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coquettefrancaise · 4 days ago

Text

your hands are cold

from Pride and Prejudice (2005)

pair: Azriel x Reader ~ 4.8k

warnings: mysogony (not from az), risque thoughts from reader, sharing a bed ooooh, shadow violence, protective azriel

summary: Azriel would give you the shirt off his back if he knew you were cold and he's trying so so hard to make you see that

Illyrian's lived in the snowy mountains of the Night Court. Thick blankets of snow fell year-round, the sun scarcely offering a reprieve from the constant bite of wind. By the time the children were old enough to run and wield a stick the boys were thrust into training and the girls into house/camp work. Everyone grew to adapt to it, their bodies functioning at an unnaturally high temperature.

Although Azriel, Rhys, and Cassian had lived away from Illyria and the camps for multiple centuries now, they still grew overly warm during the earlier seasons. Both a curse and a blessing.

So why the hel didn't anyone tell you to bring a thicker coat?

Being the night court's newly appointed emissary, you were tasked to go to Illyria to comb over some of the issues stirring up. Specifically concerning the female's training. Surprise surprise.

Thankfully, Azriel had offered to come with. Rhys had given him a smirk, looking between the two of you but Azriel winnowed you before you could decipher what that look meant.

You now stood outside the training ring with him as Devlon and two of his croonies made up some half-assed excuses as to why they weren't prioritizing the females training.

"-we have two new mother's in the area who need the extra support." Devlon ranted, clearly exasperated that his high lord was continuing to harp on this matter.

You looked up to Azriel who was watching the pathetic male with a clenched jaw. He loosened it to say, "Have the father's help then. If they can't care for their own children then they should keep it in their pants."

You refrained from giggling but remained indifferent. Some of the people you worked with were open to your messages while others were... Devlon. And Beron, you supposed. You had to tread lightly because one misstep and they would prod at the weakness until you couldn't handle it.

"All of our males are needed in training to ensure that they stay in shape. Those females shouldn't have spread their legs so fast." Devlon drawled.

"Surely Rhys would be willing to reenact the castration laws." You said without thinking, glaring at him. "You wouldn't mind being first on the list, would you?"

Devlon only ignored you.

Even with the ire coursing through your veins, you shivered. You were supposed to have been here for an hour max. Get in, yell at them, get out. Unsurprisingly, there was more to fix than you had assumed.

Azriel side-eyed you as you shook from the cold and held out his hand to Devlon. "Coat."

Devlon paused, glaring at the shadowsinger's scarred hand as if it held the plague. "What?"

"Give me your coat. Now."

The words sent an entirely different kind of chill through you. One that made your eyes widen at the hostile calm with which he said it. Sure, you'd heard that tone once or twice, but it never failed to impel you to stand straighter even if it wasn’t aimed for you.

Devlon scoffed. "I'm not giving you my coat. Who do—"

Shadows crept up around Azriel's feet, climbing his tall, hard body until they amassed near the siphons at his hands, contrasting starkly with the pure white snow that fell around him. With the tendrils of darkness poised to strike, paired with the unforgiving look on Azriel's face, he made a hauntingly beautiful picture. Feyre would be distraught she hadn't been here to capture it.

Not a second further, Devlon took his coat off and placed it in the shadowsinger's waiting palm. His own hand trembling, you noted with smugness.

Azriel stayed silent as he flicked it once. Twice. Until he was certain it was free of any contamination, and then turned to you, a far softer expression pulling at his achingly handsome features. He then stepped forward and brought the coat around your shoulders, encircling you in his arms to fasten the buttons.

Time stopped and you took the chance to study him. The mussed locks of hair from running his hands through it every time Devlon opened his mouth. The smooth planes of his tanned skin. His enviably dark, long lashes framing those all-seeing hazel eyes. And his mouth... if you were a poet you would write odes about it. Both admiring and wicked.

You blushed.

"Is this alright?" he asked softly.

You slowly nodded, words stuck in your throat due to his close proximity.

His fingers brushed against your throat softly and he pulled away, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

When the argument started back up again, you found that while your upper body was warming up, your legs and feet were still at the mercy of the breeze.

Azriel looked to you again and released a heavy sigh. "We'll send healers to perform check-ups on the babes and new mothers. The other females will train as normal. And you will speak to the court's emissary with respect." He told Devlon, voice final.

"I have no idea why he has a weak female performing court check-ups." Devlon bit out, no doubt angry at having been pressed into submission and having his coat stolen.

One second you could see clearly, and the next your vision was clouded by swarming darkness. Instinctively, your hand shot out to find Azriel, fear twisting your stomach at the thought of being attacked or—

You barely had time to call out for him when the darkness vacuumed back to its origin—Azriel.

He now stood a breadth away from Devlon, shadows morphed into the shape of a hand held at the camp leader's throat.

There was no curiosity lingering in your mind as to why he was often referred to as the Angel of Death. His body was tense and forbidding, as if he had been carved from stone. Broad, claw-tipped wings spread in threat, consuming the space around him. The largest you'd witnessed.

"It'd be a shame if your windpipe was broken," his voice was colder than the wind that had picked up, "I'd think twice if you were to make another smart remark about our high lord's emissary."

They stared at each other and then Devlon's shoulder sank in defeat. The ghost hand dissipated at his throat, revealing finger-like bruising. You could only imagine the true harm his shadows could inflict if given free rein.

Devlon's eyes snapped from Azriel to you, chin dipping nearly imperceptibly before walking away, back tense as if he were preparing for an attack.

You waited until he was out of sight to speak. “Thanks for the coat?”

Azriel rolled his shoulders, eyes on the space above your head. “Sorry that it belongs to that dense misogynist; I rarely find the need to carry one around.”

You laughed, hoping to dispel the tension clinging to the air, and clutched the coat tighter to warm your hands up. “It’s summertime; how is it still snowing out here?”

“The elevation of the mountains results in colder weather year-round, no matter the season. This is considered warm.” He jerked his chin in the direction of a group of shirtless Illyrian’s training. “Cassian used to tan on days like this when we were younger.”

“Is that what he’s been doing the past week? I wandered up to the roof yesterday and caught him rubbing some oil into his legs. I never want to see him in shorts those small again.” You widened your eyes in horror.

"Count yourself lucky. I've seen the bastard’s ass more than I have his face."

"Some would say that you should count yourself lucky then."

Azriel scoffed, eyes glittering with amusement.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.

You really weren’t. Not when he was watching you with such tenderness. A cold gust of wind blew past, making your teeth chatter. Azriel didn’t waste any time in scooping you into his arms.

“Wait,” your breath hitched, “what about Devlon’s coat?”

“We’ll burn it when we get back to The House.”

Just as he was about to lift off, thunder cracked, causing you to peer up at the malicious looking grey clouds rolling in. Odd, considering just this morning, when you first arrived, the day had been clear and sunny.

Azriel let loose a long breath, eyes switching from you to the sky until he put you on your feet. "We'll have to wait it out."

"You've traveled in far worse conditions," you reminded, although you'd much rather stay put too.

"I'd never risk your life." He stated, voice gruff.

You had to ignore the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. This was not the place nor time to feel flattered by Azriel's protectiveness. He was this way with all of his friends and family, after all.

"Where will we stay? I guess Devlon would let us-"

Azriel snorted. "If I spend one more minute with that shithead I might strangle him to death. Fortunately, Rhys' mom has a cabin here that we can stay in."

As if to hurry you both, the heavens opened up and peltered you with a cold sleet. You were almost instantly drenched. Azriel wasted no time in putting an arm around your back, wing stretched overhead to offer reprieve, and urged you forward through the slick mud.

Finally, you arrived at the cabin, a, small yet homey, two story house with an already roaring fire and steaming kettle on the stove. The shadows doing, you assumed. You turned to Azriel who retrieved two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with tea.

You could picture Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys as young, growing boys wandering in and out of that kitchen, hungry after long days of training. And you spotted notches in the wooden cupboards and dining furniture where playful fights or inaccurately aimed daggers managed to land.

He made his way to you, setting the mugs on the mantel, cringing as you shivered hard. "Do you mind?" he motioned to the coat you still clutched tightly at. "It will only make you colder."

You shook your head, teeth chattering, and reached to take it off when you were stopped by Azriel's hands. He peeled it off of your shoulders and down your arms and chucked it in the fire without blinking.

You couldn't help but laugh at his obvious distaste of the clothing and it's owner.

"Warm up and drink the tea; I'm going to search for some clothes that are, hopefully, untouched by mothballs."

Who would have blamed you for admiring the way his leathers fit to his bunching muscles as he made his way up the stairs?

A small part of you hoped that he wouldn't be able to find anything. From the stories you'd heard from the inner circle about missions that have gone awry in the cold, one of the ways they managed to stay warm was to share body heat.

The image of Azriel aiding you taking off your wet clothes before doing it to himself, flashed in your mind.

Ugh. You rolled your shoulders, turning towards the fire to soothe the ice settling in your bones. Yes, Azriel had been incredibly kind today by offering to join you and giving you a jacket, but that was just it. Kindness.

When you had first met Azriel, like most everyone, you fell for his devilishly handsome features and cool nature. It didn't help that he was unfathomably loyal and strong. Or tall and athletic. Or a good male with good intentions overall.

"It's just a stupid crush," you muttered to yourself as you put your palms out towards the fireplace.

"Hm?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Azriel returned to your side on silent steps. A shadow skittered over your shoulder, tickling your neck as if to laugh at you.

"We should really put a bell on you,"

"I'd prefer my enemies to not know when I'm near." Azriel held out clothes to you. "They're old but should suffice. If you'd prefer to wash-"

"That would be wonderful." The idea of a warm bath caused you to sigh with longing.

Azriel clicked his tongue, amusement lighting his eyes. "I shouldn't have even asked, huh? Come," he jerked his head to the direction of the stairs, "let's get you cleaned up."

Electricity zapped through your body at the image of sitting between Azriel's legs in the bathtub as he used a washcloth to soothe your goose-bumped riddled skin. Would he press his lips to each knob of your spine while he massaged shampoo into your hair and-

"Coming?"

Your eyes snapped to Azriel, the fog of your imagination dissipating, making you feel ridiculous. Your cheeks pinked and you nodded, following him.

The bathtub wasn't big enough to comfortably sit two people. Much less if that second person happened to be an Illyrian male.

Azriel put the dry clothes on the counter. "Do you need any help navigating things?"

"I am confident in my ability to bathe myself, thank you for your concern." You teased.

"Don't need me to get your back or anything?" he shot back, looking a lot less tense than he had when you were speaking with Devlon. In fact, he looked a lot lighter than when he was even around the inner circle.

"I think I have it all under control. Thank you again, Azriel."

Before heading out, he lingered at the doorway, looking as if he had something to say but decided not to. He then left you to your own devices, saying something about cooking something up. You stripped out of your drenched clothes and turned on the faucet, shivering when you first dipped into the water. It felt like a warm hug.

The only thing that would make it better would be if you were nestled against Azriel's tattooed chest.

No no no.

You shouldn't be feeding into your delusions. Especially while the person you were daydreaming about was the only other person in the house with you. It would only make things terribly awkward. And you didn't want to ruin anything with Azriel. Not when you were just becoming close friends.

You had been emissary to the night court for a couple of years now and while you had gotten along quickly with everyone, it had taken a while for Azriel to even speak with you one-on-one. He wasn't easily trusting, which you completely understood. But lately things had been warming up. He would make you breakfast when you were the only two up, hand-deliver the books Nesta let you borrow, even nudge your leg under the table when Cassian was making a fool of himself.

Not to mention the fact that he brought you to this camp despite it being a solo mission.

You pushed it all from your mind, not wanting to overthink things, and finished your bath.

The sweater and sweat pants Azriel supplied you with smelled faintly of him. You wondered if they had been his when he lived in this gods-awful camp.

Having found no brush or comb, you settled with running your fingers through your damp hair, wandering down to the kitchen to find Azriel at the stove, preparing what smelled like chile. He tilted his head up to look at you and fire settled low in your belly as his pupils seemed to take over his irises'.

You swallowed thickly, feeling somewhat self-conscious wearing his clothes that hung off your frame. You tugged on one of the sleeves as it slipped down your shoulder. "Hopefully there's warm water left."

The pot hissed with bubbles, shadows whisking the soup ladle out of the oblivious shadowsinger's hand to continue stirring, as Azriel scanned you from head to toe.

Judging by the amusement dancing in his eyes, you probably looked like a drowned rat. You itched to turn back into the bathroom and check yourself in the mirror.

He stepped into your space, "They're not too big?"

The clothes. You shook your head, pointing to the rolled up pant legs. "Needed some adjusting but they shouldn't cause too many problems."

"Certainly wouldn't want them to fall off," he mumbled, more to himself, the insinuation in his voice not helping in tamping down your growing feelings.

"Do I look silly or something? Why are you watching me strangely?"

"Not at all. I just thought you look... adorable." He smiled crookedly.

You realized now you had never seen a genuine smile—one that wasn't produced from dark humor—grace his face. Red splashed over your cheeks and you hurried to say, "You should probably wash up yourself. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold or anything."

After a moment of consideration all traces of pleasure were wiped from his face. You nearly swayed at the whiplash of his emotions. "There's some soup and I discovered one of Cassian's hidden stashes of wine,"

"Perfect," you offered an awkward smile.

While he bathed, you wiped down two bowls and wine glasses of grimy dust before filling them with soup and wine. You then stood by the sink, watching out the window into the night.

The storm had grown, howling winds causing the structure of the house to groan as rain continued its rhythmic drumming on the roof. A flash of lightning lit up the sky every few minutes with the accompanied roll of thunder.

Your heart raced double its time from the inane fear of how destructive nature could be.

You drained the wine in one swallow.

"Not fond of storms?"

"Shit!" you whipped around to find a fresh-faced Azriel rubbing a towel through his dark, wet hair. "When we return home I'm finding that bell."

His eyes squinted in amusement, tossing the towel onto the back of a kitchen chair. "If it helps soothe your worries, Illyria has endured worse weather than this."

"Are you sure this cabin is sound enough to withstand this weather? Considering how old it is?"

A black eyebrow rose, "Is that a jab at my age?"

Apologies began tumbling out of your mouth. Azriel only waved off the words. "Sit and let's eat. The storm will hopefully clear by tomorrow morning and we can be on our way back to Valeris."

"Were you able to reach Rhys?"

"He told us to stay put," he shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, "and that if anything is to happen to you, I will be the one to blame."

"I'm flattered he finds me so valuable."

Hazel eyes met yours for a heartbeat as he said, "You are very valuable."

Oh Cauldron. If he continued saying things like that, you wouldn't be able to keep your growing feelings from showing on your face.

You cleared your throat instead, "How much trouble do you think we'll be in because of that incinerated coat?"

The rest of the dinner was spent bonding over your hatred of Devlon. You weren't sure how Azriel survived being under the insufferable male for so long. Or all the males here, if you were honest. It helped you to understand why he was so hesitant to claim them as his people.

"How long has this cabin been unoccupied?" you inquired, taking another bite of the chile.

Azriel leaned back in his chair, considering your question. He'd been, surprisingly, open tonight. There seemed to be no trace of the ever-reserved male you encountered more often than naught. "The inner circle prefers to handle the camps during the day so we rarely find the need to stay here. Devlon uses it sometimes for meetings."

"Did each of you boys get your own rooms?"

"Boys?" a corner of his mouth kicked up, "You say that as if we're not all centuries older than you."

You stifled a chuckle, "Considering how often you three wrestle over ridiculous things like who gets the last slice of dessert, I think it's fitting."

His biceps flexed as he stretched them above his head. You felt dizzy with awe. "Whatever," he retorted playfully, "but, to answer your question, we shared the same room until it became too much of a hazard."

"Hazard?"

A faint blush crept over his tan cheeks. "When we became more interested in females than pulling pranks on one another."

Oh. You blushed in response and took a drink from your glass to hide your embarrassment.

Azriel huffed a laugh, obviously recognizing your regret of asking the question. In a considerate manner, he said, "Remember how I told you about Cassian tanning?"

"Oh gods, I won't be able to unable to get the image you offered out of my head."

"Then you'll be affronted to know that I found the oil he used."

A laugh spewed from your mouth. Azriel smiled softly at your unexpected outburst. The conversation was built on from there and your stomach hurt from how hard he managed to make you laugh.

As soon as you scraped the last bean out of your bowl, Azriel took it from you and washed it in the sink. Huh. A male who cooks and cleans? You couldn't believe your eyes. And you had to ignore the space in your heart that warmed.

Your attention was drawn to the shifting muscles in his forearms as he scrubbed the dishes. To the dark tattoos swirling around his powerful arms, practically calling you to trace them with your fingers.

"—sleep?"

You shook your head as you realized you hadn't heard him. "Sorry, what?"

A shadow tugged on your hair teasingly and he repeated, "Obviously you're tired since you can't even think straight. Let's go sleep."

He led you upstairs once more and into what you assumed was the master bedroom, with a large four poster bed, a vanity, armoire, and lace curtains that hung over the window. It looked as if it belonged to a... female.

"Was this—"

Azriel nodded, eyes softening as he took in the homemade quilt, "This was Rhys' mother's room. After difficult training or frightening storms, she would let us all fit in the bed with her as she told us stories of fearless Illyrians."

"You used to be scared of storms?"

You couldn't imagine the spymaster being afraid of anything. Even as a child.

"I was scared of many things,"

That was all he offered before attempting to stoke the fireplace and ensuring the room was warm enough. You hesitated before asking, "Is this where I'll be staying tonight?"

"We'll both be staying in here."

Your world flipped upside down.

"You're serious?"

Hazel eyes snapped to you with amusement. "The only fireplace working is the one in the living room; these logs are too wet. Not to mention the magic of this cabin isn't as strong without Rhys here."

It looked as if your idea of sharing body heat was coming to fruition. This would quite possibly be the best night of your life, so you needed to savor it as much as you could until everything went back to normal the next morning.

Your fingers shook as you pulled back the covers and slipped in. Oh gods. This was much more nerve-wracking than you'd anticipated. Yes, you seemed to get along great and you felt comfortable around him, but he was still handsome as sin and effortlessly attractive.

After Azriel was certain no logs were salvageable, he stood from his crouched position, spread his mighty wings once in to prepare for a cramped bed, then tucked them in tightly. Your eyes tracked the movement, the sconce lamps revealing the red tint running through the membranous tissue.

He walked to his side of the bed and laid down, a weary sigh leaving his lips. "The temperature will drop the later it gets, so it'd be wise if we slept closer. I don't bite."

Despite that last teasing remark, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Who wouldn't? You were only sharing a bed with one of the greatest warriors to ever live. And he was acting like it was a regular occurrence.

You tested the waters and inched close enough that your hips touched. You swallowed thickly.

He fluffed his pillow, and even yours, before resting his head and asking, "Comfy?"

Not trusting your words, you nodded, and the room was engulfed in darkness. There was nothing besides the staccato beat of rain hitting the roof and the buzzing along your skin where you were touching Azriel.

You counted sheep in your mind to calm down enough to sleep, fighting off the overbearing thoughts of the male beside you.

A peal of thunder caused you to start.

A heavy hand closed over yours, the ridges and callouses of unhealed burns pressing into your own unmarked skin. You caught your breath. "I won't let anything harm you," came Azriel's deep assurance, instantly calming your racing mind.

Two blinks later and you were sound asleep.

It was so gods-damned hot.

Having Azriel sleep beside you was like having your own personal Illyrian heater. Sweat beaded at your temple and your body felt like it was being roasted over a fire.

Obviously this sleeping-together thing would have worked a lot better if you didn't have access to the indoors or multiple blankets. The fact that you were so inclined to move away made you frown. You enjoyed sleeping so close to Azriel; he was safe, and strong... but he was going to burn you alive.

Slowly, you inched away from Azriel, closer to the edge of the bed, and pulled off the quilt, sighing at the instant relief of cool air sliding across your heated skin. You could finally—

The windows blew open, a gust of frigid wind bursting through the room. You began shivering and grabbed the corner of the quilt when a heavy arm was thrown over your stomach, tugging you into a hard body.

"Where were you going?" Azriel rasped into your ear.

This time you trembled for a different reason. "Wh-what?"

His thumb stroked over your hip, "You were trying to leave."

"It was hot," you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, he would realize what he was doing and let go of you.

"Don't go."

Hel, you wouldn't move again if a thousand Illyrians dragged you out of his protective embrace.

"Are the windows broken?" you asked.

What had caused them to slam open like that? Was this cabin deteriorating quicker than Azriel had let on? Would it hold on through the night?

You turned your head to the side to assess the damage just as the windows pulled together again. The latch clicking into place.

Squinting your eyes, you managed to spot two slithering shadows gliding along the windowsill.

"Azriel," his name came out suspiciously. Did he send his shadows to open the windows?

He hummed, the vibration of his chest reverberating through your own. "You're always so antsy around me," he admitted, "getting nervous when I start to get comfortable and changing the subject."

What else did you expect from the spymaster of the night court? Obviously he would be able to read a person's behavior.

"I didn't want to scare you off." Came your timid reply.

Azriel huffed a laugh. "Why would I be scared of the attention of a beautiful female?"

A pink flush spread across your cheeks, hidden in the dark of the room. You were never getting over this. Oh, how you wished you had your journal.

"I like you," he continued, "and I know you like me. But this game of cat and mouse has me growing anxious. I would rather like to smile at you without you diverting your eyes."

"I don't think you're scary."

"I know." He said in a cock-sure way.

You scoffed, amused. "For the record, I wasn't escaping because I was scared this time, but because your body runs at two hundred degrees."

"That's why I opened those damn windows." So that the cold would send you rushing back into his arms, you slowly realized.

You were at a loss for words.

"Say something," he asked, an imperceptible plea in his voice.

What were you supposed to say? I think you're beautiful and want to get to know you? You decided to play it safe with, "This is nice." There. That was enough to keep your heart at ease, and not make you sound desperate.

"I like you too," he tightened his hold on you, languidly nosing along your scalp, as if he were smelling you, "And I always want you here."

"In this cabin?"

In the span of two seconds, he had you on your back, limbs trapped under his own. From the scarce lighting of the cloud-covered moon, you could make out the slants and slopes of his face, the soft glimmer in those all-seeing eyes. "In my arms."

In all your day-dreaming, nothing ever compared to hearing him say those words than in real life. When his thumb brushed along your fluttering pulse, and his warm breath fanned against your face.

You swallowed thickly, "Is this a dream?"

His lips met yours, achingly slow, and oh so beautifully.

Once. Twice. He kissed you. The simple action conveying all that words could not. That he truly did like you. That you shouldn't be afraid. That he was falling with you. Falling so so so fast.

author's note: RELEASE ME! guys. i have been trapped in the writer's block hell. i'm home. if there are any mistakes or loopholes, no there aren't. i hope you all love it, pretties. (I haven't forgotten about the beautiful readers who sent me requests🥰)

#em dashes are obvi my favorite form of punctuation #azriel is my boyfriend?#i can share him if you really want #protective!Azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #acotar fandom

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worldsover · 8 months ago

Text

An Unusual Coverage ft. Heejin

6.8k words

Your girlfriend Heejin is DONE with not using condoms—wait a second... not?

Heejin’s lips on yours mean this is a good day, even if there’s a pout on them that you can taste. She had a bad day at work so that one kiss to cheer her up leads to two cups of lukewarm tea on the coffee table before you. You run your hands over her bared waist, tank top riding up her torso, as her body rubs up against you. Between deep kisses where Heejin’s tongue swirls against yours, and the wet spot growing on her panties, you think you know where this is going.

After pulling away when her teeth sink into your bottom lip, you say, "Needy girl. I know what’ll make you feel better, a load inside you."

But how can you predict Heejin? She hesitates; you've never seen that. "Y-you’re right, it does… but that’s not what I want right now."

Perplexed, you pause your ministrations, hands stilling on her waist. "You don’t?"

Heejin's eyes widen and she rushes to reassure you. "No, no, I do, I do." Soft kisses. "You know what a cum slut I am, Daddy. Come here, let me feel you. Mmh." This kiss isn’t as soft, not when her hand goes for your hardening bulge.

You kiss her back hungrily, your desire reigniting, but pull back when she still seems hesitant. "But what?"

"Another time..." Heejin looks away shyly. This is the cutest girl on earth, you reckon, but dishonest, not so shy when her digits are still pants-bound.

You give a singular laugh-scoff. "Really? I'm just surprised, you've never turned down a creampie before."

She sighs. "You're gonna harp on this? Alright, I get it." Heejin sits up straight, patting her thighs. "Sit up, let me get on my favorite seat."

You smile as you comply, shifting positions so she can straddle you properly. Heejin cups your face. "I want your cum," she says, her voice dropping to a needy whisper. "Of course I want your cum."

Whatever the conversation was, is, or will be, your hands are directed towards her tits by natural intervention, taking inventory and stock of the perfect perky shape over the thin fabric of her top.

"God, squeeze my tits, yes, they’re yours, play with them. Fuck, what was I saying?" Her moans become more and more wanton as you knead and tease her nipples. "Mm, right, your cum. You give me so much of it. It’s so hot, three, four loads every time we fuck—"

"Yeah, you’re fucking Heejin, have you looked in a mirror? I could give you the world."

"No, you’re the one fucking Neejinie,” she says, laughing, and you laugh too, giving her a peck on the forehead as her head falls into your neck. "You’re the sweetest, Daddy." She looks back up, steeling herself into something serious, even when it’s never that serious. "But… I need more cum."

You raise an eyebrow. "So you wanna kill me then."

"A little bit." She giggles. "I just... I want to be absolutely filthy with your cum. Utterly covered and filled by it until I'm dripping everywhere. All my holes, every inch of my skin." Heejin leans in close, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, "I want you to make me look like a used cum rag, while I fingerfuck your seed into my pussy."

Your mouth goes dry at Heejin's filthy words, cock straining against your pants. "Need it that bad?" you rasp.

"Mhm, that bad." Heejin purrs. She leans back and rummages in her purse, pulling out a strip of condoms with a sly grin.

"Condoms?" Haven't used those in a long time.

"Yes, Daddy,” she says, her face all serious again. "Pants off. Now."

You quickly comply, shucking off your pants and boxers as Heejin strips out of her clothes. There’s always going to be a little drool, a little open jaw when you witness her adorable tits ever so slightly recoiling as she tugs off her tanktop, or witness her underwear ever so slightly sticking to her pussy as she slides them down her legs, or witness the overall damn-near hourglass figure of the most beautiful woman you've ever laid your eyes upon.

Now on her knees, Heejin tears open a condom wrapper with her teeth, and she's still an expert at rolling it down your shaft with her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks you. Electric pleasure zings through you as she takes extracurricular kittenish licks, slathering her saliva and tongue all over your latex-covered cock. It's a surprisingly colorful blue. When she pulls off with a pop, a string of spit connects her lips to the tip.

"You remember how to do that?"

She huffs indignantly. "Yeah, Daddy, I think I’ve had more than enough practice with your pretty cock." Heejin gives it a few pecks, eyes filled with love, then starts suckling on the tip. Before you can stop her, her head is bobbing up and down your length.

Your hands tangle in Heejin's hair as she works your cock, her tongue swirling expertly around the latex-covered shaft. With a groan, you gently pull her off before things escalate too quickly. "Easy there, needy girl," you tease. "I thought you wanted me to fuck you?"

"Huh? Oh." Heejin blushes, realizing she got carried away worshipping your cock as she is wont to do. "Right. Y-you should do that. Fuck me. Now."

With your fingers still in her hair, you get up and guide Heejin to lie back on the couch. While you can appreciate every position—doggystyle lets you spank Heejin’s round ass; cowgirl turns her an insatiable wildcat riding you with abandon—there’s something intimate about missionary, the way you can watch expressions flicker across her face. As you position above her, her arms wrap around your neck and pull you in the way that every component of Heejin feels like an inescapable event horizon. Her eyes are glassy with lust, yet there's a sincerity in them that roots you to the moment more than any physical sensation ever could.

"Make me forget everything, Daddy," she murmurs. "Fuck the thoughts out of my head. I only wanna think about your cock."

"With pleasure," you murmur, kissing her deeply. Your cock slides easily between her folds; the girl is always ready for you. "You’re so fucking wet. What an eager slut."

"F-for your cock," Heejin gasps as you push in, her pussy squeezing tight around your shaft, and the condom isn't doing much for your stamina with how good this girl feels around you, a feeling that you've missed ever since she let you raw-dog. "God, it's so fucking big, it always stretches me out so good," she babbles. As much as you love the deep sound of her voice, her talking dirty like that will expedite the moment too much for you, so you kiss her to shut her up. It doesn’t work.

Heejin moans into the kiss, wrapping her arms around you and holding you close, her body moving in time with yours. "So perfect, Daddy, so perfect. Promise me, promise me that from now on every time you get hard for me, you'll fuck one of my holes and give me your cum."

You don't understand how you'll do that with a condom. But, "I promise," you reply, breathless, and Heejin rewards you by pulling you in for another hungry kiss."I'll give you my cum whenever, wherever you want it."

"Good," she says, your cock sliding in and out. "Let's use condoms from now on, okay?"

You pull back. "What? I thought you liked it better when I fill you up, baby? You've always been such a cum hungry slut." Your hands roam down to her tits and play with her sensitive nipples, making Heejin gasp and arch her back.

"Nngh, I'm still going to collect your cum, Daddy."

You stop entirely, even though Heejin bucks her hips to grind on you. "What?"

She giggles. "I want you to fuck me, fill up the condom, then toss it onto me." The image that forms in your head makes you dizzy. "Is it just me, or does that turn you on?"

"God," you groan, snapping back into motion. "That's pretty tempting."

"Good." Heejin moans, holding onto your arm as you ram into her. "Anywhere, my tits, my ass, my thighs, my face. Like I'm just your cum dumpster"

You're pounding her hard, now, the couch creaking in protest. Your hand's in her hair. Your hand's around her neck. Your hand's groping her tits. You're a fucking caveman, who needs to feel every part of Heejin, every part of this woman who loves you so much that she'll let you treat her like a filthy cum rag.

"Please, Daddy," she begs, her voice rising to a high pitch. "I'm close. Cum in me. Fill me up with your cum." You can tell she’s close, her walls convulsing around your shaft, her eyes glazed over, her hands gripping the couch cushions for dear life.

"I'm gonna cum," you growl, fucking her harder and faster, the tip of your cock kissing her cervix. "I'm gonna fill you up."

The condom does little to dull the sensations of her tight pussy squeezing around you as she cums, and it's only a matter of time until you cum after, filling the condom to the brim. As you gingerly unsheathe your shaft, Heejin's hand darts out and snaps it off your cock, and she giggles at the weight of it and tosses it between her tits; it looks like it's meant to be there as if all the lingerie in the world could never compare to the sight of a well-filled condom. You lean down and kiss Heejin, your hand stroking her face tenderly.

"Fuck, I love you," you breathe.

"I love you too," she replies, and Heejin's smile is more innocent than anything you've seen today. Reaching for your shaft, she teases, "You have another load to give me, right?"

"Always," you growl, and after she fits another condom over your cock (you note this one's red), you plunge inside, and Heejin's moans fill the air once more. As you pound into Heejin's tight pussy, the filled condom on her tits starts leaking and dribbling down her body, coating her skin with your thick cream, and the sight of her covered in your cum is so hot you can't help but fuck her even harder. Heejin is incoherent, babbling nonsense, and you kiss her neck as you whisper, "You're so hot, Heejin."

"Your cum, your cum," Heejin chants, her hands groping at your back, her hips grinding up into yours. "Give me, give me. Use me. Use my pussy." She's drooling now, eyes rolled back, and you're not far from it either.

This round is shorter, and the two of you are too busy kissing to notice you've reached your limit until you're cumming into the condom, and you both gasp in surprise. You pull out, and Heejin's eyes glint with the same mischief as you hear the snapping sound. Then, the condom is tossed onto her stomach, and she sighs happily at her burgeoning collection.

You kiss and caress each other for a few minutes. "That was amazing," you finally say, your thumb brushing Heejin's cheek.

She looks beautiful, her face flushed and her hair messy. Two used condoms adorn her body like trophies; she ties off both of them.

"Wow. You like it that much, huh?" You chuckle. You've never had a girl this kinky, and it's a good thing that she's your one and only.

"Of course I do. That wasn't just dirty talk, silly," she laughs. "You should go to bed, Daddy. You'll be busy tomorrow, what with all the condoms you'll be filling for me."

***

"That was a crazy night, wasn't it?" you say, as you and Heejin walk to the car.

"Hah! Yeah, it was," Heejin giggles, squeezing your hand. You've been dating for three years, now, but you still blush when you hold hands with her. She's just too cute. "It was fun, though."

"Definitely." You unlock the car, and Heejin hops in the passenger seat.

As you slide in, Heejin says, "I'm so glad I got to try that out. But anyway...." Her tone sounds like she’s dropping the subject, so you move on.

You're in her workplace's parking lot, opening the door for her. "Hopefully, work's better."

She steps out of the car, and you swiftly give her a cheeky cheek kiss. "Thank you." While getting out, she drops her purse on the floor.

"Whoa, careful." You laugh, reaching down to get her purse.

When you get up, you notice her panties hanging on the strap. Two cum-filled condoms are tied off and dangling from the band, swaying in the breeze.

You blink. "Uh... Heejin?"

She smirks. "I told you. It wasn't just dirty talk."

***

This is the second time you've seen the women's bathroom inside Heejin's workplace. The first, of course, is when you railed Heejin over the sink and added three new trophies (as she calls them). You can tell she's put a lot of thought into this, each new condom a new color. It's starting to become a cream-filled rainbow. The second time is in these pictures, of her touching herself inside a stall, filthy jewelry around her waist, and it's making the grueling late night at your own office a little bit more exciting. The last picture of her pussy is dripping with her wetness and your seed; she texted to tell you that she couldn't help herself from opening a condom and using the cum to lube herself as she masturbated. "I couldn't help myself. I needed to get more of your seed inside me, Daddy."

"Stop teasing," you text back. "Or I'm gonna end up having to jack off at work, and only horny weirdos jack off at work."

"Hey! Meanie!" Her reply comes instantly. "But you're right. Don't waste a drop, or I'll be disappointed. I want as many loads as possible."

You sigh and go back to work, the ache in your cock making it difficult to focus.

After an hour and re-sobered mind, a knock on your office door. You sigh. You thought you were the last person left here, and you don't want any more tasks to do.

Your smile when you open the door. "Baby?"

Heejin's standing outside, holding two takeout boxes and looking at you with those big eyes of hers. She's in her work clothes, and while her blouse is not as revealing as the tanktop she'd worn yesterday, her skirt still does wonders for her legs. Of course, you know what's underneath the skirt, and your cock twitches. Down boy. Heejin's carrying food, and she'll get upset if you don't let her feed you. "Hi! I got us some food. I figured you might not have eaten, so..."

"How can I love you anymore than I already do?" You laugh, taking the food from her and setting it down on the table. "I was just about to wrap up, actually, so we can eat together. Come in, come in."

Heejin smiles sweetly, stepping past the threshold, and shutting the door. "Actually, I have another surprise for you, first." Her voice is low and sultry.

"Of course. You and your ulterior motives." You raise your eyebrows, and Heejin laughs.

"Guilty," she giggles, stepping closer and closer to you until she can wrap her arms around your neck. "You know what I want, don't you?"

You chuckle. "I'd be an idiot if I didn't."

"Did you know..." She pulls out one of the condoms from under her skirt. "I kept this one in my purse for emergencies? And whenever I miss you, and miss your cock, I just pick it up and..." She leans in, whispering in your ear. "I suck on it. I can still taste your cum and my juices from last night."

"You're so fucking dirty." You kiss her hard, pushing her against the wall. Her lips mold to yours as if they were made to, her tongue swirling against yours, and her teeth nibbling your lower lip.

"God, you're so hard," she whispers. "Lucky you have a slut right here to take care of it."

You pull back, and Heejin smirks at you, her fingers trailing down your chest to the bulge in your pants. She presses her palm against your cock, rubbing it, and you groan. She smiles wider.

"You still have work to do," she says. "Why don't you sit back down and finish up?"

"Tease," you mutter. Heejin laughs, and she kisses your forehead before pushing you back down into your chair. You look back at her expectantly and she just stares at you. "Really? You can wait."

"Mmm." Heejin motions toward your computer. "I'll be fine."

You shake your head. "Alright. If you say so." Trying your best to clear your mind of the gorgeous girl in front of you, you turn back to your computer and start to type.

It takes you a few minutes to focus, and just when you're getting in the groove of things, you feel Heejin's hand on your thigh. You look down, and she's kneeling in between your legs, looking up at you with her big brown eyes, her hand on your thigh inching upward. There it is. You knew this girl couldn't hold back. "I've been thinking," she purrs.

You gulp. "About?"

Her hand reaches your belt, and her fingers deftly undo the buckle. "About sucking you off under this desk, since I am your cum whore," she says matter-of-factly, as if she's discussing the weather.

"Yeah, you are." You lean back and place your hands behind your head, but then Heejin tuts at you.

"Daddy, you should really focus on your work."

You laugh, but comply, returning your attention to the screen. "Okay, okay. Do whatever you want."

Heejin unzips your pants and pulls your cock out of the slit of your boxers, and you can feel the ghost of her breath against your skin, making it twitch. "You're already so hard," she says. The temptation to touch her, to stroke her hair, to grab each side of her head and skull fuck her ethereal face, is overwhelming. "It's already leaking and everything. I'm going to miss feeling how your cum fills my throat. But... I'll make do."

Heejin is the devil, pretending she's an angel while saying that, licking that leaking cockhead. She pulls out another fresh condom from her bag; tearing it open, it’s a pretty green color. You try to keep your composure as Heejin rolls the green condom onto your cock with her mouth, slow, steady, torturous. The devil, already killing you, is trying to send you to heavenly hell. When the condom is snug on your shaft, she gags as she goes another inch deeper, and your cock throbs and you almost lose it right then and there. But she pulls back before that, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Get back to work, Daddy," she says when she notices you staring (because of course, you're staring), "or else I'm edging you all night. Then again, if that means this one's going to be even more full than usual, I wouldn't mind." She winks, her hand stroking the rubber encasing your shaft, and you shudder, but return to typing, even though you're sure the email you're writing is a ChatGPT-esque mess of gibberish.

You're trying your hardest to get this fucking work done, but it's impossible. The condom can't hide the warmth, the softness of her tongue, the way her cheeks hollow as she sucks you off, her head bobbing up and down on your lap. When her lips stretched around your girth hit the root of your shaft, the tip poking the entrance of her throat, you can see her eyes watering, but she doesn't gag this time, only sucks, and sucks, and sucks. Heejin's hand reaches around your waist and squeezes your ass, and you have to bite back a moan as she fondles your cheek. Your fingers are hovering over the keyboard. You haven't typed anything in the last three minutes.

Heejin giggles, her hand coming back to cup your balls, massaging them in rhythm to her bobbing. Each bounce of her head comes with more and more sticky throat slime coating the latex. Your hips are asking to move, like this blowjob could be misconstrued as anything but throatfucking at this point, Heejin actively pushing herself down and up your shaft.

When she needs a break, and lord knows you need it equally bad, Heejin's tongue swirls around your ballsack, licks up the length, and then swirls around your cockhead. "You're doing so well, Daddy," she says. A long smooch here at the tip, where you can see a decent amount of pre in the green rubber. Her hand strokes your length, the latex sheathe creating a smooth glide. "You're gonna give me a nice big load, aren't you?" Heejin kisses the tip again, then places her tongue flat against your shaft and laps at it, like she's trying to clean off your precum through the rubber.

You let out a choked gasp. "Y-yes. Of course. Just—"

You're panting, you can feel your orgasm coming to a boil. Heejin seems to know it because she wraps her lips around the tip of your cock and starts suckling on it.

This knock on the door makes your heart drop. You can pretend you're not here, but then you're certain whoever it is will just barge in.

Heejin's lips don't even waver; if anything, her mouth is working faster, trying to get you to cum. "Come in," Heejin calls out cheerily, her voice slightly muffled. Your eyes bug out, and you're about to push her off, but she takes you down to the base again.

"Is that Heejin?" your Haseul asks. "Let me come in and say hi!" She opens the door and frowns slightly. "Oh, where is she?"

"Th-that was a phone call." You're sweating. You're shaking. You're trying not to cum in your boss' boss' presence. "She's heading out, actually. Just hung up." You're hoping to whatever god that Haseul doesn't step around the table and see a beautiful, slutty head bobbing on your lap. "Did you need something?"

You're getting closer, and the only sign of Heejin's acknowledgment of this precarious situation is a giggle that reverberates around your cock, and you're going to cum.

"Oh, she's a funny girl. It sounded like she was talking with her mouth full." Haseul laughs.

"Yeah, that's Heejin." God, your orgasm's cresting. You need to cum. "Hah, I guess you can say that."

"Hey, are you okay?" Haseul asks.

You grab Heejin's hair to stop her, but she just hollows her cheeks and continues suckling. "Yep. Great. Great as a late night can be."

"Totally. In the same boat. Well, I don't wanna take up too much of your time..."

So that means for the next ten minutes, you're listening to Haseul drone on while you're on edge. This is the worst edging session of your life, but the only thing you can do is pray that you can get through this alive. Unable to hold off the horny little devil sucking on your shaft, Heejin restarts the momentum of the blowjob. If Haseul sees the slight bobbing, she doesn't mention it. Maybe this is where being known for being restless is good. Heejin's mouth feels like it's sucking your soul straight out of your dick. It's all too much. You're going to cum, you're going to cum, you're going to cum.

"You sure you okay?" Haseul steps closer. Every single part of your body is screaming to..."You look like you're about to explode. Did I do something? I'm sorry if—"

"No, no, no, Haseul!" You wave your hands wildly. "You didn't do anything! I'm just a little sick!" You give a performative cough."I shouldn't have come to the office! I should've just stayed home, and—"

"Hey, I get it. We all do crazy things for the grind. You're a real trooper." Reaching over the desk, her hand rests on your shoulder, and you shiver, not in pleasure, not in fear, but in pure shock that Heejin hasn't stopped sucking you. You can feel the condom straining to contain your load. "You should go home. I'm sure they can finish it tomorrow."

"I'm fine!" you croak. You're not fine.

Haseul laughs, but she gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze, and you tense up, worried that Heejin is going to gag, or Haseul will look down, and then it's game over. "I'll take care of it," she says. "You need to go home, rest. I'm not asking." Her eyes are kind. "I'm sure Heejin would want you to. You're a good man."

There's someone else not asking. And she's on her knees, taking, and you brace against the desk, feeling it start to erupt from your core. No. She sucks harder, her lips stretching around your cock even tighter, her tongue circling your glans, and you finally explode into the condom as your entire body shudders, and you drive into Heejin’s throat, a silent scream rising in your chest. The condom is filled with what must be the thickest, stickiest, hottest cum of your life. Haseul's still holding her shoulder as you geyser away, shutting your eyes and biting your tongue and putting your whole face in your palm while your every muscle tenses. You must look like a raving lunatic.

"Oh! What was that?" Haseul asks, innocently.

"Nothing. Nothing. Noth..." You're panting. "No offense, can you step outside for like five minutes, I just need to... My head... ow."

"I'm so sorry!" Haseul steps back immediately. "I should've taken the hint! Take your time."

"Thank you," you manage as the last dribbles of your orgasm fill the condom. You can feel Heejin smug as she gently sucks whatever remains of that orgasm. Your cock's so fucking sensitive now.

As soon as the door closes and footsteps recede in the distance, Heejin lifts her head off your lap, smacking her lips obnoxiously.

"Wow," Heejin grins."She's so sweet."

Your brain is filled with fog.

Her breath tickles your sensitive shaft and sends pleasurable chills up and down your body. "That was hot as fuck, wasn't it?" Heejin asks. Maybe. Maybe not. What just happened. You respond with nothing. Heejin grabs her phone from her bag and types away. "There. She'll leave us alone now."

"What?"

Heejin giggles. "God, this one looks especially full." She slides the condom off using tightly sealed lips, and you have to watch it slowly slip from your shaft. When it falls into her hands, instead of tying it up as routine, she brings it to her lips."Sorry Daddy, this one looks too good not to..."

"You're really gonna—"

"Yup!" Heejin takes the condom in her mouth and lets the opening unfurl onto her tongue. The sticky white fluid that drips out pools in the back of her throat, her jaw stretched to flaunt. While the rubbery sheathe gets thinner and emptier, Heejin swishes the sperm around. It looks like a one-man bukkake inside Heejin's mouth.

"You're such a nasty slut."

With a smirk, her mouth shuts. Her lips curl over it as she gulps and swallows with a noisy gulp. Her cheeks bulge and her neck is visibly working. You watch as the entirety of your cum is swallowed. She opens her mouth wide again, tongue lolled out, to show off her hard work."Ahh. All clean. Don't pretend you don't love it." Heejin pouts. "Aw, man. I can't add this one to the others."

"Here, give me that." You take the sloppy condom from Heejin's hand, and she lets you, a little surprised, a little curious as you place it on the corner of your desk.

"What are you doing?"

You're thankful Haseul is gone by now; otherwise, she'd catch a cum-covered green condom on your desk corner, and a Heejin grinding on it like she was going to get pregnant from that thing. Now there's a video you'll watch over and over. Heejin makes for the cutest squirmer. Her little whimpers and gasps are endearing, and the neediness with which she rubs her cunt against the condom will probably turn into your go-to material when Heejin's too busy at work.

***

Hybrid work is great. You're thankful Haseul gave you the green light for remote work whenever you need it. While you wish Heejin's company gave her the same luxury, you realize that would likely lead to an extreme lack of productivity, even if no one else knew what exactly was happening.

It would lead to days like this.

"Hey babe, welcome back!" Heejin runs up to you as soon as you walk through the door, and you wrap your arms around her and kiss her forehead. She's in the middle of getting dressed, a bra on her chest and her panties on her bottom, and she smells like fresh soap and a hint of sweat, like she just did a bit of manual labor. Her body is soft and warm against yours, and her hair tickles your neck. "How was work?" she asks, pulling back from you.

"Same as usual." You shrug off your backpack, setting it on a table, and Heejin's eyes light up as you unzip the front pocket.

"I have something new for you."

"Oh yeah?"

Heejin brings you to your office and you find a fancy new standing desk. You were just talking about wanting one now that you'll be working at home more often.

"You're the best. I love you." You pull her in and kiss her on the mouth, and Heejin eagerly kisses back, her arms wrapping around your neck.

When you break away, she looks up at you and grins. "You know, I didn't just get this for ergonomics." She drags you by the hand to the side. "Check it out." That's when you realize this woman has corrupted your office space. Your laptop (not the work one, thank goodness) is opened to a tab of some porn video. There are condoms and lube bottles on the side, as well as an empty box. Heejin giggles as you gape at her.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Is it not obvious what I'm going for?"

"How am I gonna get work done with this?"

"Easy." Heejin points to the gap between the desk and where you're standing. "You stand here, and I'll crawl underneath and just lie down, with my ass up in the air, and you can just fuck my pussy like a fleshlight whenever you need to jerk off. It's perfect."

"Hah. Work, though."

"I'll be good!" Heejin gives her best puppy-dog eyes, and you can feel yourself melting at the sight of her pout. "I'll try not to moan, and I won't cum unless you let me. Let me show you."

Heejin gets underneath the desk, bending over like a gymnast and grabbing her ankles. Though she's wearing a casual home dress, you're easily reminded how flexible and athletic Heejin's body is, her thighs and ass toned from her years of dancing.

"You can use my holes whenever you want." She wiggles her ass at you. "And when you're done, I'll take your cum. See? Make a deposit in the cum bank." Her laughter turns to a squeal as you swat her ass. The noise echoes throughout your home office space. "How does that sound?"

You respond by tugging her dress up to her hips and pulling her panties down to her thighs. Heejin shivers and lets out a little sigh, her pussy already dripping wet. "God, you're so hot," you murmur. You rest your cock between the snug crevice of her ass while you get the computer ready, a browser full of porn tabs ready to be explored. Heejin's ass is so soft against the underside of your shaft, and you can feel your cock twitch as you start rubbing against her.

You click through a couple of porn videos before settling on a petite woman with a tight body and a big rack, getting fucked from behind in a POV perspective. Heejin giggles. "Ooh, I think I recognize that one Daddy. Her ass is cute, isn't it? Are you going to jerk off your cock with my holes imagining they’re hers?" You pop a condom onto your cock and slide in. Heejin's pussy feels like heaven, as always, but you're not sure how long you'll last, given the circumstances.

"Yours is better," you say. "But I don't mind spicing it up."

The woman in the video is moaning and squealing and screaming about the cock pounding into her pussy. Heejin is doing her best to stay quiet, but you can hear her breathing heavily and whimpering with every thrust.

You squeeze Heejin's asscheek. "Cocksleeves don't talk, remember?"

"Fuck, Daddy, I'm trying... you just get so, fuck, fucking deep..." she moans. "I can feel you all the way in my cunt." You give her ass a firm smack. "Fuck! Sorry Daddy, I promise, I promise I'll be good." She's still whimpering, but you can tell she's trying her best. God, you're not gonna last long.

You grab Heejin's hips, pulling her back onto your cock with each thrust. Her tight, warm, wet pussy feels amazing around your cock. She's still whimpering and moaning, but she's trying her best to keep it down. It doesn't take long before you feel yourself about to cum. With a groan, you slam into Heejin one last time, your cock twitching inside her as you cum, and you can feel the condom filling up.

You stay like that for a few moments, panting, before pulling out. Heejin whimpers as you do, her pussy clenching around your cock. You take a moment to catch your breath, then tie off the used condom, and drop it on the small of Heejin's back.

"Thank you, Daddy." Heejin sounds like she's in a daze.

You give her no respite, opening another video and feeling inspired. This is a much rougher one, the man in the video holding the woman's arms behind her back and brutally slamming his cock into her asshole. You decide that you want to try that, grabbing another condom and lubing it up thoroughly. Heejin gasps as you plunge into her asshole and pull her arms back, and you start fucking her, hard.

"Daddy!"

You yank her hair. "Be a quiet anal fleshlight, or you're not getting any cum today."

"Yes Daddy," Heejin moans, but her words cut off in a squeal as you yank on her hair again. This time, Heejin tries her hardest to stay quiet, and you're impressed at how well she manages, despite the rough treatment you're giving her ass, her hair in a ponytail that you're using as a rein to control her. You can feel Heejin's tight hole clenching around you, and you know she's getting close. Just as she's about to cum, you pull out, leaving her unsatisfied.

"Daddy..." She whimpers, and you can hear her pouting. "Please, I was so close..."

"On your knees." The sudden command is met with no resistance from Heejin. She immediately crawls out from under the desk, her dress still bunched up at her waist, her panties still around her thighs. You slap your condom-covered dick against her cheek. "Clean my cock, slut." You grab her by the hair and shove her face down onto your cock, your other hand holding the base of your shaft. Heejin doesn't even blink, just starts sucking on the rubber-covered shaft, no care in the world about the taste of her own ass. She moans around it as she cleans it off, her eyes closed, looking content. You let her suckle for a while, before pulling out and yanking her back to her feet by the hair.

"Are you gonna use me again like a fucktoy? Jerk off using my asshole?" Her eyes glimmer at the prospect.

"No. Get on all fours. I'm done with porn for now, I wanna use my anal fucktoy properly."

You don't need to ask twice. Heejin gets on the floor and arches her back, her ass up and her head down, presenting herself to you. You close the laptop and then squeeze lube between Heejin's ass cheeks. She shudders.

"You have some incredible ideas, but sometimes I just prefer to fuck my girlfriend." You plunge into her and Heejin squeals in delight. "God, you're so tight," you groan, starting to pound her ass. "I can't get enough of you."

"Thank you Daddy, thank you!" She moans. "God yes, fuck me, use my tight little ass, it's yours, it's yours, it's yours. Use it whenever you want." You're fucking her harder and faster now, her tight asshole squeezing your cock, and Heejin is folding and buckling under the sheer force of your thrusts, her hands and face pressed into the floor. You really don't need much time, as Heejin's ass is so tight and hot, and it doesn't take long before you're cumming into the condom with a loud groan.

When you pull out, Heejin collapses face-down into the floor, her ass sticking up, her asshole gaping and twitching around the emptiness.

"Looks like that asshole is begging for cum." You peel the cum-filled condom off your cock, and Heejin looks back at you. She must be thinking what you're thinking. You take the opening of the condom and pour it into her ass, and Heejin gasps then moans as you watch it trickle into her gaping hole.

"That feels... so good, Daddy." Her voice is slurred. She's barely coherent. "So good."

You watch the cum dribble down her thighs, and you reach down and spread Heejin's ass open so you can watch more of your seed disappear into her tight, gaping asshole until the condom is empty and Heejin's ass is dripping with your cum. When you let go of her ass, you slap it and Heejin jumps. "Stay there. I'll get some water for you."

As you leave the room, Heejin giggles, her face pressed against the carpet of your office. "Mmm, thank you. I'll stay nice and still for you."

You return to the sight of a beautiful woman, still in the same position as when you left except with two fingers in her pussy, two down her cream-lubed asshole.

***

Usually, you awake to the sound of your morning alarm. This is not the case today. Instead, you are rudely (or rather, kindly) awakened by Heejin slurping and sucking on your cock.

"Goo' morning," Heejin greets you, her voice muffled. "I was waiting for you to wake up. Did you know that you talk in your sleep?"

You rub your eyes and squint to look at your phone while Heejin nurses on your cockhead like it's a lollipop. "Yeah, you told me before. What time is it, babe? Are we gonna be late?"

"It's six." Heejin pouts. "We have plenty of time. We just won't be able to take our time, that's all." She kisses the head of your dick. "I think we'll be fine. Let me just get a couple of loads from you and then I'll get ready."

You sigh. You can never resist her. And, you suppose, it is nice waking up to Heejin sucking your cock.

"You like my collar, Daddy?" She smirks, looking up at you with big puppy dog eyes, and bats her lashes. The leather choker has a large silver hoop on it. "I figured it'd be a good way to carry more condoms. Look!" She grabs an empty, unopened one from your side table, opens the wrapper, and slips the ring into the hoop on her collar, like a keychain. "Doesn't that look good?"

"I bet it'll look better filled."

Heejin giggles. She's back to blowing you, the rubbery condom a familiar and pleasant sensation on your shaft. "So sexy," she mumbles.

Your hands run through her hair, gripping it tightly, but you let her do the work, slurping up and down on your cock.

"Deeper."

Heejin pushes herself down further, taking it into the back of her throat, and she gags but doesn't stop. Even with a tear running down her cheek, Heejin's smile doesn't waver.

"You like choking on my cock?"

Heejin hums an affirmative.

"You like having your throat fucked?"

She gags again, but Heejin doesn't stop, and you feel yourself getting close, especially with her hands doing all sorts of work, massaging your balls and caressing the underside of your cock.

"All before we've even had breakfast."

#loona smut #kpop smut #reader insert #male reader

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izzy02soph · 7 months ago

Text

Generals Daughter and her gladiator 🤎🏛️

Hanno/ Lucius Verus x afab! Reader

I own none of these characters except Y/N (if you even want to consider her a character)

——————

Y/N stood amongst the opulence of Senator Thraex's grand party, her eyes scanning the lavish surroundings. The twin emperors, were seated in places of honor, their presence commanding the room, while their whores rubbed themselves desperately against their emperors. But it was the sight in the center of the room that captured her attention—two gladiators were about to fight for the evening's entertainment.

“What are they going to do Aelia?” Y/N asked her friend next to her who was coincidentally Senator Thraxe’s young wife, Aelia

“What does it look like, silly, they’re gonna fight!” Aelia said getting excited

Among them was a fierce looking dark haired man, and an older barbaric gladiator known for his fierce reputation. As the fight started, Y/N watched intently. The dark haired man seemed reluctant, trying to stop the other man, but the crowd's demands and the emperor's orders left him no choice. With a heavy heart and a fierce determination, after minutes of fighting, the dark haired man eventually impaled his opponent, the crowd in the room erupting in cheers. Y/N and Aelia giggling as they clapped, finding entertainment in these fights.

“What a spectacular fight” Emperor Geta said as he finished clapping dramatically and walked over in front of the dark haired man.

“What’s your name, slave.”

The silence in the room was deafening, so silent you could hear your guards breathing.

“Hanno is his name, Caesar. He only speaks his native tounge, Caesar” Macrinus the stable master said as he reassured him.

The emperor hummed as if he was thinking of what to say next. Finally, the dark haired slave spoke up.

“The gates of Hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.” He said with a smug look.

“So Hanno is a poet, too” Geta said while chuckling dryly.

“Geta don’t be rude” Caracalla said in a joking manner as he sat up in his seat. All his jewelry clanked as he moved.

For a split second Hanno looked over trying to regain his composure, eyes landing on Y/N

“Can’t wait to see how you are in the arena. Hanno.” Emperor Geta said as he looked at the slave one last time before walking back to his seat

Soon after, the music of the harp started back up. Moved by his internal struggle and the raw power he displayed, Y/N made a swift decision. She turned to her guard and whispered urgently, "I must meet him. Arrange it immediately." The guard nodded and hurried to comply.

______

Soon after, Y/N found herself in the steam-filled bathhouse where Hanno was enjoying his hard-earned reward. He looked up as she entered, jewelry adorning her wrists and her necklace sparkling off the steaming water. His eyes narrowing with suspicion and curiosity. “You’re not supposed to be here" he said, his voice rough and edged with bitterness.

“So he speaks”

Y/N stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "I saw you fight. You did not want to kill him, yet you did. I wanted to meet the man who battles not just with his body, but with his conscience."

Hanno's expression softened slightly, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. "And what do you hope to gain from this meeting? And again why are you here?" His words were still harsh, but there was a hint of something else—perhaps a spark of interest in the boldness of the beautiful lady.

“You heard me the first time” Y/N said, in a challenging tone. She sat down on the ledge of the tub as spoke with a lowered voice. "I want to know where you came from, Hanno. Who you are beyond the fighting. I saw the conflict in your eyes tonight. You're not just a brute for their entertainment."

Hanno's eyes narrowed, though his posture remained relaxed. "You speak with conviction, but words are easy, princess. What makes you think your curiosity will change anything? What makes you think I even want to share my past?"

“You think I’m a princess? So eager to jump to conclusions. Well if it make a difference I’m General Acacius’ daughter. Now you know where I come from” Y/N said trying to read the dark haired man

“You didn’t answer me the first time, why are you here?” Hanno said, eyes darkening as he realized who’s daughter he was talking to

Y/N's lips curved into a smirk. "Because I believe there's more to you than what meets the eye. And because I know what it's like to be trapped by expectations, to have your identity overshadowed by a title. We are not so different, you and I.“ She said as she got up from where she was sitting and got ready to walk out.

“In two days time, when you’re in the arena, win the crowd. They’ll love you” She said smugly before walking out.

______

Two days later, the Colosseum was buzzing with excitement. The gladiator games were set to continue, and the crowd was eager for more bloodshed. The Emperors, Macrinus, General Acacius, Lucilla, and Y/N were all present, watching intently from their seats. All in their noble attire, the emperors gold accessories sparkling in the sunlight.

Hanno and the other gladiators were brought into the arena. As they stood there, Hanno knelt and ran the dirt through his hands, a gesture reminiscent of the late warrior Maximus. This caught Lucilla’s attention, and she recognized Hanno. Y/N, noticing Lucilla’s reaction, leaned in.

“Lucilla, you seem troubled. Are you alright?” Y/N asked with genuine concern.

“I am fine, just... a memory stirred dear,” Lucilla replied, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

The games commenced with a brutal fervor. Hanno and the other gladiators were pitted against the undefeated gladiator Glyceo, who entered the arena atop his fearsome rhino. The battle was fierce and chaotic, with Glyceo mercilessly slaughtering the other men. The crowd roared with approval as the bodies fell, leaving only Hanno standing against Glyceo.

Y/N nervously started twisting her rings around her fingers, praying to the gods they kept Hanno alive.

Hanno and Glyceo faced each other, the tension palpable. Their fight was intense, each strike filled with raw power. Glyceo managed to knock Hanno to the ground. Geta, watching from above, turned his back looking for someone to help him decide

“Y/N, what do you think we should do with him” Geta asked as the arena waited for an answer

“Caesar, show mercy.” Y/N said in an almost pleading tone. Finding entertainment in these fights. Geta pointed his thumb upwards. Giving Glyceo a chance to spear Hanno

“Mercy is for the weak.”

Hanno, refusing to give up, rose to his feet and continued the fight. With a final, desperate effort, he impaled Glyceo, the champion’s eyes widening in shock as the blade was pulled out of his stomach. The crowd fell silent, holding their breath as they awaited the next move.

Geta, maintaining his cruel demeanor, gave the thumbs-down signal. Hanno, breathing heavily and covered in blood, took two swords and, with a swift, cross-like motion, decapitated Glyceo. The head rolled away as the crowd erupted into a mixture of shock and exhilaration.

Y/n watched intently as Hanno stood victorious, his chest heaving, and his eyes wandered to the Emperors box across the arena. The crowd cheering was deafening. He had won the crowd. In that moment, it was clear that the games were far from over.

Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, knowing that this was only the beginning of a much larger conflict.

______

“Row. Row. Row” The commander said as the gladiators kept rowing, the practice exhausting them, hands aching.

“Ridiculous” Hanno mumbled as the commander walked past him. The commander immediately stopped in his tracks.

“What did you say, slave?”

“I said this is ridiculous” Hanno said staring him down.

“Alright, everyone out. Except you” The commander said.

“You will row until it isn’t ridiculous” the commander said as he grinned evilly as he stood tall, hands behind his back.

“I guess we’ll be here a while then” Hanno said as he started rowing again.

______

After practice, Hanno woke up by a stinging pain in his hand, still seated in the boat. Ravi, the healer, seated in front of him.

"Calm down, Hanno. It is just vinegar" Ravi said, his voice calm and reassuring as he gathered his materials.

As Ravi worked, cleaning and bandaging Hanno's hands, Hanno couldn't help but think about Y/N. The way she had leaned in to speak with Lucilla, the concern in her eyes—it all intrigued him.

"Ravi," Hanno began, wincing slightly as Ravi applied a salve to a particularly deep cut, "Tell me about Y/N."

"Y/N Acacius? General Acacius’ daughter? Why do you want to know?” Ravi said, chuckling as if it was a funny question.

“Well go on.”

Ravi paused for a moment, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “There’s not much to it. She's the general's daughter…. But.. never mind.

“What Ravi?” Hanno said, starting to get annoyed.

“There's more to her than what meets the eye."

Hanno's interest was piqued. "What do you mean?"

Ravi continued, his hands moving deftly over Hanno's wounds. "She's a warrior, trained in the arts of combat. But she stopped fighting after the death of her mother and her father's remarriage. People know she knows how to fight, but not many bother for her hand because they know she’s strong and the general’s daughter—meaning she was taught very well in combat."

Hanno absorbed this information, a newfound interest growing within him. "A warrior who set aside her sword... I didn't expect that."

Ravi smiled slightly. "Few do. But y/n is not one to be underestimated. She carries the weight of her responsibilities with grace and strength. You'd do well to remember that. Why do you want to know though, I thought you hated the General."

As Ravi finished tending to his wounds, Hanno felt a sense of admiration and curiosity about Y/N. He realized that there was much more to her than he had initially thought, and he was determined to learn more about the mysterious women who had captured his attention.

______

Y/N was lounging in the tablinum area, her mind drifting aimlessly as she tried to relax. The events of the day had been intense, and she needed a moment of peace. Just then, Lucilla walked in, her face etched with worry and tension.

"Lucilla, what's wrong?" Y/N asked, sitting up straighter. She had noticed Lucilla's troubled demeanor earlier at the games but hadn't had the chance to ask.

Lucilla hesitated, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. "Y/N, there's something I need to tell you. But if I tell you, you cannot share this to another soul. And right now only your father knows about this.”

“What troubles you?”

“It's about Hanno... or rather, Lucius." Lucilla says as she finds a seat near Y/N

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Lucius? What do you mean?"

Taking a deep breath, Lucilla began to explain. "Hanno is actually my son. His real name is Lucius. After my brother Commodus was killed by Maximus, I had to send Lucius away to keep him safe. He was and still is the rightful successor, and I feared for his life."

Y/N listened intently, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together. "So, you sent him away to protect him?"

"Yes," Lucilla nodded, her voice trembling slightly. "Senator Gracchus helped me arrange to meet with Lucius to tell him the truth about his parentage. He is the son of Maximus. But when I told him, he was furious. He ordered me to leave his cell, angry that I had sent him away and blaming Acacius for Arishat’s death."

Y/N's heart ached for Lucilla. She didn’t know who Arishat was or why he was mad at her father, but she had to figure it out"That's a lot for him to take in. What will you do now?"

"I went to your father," Lucilla admitted, her eyes pleading. "I asked him to help Lucius. He needs guidance and support now more than ever."

Y/N reached out, placing a comforting hand on Lucilla's shoulder. "We'll find a way to help him. He's strong, just like you. We'll get through this together."

Lucilla nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Thank you, Y/N. Your support means everything to me."

Together, they sat in the quiet of the tablinum, the weight of their shared burdens palpable but bearable in each other's company.

______

I hope yall liked it! I got a request from someone to make a story for this, so I did it! Now I know it’s not all comely accurate but I’m working with what I got so take it or leave it! There most likely will be a part 2 if this goes how I want it but let me know if y’all even want a pt 2!🩷

#gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator x reader #ancient rome #lucius gladiator x reader #lucius verus #lucius verus x reader #generals daughter and her gladiator story #general marcus acacius #Lucilla #emperor geta

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mullermilkshake · 1 month ago

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Meet the family

Part 11 <- Part 12 -> Part 13

It's that important time, you're nervous and Jinwoo can't wait to share the news.

At 14 weeks, the twins are around the size of lemons.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags- Pregnant reader, slight manipulation, arguing.

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I drew this baby bootie divider and I think IT'S CUTE AS FUCK, I'm no artist but I'm pretty proud.

EDIT - I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

At fourteen weeks, you agreed to try again and visit Jinwoo’s mom and sister.

Anxiously standing there, you fiddled with your sweater and tried your best to keep your baby bump hidden before the public announcement. Jinwoo had managed to convince the Chairman to hold off on it until he could inform those close to him.

He wanted to tell his mom and Jinah immediately when he found out you were pregnant, but you were able to change his mind and wait just a little while longer.

Your oversized sweater was more of a tool than a fashion statement when leaving the apartment, just until the public announcement. Many people who recognised you and Jinwoo were none the wiser. Some made eyes at your radical clothing change, their gaze shifting down to your stomach with nothing more than a suspicious gaze.

There was only so much time before others would notice you carrying twins and not attending gate raids anymore. Time was running out. Jinwoo was growing impatient. Your moods were all over the place.

Organised chaos.

“Don’t worry.”

“Hm?” You met his gaze, chewing on your bottom lip.

“I said, don’t worry. They’ll love you, especially my mom. And Jinah will be great, I practically raised her while my mom was unwell.”

“It’s not that, I just… you’re taking me to meet her with the add on of ‘oh, by the way, the girl I’m seeing is also pregnant with twins’. It doesn’t make for a good impression, Jinwoo...”

You saw yourself as the girl he was seeing? Talk about making progress. Jinwoo wanted to smile, to kiss you right there on the doorstep.

But you sunk down with a slouch, clearly with more things on your mind. "You're closer with your sister then if you cared for her like that... We never really talked much about our families- What if she doesn't like me? That can happen- they could both take one look at me and decide not to like me."

God, you were adorable.

“To be honest, I think my mom will be really pleased. I’m twenty five and my sister’s always harping on at me about bringing a girl home so, it’ll go better than you think.”

It should have settled you, yet Jinwoo saw the way the distance between your eyebrows closed ever so slightly. You did this cute little thing with your face when you were conflicted, a worried stare that Jinwoo saw as adorable.

“Just stay close, okay?” Jinwoo took your hand and laced his fingers in between yours, a happy smile playing in his face as he knocked the door. “I’ll always be here.”

The door opened quicker than Jinwoo expected, like his mom was waiting for his visit.

“Jinwoo, I’m so glad you’re here- and this must be your girlfriend.” She smiled softly and placed a hand to her cheek. “Aren’t you pretty. Oh, Jinwoo, come on in and settle down, Jinah will be home soon.”

He took you through to the living area whilst his mom hurried through to the kitchen.

“Girlfriend?” You whispered, it shouldn’t have stung as much as it did.

Jinwoo shrugged reluctantly and played it off as best as he could. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure what to tell her.”

He wanted you as his girlfriend, more than a girlfriend. You were to be the mother of his children and the only way to make everything right in the world was calling you his wife. Eventually, he’d ask you and you’d say yes when you were most vulnerable and understood that you could only rely on him.

Probably after the twins were born.

“So, tell me all about how you two met.” Jinwoo’s mom tiptoed in with a tray of tea, carefully placing it down on the table with one extra cup for Jinah.

It was surprising just how easily a lie dipped from Jinwoo’s lips, explaining some random story to him mom about how you and he met. It had nothing to do with the Hunter’s association.

And then came the kicker.

“So… about us, mom.” He took your hand again. “There’s something else that I wanted to talk to you about-“

“Hey, I’m home!” It was Jinwoo’s sister.

“In here, Jinah! Jinwoo’s here with his girlfriend!” It sounded pretty nice to hear his mom say your name.

I guess now’s a better time than any.

Jinah came into the living area beaming, grinning right at you. “Hey! So my brother finally brought a girl home, huh? Hey, I recognise you from the television, you’re a hunter too- you’re so pretty-“

“Woah, Jinah.” He practically pushed her away, taking note of how well you were enduring the overwhelming presence of his baby sister. “Give her some space, there’ll be plenty of time to get to know each other. There’s something important we wanted to talk to you both about before it’s made public, so would you listen?”

“Sorry! I can get carried away sometimes.”

Jinwoo’s mom smiled and put her hand on his knee. “Go ahead. Tell us all about what you want to say. We’re listening.”

“Uh…” The colour drained from your face, looking to Jinwoo for an answer.

“Mom, Jinah…” He looked at you with such adoration when he said your name. “She’s pregnant.”

“Oh my god…”

“Really? Oh, that’s wonderful news!” The reactions Jinwoo expected, but they were expecting one baby. Not two.

“That’s not all.” He said, pulling up your sweater to show your little baby bump. “We’re having twins.”

That’s when the shock really sank in. “Twins?”

“You’re going to have two of you running around, Jinwoo?” Jinah was ever the one to put it eloquently.

“Yeah.”

“Jinwoo, is that apartment big enough for two babies? Do you need me to come and help when they’re born?”

“Well…” You cut in, looking everywhere except the three people in the room. “The Chairman has offered support from the hunter’s association to help us, there’s a facility that has resources to help us… so…”

Your voice trailed off when you saw Jinwoo’s involuntary expression. He didn’t mean to look at you the way he did, but it sounded a lot like you were thinking of giving his babies away to the association’s facility.

Swallowing hard, you smiled at his mom and sister. “But we haven’t decided on the later stuff just yet…”

Jinwoo halted himself in the silent room, trying to stop is hands from shaking. “Mom, I think we better go now, I promise we’ll come over soon.” He stood abruptly and made his way straight to the door without you, knowing you'd follow.

“Now? You’ve only just got here.”

“Sorry, it’s been a long day. I just remembered that I forgot to do something… y’know, errands.”

Like hell you were going to give the babies to the care of the association. He wanted to get to the bottom of this and quickly, his compulsion to protect his children stung heavier than ever right in his gut to ensure their safety. He just never thought that he’d be protecting them from you.

The next ten minutes were a blur, he said goodbye and sat in the car with you for longer before he had the courage to speak with you and not say something he’d deeply regret.

You just needed to see that having a family with Jinwoo was the best thing for you, and for his babies. You still had time before they arrived to see that the only place they belonged was in your and Jinwoo’s arms.

“Jinwoo, will you say something?” You were close to crying by the time he pulled over in a random street away from Headquarters.

“Why do you want to give our babies away?”

“N-no, not give them away. Don’t make me sound so cruel. You're taking words out of my mouth. But we’ll need some sort of support when they get here… I’m terrified, Jinwoo.” He listened for the clicking of your seatbelt as you turned. “What can we give them that can ensure they’re raised right- we can’t do that our own.”

What were you even saying? Jinwoo was the strongest hunter to come out of modern times, he fought Beru for goodness sake, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.

“Yes we can. We can give them everything- please don’t do this.”

“How? How can we give them everything- Jinwoo, we aren’t ready to take care of one regular baby, and we have two with S-Rank mana, one tantrum and whatever abilities they might have, they could destroy half the city. How are we equipped to deal with that? What if both of them inherit something from us and it gets out of control? People could want to exploit that and we can’t be there all the time.”

“We’ll find a way to suppress it until they’re old enough, we can do something. We can stop it somehow, but we can’t give up on them and let them fall into the Chairman’s hands. You of all people should understand that-“

“I do understand it! That's the issue!” You were crying now, wiping your eyes as you talked faster, louder. More desperate. “I know we can't trust the association with them, but what other choice do we have? I can’t think of any viable options- I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t want to do any of this and now I’m pregnant with twins and it all changes for me, you get that, right?!”

He did, he really did. Even so, he would not have you raising any children on your own, it was his duty as the father to help raise his children. He’d be there like his dad should have been through his teen years, helping you and loving you to raise two beautiful children.

Still, he let you finish. “You get that the world keeps on turning for you, for Jong-in. But it stops for me, and for Hae-in. She’s being sent to this facility on her own so Jong-in can get someone else pregnant- they wanted me to go in her place. You can come and go as you please and I… I won’t be able to go on raids again- I still want to be a hunter, I can’t do it if I’m all on my own.”

Jinwoo shook his head vigorously, hoping the action alone would seek it to you. “You won’t be on your own. I’m here, I’m not leaving… Please don’t let the Chairman get his hands on our babies.”

“Jinwoo, you’re not getting my point-“

“I do get it.”

Should I tell her? Was it too soon to tell you how much he adored you, loved you and wanted to spend the rest of his life with you?

“I care about you, deeply. More than you know, and I want us all to be a family.”

You sat and watched him with wide eyes. He took the opportunity to continue. “I know you didn’t ask for this, and in another life, I would have asked you out and taken things slowly if you said yes. But we’re here, and we should make the most of this… we have the chance to have two healthy and beautiful babies that will no doubt look like you.” He chucked, taking your hand you gave him with no issue. “They’ll have your temperament, the cute thing you do with your nose when you smile and I’m sure they’ll have your taste in music too.”

You rubbed your belly, watching him with a look he hadn’t seen before. Total and utter fear. “Jinwoo… how are we going to take care of two babies, work and keep ourselves afloat all the time? The Chairman will want us to have more children if these two come out as strong as he thinks they will. He’s clearly taken an interest and I don’t think he’ll just move on to the next baby that has a mana reading like this.”

If you felt that way, why did you want to hand them over to the association? Jinwoo put it down to your changing hormones, lack of sleep and just wanting the best for your children. Your maternal side was late in showing, and even then it was inconsistent. In fact, your baby bump showed faster than your capability to adapt to motherhood.

Despite that, it was showing, little by little each day. When the babies were born, Jinwoo knew that from the moment you saw them wrapped up in their little blankets and woolly hats, you’d fall in love with them. Just as he would at the sight of the two little bundles in your arms after giving your all and making two wonderful little people.

On that thought, his frustrations melted away. “The Chairman won’t be a problem… I promise you.”

Jinwoo took both of your hands and held them tight, close. “He won’t demand us, not anymore. And money isn’t an issue, just let me worry about that. I’ll never leave you, you won’t ever be on your own. Ever.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. I promise. I swear on my life.”

Part 11 <- Part 12 -> Part 13

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks so much for all the support on this likes, reblog and comments appreciated! ❤️

Tag list - @bubera974 @snowy-violet @sky2lar @starrynights23x @minh907

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@dragoonsuki @sashagaming1012

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

#jinwoo sung x reader #solo leveling x reader #jinwoo x reader #x reader #solo leveling anime #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #jinwoo #jinwoo x you #sung jinwoo x you #reader insert #fem reader #minors dni #pregnant reader

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prettiestofpisces · 6 months ago

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juju watkins x gf!reader

synopsis: you happen to be juju’s girlfriend and lash tech

fluff✨blurb

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

as juju’s six foot two form laid on your lash bed, you sat down in your swivel chair adjacent from the girls head.

to the right of you was your lash table which held all the materials you’d possibly need for judea.

“so how have you been baby?” you say swiftly playing with juju’s ears.

although you two were newly official, you both have such a tender spot for one another.

knowing each other, growing with each other since highschool, y’all were made incredibly close over the years.

sharing a kiss or two, prolonged cuddles… your relationship was beyond affection yet nothing contained a label at the time.

that was until senior year after learning you’d both be attending southern cal, juju decided to jump the gun. asking you to prom and later on to be her girlfriend

“mmm good…” she hums with her eyes closed.

“too many promotions, practices and flights.”

now your hands caress her cheeks yet you waited to respond.

“you just want some peace and quiet, i understand baby, keep talking to me if you’d like.”

you then alert juju you’re about to start and she, unknowingly yet conscious of something near her eyes, closed them tight without saying anymore.

you pumped a light foam soap over her lashes and began swirling it in, cleansing the hairs or anything foreign.

“what about you?” she spoke out suddenly.

“hm, well i’ve been busy with few clients, classes and missing you but!.. i watched you play kansas and saw you got roughed up” you giggled.

after said, game juju sported a subtle gash on her left cheek due to brutal play. juju never complained but you knew the mark bothered her.

“you can’t tell but i’m rolling my eyes” juju says with a wide smile, following with more banter.

you let out a final chuckle before rinsing off her eyes and proceeding.

after drying you lay tape down on her bottom lashes to secure them and a large piece for your markings and mapping.

“whispy cat eye right ju?”

“yeah ma” she responds so sweetly.

a minute passes as you’re finishing up writing little numbers across the tape you’ve placed and now you’re able to begin lashing.

pluck a singular extension, dip it in glue, place it on a single lash and wait. a simple process yet very demanding.

you hum along to the rnb tunes in the background, filling the silence and soon enough, you hear the subtle snores of the girl in front of you.

as time ticks, it’s been 45 minutes and you’re finished with the left eye moving over to her right.

Please sprout, offer me your tulips

On my fate

You gon' be my blessing tonight

So keep your eyes wide…

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

and… you’re done.

slowly lifting the tape from jujus soft skin you crumble the pieces and toss them away. her sleeping form calm and content, you kiss her cheek to wake her.

“ju… baby, i’m finished” you whisper close to her ear. once her eyes flutter open you take it upon yourself to kiss her again, this time two pecks.

juju does a quick stretch of all her joints and crains her arm back hold your face against her own. turning her head to the right she embraces you both in a kiss, an oddly awkward perpendicular kiss but one with so much passion nonetheless.

after releasing, juju takes a deep breath and lets go of you all together.

“thank you” she draws out groggily. sliding off the table as you both stand up from your still positions. her tall lengthy frame towering over you like before.

juju looking rather seductive with her new stare. you stare up at her in return admiring you work, the lashes which accentuate her eyes so nicely, making your own dilate. you couldn’t help yourself.

“you’re so pretty” you squeal before juju pulls you into her chest ever so gently. loving the feeling of comfort you tighten the hug whilst still gazing at one another.

“what are you doing tonight?” your question filled with anticipation.

“staying here with you” juju harps, her blatant statement taking you by surprise yet you were more than okay with it.

“i love when you’re around.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆..°

and scene.

sorry i’ve been away, sigh..

just a sophomore in college what can i say however i hope you like this little blurb, its very rushed but i just wanted to post bc postings fun.

muah.

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yuwuta · 1 year ago

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please feed us some yuuji blurbs there’s a lack of him rn :(

ofc… sweetest boy all time… here’s something was was meant to be a longer project but got lost in the editing whirlwind… love him so bad...

NEVER LOST IN TRANSLATION, BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT

notes: reader is implied to be american/english-speaking, yuuta and megumi are bilingual, yuuji, bless his soul, is not. i didn’t use italics for conversations between yuuji and megumi because it would all be in japanese, but when they get mixed later in the scene, japanese is differentiated with italics. hope that’s not too confusing lololll

Honestly, Yuuji tried his best in school. Some things came easier than other, but with a bit of hard work, and help from his friends, he always managed to pull pretty good grades. But right now, his biggest regret is not taking english more seriously in high school, because it’s been about three weeks since he met you, and he’s only been able to say maybe five full sentences to you without the help of Yuuta or Megumi translating.

He was excited when Yuuta said his friend from abroad would be coming to visit and study, but god, he didn’t expect you to be so pretty. To have such pretty eyes, and pretty lips, and pretty hair, to have the prettiest voice in the world despite him only understanding every eighteenth word you say. You’re beautiful to him, and Yuuji thinks that even if he could speak your language fluently, the words would still get caught in his throat. He’s so lovesick, it’s embarrassing—his friends have been harping on him blushing and stuttering over you for the past month, and he can’t even blame them.

“What does she say to you when you guys talk,” Yuuji whines, hovering around Megumi, and not-so-discreetly looking back at you where you’re still sat in the living room laughing with Yuuta, “Does she ever say anything about me? I mean—probably not right? Which is fine! Actually, dont tell me—no, do. Or maybe—”

“She asks about you,” Megumi says, matter-of-fact in delivery, as he places a bag of popcorn in the microwave, but that doesn’t curb Yuuji’s enthusiasm. He’s practically bouncing, if he weren’t already—begging Megumi to spill the details, “What did she ask? Tell me! Tell me!”

“She once asked if you dye your hair.”

“That’s it?!” Yuuji screams, heartbroken, and visibly deflating.

Megumi shrugs, “Yuuta probably knows more. She’s his exchange buddy friend thing, so ask him.”

“I can’t ask him, he’s right next to her!” Yuuji pouts, “Wait, what does ‘exchange buddy friend thing’ mean? You don’t think they’re more than friends, right…? I can’t blame her, senpai is really pretty, too, and he can actually talk to her… so unfair.”

“You know, she’s not fluent, but she can understand some Japanese,” Megumi reminds him, “So, she can definitely hear you, and probably understand you.”

Yuuji’s shoulders slump, and once again, he turns around to look back at you. This time, you two make eye-contact, and that instant, Yuuji’s cheeks go pink, a nervous hand raised to wave at you, and instant internal regret at his actions; but, then you smile, and wave back, and Yuuji stays like that, dumbfounded and lovestruck and on autopilot as he waves with hearts in his eyes until Yuuta looks up from his phone and catches him.

Embarrassing. He knows he’s not the brightest, but he’s at a record high of self-embarrassment since he’s met you.

Yuuta finds himself chuckling when Yuuji spins around and goes back to prodding Megumi with questions. When you turn to face him again, it’s with a shy smile.

“I told you you’d like him,” Yuuta grins—the kind that seems sweet and innocent, but has just a kiss of that all-knowing tease to it; the kind that reminds you that he’s truly related to Satoru.

“Oh, be quiet,” you grumble, tucking your legs in and resting your chin on your knee. You spare another glance in Yuuji’s direction, for once, grateful for the language barrier between the two of you, when you turn back to Yuuta to proclaim: “I can like someone and not do anything about it. You’re real good at that, aren’t you?”

Yuuta’s slightly cocky grin falls into a scowl, and now you get to smile when he argues back, “We said not to bring up he who shall not be named in the presence of my friends!”

“Then don’t bring up my he who shall not be named in the presence of him!”

“Aren’t Americans all about forging new frontiers and chasing after your dreams?” he taunts, “Well, your dream is right in front of you.”

“My dream right now is to kill you.”

“Lucky for me, you’re going to have to hold off on that because your lover boy is approaching.”

You don’t have time to argue back with Yuuta when Megumi and Yuuji approach the living area with snacks in tow. Yuuta scoots to the tail end of the couch under the guise of giving Yuuji space to place the popcorn and nuggets in the center of the coffee table, but he has just enough time to flash you a wink before Yuuji settles in between. Megumi opts for the loveseat closets to Yuuta’s end of the couch, and you do your best not to reach over Yuuji and strangle Yuuta.

The boys decide on watching a movie you’ve never heard of, but Megumi reassures you it’ll be easy to follow and has English subtitles. You don’t mind, settling in to your corner of the couch with a handful of popcorn just as the title-screen for Human Earthworm 3 rolls across the TV.

You can follow along well-enough—even without subtitles, you get the gist of the movie. What you really find entertaining is Yuuji, who occasionally blurts out a comment or exclamation, or audibly coos whenever something sad is happening on screen. He’s almost as animated as the characters; you’re more of the silent-watcher type, but you find yourself endearing by this commentary, even if you can only understand parts of it.

You particularly appreciate the way that after every comment, he either motions to Megumi, or turns to you himself to repeat his thoughts in his best broken English, and even when you don’t understand his words, you understand him. His emotions are all on his sleeve: frustration, happiness, confusion, curiosity—communication between you two should be more difficult, but Yuuji makes it easy.

It gives you the confidence you cough out your own observation, “You, um… you’ve… seen the others? You seem to like this series.”

Across the room, Megumi and Yuuta hold their breaths, opting to not translate for you when you switch from Japanese to English. Yuuji is quiet for a moment, turned to face you with a slightly confused look on his face that makes you nervous, until his eyes brighten up and he smiles and begins nodding fervently—“Yeah—yeah, I do! It’s my… hm how do I say it… Oh! It’s my favorite!”

Between the smile on his face, the blush on his cheeks, and sincerity in his voice, you feel like you’re wrapped up in his world. It’s a little confusing, and scary, but it’s not all that bad. Maybe you can do something about it, eventually.

“I.. I think I like it, too.”

#anonymous #i love love through different languages...... love is the ultimate language or whatever satoru gojo said #this au was supposed to be a whole thing #but the toggle between differentiating japanese and english makes it hard ://#the only way i can think of that isnt a complete visual nightmare is with italics but even then... i hardly like using italics to begin wit #sigh... oh he's cute #also there's a WHOLE exchange student yuuta au in my head where hes the love interest #one of those easily 60k aus that would be beautiful but idek how to begin writing it #anyways yuuji cutest boy #yuuji x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #yuuji itadori x reader #yuji x reader #anyways i have more yuuji smut blurbs to finish but alas i must study 😔#yuuji.ask

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maraczeks · 6 months ago

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#girl who is so all i want for christmas is for a certain former harp teacher to get coffee with me is that too much to ask #gawd the way i'm waiting for her to reach out in jan the anticipation is really something . embarassing mostly #dec 27 2024 #j using heart emojis is sooooooo so special and personal #dec 30 2024 #literally cnpannot stop. need a lobotomy now!#any time in january im soooooo free can she PLZ #girl who is so so so cosmically intertwined with someone who doesnt not gaf #ugh #imagine ne if iw as normal

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novaursa · 4 months ago

Text

What Was Promised (1/2)

- Summary: From her childhood, Cersei has been told how she would one day stand next to the dragon as his queen. And she will. Just not in the way she dreamed of.

- Pairing: (targ)male!reader/Cersei Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+ (rating will go up in the next part)

- Next part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog @idenyimimdenial

The great hall of the Red Keep gleamed with the firelight of countless torches, their glow reflected in the polished stone floors and the intricate banners that hung from the towering columns. The dragon’s sigil was everywhere—deep crimson, stitched in black, a symbol of power that had ruled the Seven Kingdoms for centuries. The air was thick with the scent of roses and sandalwood, the perfume of courtiers mingling with the faint lingering aroma of charred logs from the grand hearth.

It was a day of great significance, for Lord Tywin Lannister had arrived at court, and with him, his wife and golden daughter, the jewel of Casterly Rock. Queen Rhaella had ensured that the reception was properly prepared—nothing too extravagant, nothing too humble. Just enough to show the power of House Targaryen without appearing desperate for the Hand’s favor.

Cersei Lannister stepped into the hall with all the grace of a future queen, her golden curls neatly arranged, her dress of Lannister red trimmed with cloth-of-gold. She was young, only a girl, but already carried herself with the poise of a lady twice her age. Her mother, Lady Joanna, stood at her side, her beauty still evident despite the years that had passed since she had served as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen. They walked forward with measured steps, heads held high, as though they owned the place, as though the Red Keep was just another extension of the power of the Rock.

Cersei's emerald eyes were searching, eager, expectant. She had dreamt of this moment countless times. She was here to see him—the prince of her dreams. The silver-haired, harp-playing Rhaegar, the one who was meant to be hers, the one her father spoke of in veiled, careful words when he discussed the future.

But Rhaegar was not here.

Instead, her gaze found someone else.

He stood at the foot of the throne, half-shrouded in shadow, but there was no mistaking him. The younger prince, the other dragon, the one who was spoken of in whispers and nervous glances. He was taller than she expected for his age—twelve, no more—but there was nothing soft or poetic about him.

Where Rhaegar’s features were almost ethereal, delicate as though sculpted by the gods themselves, his younger brother was sharp edges and intensity. His cheekbones were pronounced, his jaw strong, his mouth set in a firm line that did not hint at laughter or songs. His hair was the color of pale silver, falling past his shoulders in an unruly mane, not neatly brushed and tied as Rhaegar’s always was. But it was his eyes that caught her most of all.

Dark violet. Almost black in the dim light. Eyes that did not wander dreamily or hesitate in uncertainty. No, his gaze was piercing, cutting, as though he saw straight through whatever was placed before him and had already judged it unworthy.

Cersei felt her breath hitch for the briefest of moments.

The boy—no, the young man—was watching her. Not in the way the sons of lesser lords did, fumbling with their manners and shy smiles. He studied her like one might a new horse, assessing its strength, its potential, its worth.

A chill ran down her spine. And yet, she did not look away.

“Prince Rhaegar regrets he could not be here to greet you,” Queen Rhaella spoke, her voice as smooth and formal as always. She smiled at Lady Joanna, a forced thing, full of practiced pleasantries. “The Crown Prince has taken to his books this morning.”

Cersei knew it was not a true excuse. He did not wish to be here. He did not wish to see her.

The realization stung, but before the feeling could settle, a voice cut through the silence like a blade drawn from its sheath.

“Do you intend to greet the court or stand there like statues?”

Cersei's head snapped toward the speaker. It was him. The younger prince. His voice was not kind nor particularly cruel—it was simply commanding, as though he had every right to speak as he pleased, regardless of who was present.

Lady Joanna hesitated for only a heartbeat before she smiled, dipping her head. “Forgive us, Prince Y/N. We did not mean to delay.”

Cersei, however, did not bow her head. She held her chin high, staring at him, unafraid.

The prince’s lips curled slightly, as though amused. “And you are Cersei Lannister.” It was not a question.

“Yes, my prince.”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, and she felt something shift in the air between them. It was not the soft, sweeping romance she had imagined with Rhaegar. This was something else—something colder, sharper, more dangerous.

“You have your father’s arrogance,” he mused.

Cersei’s fingers curled into her skirts, though her face remained composed. “And you have your father’s cruelty.”

The queen inhaled sharply. Lady Joanna stiffened. The court fell into a hush.

For a heartbeat, she thought she had overstepped, that he would lash out, that she would be sent away in disgrace. But the prince only tilted his head, considering her with those dark, dragon’s eyes. And then, to her astonishment, he laughed. A short, low chuckle, but a laugh nonetheless.

“Well,” he murmured, stepping closer, his presence like a storm rolling in. “Perhaps this court will not be so dull after all.”

And just like that, the world she had envisioned shattered. Rhaegar was a ghost in her mind, forgotten in an instant.

Because this prince, this dragon with his words and unreadable eyes—he had stolen her attention, and he did not intend to give it back.

The morning sun spilled amber light over the Red Keep, casting shades across the polished marble floors of Cersei’s chambers. The scent of fresh marigolds and lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the faint salt-kissed breeze drifting from the sea beyond the city walls. Servants moved about her rooms with quiet efficiency, their hands deft as they worked, brushing, pinning, lacing. They had come with her from Casterly Rock, sworn to her service, and yet today, their movements seemed to irritate her more than usual.

Cersei sat before an ornate mirror, her emerald eyes fixed upon her own reflection as her maids carefully arranged her curls, weaving delicate strands of silk ribbon through the shimmering locks. The dress they had chosen for her was a masterpiece—deep crimson, embroidered with golden lions along the bodice, the Lannister pride stitched into every inch of fabric. It was meant to dazzle, to command attention, to remind the court that the blood of Casterly Rock ran strong in her veins. And yet, despite the finery, despite the grandeur of the day to come, she felt strangely restless.

"You’re nervous," Melara Hetherspoon's voice cut through the hush of the chamber, filled with the quiet certainty that only a childhood friend could have.

Cersei’s gaze flickered away from her reflection to meet Melara’s in the mirror. The girl sat on the edge of the bed, her brown curls pinned up neatly, her hands folded in her lap. Melara was dressed finely but plainly in Lannister colors, the daughter of a steward, a companion rather than an equal. Yet despite the difference in their stations, she had been Cersei’s shadow for as long as she could remember, the one who listened to her every whisper, shared in her every scheme and dream.

"Nonsense," Cersei scoffed, though the word lacked the sharpness she had intended. She turned her head slightly as her maid tightened the laces of her gown, the pressure making it momentarily difficult to breathe. "Why would I be nervous? It is just a tourney."

Melara tilted her head, studying her with a knowing look. "You have seen many tourneys before, and not once have you been like this. You did not even blink when Ser Tygett nearly killed that hedge knight in Lannisport, yet now you fidget like a girl half your age. Your hands," she gestured to Cersei’s lap, "you keep clenching them."

Cersei stilled, forcing her fingers to relax. She had not even noticed.

"It is excitement," she said, her voice smooth, practiced, the lie slipping easily from her tongue. "The festival is a grand occasion. The King himself declared it in honor of the Maiden’s Bounty."

Melara let out a quiet laugh, soft but not entirely believing. "No one truly celebrates the Maiden’s Bounty, not like this. It is only an excuse for the lords to drink and fight, and for the knights to show off before the court."

"Then I shall enjoy the spectacle," Cersei replied coolly, returning her gaze to the mirror.

Melara did not respond immediately. Instead, she watched, thoughtful, as the maids finished their work, stepping back to admire their handiwork. Cersei looked flawless—her golden curls spilling down her back like molten sunlight, her gown a perfect fit, the crimson deep enough to remind those who looked upon her of power, of blood, of the lion’s hunger.

Melara waited until the maids had drifted away before speaking again, this time in a quieter tone. "It is him, isn’t it?"

Cersei stiffened.

Melara took her silence as confirmation. "Not Rhaegar," she continued, her voice just above a whisper, as if speaking his name would summon him into the room. "The other one. The younger prince."

Cersei inhaled slowly, forcing her expression into something unreadable, something detached. "Do not be foolish, Melara."

But her friend only smiled, leaning forward slightly, as though she had just uncovered a great secret. "I saw the way you looked at him in the hall. And more importantly, I saw the way he looked at you."

Cersei felt her pulse quicken, though she did not allow her face to betray her. That moment in the great hall had been playing in her mind ever since, playing over and over like a song she could not banish. She had come expecting Rhaegar—gentle, poetic Rhaegar. Instead, she had met his brother, a dragon of an entirely different kind.

"You mistake curiosity for something else," Cersei said, reaching for the gold bracelet on her vanity, fastening it around her wrist with deliberate movements. "He is different, that is all. Not like Rhaegar."

Melara smirked. "No. He is nothing like Rhaegar. Rhaegar is the song before the storm." She hesitated, as if weighing her words. "But he… he is the storm itself."

Cersei’s fingers stilled against the bracelet. She hated how well Melara knew her, how easily she saw the things Cersei had not yet dared to name.

"It does not matter," Cersei said at last, standing, the silks of her gown rustling as she did. "I am to be queen one day. It will be Rhaegar at my side, not him."

"Are you certain of that?" Melara asked, rising as well, her expression unreadable. "It seems to me that fate rarely follows the path we expect."

Cersei did not answer.

The tourney field awaited, filled with banners and lords and knights eager to spill blood in the name of sport. The whole court would be there. Rhaegar would be there. And so would he.

As she walked toward the doors, she could not deny the thrill that curled deep in her stomach, the thrill she had not felt when thinking of Rhaegar.

She had dreamt all her life of the perfect prince, the perfect future.

But dragons were unpredictable things. And she was beginning to wonder if she had been looking at the wrong one all along.

The tourney grounds outside King’s Landing were alive with the roar of the crowd, the banners of a hundred noble houses fluttering in the late morning breeze. Dust rose from the well-trodden earth, mixing with the scent of sweat, steel, and horses. The air thrummed with anticipation as the latest round of jousts unfolded before the assembled court.

The high stands, raised above the lists, were draped in black and crimson, the sigils of House Targaryen billowing in the warm wind. King Aerys sat upon his elevated throne, his expression impassive for the moment, his mind not yet clouded by the madness that would one day consume him. His queen, Rhaella, sat beside him, pale and drawn, her beauty diminished by the toll of years and sorrow.

Cersei sat among her family, her curls gleaming like spun sunlight as she leaned forward, her eyes alight with a different kind of hunger. Lady Joanna sat beside her, regal and poised, though her gaze flickered to her husband with veiled unease. Tywin Lannister watched the field with the keen, calculating stare of a man weighing every detail, his arms folded across his chest. Jaime, seated next to Cersei, was grinning at the displays of skill, though his hand often went to the sword at his hip as though he longed to test himself against the knights below.

Beside Cersei, Melara Hetherspoon nudged her lightly. “You’ve hardly said a word,” she whispered, her voice barely heard over the din of the crowd. “I think you’re holding your breath.”

Cersei ignored her, her gaze locked onto the field, onto him.

The younger prince, the dragon who did not sing songs, the one who wielded a blade as though it were an extension of his own will, was preparing to ride. His armor gleamed a shade darker than the polished steel of his brother’s—blackened plate, edged with gold filigree in the shape of dragon wings that spread across his pauldrons. His breastplate was adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, its eyes set with dark rubies that burned like embers in the midday sun. Unlike Rhaegar, whose armor bore an air of chivalric elegance, his was made for battle, built not for the beauty of poetry but for the raw, unyielding force of war.

His destrier was as fearsome as its rider—a great black beast, towering and powerful, its mane braided with silver rings. Its eyes, dark as night, flared with barely restrained aggression, its breaths coming in great snorts as it stomped the ground impatiently. This was no simple tournament steed, trained to parade before noble ladies; it was a warhorse, a creature that had seen battle, that had felt the clash of steel and the charge of foes beneath its hooves.

Cersei exhaled slowly, her hands curled into the fabric of her gown.

Across the field, his opponent prepared to meet him. Robert Baratheon.

The young Lord of Storm’s End was already a force to be reckoned with. Barrel-chested and broad-shouldered even at his age, he was clad in armor of gold and black, the stag of his house emblazoned proudly upon his chest. His warhammer was absent for the joust, replaced with a lance, but his strength was undeniable. He had bested several knights already, his victories cheered by the stormlanders in the crowd.

As the herald called their names, the field fell into a hush.

Robert set his lance, gripping it tightly as he eyed his cousin with a grin, his confidence unshaken. But the younger prince only adjusted his grip, lowering his helm with a slow, deliberate motion.

The trumpets sounded.

The horses sprang forward, pounding the earth with thunderous force. Dust and sand kicked up around them as they closed the distance, lances aimed true, speed and strength converging in a single violent moment.

The impact was deafening.

Robert’s lance shattered upon the younger prince’s breastplate, but it did not unseat him. The force of the blow barely made him falter, his grip on the reins unshaken.

But his lance—his lance struck Robert square in the chest with a force so brutal, so unrelenting, that it sent the stag lord flying.

The crowd gasped as Robert crashed onto the ground with a resounding thud, the air driven from his lungs. His armor caved slightly where the lance had struck, the impact merciless, unyielding.

The younger prince did not hesitate. He did not celebrate, did not raise his lance in victory as other knights might have. Instead, he dismounted in one fluid motion, his black cloak billowing behind him as he strode forward, his boots kicking up the dust that still hung in the air.

A predator approaching fallen prey.

Robert gasped, rolling onto his side, one gauntleted hand clawing at the grass as though trying to pull himself upright. His face was red, veins standing out on his thick neck as he fought to regain his breath.

The prince stopped a pace away, tilting his head as he observed the fallen stag. He said nothing, simply watching, waiting.

From the stands, Steffon Baratheon surged to his feet. “Maester!” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. “Fetch a maester!”

Beside him, Stannis sat stone-faced, his blue eyes unreadable. Renly, still too young to understand, only clutched at his mother’s skirts.

King Aerys, whose interest had been fleeting throughout the day, leaned forward, his gaze flickering between the two young men. There was no amusement on his face, only the glint of something deeper, something calculating.

“End this,” Steffon called out again, his voice edged with fury. “The boy is hurt!”

Still, the prince did not move, did not offer Robert a hand, did not mock him, did not even acknowledge the cries for the match to be halted. He simply stared.

Robert’s breaths came shallowly, his chest still heaving, but he met the prince’s gaze with a look of smoldering defiance. He coughed, forcing himself onto his knees, his fingers curling into fists.

For a long moment, the two merely looked at one another—two boys who would one day be men, two warriors who would one day lead armies against one another, two forces destined to collide not just in sport, but in war.

Then, without a word, the younger prince turned, his black cloak trailing behind him as he strode away, leaving Robert to rise on his own.

The crowd cheered, but Cersei did not hear them.

Her heart was pounding, not from fear, not from shock, but from something far more dangerous.

Robert Baratheon had been struck down before the eyes of the court. But the only thing Cersei could see was the dragon who had done it.

The roar of the crowd echoed across the tournament field, a storm of voices calling for the victorious prince, for the younger dragon who had shattered the stag in a single devastating charge. The nobles in the stands cheered, their voices raised in admiration or in shock, their eyes drawn to the spectacle that had unfolded before them.

Cersei, however, did not join in the cheers.

She sat stiffly in her seat, her hands curled into the fabric of her gown, her lips pressed together as her gaze followed the figure in blackened armor. The younger prince strode away from Robert Baratheon’s crumpled form, his movements slow, deliberate, untouched by hesitation or triumph. The way he walked—without flourish, without the performative airs of a knight playing to the crowd—was something primal. Something cold.

And yet, he did not stop. He did not bask in the victory, did not raise his fist in conquest or turn to acknowledge the lords who called his name in approval. There was no pause, no moment of indulgence, no seeking of favor from the ladies in the stands as was tradition.

Cersei’s fingers tightened.

She had watched every other knight and noble son in the lists play their part in the tournament’s pageantry. When they won, they turned to the high stands, their eyes sweeping over the noble ladies assembled, seeking the favor of a maiden to bless them for the next round. Garlands of flowers were tossed from delicate hands, a ritual of admiration, of courtly love. Even Rhaegar had done it—turning his solemn, poetic gaze to some lady, offering her the ghost of a smile before accepting her token with princely grace.

But not him.

The younger prince gave the ladies of the court nothing. No glance, no acknowledgment, no gesture to suggest that he sought the favor of any woman. Not even a flicker of amusement at the hopeful looks cast his way.

He walked past the edge of the lists without even turning toward them.

Cersei felt something painful twist in her chest.

“He doesn’t look up,” Melara murmured beside her, her voice laced with intrigue. “Not at all.”

Cersei’s nails dug into the embroidery of her gown. “So it seems,” she said coolly, her voice controlled, measured. But inside, a slow heat was rising, curling around her like a fire starved for air.

The knights who played at chivalry always turned to the ladies, always sought their admiration, their favor. They fought for love, for glory, for the approval of noble maidens.

But this one—the younger prince—fought for nothing but himself.

“He didn’t even glance this way,” Melara mused, as if she, too, could not quite believe it. “Do you think he will at least claim a favor before the next round?”

Cersei exhaled sharply, not looking away from the retreating figure. “He should.”

But the moment the words left her lips, she knew the truth.

He wouldn’t.

He had no need to.

The realization made her blood run hot, an unfamiliar and infuriating feeling settling deep within her. Men had sought her favor since she had been old enough to understand what it meant. She had seen the way boys and young lords looked at her, the way their eyes lingered, the way they blushed and stammered in her presence.

But not him.

The younger prince had stolen the attention of the entire tournament, had commanded the field with the same ruthless efficiency that he carried in his every step, and yet he did not spare so much as a glance toward the highborn ladies watching from the stands. He had bested Robert Baratheon in a way that left no doubt of his dominance, had torn through the young stag’s pride as easily as his lance had broken against his chest—and still, he gave nothing of himself to the audience.

Not to the lords who cheered him.

Not to the ladies who waited with hopeful eyes.

Not to her.

Cersei’s jaw tightened.

Across the stands, she saw her father’s expression remain unreadable, but she knew him well enough to recognize the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair. Tywin Lannister was assessing, weighing, calculating—as he always did.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Melara’s voice was quieter now, but edged with curiosity. “I wonder why.”

Cersei inhaled slowly, forcing her face into a mask of calm. “He thinks himself above it,” she said. “That’s all.”

She did not know if she believed her own words.

Perhaps it was true. Perhaps he did not need the affections of noble ladies, nor the empty gestures of courtly love. But that did not make it any less infuriating.

Her green eyes followed him as he disappeared beyond the tournament tents, swallowed by the shadows cast by the towering banners.

He had left the field victorious.

And he had left her burning.

The cheers still echoed behind you as you strode from the lists, the weight of your armor pressing against your shoulders, though it was not fatigue that urged you to leave. The tournament field was a spectacle for those who played at war, for lords who measured their worth in the eyes of gathered ladies, for knights who thought glory was something that could be won in an afternoon’s game.

You had no use for it.

Victory meant nothing to you. Not here. Not in a contest where the lances were dulled and the stakes were nothing more than favor and pride. You had dismounted Robert Baratheon not out of desire for admiration, nor for the hollow cheers of the court, but because it had been expected. Because the moment you entered the lists, you had known there was only one outcome—one where you stood, and the other fell.

The warhorse beneath you had sensed it as well. The beast had known that there would be no hesitation in your grip, no tremor of uncertainty as you set your lance and charged. A horse was a reflection of its rider, and your destrier had carried you with the same unrelenting force that burned in your blood.

Yet now, as you removed yourself from the noise, from the fluttering banners and the awed-eyed stares from the stands, you felt something else stirring. Not regret. Not satisfaction.

Only impatience.

The sun burned high overhead as you moved past the tournament tents, past the gathered squires and stable boys who scrambled to make way. You tore off your helm, the metal still warm from the heat of the day, your pale hair damp with sweat. You loosened the clasps of your gauntlets, flexing your fingers as you stepped into the shade of a pavilion, exhaling a slow breath.

Then came the sound of footsteps behind you. Light, deliberate, lacking urgency yet unmistakably seeking you out.

You did not need to turn to know who it was.

“I suppose I should not be surprised,” Rhaegar’s voice was as calm as ever, smooth and measured like the notes of his harp. But beneath it, there was something else. A quiet accusation.

You did not immediately respond, instead unfastening the last of your armor, placing it aside with deliberate movements. The weight of it had never felt burdensome, but it was a relief to be free of it nonetheless.

“You left before the final bout,” Rhaegar continued, stepping closer. You could feel his gaze on you, assessing, searching. “You know what they will say.”

Finally, you turned, meeting your brother’s eyes. They were different then your own, softer, their depths filled with thoughts that did not concern themselves with war or blood.

“They will say whatever they wish,” you said, your voice lacking the concern he so clearly wished to find in you. “It changes nothing.”

Rhaegar studied you, his silver hair falling in waves over the high collar of his tunic, his princely robes immaculate even in the dust of the tournament grounds. He had never been one for these games either, not in the way knights and lesser lords were, but he understood their importance. He understood what was expected.

And you? You had never cared for what was expected.

“What was that?” he asked at last, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “With Robert Baratheon.”

You tilted your head slightly, expression unmoved. “A joust.”

Rhaegar’s gaze sharpened. “No. It was more than that.”

A flicker of amusement touched your lips. “You always see more in things than is there, brother.”

Rhaegar exhaled through his nose, his patience a thing that had been tempered by years of dealing with courtiers, with sycophants, with those who sought his favor with honeyed words and false adoration. But with you, there was no pretense, no masks. Only the truth as it was, sharp and unyielding.

“You could have unhorsed him without such force,” Rhaegar said finally. “You could have made it a match of skill, of grace. Instead, you chose to break him.”

You shrugged, feeling the tension still coiled in your muscles. “He should not have entered the lists if he was not prepared to fall.”

Rhaegar shook his head slightly, as if trying to decipher something that had no easy answer. “This is a festival. A tourney meant to honor the Maiden’s Bounty, not a battlefield.”

“And yet, even you did not let your opponent win,” you countered, watching him closely.

Rhaegar’s lips pressed together. “That is not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

For a moment, silence stretched between you. The sounds of the tourney continued in the distance, the cheers for the next round of jousts ringing out across the field, but here, beneath the shade of the pavilion, it was only the two of you.

Rhaegar’s fingers twitched at his side, as if he longed for his harp, for something to ground himself. “You should have taken a favor.”

You let out a short breath of amusement. “And who would I have asked?”

Rhaegar’s expression shifted slightly, though whether it was amusement or exasperation, you could not tell. “Do you truly not see it?”

You arched a brow.

“The way they look at you,” Rhaegar said simply. “The way she looks at you.”

You did not need to ask who he meant. You had felt the weight of her gaze, the way it followed you even after you had left the field, the way it burned with something that was not admiration nor simple curiosity.

Cersei Lannister.

Golden-haired, green-eyed, the lion’s daughter, the girl who thought herself already a queen. You had seen the way she carried herself, the way she held her chin high, her pride wrapped around her like a cloak. She had come to court for Rhaegar, had set her eyes upon the prince she believed would be her match.

But now, her gaze had shifted.

You had felt it.

And you had ignored it.

“I do not fight for garlands,” you said simply.

Rhaegar’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps you should.”

You gave him a look. “Would that have pleased you? If I had played the game, if I had turned to the high stands and sought some lady’s favor? If I had chosen her?”

Rhaegar exhaled quietly, his hands clasping behind his back as he shook his head. “It does not matter what pleases me.” He met your gaze, something unreadable in his expression. “But it matters what pleases her.”

You did not respond.

Because you knew, in that moment, that Rhaegar was right.

And that made it all the more infuriating.

The air in the woods outside Lannisport was thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves, the trees bending overhead like silent sentinels as Cersei and Melara made their way deeper into the dark. The torches they carried flickered weakly against the wind, casting long, trembling shadows over the twisted roots and jagged rocks that jutted from the ground like bones protruding from flesh.

The night was cold, colder than it should have been in late summer, and the unease that curled in Cersei’s stomach had nothing to do with the chill. She had wanted this—had insisted upon it ever since the whispers first reached her ears, since she had learned of the woman they called Maggy the Frog, the fortune-teller who lived beyond the safety of the town, in a hovel of wood and straw, wrapped in the stench of strange potions and foul magics.

Melara had tried to protest, had spoken of bad omens, of curses, of the punishment they would face if they were caught sneaking out of the Rock in the dead of night. But Cersei had silenced her with a look, her green eyes burning with something deeper than mere curiosity.

She needed to know.

Would she be Rhaegar’s? Would she be queen? Would the life she had dreamed of since she was a girl come to pass, or was it all just a story told to her by her father to keep her obedient, to keep her waiting?

The door to the hovel creaked as Cersei pushed it open, the wooden frame swollen with dampness, resisting her entry. The scent that met her inside was almost unbearable—mildewed herbs, stale sweat, the coppery tang of something older, something rotten. A single candle burned on a wooden table, its wax dripped over the edge in thick, hardened streams.

Maggy the Frog sat hunched in the dim light, her yellowed eyes lifting from whatever foul concoction she had been stirring in a chipped clay bowl. Her skin was a sallow, papery thing, stretched too tight over her sharp bones, her lips cracked from age and the sharpness of whatever she had been chewing.

“You’ve come,” Maggy rasped, her voice thick with phlegm, as though she had been expecting them all along. “Come closer, golden child.”

Cersei swallowed, forcing herself to move forward, ignoring the way Melara hovered near the doorway, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“I want my fortune told,” Cersei said, her voice strong despite the unease that curled around her.

Maggy’s lips peeled back into something that was not quite a smile. “They all do.”

Cersei pulled the pouch from her cloak and placed it on the table with a deliberate motion, the weight of the gold inside clinking softly as it settled.

Maggy did not reach for it. Instead, she tilted her head, her yellowed eyes gleaming. “Gold won’t buy you truth, little lion. Truth is paid in blood.”

Melara made a small sound in the back of her throat, but Cersei did not hesitate. She pulled a small dagger from her sleeve and pressed the tip to her palm, slicing just enough for a bead of crimson to well up against her pale skin.

Maggy’s gnarled fingers shot out with surprising speed, catching Cersei’s wrist in a grip far stronger than it should have been. She turned her hand, watching as the blood gathered, thick and glistening, before she brought Cersei’s palm to her lips and licked the drop away with a tongue that was too hot, too rough.

Cersei recoiled, but Maggy’s grip held firm for a moment longer before she released her, letting her palm drop. The old woman’s pupils dilated, her breath rattling through her teeth as she leaned back, her bony shoulders shaking with a sound that could have been laughter.

“You will marry,” Maggy said, her voice lower now, heavier. “But not to a prince.”

Cersei’s breath caught. “That’s not true.”

Maggy’s lip curled. “Oh, but it is, little lion.” Her fingers traced a slow, deliberate pattern on the table, the candlelight flickering against the sharp angles of her face. “You will marry a king. A great king, a terrible king.”

Cersei frowned, confusion warring with the certainty she had always carried. She was meant for Rhaegar. Her father had said so. Rhaegar was the prince, the heir, the one she had dreamed of since she was a girl playing at being queen.

“And will I be his queen?” she demanded.

Maggy’s laughter scraped against the inside of her skull. “Oh, yes. A queen you shall be, golden and fierce, with a crown as heavy as your father’s ambitions.” Her yellowed eyes gleamed. “But it is not the prince who will take you to his bed, not the prince who will plant his seed in your womb.”

A shiver coiled down Cersei’s spine.

She swallowed, forcing her voice to remain steady. “How many children will I have?”

Maggy inhaled sharply, her body shuddering, as though she had drawn in something unseen. For a moment, she was silent, her head tilted as if listening to a voice only she could hear. Then, her lips curled back, revealing blackened gums.

“Three.”

Cersei's fingers were now pressing against the cut in her palm, as if grounding herself. “And will they be strong?”

Maggy’s gaze snapped to her, and in the dim candlelight, her pupils looked like slits. “Oh, yes.” Her voice was thick with something dark, something ancient. “Strong, with sharp teeth and scales beneath their skin. Born in fire, bound in blood.”

Melara whimpered beside her.

Cersei felt the air shift, as if the walls of the hovel had drawn closer. “That’s nonsense,” she said, but her voice was quieter now.

Maggy leaned forward, her breath sour, her lips splitting into something that was not quite a smile. “You asked for truth, child. And truth is what I have given you.”

Cersei’s heart pounded. She did not know why, but something in her bones told her that this was not the prophecy she had wanted. Not the fate she had been promised.

And yet, in the deepest parts of herself, she felt it stir.

A king, not a prince. A brood of children with sharp teeth and scales.

The scent of blood was thick in the air.

And for the first time in her life, Cersei Lannister felt afraid.

The halls of Casterly Rock had always been grand, towering above the sea with their ancient stone walls carved deep into the mountainside, but in the moons since Joanna Lannister’s passing, the castle felt emptier, colder. The great hall, where once warmth and laughter had filled the air, now seemed a place of solemnity, where meals were taken in silence, where the weight of loss pressed heavy upon those who still remained.

Cersei sat at her father’s table, her hands resting in her lap, her fingers curled against the rich embroidery of her gown. She barely touched her food, though the feast was laid out in abundance—roast venison, thick slices of crusty bread, buttered turnips, and a golden swan stuffed with figs and almonds. The scents filled the air, rich and indulgent, but they did not stir her appetite.

She had not recovered.

It had been several moons since her mother’s passing, and yet the ache in her chest remained as raw as the day Joanna had been taken from her. The wailing of the babe had been the last sound she had heard before the world cracked apart. He had come screaming into the world, red-faced and monstrous, and in his place, her mother had gone cold and still.

She did not look at him.

Tyrion sat at the far end of the table, where the nurses had settled him, fussing over the child who had ruined everything. He was too small, too weak, his head misshapen, his eyes different—one green, like hers, the other a muddled color that she did not care to name. He did not belong.

Tywin Lannister had not once looked at the boy. Not truly. He had named him, had ensured that he was fed, but there was nothing in his eyes when they rested upon his youngest son. Tyrion might have been a ghost for all the attention he received.

But he was not the ghost that haunted them.

The clatter of silverware against a plate broke the heavy silence. “Prince Rhaegar is to be wed,” Tywin said at last, his voice calm, measured, as though discussing trade routes or taxation. “The match has been set.”

Cersei’s heart clenched, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her skirts.

“Elia Martell,” Tywin continued, taking a sip of his wine. “Of Dorne.”

Jaime, seated beside her, exhaled through his nose, his golden brow furrowing. “Dorne?”

Tywin’s gaze flickered to his son, his expression unreadable. “Dorne,” he confirmed. “It seems the King has found their alliance of greater worth than ours.”

Cersei stared at her father, trying to read his face, trying to find some sign that this was not true, that he would not allow this.

“But you said—” she stopped herself, her voice tight.

She had spent her whole life believing she was meant for Rhaegar. That she would sit beside him, golden and radiant, the queen of Westeros, the woman who would bring House Lannister to its rightful place of prominence. It had been promised. Her father had spoken of it, had planned for it.

And now, it was gone.

Tywin did not so much as blink. “What I said is irrelevant. Aerys has made his choice.”

Cersei’s chest burned. The wine in her cup sat untouched, her appetite forgotten. She had dreamed of Rhaegar, had imagined the way he would look at her when they were wed, how he would lift her hand in court, how they would rule together. But now, all of it—everything—had been stolen from her.

And by a Dornish woman.

She swallowed, her voice colder when she finally spoke. “Elia is sickly.”

“A match is not made for love, nor for health,” Tywin said, his voice stern. “It is made for power.”

Jaime leaned back in his chair, his jaw tight. “And what power does Dorne offer that we do not?”

Tywin did not answer at once, simply staring at his son in that way that made Jaime bristle like an unruly boy before his tutor. But then, he took another slow sip of his wine before answering.

“Dorne remains untouched,” he said. “They do not bow easily, nor do they forget the past. Aerys believes that by binding Rhaegar to the Martells, he will ensure their loyalty should the day come that he has need of them.” His mouth pressed into a thin line. “It is a foolish decision.”

Cersei barely heard him.

Her hands trembled beneath the table, rage curling in her chest, coiling like a serpent around her ribs. She had never wanted something so badly in her life. It was meant to be hers. It was supposed to be hers.

“Then what of me?” she asked, her voice quiet, but the sharpness in it cut through the air like a blade.

Tywin’s gaze settled on her, cold and considering. “You will marry well,” he said, as though it were an answer, as though it could possibly be enough.

Cersei’s throat burned.

Rhaegar was slipping through her fingers, his name already entwined with another. Her father would not challenge the King’s decision, not openly, and so she would be left with whatever match he deemed suitable.

It wasn’t fair.

She was about to speak, to press him further, when Tywin set his goblet down with a firm clink, his expression shifting slightly. “There is still the younger prince.”

The room fell silent.

Cersei felt something inside her shift.

Jaime glanced at her, his lips pressing into a thin line. “The younger prince?” he repeated, his tone wary.

Tywin met Cersei’s gaze, his gold-flecked eyes unblinking. “Rhaegar will be wed, but Prince Y/N remains unspoken for. A match could still be made.”

Cersei’s pulse quickened, something hot and sharp rising inside her.

The younger prince.

Not the prince of songs, not the one who played his harp and whispered of prophecy. Not the dreamer with faraway eyes.

No.

The dragon who did not bow.

The one who had looked at Robert Baratheon like prey before sending him crashing into the dirt. The one who had walked past the highborn ladies of the court without so much as a glance, who had denied her the recognition she deserved.

She had spent years trying to forget the way he had made her feel that day. And yet, here was her father, offering him to her, as if that had been the plan all along.

Cersei’s fingers curled against the table.

The lion and the dragon.

Her future had been stolen from her once.

She would not allow it to happen again.

The Sept of Baelor was ablaze with the light of a thousand candles, their glow reflecting off the pale marble columns and the golden inlays that adorned the high domed ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, mingling with the perfume of the lords and ladies who had gathered to witness the wedding of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell. The nobility of Westeros had come in droves, dressed in their finest silks and velvets, the colors of their houses woven in elaborate embroidery that shimmered under the light of the stained-glass windows.

Cersei stood among them, her hands clasped before her, her expression composed, yet beneath the rich fabric of her gown, her fingers dug into her palms. She wore Lannister crimson, the color of blood and power, her hair woven into intricate braids threaded with gold. The weight of her jewelry, heavy with rubies, felt suffocating. Yet none of it—none of the wealth, none of the grandeur—could mask the fury simmering beneath her skin.

This was meant to be her day.

She had spent her life imagining herself in Elia Martell’s place, had dreamed of walking these steps, of standing beside Rhaegar as he lifted the crown from the Septon’s hands. But instead, she was here as a spectator, as an outsider watching her future slip from her grasp.

The Dornish princess stood beside Rhaegar at the altar, delicate and dark-haired, her features refined, yet too thin, too frail. Cersei’s lips pressed into a thin line. She looked wrong beside him. The silver-haired prince should have had a queen of gold and fire, not one of sand and shadow.

Jaime stood beside her, his posture relaxed, but she knew him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched every time he glanced toward their father. Tywin Lannister stood tall, unmoving, his face impassive as he observed the ceremony. His pride had been wounded when Aerys had denied him, when the King had chosen a Martell over a Lannister. But he was not a man who sulked. He was a man who planned. And Cersei knew—knew—that her father was already thinking of his next move.

And then, she saw him.

He stood near the altar, clad in blackened armor chased with gold, the sigil of House Targaryen embossed upon his breastplate. But he was no boy anymore. No longer the sharp-tongued prince who had scorned the pageantry of the tourney, no longer the youth who had dismounted Robert Baratheon with merciless precision.

No, this was a man.

He was taller now, broader, his presence commanding even among the finest knights and lords of the realm. His hair, the color of pale silver, was longer, untamed by the careful braiding of the court, falling over his shoulders like strands of white fire. His face had sharpened with age, his features cut from something harder than mere Valyrian beauty. And his eyes—those dark violet eyes—held the same piercing weight as they had years ago, but now they had deepened, grown colder.

Cersei felt her breath catch, only for a moment.

He had always been different from Rhaegar. Where her first love had been soft, poetic, a prince out of songs, his brother had been something else entirely. He did not play harps, did not dream of prophecy. He was the fire itself, untamed, unpredictable.

And now, as he stood among his kin, watching the ceremony unfold, he carried himself with the confidence of one who did not need to seek approval, of one who knew his place and took it without asking.

Cersei swallowed, her nails biting into her palms.

The sight of him unsettled her. Infuriated her.

For years, she had burned under the slight of his disregard, under the weight of the moment in the tourney when he had walked past the highborn ladies, past her, as if she had been nothing. Even when her father had spoken of a match between them, she had seethed at the idea that she had been an afterthought, that she had been offered only because Rhaegar had been lost to her.

And yet, standing here, looking at him now, something twisted deep inside her.

This man—this dragon—was not lesser than his brother. He was not a shadow to Rhaegar’s light.

He was something else entirely.

The ceremony moved forward, the Septon speaking his words, the crowd solemn in their reverence. But Cersei barely heard them.

Because the younger prince had turned his head—just slightly, just enough.

And his gaze met hers.

A single moment. A flicker of recognition.

And then, just as quickly as it had come, he looked away.

As if she were no more than a passing detail in the grander scheme of things.

Cersei’s chest tightened, a slow heat curling through her veins.

Oh, she would not be overlooked again.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was alive with revelry, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine, roasted meats, and the heady perfume of silk-draped nobles. Banners of House Targaryen and House Martell hung above the high table, their colors vibrant in the glow of the massive chandeliers overhead. Musicians played a lively tune, the sound of lutes and drums filling the chamber as lords and ladies twirled across the polished stone floor in practiced, elegant steps.

Cersei sat with her family, a goblet of wine in her hand, though she barely touched it. Her gaze flitted over the guests, her lips curving slightly as she noted the spectacle before her—Elia Martell, seated beside Rhaegar, her dark eyes alight with quiet laughter as she spoke with the princess of Dorne. Rhaegar, as always, held himself with careful grace, nodding along to whatever pleasantries were exchanged.

But it was not them she sought tonight.

Her green eyes drifted past the lords and ladies, past the highborn maidens whispering behind their jeweled hands, past the knights exchanging boasts over their cups.

And then, she found him.

He lingered at the edge of the feast, away from the laughter and the dances, his presence like a shadow against the light. He had shed his armor for the evening, but there was nothing soft about him. He wore black, as was his custom, his tunic trimmed with gold embroidery in the shape of dragon wings. His silver hair, long and unbound, fell over his shoulders, the candlelight catching on the strands, turning them into something almost molten.

He was watching. Not the dancing, not the king’s table, but the room itself—the people, the movement, the way power shifted within the chamber like unseen currents in the sea.

Cersei smirked. He had no love for the games of court, and yet here he was, playing them all the same.

She rose smoothly from her seat, ignoring the way Jaime’s gaze flicked toward her, questioning. She did not need his approval.

Her steps were slow, deliberate, the golden fabric of her gown pooling around her feet as she moved through the crowd. She could feel eyes on her as she passed—some admiring, some envious—but she paid them no mind.

When she reached him, she did not wait for an invitation. "You do not dance," she said, tilting her head as she looked up at him. It was not a question.

He turned his gaze to her, dark violet eyes unreadable. "No."

Cersei arched a delicate brow. "You should. It is a wedding, after all."

He exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to amusement she had ever seen from him. "Then let the newlyweds dance."

Cersei smiled, slow and knowing. "That was not a request."

Something flickered in his expression then, something biting and unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might refuse her outright. But then, to her satisfaction, his lips curved—not in a smile, but something close. "So it’s a demand, then?"

She stepped closer, the warmth of the hall making the space between them feel smaller. "It is."

He regarded her for a moment longer, then, with an almost lazy motion, offered her his hand. "Very well, Lady Lannister."

Cersei’s breath caught, but she did not let it show.

He led her to the dance floor with slow, measured steps. The moment they stepped into the swirling mass of couples, the music shifted into something deeper, richer, the lutes strumming a more sensual tune.

His hand settled at her waist, firm but not rough. His grip was steady, unyielding, nothing like the soft, feather-light touch of the boys who had danced with her before. There was no hesitation in him, no need to impress, no eagerness to please.

Cersei had danced with Rhaegar once, at a feast long ago. He had been graceful, ethereal in the way he moved, as if he was not quite of this world. But this… this was different.

This was heat. Strength. Control.

She pressed closer, just enough to test him, just enough to see if he would pull away. He didn’t. "You are not like your brother," she murmured, tilting her chin up to look at him.

He smirked slightly, but his grip did not loosen. "I should hope not."

"Rhaegar is kind," she continued, her voice smooth, measured. "He sings songs. Writes poetry." She let her nails graze over the back of his hand where it held hers. "But you…"

His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes. "Me?"

"You are sharp edges and fire," she whispered. "You burn."

The music swelled, and he spun her, his hand steady as he guided her movements, never faltering, never letting her out of his grasp. "You play a dangerous game, Lady Lannister," he murmured as he pulled her back to him.

Cersei smiled, her pulse quickening. "And if I win?"

His expression shifted, darkened, something unreadable flickering in those violet depths. He leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek, his lips so close that she could almost taste the wine on them.

For a heartbeat, she thought he would kiss her.

But instead, his hand found her throat.

Not with force. Not with cruelty. But with purpose.

His fingers rested just below her jaw, his thumb ghosting over her pulse. He did not squeeze, did not press, but the weight of his hand was unmistakable. A silent reminder that he could.

Cersei inhaled sharply, her chest rising against his. She did not pull away.

His lips grazed over hers, so close that she could feel the ghost of a kiss that never quite came. His voice, when he spoke, was low and rich, curling around her like smoke. "Be careful what you wish for," he murmured. "You just might get it."

Cersei’s pulse thrummed beneath his hand, but she met his gaze unflinchingly. "I always get what I want."

A slow smirk touched his lips, and then—just as quickly as he had drawn close—he released her.

The music slowed, and they stepped apart, the space between them charged with something unsaid.

Cersei exhaled, smoothing the fabric of her gown as she lifted her chin.

No, he was nothing like Rhaegar.

And that was precisely why she wanted him.

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