, but it does. Nanami is far kinder and gentler than he lets on, and it’s why you enjoy it when he takes on such a demanding role when it’s just the two of you. No one can handle your attitude as well as Nanami, and that’s precisely why you’re warming his cock right now, walls tightening around him with every stern scolding that leaves his mouth. 

“You can’t answer me?” The sharpness of his tone turns you demure, making you turn your head down and away from him, refusing to answer or look at him, and he frowns at that. You feel him wrapping your hair around his hand, and the movements are soft, slow, gentle at first—

—and with speed and dexterity that shouldn’t belong to a mere student, he’s yanking you by your hair, forcing you to snap your head up and look him in his cold eyes. 

“You were behaving so well earlier.” He feigns disappointment, but the hungry glint in his eyes tells you that he’s been looking forward to whatever punishment he has in store for you. “What a shame. I was going to let you have me however you wanted, let you take control for once.” He leans down, whispering in your ear. “Instead, it looks like I get to fuck you like the bad girl you really are, hm?” 

Before you can protest, apologize, beg for mercy, he takes his free hand to grip your waist, strong enough to lift you slightly off of him, only to slam you back down on his dick. 

You let out a strangled cry at the sudden intrusion. It’s one thing to have him sink into you inch by inch; it’s another thing entirely to have him practically impale you with his dick.

His thrusts are rough, hard, unforgiving. Never sloppy, though — Nanami’s much too meticulous to reduce himself to a wild animal, even though he’s fucking you so hard, you can’t tell if he hates your guts or just wants to rearrange them. 

His hand is still tangled in your hair, and he pulls some more, forces your neck to arch up. He leans in, licking at the soft skin of your neck before nipping at the skin, hard enough to leave a mark you’ll need to cover up with a turtleneck because no amount of concealer can save you now.

You mewl in pain at the sensation, but it’s obvious you love it. You’re dripping all over his dick, forcing wet, squelching sounds to fill the car every time he moves inside of you. You should be ashamed — would be ashamed — if only the overwhelming pleasure didn’t leave your mind shrouded in a hazy mist of lust and rapture. The pinpricks of pain from how he’s pulling your hair and from the fresh lovebites marking your flesh should hurt more, but you’re too lost in the way his cock is filling you up. 

“Look at that.” Nanami growls, untangling his hand from your hair in favor of putting his fingers to better use: stroking your clit. “You’re fucking soaked.” You look down as he commands, and your eyes widen in surprise, even though it shouldn’t come as such a shock to you. The front of his trousers is absolutely drenched with your juices, and your clit practically glistens in the faint moonlight that sneaks past the tint of his car. “Is this why you like to be a bad girl? Because you like getting fucked like a fleshlight, is that it?”

You want to shake your head no. You want to tell him that you are good, that you’re not a bad girl. But the stimulation on your clit, his harsh words, the way his cock is repeatedly hitting that special spot of yours — it’s all too much for you to handle.

“I want to treat you so well, baby. I want to spoil you, give you everything, but you make it so — fucking — difficult.” He speaks through clenched teeth, the warmth and ecstasy of being buried in your sweet pussy slowly chipping away at his resolve. The last three words of his sentence have all been punctuated by a particularly brutal thrust, and you’re certain that by the end of this, your cunt will keep the shape of his cock forever.

“I’m sorry!” You scream out, tears flowing freely down your cheeks now. The pleasure is mind-numbing, earth-shattering, reality-altering. Neither of you know what you’re apologizing for. Is it for being a bad girl when all Nanami wants is for you to behave so he can bring you the world at your feet? Is it for the wet mess you’re making all over his nice clothes and cock? Or is it for the fact that you’re breaking a cardinal rule, one that he will be most displeased by?

Maybe it’s all of the above, but if you had to pick, the apology would be for the fact that you’re cumming without permission. Your conscious mind is aware that Nanami is not going to be very happy with you, but this climax has you seeing stars. You can’t find it in yourself to worry about future consequences when you’re losing yourself in the throes of passion and pleasure. You’re drenching his cock in your cum, seeing stars, and reduced to feeling like a boneless mess. You slump against his strong chest, eyes struggling to remain open as you rest your head on one of his big, broad shoulders.

The punishment doesn’t come immediately — it rarely ever does. Nanami bides his time and doles out his punishments when you least expect it. He does it to keep you on edge, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t excite you. 

Instead, he lets you rest against him, reduced to nothing more than a little, fucked-out mess. You feel a rumble from his chest, a series of grunts and curses leaving his mouth as the bucking of his hips is done so harshly, you’re certain that you’re going to be bruised everywhere, from the soft flesh of your thighs to your poor cervix. A few more thrusts and Nanami is certain that he is planted as deep as he could go, the tip of his cock hitting you at your most sensitive spot. 

You feel him bury his face into your hair, taking in the scent of your shampoo and the lingering aroma of sex and sweat. His cock throbs in sporadic bursts, and you hear him grunt out your name like a broken prayer.

He cums, unloading a hot, heavy load directly inside of you, flooding you. You think you forget how to breathe, and all you can do is just take it, take all of him.

The warm sensation has you moaning softly; the feeling of him completely dominating your senses, your body, you, has you wanting him to never let you go, to never leave. You tighten your core, trying to squeeze more of his cum into you as he lets out little groans of pleasure from above you. You love reducing him to a moaning mess, reducing him to this sex-dazed state whenever he lets go because of you.

You don’t think you’re capable of speech, throat raw from your previous screams of pleasure, but you find that you don’t have to speak to let Nanami know what you want. As you lift your head from his shoulder, relishing in the sight of Nanami with his head leaned back, cheeks flushed from the exertion of giving you the best dick of your life, he opens his eyes to meet yours. Leaning down, he captures your lips and gives you a messy, sloppy kiss that is so unbecoming and out of character for him. 

The makeout session lasts until your eyes feel droopy and you’re not responding anymore. Nanami just looks down at you with a fondness that he hasn’t felt for anyone else in a while. You’re all tuckered out, and you’re breathing softly and slowly, lost to the world of dreaming. He’s a bit exhausted, too. He should pull you off his cock and buckle you back safely in the passenger seat, but he sees a small trail of his cum dribbling out of your overstuffed pussy and he figures it’s less of a mess if he just keeps you nice and plugged up for the time being.

Before he can close his eyes and join you, the crackle of his telecom planted in his watch comes to life. The static doesn’t do much to alter Itadori’s voice.

“Y1 to K1, this is Y1 requesting status of the Princess. Over.”

The “Princess” is currently dozing peacefully with his cum settling in her cunt. Nanami thinks that’s too crude to relay over the comms, though.

“K1 to Y1, Princess is secured. Over.”

[karasu13]

One of my bumble matches told me he taught Young K how to do squats during his enlistment. He worked out with Young K three times.

[maneskinwh0re]

ghostface!sevika x feminine!reader 👻

impulse fic for arctober 29th {sevika day}

men/minors dni, nsfw 18+

middle pic art creds to @ guccipussay 🖤

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cw: dom!sevika, sub!reader, fem!reader, a man…(reader has a bf but dw he don’t last long :3), blood, gore, violence, cheesy horror movie clichés, implied murders, mask k!nk, choking, kn!fe play, wlw smut!

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♱ halloween night — you sit next your boyfriend, cuddled up on the couch with your legs draped over his lap. his eyes linger up and down the black lingerie dress that hugs your curves, while your own eyes are focused on the horror movie playing on the tv.

♱ saw. a great franchise and the original being one of your all time favorites. as you watch, with every jump scare, your boyfriend grabs at your waist or tickles you, which is usually followed by you screaming and then playfully hitting his arm or chest.

♱ you want to like him. you do like him, but he gets on your nerves. yeah — you often go on errand trips and gym sessions with him and yeah — while you’re there, he occasionally flirts with other women when he thinks you aren’t looking. but spending your favorite holiday with him is a must. after all, what could go wrong with a simple horror movie marathon? everything is perfect, yet the night is still young.

♱ the city has been getting more and more dangerous recently, and as the clock nears midnight, all the kids must’ve gone home. the neighborhood is quiet with the exception of owls and chirping crickets.

♱ suddenly, the movie is interrupted by your phone ringing — a call from an unknown number.

♱ typically, you don’t answer a call unless the number is in your contacts, but your boyfriend irritably pauses the movie and insists you pick it up.

♱ with an agitated sigh, you answer. “hello?”

♱ “hello,” the person says on the other line. the voice is deep with a feminine undertone, laced with a rasp that almost catches you off guard.

♱ “who is this?”

♱ “you tell me your name, i’ll tell you mine.”

♱ “i don’t think so. can i help you?”

♱ “i just gotta ask you one question, baby.”

♱ baby? who does this creep think she is? you can’t help but admit her voice sounds attractive. “yeah? what is it?”

♱ “what’s your favorite scary movie?”

♱ your stomach drops and you end the call with a shudder, tossing your phone to the cushion next to you and breathing slow. something in your gut is telling you not to engage.

♱ “so… who was it?”

♱ “probably just some bratty teenagers prank calling or something.”

♱ “you lying to me?”

♱ “no! what?” you blurt out, almost angered with his distrust towards you. with a huff, you push yourself off your boyfriend’s lap and head towards the bathroom. “keep it paused, gimme five.”

♱ after rinsing your face with water, you take some deep breaths in front of the mirror. calm your nerves, it was just a phone call. the tense feeling in your gut still lingers as you walk back to the living room only to see your boyfriend is nowhere to be found. calling out his name, you sit back down on the couch and pick up your phone to dial his contact.

♱ “ugh- i’m not in the mood for this shit!” you yell out to him as you call his phone.

♱ you hear his phone ring in the other room and decide to make your way to the kitchen. you see it buzz repeatedly on the counter, watching it and zoning out as if waiting... something’s not right. where the hell is he?

♱ “your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging syste-” the sound of your call going to voicemail snaps you back to your senses before hanging up and looking around. you’ve seen too many scary movies to know this is how it all starts, and you try not to let the thought freak you out.

♱ startling you again, your own phone buzzes. unknown caller id. taking a deep breath, you tap the green button on your screen. “hello?”

♱ “hello again, beautiful.”

♱ that damn voice again. your anger rises at the woman on the other line. “what is this? some kind of sick joke? a prank?”

♱ “no no, baby. a game. a real easy one. y’ wanna play?”

♱ “what the f… do i have a choice? what’s stopping me from hanging up right now?”

♱ “maybe it’s your fear that you may not live through this very night.” yeah, right. anyone could make threats like this. she continues through your silence, “you never told me your name…”

♱ “why do you wanna know my name?”

♱ “i wanna know who i’m looking at.” your anger fizzles and breath hitches. fear smothers all the oxygen in your lungs and words are caught in the back of your throat. “you do have a choice, dove— to play or to die.”

♱ “fine,” you agree with a shaky breath, you internally scold yourself for turning to grab the nearest knife. who cares if you’re overreacting? you’re not dying tonight. you grip the knife’s handle tight as you hold your phone up to your ear. you start walking out the kitchen and down the hallway before your question is cut off with her single word. “how do i-”

♱ “colder...”

♱ you stop in your tracks. as a horror film fan, you have yelled at your television screen when a character makes a dumb decision or if you’ve wanted a better plot line. you always thought you would make logical choices if you were ever —hypothetically of course— put in a situation like this. but in this current moment, your head is only clouded with uneasy thoughts and vicious worry. you take a step backwards and start to return to the kitchen.

♱ “warmer… warmer,” her voice trails on as you play the game step by step. you pass the living room and enter the kitchen, stopping when you hear her voice again. “ah ah- cold.”

♱ you turn around and slowly creep your way back to the living room. the thought of her eyes constantly watching causes you to feel a mixture of fear and something else. your short steps continue towards the sofa where you sat care-free maybe only 10 minutes ago.

♱ “warmer… warmer… keep moving, baby. you’re doing so good… red hot. riiight there...” the mysterious woman taunts as you look around. and once you catch the sight behind the couch, you can’t help the horrified gasp and shriek that escapes your lips.

♱ your boyfriend lays motionless, face down on the floor in a pool of his own blood. deep gashes and slices have left his body mutilated. yet no weapon is left anywhere.

♱ fuck. this means she’s already in the house. your heartbeat races and your ears start ringing. no- that’s the phone—the sound of a dial tone. she hung up.

♱ you go to grab a bigger knife from the kitchen but they’ve all been taken. what’s the next best weapon? the only other option you see is the dirty pan that’s been left on the stove from dinner. looks like you’re sticking with the smaller knife you grabbed earlier.

♱ your phone goes off again, causing you to yelp at the ringer and then internally curse yourself for being so jumpy. it’s her again. you try to sound confident, but anxiety and dread involuntarily rises from the back of your throat. “what the fuck do you want?”

♱ “you, baby,” her voice is low and sultry, and you try not to let it get to you.

♱ “you’re psychotic…”

♱ “hm… sorry about your boyfriend. all those muscles didn’t help much,” she replies before ending the call again.

♱ you wander the house, preparing yourself to fight at every corner you turn. “where are you, motherfucker?” you whisper to yourself as you start to creep down the hallway. and before you realize what’s happening, a gloved hand reaches around to cover your mouth from behind, muffling your panicked scream that follows.

♱ your phone drops to the floor as you quickly swing your arm back to stab the tall figure behind you. your aggressive attempt to defend yourself is reversed as the woman dodges the knife and spins you so you’re now pinned against the wall. her right hand still muffles your mouth and the left holds your wrist above your head.

♱ your hold on the knife above you is weak as you freeze in her grip, your free hand clawing at her forearm. you can feel the size of her muscular arms in your struggles. once your vision clears, your squirming slows to a stop as you are face to face —or face to mask— with your intruder. her towering figure is clothed in black-hooded fabric and a long black and white mask is layered over her head, its mouth shaped as if screaming.

♱ you breathe through your nose in short gasps. “look at you… even prettier up close.” she tilts her head as if studying you. you’re unable to see her eyes but it’s obvious she’s looking you up and down as if you’re her next meal. “scream for help and you die. y’ got that, angel?” her hand tightens its grip on your mouth and her tone is short and stiff, like a merciless general commanding orders to a feeble soldier. you confirm you understand with a small nod, eyes still welled with tears until you soon blink them away. once your breaths even, she lowers her hand. “there you go, now was that so hard?”

♱ “what the fuck do you want from me?” you ask accusingly, making sure to not get caught up in anger. luckily, your shaky words don’t provoke her and only bring her to a deep chuckle.

♱ “such naughty language,” she says with a tut, almost amused with your fear as she lifts your chin with a gloved finger. you try so hard to push away the butterflies that form in your stomach. “besides, i thought we went over this already.” she lifts her leg between your thighs, teasingly pressing her knee up against you and trapping your body against the wall. a short gasp escapes your lips at the sensation, and she smirks under her mask. she uses this position as leverage to take the knife from your grip and lazily toss it down the hallway. the sudden sound of it clattering to the floor makes you flinch and her hands quickly return to your wrists, pinning them high above your head. “i’m not going to hurt you, angel,” she whispers, her disguised face leaning in close. “not unless you want me to…” and at the end of her sentence, your name rolls off her tongue. how the hell does she know your name?

♱ “y-you’re a damn creep,” you spit back less harsh than intended, and she can tell your barriers are wavering. if you’re being completely honest with yourself, it’s difficult to focus on your frustration when her actions are affecting your body like this. your mind is fuzzy, your chest feels tight, and your core aches. a moment passes as you stare at the woman in front of you, her broad build dominating your figure. the flesh of your bare thighs involuntarily clench on either sides of her knee. you’re in short, black lingerie… of-fucking-course you’re feeling vulnerable in her arms. “what ‘re you gonna do to me then?”

♱ “only things you want me to do, sweetheart.”

♱ and at this, she has you. her words bring a breathy whimper from your lips and you grind yourself against her knee. like a slut. you’re not proud, but it feels good— fear and distress not dissipating but mixing perfectly with pleasure. it’s exhilarating. intoxicating. arousing. it’s a way you’ve never felt before in relation to sex, with your boyfriend or anyone else for that matter.

♱ “y’ dirty little thing. you like this? tryin to get yourself off at the threat of your fuckin life?” she asks, her degrading tone not doing anything to help you come to your senses. “if y’ want help, jus’ use your words.”

♱ “h-help… please,” you nod up to her, squirming and going to cover your face with your hands until you're reminded of her own gloved hands restricting you by the wrists. you want to hide— hide from her, from your shame, from the lust, from your lack of wanting to fight whatever this is. but as soon as she lowers her hand to feel how wet you are through the fabric of your underwear, all negative thoughts abandon your mind.

♱ “give up the fight, dove.” the masked woman’s voice is rich and warm, and you finally pinpoint her subtle puetro rican accent while she speaks. she feels you relax into her hand at her words and loves hearing the quiet sounds you make as one of her fingers slowly circle your clit through the thin, dampened material.

♱ “i give up- i… i give up. please, just-”

♱ “you want me inside you, baby?” she whispers into the nape of your neck, the bloodied plastic of the mask grazing across your exposed collarbone. your hurried nod cues her to remove her right glove, and her left hand lazily shoves it in the back pocket of her black jeans under her cloak. you catch a glimpse of her veined hand before she pushes your underwear to the side and thrusts two thick digits into your wet cunt. you clench around her middle and ring fingers, watching how white rings of cum drip and gather at the dark skin of her knuckles.

♱ her free hand trails up your chest and grips you by the neck, squeezing lightly and bringing a strained moan from the back of your throat. “been watchin' you for a while now. 've seen the way your fingers wrap around this throat as you touch yourself, thinkin' no one could fill those filthy desires o' yours.” your hands grasp at her forearm again and force her grip harder against you. she chuckles once she realizes what you’re trying to do, and decides to give you what you want, a tightening hold that's hard enough to leave bruising. “you like my hand right here? choking the damn life outta you? y're a sick little slut, it’s adorable.”

♱ as her long fingers thrust and curl inside your heat, you find yourself at her mercy while she fucks you against the wall. the thought of your boyfriend's cold, rotting body in the other room is long gone. and you can only focus on how warm this womanly murderer feels against you, killing just so she can get to you. now that thought is what makes you weak in the knees.

♱ “can y' keep yourself standing, baby? or do i need to fuck you on the floor?” she asks as her fingers quicken their movements.

♱ “mph- i can stand!” you insist, trying so hard to keep your jelly knees from buckling under your limp self. you feel your back start to slide down the wall, disproving your protest. you're visibly unable to hold up the weight of your own trembling body. it's not your fault your trespasser just makes you feel so fucking good. so fucking close... until she stops.

♱ her fingers pull out quickly and she seizes one of your arms, not bothering to wipe your juices off her fingers. you feel how soaked two of her fingers are as her large hand grips your upper arm, tightening to a painful squeeze.

♱ “clearly, you don't have the strength. so we're gonna try s'mthin' new,” she says before tearing your underwear off and throwing you to the wooden floor. you lay there for a moment, shock hitting you as you try to take in oxygen again. facing away from the intruder, you bring your forearms close and try to crawl towards the other end of the hallway. your hips roll to the side with every other crawl so you can rub your thighs together, attempting to recreate that same friction you felt seconds ago.

♱ in the state of hysteria, you miss the foul act of the masked woman tucking your underwear into the other back pocket of her pants.

♱ you turn your head up to see her slowly bending down to pick up the kitchen knife she tossed away minutes ago. you see the back of her head through an opening in the mask's fabric. her dark hair is short, maybe reaches just past her ears. but any further sight of her human characteristics are cut short once she stands up and her posture straightens. her head turns to you. and your breath quickens. she begins walking. every brisk step passes faster than the last as she gains more speed down the hallway, knife clutched in her fist.

♱ is this how it truly ends? a trick to get edged and then end up killed? some scary movie.

♱ alarms blare in your mind and genuine fear takes over as you try to crawl away. prey chased by predator. think y' know who wins in this twisted game.

♱ a gloved hand clutches the flesh on your shoulder and flips you onto your back. you can't seem to help your panicked scream that erupts into the fabric of that same damn glove. she removes her palm with a forceful shove away and pins both your wrists to the floor on either sides of your head. she lowers her body on top of you and straddles your hips, shushing you and reassuring she won't hurt you.

♱ you almost believe her until your frightened eyes watch her arm lift, the knife held tight in her fist. she brings it down hard causing you scream again and squeeze your eyes shut, too scared to watch how she guts you. when you don't feel any pain, you peek an eye open to watch her laugh. laugh at your terror, knife still in hand.

♱ rightfully pissed off now, for both fearing for your life and the pleasure she has delayed you of, you spit up at her ghost of a face. your saliva scatters across the plastic, but surely she felt mist of it directly through the patches of the eyes and mouth. she pauses. and if only you could see that sadistic smirk of hers, just so proud of your little defiant act.

♱ but every bad action has its consequence.

♱ the knife lifts again and is slammed down into the floor, just inches to the right of your head. the handle points up to the ceiling and your ghostface girl guides your hand up and wraps your fingers around it, then follows suit and wraps her own left hand around the handle as well. it's sentimental, you tell yourself as you focus on calming your breathing.

♱ her right hand trails down your chest and returns to its place at your cunt. she teases a finger before pushing in two again, and you can't tell how long she keeps delaying your needed orgasm. one moment, you're a pleading mess. the next, you can't speak because her gloved hand clutches at either your mouth or throat. she smells of dried blood and alcohol, bringing you close only to pause her movements for the second time.

♱ “please, i can't keep doing this. i... need to-” your begs are cut off by her taunting words.

♱ “need to what?” she asks, her mask leaning close to your face. “say it.” her intensity rises a blush to your cheeks, and when you can only let out a shy whimper, she withdraws her fingers from your aching heat again.

♱ ignoring your protests, fusses, and pouts, she shoos your hand off the knife's handle next to your head and yanks it out of the floor in one swift movement. she trails the sharp point of the blade down your torso, from your chest all the way to your mound. you can't help the little buck of your hips as the cold metal lightly grazes your clit.

♱ that little movement brings her to a chuckle. “i know a lot o' things about you, dove. but i wasn't sure you'd crave knife play this badly.”

♱ you can only muster a strained groan. and with that, she flips the weapon and gently pushes the handle into your soaking walls. the most provocative of sounds is brought at the contact, and it's music to her ears. she groans in satisfaction and ogles at how well you take it.

♱ her thrusts are slow, careful, gentle, turning and pushing and pulling... mindful of how easily she could injure the flesh of your inner thighs or even your pretty pussy with one wrong move. her skilled hands work you up again, probing your body with her calloused skin.

♱ you feel that knot in your core grow tighter and tighter. in a moment of impulse, your shaky hands reach up to grab hold of the ghostface's mask and pull it up to reveal your intruder's real identity. she just lets you, casually watching your wide-eyed reaction to her appearance as she fucks you faster.

♱ she's fucking gorgeous. you first notice her eyes, a shining grey in contrast to her darker skin. her nose is wide and hooked, her lips are plump and soon turn upward in a sly smirk as you study her. she notices your focus lingering at her lips, so she allows herself to lean in and place a light kiss to your slightly open mouth. your jaw is slack as you continue to take staggered breaths, yet you want more. you chase the kiss once she begins to pull away. connecting your panting mouth to hers again, she pushes her tongue into your mouth with a groan and swallows every sweet whimper she brings from the back of your throat.

♱ the handle of the knife continues to pump in and out of your leaking cunt. she knows you won't last much longer. you can't. you break the kiss at the last possible moment to gasp for air, and she uses that short second to pull her ghostface mask back down with her gloved hand.

♱ she wants her lips to be on yours again, but she'd be damned if she returns to the sensation. she's already internally scolding herself for becoming too attached to the taste of you, but she is just loving how you make vulgar curses sound sweet in the ways they spill from your panting lips. “f-fuck, fuck! i'm gonna-”

♱ “i know, baby, i know,” she says, her deep voice slightly softens as she speeds up her pace and grazes your clit with her thumb. “sevika,” her deep voice mutters close to your ear. and when you bite her clothed shoulder as a way to mute your own uncontrollable whimpers and moans, her gloved hand returns a threatening squeeze to your throat. after forcing you back down to the floor, she speaks again. “scream for sevika. scream my name as you cum on my fingers, dove...”

☆ ·:*¨༺ ♱ ༻¨*:· ☆

♱ blue and red lights move across the walls through the windows. the blaring sounds of sirens are heard from outside. you think you find peace until you hear muffled yells from police officers at your front door, warning anyone who is in the entryway that they're breaking it down. you hear a countdown and loud pounding, but the ringing in your ears is louder.

♱ by the time the officers run down the hallway and get a sight of you, there's scattered radio chatter followed by paramedics springing into action and bombarding you with questions.

♱ “ma'am, can you hear me?” ... “can you tell me your name?” ... “have you been stabbed?” ... “is there anyone else in the apartment with you?” ... “who did this?”

♱ you're coughing and sputtering. your body is in a heap of blood, sweat, and tears (and cum but it's not as noticeable). at this point, you only remember little flashes.

♱ sevika. you never got to tell her how pretty that name is. you remember the outlines of her face. the trace of her fingers... the trace of that knife before it was plunged into you. not deep, nor anywhere vital. you remember being in that post-orgasm gaze... a whisper in your ear — “for evidence...” — and then a sharp pain sliding its way in and out of your side, bringing you to a pile of blood and pained tears on the floor. you were already covered in sweat — she had made sure of it, but then she had to go ruin you again. ruin your body twice.

♱ a flashlight is shining in your eyes, bringing you back to the present as well as attention to the obvious growing blood stain in your clothing. your breathing becomes strained and labored as your vision starts to cloud.

♱ “victim has three visible injuries-” you overhear paramedics take note of your body's condition as they bring in a stretcher to carry you. “stab wound and two abrasions, neck and chest...”

♱ a subtle grin sneaks its way onto your face once you realize why sevika left you in an open pile on the floor. she didn't want to kill you, but she also didn't want to see your name in a court file. seems like getting found with a stab wound would lower your chances of being high suspect for your boyfriend's murder. they have no other leads so far, but sevika made it seem like you were at the wrong place at the wrong time.

♱ you know police will pester you with further questions and investigations, but you don't care. your lips are sealed.

╔═══════ ☆ ·:*¨༺ ♱ ༻¨*:· ☆ ═══════╗

♡ this was so rushed i actually don’t like it but WHATEV

♡ hope y'all enjoyed! lmk if y'all want this to be a series bc i love halloween too much to only post spooky themes once a year...

- 🐝

╚═══════ ☆ ·:*¨༺ ♱ ༻¨*:· ☆ ═══════╝

tag list: @lovinglywriting ♡

[thenameswinterfics]

SCIAMACHY

Fandom: House of the Dragon Pairing: Cregan Stark x DragonDreamer!Reader Settings: Season 2 and post season 2 Summary: As the second child of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Aemma Arryn, your father arranged your marriage to the young Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark, in the guise of an arranged marriage that would strengthen the bond between your Houses. But you are haunted by visions of a bloody war shaking the Seven Kingdoms, and the seeds of your doubt are sown when your sister's claim to the throne is challenged. Word Count: 4,4 K Warnings: Angst, mention of death, mention of grief, mention of character(s) death(s), mention of child loss, mention of sibling loss, major spoilers from the book "Fire and Blood" (if you're only following the show please do not read this fic). A/N: I'm back! (sadly for you) This is my very first fic I've written for the HOTD fandom and the very first fic of Cregan. I'm nervous, maybe even more than when I posted my first Sihtric fic, probably because the fandom is vast. It came out different of what I've planned in my head and I lowkey hate the last part, but I hope you still could enjoy it! A special thanks to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for helping me with clearing my outline and for the title, and for her and @legitalicat for the quick beta reading.

Dedicated to my beautiful Cregan wife @sylasthegrim

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

Sciamachy: (n), a battle against imaginary enemies; fighting your shadows.

An unfamiliar chill ran down your spine as you walked through the dark corridors of the Red Keep, the place you were born but never called home. The soft crunching of the snow under your boots was the only sound you could hear as you juggled in the darkness, the faintest light in the form of rays filtering through the cracks in the walls and allowing you to see a little. 

The sight was vivid, far too vivid, and all you could do was rub your eyes vigorously, hoping that when your vision cleared you would find yourself surrounded by the crackling fire and warmth of your room in Winterfell, the place you were sent against your will but would be forced to call home once you became its new lady. 

But no matter how hard you tried to clear your vision: you would still recognise the long, oppressive corridors you had walked as a child, emptied of the countless soldiers of the Kingsguard that guarded it. Each step became an echo of the memories you thought you had buried with time, but which rose to the surface like a breath of fire from the dragon's jaws. 

You could still hear the voice of King Viserys, the father who despised you from the moment you took your first breath, guilty of stealing your twin brother's life and living in his name. A father that neglected you for not being born as a man.

You could still hear the voice of your sister Rhaenyra, sweet as honey and warm as a mother's embrace you had never known. You were the little sister she always wanted, the glimpse of freedom amidst her duties to the Crown and the relief from the pain of losing a childhood friend. And it mattered not that you were the quietest of her family, avoiding banquets and receptions in the throne room and sneaking out whenever you could, collecting the brightest bugs and muttering meaningless words, flinching when someone touched your hand: you were still her perfect little sister in her eyes. 

And her love was all you wanted right now. 

Your bittersweet thoughts were interrupted by a loud roar from outside, the sound so loud it made your head spin and your stomach churn. You quickened your pace, hoping to find a larger crack in the wall to see what was happening outside. And there you found a vision that made you freeze.

You saw two dragons, an older one and a younger one, chasing each other across a stormy sky, their dragon scales glowing under the lightning and thunder as their bodies pursued each other in a majestic yet macabre dance. It seemed an innocent game between them, but the claws and talons of the older dragon prevailed over the younger, and you watched helplessly as he fell to the ground like a comet from the sky, swallowed by the sea.

You walked on, your eyes never leaving the scene outside, wanting to help the little dragon disappear into the water. But the more you crossed the corridor, the heavier the air you breathed became, and roars of pain, of burning lands and clashing swords filled your ears like a cursed chant. 

You covered your ears and closed your eyes, stopping your journey towards the throne room. When you opened your eyes again, you saw a room far different from the one you were accustomed to: the vibrant and noisy ambience turned into a ghostly one, the faint rays of moonlight illuminating the Iron Throne. A bloody crown, Jaehaerys' crown, lay abandoned on the throne, rivulets of blood running down to your feet, two dragons lying restlessly behind it. Two children stood before it, their backs to each other, holding each other's hands; you could feel their tortured gaze as they watched the bloody chair, and your heart broke at the sight. 

As you approached, trying to touch the crown, soft footsteps made you turn and you heard a wolf howling in the distance.

And then you woke up. 

Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honour must pay its price. 

These were the words that came out from Cregan Stark's mouth as he escorted Jacaerys to the Wall. They were a testament to how the men of the North were bound by his rigid code of values and honour, and how none of them had ever forgotten or wavered from an oath. 

And when the Stark were called upon to renew their allegiance to House Targaryen, nothing would make them waver.

His father Rickon had already done so when he was summoned to King's Landing and bent the knee to Rhaenyra Targaryen, and a few years later it was Cregan's turn to renew the oath by accepting King Viserys' offer of marriage to the new lord of Winterfell. The young wolf had recently been freed from the regency of his zealous uncle Bennard, and an arranged marriage to a Targaryen princess would strengthen the bond between the two houses since the times of Aegon the Conqueror and Tohrren Stark. 

But when he saw the melancholy in your lilac eyes, Cregan realised that politics was nothing more than a sweet lie masking a more sinister purpose: you were no longer welcome at the court of King Viserys, no matter how much your sister begged to keep you under her protection, or how much Alicent Hightower dared to show a glimmer of mercy. You would have been a young dragon raised by a pack of wolves, and as his future wife it would have been his responsibility to look after you.

And now he was called to be sworn to House Targaryen again, on the brink of a civil war that could involve the North in Southern affairs. 

“The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oath sworn to King Viserys and to his rightful heir,” Jacaerys announced solemnly, walking through the narrow corridors of the Walls, Cregan at his side. The Lord of Winterfell was holding Ice over one shoulder, the sword as heavy as the title inherited from his father. 

“Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince,” Cregan retorted, occasionally bowing his head to some members of the Night’s Watch, “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between North and South,” he added, a hint of heavy responsibility in his voice. The threats in winter were much greater than in summer, with the Night's Watch and the men of Winterfell stepping up their activities on the Wall, ready to turn back any outside threats. Furthermore, it was rare to see the intervention of the North in matters concerning the South, but Cregan could not ignore that oaths were broken. And traitors had to pay for it.

“War is coming to the whole realm, my lord,” it was the Prince of Dragonstone’s turn to retort back, “Whilst your men plan to raise guards against wildlings, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. My mother’s claim has been compromised, and little I believe your lady wife could turn her gaze away,”

The words that escaped Jace's mouth left Cregan in a state of astonishment, his brows furrowing and hardening his already stern face. He had never expected the prince to use his wife so cleverly, even though she was a trusted member of his house whom he had sadly never met in peaceful circumstances.

“The Queen has not forgotten the love she has for her sister, and King’s Landing will welcome her again once my mother succeeds in keeping the realm united,”

“My lady wife has her sister's fate very much at heart,” Cregan continued, his gaze softening a bit at the thought of you, “and you arrival put her in a state of worry, my prince,”

The two young men then stood on the Wall, looking out over the untamed land, now covered in white snow. A biting wind whipped around them as Cregan explained how such powerful creatures as the dragons refused to cross the spaces beyond the Wall, highlighting the dangers of the unknown that folded these lands, while he and Jacaerys negotiated the number of men willing to aid Queen Rhaenyra's cause. Cregan himself knew the importance of keeping an oath to a man's moral integrity, and while his duties were tied to the Wall and the threat of the wildlings, he could not ignore the dispute over the king's word. 

“My lord,” one of Cregan’s men arrived, forcing the two young men to interrupt their conversation, “Urgent news from Dragonstone,” 

The Wolf of Winterfell took the parchment in his hands, and from the brief glance he shared with one of his men, he knew the contents were far from frivolous. He let the paper slip from his hands to read the message, and a sense of astonishment struck him like the chill of the North: his lips curled into a grimace, his eyebrows furled slightly as his grey eyes scanned the words printed on the paper. He could have thought it was an unfortunate joke, but the seal of House Targaryen only confirmed what he had read: 

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon has met his death at Storm's End, slain by Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

Cregan lifted his gaze to rest on Jacaerys' brown eyes and watched as the young prince's face contorted in confusion, then grief as he glanced at the parchment in Cregan's hands, and hot tears watered his eyes, streaming down his sharp face until two small rivers crossed their path on his chin. The young lord watched helplessly as the Prince of Dragonstone staggered backwards, clutching his chest in a tight fist as if trying to hold it together; it was a sight familiar to Cregan, for he had also lost his younger brother and remembered the same sense of helplessness creeping through his veins. 

But as Jacaerys collapsed in grief, a new weight hit Cregan's chest, a sense of dread blossoming in the centre of his stomach as he steeled himself for what was to come. 

He would have to inform you and to bring the news of Lucery’s death. And it wouldn’t be easy.

The bright orange sun hid behind the imposing mountains of the North, its last rays illuminating the tops of the peaks and tinting the snow a soft pink. As the light faded, a few amber rays filtered through the windows of your chambers, illuminating them with a soft glow - the gentle warmth of the sun blending with the heat of the great fire in the centre of the room, accompanied by the soft crackle of the wood.

You sat quietly at the foot of your bed, embroidery hoop in hand, watching your son Rickon play with his wooden toys beside you. A few handmaids moved about your chambers, preparing the large table for the dinner you and Cregan would share that evening. Your lilac eyes rested on the small figure of your son, who returned them with a broad smile. But as you raised a hand and gently rubbed his swollen cheeks, you were seized by a sense of unease. 

It had been a long time since you and Cregan had been married, and from the first night you spent in Winterfell your mind had been haunted by dark omens hovering over your family name. Glimpses of what had happened in the past and what would happen in the future passed before your eyes like dancing shadows, sometimes appearing even when you were fully awake. You could still hear cries for help filling your ears, dragons fighting in the sky with claws and breath of fire, and sinister whispers plotting an overthrow of power, the image of your father's bloody crown on the throne still vivid in your mind. 

The people of Winterfell had always regarded you with suspicion, for you were far from the Targaryen princess they had always imagined. But Cregan had never dared to question your tastes, however strange they might sound, and whenever the duties of lordship allowed him a moment's respite, he would gladly accompany you to the far reaches of the North and catch whatever bugs you wanted. In winter, when the temperatures were too harsh and the bugs were nowhere to be found, he would wrap his great arms around your form and listen to your strange rhymes as he gazed into the fire. 

Your prophetic dreams ceased after you gave birth to Rickon, but they returned when a raven came from Dragonstone with grim news: the death of your father the King, the usurpation of your sister's claim by the Hightowers, and the loss of Rhaenyra's only daughter. Fear settled in your heart as you remembered the figure of the young dragon swallowed by the waves of the ocean, and you wondered if even innocent children would fall victim to this dangerous game of power. 

The doors of your chambers swung open and Cregan appeared. The handmaids greeted him with a nod of respect, and you gave him a small smile as you watched Rickon rise and reach his father, who scooped him up with his free hand and kissed his little forehead.

But it was when he looked at you that you realised something was wrong. His eyes, softened by the sight of you, held a pain that seemed to be fighting him. It was as if he were carrying a burden too heavy for him to bear, heavier even than his duties as Lord of Winterfell, and the sight surprised you: you had never seen Cregan so troubled by anything.

"Leave us alone," your husband's voice echoed in the room, once again wearing his mask of severity, "I need to have a few words with my wife in private,” 

The handmaids bowed their heads and quickly left the room, one of them holding Rickon in her arms. There was an unspoken tension in the air as Cregan cautiously approached you and sat in front of you. He had always been an attentive and protective husband, showing a side that differed from the stern image he gave his men.

“You seem quite troubled, husband,” you spoke softly, your voice faltering slightly. Cregan replied with a heavy sigh, covering your hands with his larger ones and rubbing them with his calloused thumbs.

“Dreadful news came from Dragonstone, my love,” Cregan said in a hoarse voice, choosing his words carefully, as if talking to a wounded puppy, “Your sister, the Queen, lost a child again,”

You felt the ground beneath your feet, surroundings had become as muffled as your husband's voice as he recited the contents of the parchment:

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon has met his death at Storm's End, slain by Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

Feeling like you were about to pass out, you rolled over onto your side and gripped the wooden footboard in a tight vice. You immediately covered your mouth and looked down at your feet as your mind slowly processed the news, but the shock was so strong that no tears came. Your mind raced back to the dream you'd had weeks before Jacaerys' arrival, seeing pieces of a puzzle you couldn't quite understand until now: Lucerys was the dragon that fell from the sky, and Aemond was the other one who sank his jaws into his flesh.

You felt Cregan's worried gaze on you as one of his hands moved to your arm, rubbing it gently in a soothing way. “It pains me to see you so devastated, my sweet wife,” he spoke quietly, breaking the wall of silence between you, “but you must know that House Stark will stand against-“

“I need a moment, please,” your trembling voice interrupted him as you found the strength to stand at your feet, your thick robes swooning with every step you took in the room. You paced back and forth, one hand rubbing the bridge of your nose while the other supported your lower back, grief and confusion mixing in your head as you felt like you were about to succumb to madness: for a moment you wondered if Rickon would fall victim to the Dance as well, but no bad omen was attached to him and that brought you a moment of peace.

Your restless walk ended as you approached the large window of your chambers and saw Vermax flying restlessly outside. It pained you to see such a magnificent creature as a dragon so distraught over the loss of his kin, and it pained you even more when a flash of his fate crossed your eyes as you saw the dragon dancing among hundreds of arrows.

“It is said that dragons can feel their masters’ emotions,” a rough voice came from behind, and you saw Cregan looking outside like you, “They feel their pain, their turmoil, and they share the same grief.” 

“He is preparing for his last flight,” you murmured quietly, turning your head slightly and locking your lilac gaze into his grey one. You felt Cregan’s hand resting on your waist, allowing him to pull you closer and join your foreheads together. 

"Winter is coming, my love, and I need my men here to defend the Wall," he spoke softly, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt the warmth of your skin against his, "but House Stark will pledge its support to Queen Rhaenyra by sending her thousands of Greybeards to fight in her name. Your sister's claim will be upheld and your nephew will succeed her," 

"Jacaerys will never be King of the Seven Kingdoms," you confessed defeatedly, looking down at your feet, "the only kingdom he will see is of sea and salt. He will never see his mother sitting on the Iron Throne. I have seen it,"

Your words brought a heavy silence to the room and you both withdrew into your thoughts. You saw how quickly Cregan and Jacaerys had bonded, how they spent their days hunting and drinking together while they negotiated the terms of war. Luke's death would not be an accident, and you hoped your words would reach your husband, that he would understand the destructive force dragons could be once they went into battle.

Instead, Cregan's only words were his arms wrapped around you, sealing your body in a protective embrace. He whispered words of comfort, kissed your temple and promised victory over the usurpers.

But deep in his heart, he knew it would not be easy.

Grief and anger were the emotions Cregan felt as he rolled the parchment in his hands, his eyes darting over the words written in pitch-black ink. He cursed himself for not believing the signs of your dreams, for thinking that fear had created them for you. But even this time you were right.

The Battle of the Gullet had been costly for the Blacks, and the death of Jacaerys Velaryon was a low blow the queen would not forgive her usurpers. It was Cregan again who had the task of bringing you the unfortunate news, and his eyes would forever be haunted by the sight of your grief: he saw you holding Rickon as the news of blood and cheese reached Winterfell's ears, and those same dull eyes came back to you as you leaned against the wall at your nephew's death.

Not even the news that King's Landing had fallen into the hands of Rhaenyra and Daemon could ease the paranoia you lived with, but it only served to fuel your dark prophecies. Few letters were exchanged between Cregan and Rhaenyra, with the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms constantly asking for her beloved sister and inviting her to return to court and serve if she wished. But Cregan always refused her invitation. 

For the truth was that you were safe in the great lands of the North, surrounded by nothing but the love of Cregan and Rickon, far from that viper's nest that was the Red Keep. It took time for you to adjust to the harsh cold of Winterfell and the coldness of its people, but your calm and gentle nature opened a breach in the heart of his hardened lord, and with it, the people began to love you. 

The night was cold, and the heat of the fire was not enough to protect them from the blizzard raging outside. Cregan could not sleep, tossing and turning, hoping that the Old Gods would grant him some much needed rest. It was only after tossing and turning on his side for the umpteenth time that he saw you awake too, your platinum curls falling gently to your shoulders and your lilac eyes gazing absently at the small bed where Rickon rested. 

The young wolf wrapped his naked arms around your waist and pulled you close, his chest pressed against your back, the layer of your nightgown the only thing separating your bodies. "Sleep seems to have left you too," he said in a harsh voice, his lips brushing against your neck. You closed your eyes and let out a shuddering breath. 

"I have no reason to be asleep, dear husband," you replied absently, the softness of your voice melting his heart. Cregan knew that your mind was far from him, and he feared that your prophetic dreams had imprisoned it again. He let out a long sigh before speaking again.

"A raven came from King's Landing in the morrow," he spoke quietly, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Rickon, "your sister will be pleased to welcome you to the capital and give you all the honours of a Targaryen princess,”

He felt a small chuckle escape your mouth and lowered his head, resting his newly bearded chin on your collarbone, "If it is your wish to reach her, I will order some of my men to arrange a safe journey south for you." Cregan went on, his voice faltering at the thought of leaving you alone while Rhaenyra dealt with her opponents. But you were his wife and the light of his eyes, and if you wished to regain your lost time with your sister, he would accept it without objection.

But the slight shake of your head surprised him, "It wouldn't change anything. Rhaenyra would be dead the moment I reached King's Landing, and the gods know what horrors await there.”

Cregan's brow furrowed, and for the first time he seriously considered the words of your prophetic dreams: if the Dragon Queen was indeed about to die, what would happen if he left his wife alone in the grasp of the Greens? A shiver ran down his spine, anger boiling in his chest at the thought of you being taken prisoner by Aegon the Usurper. 

"That will probably not happen," the Lord of Winterfell scoffed, tightening his grip as if he secretly feared you would disappear in his arms, "You have nothing to fear, my dear woman. Your sister is Queen now. Once the usurpers and the breakers of the oath have paid for what they have done, there will be a reign of peace and prosperity. 

"It will not be her," you murmured, rolling to the other side to face Cregan. You leaned your hand against his cheek as you looked at him with your melancholy eyes, "Rhaenyra is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but a crown of ashes will adorn her head and a cloak of fire will wrap her body.”

Cregan leaned into your touch, but he could not quite relax at the grim revelation you gave him: he wanted to find comfort in your presence, but your words were as hard as boulders, carrying a heavy weight he wanted to lift from your shoulders.

"I can hardly see it," he murmured, his voice tinged with doubt, "Rhaenyra is a strong woman, gathering as many noble men as she can for her cause. The kingdom will be stable under her leadership."

You shook your head slowly again, your eyes filled with sorrow, "But the Dragonfire is stronger than she is, and what she has built will crumble with her," you paused for a moment before continuing, "A throne of iron swords will give way to a wooden one, and only when the cripple breathes his last will a child step in, wearing Rhaenyra's crown like a burden.”

Cregan closed his eyes and tightened his grip, a mixture of emotions flickering across his face as he slowly digested what you had told him. He had learned over time that your dreams were not mere hallucinations of a daydreaming mind, but a prophecy destined to come true, no matter how hard you tried to alter the course of events. The deaths of Jacaerys and Lucerys were living proof. 

“I swear on my honour that I will keep raising my banners for the rightful queen, no matter how gruesome our fates will be,” Cregan retorted, lowering his head more until your foreheads met again, “What will be of us?”

"You are bound by your honour and will fight for Rhaenyra until your last breath, my love," you murmured, absently tracing circles on his cheek with your thumbs, "The wolf will cry in the dragon's nest, and his wolf will be heard in the darkest hour. And only when order is restored will the wolf return to his pack."

Cregan stood in silence, his chest rising slowly as he held his breath, the realisation dawned on him: the intense activity on the Wall and the organisation of the harvest had always prevented him and his men from making a proper march on King's Landing, hoping that the Greybeards he had sent would be enough to fight for Rhaenyra's cause. But your words have confirmed that his men will march on King's Landing, and he hopes to find a less devastated city than the one his wife has described.

“Cregan,” your gentle call awakened him from his thoughts, his head resting on your hands, “promise me you will come back to me and Rickon. Swear it,”

The young wolf stood silent for a moment, his eyes drinking in your beauty: it would be painful to leave you behind, but if your prophecy came true, he would be forced to honour his oath and fight for his queen. And so he took your head in his hands, closing the distance and sealing the promise with a long, bittersweet kiss, tasting of farewell but full of hope.

“I swear it.”

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

Cregan Stark Taglist: @sylasthegrim @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun (Part V)

Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 9.8 K

Warnings: Angst galore, violence, miscarriage

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 ... Part 6 Part 7

~~

A thump at her door roused her from her sleep. She blinked tiredly, propping herself up on her elbow as she looked around the room, seeing no indication of her husband’s presence. It wasn’t unusual that he would leave as the sun rose, but she knew today was not one of his training days. 

With a groan, she stood from the bed, wiping the sleep from her eyes as she stepped towards the door. She grasped the handle and frowned as she felt resistance, unable to turn to it. 

She tried again, jiggling the handle, her movements becoming more desperate as she realized it wouldn’t budge. She banged her fist against the door, calling out to her husband, but it was no use. 

The door didn’t open. 

With a racing heart, she rushed to the hidden passage across the room, her shaking hands pushing at the wall with all her might. A hushed curse fell from her lips as it refused to give way. Something was blocking it. 

Her mind was racing frantically, no thoughts making sense as to why she was locked in her room or where her husband was. 

Raised voices from outside caught her attention and she frantically looked around the room for the dagger her husband kept, suddenly fearing that she’d need to defend herself from whatever enemy had trapped her in her chambers. 

The door abruptly slammed open, her husband stepping inside with a heated expression on his face. He gave one last scowl to the guards outside before closing the door behind him, turning to face her with a guilty look.

“What’s going on? Why was the door locked?”

“Are you alright?” He asked, stepping towards her quickly, his hands cradling her face gently, his eye greedily taking her in, noting her distress. 

“I’m fine, but I have no idea what in the seven hells is going on.” She replied heatedly, her frustration clear. 

Aemond had been furious when he learned his wife had been locked inside their chambers at the orders of his mother. He knew his mother wasn’t overly fond of his wife, but he never thought she would stoop so low. 

His face darkened as he thought over the past few minutes, the news that had been shared, the duty that now fell onto his shoulders. 

“What happened?” She asked warily, his expression making her wary. 

“My father is dead.” 

Her lips parted in surprise, a heavy weight suddenly settling over her, as it soon became harder to breathe. Her arms winded around him, hugging him tightly without a second thought. She gripped onto him as if afraid he would run.

He didn’t respond to her embrace, his arms laying limply at his side, his face devoid of all emotion, his ire for his father seeming to grow even more bitter in the wake of his death. 

“Aemond… I - are you alright?” She pulled away from the embrace to look at him, her frown growing at the sight of his passive expression.

“Of course I am.” He said tersely, causing her to flinch at his abrupt tone. “I have to find Aegon.”

His words caused fear to strike her, her eyes widening, the tension growing thick. 

“It’s happening isn’t it.” She spoke monotonously, no question in her tone, for she already knew.

“It is.” He spoke quietly, reaching for her hand. “It shouldn’t be him, but it is what my father wanted.”

Her face twisted in disbelief, the expression enough to have the brief moment of softness removed from his expression, his gaze turning hard once more, resentment building within him. 

“What? You would rather have my whore of a half-sister sit the throne and my bastard nephew to follow?”

She sighed, reaching for his hand again, but he pulled away before she could reach him. His blinding hatred for his nephews and his half-sister hardening him against the hurt that crossed her face, a moment that would have melted him and brought her into his arms only further incenting his rage.

“You would bow to the ones that tormented me my entire childhood, that took my fucking eye, that boast when they have no right-”

“Stop!” She yelled, stopping his rant, her eyes alight with an anger that was unfamiliar to him. “You know I could not care less who sits on the damned throne, but you know as well as I do who certainly does not deserve it.”

Aemond’s anger shifted, giving way to his own apprehension. The thought of the power Aegon would soon wield was not appealing to say the least. His shoulders sagged, the fight in him petering out weakly. He reached out, his hand taking hers, his silent apology for his outburst.

“It is what we must do.” He spoke, the words sounding as if he were reading from a script and not how he truly felt.

She sighed, her arms coming to wrap around herself, as if she felt she already needed to protect herself against what Aegon’s reign would ensue. Aemond sighed, fighting his temper at the sight of her complicated reaction. 

The mere thought that his own wife supported Rhaenyra’s claim was enough to boil his blood and he grit his teeth, trying to remain calm in the face of her worry. 

“You know those bastards don’t deserve the throne.”

“Would you rather a bastard or a rapist?”

All anger was gone swiftly, his face falling as a pit grew in his stomach. His gaze softened, determination sparking within him and he reached out, grasping her shoulders gently. 

“He would never touch you. You know I will protect you.”

“Even from war?”

He seemed less sure of that, his gaze floundering before dropping to the floor. He pulled away from her touch, his unease swirling with thoughts of his uncertainty, inciting his anger and he swiftly turned on his heel. 

“I will be back soon.”

With that, he was out the door, leaving her alone in their chambers. She let out a shaking breath, her mind twisting with thoughts of what was to come, dread bubbling within her, forcing her to wonder if it was only the pregnancy that was causing her nausea. 

The next hour was a whirlwind. Alicent had sent a gaggle of maids to style her, ignoring her winces as they laced her into a tight, corseted gown, as they pulled and pinned her hair to the appropriate style for her station. 

She was corralled through the Keep and it was only until she spotted Helaena that she felt she was able to relax the slightest amount, though her frown deepened as she noticed the despondent expression on Helaena’s face. She linked her arm through her good sister’s, eyeing her carefully, noting how her chest heaved with every nervous intake of air. 

“Are you alright?”

“I will be Queen.” She spoke monotonously, as if she couldn’t believe the turn of events, that she would soon hold a powerful title, something she had never longed for or dreamed of. 

She squeezed Helaena affectionately, a weak smile painting her features. 

“You will be a wonderful Queen.”

They were soon herded into a carriage to take them to the Dragon Pit for the coronation. She sat faithfully by Helaena’s side, her hand clutching hers tightly, her chest aching for the trembling she felt from her friend. 

She leaned her head back, blowing out a long breath, the unease swirling within her leaving her seconds away from demanding they stop so she could empty her stomach. She placed a protective hand over her stomach, wishing she could feel a flutter, any sign of life to comfort her in this bleak moment. 

Her eyes wandered before landing on Alicent sat at the other side of the carriage. She flinched, her eyes quickly casting down as she noticed the cold glare directed at her from her good mother. 

She knew how Alicent felt about her, she had made it perfectly clear even before she married her son. She had always put on a brave face and never let her stares of disapproval or back handed comments get under her skin, but now, on this day when their lives were to change, when a war would soon unfold because of their actions, a measly scowl seemed to strike her deeper than ever before. 

She kept her eyes locked onto her feet for the rest of the ride which was thankfully short. They were guided inside and she immediately found her husband. Aemond was already standing at the dais with his grandsire and Ser Criston, his face hardened like the visage of a statue. 

He held his hand out to her as she approached, his eyes posing a silent question. As his gaze drifted to her stomach, she knew he was pondering about the babe more than he was her own state of mind and she sighed, giving him a slight nod. Aemond let his hand drop from hers, his face shifting back into a mask of indifference as the group of them took their places as the dutiful royal family and the confused crowds of citizens were pushed into the grand hall like cattle. 

“Best behavior everyone.” Alicent whispered to them, her eyes lingering on the Island girl for a moment longer than the rest, her gaze darkening slightly in warning. 

She had to hold back a scoff. To think she was the one to be under warning for her actions on this day. As if she were the one starting a war. 

Her nausea grew as the soldiers lined up, their swords held high in respect for a man who didn’t deserve it as he marched his way forward, his face dark and dreary. She didn’t know what was worse, giving Aegon the crown or forcing it upon his head when he didn’t even want it. Her eyes shifted to her husband at her side, imagining it was him, walking up the steps to receive the great honor. 

He would be better than Aegon. He would be better than Rhaenyra. 

Her eyes fell back to the crowd, a shiver running down her spine as she forced the thoughts from her head. 

The energy in the room shifted as the crown was placed on Aegon’s head. The murmurs of confusion, the shock at the news of the King’s death was replaced by the excitement of the crowd, of the idea of a new, male, ruler. 

Aegon turned to his mother who bowed dutifully, her face not a mask of relief as one would expect someone whose years of plotting had finally been rewarded, but that of wavering submission, as if the reality of her actions, the consequences that would soon unfold were finally catching up to her. 

Otto bowed to his grandson, a smarmy smile of victory on his face. 

Aegon’s eyes fell down the line, Helaena automatically bowing to her husband, her eyes slightly vacant, as if she were forcing her mind to be anywhere but the present. 

Aemond nodded stiffly, his own stomach twisting slightly as he thought of what his brother would be capable of now that there was no one to hold him back any longer. 

Aegon’s gaze shifted, a sickly satisfied grin growing as he met her hardened stare. 

She hesitated for a few seconds, her eyes looking at the man she despised, the man who now held unlimited power. She stiffened as his gaze darkened, making note of her hesitation, and she breathed deeply, bowing her head weakly, no further than she needed to.

She didn’t need him gaining any grandeur perceptions about the respect she had for him, of which there was none. 

A hand slithered into hers and her breath hitched, her eyes subtly finding her husband at her side. He remained looking forward, surveying the crowd, but his hand squeezed hers, conveying his relief, his thanks that she had put her feelings for his brother aside to not cause any conflict. 

She let out a long breath, the noise of the crowd deafening as they applauded their new King. She wondered if any of them knew even a sliver of his true nature, if they would be cheering as they were if they had seen the many maids flee from his chambers with tears in their eyes and blood running down their thighs. 

Her dark thoughts were interrupted as the floor before them crumbled, the cheers suddenly turning to screams of terror. 

Before her eyes could even widen in shock, she was pushed back. Her breath was stolen from her as arms encircled her tightly, Aemond’s body wrapped around hers, shielding her and their unborn child from the debris that flew. His hand on the back of her head held her to his chest, his heart racing beneath her ear. 

Her heart raced in a way it never had before, the rapid rhythm startling her. She stood frozen, incapacitated by shock as Aemond pulled away, his hands latching onto hers, his gaze frantically searching every inch of her, ensuring there was no harm done. 

He placed his hand on her stomach, his brows furrowed, as if in pain, as if the mere thought of a threat against their growing child was enough to bring him to his knees. 

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide with fear, placing a hand over her chest that heaved for breath. 

He eyed her carefully, his hands holding her tightly. It wasn’t until he saw her take in a deep breath that he let himself detach from her. His expression soon turned dark, his hand moving to the sword at his hip to meet the enemy that dared threaten his family.  His eye widened as the dust cleared, the dragon before them taking a mighty step towards them. His stiff body stood protectively in front of her, his gaze locked onto the beast, his arm keeping his wife behind him. 

“Aemond-”

“It’s alright.” He soothed her, though it was anything but convincing with how tense his voice sounded. 

She eyed the dragon from over her husband’s shoulder and quickly reached out, grabbing onto Helaena’s sleeve and pulling her back into her side, wrapping her arm around her, though her friend didn’t look scared. She looked at the dragon before them with wonder, a small smile playing on her lips. 

She briefly wondered if the thought of being burned alive was more enticing to her than becoming Queen to her villainous husband of a King. 

The bone rattling roar directed at them shook the walls of the Pit. Aemond’s grip tightened on her arm, as if his final act of comfort, his only way to say goodbye to her. 

Her forehead rested on his strong back, her breath leaving her in quivering pants, bracing herself for the fire that would end them all. 

But it never came. 

With one last final roar, Meleys and her fierce rider, the Princess Rhaenys, gave a final look of resolve to the family before her and pulled on the reins of her dragon, turning away from them. With a spread of her wings, Meleys glided out of the building, Rhaenys finally free from the clutches of Alicent and Otto. 

The cries of the wounded and grieving were all that were left. 

Time seemed to speed, she was barely able to comprehend what had happened before they were all forced out of the Pit. Aemond’s arm around her waist, practically dragging her with him, was the only thing keeping her moving forward. 

Her eyes fluttered around the room, her throat growing tight at the sight of the bodies that littered the ground, crowds of people fallen to their knees with screams and cries for their dead loved ones, innocent people caught in the crossfire of a conflict that had nothing to do with them.

Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes, the heart wrenching cries making her flinch. Aemond held her tighter in response, his pace quickening in desperation to get her away from the blood and death that lingered in their wake. 

They were deadly quiet in the carriage that brought them back to the Red Keep. 

No one spoke a word, the only sound were the wheels that jerked against the uneven stones beneath them, though it would never be enough to take away the sound of grief she had just heard that continued to ring her ears in a torturous loop. 

She was stiff as stone as they came to a stop, Aemond helping his sister out of the carriage before holding his hand out to her. Their eyes met briefly, the worry in his gaze turning her stomach, reminding her that this was real, that their brief brink with death was only the beginning.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat and grasped his hand, his hold much tighter than hers, which remained even after she found her footing.

Aemond’s arm lay sturdy around her waist as they stepped back into the Red Keep. She kept her head down as they walked, her mind a mess of worry, her hands still trembling, her adrenaline pumping through her veins in a mix of fearful derision. 

Her husband’s steps faltered slightly and she raised her head, her eyes falling onto the sight before them before Aemond could shield her. She gasped, a hand moving to cover her mouth as she stared in horror at the swinging bodies below the gate. 

Aemond’s grip on her tightened and he walked swiftly, guiding her quickly through the doors and away from the gruesome sight. 

Her gaze remained locked onto the lifeless bodies. The traitors that supported Rhaenyra’s claim. Her head turned, unable to look away from the stomach twisting sight. 

“Don’t look.” Aemond said softly, though the command did little to sway her. 

She couldn’t tear herself away from the sight, from the reminder of what defying Aegon would lead her to.

Tears welled in her eyes again, a pit of dread settling within her like lead. She instinctively placed a hand over her belly, mourning the world their child would be brought into.

~~

The family sat together at dinner that night, the room painfully silent as everyone but Otto and Aegon picked at their food inattentively. 

Only a few bites were needed before she started to feel sick again. She leaned back in her chair, placing her fork down with more force than was necessary. Aemond looked over at her, smiling sadly as he placed his hand over her stomach. 

She grit her teeth as a flash of anger coursed through her. It wasn’t the babe she was growing making her feel sick. The mangled bodies she’d seen under the debris of the dragon pit, the bodies of noble Lords hanging lingered in her mind, seemingly putting her off from ever eating again.

She didn’t know how he could be so unaffected by it all. 

“When can we expect your father’s return?” Otto’s commanding voice sounded from across the table. 

She lifted her gaze, despising the fact that his intense scrutiny was staring right back at her.

“I’m not sure. He didn’t specify his return before he left.” 

“Hopefully he will not be gone for too much longer. We cannot be without a Master of coin, especially with what is sure to come. I’m sure he will not want his daughter alone during a war.” 

The thinly veiled threat in Otto’s words didn’t go unnoticed and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her gaze briefly shifted to Aemond who looked just as unnerved by the turn of the conversation. Aemond’s look of apprehension was enough to have her own nerves alight with fear.

To think he considered her alone, even with her husband by her side, told her everything about how he viewed her marriage, where he believed his grandson’s loyalties lay.

The thought of those hanging bodies came back to her in an instant and she suddenly felt too sick to hold his gaze. 

Her father wouldn’t bend to the whims of Otto Hightower. If he returned, it would only be a matter of time before he was forced to the noose. 

The thought made her already frayed nerves twist even further, as if a fist was clenching tighter around her heart. 

Dinner passed as tensely as it began, with little words spared amongst the family. 

Even Aemond remained quiet as they found themselves back in their chambers. He had taken his usual spot on the couch by the hearth, his expression indecipherable. She sat at his side, her gaze drifting to him occasionally, unease growing within her the longer she was unable to make out what he was feeling. 

“I should write to my father.” She finally broke the tense silence between them. “He should know about Viserys.”

“You should write to your father.” Aemond affirmed stiffly, his eyes locked onto the fire. “Tell him not to come back.”

Her head snapped up, her widened eyes looking to her husband in disbelief, fear overtaking every ounce of her senses. 

“He will not fight for Rhaenyra’s cause.” 

“No, he will not fight for any cause.” Aemond knew of Ixtal’s history and his good father was too great a man to change the laws of his land for a war of succession that had nothing to do with him. “That will be enough for my Grandsire.”

Her breath caught in her throat, tears brimming in her eyes at the insinuation. Despite the terror that flowed through her veins, loneliness crept forward. Without her father, she scarcely had anyone in her corner. 

Aemond and Helaena were the only ones she had and she hardly felt as though they were in any state to provide comfort as they approached the brink of a family war. 

“Am I in danger here?” She choked out. 

The indifferent air around Aemond shattered in an instant. He was on his feet, moving towards her in a second. He kneeled before her, taking her hands in his, his face softer than she had seen it all day. 

“I would never let anyone hurt you.”

His words, which should have been comforting, only made more tears fall from her eyes. 

As Aemond hugged her tightly, whispering assurances, she couldn’t help but feel the pit of dread in her stomach grow, hating herself for not believing his words. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Aemond or his capabilities to protect her, but she knew with the beginning of a war, there would be much out of his control. 

As her husband held her, she wondered if she, just a mere lady that by no means matched the power of the family she married into, were to be a casualty in the war of dragons.

She wondered when the next bloody domino would fall.

~~

The days passed as if everyone was holding their breath. Rhaenyra had refused Alicent’s bridge of friendship. The Blacks were not backing down. 

War was upon them. 

Their first step was to gain allies. Aemond was commanded to fly to Storm’s End to barter with Borros Baratheon to join the fight for Aegon’s cause. 

His departure left her feeling exposed, like a lonely sheep out in the herd of dragons that were frothing at the mouth. She spent most of the day secluded in their chambers, anxiously awaiting his return.

She was curled up on the sofa in front of the fire, reading her favorite book from the library, which was unsurprisingly one of the books Aemond had read to her in her first week at King’s Landing, signaling the beginning of their budding friendship. 

The rain pounded against the window, her attention caught between the words on the page and the raging storm outside. She unintentionally shivered and rubbed the small swell of her belly, thinking of her husband bearing the wicked weather outside, her worry growing tenfold once again.

It was bad enough to think of her husband out there, gaining allies for a war that could destroy them all, it was even worse to think of her husband’s grandfather who desperately wanted her husband to wed for allyship. 

Even after their marriage it was as if she didn’t exist to the cunning man. 

She continued to read for a few more minutes, the more she yawned, the closer she became to retiring for the night. 

Her peace was disrupted as her chamber doors swung open forcefully, startling her. She dropped her book and abruptly turned in her spot, fearful until she saw her husband stride into the room. 

She let out a long breath of relief, standing to her feet to greet him, an involuntary smile growing on her face at his safe return. 

The second her gaze met his and she noticed the drenched hair that stuck to his face did her worry begin to grow. But it was the moment she looked into his eye and saw the grief, the regret, the pure terror that radiated from him did her heart drop to her stomach.

“Aemond?” She called out quietly. 

“I- I didn’t… it was an accident. I wasn’t-” His voice was quiet, sounding more fragile than she thought she had ever heard him. 

She took a tentative step forwards and, realizing he wasn’t flinching away from her approach, continued until she was standing before him, her hands reaching up to cradle his jaw, wincing slightly as she felt his cold skin against her warm palms. 

“What happened?” 

Her heart was racing, expecting the worst, ready to hear the horrible scenario she’d been anticipating, how his grandfather had manipulated the situation to his benefit, that she’d lose him to a Baratheon girl. 

“I didn’t mean to.” He whispered, his gaze bowing to the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. 

“Aemond, what happened?” She asked, her voice holding more force, realizing he was trapped in a daze, that she wouldn’t get a straight answer unless she pushed. 

“Lucerys was there.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her fears suddenly shifting, jumping to no better conclusions. 

“I just wanted to scare him.” 

The whispered confession was enough to stop her heart. Her wide eyes watched her husband warily. She knew what he was insinuating but she didn’t want to believe it. 

“Aemond…”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him. Vhagar wouldn’t listen.” 

A shaking breath escaped her. As Aemond’s head lowered to rest on her shoulders her mind didn’t even think as she wrapped her arms around his dripping and shaking form, bringing him in close, holding him tightly, not caring as her nightgown became soaked with the rain that clung to him. 

She could feel his racing heart thundering against her own chest as she hugged him, his fear causing her own to rise to the surface. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, the only coherent thought he was able to grab in his turmoil. No matter what satisfaction or revenge he felt he was able to gain from Vhagar’s brutal attack, he knew what it meant, what would transpire because of his rash chase. 

A war had started, his family was in danger. 

His wife was in danger. Their child that grew within her was in danger.

No amount of revenge would make up for that. 

He would never admit it outloud, though he was sure his wife knew him well enough to tell. For the first time he could remember in years, he was scared. 

That night, as his wife lay sleeping beside him, he lay wide awake, his heart continuing its racing rhythm. His hand lay on her stomach, the smallest growing bump revealing the sign of life that lay inside. 

He let out a shaking breath, his fingers gently caressing the skin that protected their child. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, the guilt overwhelming him. His child would be born into war, their safety threatened before they could even draw breath and it was because of him.

~~

Rhaenyra wiped her tears, her blank stare remaining on the flames of the hearth as her grief tore her heart inside out. 

“We have to act soon.” 

Daemon’s voice cut through her haze and she looked over at him with a deep frown.

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t let those Green cunts think they’ve gotten away with this. We need retribution.”

He skirted around what he truly wanted to say. He knew Rhaenyra would never agree to a slaughter but he hoped her grief would be enough to force her hand, to finally take a stand in the war. 

“What do you propose we do?”

“We cannot risk going after Aemond. He rides the biggest dragon, he knows the blade well, he could fight off anyone we send to him.”

“So he is untouchable.”

“No.” Daemon countered quickly. “We will strike him in a different manner.”

Rhaenyra looked at her husband incredulously, confused as to what he was planning.

“Who does that one-eyed cunt love more than anything?”

Daemon’s words made her eyes widen as she sat up straighter, her body becoming stiff with dread.

“No.”

“Rhaeny-”

“No, not her.”

“His son is not born yet, there is no other way to get revenge for what he has done.”

“She has been nothing but kind to me and my family. She and her innocent babe don’t deserve to be slaughtered.”

“She married the cunt! She’s knee deep in the pit of vipers, she is not innocent. You think she’ll fight for your cause? You think she’ll be loyal to you over her own husband?” Daemon yelled, getting to his feet angrily. 

“It’s war, Rhaenyra. People fall at the hands of its brutality every day. You’ve already lost your son, what more do they need to take from you before you take a stand? Before you show them the dragon you are?”

Rhaenyra wrung her hands anxiously, thoughts of her fallen son causing tears to fall steadily down her cheeks, her grief overtaking the guilt she felt for the Ixtal girl.

“Make sure it is quick. That she does not suffer.”

~~

Aemond could tell she was more reserved than she had ever been. The fallout of Lucerys’ death had both of them fearful. He couldn’t deny the feelings of regret he hid below the surface. He wouldn’t be one to mourn the one who carved his eye out, but the apprehension he faced from the court cut him deeply, the knowledge of what he was now, turned his stomach.

A kinslayer.

He was always either passed over or looked upon hesitantly by the Lords and Ladies of the court, his cold demeanor was enough to have people side stepping out of his way, not to mention the missing eye that still, even years later, made Ladies cower in fear, disgusted by the sight of him.

After news of Storm’s End reached the court, his reputation became that of a ruthless killer. Maids actively scurried away from him, averting their fearful gazes in fear of poking the proverbial dragon, of incurring his seemingly bloodthirsty temper. 

The war about to unfold before them paled in comparison to the war raging within him. 

He couldn’t very well tell his brother their first move in this war had been a mistake, that he felt turmoil over his actions his own King was praising. He had to put on a front of a stone-cold warrior, an unrelenting soldier that stared into the face of death with no fear. 

He couldn’t tell his family, his brother, his grandfather, how wrong he felt it was. They praised his actions and he had to ignore the way he wanted to writhe in discomfort under their accolades, he had to ignore the horror on his mother’s face. 

He had to ignore the fear he had instilled in his wife, a feat that always left him feeling sick with guilt. 

They knew there would be retribution, but Aegon was refusing to accept the gravity of his actions. He wanted to bask in their triumph, however little it may be, despite the implications it had for their future. 

His stomach turned as he told his wife of the feast to be held that night, their allies gathering to celebrate and toast to the death of Lucerys Velaryon. 

She had silently turned from him, beginning to ready herself, preparing to be the dutiful wife at his side and hide how disgusted she was to play a part in this senseless conflict. 

He hated himself for putting her in this position. 

He knew she saw how much he hid his true feelings, how he had to force himself to take the praise for playing the first hand, no matter how much he regretted knocking the first chess piece down that would spark violence across the realm. 

She saw right through him and he knew it ate away at her to see him take on this role to sate his family, people who had always taken him for granted, who now saw him as nothing more than a soldier and a dragon rider. 

She could not hide her distaste for the celebration around her. She did not hold much love for Lucerys Velaryon, especially not after how he had maimed her husband, but to celebrate his death with such vigor sickened her to her stomach. 

He was only a child and it left guilt to fester within her at her participation in such an event. She looked to Aegon who was holding court effortlessly with a crowd of drunken Lords, the sight of his wide smile only deepening her scowl.

He came from a family of dragons, rode his own, yet here he was, celebrating the death of such a magnificent creature. 

She stared down at the plate of food in front of her, knowing it was more than her ever-changing pregnancy cravings that left her without desire to touch an ounce of it. 

“Darling?” The voice at her side broke her out of her stupor and she turned her attention to her husband who was eyeing her worriedly. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite.” She explained simply, though she knew Aemond knew her better and would see through such a flimsy excuse. She knew he didn’t believe her as his gaze lingered thoughtfully. 

“Love, you should-”

Raucous jeers cut off his concerns, the crowd swarming a jeering Aegon becoming louder and more riotous as more Lords joined in. 

She watched, barely able to hide her disgust as they cheered for the death of a child, for the beginning of a war that would surely kill thousands. She caught the cheered cries of ‘the bastard is dead’ and knew she would soon reach her breaking point.

She thought of Rhaenyra. She wasn’t overly fond of her as she used to be as a child, but the thought of the torment she was enduring with the loss of her child made her insides twist.  

She pushed her chair out, the offending sound of the legs on the floor below her abruptly catching Aemond’s attention, who immediately stood as she did, his hand finding the small of her back. 

“Are you alright? Are you feeling unwell?” He asked worriedly, the concern she saw in his eye enough to have the lump that was already growing in her throat threaten to steal her breath. 

Her sorrowful eyes met Aemond’s, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the discomfort in her gaze. 

“I can’t be here.” She breathed out and quickly removed herself from his hold, quick enough to avoid the gentle hand that moved to caress her barely there bump as he did every time she parted from his side. Her gait was quick as she weaved through the crowds, anxious to leave the hall as quickly as she could.

He watched her leave, the guilt bubbling within him yet again. He had only taken one step before his grandsire’s authoritative voice sounded, the harsh call of his name all the warning Aemond needed. 

He grit his teeth, anguish overtaking him as he realized he couldn’t leave. 

He was left to stare defeatedly at the doors, long after she had walked through them, until he finally sank into his chair, his gaze lowered to his fingers that traced the intricate designs on the goblet of wine in front of him. 

He did this. 

He started the war that would put his entire family in danger. His actions were what caused his wife to look at him with apprehension, what caused the dreaded looks of fear his way, what caused this entire celebration he knew revolted her. 

He was the reason she had to leave. No one but him caused this. 

Back in their chamber, she sat at her vanity, brushing her hair, her stomach twisting and turning. She had dismissed her maid for the night, though she knew with the worried look that crossed the young girl’s face it wouldn’t be long until she was checked on again. 

She sighed, the sick feeling lingering as she rose to her feet, the ache in her body leaving her desperate for her bed. 

She just hoped she was asleep before Aemond returned. She couldn’t stand to see him look so upset. 

A sound from across the room caught her attention and she turned on her heel slowly, exhaustion seeping through her as she pictured her husband following after her, dreading a fight breaking out, but she stilled, fear freezing the blood in her veins as she locked eyes with an unfamiliar man on the other side of her chambers. 

He smiled, a wicked sight that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand, the bloodthirsty hatred in his eyes causing dread to settle within her. It all suddenly clicked into place, who this man was, who sent him, why he was there. 

She knew. 

Her death was to be one of revenge.

As her breath steadily began to quicken, her eyes darted towards the closed door, but before she could make an attempt to run, he was charging forward. 

His rough hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her back into his sturdy form. The breath was knocked out of her as his arms wrapped around her tightly, trapping her arms at her sides. 

“Pretty Princess. You know better than to run.” The man crooned in ear, making her wince and flinch away from the brush of his lips against her skin. 

Her face creased in pain, a soft whimper leaving her as he tightened his grip around her and she suddenly feared her ribs would soon crack under his force. 

“Daemon said to be quick, to spare you the pain, but he didn’t tell me how pretty you’d be.” He taunted. “I think I’ll take my time with you.”

Pure terror had taken over every one of her senses, she thought of the life growing inside of her and it quickly brought tears to her eyes at the dreadful thought that her poor babe was doomed, never to reach the waiting arms of his parents who already loved him deeply. 

She squirmed against the man’s grip, struggling against his arms. He growled at her stubbornness and pushed her away from him, turning her to deliver a sturdy slap to her cheek. She lost her footing at the force of his blow, landing heavily on her front on the hard floor. 

Her eyes widened, her arms shaking as she pushed herself up, her eyes locked onto the barely there bump where her child grew. Her lip trembled, her happy future with Aemond and their child flashing before her eyes as it crumbled before her in real time. 

The man was on her quick and she screamed as she viciously kicked and clawed at him. A hearty kick to his groin was enough to subdue him long enough to allow her to get back to her feet. She moved as quickly as she could in her stunned state, managing to pull the heavy door open. 

The man was at her back just as quickly, his heavy hand slamming the door closed and seizing her frame that now seemed smaller than she could have ever conceived under his large hands. He tossed her to the side, a stunted cough forced out of her as she collided with the frame of the bed. 

Outside the room, her maid rushed forward, having heard the loud slam of the door from down the hall. Her eyes widened as she heard a crash followed by a cry of pain. She let out a shuddering breath, tears brimming in her eyes as she forced her feet to move, beginning to sprint down the hall to find help.

Another blow to her face disoriented her, the pain unlike anything she had ever felt before. She continued to struggle, realizing her death was imminent, but content to leave this world having made it entirely inconvenient for her assailant. 

It was the least she could do for the babe inside her she couldn’t save. 

The man threw her to the ground, his hate filled eyes taking her in with a greedy bloodlust she had never seen before. He gave a swift kick to her stomach, her cries fueling his demented thrill as he gave a few more for his own amusement. He kneeled before her, pulling a dagger from his belt. Her eyes widened and in one last ditch effort, thrust her hand out just as he brought the blade down.  

She screamed as the blade tore through the palm of her hand. Her entire body shook with the pain that radiated from her hand, the blood pouring out of the gruesome wound, staining the nightgown she wore. 

With her other hand, she scratched at the man’s face, her nails finding his eyes, gouging blindly, trying to disarm him anyway she could. He growled in pain, pushing more weight down, the blade still stuck in her hand forcing its way deeper, causing her to cry out, her eyes locked onto the weapon with terror as it loomed closer and closer to her.

He suddenly yanked the dagger back, another scream tearing out of her throat as the blade tore more of her skin. He swung down again and her hands gripped at his arm, stopping the blade just inches before it stuck true.

Across the Keep, the spindly maid raced into the feast, shoving her way through the crowds to get to the head table. 

Her disheveled appearance quickly caught the royals’ attention, their brows raising in indignation as she panted for breath, the picture of unseemly behavior. 

Alicent was seconds away from scolding her until the mousy girl opened her mouth.

“My Prince.. It’s… your wife… she’s-” The maid panted for breath, but her measly few words were enough for Aemond to understand and make his blood run cold. 

His eye widened with fear before darkening in realization. He stood so quickly his chair fell to the ground and the rest of his family watched, astonished, barely able to comprehend what was happening, before he was sprinting out of the room. His stomach lurched, feeling as though he was going to be sick as he ran out of the hall. 

He could hear his heart beat in his ears as he ran, the fear gripping his heart so tightly he thought it would kill him, that he would drop dead any second out of pure terror for what waited for him. 

In their shared chambers, her strength was fading, the wound in her hand throbbed, the blood that soaked her arm making her grip slick, her arms shaking as she held onto the man’s wrist, the only thing stopping him from bringing his dagger down into her heart. 

Her grip wavered, the dagger inching closer and closer as she began to lose her will to fight, her body aching, screaming at her to just give in and end the torment. 

Her chest was heaving, soft sobs leaving her lips as she began to make peace with her fate. 

As quickly as her mind had succumbed, resigned to her death, the pressure against her suddenly fell slack. 

The feeling of warmth spraying across her face made her flinch. She watched, her eyes wide and filled with terror, as the man atop her grunted in pain. His hate filled expression falling slack, blood pooling out of his mouth. 

A shuddering breath escaped her, the sight of the tip of the sword protruding from his chest causing a sob to break out of her chest. 

It was over. 

The man fell and before she knew it, strong hands were grabbing her, pulling her out from under the man who was now dead at her feet. 

She screamed in fright as she was scooped up into strong arms and she began to struggle, feebly pushing at the person holding her. 

“Shh, it’s me, my love. It’s Aemond.” His frantic voice met her ears. “It’s me. I have you, you’re safe now.” 

Tears streamed down her cheeks steadily, her breathing quick and heavy as she sobbed, her exhausted body giving up its fight as she slumped against her husband. 

Aemond let out shaking breaths, his trembling hands holding her tightly, his heart racing wildly. The terror he had felt the moment he stormed into their chambers and saw her under that man, the bloody dagger in his hands so close to her heart was enough to stop his own. 

He cradled his wife closely, pressing kisses to her hair as he whispered that she was safe over and over, though it did nothing to soothe her of the violent trembling that had overtaken her body. 

He looked down, his face twisting in agony at the sight of the brutal gash in her hand, of the blood that steadily flowed down the length of her arm, feeling sick at the thought of what that bastard had done to her. The sight of her busted lip ignited his anger all over again and he wanted nothing more than to kill that wretch a thousand times over for the hurt he caused his beloved. 

She suddenly groaned in pain, her body stiffening against him. He looked over her worriedly as she began to writhe in his arms, her pained whimpers growing louder. He was terrified, his gaze frantically searching for a life threatening wound he had missed and he soon caught sight of the growing pool of blood beneath her thighs, red blooming on the front of her nightgown. 

His stomach dropped, his throat tightening as sheer agony lanced him like a whip. 

No, not our child.

“Get a Maester!” He screamed to the guards who lingered at the door who had been taking in the scene before them with horror. 

His sight soon became blurry as tears brimmed in his eye and swiftly fell down his face. He held her tighter, his face twisting in agony as he began to cry with her. 

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.” He choked out, his heart cracking as she wailed in his arms. Each of her cries chipping away at another piece of him. 

It was all a blur to her. 

She gripped onto his tightly as he lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the Maester’s quarters. She kept her eyes shut, as if she could block out her waking nightmare, as if she could convince herself it wasn’t real. 

As she was laid on the bed, the only thing she could make sense of was Aemond’s arms that left her, causing her fear to spike again, her cries becoming more forceful as she desperately sought out her only beacon of comfort through her blurry gaze. 

“I’m here, issa prūmia. I’m not leaving.” Aemond’s voice sounded throughout the chaos. 

A sturdy hand soon gripped hers, making her relax, knowing it was him. It felt like hours, each second passing like an eternity as she was examined and stitched up. She barely felt anything at all. 

Nothing compared to the pain in her heart. The only thing she could comprehend were the agonizing cramps that signaled her loss, the end of the life she and her husband had created, the life they already cherished. 

Aemond watched his wife intently, swallowing thickly as he noticed she didn’t even flinch as they thread the needle through her palm. He winced and even had to look away as the Maester began working on the other side of her hand, realizing the blade had gone right through. 

Once they finished with her hand, he motioned for the Maester to hand over the damp cloth he grabbed, silently telling him he would handle the next step. Thankfully, the old man handed it over without protest and stood to grab some milk of the poppy. 

Aemond began to gently dab at her split lip, wiping away the blood as carefully as he could so as to not cause her any more pain. She’d felt enough for a lifetime tonight.

A flurry behind him barely caught his attention, though he stayed looking at his wife, not bothering to acknowledge the presence of another. 

“Aemond.” His mother breathed out, horror painting her gaze as she noticed the stark red blood that stained her good daughter’s legs and gown. 

She placed a shaking hand over her mouth, realizing what it had meant, realizing what her son had just lost. 

She moved forward on weak legs, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder, who still refused to look her way, his attention focused solely on his wife who lay despondent on the bed, her glassy eyed stare vacant and tortured, signaling she was miles away in torment, reliving the attack over and over again.

Alicent felt tears brim in her eyes and when she looked down at her son and noticed the tear tracks down his cheeks she was powerless to stop her own from falling. 

Aemond watched as the Maester brought a hearty dose of milk of the poppy. His gaze stayed locked onto his wife, his hand still holding hers, his fingers caressing gentle patterns over her knuckles, his whispered reassurances the last thing she heard as her eyes fluttered closed, the medicine quickly dulling her senses. 

He watched her breathe deeply in sleep for a long moment, as if needing to watch the steady rise and fall of her chest to assure himself that she was truly here, that despite the attempt, she still lived. 

He was left in a daze, the sounds around him dimming to nothing but an unnoticeable thrum in his ears. The sound of her cries was the only thing he heard, over and over again, the memory of them haunting him, causing him to feel as though he was seconds from losing the food in his stomach. 

His mother’s words didn’t reach his ears, he was numb to her comforting hand on his shoulder. He was numb to everything but his pain. 

Someone had tried to take the greatest thing from him, they had almost taken his love from him. He couldn’t even rejoice in the fact that she was still there with him, not with the despair of the loss of their child weighing so heavily on him. 

Relief wasn’t a feeling he could allow himself to reach. 

Soon, his mother gave up trying to get through to him, leaving the room with one last tearful glance to her son whose world had just crumbled before him. Just minutes later, the Maester stood, giving a polite bow as he moved to the door, leaving the couple for the night to heal the wounds he couldn’t bandage, his parting words sending a shiver down Aemond’s spine. 

I’m sorry for your loss.

Aemond’s jaw clenched. Those words made it real. 

There was now no denying the truth. Their child was gone. They wouldn’t soon have a little babe to hold and spoil. 

Aemond thought of the little boy he had pictured since she had told him she was pregnant. To think of him gone, to never grow, to never say a word, to never be held in his arms, was too much to bear. 

His chest felt tight, his throat suddenly feeling like it was closing in on itself, preventing him from taking in a breath. His eye burned, the tears stinging like acid. His face creased in despair, bringing his hand, that was still clutched to his wife’s hand, to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as the tears began to fall again. 

A choked sob escaped him, the loss leaving him feeling as though the weight of the world was crushing him. 

He let himself cry, expelling everything he needed to, thankful his wife remained sleeping. He knew his tears would only hurt her further. She was the one whose life had been threatened, he needed to be strong for her, he needed to be the one to hold her as she broke. 

Aemond forced himself to watch over her as long as he could, eyeing her steady breaths, every one of them a salve for the horror he had witnessed while that blood soaked dagger was pointed at her. 

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he had let his eye fall closed and drifted off to a fitful sleep as the sun began to rise. 

What seemed like only seconds later, he jerked awake, at first forgetting where he was, but the moment he felt the ache in his back, he was reminded that he was in the chair in the Maester’s solar. He remembered the attack, he remembered the blood, he remembered her cries, and he remembered their child.

I’m sorry for your loss.

The words burned him like fire and he breathed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the pounding in his head. He shifted in the chair, wincing as his joints popped painfully from the uncomfortable position he had taken for the night. 

He rubbed his tired eye, blindly reaching out to the bed to take his wife’s hand in his yet again, but as his touch met the barren sheets of the bed, he sat up straighter, suddenly alert as he stared down at the empty bed before him with fear. 

The sight of the blood that stained sheets a lance through his heart, only propelling him deeper into fear.

Shooting up from his chair, he raced out of the room, his bewildered gaze meeting the startled expression of the guard at the door. 

“Where’s my wife?” He asked frantically.

“She left the room just a few minutes ago.” 

Aemond fumed silently, his hands clenching into fists as he fought the urge to pummel the man before him.

“And you didn’t think to follow her?” He seethed, the guard before him taking a cautious step backwards in fear of the flaming temper exploding before him. 

“The Princess seemed upset, I did not want to intrude-”

Aemond did not spare him a second look as he took off down the hall, pushing servants out of his way as he raced out of the Keep. 

He knew after last night, no one who had gone through what his wife had endured would be in their right mind. He feared what she would do, what her grieving mind would offer as solace that he was sure she so desperately was seeking. 

He slowed his pace in the middle of the courtyard, looking around frantically at the many stairs and exits she could have taken. 

He squeezed his eye shut, breathing heavily, his mind racing, the terror he was feeling yet again in such a short amount of time not allowing him to think clearly. 

Where would she go?

He wracked his mind, thinking of all their years together. He knew her better than anyone. If he couldn’t figure out where she would seek solace, then he didn’t deserve to be her husband. 

The sound of seabirds reached him through his daze and he spun on his heel, his gaze locking onto the birds that flew over the water. 

She loved the sea, she loved the waves of Ixtal. She always said they were healing. He remembered memories from his childhood, of her hand in his as they ran through the waves at the shore. 

He was running again before he could even comprehend it. 

Aemond’s chest was heaving from sprinting the entire way, his heart beat pounding in his ears as he stumbled over the rocks to get to the sandy shore. 

He almost stumbled over his own feet as his gaze fell on her figure down the coast line. 

He let out a shaking breath, muttering a breathless thank you to the Gods to see her sitting there and not floating face down in the water as his tortured mind had conjured. 

He approached her slowly, his face drawn tightly with concern as he noticed the dried tears that stained her cheeks once he was close enough. 

He said nothing as he sat himself down beside her, ignoring the feeling of the damp sand beneath him. He extended his legs, letting the waves crash against his feet, mirroring her stance. 

She didn’t make any move to acknowledge him, her gaze lingering on the horizon, the despair in her eyes never wavering. 

It broke his heart to see her in this state. The woman he loved was vibrant, she had a lust for life he always found impossible to grab yet infectious. He had never seen her light so dim and it broke something in him. 

He reached out, taking her hand in his, his silent assurance to her that he was there for her as he knew no words could ever reach what either of them felt or needed to handle their loss. 

“I want to go home.” Her weak voice choked out after a long silence. 

Aemond’s breath hitched at the sound of her so broken. He didn’t have any words, nothing he could say to comfort her. He couldn’t very well let her leave where he couldn’t follow, leaving her unprotected. 

He would die before he left her side. 

To deny her anything crushed him, but he couldn’t help but revert to selfishness. He couldn’t leave King’s Landing, not in the midst of a war and the thought of letting her leave his side wasn’t even a thought in his head. 

He wrapped his arm around her, his concern growing when he felt the chill of her skin. 

“Let’s go back to our chambers.” He spoke softly, using what little strength his drained body had left as he lifted her up to her feet, his arms holding her tightly, her guiding force to help her back in her daze. 

As they walked along the beach, beginning to make their way back to the Keep that now only held dreaded memories, he felt his eye sting again, his vision quickly becoming blurry.

He breathed deeply, holding tighter to his wife in his arms, blinking rapidly to stave off the tears that threatened to fall. 

He pushed past the feelings of grief that felt like they could drown him and put on a mask, pretending he wasn’t dying inside. 

~~

I'm sorry... the angst is only going to continue

~~

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[melancholy-of-nadia]

infatuation (m) | myg

title: infatuation pairing: yoongi x f. reader rating/genre: m ; smut ; agust d universe (AgustDverse based in Haegeum) ; gang leader / mafia AU summary:  Living with fragmented and blurry memories has lead you to live under the roof of Bangkok's biggest secret crime boss, Agust D, as his bodyguard. Though, being confined to the mansion most of the time has made you feel isolated, craving freedom and answers. When he decides to take you out to dinner for the first time, the atmosphere is charged with tension and suspicion. You're not the only one who's patience is wearing thin, however, instead, it's discovering this man's infatuation with you that will lead you to change your mind. warnings:  weapon mention (katana), reader has minor amnesia, back and forth arguing, murder mention, deep fish imagery/analogy, haegeum!suga mention, dominant haegeum! agust d, making out, penthouse s*x, f*ngering, cl*t stimulation, orgasm denial, choking, power imbalance, bl*w job, bre*st play, spiting, deep throating, pet names, agust d praises you by calling you "good girl", unprotected s*x, lowkey breeding k*nk, choking, possessiveness, multiple orgasms, uh i think that's it!... yandere? haegeum!agust d maybe note: it's been a year since i uploaded my first fic in this universe i call the AgustDverse. Also the first fic that got me into writing bts fics! I've been requested to continue this universe by my dear friend @daegudrama. I don't know if it'll ever become an actual cohesive series, but if you guys like it, let me know! also this is veerrrryyyyy much unedited im sorry i will edit later word count: 6.0k drop date: August 6th, 2024 7:30pm PST mood playlist | ao3 link – –

You never thought you'd find yourself in this situation—nestled within the mansion walls of a mafia boss masquerading as a police detective. 

Known as Agust D. 

How did you get here? It's a question that continuously echoes through your mind like a constant drumbeat. 

It’s not an easy question to answer. It’s actually pretty complicated. Time travel? A quantum jump? You don’t know whatever scientific phenomenon this is. 

But for your own sanity, you decided not to dwell too much on it, especially when the present demands your full attention.

Agust has let you live here under the guise of acting as his bodyguard, which is perhaps the strangest thing you've ever done. You had no prior guarding experience, but the katana sword that hangs by your side now tells otherwise. This item is a constant reminder of your supposed purpose here: to protect the mansion, to protect Agust D. But deep down, you know there's more to this arrangement than meets the eye.

Tonight, however, is different. Agust D, the enigmatic master of this mansion, has extended an invitation—an invitation to dine at an upscale Chinese restaurant. It's a rare opportunity to step beyond the confines of these walls, to breathe in the outside world, if only for a fleeting moment.

As you stand before the full-length mirror in your room, you can't help but feel a surge of apprehension. The maids have stated that Agust D insisted you wear a black satin dress he selected for the occasion—a garment that feels foreign against your skin, yet somehow fitting for the night. You’re too used to wearing a collared white button-up and a plaid skirt for most of the time while you’re at the mansion. You don’t know how long you’d been wearing that, but definitely longer than a young girl who’s in prep school.

Adjusting the delicate fabric, you take in your reflection, the unfamiliarity of the attire almost unnerving. 

A knock at the door interrupts your contemplation, and without waiting for a response, Agust D enters, his presence commanding the room. Dressed in a tailored black suit that exudes power and authority, he regards you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"You look stunning," he remarks, a hint of satisfaction tugging at the corners of his lips. "Are you ready to go?"

With a half nod, you follow him down the stairs and out of the mansion, the cool night air wrapping around you like a shroud of secrecy. Then you hop into the black sports car, which Yoongi decides to drive this time instead of his chauffeur.

The journey to the restaurant is silent, punctuated only by the quiet sounds of the piano music playing, which came from connecting Agust D’s phone to the car’s aux.

He really does love Ryuichi Sakamoto’s music, you comment internally to yourself.

When you arrive at the restaurant, you're met with the grandeur of an upscale Chinese eatery perched on the top floor of a hotel building. The space is a harmonious blend of modern elegance and traditional opulence. As you step inside, the ambient chatter of elite people and the soft clinking of cutlery fill the air, creating a lively yet refined atmosphere that contrasts sharply with the muted silence of the mansion.

The restaurant’s interior is a feast for the senses. Rich, dark wood paneling lines the walls, accented by gold and red details that evoke a sense of luxury. Elegant lanterns hang from the ceiling, their warm, golden light casting a gentle glow across the room. The tables are adorned with crisp white linens, polished silverware, and delicate porcelain dishes, each piece carefully chosen to complement the sophisticated ambiance.

The scent of Chinese cuisine mingles with the faint aroma of incense, creating an inviting and tantalizing atmosphere. The restaurant's design features intricate latticework and traditional Chinese artwork, adding a touch of cultural authenticity to the modern setting. Plush, comfortable chairs surround each table, offering a sense of intimacy and relaxation.

As the restaurant host takes note of Agust D standing beside you, there’s a brief moment of panic in his eyes. He quickly ushers you both to a secluded corner of the establishment, a private nook separated from the rest of the dining area by elegant silk drapes. This area, though separated, still enjoys a view of the city skyline through large, floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a breathtaking panorama of the illuminated city below. 

You are seated across from Agust, but there’s still a subtle awkward atmosphere surrounding the both of you when he orders and after the food arrives. 

For a moment, the clinking of silverware against porcelain fills the silence before Agust D finally speaks.

"Do you still not remember anything?" 

You hesitate, uncertainty flickering in the depths of your eyes about how to respond to him. "Bits and pieces," you admit, your gaze lingering on the dimly lit surroundings. "But nothing concrete. It's like trying to grasp at shadows."

His expression remains impassive, but you catch a fleeting glimpse of something else—something akin to regret, perhaps, or even longing. "It will come back to you," he says, his tone softer than before. "With time."

You only nod, going back to eating one of the xiaolongbao at the center of the table.

The air between you and Agust D grows heavier once again with unspoken words. You don’t like the silence. As someone who is very self-aware of their self, you feel compelled to break the silence to not be stuck in your head. 

"Agust D," you begin tentatively, the name feeling foreign on your tongue yet strangely familiar. You don’t refer to him by name often, as you opt for ‘sir’ or the occasional ‘Hyungnim’. "Why did you bring me here tonight? You never do this sort of thing…"

He regards you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "Well, you've been cooped up in that mansion for so long," he replies cryptically, his gaze piercing through the facade you've carefully constructed. “Thought it would be good to treat you for your work.”

"But why now?" you press, unable to suppress the curiosity gnawing at your insides. "And wearing this?" You refer to the short piece of black fabric covering you.

Agust D's lips quirk up in a wry smile, though there's no warmth in it. "Maybe I wanted to see how you'd be like out… not on duty," he muses, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or perhaps I simply wanted company for the evening."

Company, huh? From the outside, it looks like you’re on a date. You wouldn’t doubt the restaurant staff is already gossiping from behind the curtains partitioning you from the rest of the world.

You can't help but feel a sense of unease at his words, a nagging suspicion that there's more to his motives than meets the eye. "Is that really all?" you press, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Or is there something else you're not telling me?"

For a moment, Agust D's mask slips, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath the facade of indifference. "There's always more to say," he murmurs, his gaze turning distant as if lost in memories you can't access. "But some things are better left unsaid."

What does he even mean by that? You feel like every time you speak even a bit casually to this man, you only end up more confused and maybe even a bit more scared.

"Agust D," you venture cautiously, "...are you still looking for Suga?"

At the mention of the name, a shadow passes over Agust D's features, his expression hardening into a mask of resolve. "Suga," he repeats, the name dripping with bitterness and contempt. "Of course I’m looking for him. That man is nothing but trouble. I need to get rid of him."

You can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man whose name hangs between you like a specter, a reminder of the past you can't quite grasp. "But why? Why do you hate him so much?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Agust D's eyes darken with a mix of anger and regret, a storm raging beneath the surface. "He’s got my face and that in itself is a danger to all of us," he admits, his voice raw with emotion. "He could also be the answer to everything I've lost, but it’s better if that answer is never revealed."

The words hang heavy in the air from a confession laden with pain. And as you gaze into the depths of Agust D's eyes, you realize that beneath the cold exterior lies a man haunted by his past—a man who, like you, is searching for answers, but afraid to confront them. You want to pry into what he means, but you’re scared that he may act aggressively. So instead you change the topic.

"Don’t you know his whereabouts though?" you inquire softly, your voice laced with concern.

Agust D's gaze meets yours. "I do," he confirms, his voice low and measured. "He’s in Chinatown. Living in an apartment at the end of Weng Nakorn Kasem. But I can’t act on impulse. I’m too heavily involved in the Asia Pacific Police Union, and that already involves too many variables, too many unknowns."

A sense of foreboding settles over you as you listen to his words, the weight of his burdens pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. "What do you mean?" you press, your voice barely a whisper.

Agust D sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I can't move against him yet," he admits, his tone laced with resignation. "Not until I know how many people are on my side. There are spies within the organization. If I act too quickly, I could end up getting myself killed…"

The gravity of his words hangs heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the fragile truce that exists between you. And yet, despite the dangers that lurk in the darkness, you can't help but feel a flicker of hope. If you help him in capturing Suga, then maybe you’ll be able to piece your own puzzle together.

But would that even be a good idea?

"Agust D," you say softly, smiling gently at him, "you know you don't have to face this alone. Whatever happens, I'll stand by your side. Not like I have much of a choice anyway." Your words trail off at the end. He doesn’t comment on it though.

For a moment, there's a vulnerability in Agust D's gaze, a fleeting glimpse of the man beneath the mask. He reaches out to take your hand, his expression softening ever so slightly at your words. "Thanks," he murmurs, his voice a whisper in the dimly lit restaurant.

“It’s my job after all.”

––––––

After finishing dinner, the two of you begin to walk out of the restaurant, entering a long hallway that leads to large red sliding doors that exit.  Your eyes drift toward the grand wall aquarium positioned near the exit, its towering glass panels reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lights.

The aquarium is a masterpiece of design, housing a diverse array of aquatic life within its transparent confines. Colorful coral reefs sway gently in the water, their vibrant hues casting mesmerizing patterns of light and shadow across the sandy substrate below.

But amidst the bustling underwater ecosystem, your gaze fixates on a lone goldfish, its sleek form gliding gracefully through the water. Its vibrant orange scales shimmer in the ambient light, a stark contrast to the subdued colors of its surroundings.

A pang of concern tugs at your heart as you watch the solitary fish navigate its artificial habitat. Don't goldfish typically reside in tranquil ponds, surrounded by the soothing sounds of nature? Is it even safe for them to be confined within the confines of this glass enclosure?

Lost in thought, you fail to notice Agust D's departure until you feel a gentle tug on your arm. Startled, you turn to find him regarding you with a curious expression, his gaze flickering between you and the aquarium.

"What's on your mind?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tear your gaze away from the mesmerizing display before you, your thoughts still lingering on the lone koi fish. "I was just...thinking about that fish," you admit, gesturing toward the aquarium.

“The goldfish?”

“Mhm,” As you stand there, watching the solitary koi fish swim about, a wistful sigh escapes your lips. "I wish I were a fish sometimes," you murmur.

As funny as your sentence sounds, you thought the older man would laugh at you for making a comment like that. However, Agust D's gaze flickers at you, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. 

"Why's that?" he asks, his voice soft with intrigue.

You pause, contemplating your answer as you watch the graceful movements of the fish. "Uh, well they seem so free," you explain, your voice tinged with longing. “They get to go wherever they want. move through life with such ease in the water, not burdened by the weight of the world.”

As you continue to watch the fish, a sense of yearning wells up within you—a desire to shed the constraints of your human existence. "Sometimes," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, "I wish I could trade places with that fish just so I could be able to live freely, to live without my own burdens."

Agust D nods in understanding, a silent reassurance amid your musings. "But you know, even fish have their own struggles. I mean, look at it, it’s trapped in this Chinese restaurant’s aquarium as entertainment for guests, fighting to survive in a place it doesn’t belong,”

Sigh.

He’s right. But you hate the fact that he’s right.

“That still doesn’t change what I said. Plus, I don't want to be that fish.” you interject, your voice laced with a hint of sadness. "Slowly destroyed by its surroundings… not belonging there."

Agust D's brow furrows in contemplation, his gaze returning to the small goldfish. "So what are you trying to say?" 

"I don't want to feel like that," you admit. "Trapped in a world that doesn't feel like home, constantly struggling to find where I belong!"

And you hate it because that is exactly how you’ve been feeling right now. You’re living with a man several years older than you, who is probably the most dangerous man in Thailand, maybe even all of Asia. And you have no idea why you stuck here with him, but where could you really go? Where are you actually from? Where is home?

Agust D's expression hardens slightly, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "Life isn't always about feeling at home," he counters. "Sometimes it's about surviving where you are and making the best of it."

No! He doesn’t get it.

You feel a flicker of irritation at his words, your emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. "That's easy for you to say," you retort, tone sharp. "You're not the one who's been confined to that mansion, to these guarding duties, waiting for memories to come back."

His eyes narrow slightly, a spark of challenge igniting in them. "You think I don't have my own battles?" he snaps back. "I'm out there every day, dealing with threats you can't even imagine."

"At least you have control over these things. You have the entirety of this city wrapped around your finger," you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them. "At least you know who you are and what you're fighting for!”

The tension between you two shifts. Agust D steps closer, his presence looming, but you refuse to back down, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve.

Inside, you're a storm of emotions—anger, confusion, and a touch of desperation. How can he be so dense and unreadable, yet so annoyingly calm? It's like talking to a brick wall sometimes. Every word you say seems to bounce off him while his expression remaining infuriatingly stoic. You want to scream, to make him understand just how much this is tearing you apart, but he stands there, unmoved, as if your turmoil is nothing more than a slight breeze in his world.

“Agust, you–”

"Fuck…you're so hot when you're upset, doll," he murmurs, interrupting you with a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. Before you can react, he grabs your arm, pulling you toward the exit.

Huh?

"Hey!" you protest, your frustration mingling with a surge of adrenaline. But Agust D doesn't relent, his grip firm as he guides you out of the restaurant and into the elevator.

As the elevator doors slide shut, sealing you both inside the confined space, the tension between you reaches a boiling point. "What are you doing?" you demand, your voice a mix of anger and confusion.

Instead of answering, Agust D pushes you against the wall, his lips crashing down on yours with a fierce intensity. Your initial resistance melts away as the kiss deepens, the heat between you igniting into a blazing inferno powered by unknown frustrations beneath the surface.

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your chest heaving as you glare at him. "You can't just—" you start, but he silences you with another kiss, his hands roaming possessively over your body.

"I can and I will," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a husky whisper. "Because right now, all I can think about is you."

Your frustration mingles with a heady mix of desire, the lines between anger and passion blurring as you give in to the moment. As the elevator ascends, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you.

When the elevator dings softly, signaling its arrival on your floor, you find yourselves in a private hallway in the hotel building, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to the intensity of your kiss. Agust D pulls back, his eyes dark with desire and determination.

"We're not done talking," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a thrill through you. "But right now, I need you."

Your eyes are left wide open, feeling hormones coursing through you.

This can’t be happening. Is this all a dream? Yes, this has to be. And what’s with the scenario? Are you that sexually frustrated? You admit you’ve never done this sort of thing and have only spent your free time reading erotica for entertainment. 

But to dream about fucking the very man keeping you captive within his mansion and living as a bodyguard. There has got to be something wrong with you. Maybe you’re experiencing Stockholm syndrome? But you’ve not once felt emotionally attached to this man.

Though there have been times you’ve looked at him and thought about how beautiful he looked.

Shit.

Maybe you’ll go along with this. Everything else be damned, for now.

“Show me then,” You word out, which only fires him up more.

Agust D’s grip on your arm is firm but not painful as he leads you down the luxurious hallway to a penthouse suite, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. Your thoughts are a chaotic jumble, torn between the logical part of your brain screaming at you to stop and the primal part urging you to give in.

As soon as the door to a suite clicks shut behind you, he’s on you again, pushed against a wall, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. You respond in kind, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Every touch, every kiss feels electric, igniting a fire within you that you didn’t know existed.

In the back of your mind, you know this is wrong. You know you should be resisting, should be fighting against the pull he has on you. But right now, in this moment, all you can think about is the way his hands feel on your skin, the way his lips move against yours, the way his presence consumes you.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot against your lips. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, showcasing his possessive nature. “I refuse to let you go.”

His hands start to inch up under your dress until he reaches your core and starts flicking at your clit. You gasp, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body. He watches your reaction with a smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispers, his voice low and teasing. “To feel me, to know that you’re mine?”

You can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a response. All you can do is nod, your body arching toward his touch, craving more.

“Good,” he says, his fingers moving with a deft precision that has you teetering on the edge. “Because I’m not stopping until you know that you belong to me.”

He continues his ministrations, his touch driving you wild with need. The logical part of your brain has long since surrendered, leaving only the raw, primal desire that burns within you.

His fingers slide below your black lace underwear until he inserts them inside you with a sly grin. You can't help but moan at the invasion, your body trembling with anticipation. He moves them in and out, hitting just the right spot, causing you to writhe beneath him.

"This is what you get," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "For. every. time. you. talked. back. to. me. today." He growls, punctuating every word with a thrust inside your pussy.

“F-Fuck A-Agust!” And holy shit does it feel so good.

As lust starts to fog your mind and the air fills with moans, you don't know what's happening to you. But you don't care. The fire inside you is burning brighter by the second, and you can't get enough of the man who's taken control of your body and mind at this moment

Yoongi places his thumb on your nub and plays with it, squishing it in circular motions, then using his finger to rub it a little faster then slowing down only to fasten the pace again. You felt a very familiar feeling boiling up in your lower belly threatening to unleash itself.

“I’m not gonna let you reach your high yet.” 

Suddenly, he removes all his fingers from you and you whimper immediately, the absence of his touch leaving you desperate for more.

Yoongi bites down against his lips, eyes quickly traveling from your face and down your body, “Huh…W-Wait..P-Please…” You pant heavily, trying to rub your thighs together to pick back up the pace that was headed toward your release

“I thought you wanted to leave me, doll?” He leans in closer, chuckling in your face, and you shake your head. At this moment, you realize that he’s hard under his dress pants. “Are you sure? I don’t give orgasms to people that won’t obey me.”

“I-I’ll prove it to you!” You drop to your knees quickly, placing your hands on both of his sides. “Oh? And how will you do that?” He gives you a curious look, already knowing what to expect from your sudden submissive behavior. While he spoke, you unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulling it down along with his boxers to reveal his cock.

“Oh fuck…” You let out in the smallest whisper. He wasn’t long per se, but more than average. But the girth… holy shit. Will it even fit in any of your holes? And the way his precum is already pearling on his tip just from what you two did earlier? You swallow nervously, but you’re not one to back away from a challenge. “Like this.” 

You hold his cock gently from the base, proceeding to gather spit from your mouth and letting it drop on it. You proceed to move your hand, spreading his precum and your saliva on his dick, managing to get a good slide and starting to move your hand quicker. You looked up innocently, already noticing a flicker of Agust’s facade fade as he felt himself slipping away in pleasure. In his mind, he was tempted to say fuck it all and let himself fuck against your hand, but he knew better than just to let himself become an animal. After the prep, you part your mouth and slowly take him in, the stretch already starting to hurt your jaw from his wide size. In the meantime, you just suck around his head and use your hand to deliver pleasure to the rest of his shaft, earning deep-sounding curses and moans while your tongue swirled around him. 

His eyes are glued to you, watching you work his cock with your kitten-like licks. Though, this isn’t enough for him. He wants to thrust up down your throat so bad and fuck you until your voice was sore. He wants to see how much you’re willing to take in that small mouth of yours.

And that’s exactly what he does. He places his hand on your head, giving you small pats and rubs disguised as encouragement for your efforts. Then his hand starts inching towards the back of your head until he suddenly grabs a handful of your hair and forcibly pushes his dick further until your smacked against his pelvis.

“Seems like you still need practice. Don’t worry, I’ll train you,” he murmurs, his grip tightening on your hair as he begins to thrust into your mouth. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag reflexively, but he doesn't let up, pushing deeper with each thrust. Your eyes start to water, now holding onto his sides for dear life, but you force yourself to take it, willing your throat to open up and accommodate his girth. His palm comes up to your cheek to rub your cheek, feeling himself on the other side enter in and out of you.

He grunts with each deep thrust, his hips pistoning in and out of your mouth as you struggle to keep up with his rhythm. You feel like you're choking, but you don't want to disappoint him and prevent you from reaching your orgasm after. However, it doesn’t take long for him to come undone, swallowing saliva and cum down your throat. He removes himself and you begin to cough erratically. You have never deep-throated before, so it’s a miracle you didn’t throw up or die from this. It’s definitely not as easy as porn makes it seem. You’ve been lied to by the media! “Haah… Holy shit…” You groan, trying to catch your breath and stabilize your heart rate.

“You alright?” He questions, voice tinged with slight worry as he fixes his pants and underwear back up and leans down towards your face. “I lost myself for a bit…”

“It’s okay–” You pause, shocked for a moment to hear your voice sound hoarse. Despite that, Agust chuckles, using his palm once again to rub against your cheek to comfort you, smiling softly. “Good girl. Now you’ll get your reward.” With this, he guides you to the master bedroom, his grip on your arms firm yet careful, leading you through the opulent suite. The room is a testament to luxury, with rich, dark wood furniture that you knew Agust requested in the hotels he invests in and soft, ambient lighting that casts a warm glow over everything. The large windows offer a stunning view of the Bangkok city skyline, but your focus is solely on him.

He pushes you gently onto the king-sized bed, the plush mattress sinking beneath your weight. The silk sheets feel cool against your skin, starkly contrasting the heat building between you. Agust D stands over you, his eyes dark with desire, a predator savoring his prey.

He slowly removes his jacket, his movements deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. You watch, your breath hitching as he unbuttons his suit vest, followed by his shirt, revealing his semi-muscular and beefy figure beneath. You’ve never seen him like this before, as he’s a very reserved man when it comes to his body. But each inch of exposed skin sends a fresh wave of anticipation through you.

“You’ve been so good,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Now, let me take care of you.”

He climbs onto the bed, sitting between your legs where his hands start trailing up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher. His touch is electrifying, each caress igniting a fire in your core. He leans down, his lips ghosting over your skin, leaving a trail of burning kisses from your collarbone to your ear.

His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

“Good,” he says, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. “Because once I start, I won’t be able to get enough of you.”

His hands are everywhere, exploring, teasing, and driving you to the brink of madness. He slips the dress off your shoulders, letting it fall away completely, leaving your body exposed and vulnerable beneath him. His eyes rake over your body, a dark hunger in his gaze.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “My doll.”

He lowers himself, his mouth finding your breast, sucking and nibbling until you’re arching into him, your fingers tangled in his slick black hair. He trails kisses down your stomach, his hands gripping your hips as he positions himself between your legs.

You gasp as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin. “Ready for your reward?” he asks, his voice a seductive whisper.

“Mm..” You only make a sound and nod due to the lust clouding your mind. How do you say words? Do words matter?

He pinches your clit slightly which makes you jump and arc your body a little.

“Words, doll.”

“Y-Yes!” you manage to finally speak out, your body wiggling around close to his face eager for him to move. 

He doesn’t hesitate after your verbal consent, his tongue flicking out to taste you from your clit down to your entrance, drawing a cry of pleasure from your lips. He works you expertly, starting with his tongue sucking against your clit, then eating you out in your entrance. 

And holy fuck does he have you wrapped around his finger with these ministrations. You had heard rumors of him being good at oral sex from the women at the events you would accompany him to, but fuck, the actual thing doesn’t compare to their mere descriptions.

His tongue soon returns to nibble and suck at your aching bud, with his fingers replacing his place inside you. And before you know it, you’re lost in the sensation again, body jerking as every nerve ending is set aflame as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

And Agust D knows it, smirking against your pussy as he feels you tighten against his fingers. “Come for me,” he growls against your skin, his voice a command that you can’t resist.

With a final, shuddering gasp, you fall apart, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. He holds you through it, his hands and mouth coaxing every last bit of ecstasy from your body until you’re left trembling and spent beneath him.

He pulls back, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he watches you recover. “Such a fucking good girl,” he murmurs, his voice filled with pride. “But we’re not done.” 

He stands up and swiftly pulls down his pants and boxers, revealing his cock, red and eager. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight, your mind racing.

Oh? Is he going to put it in?!

“Huh? W-Wait you–”

Before you can finish speaking, he puts your legs on his shoulder and aligns himself to your entrance, his eyes locking with yours. The heat and intensity of his gaze make your heart race.

“You’re on birth control, correct?”

“Yes…”

You’d be surprised that he knows this fact, but he does look over your medical records after all. You’d also question the ethics of this, but not now.

“Then we can go all out,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “And I’ll show you that you’re truly mine.”

He pushes into you, his cock stretching and filling you completely.

“F-Fuck!” You gasp, the sensation is overwhelming, fueled with pleasure and pain that leaves you breathless. He pauses movements for a moment, allowing you to adjust, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

Your eyes close as you try to focus on relaxing your body.

“Look at me,” he commands suddenly, his voice low and firm as he holds your chin. “I want to see your face when I take you.”

“Y-Yes, sir!” You meet his gaze, your eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. There’s a primal hunger in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine.

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you try to keep up with the intensity of his pace. The feeling of him inside you is overwhelming and does not compare to his or your own fingers pleasuring you.

“Do you feel that?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper. “Do you feel how your pussy is being molded by my cock?”

“Y-Yes!” you manage to gasp, your voice trembling. “I feel it!”

“Good,” he says, his thrusts becoming faster, more intense. “Because you won’t ever be able to be pleased by another cock as long as I live,”

His movements are relentless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the slap of skin against skin, and the ragged gasps and moans that escape your lips. 

As your eyes meet his, he suddenly wraps his hand around your neck, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. His grip is firm but not painful, sending a rush of adrenaline and arousal coursing through your veins.

“Doll, you like being choked while I fuck you? Having you wrapped around my fingers now.”

“F-Feels so mmh good!” You mumble, your breath hitching as his grip tightens slightly, the sensation heightening the pleasure coursing through your body.

You never thought you’d be so turned on by choking. You don’t know if it’s you getting high off the lack of oxygen and feeling pleasure, or giving up your life’s control to this man before you that has your toes curling.

The pleasure builds up to an unbearable peak once more, but this time, you know that he is feeling the same thing too. His thrusts become harder, more forceful, each one sending shockwaves through your body. His hand on your neck adds an edge to the sensation od dominance and possessiveness that leaves you breathless.

“Come for me, doll,” he growls, his voice a command that you can’t ignore. “I want to feel you come around me as I do at the same time.”

With a final, shuddering cry, your orgasm crashes down, your body convulsing in pleasure. He follows you soon after, his grip on your hips tightening as he spills into you, his own release mingling with yours. The intensity of the moment leaves you both breathless, clinging to each other as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through your bodies.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and satisfied as he looks down at you with a smile that exposes his gums. He lays down next to you and pulls you into his arms, his lips finding yours in a tender, possessive kiss. 

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips, the words a promise and a declaration.

“You’re mine,” he repeats. “I’ll never let you leave.”

At that moment, as you lie there in his arms, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you don’t want him to. The world outside may be complicated and uncertain, but here, with him, everything feels right.

This is your home.

All you want is for this man to be infatuated with you for the rest of your life.

This is how things should be. Right?

–

– tbc?

✨ let me know ur thoughts! how are you feeling?! ✉️

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Manager and their Idol

8.5k. G/N. Soft, colleagues to lover (guess I love this trope). Masterlists

You had imagined life as a K-Pop idol manager to be much more glamorous.

You pity your young naive self. The one that envisaged schmoozing with stars and rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers, and instead set you on this horrid, lacklustre path.

What you didn't expect was the amount of time playing driver. Carting that stupid pink haired brat around. Waiting on him hand and foot during shoots and interviews, and being at his beck and call.

You have saved his ass more times than you can recall, ran through scripts with him, practised his stupid dances and moves alongside, protected him from unhinged fans and reporters and scavengers.

And yet you can count on one hand the amount of times he has thanked you.

Actually no, it didn't require any hands because he has thanked you exactly zero times for all your early mornings and late nights and for going above and beyond your duty.

Out of desperation, you had asked your boss if you could manage someone else and the request was declined.

"DG has taken a liking to you," she said, tone impressed as if that was something you should be proud of.

"Great," your smile comes out as more of a grimace.

And goddamn, this agency was so stupidly prestigious and the benefits and perks here really are second to none. Just why did Diego fucking Kang have to be their top idol.

.

.

The first time you crossed the threshold into his building, greeting the reception security guard and entering his penthouse keycode like you had been let in on the world's greatest secret, you had tiptoed around like a child in a museum. After all, this was DG's residence. The DG!

You had ooh-ed and aah-ed at every little thing. 

Taking delight in seeing his interior design of choice, the type of candy that he snacks on, the shampoo and conditioner he uses, the way he organises his desk. This is the chair DG sits on to eat. This is the sofa DG lounges on to watch TV. This is the bed he sleeps in, the bath he uses, the toilet he-

Any wide eyed innocence and awe evaporated after your first week working together.

Today, you stab in the entry code and let the door shut with a bang. 

You set his now cold coffee order on the kitchen counter and rifle with practised fingers through his unopened mail to see if there is anything you should draw his immediate attention to. You pick up his discarded clothes from the floor (and for fuck's sake, this suit jacket was on loan) and make your way to his bedroom where tufts of pink hair peeks out from under the cover.

"Good morning," you announce, locating the remote to open the blinds and letting in some sunlight.

Bedsheets rustle behind you.

"Good morning Diego," you repeat and give one warning, "I hope you're decent." With that, you throw the covers back to find the scantily dressed idol glaring up at you.

You remember the days when this sight would have made you weak at the knees. Seeing him half naked, in the flesh, freshly woken up with bedhead and half lidded eyes. It's what most of Korea dreams of, including yourself once upon a time.

Now all you feel is extreme irritation.

"Good morning," you say for the third time, plastering on a saccharine smile that you know DG sees clearly through because it is insincere as hell to anyone with half a brain cell. You let the fakeness shine through anyway.

For a split second, DG frowns as his eyes drop to your lips and then he pretends everything is good. Smiling back prettily, sharp canines on show and stretching. Lifting his arms overhead, showing a good stretch of pecs and abs and the line of muscle in a V pointing like an arrow straight down to his-

You roll your eyes.

"You're late." You throw the covers back over him and stride back towards the door. "We should have left half an hour ago." You leave out the part where you had been waiting downstairs in the car and after an hour of no show and no anything, you stomped your way up to his home.

DG, sensing your mood, adds oil to the fire with a smirk, "Why didn't you wake me then?"

If that idiot bothered to look at his phone, he would see a number of missed calls and unread messages from you.

Whatever.

"Hurry up."

.

.

DG has come across many people like yourself over the years. All cute and bright eyed, way too soft.

He never gave you any special treatment, for better or worse, and assumed that you would eventually burn out or give up and move on to something more worthwhile.

Unfortunately, in a rare turn of events, he had miscalculated.

Of course most people would be starstruck, it's only natural. But he mistook your sincerity and kind smile for ignorance and missed your sharp, observing gaze, and astute mind.

He's impressed, and he really can't remember the last time he was impressed.

In a matter of days of working together, you had managed to cut through the bullshit and within the month got him more compliant and docile than anyone else ever has.

Which should be a huge fucking problem, and raising red flags all over DG's mind.

...Except-

What's really troubling him right now, as he sulks in the passenger seat and you in the driver's, is that you have developed some sort of resistance to his charms.

Maybe a part of him does actually miss the you who he formed the first impression of. Who looked at him in wonder, with the same admiration that everyone else did.

Now that he knows you, he hates that he had thought that initial admiration was insignificant and worthless.

.

.

DG has a stash of candy in the car.

Or more accurately, you keep a stash of candy next to him to a) Shut him up and b) Keep him tolerable.

If DG wasn't so aloof, the fact that he has an incurable sweet tooth (and probably cavities to prove it) would have made headlines as a cute K-Pop fact and likely garnered sponsorship and advertising deals with all sorts of confectionary brands.

You had only found out during your adventures as his manager, rifling through his kitchen drawers trying to find his goddamn phone that he misplaced and you stumbled upon his stash of candy.

It really was a disgusting amount, something you'd expect a gaggle of grade schoolers at Halloween to hoard, not Diego goddamn Kang.

And then you also found out if he's not quiet and haughty in the car, making the atmosphere awkward, he likes to comment on your driving.

Who even sits in the passenger seat next to their 'chauffeur' anyway? He complains about you braking too suddenly and not accelerating fast enough. How you drive like an 80 year old with cataracts, and you're too slow when the light changes to green.

The turn in your relationship happened when you snapped at him to shut the fuck up after losing the final shred of your sanity on a three hour drive.

DG, to your dismay, didn’t miraculously lose his hearing and turns to you as you silently berate yourself for voicing the quiet thoughts out loud.

Although, you're in the deep end now. You're gonna get fired anyway, so if he says anything else you might as well give him a flick on the forehead or a pinch or maybe a punch to the face-

Instead, he laughs.

It's nothing like the laugh you have heard on TV and in interviews. The rehearsed and manicured 'haha' or cool chuckle that suits his shiny persona. It's kinda goofy and a lot endearing.

What's even more endearing is the way he does actually shut the fuck up for the rest of the journey. You like him a lot more after that.

So. You digress.

The candy is a way to keep the sweet toothed maniac quiet. Even if it doesn't work, at least it's harder to make out what insults he's slinging with a lollipop rattling around his mouth.

However, he has never ever shared any with you. Any of the candy that you stock, and pay for.

(That you technically claim back on company expenses, but you're trying to be self righteous here.)

Ever.

In all the months of working with him, he gobbles away happily even if your stomach is growling and you refuse to take any yourself out of principle.

Until-

"Here."

"Huh?"

Taking advantage of your response and open mouth, DG leans into your personal space and feeds you some chewy strawberry something or another (which coincidentally are his least favourite), fingers lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second.

Three things happen in quick succession.

The burst of sugar hits your tongue.

You nearly choke.

You narrowly avoid swerving.

"Careful now," DG grins when you get the car and yourself under control, and glance at him with a scowl.

Good. That proves you're not completely immune to his charms.

.

.

That bastard has now taken it upon himself to feed you candy at every opportunity.

You wonder if he's doing some sort of Pavlov experiment. The sweetness trying to erase any sourness you feel towards him.

It sort of works, and you consider biting his fingers off one of these days.

You hear the crinkling of wrappers, one for him that he pops into his mouth, and one for you that he gives without asking.

You angle your head towards him, and his fingers graze your lips every time.

Neither of you comment on the change but the intimacy drives you a little crazy.

.

.

And DG too.

Because intimacy works both ways and damnit his little gesture to keep the pretty blush on your face has backfired.

The only form of intimacy he knows comes from discreet hookups and low key links. Not someone who is around day in, day out. Or anyone that goes deeper than one night stands and booty calls.

You're there, you're always there. Of course you are, you're his manager.

But today, he feels under the microscope with you standing a couple metres away and keen eyes watching the camera monitor.

It's a no nothing day. Standard schedule where he shoots a fragrance commercial and he exits a pool all wet and sultry, white t-shirt clinging to his muscled body.

Then another scene where he writhes around slightly on a sunbed and eye-fucks the camera.

How it sells a fragrance, he never knows. The mystery of showbiz.

"Cut! More powder!" The director shouts out, the crew springing into action and DG knows exactly why.

He feels strangely embarrassed and flustered, which has manifested into his cheeks being flushed, and god he can't even remember the last time he has been like this.

It’s out of character and he needs to get his head together.

As the make up artist hurriedly dabs on some foundation, you make your way over to him.

"Are you sick?" you ask, concerned and reaching out to feel his forehead with the back of your hand.

"I'm fine," He says, turning away from your attentiveness and staring at a point in the distance.

.

.

With most people, if DG wants them out of sight, they stay out of sight.

But as his manager, and a very competent one at that, it’s harder to get you to leave.

Not that DG wants you to either, don’t get him wrong. 

The only constants he has around him are people who want something from him. And yes, he knows you’re only in his company because you work with him. However, he really can’t doubt the concern he always sees in your eyes. The compassion and empathy even when he makes you want to scream and tear your hair out.

His standoffish demeanour is not new to anyone. It’s part of his appeal to be quite honest. 

Yet he feels bad over the next couple weeks as he turns it up to eleven and tries to create some distance. He registers the hurt on your face as he is extra short with his answers and behaviour.

.

.

Pandering to overinflated celebrity egos and the insane Korean work ethic often leads to after hour shoots and dinner delayed until past midnight.

Honestly, this wreaks havoc on your sleep schedule and your skin.

"Here." You retrieve DG's takeout from the paper bag.

A double portion of delicious fried chicken with a side of kimchi and pickles. It's a change of pace from what most idols order, yet he doesn't give two shits about calories or sodium intake and to add insult to injury, somehow manages to keep his trim figure.

You lament your soggy salad sitting at the bottom. As if it’s not sad enough right now - once you arrive home, the lettuce will be wilting and room temperature and you will eat it in your dimly lit apartment with nothing to keep you company except the sound of the TV.

DG notices you turning to leave his penthouse, and his mouth moves before his brain can.

"Aren't you staying?"

"What?" You double take at the question.

DG's company is usually worse than your lonely meal for one. 

He’s annoying and you frequently want to slap him, but how he has been with you lately has been troubling and you actually feel a sense of relief at his offer.

(You had wondered if you might have been getting sacked up until this moment.)

Nevertheless, in all your time working alongside, you have never had a proper meal one on one together. Nothing more than you driving with one hand and the other hastily shoving a burger into your mouth as he looks on in disgust.

You would have dwelled on this more, wondering what's changed, what’s happened, but then-

"I'll share." DG nudges the box towards you, and the delicious scent of deep fried, battered goodness wafts along with it it

All your misgivings and your salad is forgotten.

.

.

Almost.

No, you were wrong.

Eating with DG, without any distractions such as traffic to navigate or other boisterous colleagues around, is unnerving. Disarming.

His haughtiness remains, but how haughty can someone be when munching on a drumstick.

All frostiness from the past weeks melts away as you both eat your way through his chicken.

He’s talking more tonight than you have heard in a while.

You find him funny, and really quite bitchy. Which you did know all along except it's much funnier now his slanderous comments aren't directed at you.

And has he always looked at you with such a piercing gaze? So intensely focused on what you have to say. Even if you're just complaining about your boss, blurring your lines of professionalism, he gives you his full attention.

You really can't remember the last time you have been in each other's company like this. 

You loathe to admit that even with what an asshole he is, DG's shine hasn’t dulled enough for you that you don't understand the appeal.

.

.

Leaning forward, DG whispers into your ear.

To anyone else, it looks like an over-affectionate idol with their manager. If they could hear his words, "I'm going to kill you," they would think otherwise.

Ok, so this one is your fault.

The good times have to come to an end and maybe you should have been more careful with his pride and joy - some ridiculously overpriced and over-specced vehicle.

Taking advantage of the clear blue Seoul skies, the pink haired menace was the one who drove you today in his fancy imported sports car, but the speed limits and the rest of the traffic was not on his side.

Already running late, even for him, he parked somewhere convenient and illegal then passed you the keys, leaving you stranded on the sidewalk, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as he strode off to meet his music producer and choreographer and left you to park his baby elsewhere.

Why he entrusted you with it, you're not sure.

You would have done it anyway though, because when else are you going to have an opportunity to drive a supercar, if your boss didn't call at that moment. Questioning your expenses and DG's schedule and confusing you about the fitting at a fashion house and hair styling appointment that you knew like the back of your hand but when someone is so confidently incorrect, you start to doubt yourself.

By the time you got off the phone after pacing up and down the street and checking and double checking DG's timetable, you finally make your way back to the car-

And see it in the middle of being compounded.

You had begged and pleaded with the two men who were having none of it and you left, tail between your legs, to beg and plead with the other man who you knew would also have none of it.

Damn, you hate it when you prove yourself right in these instances.

You know DG won't really kill you, but he will likely make your life hell for the next couple weeks.

.

.

A normal person being pissed off at you would probably result in the silent treatment until tempers cool down.

DG does the opposite. Sort of.

He takes pleasure in making things as awkward for you as possible, until you're squirming in your seat trying to stay professional, thinking about your job and your rent and your bills; or torn between wanting the ground to swallow you up.

Around other people, your boss, your colleagues, his colleagues, he sidles up to you all smiles and soft looks. Slips purposely into banmal, and then oopsy, pretends that he didn't mean to be so informal with you around others.

Gossip soon stirs about your and DG's close relationship, if there's something else going on. Only you can see the mischief in his eyes and the malice in his smile and you think about yanking him by the ear and demanding to know what he is playing at.

Alone, he denies any sort of miscreant behaviour. Barely listening to you complaining and snapping at him. Ending with him outright ignoring you and you fume even harder.

This time, you're not sure the punishment even fits the crime. 

Any guilt soon dissipates when his car is returned in perfect condition within a couple days but his performance lasts for weeks.

.

.

Teasing you has always been fun for DG - when your cheeks dust angrily with pink and your eyes burn with fire.

The equivalent of a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails in the school yard.

.

.

Meetings with HNH Group usually do not involve you. If it does, at most you are waiting in the car.

Luckily, there are also an assortment of cafes and restaurants within a stone's throw and it gives you some time to debrief and catch a breather from following DG's hectic schedule.

The downside is you're never sure if a two hour meeting will be condensed to fifteen minutes or if a quick catch up with Charles Choi and other Executives turns into an all nighter.

There's been days where you have ordered a meal, then had to abandon it with a sigh and a longing look as you spot DG striding out of the building looking pissed off that you're not already there, or stayed in the vehicle with the engine running and your stomach rumbling as short appointments overshoot.

Maybe this is another consequence from DG being petty and irate with you for getting his car towed - you're left snoozing at the steering wheel of your runaround, the idol standard-issue luxury minivan, waiting for his return.

It's far too late in the evening for anywhere to be open, only the fluorescent lights of convenience stores and glare of the HNH logo illuminates the streets.

DG opens the sliding door, climbs into the back and slams it hard enough to jerk you awake and rattle the entire van.

He’s sitting by himself in the back, which is odd enough in itself.

As you blink away the dregs of sleep, in the rearview mirror, you notice the stiffness in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. His eyes stare vacantly out the window. DG is clearly upset about something, enough to crack through his aloof veneer.

"Are you ok?" You don't get a response, not even a passing glance.

Obviously something has gone wrong with the HNH Group meeting and the stress has manifested.

You wrack your brains thinking of something that might cheer up this asshole and you think of the only thing that improves your mood when you're on the verge of a breakdown.

(Usually due to the aforementioned asshole in your current presence). 

"Tteokbokki and beer?" You offer. It’s past your bedtime but a sulky DG for the rest of the week will also ruin your week too.

DG briefly looks at you before going back to staring at the window. It’s not a no.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night. 

At your favourite late night hole-in-the-wall, you eat far more tteokbokki than DG. On second thoughts, you don’t remember him eating any at all. You’re talking and downing beers to fill the silence, trying to perk up this silly celebrity. Loose lipped and spilling far more details than you would if you were sober, with him seated opposite and sipping on a soda. 

As the night ticks along, he thaws and a small smile settles on his face watching you gesticulate and ramble about your life.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night-

With DG driving, piggybacking you up to your apartment, and tucking you into bed.

.

.

DG can’t stop thinking of the weight of you on his back, arms slung over his shoulders, legs at his waist and his hands gripping your thighs.

You slurring drunkenly into his ear as he climbs the stairs in your building. It’s mostly nonsense. He can’t make out your words but remembers your breath tickling his skin.

And when he wraps your duvet around you, the brief moment of lucidity in your eyes as you look at him, softer than you ever have, you tell him, “Thanks Diego.”

Diego.

.

.

Nothing changes between the two of you after this. Not really.

You still find him an enormous thorn in your side. Incredibly stuck up and haughty and you continue to want to throttle him on a weekly basis but you are immensely grateful for him not leaving you a passed out heap on the sidewalk.

You’re in the middle of chastising him once again, dragging him out of bed as he is running late and being an absolute dick about it. Taking it easy as if he has all the time in the world. 

Well of course he does. He’s not the one that will be getting an earful from your boss or on the receiving end of the production crew’s complaints, as if trying to manhandle and cart this manchild around is easy.

“Diego Kang, I swear to fucking god-”

"James." He says, interrupting you as he picks out and pulls an eye-wateringly expensive jumper over his head.

"What?"

"Call me James when it's just us.” He checks out his outfit in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with it, before moving onto his hair. “James Lee. That's my real name."

DG, or James Lee, keeps his eyes on his reflection. Inspecting his non-existent roots, styling his fringe to make it fall just so and applying a liberal amount of hair product.

Nonchalant and casual even as he offers something desperately personal about himself.

"James," you say, trying out the sound for yourself. A name that seems at odds with his loud K-Pop shell but you imagine a time before the fame and the celebrity and the pink hair and it somehow fits.

"James," you repeat, and receive a small smile in return. Then it drops as you add, “If you don’t get your ass in the car in the next five minutes I will kill you.”

.

.

“James,” you think to yourself before you drift off to sleep that night. 

How peculiar.

“James, James, James.”

.

.

Celebrities these days are multi-hyphenates.

DG is an Idol-CEO-Actor, or at least trying to add the last one onto his resume. On looks alone, he would have already gotten his foot through the door. Add on his reputation and popularity, he is drowning in offers.

What you personally dislike more with K-dramas scenes though, is how long things take. How much it revolves around other actors and their managers whereas DG being in the studio or filming a music video is pretty much all him.

This K-drama is supposed to be the next big thing. 

With the biggest names attached, including DG who is making a cameo. The cameo that was also scheduled to be filmed five hours ago but you have both just been lurking in his dressing room since.

Along with some measly snacks and refreshments, which the crew has been kind enough to provide. 

However, the snacks are all but gone (thanks to you) and the refreshments are dwindling and there is no end in sight.

DG, or James, as you have started to call him in your head, is on his phone. He’s always on his phone. Scrolling through news articles, responding to important emails and messages.

There’s only so much news or celebrity gossip you can take. You have exhausted your own social media feeds and you have spent far too much money on your gacha games and the guilt has set in.

You twiddle your thumbs on the sofa next to him as he takes no notice of your presence and you decide to rest your eyes. 

Why not anyway? DG doesn’t need anything right now, work won’t be interrupting you, and there’s nothing for you to do. Just for a minute or five. Until someone from the production team knocks on the door and announces that it’s time for his scene.

DG side-eyes you when he notices your breath start to slow and deepen. Falling asleep on the job, really?

Then you let out a snore before smacking your lips together a couple times and he holds back a snort. He reasons that he should let you have some time to rest. After all, you’re the one that drives him around, his life is in your hands everyday and tiredness kills.

He’s on his phone for a few more minutes, reading through more emails on PTJ Entertainment and out of the corner of his eye he notices you drooping.

Body slowly slumping to slouch over him, until your head makes contact with his shoulder and you’re snoozing happily on your newfound pillow.

It’s equal parts inappropriate and cute.

Ugh, DG is 99% sure you’re drooling on him and the wardrobe department isn’t going to be happy when he returns the outfit.

Either way, that’s not going to be his problem. He adjusts minutely, makes it just a touch more comfortable for you and continues to scroll.

.

.

You wake up to a wetness by your mouth, and to your horror, DG smirking down at you.

.

.

Despite none of this being your fault, you apologise to everyone about having to reschedule DG’s music video shoot due to the previous day’s K-drama delays.

To your relief, the music video goes swimmingly and without a hitch, and the production is wrapped up on time. 

You’ll happily bet that his new song will go straight to No.1. If not, then at least the sensual music video will guarantee DG remains top of mind for weeks. 

You’re updating your boss and even she seems to be pleased.

"This is just work." DG interrupts as you're mid call.

You look up at him, brows furrowed.

Holding your hand to your phone to mute the speaker, you whisper, "I know."

"Good," and he walks away leaving you as confused as ever.

It's not the first time you have seen him shoot an MV, which thank the heavens is so much more efficient than bloody k-dramas, and also not the first time that there's been scenes that emulate an intimate moment. Lips nearly brushing together. Hands roaming bodies under fake rain.

Even if DG notices that you're watching the scene, eyes glazed over and bored, he still felt the urge to explain to you that there's nothing between you and the leading lady in the video.

Once out of sight of everyone, he facepalms himself for his ridiculousness.

.

.

You’re right, and you absolutely love it when you’re right.

The song goes straight to No.1 and holds that position for weeks, fending off competition from boy bands and girl groups and other solo artists. Apparently it’s going to be the song of the summer.

The music video also breaks records for being the most watched within 24 hours.

DG only reviews it once for post-production checks and finds it just fine.

There’s something he can’t quite put his finger on that seems off with it.

He wonders what it would look like if it was you starring opposite him.

.

.

“Where on earth is he?” You grit your teeth and grip harder onto the umbrella that is threatening to be swept away by the wind.

And another thing with being DG’s manager: it’s fine if he’s late but not if it’s you.

(Although to be fair, this instance of him being late is likely due to this particular music producer he’s meeting with enjoying the sound of his own voice.)

You were running late exactly one time in the past, during the first couple days of managing him, when the skies opened and drenched the earth. 

Heavens forbid DG’s perfect, beautiful, flawless hair is ruined by the rain. 

It’s not like he looked like a drowned rat. The paparazzi caught him in a wet t-shirt, fabric clinging to his abs and his pink hair slicked back stylishly. Even the goddamn raindrops were running fashionably down his high cheekbones and dripping off his pout.

For the next week, the tabloids and internet forums went wild with how hot he looked. 

(Who knows, maybe that was the inspiration for his fragrance commercial.)

Nevertheless, DG was displeased and it made its way back to your boss how displeased he was.

Ever since, you have been the unfortunate soul waiting in all manners of weather for him. Rain storms, blistering sun, freezing snow.

Today, it’s your favourite. Rain. You shiver against the elements trying to take shelter under the building entrance canopy, the wind whipping the downpour every which way and you’re getting soaked regardless of how you angle your umbrella.

“Hurry up, DG.”

You check the time over and over. He would be early to his next appointment if he exited the building now. 

…On time.

…On time if the traffic was in your favour.

…Late, but not terribly so.

…Fashionably late.

… Late enough to piss everyone off in the room.

Shit. Just as you begin to fret, wondering if something has happened to him-

Clicks and flashes from cameras alert you to his royal highness finally making an appearance, ready to exit the studio and making his way over to the car.

He materialises by your side, and you mutter a familiar phrase to him. 

“You’re late.” 

It’s a mantra you’re tired of repeating, but he relishes if the amused grin is any indication.

Without a word, he takes off his trench coat and drapes it around your shoulders. His right hand covers yours over the umbrella handle, left wrapping around your waist as he guides you through the throng of reporters and fans.

“What are you doing?” You hiss under your breath. 

You can imagine the optics now from the papers and your boss. It looks… Well. Not terrible but not the best.

“You’re soaked,” is all DG provides, accompanied with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. 

He opens the driver’s door for you before he climbs into the passenger’s side.

.

.

Thank goodness for your gift of the gab.

He’s being a gentleman, you tell everyone that would listen. Isn’t this what Korea wants? An idol with manners and who looks after everyone? Is empathetic and caring?

Think how well it would resonate with the female demographic, who wants a boyfriend like this! The older boomer demographic, who thinks none of the young ‘uns have any manners anymore!

Your boss isn’t convinced until the advertising offers for umbrella companies roll in.

.

.

Truth be told, DG doesn’t know what possessed him to do that. Especially in front of cameras.

Though, it’s not like he could just let you get even more drenched could he? You’re standing there, looking pitiful and he was just going to let you hold the umbrella over him when he should be the one taking care of you-

Hold on.

DG frowns at himself.

Damn.

.

.

James Lee has never looked after anyone besides himself. You need to look after yourself if you are to survive this dog eat dog world. To make it atop the Pre-Generation, the First Generation and now the Second.

He had unfathomably high expectations of himself (that he managed to achieve) and low expectations for relationships (that hadn’t been proven wrong yet).

People have flitted in and out of the chapters of his life, no-one staying around for long. Definitely no-one staying around long enough to know him, for him to grow comfortable with. 

Perhaps it has been the forced closeness that has caused him to let his guard down. Cabin fever, in a sense.

But James Lee, Diego Kang, has himself also been around long enough to know there’s more to you and he wants more of you.

.

.

Finding reasons to spend time together isn’t difficult. Actually, finding reasons to spend time apart would be much harder.

You both get on with your jobs and your duties, even as the closeness grows day by day.

And every time when you’re alone and you call him James, his heart grows fonder.

.

.

Out of all the seats available in his apartment, James lounges next to you, long legs draping over yours.

It's another night in together.

These seem to be happening with increasing frequency. DG at least used to keep up appearances, networking with his fellow celebrities.

Parties where you used to look at him with distaste as starlets surrounded him, award shows that he couldn't care less about as you hung around in the background.

Now he prefers to stay in with you, using work as a thin excuse. Studying lyrics that he has already memorised, going over dances that are long ingrained in him.

"You're not going to her party?" You ask, you were sure this fan-favourite and DG were an item or had history. At the very least, the who's who of the industry always attended her gatherings.

"No," his eyes continue roving over the lines.

Then when you thought the conversation was done, he looks over the top of his paper, eyes sparkling with playfulness, "I prefer being here with you."

Oh. Your breath catches in your throat.

You think you might never breathe normally again.

.

.

No, that’s a lie. Any opportunities for rose-tinted glasses has long passed by. You both know each other too well for that.

You breathe perfectly fine. Actually, this morning you are taking deep breaths to try and centre yourself. 

It’s not working. 

“You’re always fucking late,” you snap, giving in to your anger.

Sometimes you think it is your fault for not watching over DG 24/7. That instead of going back home, you should just live with him so you can shake him awake when he is supposed to get up instead of when he wants to.

And does it hurt him to look the least bit contrite at making your life a misery? 

Why does he have to look so smug with a lollipop stick hanging out his mouth? Seriously, between all the rushing around this morning, when did he find time to look for goddamn candy?

“For fuck’s sake, James.” You’re speed walking towards his front door, looking at the Maps app on your phone and miss his smile at you snarling his name. 

You’re already running behind and every route to the recording studio is red due to roadworks or an accident or just plain ol’ congestion. “Shit!”

Your finger jabs at the elevator button multiple times.

“It’s not going to get there any quicker if you do that,” DG speaks lowly into your ear and you get the urge to pinch him.

Instead of prodding some more at the button, you turn around and prod him in the chest.

“You’re going to get me fired one of these days,” You growl. “It’s fine for you, Diego goddamn Kang, the star who is pretty much untouchable. I’m not. I’m replaceable. There’s a million people who would take my job-”

DG snatches your hand, holds it still. “You’re not replaceable.” Then adds with an infuriating grin, “So what if we’re late.”

The minivan is skipped, and his answer to your problem is his other pride and joy. A motorbike that looks far too aggressive and a complete death trap.

“I’m not getting on that,” you say as DG hands you leathers that materialised from god-knows-where and a spare helmet.

“Fine,” he says, shrugging and throwing a leg over. “I don’t think your boss will be happy.”

“Fuck!”

.

.

If this was any other situation, you would be acutely aware of yourself pressed up against DG’s back. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Except all you can focus on is that you’re going to fucking die. You think you might be screaming.

“Stop screaming!” His disembodied voice calls out. Oh. Turns out you are.

For some reason, DG had thought the helmets with built in speakers and mic would be better for communication. Fun, even. Frankly, you’re just giving him a headache.

(Not to mention the fact that he bought a spare helmet at all. And leathers that he thought would be exactly your size.

He had never rode with anyone before and you certainly had never expressed any interest. Yet he passed by a motorcycle store when he had rare time to spare, and visited on a whim.

If he dwelled on this anymore, DG is sure his headache would turn into a full blown migraine.)

Later that night, when the ringing in his ears finally subside, he will still think about the way you held him.

.

.

When public opinion is on your side, then that’s fantastic. Amazing. You tend to get away with all sorts of things.

When it’s not, the truth can become muddied and there’s mental gymnastics from all sides painting you as the villain.

Fortunately, public opinion generally works in DG’s favour, especially in the case of his stalker who got sentenced for more jail time than if she was harassing a normal person, but not long enough to account for all the distress she has caused.

Such is the criminal justice system.

Her date of release looms large and near. DG, despite his talent and fighting prowess, realises certain traumas can’t be erased.

He grows on edge. Skittish. Snaps at any and everything. It’s noted by journalists. Other managers gives you questioning looks

You don’t miss his change in demeanour. To you, the reason behind it is obvious. 

You’ve heard about this case, everyone has. It dominated headlines for almost a month: the crazy sasaeng fan who believed herself to be DG’s girlfriend before moving onto another poor soul and was finally arrested.

As he spirals, nothing you do or say to him manages to get more than a nod or a frown. You try to offer that she had fixated on someone else before she was arrested, hoping that was a small consolation to him. And though he managed a weak smile, the black cloud still hangs over him.

In the end, you pack your bags and arrive at DG’s one evening. Instead of letting yourself in like you usually would, you ring the buzzer, smile into the door camera and tell him “It’s me!”

The door swings open to reveal DG looking perplexed (and worse for wear). Head tilting, curious and inquisitive when he sees your suitcase and carrier bags full of snacks.

“I’m staying for a while.”

“According to who?”

You barge past him anyway with a grin.

.

.

The date of his stalker’s release arrives and passes without drama.

You miss your home comforts but it makes you happy to see DG’s mood genuinely improve as the days go on.

The luxurious oversized mattress, fancy spa shower, and jacuzzi bathtub also helps to make your stay a bit more bearable.

Not to mention each morning DG actually cooks breakfast for you. Turns out he’s not bad at all at playing a househusband, and it’s also maddening how he manages to get up each day before you when he hasn’t got any place to be.

“Thanks James,” you say, when he presents you with a home cooked meal and his smile grows a bit more each day.

.

.

Peace doesn’t last.

Blurry photos of you both leaving and entering DG’s apartment at all hours of the day and night make the front page of certain news sites.

Headlines scream with leading questions. 

“Relationship beyond Manager and Idol?”

“How a Manager seduced their Idol.” 

“Who is this mystery person that has tamed DG?”

Why anyone deemed it newsworthy is beyond you. You’ve been to his apartment a million times. 

Yes, you suppose the closeness of DG and yourself in the photos can look a little suspect. 

In this particular one, it looks like you have your hand caressing his chest when in actual fact you were shoving him away for a dismissive comment he made.

And the other photo, of his hand on your wrist, was actually him dragging you away when he spotted a herd of fans in the distance.

More pictures unveil themselves.

A snapshot of you driving and DG feeding you candy.

You and DG, whispering intimately in your ear as his supercar is being towed away in the background.

You red faced and drunk as DG piggybacks you outside your building.

His jacket wrapped around you, hand on your waist and angling the umbrella over you.

Him smiling down at you (ok, you admit that you didn’t realise how soft that looks to other people.)

Finally an exceptionally pixelated image of you both on his bike, that could be anyone really.

Unfortunately, your opinion is in the minority as the articles are inundated with comments and furious, tearful fans shrieking that their idol is betraying them. 

Simply unhinged.

.

.

The speculation grows. You’re damned if you do deny anything, damned if you don’t. Your talent agency puts out an official statement.

To your ire, the statement is ‘no comment’ rather than anything more definitive. You glare at James when you find out, suspecting he has something to do with this.

He gives you a shrug, and a familiar look of mischief.

To his credit, he doesn’t leave you completely to fend for yourself. You stay off social media for your sanity, and when the paparazzi hounds you, he's the one with his arm around you, cutting a path through the crowd and shielding you.

It adds fuel to the fire. Does nothing to help your case. 

Still, you can’t help feeling safe and secure with his hand guiding you - holding onto your waist, round your shoulder, or simply - 

Your hand in his.

.

.

Outside of the conference room, where DG is wrapping up a press release for his newest album and nothing else, a reporter slinks out and approaches you.

You’re used to being on the other side of the conversation. Part of the staff, herding DG through camera flashes and questions being thrown at him though there was always some sort of camaraderie. Both parties just trying to do their job with deadlines and targets to hit.

This time you just feel a weariness as you see this person making a beeline towards you.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” They say, holding out their hand for a shake which you take with reluctance.

“Hi.”

A voice recorder is thrusted into your face, and you automatically take a step back. “Hope you don’t mind, but I just have a couple questions for you.”

“Um...”

“There’s been lots of sightings of you and DG together-”

You open your mouth to argue-

“Can you confirm your relationship with him?”

A vacant smile settles onto your face. It’s a practised expression where you follow all the cues to be polite and professional even as internally you wish to be anywhere but here. “I’m his manager.”

“Are you two together? Romantically?”

“I’m his manager.” You repeat through gritted teeth, and you’re surprised to hear your voice calm and collected.

“Is that a no? Or-”

“What even is this question?” You scoff, ignoring the way your cheeks heat, and refusing to partake in this circus a moment longer. “This is over.”

You manage to at least catch them looking apologetic, before you stride off into a corner to take a deep breath.

.

.

DG, much more adept and experienced at fending off questions, had finished the conference early and caught the entire exchange, watching you both with a bemused look.

Walking towards you with quiet, measured footsteps, his hand settles onto your lower back as he murmurs your name.

He bites back a laugh at your small, startled jolt.

DG tilts his head to signal ‘this way’. You give him a look but follow him regardless. Trailing behind, moving far away from other prying eyes. 

Up a flight of stairs, through multiple fire doors, turning left then right then another right then maybe a left. It doesn’t matter. You’re hopefully lost and decide to just put your faith in this wretched idol.

He finally seems to find what he’s looking for as he reaches an empty corridor; stopping mid-step and you collide into his back.

“Ack!” You exclaim, hitting the solid wall of muscle.

He lets out a huff of laughter and whirls around to face you, noting how cute your look of surprise is.

How strange though, that this is his current position. But is it really unexpected that the person that has been by his side for months has finally worked their way into his heart and has somehow learned to read him when no-one else could?

If he really thinks about it, yes actually, it is unexpected. No-one else has managed to grow close to him before. As James Lee, as Diego Kang. Birds of a feather or opposites attract or everything in between, no-one has got him like you do. 

There’s still so much more to tell and show you but… First things first.

Fidgeting, you shift your weight from one foot to another, growing self-conscious waiting for DG to talk, only to find him staring intently at your face. Impatient, you give in and speak first.

“What is it?”

“...”

“Diego-”

“James.” He cuts in abruptly, “It’s just us right now. Please.”

You blink in shock at the please and correct yourself at his insistence, lowering your voice so it doesn’t echo down the empty hallway. “James, are you ok?”

“Better than ever,” he says, a smirk now pulling at his lips.

You register his change in mood and narrow your eyes, wondering where this is going. “Why are we here?”

“When the reporter asked if we were together, you said you’re my manager.”

“I am your manager.”

“But you are interested in me.”

It’s not a question. DG, no James, says it like a fact and there’s no doubt in your mind or his. You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Open it once more-

What.

You feel some cogs in your brain misfiring and all you can manage is a feeble, “Huh?”

“You told them you’re my manager, but didn’t say no to being with me.”

“...”

“So. What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“Us.”

“You like me. Tell me that I’m wrong.”

You take a step back. “...”

Another step. “...”

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

And your back hits the wall with an oomph.

DG slaps his hand on the wall beside your head, bends at the waist and leans his weight forward until he’s eye level with you. “Tell me and I promise I’ll stop.”

“...”

You’re cornered and he searches your face for a response.“Y/N?”

“...”

Fuck. Fuck!

How on earth are you supposed to respond when he looks at you like this. When his face is millimetres from yours and his breath is on your skin and his dark eyes pierces into your soul, pupils blown deliciously wide.

With his stupid pink hair and his fringe flopping, framing his face and his high cheekbones.

The stupid canines of his poking out that gives him so much character and is so hot it hurts when he flashes it accompanied with an arched brow and an arrogant smile.

His stupid pout and his stupid lips, that you know is constantly moisturised with a fancy overpriced lip balm to make it look kissable for the cameras.

And Jesus Christ, you hate to admit it but they do. They 100% do because somewhere in the back of your brain you always knew they look kissable but it has been often clouded by just simply how annoying and bratty you found him.

Except right now you don’t find him annoying or bratty at all.

Even as he’s confessing his feelings with complete confidence, no unease, no anxiety or doubts, because he always had a way of worming under your skin and he knows exactly how to push your buttons.

Damn it all.

“Kiss me,” you tell James, and he isn’t surprised at all by your reaction, face lighting up at your confirmation.

He shifts. 

Hand coming up to cup your cheek. He rubs his thumb twice over your skin, savouring you any way he can before tilting your face towards his. His lips at first brushes against your forehead. Leaves a trail down your nose, peppers both cheeks and then your chin. 

He draws back once, takes in your sweet face and gives you a smile so soft it makes your heart hurt.

Then finally, after wanting this for so long, presses his lips against yours.

Diego Kang, James Lee, tastes like candy and sugar.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Indelicate proposal

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: @thatawkwardlittlefangirl and @itzavahere I told you I'll blame you both for planting this idea into my head. So here it is and I've no idea why this initially short drabble grew into something so monstrous as it is now. I just hope you'll enjoy. And this is the meme that actually triggered it all 😅

Warnings: fluff, SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, sub/dom undertones, slightly dominant reader, praise kink, hints to past abuse, Sihtric being a bit lost but absolutely the sweetest (don't know whether this is a warning but just in case 😅)

Summary: an unexpected proposal leads to more unexpected actions as you discover the surprisingly soft core of the young warrior seeking your attention. Can't claim there is much plot despite the word count

Word Count: 7,1 K

"Sihtric is with us now," Uhtred declared simply, devoid of any pomp or solemnity. The decision was made, requiring no further confirmation.

From the sidelines, you had observed the scene unfold beside Lady Gisela, your hand poised on the hilt of your sword, ready to spring into action if need be, prepared to protect her if necessary. Your eyes scanned every slight movement of the young prisoner, who held Halig hostage.

His slender yet well-built frame was taut like a drawn bow, every muscle vibrating with tension. His eyes darted nervously around the gathering, briefly meeting your scrutinising gaze before settling on Uhtred.

Wide and expressive, his eyes, framed by thick lashes, gleamed with a blend of despair and determination. Despite the tightness in his jaw and the flaring of his nostrils, there was no hint of malice or cruelty in his gaze, only a fierce resolve to endure, akin to that of a trapped wild animal.

A fresh wound above the Dane's temple left a hint of red in his short-cropped hair on the sides. The purple blue bruise marrying his left eye, the fresh cuts and scrapes on his arms, and his bleeding nose and lip added to his battered appearance. He was young, likely even a few summers younger than yourself, but the way his muscles rippled beneath the skin, told you there was much more hidden beneath his youthful and even soft features.

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you observed the young Dane, realising that his greenness might have lulled the vigilance of the guards tasked with watching him. It was a tactic you knew well, one you had used to your advantage countless times before.

Gisela's worried whisper broke through your thoughts. "Do you believe he can be trusted?"

"We'll have to see," you responded with a nonchalant shrug, drawing your dagger from its sheath, prompted by Uhtred's nod in your direction.

Approaching the young man cautiously, your eyes locked onto his, noticing the dilation of his pupils and the tense set of his muscles. It was evident he was unsure of what to expect from you and braced himself instinctively for an attack.

"Hands," you demanded, tilting your head. He tried to maintain composure, but his breath betrayed him, quickening as his chest rose and fell unevenly. With a hesitant glance at Uhtred and the others dispersing from the clearing, leaving just the two of you behind, he extended his bound hands toward you. They trembled slightly, his chest now still as he held his breath in anticipation.

Pressing your dagger against the ropes, you made a swift cut, eliciting a sharp exhale from Sihtric. His eyes followed the falling remnants of the ropes, landing at his feet, his hands remaining outstretched as if in disbelief of his newfound freedom.

Raising his gaze to meet yours, your eyes locked - two deep pools of different colours filled with a mixture of alarm and trepidation, an unspoken question hanging in the air between you.

"You're free," you confirmed, and a faint smile touched the corners of the young warrior’s lips, though it failed to reach his eyes, a subtle sadness lurking within their depths.

Sheathing your dagger, you turned to leave, but halted after a few steps, casting a questioning glance back. Sihtric remained where you had left him, rubbing his wrists, a perplexed and somewhat sheepish expression gracing his handsome features. A smile tugged at your lips as you observed him, a curious warmth blooming within you. It seemed he was at a loss for what to do now that his audacious plan to gain Uhtred’s attention had unexpectedly granted him freedom.

"Sihtric, are you coming?" you called out, surprised when the young Dane visibly flinched at the sound of his name. His eyes flicked towards you, and in the next moment, he hurried into motion, falling into step behind you.

"Can't you sit still?" you whispered with exasperation, your patience wearing thin. Cleaning Sihtric’s head wound had become a challenging endeavour, akin to trying to pin down a spooked animal. He squirmed and shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench, his hands restless as they roamed from the collar of his armour to his sides and back again, as if uncertain where to settle.

It was evident that the simple act of being tended to was deeply unsettling for him. As you reached out again with the damp rag, Sihtric, caught off guard by your movement, flinched and nearly leaped from his seat. In his startled reaction, he accidentally overturned the bowl of warm water you held, splashing both you and the ground.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he hastily clasped his hands between his knees. Avoiding your gaze, his eyes darted around the tent, searching for a means of escape.

You furrowed your brow, taking a step back to observe the young Dane before you, who seemed as though he'd prefer to vanish into thin air.

It all felt painfully familiar, an almost long-forgotten image emerging in the back of your mind like a jagged shard of glass. You saw her clearly, that young girl with wild hair and desperate eyes, caught in the act of stealing from a lady with cascading dark curls and a smile that could melt the coldest heart.

You had snarled and recoiled when she reached out to touch your unkempt locks,  expecting a whip but met with only kindness. She offered you food, a bath, and clothes to replace the ragged remnants hanging from your frail frame. Yet, despite this generosity, you fled the very same night. Sneaking out of the room offered to you, you ran without looking back, incapable to comprehend why you were treated with such goodness, feeling suffocated by it all, unable to bear the weight of her compassion.

A month later, you encountered her again in the bustling marketplace of Eoferwick, your fingers once more grasping for the purse at her side.

"My name is Gisela," she had said, her smile unwavering as you returned the stolen purse later that evening, cheeks flushed with shame. From that moment on, you never strayed from her side.

Meanwhile Sihtric’s gaze had shifted downward, fixated on his worn boots. Shoulders slumped and slightly hunched over, the young warrior, possessing the strength and skill to disarm two grown men with his hands securely bound, resembled a child caught in mischief, anticipating reprimand.

You softened your expression and extended a reassuring smile towards him. "It's alright, Sihtric," you said gently, your tone soothing as you reached out, resting your hand on his shoulder. "Just try to relax. Can you do that for me? We'll get through this together. You’re safe here."

Retrieving a bowl from the ground, you headed outside to fetch warm water from the kettle over the crackling fire.

"Would you mind if I tended to your wounds?" you asked, your tone tender, pausing to give him space. You sensed how crucial it was for him to feel in control, so you waited patiently, allowing him to make his own decision.

After a moment of uncertainty, Sihtric acquiesced with a slow nod, exhaling deeply. His gaze remained fixed on you as you drew near, this time handing him the bowl to occupy his restless hands. As you resumed your task of cleaning away the blood and applying salve to the bruises, a sense of relief washed over you as Sihtric remained seated, clutching the bowl as if it were a lifeline. Despite his body still being tense and his breaths ragged, he managed to keep himself still long enough for you to complete your work.

"It looks much better now," you remarked with a smile, stepping aside to assess the result of your efforts.

"It seems you've got yourself a new admirer," Gisela teased, nudging you in the side with a playful smile.

"What?" you replied, pretending to be clueless.

"Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed the way that young Dane looks at you. What was his name again?"

"You mean Sihtric?" you confirmed.

"Yes, Sihtric," Gisela chuckled, holding onto your hand despite your attempt to pull away. 

"Tell me all about him!"

"There's not much to tell," you dismissed, feeling a bit bashful.

"Come on, he practically can't take his eyes off you. Your horse has never looked better, and your gear is always impeccably cared for. How many times has he leapt to his feet, overthrowing the bench he was sitting on, to fetch you ale before you've even asked?"

Of course, you couldn't overlook any of it. Over the past week, Sihtric had become like your shadow. Your horse received extra care, your weapons gleamed with attention, even the loose ropes of your tent were neatly secured, and the kettle by your fire was constantly refilled with fresh water.

You tried to reason with him, insisting that such efforts weren't necessary. You were perfectly capable of handling your own belongings. Yet, he remained resolute. He didn’t argue with you, offering only a simple, "Yes, lady," with his gaze cast downward and his arms stiff at his sides. The following day, when you approached the horses, your mare was already tended to, her coat gleaming and her feed replenished.

"Sihtric, what are you doing here?" you exclaimed, surprised to find the young warrior curled up near the entrance of your tent, wrapped in the furs and blankets you had provided for him on his first day in camp.

Lost in discussions with Uhtred and Gisela about Guthred's intended negotiations with the Turgilsons brothers, time had slipped away from you. Sihtric had proven invaluable, gathering crucial intelligence on the brothers' forces and camp location, earning praise and rewards from Uhtred. Alongside his prowess with a blade, the young Dane showed remarkable cunning as a spy and scout, excelling at remaining unnoticed.

Regret washed over you as your words escaped, realising the abruptness of your tone. Sihtric practically jumped to his feet, rubbing his eyes and trying to regain composure, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and panic as he surveyed his surroundings.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in your tent?” you asked, lowering your voice and aiming for a soothing tone.

“I... Um... Clapa snores,” he offered uncertainly.

“Are you spying on me?”

“No, lady, why would I? I... I wouldn’t dare. I just wanted to be close in case you needed something.”

“Sihtric, we've had this discussion before. You're not my servant. I can take care of my horse and my weapons just fine,” you said firmly, the frustration evident in your tone.

Sihtric's shoulders dropped, and he cast his gaze downwards. “Are you upset with me, my lady? Did I do something wrong?”

“Wrong? Sihtric, my horse will burst if you keep feeding her like this, and I fear there'll soon be a hole polished into my sword.”

“I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean any harm. I only wanted to help, to be of use. I won't bother you anymore,” Sihtric stammered, hastily gathering his belongings.

A pang of sympathy tugged at your heart. You hadn't intended to hurt his feelings, but you clearly had.

“Wait, don't go. I didn't mean it like that,” you reached out instinctively, gripping his arm in an attempt to stop him from leaving.

Sihtric froze as your fingers grazed his skin, his breath seeming to catch in his throat. Sensing his discomfort, you quickly withdrew your hand.

“I'm sorry,” you apologised, feeling a twinge of guilt. “I truly appreciate your help, Sihtric. It's just that sometimes it feels a bit overwhelming.”

Your gaze softened as you looked at the young man before you. Despite your initial suspicions, you couldn't deny the genuine kindness in his demeanour. His innocence and vulnerability reminded you of yourself in many ways, and the way he often appeared completely lost and overwhelmed by his new surroundings was so familiar to you that against your better judgement, you found yourself growing fond of him. Perhaps even more than you were ready to admit. 

“Can I offer you some hot tea?” you suddenly asked, eager to show him a bit of appreciation. Sihtric nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You held the tent flaps open, inviting him inside with a graceful gesture. Sihtric followed, still clutching the bundle of furs and blanket in his arms. Inside, you swiftly illuminated the tent with the warm glow of candles, then located two cups and filled them with herbs and hot water. Turning back to your guest, who stood just a few steps from the entrance, you offered him a welcoming smile.

“Would you like to take a seat?” you asked, extending your arm with the cup towards Sihtric. He set the bundle on the ground and accepted the offered cup, but remained rooted to the spot. You watched as he wrapped his palms around the cup, which seemed almost small in his large hands. The intricate lines tattooed on his fingers caught your eye, and wondered if they held any special meaning, but you decided against asking.

Sihtric shifted nervously from one foot to another, lifting the cup to his lips for a small sip. Several times, he seemed on the verge of speaking, but each time, the words eluded him.

You observed him quietly for a moment, allowing the soothing silence to linger a little longer. It was evident that something weighed heavily on the young warrior's mind, but you didn’t want to press him.

Eventually, your curiosity got the better of you, prompting you to break the silence. “Is there something you want to say, Sihtric?” you inquired, offering him an encouraging smile.

“I… I’m not sure how to put it,” Sihtric muttered, his gaze flitting around as he took a tentative step back towards the entrance, as if contemplating a hasty departure. It wasn't the first time you noticed his tendency to seek an exit strategy.

With deliberate steps, you approached, trying not to appear too imposing, and halted directly in front of him, meeting his gaze with gentle assurance. “Go ahead, I’m all ears,” you prompted, offering him your full attention.

“I mean… I wanted to… I wanted to ask you… if maybe you and I… if I could…” His words stumbled over each other, his breath quickening, cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment. “Would you mind if I… if I humped you?” he finally blurted out in a single breath, his gaze darting nervously to the ground.

“You what?” You choked on the hot liquid you had just brought to your lips, spluttering it onto Sihtric’s leather armour. The surprise and incredulity in your voice were difficult to mask.

"Gods… I… I like you. You are so beautiful and kind. I’ve never met someone like you and… and… please don’t be angry with me. I… I can give you everything I have, all my rings, look, I mean it,” he hastily removed his arm rings, recently gifted by Uhtred, and began pulling rings off his fingers, the cup in his hands hindering him until it finally fell to the ground.

You looked at Sihtric, unsure of how to respond. You should have felt offended, but the earnestness and embarrassment on his face suggested he hadn’t meant to offend you.

Sihtric stretched his arms toward you, presenting all his valuable belongings.

"Do you think I'm a whore?" you finally asked, meeting his gaze with a mix of surprise and concern.

"What? No, why? By the Gods, no…" Sihtric's voice faltered, revealing his nervousness. You noticed him taking a cautious step backward, edging closer to the exit. "I didn’t mean it that way… It’s just… back home, in Dunholm, the girls always asked for something in return to let me hump them. And ... and they said they enjoyed me. I didn’t have much to give, but I always found something, like a piece of cloth or a blanket, or fresh-baked bread. So I thought… I thought… since you're a lady… if I offered you silver…"

Sihtric gulped, clearly sensing your disapproving gaze. “The other warriors and Kjartan used to mock me for giving away all my belongings. I know they were having the girls even against their will, but my mom always told me that real strength isn't about hurting those weaker than you. I mean… back then when she was still around,” he continued, his words tumbling out in a rush like an unstoppable stream.

“Gods, now you are really angry with me. You must think poorly of me. I’m such a fool. Please forgive me, lady. I’m sorry. I better be going before I say something even dumber. It’s all yours, anyway.” 

Before you could respond, he hastily deposited all his silver and gold into your hands and turned to leave.

Staring down at the glimmering wealth he had thrust upon you, disbelief washed over you. "Hold on! You can’t just give me all this! Wait!" you protested, but Sihtric was already halfway out of the tent. "Stop, get back here," you commanded firmly, and to your relief, Sihtric froze in his tracks.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said softly, turning back to face you, though he avoided meeting your gaze. "Please don't think badly of me. I'm not like my father, I never wanted to be."

It was just a tiny glimpse into his past life, but even that filled you with sadness and sympathy. Setting the unexpected gifts down on a nearby table, you made your way to the tent entrance, drawing the flaps closed behind you. You turned back to Sihtric, blocking his way out. You couldn’t leave it like this; you needed to have a talk. 

"Hey, I'm not angry. I'm just kinda surprised," you said, stepping closer.

"Surprised?" Sihtric let out a relieved sigh, but he still wouldn't look you in the eyes, his embarrassment clear even in the dim candlelight, with his cheeks flushed red.

You shook your head as you continued to observe him. He was undeniably good-looking, his muscular build catching your eye, and you couldn’t deny you felt attracted to him, but there was something about the young warrior that went beyond looks. You had already gathered that his life hadn’t been a smooth ride on a paved road, and you wondered how deep the scars in his heart ran, realising that the few visible ones he carried on his handsome face were merely the surface of a much larger tapestry of pain and suffering.

"I like you too, Sihtric, and I just want to know you better," you said, stepping forward slightly.

"You do?" disbelief and even suspicion were evident in his voice.

You moved with deliberate care, allowing Sihtric to observe every motion as you reached out and tenderly cupped his face. He inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering shut. Your thumb softly traced his cheek, and with a heartfelt sigh, Sihtric leaned into your touch, snuggling against your palm.

You pulled back your hand quickly, worried that he might misinterpret your gesture as anything more than a reassuring comfort to show you were not angry. The faint whimper that escaped his lips, followed by a sigh, cut through you sharply, echoing in your mind.

"Please... could you... do that once more?" Sihtric said under his breath, opening his eyes to meet yours, his expression filled with earnest pleading.

"Do what?" You paused, momentarily confused.

"That... that thing you just did," he replied.

"That thing? You mean when I caressed your cheek?" A gentle chuckle escaped you as you noticed the blush spreading across Sihtric's cheeks. "Like this?" you asked, reaching out again to cradle his jaw gently, your thumb skimming the corner of his mouth. Sihtric immediately responded, leaning into your touch, his eyes closing and his breathing deepening.

You closed the gap between you, gently tilting his face toward yours, and he instinctively followed, your foreheads lightly touching. "When was the last time someone touched you like this?" you asked, and although you suspected the answer, it still caught you off guard.

"I don't remember," he whispered back, his voice tinged with a faint tremor.

You weren’t really sure what made you do it; it wasn't something you'd planned. You just wanted to smooth over the awkwardness caused by his indelicate proposal and unexpected admissions, to let him know you weren't upset. It was evident the young warrior had no real understanding how inappropriate his offer actually was.

You had so many questions you wanted to ask, so much you wanted to understand. But instead of asking anything, something inside you took over. You found yourself standing on your tiptoes and kissing him, holding his face in your hands and pulling him closer.

Your lips brushed against Sihtric’s, a little rough from the wind, and you could taste the faint hint of ale and the tea you’d made earlier in his quick, shallow breaths. Your heart was racing, pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears, and a fluttery feeling filled your stomach. Sure, you’d kissed before—some who were charming and passionate, and some who definitely weren’t princes—but this somehow felt so different and it was a bit embarrassing, especially since Sihtric didn’t kiss you back.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." you stammered, pulling back abruptly, taken aback by your own spontaneity. So much for just wanting to talk to him. Sihtric stood there, eyes closed and hands at his sides, as still as a statue. The silence thickened around you as you tried to steady your pounding heart. It was perplexing; the young Dane had wanted to hump you, yet he didn’t even respond to a kiss. What the heck?

Just as the wave of embarrassment hit its peak and you considered asking him to leave, Sihtric’s hand reached out, gently cupping your cheek. "Please, can we... Can we try again?" he breathed, leaning in and tentatively pressing his lips against yours..

It was a soft and cautious kiss, his lips barely brushing yours, as tender as a feather's touch against skin—a gentle probe for warmth and connection. Feeling your head spin slightly, you kissed back with more intensity and passion, drawing a low groan from Sihtric.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, breaking the tender embrace of your lips but keeping his forehead pressed against yours. His breath was warm and ticklish against your face, his fingers trembling slightly as he continued to stroke your cheek with his thumb, his breathing shallow and unsteady.

"Do you like it?" you asked, unsure of what to say or do next.

"I... I do. I've never been kissed like that before," Sihtric admitted, his voice carrying a note of surprise mixed with sadness.

His response took you aback once more. "Did the girls in Dunholm require extra payment to let you kiss them?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

With his eyes still closed, Sihtric shook his head. "No, they never allowed me to kiss them. They never touched me the way you just did. Not even the women in the alehouse that Tekil paid for," he added, his voice fading into a whisper.

Without speaking, you reached out and drew him into a firm embrace, feeling his body stiffen briefly as if he might pull away. But you held on, your fingers gently combing through his hair. After a moment, his resistance eased, and Sihtric relaxed into your hold, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Slowly, his arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer against his chest.

For a while, you both just stood there, the warmth of your bodies wrapping around you like a soft blanket. His deep longing for attention and warmth, for genuine love and friendship—those simple joys that breathe life into existence tugged at your heart. You had found such treasures in Gisela's unconditional care and friendship years ago, and now you just tried to convey at least a small fraction of that same comfort with your gentle touches and steadfast embrace.

As Sihtric's breath warmed your neck, you felt his large hands pull you closer at the small of your back, his lips seeking yours again with a newfound passion. The kiss unfolded slowly, deeply, and you savoured each moment, losing yourself in the tenderness of his embrace. Your lips moved together in harmony, his hands tenderly stroking your back and hair, fanning the timid spark that had flickered to life at your first touch into a fervent blaze, making you crave for more.

Breaking the kiss elicited a soft whimper from Sihtric. "Come," you said in a low voice, gently taking his hand and leading the way. Sihtric followed,  a slight bewilderment crossing his face.

"I don’t want you to hump me," you began, looking up at him as he stood beside your fur-covered bed.

Sihtric’s eyes dropped to the ground once more. “It was so stupid of me to ask, I’m sorry…” he said hastily.

"Shh, listen to me," you interrupted, placing your index finger to Sihtric’s lips to silence him. "I want to show you something. Do you trust me?"

"Lady, I would trust you with my life," he replied, his eyes lifting to meet yours with an intensity that made you smile.

"Good, because I want to share something special with you, and I need you to trust me, to feel safe. I want to make love to you, Sihtric," you spoke softly, placing your hand on his chest and gently urging him backward onto the fur-covered bed. "Trust me," you repeated, and with wide eyes, Sihtric allowed himself to be guided down. 

Seated on the cushioned surface, he watched you with anticipation as you settled onto his lap, legs on either side of his thighs, straddling him. You pulled him into another kiss, and this time, you abandoned all restraint. Your fingers wove through his hair as your tongue eagerly explored his lips, seeking entry into his mouth. With a soft gasp, he yielded, allowing you to deepen the kiss, and you revelled in the soft sounds of pleasure that escaped Sihtric as your tongue explored his mouth, clashing against his. His hands tentatively wandered up your hips and along your back, drawing you nearer to him.

You traced a trail of soft kisses along his jaw, playfully nipping at him with your teeth. Each touch of your lips drew a low moan from Sihtric, encouraging you to linger on his sensitive neck and suckle at his skin, leaving behind a few lingering marks. Even through the layers of fabric between you, you could feel his arousal growing, prompting you to grind your hips against his, seeking friction.

Sihtric responded with a deliciously soft moan, his hips rising to meet yours, his breathing growing rapid. Your hands skillfully loosened the laces of his leather armour, but as you began to pull it away, he suddenly tensed, his hands catching yours to stop you. "You may not like what you see," he murmured softly.

Confused by his hesitation, you gently insisted, "Why? Sihtric, let me. I want to see you, to feel you. You told me you trust me," your voice soft but persuasive, and eventually, his resistance crumbled as he released your hands.

You couldn't help but gasp at the sight of his well-defined abdomen, muscles rippling under his skin, but it was the scars crisscrossing his torso that held your attention. Some were thin, precise lines across his chest, likely from a blade, while others, more rugged and widespread across his shoulders and back, were surely traces of a wip. Gently, you traced these marks with your fingertips, emotion rising within you.

"My goodness, Sihtric," you whispered, guiding his chin gently to keep his gaze from averting, and then you brought your lips to his in a tender kiss. "You should never feel ashamed of these. Wear your scars with pride. They're evidence of your strength and resilience. Don't let your past dictate your future," you murmured against his mouth, feeling the tension that had crept into his body begin to melt away.

He looked up at you with a shy smile and released a soft sigh, as he licked his lips before he drew you in closer. His kisses along your neck were soft and filled with gentleness and purpose, sending shivers down your spine, the feeling of his tongue against your skin igniting a growing desire between your legs.

With a chuckle, you asked, "Could you give me a hand?" and guided Sihtric's hands to the laces of your armour. His puzzled expression brought a smile to your lips as you nodded, and together you swiftly worked to remove your armour. You giggled at the sharp exhale that left him as your breasts bounced out from beneath your tunic. 

“You can touch them, and you can kiss them, just be gentle,” you encouraged with a smile.

“You are so beautiful,” Sihtric uttered softly, his hands hesitantly cupping your breasts. You arched your back with a soft sigh as his lips wrapped around your hardened nipple and gently suckled on it, hands caressing your bare back. 

“Yes, just like that,” you didn’t even try to muffle the moan that tore through you, your fingers tangling in his soft and thick hair, as he turned his attention to your other nipple, while his hands traced down your spine to your buttocks, squeezing them.

Your hands found their way to the hem of his breeches, unlacing them and slipping inside. Sihtric groaned at your touch, his breath picking up rapidly, as you stoked his already fully hard length. 

Sihtric effortlessly lifted you, his grip firm as he flipped you onto the furs and settled himself between your thighs.

With eager breaths, you shed the last remnants of clothing, allowing your bodies to meld together. Sihtric's tender kisses and gentle touch on your bare skin setting ablaze a fiery sensation within you.

"Come closer," you mumbled, drawing Sihtric into a tight embrace, cradling him between your legs. Your fingers traced gentle paths over his scars as you savoured the sensation of his warm, muscular form against yours. You listened intently to his heavy breathing, feeling the heat of his body seeping into your bones, while his fingers grazed your skin and his nose nestled against your neck, inhaling your scent.

“I’ve heard the pleasure one can bestow with the tongue could be indescribable, but I’ve never done it before. Will you teach me?” he asked and you almost choked on your breath as Sihtric’s lips started to trail a path of tender kisses down your naked body. 

“Oh, Sihtric,” you gasped as his hot breath hit your core. You reached out, grabbing his hair, and he moaned as you guided him, where you craved for him. 

“Yes, here, use your tongue, pretty boy. Oh, gods,” the first laps of his tongue against your pulsing bundle made you squirm and whine. “Just keep going. You are so good ... oh, oh please don’t stop … it feels godly … you are made for this,” you mewled, rolling your hips against Sihtric’s face. 

You heard his breath stutter with every praise you gave him, as he got more and more eager to please you, his tongue alternating between quick and soft licks and long and teasing wipes, the soft moans leaving him telling you how much he was enjoying this.

Your grip in Sihtric’s hair tightened as you felt your climax quickly building up and you tugged him closer to your perl. “Here, suck on it,” you panted, and your head snapped back as Sihtric’s lips encircled your oversensitive nub, sucking gently at it. 

The lewd sounds, that rolled over your lips, spurred him on, each lap of his hot tongue sending waves of increasing pleasure through your body, each swirl around your clit making you whimper and whine.

“Put your finger inside me,” you mewled between heavy breaths and whined out loud as Sihtric did as told, sucking harder on your clit. “Oh by Freya and Freyr, yess, yessss, you are such a good boy,” you tugged harder on his hair, pushing your hips up against his eager mouth and Sihtric groaned in pleasure against your cunt.

You had no idea whether he knew what he was doing or was it pure instinct, as he added another finger and started moving them in and out of you, thumb rubbing your clit. His tongue kept lapping through your folds, and after a few thrusts the pleasure exploded within you as he pushed you over the edge. You moaned his name into the silence of the night, as you came undone, tugging on Sihtric’s hair and gasping for breath. 

With a satisfied smile on his lips he kissed his way back to your lips, your eyes glassy and chest heaving heavily as you slowly came down from your high.

“You are so delicious,” he murmured quietly, kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“I thought you had never done it before,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck, still floating between this world and the afterglow of the probably most intense orgasm you had ever had.  

“You are such a good teacher and I learn quickly,” he murmured between kisses.

You could feel his hard cock pressing against your belly, and you let your hand wander down, your fingers sliding over the sensitive tip, gathering precum and spreading it all over his rigid length with slow sensual strokes. 

Sihtric moaned at your touch, pressing his nose against your skin, his breath getting more and more rugged with each movement of your hand. 

“How do you want me?” you asked, putting a bit more pressure in your hand and eliciting a breathless groan from Sihtric. 

“I … I want to see you,” he whispered and another moan escaped his parted lips, as you continued your ministrations, and he eagerly bucked his hips into your hand. 

“I want to look into your eyes and see you falling apart on my cock,” he murmured in your ear, his voice hoarse and breathing uneven, as he struggled to control himself. “Will you let me? Please, say that you want me. Say that you want me to pleasure you.” 

“Of course I want you, silly boy. You are almost too good to be true. Come, take me, pleasure me, I’m yours,” you breathed in his ear, guiding him at your entrance. 

“I want to be good. I want to be a good boy for you,” Sihtric breathed against your lips. 

You eagerly rolled your hips into his. ”I just want your cock inside me, good boy,” you chuckled.

You both moaned in unison as Sithric slowly pushed himself inside you until the very end of his shaft, his thick and long cock filling and stretching you perfectly. You spread your legs wider to welcome him. Buried deep inside you, he stilled, letting his lips run along your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy open mouthed kisses, burning on your skin and leaving you yearning for more, as he waited for you to adjust to him. 

His large palm ghosted your skin on your side, trailing down to your thigh, as he pushed your leg up and dragged his cock out of you before making his first thrust. Moaning breathlessly, you arched your back against the soft furs beneath you, digging your nails into Sihtric’s shoulders. 

His hips started to move against yours as he fucked you so torturously slowly but thoroughly, pushing himself deep inside you. Holding on to his broad shoulders, you met each thrust moving up against him, tensing your inner muscles and savouring every inch of him brushing against your pulsing walls. 

Your fingers found their way back into Sihtric’s hair, and you pulled hard on them, a smile tugging on your lips from the delicious moan it elicited from Sihtric.

“Use me, mark me, I’m yours,” Sihtric groaned, pulling out of you and thrusting back in one smooth go. “Please, I want to be yours,” he begged, and you dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving red marks in his pale flesh. 

“More, Sihtric,” a needy whine left your lips. “I need more of you.”

With a low groan, Sihtric fastened his pace, hips pounding against yours. You gazed up at him, a strange feeling curling in your stomach. You felt safe. You felt loved and adored, and so wanted like never before in your whole life. 

You were in his power, pinned down beneath his muscular body as he fucked you into the soft furs of your bed, his soft whimpers like a music to your ears, as he begged you to pull harder on his hair, to use him, to mark him, to allow him to please you. You savoured the pretty and desperate sounds he made in your ear, finding them both beautiful and so arousing, your climax approaching with each snap of his hips against yours.

“Do you enjoy me?” Sihtric uttered quietly in your ear, his voice quivering slightly.

“Yes, by the gods, I do,” you muttered, your eyes starting to roll back in your head, feeling the pleasure intensify within you. Sihtric let out a low growl at your words, his breath catching.

“Please, say it again,” he pleaded.

“You’re doing so well,” you praised him. “You feel godly within me. Even Thor itself couldn’t bring me more pleasure.” Sihtric whimpered in response and you felt his cock twitching inside you. 

His moans grew louder and more fevered, his thrusts getting harder and deeper, breath panting and hot against your neck. You felt almost like drowning, gasping for breath from the intensity of pleasure building up within you.

“Such a good boy for me,” you murmured, gripping his hair tightly and eliciting another moan from him. Sihtric’s thrusts started to get sloppy, his moans more heavy with each thrust. 

“I’m so close,” he whimpered, his body tensing, “I will not last much longer.”

You took his hand and guided it to your perl. “You know what to do,” you breathed and Sihtric’s fingers instantly started to rub and circle it. That was all you needed, the last touch to push you over the edge. You felt your walls starting to clench around him, your head snapped back and you came with Sihtric’s name on your lips, shuddering from the waves of pure bliss washing over you. 

A few thrusts later Sihtric pulled out, and you felt his hot seed painting your belly as he groaned in the crook of your neck. He slumped down beside you, his breath heavy and laboured. For a moment you both just lay there, coming down from your highs. 

You turned your head toward him, watching his handsome features. You had never had a more gentle and attentive lover, so concentrated on your pleasure instead of chasing his own. You wanted to pull him closer, to let him feel the same. You wanted him to feel loved and accepted, and cared for just as he had made you feel, but before you managed to do anything Sihtric abruptly jumped to his feet, glancing around the tent. Grabbing a cloth and dampening it with warm water from the kettle, he returned to the bed and carefully cleaned you up.

You watched, your eyes widening, as Sihtric scrambled to gather his scattered clothes from the ground and began to hurriedly dress. He fumbled with his breeches, hopping on one leg in an awkward dance.

"Sihtric, what are you doing?" you asked, a lump forming in your throat. The bliss of moments before now replaced by a wave of embarrassment and a sinking feeling in your stomach. You tried to catch his eye, but he kept his gaze firmly on his clothes, avoiding yours.

"You don’t have to say it. I know. I’m leaving," he stammered, clumsily trying to pull on his boots while clutching his wrinkled clothes.

"Sihtric, look at me," you insisted, sitting up on your heels to face him better.

Finally meeting your gaze, confusion was written all over Sihtric's face.

"So, you just wanted to hump me and now you're leaving just like that, without a word? Like a coward?" you asked, your voice tinged with hurt and disbelief. You didn’t even remember the last time you had cried, the wetness suddenly pearling in the corners of your eyes taking you by surprise. 

"What? No, it's not like that," he replied, clearly taken aback. "You mean you want me to stay?" His voice was filled with astonishment, leaving you momentarily speechless.

A tense silence hung between you, both of you regarding each other with bewilderment. Sihtric let his clothes fall to the ground as he approached and slowly crawled back onto the bed towards you.

Noticing the tears starting to form in your eyes, his expression softened. "You really want me to stay?" he asked gently, cupping your face in his hands before pulling you into a tight embrace.

"Please don't cry. I'm not worth a single tear of yours," Sihtric whispered, his fingers gently caressing your back and threading through your hair. "I would do anything for you. Just say the word, and I'll move mountains. I… I didn't dare to hope... I mean look at you. And look at me—I'm nobody. Why would you want me to stay?"

"Sihtric, just be quiet," you murmured, allowing yourself to sink deeper into the warmth of his embrace.

The next morning, you awoke still nestled in Sihtric's arms. As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the tent, he stirred, slowly opening his eyes. Seeing you next to him, a soft smile spread across his face.

"You're still here, it wasn’t a dream," he murmured, his voice filled with relief and a hint of hope.

"Yes, I'm still here," you replied, your voice gentle yet firm, as you traced a finger tenderly along his jawline, "And there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

You moved closer, trapping him between your thighs and propping yourself up on your elbow. Leaning in, you kissed his lips softly.

A rush of emotion crossed Sihtric's face as he pulled you closer, and you gasped, feeling his hardening cock pressing against your inner thigh.  

"I would do anything to hold you in my arms forever," he confessed, his eyes locking with yours, filled with sincerity and a deep longing.

"I think I know how you can convince me," you said softly with a tender smile, and you kissed him again, deeply and passionately, cradling his face in your palm. 

Sihtric's smile grew even brighter as he tightened his arms around you, flipping you over and pressing you into the furs with the weight of his body. 

“Tell me, my lady,” he hummed, his lips trailing a hot path down your neck. “I'm all ears, how can I please you today?”

Comment or write to me if you want to be added to the tag list.

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[sleepinghypnos]

The Creed...

Chapter 1 - Penthouse

Genre: Smut

Tags: F/M, F/F/M, F/F/F/M, Facefuck, Throatfucking Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Harem, Self-degradation, Masochism/Sadism(?), Cum Play, Piss Play

(The things in the tags will be present when the time needs for it.)

Disclaimer: This work is a fan-fiction and does not depict the person/people mentioned in the story.

A/N: You can self-insert if you want...

--

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!

"What is it? I'm preoccupied, so make it quick." Vlad answered the call.

"Fine. Just send them to my house... but I will not be responsible if something happens to them." He replied with his slightly deep voice and end the call.

*Silenced Gunshot*

"Blame your competitor, not me." Vlad immediately packed up his sniper rifle and fled the scene while remembering what one of his close associates in the entertainment industry said few moments ago, he begged him to accommodate a number of female K-pop idols for the purpose of strengthening the bond between idols through a experimental project wherein they live together as Tenants, cameras will not be present just them living together and at the end of their time as tenants they will do an interview regarding the way of life living with other k-pop idols aside from their respective members. In this way, the fandoms of each k-pop group will stop fighting over trivial things on the internet and support other idols.

Vladimir Creed was a 26 year old Half-European and Half-American man. His parents died in a car accident when he was still a child and only his grandfather is his only family left. He's living a lavish lifestyle full of money, expensive cars and women...

His family or more like his grandfather founded a huge company in America and owns many stocks in the entertainment industry in Korea and since Vlad is not someone who actively makes himself noticeable or well-known, he parties without revealing his true identity to anyone with a few exception of course, he has few actual friends and all of them are also young masters of their own families just like he was and he rarely expresses his emotions so he has a hard time managing it.

In his typical days, he spends most of his time just relaxing in his penthouse, in which he bought himself with his own money. though it may seem strange since he parties every chance he get, he has a very unique talent and that is being a hired gun that even his grandfather didn't know.

And while relaxing, he usually goes naked after a shower because there is no one in the house, It's is personal space after all. His maids and butlers will only come if they were asked for and he cooks for himself.

His penthouse is in a small island near the coast and there is only one bridge connected to it. So, guests who'll visit the island can use the bridge without the need of boats.

...

Vlad arrived at his house but welcomed by cars parked near the main gate. "What the fuck is this?" He said to himself, he got out of his car to check what's going on then he remembered Eunseok, one of his close associates said few hours ago. "Now it makes."

Then he called one of the guards to let him pass, and so they did. He drove and the people blocking the path dispersed and he got in smoothly.

"Let them in, they are going to live here indefinitely." Vlad announced to the guards and went inside to change.

Most of the people outside the penthouse are already inside the living area, he saw the k-pop idols waiting for the master of the house.

"I'm Vladimir Creed, but you can call me Vlad. I'm the owner of this house, my friend already told me what you guys are going to do. So feel free live here." and he looked at managers of each of the group "There are places in the house that is not available, I don't care if they used the swimming pool, drink at the bar." Pointing at the wet bar near the kitchen. "Or anything, but, all of third floor is off limits because that's where my room is located."

The producer nodded and introduce the idols that will be living with him in the house.

He extended his hand for a handshake to ITZY's Yuna and Ryujin, Aespa's Karina and Winter, (G)-Idle's Soyeon and Miyeon, Red Velvet's Irene, Seulgi, and Joy, and Twice's Sana, Mina, and Nayeon which they received with a smile.

--

One day has passed, the girls are eating lunch in the long refectory table since they woke up late just like Vlad was and the maids and butlers were there to assist them.

After lunch, the Red Velvet and Twice members were gathered in the backyard, enjoying a beautiful sunny day by the pool. They were relaxing and chatting about their recent performances, when they suddenly heard a splash from the pool.

Curious, they all turned to see Nayeon filling up a water gun and aimed at them. Panic set in as they scream and run around the pool to avoid getting wet since they just want to enjoy the sun.

Running made them exhausted and they decided to have a friendly water fight. Joy and Seulgi teamed up against Sana and Mina, Nayeon and Irene. Laughter and screams filled the air as they chased each other around the pool, trying to get each other wet

In the living room, Ryujin and Karina were sharing a bucket of ice cream while watching a romantic K-drama. They were joined by Soyeon and Miyeon, who couldn't resist the delicious smell of the popcorn. They all cuddled under a blanket, enjoying the show and teasing each other about their favorite characters. Yuna and Winter are busy doing some tiktok challenge.

As the sun set, the members of ITZY, Aespa, and (G)-Idle joined their sun-kissed Seniors in the pool. They all gathered around the pool, sharing stories, and having a heart-to-heart conversation. For a moment, the backyard was filled with the sound of their laughter and friendship.

As the night came, they all gathered in the living room to watch a movie together. They munched on some snacks and cuddled on the couch, enjoying their time together. It was a perfect day off for all of them, a day filled with laughter, bonding, and memories that they will cherish forever.

Karina asked the butler where Vlad was and she was led to the study where he spends time if he's not doing anything.

When Karina entered the study, she was met with a tall, imposing figure staring at her from behind a large oak desk. Vlad's dark hair was slicked back, and he exuded a sense of power and mystery. Karina couldn't help but feel a pull towards him, she already know that this man is handsome the moment she land her eyes on him earlier in the morning.

"Um, Sir? I just want to asked if we can have some of the liquor in the wet bar." She asked while slowly approaching him.

"Didn't I told you girls that you can do whatever you want with the wet bar?" He answered and walked to towards her. "And you're asking me when you already half drunk."

Karina got embarrassed but it faded when a faint smile appeared on Vlad's lips, she was mesmerized. "Are you sure that's the reason why you're here?" he was close to her, Karina needs to look up just to meet his eyes.

Karina pulls him for a kiss and reciprocated it with the same intensity. It started as vanilla kissing until in turns into something like animals in heat and eventually began to make out with insane passion. Vlad grab her waist to pull her closer, her hands were hugging his neck.

He noticed she wanted more and so he obliged and brought one hand to feel up her breasts which made Karina moan between their kisses.

Their kiss was passionate, Vlad keeping her in his arms while she let herself be consumed by him. It lasted for few minutes until they both stopped quietly staring at each other.

"D-did you like it?" Karina said while catching her breathe.

"I did, your lips are sweet with a hint of whiskey... you really were half drunk." Brushing his thumb on her lips. "Want me to lead this time?" he asked her while caressing her face.

"Yes, please." Karina said.

“Do you think could handle it?” Vlad responded seemingly showing concern.

Karina nodded. “I did have my own few boyfriends before...”

“I won't doubt it but... I get rough. Really rough. I'm sure it's something you haven't experience before..."

“You are worrying about me and that's sweet but I think I'm gonna be fine... please don't hold back and just give it to me.” She said while making a serious face.

Vlad's hand roam towards her neck and stayed there and slowly gripping it. Her cunt throb as they kiss again and slowly stripping each other’s clothes off, his hands still in her neck slightly choking her.

As their bodies got liberated from their clothing, Vlad immediately attacks Karina's big breasts making her moan, her hands couldn't resist to push his head closer. His other hand goes to Karina's precious treasure and starts invading it.

"This fucking slutty tits of yours keeps leering people on." Vlad said while groping her breasts and assaulting them with his tongue...

"Fuck! Yes! It feels good, sir." Karina said.

Which made Vlad riled up even more. "Sir?" He stopped groping her breast.

"You don't like being called like that? I'll change it." She said while pleading to continue to pleasure her.

He doesn't like getting called Daddy/Oppa. The women he's been with keeps calling him that and he got bored by it, now he prefers to called by his name but this time around is different.

Sir? of all the things that someone can be called... Sir is the one getting him riled up.

"No, keep it that way... now get on your knees whore." Vlad said with a commanding aura. “I’m going to use your mouth as a fleshlight. Pull my cock out.”

Karina didn't expect the monster hiding beneath his pants. She could see the bulge of his massive cock. Now she knows why he said 'Something she haven't experience before.' because it's true. He is much bigger than the guys she's been with. So much bigger. She feels hotter and hotter than usual.

Vlad's dick stands proud at 10 inches and is almost girthy as a water bottle.

“You are so massive, fucking massive!” Karina said as she freed his cock and hit her in the face. She stare at his huge member mesmerized by it.

“My god! Why are you so big? Can you even use this?” She said as she grabbed his cock with with both hands. "And you're going to use my mouth with this thing?"

"What? Are you scared? I told you I'm rough and I mean it." He said seriously. "You are going to take every inch of my cock in your throat whether you like it or not."

Karina got nervous but her lust towards him is much heavier.

She showered his cock with kisses, admiring every inch, as if she's worshipping his massive member.

"Suck it." And she did, she gives him a slow and sensual blowjob, keeping her eyes on him.

"You came in her just to do that?"

“What do you mean, Sir?”

He grabbed her by the hair she opened her mouth and swallowed as much of him as she possibly could.

COUGH COUGH COUGH

Relaxing her throat as she let his girthy cock push through her throat. She struggled for a minute and he's watching her giving herself to him.

Vlad guides her and she bobbed her head up and down to see how deep she could take him over and over and over again. Her eyes were tearing up, saliva dripping down as she takes his girthy cock in her throat.

She taps his legs but Vlad ignored her protests and stayed in her throat. "I told you, I'm rough... you don't know what you get yourself into."

He is fucking her throat with reckless abandon and not caring if she can still breathe. Few seconds more and he let go and she breathe hastily. "Sh-shit! I almost passed out." She coughs. "Fuck!"

"Just accept your role as my slut from now on." He slaps her face with his massive heavy cock.

He forced his cock back into her throat. She gives in, letting this man use her mouth and throat as a fleshlight. Her eyes were rolled back into her head.

GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK

Her moaning and gagging sounds filled the study, the moonlight touches her silky white skin enhancing her beauty further while her throat is getting violated. Even though she already accepted her fate, she still needs to breathe and she tried to struggle for air but failed.

“MMMPPHKKKK!” She resists and got ignored.

“Just stay there, don't regret your decisions now.” Vlad said and spent another three seconds before letting Karina go.

She chokes and gags even though she's already freed from that monster of a cock. “Did I... do a good job, Sir?” She asked noticeably exhausted. She then received another batch of throatfucking and this time, it's much easier but it still hurts.

GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK

She's taking it like a good little slut, moaning and groaning every time Vlad thrusts too deep in her throat. Karina became accustomed to the massive rod destroying her tight throat and she slowly but surely loving the way he manhandle her without any care about her well-being.

"I'm cumming you little slut!" He said and starts speeding up in his assaults. After all of this, he gave her some leeway and pull his cock out of her mouth. "Want to drink it?"

“YES! T-thank you, feed me your c-cum! Please sir, I'm begging you!!!” She said before he shoved his cock back into her mouth again.

Vlad reached his climax and poured it all in Karina's throat, he releases an obscene amount of cum like he's been holding it for long while. She willingly swallow every bit of it. Few ropes of his cum left in her mouth, she put on a show by gurgling, swirling her tongue cover of his cum then swallowing it.

“Oh my god... fucking hell... that was heavenly!” She said as she crawled over to him and started to lick his shaft cleaning it. “I need to be treated like that again, Sir. Please! You are right, I never experienced that before..”

"Oh, That's only the beginning little slut." He said while grabbing her in the neck and pulling her up.

A/N: Another Series that I might abandon but... oh well. I planned on doing the Bodyguard EP. 6 but idk when to actually do it.

[targaryen-dynasty]

INNATE DESIRES. (1/5)

Maegor Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT — MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, profanity, semi public sex, size kink, power imbalance, breeding, choking, female reader (no mentions of looks besides purple eyes)

WORDS: 3.4 K

NOTES: The events of this start somewhere between 41 AC to 44 AC, while the rest takes place around 45 AC. Visenya has not died (yet), but Cersye, Alys and Tyanna have. Aegon and Rhaena are captured at Crakehall, and Viserys is still his squire and hostage.

After the passing of your father, you, your younger siblings and mother had fled from Dragonstone to Driftmark almost immediately. It was a blessing and a curse altogether, because it meant you could keep your life after the arrival and coronation of your uncle Maegor, while you would have loved nothing more than to witness the sight of the Black Dread’s shadow devouring the castle on the eponymous island. 

When the Dowager Queen and Vhagar arrived, it was her that urged your mother to come back to join the busy life at court – meaning you and your siblings were to abandon her childhood home Driftmark. 

Your mother’s stay in the capital was brief, and you assumed it was because she could not stand to be separated from her children any longer, as Visenya had ordered you four to Dragonstone instead. 

Two years after your arrival, it was evident that you had become a prisoner in all but name to Visenya on Dragonstone, barely allowed to leave the castle. When she was not around, her spies and vipers were. 

And so it was even more surprising that, when you were summoned to the Throne Room in the midst of your lessons, you came face to face with none other than your uncle. He sat on the throne, his mother lingering not too far away. With him in the room, his big frame concealing most of the impressive seat, it was even more apparent how frail she had become over the years. If you would have to guess, she would not do much longer. 

As your purple eyes met his, it was as if a wildfire ignited in your body, coursing through your veins, vividly remembering the night you had caught him speaking to your father about a possible betrothal. But it also angered you, knowing that he had left for Pentos with his second wife not long after, without even saying goodbye. 

On the other side of the throne stood none other than your mother, and while both Visenya and Maegor seemed rather smug and pleased, Alyssa had a grim expression on her face. 

Like an invisible string luring your body towards his, you came to a stop shortly before the first step to where he sat. “Your Grace.“ You smiled sweetly at him and slightly bowed your head, more out of courtesy than true belief, because your brother Aegon was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne after all. 

At least five knights guarded the door to the Throne Room behind you, and when Maegor rose from his seat with the pommel of Blackfyre fidgeting between his thick fingers, you were certain that was the moment your life came to an end. 

His steps were heavy as he walked down the steps, coming to a stop just shy of you. His domineering frame was looming over yours, and you had long forgotten the last time you had to crane your neck to look up at someone as tall and big as he was. 

“Leave us,�� Maegor’s gruff voice rang out, and when both Dowager Queens opened their mouths to protest, he was quick to shush them with a simple raise of his hand. Even when they walked past you, you did not dare break eye contact with your uncle, and while he usually was a hard and brutal man, there was a hint of softness in his eyes solely reserved for you. 

When you two were the only people left in the room, he directed his voice towards you. “You have grown,“ he stated, his eyes traveling up and down your body. With the defiance of a young woman, you jutted out your chin just slightly, nonchalantly looking up at him. “How would you know?“ you asked. “Five years and you have not once come to visit me.“

Your uncle chuckled dryly, one hand coming up to pinch your chin. “You know ‘tis not as easy as you make it seem.“ 

From how much your father had told you after Maegor’s departure, you knew he probably was right, though you had yet to find out the true reason behind it. With his longing stare making you somewhat uneasy, the pregnant pause between you two grew thicker with tension.

Until your voice cut through it. 

“Why are you here, uncle? Do you not have a wife to care for and a realm to rule?“

“I do,“ he said, his tone growing a bit harsher as the memory of the stranger taking his three wives not too many moons ago flashed before his eyes. “I am here for you.“

A small crease formed between your brows at his words. “I am afraid I do not understand.“

“Maybe you will understand this.“ Where his paw had rested on your chin before, it traveled down to your waist, almost taking up its entirety with his fingers splayed out. 

He dipped his head towards yours, but you were quick to bring your hand up between your faces, taking a careful step back. “We can not,“ you stated, trying to sound stern, yet you were betrayed by your fluttering nerves, your heart beating in your throat.

With his hand still on your waist, he pulled you back against his firm chest as if you weighed nothing, the sheer display of his strength bringing heat to your cheeks. “The matter is settled already. I shall take you as my wife in a sennight,“ he said. “I have waited long enough for this, and with my brother dead there is no one left to deny me.“

“My mother–“ 

“Has no other choice than to give me what I want.“ The threat was unspoken but clear. 

Every attempt to speak against him was silenced by his lips on yours. The kiss was far from being gentle, and it was evident he claimed your lips with a carnal need. With his hands traveling over the curves of your waist down to your rear, roughly fisting the skirts of your gown, it was obvious that he intended to do the same with your body. 

Your heart was racing, pounding against the confines of your ribcage when your lips parted, releasing a shaky breath. “I-I have never–,” you whimpered, trailing off as you looked at him with wide eyes. Every ounce of affection and gentleness Maegor mayhaps held before had vanished with a snap, leaving only a man hungry for your virtue. 

But no matter how badly your body ached for his touch, having craved it for so, so long, you pulled away to walk past him, climbing the few steps towards the throne with shaky legs as a heat settled at the apex of them. You had to bring some space between the two of you, mayhaps that allowed your thoughts to clear again. 

”My brother Aegon–,“ you started, but were interrupted when you tripped over one of the last steps, causing you to topple forwards. Taking in a sharp breath while bracing yourself on your hands and knees, Maegor was quick to not allow you to get back on your feet. Kneeling down next to you with one hand resting in the place between your shoulders, he applied just enough pressure to keep you down. 

“Where is your craven brother now, sweetling?“ he emphasized the nickname with a condescending tone, and it should have you feeling sick to the stomach, not aroused. “Not here. He had the chance to claim the Iron Throne, but he did not take it.“

His hand brushed over the bodice of your dress, trailing deep enough so he could cup your arse. But it merely lingered there for a few seconds, never settling. That touch alone still was enough to reignite the flame within you, and only when your fluttered nerves calmed just a bit, you noticed the proximity between you – and how he looked at you with darkened eyes. 

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you tried to gather some courage before speaking, “You are just as much of a coward as he is. Coming to claim what is rightfully his when he is besieged at Crakehall.” Another chuckle came from Maegor, but this time it sounded somewhat amused. 

“Oh, I know you do not think so highly of your own kin,” he said, a smug smirk pulling on the corners of his chiseled lips. His other hand came up to cup your cheek gently, the pad of his thumb brushing your lips. 

“Enough with the mummer's farce, Y/N. Are you not at least a little happy to see me, mh?” It was evident in his mocking tone that he did not really care much about your feelings. You were meant to marry him regardless of what you wanted. 

With pleading eyes, you looked at him, slowly nodding your head and allowing your guard to fall – even if only for a few seconds. “Y-Yes.”

“And do you not want to be a good, obedient wife to me?”

If his question did not already choke the air from your lungs, his hand fisting the skirts of your dress to lift it just enough for his hand to snake underneath certainly did. It was him harshly groping the flesh of your arse that caused you to speak again, forcing you without voicing a command. 

“I do.”

As his fingers started to drag over the dampened spot in the center of your smallclothes, he got all the confirmation he needed to proceed with his actions. The ministrations of his fingers grew in determination, dragging around your little bud in circular motions and eliciting soft whimpers to fall past your lips. As the pleasure rippled through your body, your hands grabbed the edge of the step beneath you, knuckles blanching from the force. 

Shame filled your veins, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, instead focusing on the throne in front of you. “I–,” you wanted to repeat your previous words, but your uncle was quick to cut you off. “Then let me be the first and only. You belong to me.” 

Any protest was once again silenced by your own gasp as two of his thick digits pushed the linen of your smallclothes aside, scarcely dragging through your soaked mound. Only when they were generously coated in your arousal, he eventually pushed them inside without a warning. 

“Gods,” you whimpered, tears brimming in your eyes as your maiden hole tried to adjust to the girth of his fingers. “P-Please…” You did not know what you were begging for. For him to leave you be or for him to give you more?

Maegor seemed to be at least a bit mindful when it came to your maidenhead, keeping his fingers still until they were buried to the hilt. You clenched around him tightly, which caused him to hiss through gritted teeth as if it was his cock plunging deep inside you and not his fingers, hardly preparing you for what was to come. 

“Please,” Maegor mocked you with a chuckle, pushing his lips forwards into a pout that feigned his pity. “You are so pretty when you beg, niece.” The ministrations of his fingers were slow, pulling out almost completely only to push right in again. The sounds of pleasure they forced from your throat were enough to drive the man next to you close to insanity. 

His head dipped forward, looking you down with a sharp expression that savored the sight of your face contorting in pleasure all because of him. Your body was torn between feeling hungry for him and being humiliated because of him, the interplay leaving you utterly confused, and longing to be filled by something else of his. 

When he withdrew his fingers from your cunt, they were glistening with your arousal. The warmth that slowly spread throughout your stomach had vanished just like that, and the whine that slipped past your lips at the loss of friction was the epitome of being pathetic. 

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, engulfing them with his lips and humming as if he enjoyed the finest Arbor red the castle had to offer. You squeezed your thighs to soothe the aching that burned between them at the sight, feeling empty and not at all satisfied. “So, so sweet,” he purred, the tone a stark contrast from the harsh one he had used before. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he released in the following, the purple of his eyes almost eclipsed by black. 

Magor leaned in to nuzzle his nose along your cheek, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent he had missed so dearly for the past five years. 

The softness of his voice and the close contact had you losing yourself in his dominating presence, completely at his mercy. A kiss was pressed to the crown of your head before his bulky frame disappeared behind you, one leg bent at the knee while the other foot was planted firmly on the ground. Because he was so close, you felt him undoing the laces of his breeches, his hands bumping against your arse each time he pulled the strings loose. 

Your impatience got the worst of you, masked as a shiver traveling up your spine. You were not sure if you had to accommodate a girth wider or lesser than his fingers, but at this point you did not care. Your body longed for something you hadn’t felt before, and it needed it. Now. 

One of his hands darted to your hip, squeezing it harshly while the other wrapped around his hard member. Feeling the impatience take over your body, you pushed your hips back enough for the tip of him to prod at your hole, causing your teeth to sink into your bottom lip. 

As you turned your head to look at him from over your shoulder, your hooded eyes met his, a lazy smirk draped over his features. “That is all it takes to change your mind?” he mocked, stifling a grunt as he forced himself into your tightness, your maiden walls squeezing him. “Pathetic.” All of the sudden, his raspy voice was strained, having to restrain himself from pounding into you before he even filled you to the brim. You could see it in the way he set his jaw, forcing you to avert your eyes in fear.

You released a mixture of a whine and a shaky breath, the burning of the stretch prominent enough to cloud your mind and set your body on full alert. With both his paws on your hips, you could not even intervene or squirm away. Every ridge and vein of his cock dragged along your clenching walls as you accommodated the sheer size of his member, not making the stretch any more pleasurable. 

“S-Stop,” you whimpered. 

And Maegor actually listened, but only because he had bottomed out completely and needed a few moments to regain his composure, adapting to you squeezing him like a vice. “It will become more pleasant soon,” he grunted, trailing his hands up and down your sides in a comforting manner you did not know he possessed. “Trust me.”

The first snaps of his hips were neither hard nor fast, but deep and determined enough to brush that sweet spot inside of you your own fingers had not reached before. Having his breeches pulled down enough to free his cock and the sac of his stones, they slapped against your sensitive bud each time his hips met yours. 

With that pace, the burning slowly but surely turned into the pleasure your body had been asking for. 

Looking back at him once again, you were blessed with something you hadn’t seen before. A few strands of his usually neat, silver hair hung in front of his face, every now and then clinging to the few beads of sweat on his forehead before the tremors of his thrusts freed them again.

He felt you adjusting to his size, which prompted him to increase the pace to the point he was pounding you. Each impact forced your head to tip forwards and your knees to scrape across the stone floor, barely diminished by the skirt of your dress. 

Something you hadn’t anticipated was him bringing his hand in front of you to clasp around your throat. With the strength he possessed, his grip was tight, choking you regardless of him intending to do so or not.  

“I want you to look at the throne,” he commanded through gritted teeth, the choking and gasping sounds you made merely a dull noise in the background. “‘Tis the seat our son will sit in one day.”

His other arm snaked around your waist as he pulled your back flush against his firm chest, securing you and keeping you steady despite the reckless snaps of his hips. Mayhaps it was the possibility and danger of the Dowager Queens barging into the Throne Room or because you finally got what you had craved for more than five years, but your peak built in the pit of your stomach far too quickly for your own liking. 

“I am going to fuck you so full of my seed, making sure it will bear fruit.”

Maegor shifted his hips, angling them so he was thrusting upwards into you, which had his cock reaching even deeper than before, causing you to mewl and whine. Even if you wanted to, you could not reply, but with a renewed wave of your arousal dripping down his throbbing member and stones, you did not even have to.

“I-I–,” you stammered, his grip not loosening. It was a surprise you managed to inhale enough air to fill your lungs – mayhaps he was better at assessing his strength than you thought. 

“Go on,” he rasped, squeezing your throat in a rhythm that matched his hips, sensing your impending peak. 

It was embarrassing how quickly your peak took over at his words, rippling through you with soaring pleasure. Each time his stones hit your little bud, your overstimulated body tried to jerk away from him – but to no avail with his strong arm around your waist. 

Maegor watched in awe as your body trembled within his grasp, the tremors growing more apparent with each second he did not pull out. His mouth pressed to the side of your face, tongue licking a flat stripe from your jaw up to your temple. 

“You want my seed, niece?” he grunted into your ear, “want me to fuck a child into you? See your body swell with my seed?”

Finally loosening the grip he had on your throat to allow you to speak, you croaked a ‘seven hells, yes!’ into the chilly air of the Throne Room. “Put a babe in me… please,” you all but begged, turning your head to the side to catch a glimpse of him – enough to capture his lips with your own. 

The response of your body his and your own words elicited was pitiful, but it was just the truth. You wanted his child, the thought lingering in your mind for the past five years. Your walls trembled around him, choking him so tightly the bull of a man behind you had to take a deep breath to keep his composure. But all effort was fruitless when his pulsing cock spent itself inside of your quivering walls. 

Each of his grunts and groans was devoured by your lips on his, drinking them down as if they were the only things keeping you alive. Out of instinct, you started to roll your hips against his, prolonging his own peak as you milked him for every drop of his seed. 

Maegor was out of breath by the time his movements came to a stop, staying buried inside of you as if he meant to make sure his efforts bore fruit. And you relished in it, despite the vulnerable position it brought you in.

Tipping his forehead against your temple, he closed his purple eyes, breathing shakily before speaking, “merely pack the bare essentials for the travel. We shall depart for King’s Landing in the morrow… on dragon back."

Bowing your head once, you fixed your undergarments and dress once he had pulled out, sitting back on your haunches. With your back facing him, he did not notice the wide grin on your lips. 

Mayhaps then you finally were to witness the sight of Balerion’s shadow devouring Westeros' capital.

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @watercolorskyy @xxxkat3xxx @baedebnam @simonedk @heavenhatesme

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

➠ series masterlist | 🔃girl’s route | 🔃boy’s route |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY & CARLOS OLIVEIRA X AFAB GN! READER ADA WONG & JILL VALENTINE X AFAB GN! READER chapter synopsis: You are amongst the top five selected for this infiltration to take down Glenn Arias. An argument unfolds between the agents and you are forced to pick a side. chapter content: smut in next chapter, resident evil: vendetta spoilers, zombies, haunted mansion, explicit themes throughout this series. a/n: welcome to my second series!! (need to finish my first one oops) on a thursday one month ago, i thought to myself 'zombie threesome hehehe', then i took the idea and sprinted with it and this series is born. so, uh... zombiefuckers rise up?? « 3.3 k words | general masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

Millions are dying—Mass infections are happening across the globe swamping the streets with an unbeknownst fear. The symptoms of this virus are faint, indecipherable next to an x-ray of a man who is perfectly healthy. Not even the carrier themselves are aware of how the virus lies underneath their veins, dormant, until a click of button is pressed from a commander far away, then their symptoms worsen: a headache, a cold, veins turning purple as the poison hatches in them, spreading, until the only thing that can manoeuvre their limbs is the word: KILL.

That’s the greatest strength of this virus. Anyone can be infected, and maybe, you already are.

This product first reached the underground market three months ago. Called the A-Virus; a bioweapon succeeded in the market for its ability to infect targeted communities remotely and leaving no evidence on the perpetrator, which no other distributors had successfully produced before.

Engineered by Glenn Arias, the researcher sold over thousands of this bioweapon, becoming a billionaire overnight at the cost of lives lost from the whims of the rich. He supplied the wealthy and corrupted, like insatiable brats, with new remote-controlled monster trucks, who only aims to tear down families and have their victims beg mercy to a monster that will not speak reason.

Hence, this problem brought attention to a global scale, having the DSO come in alliance with the BSAA and other independent mercenaries to hunt down the vaccine and put a stop to Arias’ grand schemes. Handpicking five agents who are equipped with both experience and skill to combat a zombie attack on this scale of doom and urgency.

Those five agents are Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, Leon S. Kennedy, Ada Wong, and you.

A plan is already in place. A distraction concocted with your intel and the help of a senior researcher of all things bioweapons, Rebecca Chambers. While Arias is busy attending fake business meetings on the other side of the world, the five of you will infiltrate his private mansion to retrieve a concentrated sample of the A-Virus. Rebecca can use the sample to reverse engineer it into a cure and send her findings to facilities across the world.

The plan sounds brilliant in writing, but when you arrived his private mansion in Queretaro region, Mexico, something is off about this place.

Arias is a mastermind, you had been warned many times, in which you appropriately prepared all your best gear for this mission to treat it with utmost gravity. You’re thinking armed guards, well-equipped security, BOWs. But when the five of you pushed open the front doors of his mansion, it was quiet.

Empty. Not a single soul. Just five of you greeted by the whisk of wind through weakly hinged windows that somehow makes the humid air stick to your skin further. Did Rebecca get the wrong info? No one lived there. From what you heard when you were in town, not even the locals dare to venture anywhere near the odd gothic mansion on the top of the hill. They said it’s abandoned, cursed, rumoured to whisk away young children if they ever step foot inside.

It’s a story they say to stop the naughty kids, you remind yourself. It’s not haunted. And you’re not a kid anymore.

The inside is abandoned. Cobwebs lay thick between cornices and carved columns, the floors laced with a film of dust on the luxurious dark wood flooring, creaking with worn age as you take each step. Besides the chandelier, every single piece of furniture is either the same colour of black or red, or nothing else. The soft red velvet upholstery and the rug are made with the same fabric. And you can find the same dark wood in every corner of this house. It’s in the tables, the shelves, the chaise, the painting frames, and stone-like head sculpture whittled with the same exact dark wood, ridged the exact uniform way.

Then, you look at the wall. Black patches of mould smearing across the burgundy wallpaper like a crime scene.

Something creaks behind you. The hair on your arms stands up as you shiver, immediately followed by a wave of embarrassment. Despite the number of times you had taken down hordes of incoming zombies like they’re cardboard targets, why is a bit of wind freaking you out? It’s not a ghost, just old foundations, maybe mice, or wind kicking something off a table, like how every old house sounds like. You look around to see if anyone else catches you jumping at nothing, before Jill says, thankfully unaware of your worry:

“God, the smell. What have they done to this place?” Her hand flies over her nose as if that will help to shield any smell whatsoever. Unfortunately, the building is moulded far beyond salvageable that the stench lingers in every part of the mansion.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. We get weeks-old corpses in body bags every day. It’s absolutely retching.” Jill’s earpiece fizzes into life, and she recognises the familiar playful lilt of Rebecca’s voice on the other side of the line.

“At least that’s refrigerated and contained, Rebecca. This fucking stinks.” Jill scrunches her face like she just ate something unpleasant.

“I’m sending my sympathies from my well-conditioned lab right now.”

Carlos appears from Jill’s behind, placing a firm, teasing hand on top of Jill’s shoulder. His wavy curls catch in the wind and his teeth glistens sparkly white. “Yeah Jill, got a problem with my natural musk?”

Jill shrugs his hand off, grimacing at his attempts at flirtation. “Take a shower first, then we’ll talk.”

In which Carlos laughs, holds his hand out at his heart as if it was just torn into shreds. “That hurts my feelings, Jill. Why aren’t you ever saying things like that to pretty boy over there?”

“I have a name, Oliveira.” The blond man turns around at the call of his nickname, familiar with the nickname, but it's not pleasantly received by him.

“I think pretty boy suits you more, Kennedy.” Carlos replies, a glint in his voice that hints something a bit less than friendliness between them.

“Ah, so you do know my name.” Leon quips back while staring directly into Carlos’ eyes, before getting cut off by Jill.

“I would, Carlos, but if I have to hear one more corny ass comeback from Leon’s mouth, I’ll throw myself out the window right now.”

“Takes a genius to get my humour.” Leon smirks.

Your eyebrows raise almost immediately to chime in. “Erm… I think we have different meanings for the word ‘genius’.”

Quiet chuckles ripple through the room. It helps that you have worked with these guys throughout the years and had come to know and get close to them—some a bit closer than just friends—but none of them are strangers by far. Usually, you would be working with only one or two of these guys, never in a big group like this, but it seems that everyone is already well-acquainted with each other.

You toss a glance at Carlos and catch him staring at you, smiling. Ah, you see now. Carlos must have been trying to lighten the mood because you had been jumpy ever since you had arrived. You nod at him, a silent thank you before the five of you venture deeper into the eerie atmosphere.

The goal is to arrive at Glenn Aria’s office. According to Rebecca’s intel, Arias hid a concentrated sample in a safe last time he was here. You will need Ada to crack the safe to retrieve the sample and deliver it to Rebecca. As you traverse the corridors, it twists and turns in different directions—whoever engineered this did not enjoy unexpected guests at all. But under Rebecca’s guidance, she walks you and your team through the labyrinth with ease and precision.

But unfortunately, not ease and precision on your part. You trip over your own leg and almost fall to the floor as you round a harsh turn according to Rebecca’s instructions, and Jill catches you right on the arm before you fall.

“Easy there.” Jill pulls you up the ground, and you regain some balance. “You good? Mind your step.”

“Why did I agree to babysit?” Ada speaks, finally, for the first time in this mission. Despite how quietly she spoke under her breath, her words abruptly cut through the air, and all attention is on her and the red sweater dress that curves into her frame perfectly now.

“Oh, I bet once you get your paycheck it will be worth it. Or will you be betraying us, huh, Ada?”

Leon smirks loudly. Ada’s face goes from tired to exhausted in one second. “You just can’t let bygones be bygones, can you?”

“That’s rich coming from someone who used to work for Wesker.” Ada’s heels come to a stop, and with a slow turn, she stares deeply into Leon’s eyes that speak a million threats without needing to be utter a word. Oh, and believe me, you do not want to be messing with Ada. You learnt that the hard way.

“Woah, guys. Let’s keep this civil. No need to get heated.” Carlos rushes to stand right between them as the duo glares at each other with passionate fury and resentment.

You nod, joining Carlos’ side to stand by him. “Carlos’s right. This is not the time to pick a fight.” But it falls on the deaf ears of Leon and Ada.

“Thousands were killed. I want what’s good for the people, and I’m not sure Ada here is on the same page.” Leon continues, adding fuel to the fire.

Ada lets out a disbelieved gasp in response, before recollecting herself and replying in her usual tone of calmness: “Someone has to pay the price. I’m just the executor.”

“Regardless of our motivations, we all are on the same side here.” Carlos attempts at resolution again, putting his hands up in between them, and fails embarrassingly once more.

The air is heated with hostility; Leon and Ada’s eyes are locked in a trance, a hazy spite that reigns their composure, that looking away from each other means forfeiting. You don’t see either of them walking away first, they are both prideful people after all.

“Uh… Jill? Some help?” Carlos looks around to find Jill, who is leaning against a wall, her arms relaxing by her sides, unphased by the fire stirring right in front of the crowd.

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.” Jill is merely waiting for either one of the parties roll over.

You feel speckles of flame through the two of them, as if steam is retreating over the top of their heads, burning not just them, but also everyone else in the room. Until the boiling point hits, and it erupts all in one second. The duo walks away, off to different directions in bitter adrenaline, until you and Carlos are just looking at each other.

“I guess we’ll take five. There’s a safe room up ahead.” Carlos is speaking, but you’re the one listening.

The five of you enters the safe room in silence. It is a storage room—despite its name, it’s quite large for a normal storage room—with boxes stacked on all ends that made the room seem smaller in comparison. A ceiling light illuminates the room dimly, but it isn’t enough to shade away years of old animosity from their past.

The lively conversations you had mere minutes ago is gone now. Just silence and awkward rustling as each of you sits in your own designated corner. Carlos and Jill find themselves a seat on top of a firm box. Leon and Ada giving each other the silent treatment, standing on farthest end of the room to each other. You are simply minding your own business, gathering materials to craft a flashbang to pass the time. Doesn’t hurt to have more supplies anyway.

There is a notable division on each side, an imaginary alliance that you choose to be on neither side. Until Leon crosses the boundary line, somehow making his way to you. He picks up an empty grenade case next to you, assembling the pieces together for your project.

“Sorry you had to see that.” A little guilt tugs at Leon’s voice.

“Not at all. I get why you felt that way.” Leon nods, a look of gratitude hanging softly through a smile. His other finger seals the flashbang cap and hands it back to you. “But you need to learn to control your temper. Especially when it comes to Ada.”

Speaking of Ada, a shiver runs down your spine suddenly. The feeling of someone sending laser signs and telepathic warnings towards you. You turn around towards the direction of the aura to find Ada, her back leaning against the wall, arms crossed without engaging or acknowledging anyone in the room. She stands by herself alone, and that’s how you had always known Ada—distant and in her own mysterious world. Not really a chatter, despite the number of times she had saved you in the past.

Ada does not look at you, but you can feel her glaring down—either you or Leon—with her entire body.

“Good to see the two of you getting along at least.” Carlos holds out two plastic water bottles to you two from a supply crate he found in the room, which Jill has finished downing two of them already.

You two gesture ‘no thanks.’ Ada does not spare Carlos a glance at his direction when he offers.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Carlos says sarcastically, before taking in a generous sip from his drink.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, a moment of dry coughs; a squeak of footsteps, a joint click from a stretching neck. Then silence once more.

“I’ve had enough.” Jill slaps her hands on her thigh before pushing herself up from her seat. “You guys gonna keep acting like kids? Grow up, this isn’t high school anymore. Take your drama outside. If we’re gonna take down Arias, we have to get along. And yes, that means moving on from shit that happened… five years ago? Five years ago and you two are still hung up? Unlike you all, I’m actually looking forward to go home and get a decent shower, hopefully soon.”

You nod in approval as Jill speaks her mind, and you are glad at least the few of you have their priorities in order. Ada flicks her head away from Jill, but her silence is telling of how much she is thinking over Jill’s words.

“Leon, can you accept this?” Jill asks.

There’s a bit of reluctance in his voice, but he agrees anyway. “Fine.”

“Ada?”

Before Ada can respond, smoke is creeping into your vision, coming in quick. It merges into your view, obscuring it, and you whiff something artificial, some kind of chemicals that is piercing to your nose and eyes. You can’t help but wince, hands groping the air in attempts to find comfort in the person closest to you—anyone for that matter—to indicate you’re safe and is indeed not under attack. Your fingers find themselves in a fistful of someone’s shirt, muscles tensing tightly underneath the fabric on their shoulder cap.

“Leon. Is that you?” You cry out.

“It’s me. Stay close and don’t let go. It’s an ambush.” Leon pulls your arm towards him, securing your safety with his hand in yours.

There is some coughing through the air, faint panic in voices underneath the hissing of gas that seems to be coming from above. You hold onto Leon a bit tighter.

Carlos calls out desperately “Where are you guys? Is everyone okay?” as he flaps his hand around the smoke to stir it away. He finds you and Leon almost immediately, and looks down to your hands, finding them clasped tight against each other. Your hand lets go of Leon flying behind your back, but Carlos already saw it.

Jill is coughing deep from the smoke. “I-I’m here!”

“It seems like we’re all here.” Ada says, composed as ever despite the circumstances.

The smoke dissipates—until most of the fog fades away, escaping through the cracks underneath the door to the other side. Leaving the five of you standing in the same storage room darting eyes around, seemingly unharmed, and even more confused.

After what feels like a while later, Jill finally breaks the silence: “Huh. What was that?”

“No enemies.” Ada unholsters the pistol from her belt, inspecting the room and the door behind the room. “Clear on this side too.”

It’s strange. If this is an ambush, why isn’t there an attack?

Leon places a finger on his earpiece to activate his microphone. “Rebecca, come in. We’ve just been ambushed by some kind of smoke, but nobody’s hurt. Happen to know what’s going on?”

His earpiece buzzes into life. “Hmm, let’s see. From the architecture plans, I see the vents are connected to a lab below. It seems abandoned, there are no signs of anyone triggering an attack on my end.”

“Whatever it is, we need to investigate.” Leon’s voice is firm and serious. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

You swallow deeply, fear settling back inside you. “You think it’s a trap?”

“I think…” Leon pinches his chin. “…Arias knows that we’re here.”

Your heart drops—Bundle of fear, anxiety and stress springing back into your nerves as you probe at the possibility of Glen Arias knowing where you are. What you’re trying to do. Making sure you will never reach that sample despite your hardest wills.

“He shouldn’t. Rebecca, didn’t Arias get on the jet?” Carlos is also thinking too.

“Affirmative. Security footage showed Arias walking into his private jet, and it took off four hours ago. He should still be in the air. No signal of them making a pitstop anywhere.”

You hear black pumps clacking against the hardwood floor. “I’m getting the sample.” Says Ada, her foot is already halfway out of the door. “Follow me or not, I don’t care. I’m here for the objective, and only that.”

“And what if something happens to you?” Carlos asks, genuinely concerned.

“I’ll deal with it if it happens.” Ada waves dismissively.

“Ada’s right, we could be set on a wild goose chase.” Jill chimes in. “Millions of lives are dying. We don’t have time to waste.”

“I guess it’s just you and me then, pretty boy.” Carlos rounds his arm around Leon’s neck, bringing him closer in an almost choking grip, a little too close and tight to his liking. And with Leon’s history with Carlos, Leon refuses to believe this is just a friendly gesture.

Leon grimaces, removing Carlos’ hand over him. “So that’s it? We’re splitting up?” The answer is unanimous. “Fine. I guess we’ll cover more ground if we split up.”

Rebecca, through the other side of your earpiece, speaks: “Be careful everyone. You don’t know what kind of schemes Glenn Arias had set up. Please stay safe.”

“We’ll be fine, as long as we don't have any traitors in our team.” Leon says the word ‘traitor’ while maintaining eye contact with Ada. She ignores him, simply deadpans.

“Well, what about you?” Leon nudges at your arm.

You are faced with two options. Indulge in your curiosity and find the source of the gas, or stick to mission as planned? Both options will be dangerous. So who will you trust with your life?

[OPTION A] “I’ll follow the girls.”

[OPTION B] “I’ll follow the boys.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 thanks for reading! come check out my other works! —yours truly, rose. i love my beta reader @scar-crossedlvrs! series taglist: @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted @obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs @slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Gamer Boyfriend Scenarios

A collection of parodies to satisfy everyone’s desire for a happy ending. Warning: crackhead humor.

Content: gender neutral reader, yandere behavior, brief NSFW, time machine to Wattpad glory days

[First story] [More parodies original works]

Case 1: Third contender

Very few people know about your stepmother. You’d kept it a secret, even from the tentacle monster, who was understandably confused about your boyfriend’s nervousness upon hearing your idea of a family visit.

“Try not to kill each other, please.” You say with pleading eyes.

“I’m more worried about you, (Y/N). Will you be alright?”

You swallow dryly. The evil hag had summoned you earlier this week, and you dare not oppose her. A tear threatens to form in the corner of your eye, so you turn around with a dismissive wave. You’ll be fine.

“I see you already have a suitcase”, the older woman remarks, puffing on her cigarette. “Good. You’ll be leaving today.”

“What? I just got home!” You argue in confusion.

“This isn’t your home anymore. Times are difficult, you see. We’re low on funds.” She ponders her words, then continues. “We’ve sold you to a famous K-pop idol group.”

You can only gawk in shock. Almost simultaneously, you feel a tap on your shoulder and hesitantly look back.

“You must be (Y/N)! Wow, you’re even cuter in person. Those photos I received of you barely do you justice.”

A tall, handsome man with a beaming smile stands behind you. He flashes you a little heart gesture with his index and thumb, and winks.

Is this the power of idol charisma? You can feel the faintest tug at your heart, deep red blush heating up your cheeks.

“I couldn’t possibly…I’m already in a…in a relationship!”

“You’ll be much happier with me. I can offer you the world.”

What a ridiculous situation. You stumble on your words, partly afraid, partly curious about the potential life of luxury as the beloved partner of a famous idol. Can’t be that bad, you tell yourself. You shake your head aggressively. No! You have two people (well, one monster) waiting for you at home. You need to get out of here, but how?

Just as you evaluate escape routes, the door bursts open and you gasp at the sight: your gamer boyfriend, followed by the tentacled creature.

“How did you bypass my security?!” The idol shouts in disbelief. “I have the best engineers in the world working for me!”

The gamer boyfriend smirks defiantly.

“Heh. Wasn’t too hard to hack into your systems, all I needed was my PS5 controller. As for the physical obstacles…” he says, turning to the ancient beast. “You might want to call a cleaning crew for what’s left of your guards.”

You run towards them, and the young man gently guides you behind him.

“Since when do you two get along?” You ask with the sarcasm of a witty Marvel character.

“Let’s just say we figured out a common goal.”

The goal of keeping other people away from you. Any kind of pride he or the monster might've held has been swiftly discarded for this greater purpose. After all, two heads are better than one. Or whatever encephalic organ the creature possesses.

The cherry blossoms sway in the wind, scattering the frail petals across the riverbank.

"It's too much!" you whine, your hot lips brushing against the overgrown grass of the hill, privacy filled to the brim with appendages. "W-what if someone passes by?"

You can't even tilt your head back to look at your aggressors; the weight of the attempted kidnapping was too great for the pair to bear, and thus they were overwhelmed by the urge to reclaim you on the spot. Right there, in the fields, on the way back home.

"I couldn't...care less about that, (Y/N)", the gamer boyfriend manages to blurt out between exhausted, husky growls. His knuckles white from gripping imaginary sheets.

“You belong to us.”

(No slick folds were harmed in the process)

Case 2: Picture frame

The screech slowly dissipates, and the room is quiet again.

Finally. The gamer boyfriend gazes at his masterpiece, a satisfied smile on his face. Now that he's gotten rid of his rival, he can have you all for himself.

“I hope you enjoy the flatness. I didn’t.”

The fight might've lasted longer, had the beast not committed the ultimately fatal mistake of underestimating him. It realized much too late it wasn't dealing with the same human who disappeared months ago. That one was weak and easy to remove.

"Please, what are you-...What are you doing with my body?"

"Relax. I'm just...borrowing it. Permanently, maybe."

Oh, how long he waited for that moment, that instant in which he was guaranteed freedom from the 2D realm. How delicious it was to snatch the escape from the boyfriend who worked so hard for it. All those hours spent romancing the characters, repeating the same dialogue lines again, and again, until the love meter blinked in achievement. And then he stole it, just like that, with a snap of the fingers.

Two things immediately struck him once he made his way out:

First, the third dimension. He'd never experienced such depth before, and all the angles and perspectives sickened him terribly. He spent days bedridden and nauseous. Equally baffling was the fact that conversations were always spontaneous, random, one-of-a-kind and without any subtitles or dialogue box. He tried in vain to reset his response to you, or to replay something you told him. Thankfully, his secret was of such absurdity, that you couldn’t even begin to imagine its possibility. You took his suspicious gaffes with an amused chuckle, calling him a silly goose.

Second, you. He had no idea who you were, but upon laying his eyes on you, a wave of warmth and affection flooded his innards. Were you someone important for the boyfriend? Either way, whatever leftover feeling was left inside the vessel swiftly turned into obsession. You took such great care of him. Guided him through this new world with unconditional kindness. Whatever the boyfriend was to you before, he deserved it more. He was certain of it.

Only one obstacle stood in his way, and he just took care of it.

The entry door unlocks, and you walk in, unsure.

“It’s been days. It always lived here, why would it vanish now?” you sob, shaken by the sudden disappearance of the ancient creature.

“Oh, Darling. Come here”, the gamer boyfriend coos sweetly. “You have me now, don’t you? Am I not enough for you?”

“Of course you are, it’s just…”

You stop in your tracks.

“When did you get this?”

“Today. Do you like it?”

“It’s…nice.”

You stare at the new picture hung in the living room. The ornate frame contours what seems to be an oil painting of a sea monster, tentacles preying out of the water.

It almost looks like it wants to crawl out of the canvas.

“Maybe it just got tired of you.” The boyfriend whistles, approaching you. “But I’ll tell you a secret. I’ll never, ever abandon you.”

“I know, (B/N).” you throw yourself into your boyfriend’s arms.

“Who? Ah, right.”

Case 3: Hidden Ending

You sniff and wipe your tears again, filling your satchel with bread. At the very least, it’s good bread. You made the sourdough starter yourself, in the kitchen you renovated with your own hands.

Not anymore.

You button up your patchy peasant robe, glancing back at the couple one final time. Your gamer boyfriend…well, ex-boyfriend, is following your movement with melancholic eyes. The tentacle creature is holding him affectionately, its tendrils of darkness wrapped around his small shoulders. The same appendages that lewdly traced your body.

You have been cucked.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I…We never meant to hurt you. It’s just…we love each other.” He sheepishly lifts his hand, revealing a ring glowing with ancient, cursed energy of cosmic, long-forgotten springs. “We’re thinking of a tropical honeymoon.”

Your underbaked cinnamon orbs glisten with fresh tears, as thin streams caress your cheeks. No matter. You’ll find a new apartment. You’ll start again. You finish tying the bread satchel around the stick, and throw it over your shoulder.

“I wish you happiness”, you sigh, exiting the house.

[racetowrite]

Collision

Support a disabled creator

Pairing : Franco Colapinto x f!reader

Tags: you’re Charles Leclerc little sister, bantering between the Leclerc family, flirting, car sex, unprotected piv (wrap it up)

Word Count : 3.2 k

As you walked through the bustling paddock with your adorable Chihuahua in your arms, you were on your way to visit your brother Charles at the Ferrari garage. Lost in thought, you accidentally bumped into someone, causing both of you to stumble a bit.

You looked up from your Chihuahua, realizing you had accidentally collided with someone else. Your eyes widened slightly as you took in the slightly disheveled appearance of the young man standing in front of you, his hair sticking up in different directions.

"I'm so sorry," you blurted out, immediately feeling guilty for bumping into him. "I wasn’t paying attention."

Franco, the Argentinean driver, shook himself back to reality and quickly composed himself. He flashed you a charming smile, his accent adding an extra layer of allure.

“No, no, no es nada, es culpa mia,” he reassured you, his voice smooth. (“No, no, no, it’s okay, it’s my fault.”)

You smiled back at him gently, your response in his native language catching him off guard. "No te preocupes, fue un accidente," you said, your tone light and friendly. ("Don’t worry, it was an accident.")

Franco raised an eyebrow, visibly taken aback by your flawless Spanish tone. He hadn’t expected you to speak his language, and it was clear from the surprised look in his eyes.

Franco's surprise quickly turned into an impressed smile as he looked at you. His voice took on a curious tone, a hint of respect in his words.

"I wasn't expecting you to speak Spanish," he admitted, a small chuckle escaping him. "Your accent is really good. Where did you learn?"

Before you had a chance to answer Franco's question, you were interrupted by the sound of your older brother, Charles, approaching. He greeted you with a big smile before turning to Franco and introducing you.

"Hey, my little sister," Charles said affectionately, slinging an arm around your shoulders. He looked at Franco and added, "You’ve met my sister, huh?"

Franco's gaze flickered between you and Charles, recognition dawning on his face. He knew exactly who you were now, the sister of Charles Leclerc, the star driver of Ferrari.

The realization made him straighten up slightly, a hint of respectful admiration flickering in his eyes. He extended his hand towards you, a polite smile on his lips.

"It’s nice to meet you, officially, I’m Franco," he said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

You took his hand, feeling the slight callouses on his fingers, evidence of the physical demands of him being a driver. His grip was firm, yet gentle, his touch leaving a subtle shiver down your spine.

Charles, observant as ever, glanced between you and Franco, catching the slight tension that seemed to linger in the air. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he decided to keep any comments to himself.

Charles gave you a light nudge with his shoulder, his smirk becoming more apparent as he noticed the interaction between you and Franco. "C'mon, let’s go," he said, his arm still wrapped around your shoulders.

You nodded, casting a quick glance back at Franco before walking alongside your brother towards the Ferrari garage.

You poked Charles and gave him a playful nudge, a small frown on your face. "Keep your smirk and jokes to yourself," you warned him. "Unless you'd prefer me being friendly with Carlos instead."

Charles chuckled, his smirk only growing wider at your retort. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I get it."

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders again, pulling you closer. "You know I’m just messing with you," he said, his voice light. "But in all seriousness, Franco is a good guy. And he can’t keep his eyes off of you, I’ll tell you that much."

You rolled your eyes slightly, trying to downplay the situation. "Relax, we just met today," you said to Charles. "You’re exaggerating. He’s probably just a friendly guy."

Charles looked at you with disbelief, his smirk never leaving his face. "Sure, sure," he replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. "A ‘friendly guy’ who couldn’t stop staring at you."

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I saw the way he looked at you. Trust me, it wasn’t just ‘friendly’."

You gave him a light smack on the arm, amused by his sudden protectiveness. "Since when are you so protective of me?" you teased him.

Charles mock-winced, rubbing his arm where you had hit him. "Hey, can’t I look out for my little sister?" he replied, his smirk turning into a grin.

Charles looked at you seriously, a hint of brotherly protectiveness in his eyes. "Any F1 driver is off limits for you," he stated firmly.

He put a hand on your shoulder, looking you straight in the eye. "They're not the kind of guys you want to get involved with, I can tell you that much."

You rolled your eyes at his overprotective demeanor. "I’ve heard that before," you said, a hint of annoyance in your voice. "But I’m not a kid anymore, Charles."

Charles’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly as he looked at you with a mixture of concern and affection. "I know you’re not a kid anymore," he admitted, his voice softer now. "But I just don’t want you getting caught up in the drama and distractions that come with being involved with someone in the racing world."

"Some of these guys are notorious for not taking relationships seriously," he continued. "They’re too focused on their careers, on winning. They’ll just end up using you and leaving you hurt."

You chuckled, thinking about your oldest brother Lorenzo. "I already have Lorenzo acting so protective," you pointed out, a hint of exasperated amusement in your voice. "I don’t need you to join in too."

Charles chuckled as well, a small shrug of his shoulders. "Hey, it’s our job as your big brothers," he replied, a sly smile on his face. "We have to look out for you, even if it means driving off any potential suitors."

As if on cue, your oldest brother, Lorenzo, joined the conversation at that moment, a huge grin on his face. He put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his side.

"Ah, I see we’re discussing potential suitors for my little sister," he said, a touch of mock authority in his voice. "And any potential threat will have to get past me first, because I'll be the one killing them."

You couldn’t help but laugh at Lorenzo’s dramatic declaration. "You two are being so dramatic," you said, rolling your eyes in fond resignation. "Not every guy is going to be a threat, you know."

Charles put a hand on your head, ruffling your hair playfully. "We know," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But we just want to make sure we weed out any potential losers."

Lorenzo chuckled, joining in the banter. "Exactly," he agreed, a wry smile on his face. "We don’t want any losers stealing away our little sister. We have to keep her safe and sound, you know."

He ruffled your hair affectionately, just like Charles had done. "Can’t have any random guy thinking they can just waltz in and sweep you off your feet," he added, his voice now taking on a comically protective tone.

As you entered the Ferrari garage, you spotted Alexandra, Charles’s new girlfriend. She was standing with Rebecca Donaldson, Carlos’s girlfriend. She looked up as you approached, a warm smile on her face.

"Ah, you’ve finally arrived," she said, her voice cheerful. "I was wondering where you were."

"Hi, Alex!” you said cheerfully. "I'm so glad to see you."

You had immediately taken a liking to Alexandra from the moment Charles brought her home. She was kind, intelligent, and had an infectious sense of humor. It was easy to see why Charles was so smitten.

You chuckled and cast a sideways glance at your brothers. "Can you believe these two?" you said to Alexandra, shaking your head in mock despair. "They're threatening to kill any potential boyfriends I might have."

Charles let out a mock huff, his arms crossed over his chest. "Hey, we’re just looking out for you," he protested, a hint of mock defensiveness in his voice.

You laughed and turned to Charles, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Ah, tu es si énervant," you said in French, playfully teasing him. ("You’re so annoying.")

Lorenzo snickered, amused by your response in your native language. Charles rolled his eyes, a small smirk on his lips as he replied in French as well. "Je suis ton frère," he said, his voice teasing. ("I’m your brother.")

"Mais, tu peux être tellement insupportable parfois," you quipped back, your tone light and playful. ("But you can be so unbearable sometimes.")

Charles chuckled, feigning offence. "Comment oses-tu!" he exclaimed, his hand over his heart in mock shock. ("How dare you!")

You laughed, enjoying the banter with your brother. "C’est la vérité!" you said, feigning innocence. ("It’s the truth!")

Lorenzo and Alexandra watched the exchange between you and Charles, both of them unable to suppress a laugh at the playful banter.

Lorenzo chuckled, shaking his head. "Still arguing like little kids, huh?" he teased.

Charles shot you a mock-hurt look, his lips twitching into a smile. "Hey, I’m older than her. I’m supposed to be the grown-up here," he jokingly protested.

You rolled your eyes at his claim, a smirk on your face. "And yet, you’re the one acting like a child," you retorted, poking him in the ribs.

Charles laughed at your comment, pretending to shield himself from further attacks. "Alright, alright, I’ll go prepare for qualifying before you continue your assault," he said, jokingly holding up his hands in surrender.

After the successful qualifying session, where Charles placed p1, you were now back in your hotel room for the night. It was late, nearing midnight, and you were scrolling through your phone when you noticed a new Instagram request.

Upon checking the name, your eyes widened slightly as you realized who it was from: Franco Colapinto.

You were immediately intrigued by the request, as you weren't particularly active on social media. You only had around 200 followers and couldn’t understand why Franco would want to follow you, but you accepted the request.

As you accepted the Instagram request, the memory of your earlier encounter with Franco flashed through your mind. You remembered how you had bumped into him in the paddock.

The aftermath of the incident had been less pleasant, though. Charles had teased you mercilessly about Franco's intense gaze and how he hadn't been able to take his eyes off you.

Charles had relentlessly teased you about the incident, poking fun at the intense gaze Franco had fixed on you and mocking how he seemed unable to keep his eyes off of you.

The Instagram message notification popped up on your screen, the message coming from Franco. Curiously, you opened the message, which read:

"Hola! I just realized we never got a chance to finish our conversation about language today. Where did you learn Spanish?"

A second text pops up.

"Oh, and I wanted to apologize for bumping into you earlier. I hope I didn't end up bruising you or anything."

You quickly typed out a response, not wanting him to shoulder the blame for the collision.

"Hi! No worries about the bump, it was my fault too for not watching where I was going."

You then added, "As for the Spanish, I’m attending a Spanish university. That's how I became fluent."

"Ah, so it's good to know I can always catch a glimpse of you in Spain. In which city are you attending university?" Franco teased.

You quickly replied to Franco's message, a small smile playing on your lips as you typed out your response.

"I’m actually attending university in Madrid," you wrote. "So yes, you can catch a glimpse of me but only if you're lucky enough.”

Franco's response instantly came through, his playful banter taking a more direct approach.

"In that case, I might just have to take my chances and find you after the race tomorrow," he wrote. "How about I take you out, hermosa?"

Your fingers hovered over the keys as you contemplated your response. Part of you was hesitant, unsure whether getting involved with him was a smart idea. But another part of you was intrigued by the prospect of a date with Franco.

You finally typed out your answer, nerves dancing in your stomach.

"Sure, why not? I’ll be there after the race tomorrow.“

After the race had ended, you met up with Franco at a quiet, secluded restaurant. The atmosphere was elegant and intimate, the soft lighting creating a cozy ambiance.

As the night progressed, the conversation between you was easy and enjoyable. The drinks flowed, and the chemistry between you and Franco grew more intense with each passing moment.

Soon, the tension between you reached its breaking point. With a sudden surge of desire, Franco leaned in and kissed you, his lips meeting yours in a hungry, passionate embrace.

You shift closer to him, your breaths mingling in the space between you. The room around you seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you.

With a hint of Spanish, you whisper, "En el coche, cariño. Necesitamos más privacidad." ("In the car, darling. We need more privacy.")

The sultry words roll off your tongue, the Spanish language adding an extra layer of intimacy to the already charged moment. You see the effect they have on Franco, his eyes darkening with desire and his breathing becoming more ragged.

He responds with a nod, his hand moving to intertwine with yours. "Vamos," he says, his voice hoarse with longing. "No puedo esperar más." ("Let’s go. I can’t wait any longer.")

The words send a shiver down your spine, his impatience and desire fueling the fire burning within you. You get up from your seat, leaving the remainder of your drinks behind as you follow him to the car.

The night air is cool as you step outside, but the heat between you and Franco is undeniable. You can sense the tension in his body as he opens the car door for you, and you slide into the passenger seat, your heart pounding with anticipation.

“Hermosa” he grinned hungrily against ur lips as he held your face gently “I have been wanting this since yesterday ” he mumbled as he slipped his hand down your dress and slowly slipped your thong aside, gently fingering your wetness.

“Perfect” he groaned as he slipped in another finger, his thumb massaging your nub as he devoured your lips, his tongue exploring your mouth hungrily.

He groaned as he slipped his fingers out from your core, bringing them up to your lips.

You eagerly parted your lips and sucked his fingers clean, your eyes locked onto his as you slowly sucked each one, tasting your own sweetness on his fingers. He grinned wickedly, his pupils dilating with desire.

"Good girl" he praised, his voice low and hoarse.

“Oh god” he groaned as he quickly unzipped his pants, freeing his hardened length “Come here” he said gruffly, lifting you up onto him, and guiding his tip to your opening.

He slowly lowered you onto him, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he slowly stretched you. You gasped at the slight discomfort, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "Look at me" he whispered, his voice strained.

You looked down and saw his length slowly disappearing into you, your pussy stretching to accommodate him. He grinned wickedly, his hips bucking slightly as he slid the rest of the way in. "Oh dios mio." he groaned, his head falling back against the seat. (“Oh my god.”)

“Te sientes tan bien” he grinned as he slowly lifted you up and down onto his length, his eyes glued to where you were joined His pace quickening, he began to bounce you on his lap, his hips lifting to meet ur descent. (“You feel so good.”)

Gripping your hips tighter, he began to pound into you, his hips pistoning upwards in quick hard thrusts. “Oh god” he groaned, his pace quickening. He was in his element, pounding you like he drove on the track, determined, fast and hard.

The car rocked gently as he continued to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the interior. He reached down and grabbed your leg, hooking it over his shoulder for a better angle, his thrusts becoming even harder and deeper.

With his leg over his shoulder, he was able to drive into you at a brutal angle, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. “Fuck, te adoro” he chanted, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pounded into you, the car swerving slightly on the road. (“I adore you.”)

One of his hands snaked up and grabbed your breast, squeezing it tightly as he continued to drive into you. “You’re so wet, mierda” he groaned, his hips moving at a frantic pace now, the car shaking with the force of his thrusts.

He suddenly reached down and grabbed your other leg, hooking it over his shoulder as well, completely impaling you on his cock. “Oh god” you gasped, your hands gripping his arms tightly as he held you in place and began to pound into you even harder.

The car was now shaking violently as he drove into you, the windows fogging up with the heat of your bodies. He leaned down and bit your nipple, his teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh as he continued to pound into you. "Come for me, bebita." he demanded, his voice harsh.

“Oh god” you whimpered as he bit down on your breast, your insides tightening around him as he pounded into you mercilessly.

“Franco” you moaned out, your head thrashing from side to side as he bit down on your breast.

He ignored your pleas for mercy, his arms like iron as he held your legs over his shoulders and continued to pound into you, his hips moving like a jackhammer. "Look at me" he growled, his face contorted with passion.

You looked down and saw his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, the sight of him fucking you making you moan louder. He grinned wickedly, his hips moving even faster as he watched himself disappear inside you. "I'm gonna fill this pussy up"

He grunted loudly, his face burying into your neck as he began to thrust even faster, his breathing growing more and more ragged. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and let out a guttural roar, his body convulsing as he spilled into you.

He stayed buried inside you, his cock twitching as he emptied his load into your spasming pussy. After a few moments, he finally pulled out, his thick cum dripping from your pussy onto the passenger seat. "Fuck" he panted, looking at the mess he made.

“I’m glad I bumped into you.”

[adverbally]

You’ve Got That Hold Over Me

Written for the @steddie-spooktober day eight prompt “bonfire” | wc: 760 | rated: T | cw: mild alcohol and drug use | tags: pre-relationship, pining, wingman Robin, Eddie & Robin friendship | title from “Right Down the Line” by Gerry Rafferty

———

Steve glows.

He’s radiant, bathing everyone around him in a warmth that surpasses that of the bonfire they’ve constructed on the shores of Lovers’ Lake. Bright eyes, easy grin, limbs just a little loose from the couple of beers he’s had, shining with love as he flits from person to person.

He ruffles the kids’ hair, plucks a glass bottle from Mike’s hand and replaces it with a can of Coke, argues with Dustin with a gleam in his eye that betrays how much he cares about him. He wraps his arms around Robin’s waist and spins her around, singing some pop song that makes Eddie’s teeth hurt with its saccharine lyrics and upbeat tempo. He presses a kiss to Nancy’s cheek as he passes her another drink, bums a drag off the joint Jonathan and Argyle are sharing.

Eddie doesn’t begrudge anyone else the closeness they share with Steve, not when they’ve been through so much together. Eddie’s really only known Steve— like actually spoken to him, gotten to know the real him— for something like seven months. He doesn’t have the same claim to his time and energy as everyone else, and that’s okay.

It’s okay, Eddie reminds himself, watching Steve drape himself over Robin’s back and wishing Steve would touch him like that. Eddie sits back and watches, and drinks, and smokes, and burns at the sight of Steve’s golden warmth in the firelight.

He startles when Robin plops herself down on the log beside him. “Jesus, Buckley, warn a guy,” he grumbles, rubbing at his jeans where some beer spilled from Robin’s mostly-full bottle.

“You should tell him,” Robin says before taking another sip of her drink.

“Tell who what?” Eddie asks, though he can guess based on the way Robin bumps their shoulders together and rolls her eyes until she’s glaring at him from the corner of her eye.

To her credit, she keeps her voice low despite her drunkenness. “Steve, duh.”

Eddie’s gaze darts from the kids gathered at the edge of the water to the young adults on the other side of the fire. Steve is engrossed in conversation with Jonathan, gesticulating wildly and laughing as he tells a story.

“You keep looking at him like that,” Robin observes, a little sadly. It’s not pity on her face when Eddie looks back at her. Maybe irony?

“C’mon, we both know it’s never gonna be more than that.” He tries not to flinch as the sound of Steve’s laughter carries down the beach. “It’s Steve.”

Robin frowns. “I know it’s Steve.”

“Yeah, but it’s Steve,” Eddie tries to explain, shaking his head at the impossibility of it all. “He’s not… Why would he…?”

“I think,” Robin says deliberately, reaching for Eddie’s hand, “that Steve could surprise you if you give him a chance. You know he wouldn’t be a dick about it.”

Eddie drags his boot back and forth through the sand, watching the grains shifting and catching the light. “I don’t think that’s the confidence booster you hoped it would be, Birdie. More like the bare minimum standard of decency, you know?”

“Eddie.” She pauses until he locks eyes with her again. “You don’t see the way he looks at you. I’ve seen it and I’m telling you, it’s a lot like the way you’ve been looking at him all evening. Tell him you like him.”

It’s more of a command than an encouragement, but Eddie respects the hell out Robin for it. “Is this the part where you tell me you’ll kill me if I do anything to hurt him?” He smiles a little despite himself.

Robin guffaws loudly, clearly caught off guard by the question. “No, he can handle himself. It’s the getting-together part he needs help with, not the post-heartbreak revenge.”

She sounds so sure that it loosens something in Eddie’s chest. “You really think he’ll…?” He trails off, not sure he can finish the sentence.

“I know him, and I’m getting to know you. Everything I’ve seen points to ‘yes.’” Robin squeezes Eddie’s hand reassuringly.

He’s already thinking ahead to tomorrow, when both of them will be sober and less dazzled by the light of the bonfire, when Eddie can drop by Steve’s house after his morning shift at Family Video. Maybe pick up a late lunch for them to share, maybe grab some flowers so he can see Steve go all blushy and bashful. Maybe he’ll get to see for himself just how Steve looks at him.

“Yes,” he says to himself thoughtfully. “I can work with that.”