#*eyes of iron intensifies*

[pokeypoqi]

i lied actually next up is not oc refs because i drew saint out of impulse and yeah anyway green thing

[incognit0slut]

The Last Laugh

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spencer is forced to share a room with his rival. This is part two of Lose Control but can be read as a standalone.

warnings: sexual tension, a lot of banter, female oral, edging, rough sex, unplanned creampie (is that a thing?) words: 5,3k a/n: someone requested a part two with a one-bedroom trope and since this is one of my favorite stories, I had to do it

...Thinkin' you're winnin' with all of your grinning but I got the last laugh...

"I'M NOT SLEEPING WITH REID."

The idea was absurd. Ridiculous. Insane. Out of all the people in her team, why was she paired up with him?

According to Garcia, the only choice she had to spend the night in this remote town was with the person she least wanted to engage with. Did Garcia not know how much she had been trying to avoid him? How much she had been attempting to act as if the mere proximity with him wasn't making her lose her mind?

"Why not?" Garcia asked, handing her a key. "He's not that bad of a roommate, well, if you overlook his tendency to share random facts in the middle of the night, then he's really not that bad."

"Do you not hear yourself?" She steadied her gaze to her friend. "You want me to share a room with the person I hate the most?"

Garcia rolled her eyes. "You guys really should stop with this nonsense. You're both grown adults."

"I'll treat him like an adult if he starts to act like one." Her eyes drifted toward the man of the hour, standing at the other end of this old-looking hotel that seemed too close to falling apart, engaged in conversation with Luke. She then glanced back at Garcia. "Why can't he share a room with Luke?"

"Because I'm sharing a room with Luke."

She shot Garcia an incredulous look. "You're rooming with Luke? Since when?"

"Since always. We're buddies, remember?" She cocked an eyebrow and Garcia sighed. "Don't look at me like that, we're just friends. Besides, you and Reid are the only ones left without a roommate. Consider this your opportunity for personal growth or whatever."

"Personal growth? More like a crash course in patience. And what's the deal with Reid anyway? Why does he always have to be the exception?"

Garcia leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. "Well, let's just say Luke and I enjoy our peace. Reid, on the other hand, is like a walking encyclopedia. I figured it's your turn to experience that charm up close."

She scowled, a mix of annoyance and resignation on her face. "Charm? That's a generous way to put it."

Garcia stared back with an air of nonchalance that only seemed to amplify her exasperation. "Look, it's only one night. What's the worst that could happen?"

She shot her friend a withering glance as if the absurdity of the situation needed no further clarification. "The worst is that I might end up committing another crime in this town before the night ends."

Garcia raised an eyebrow, her amusement evident. "You're exaggerating, Reid is harmless. Plus, all the other rooms are fully booked. Consider yourself lucky we even found a place to stay."

"Lucky is not the word I would use right now."

"Just try to survive the night without killing each other," Garcia chuckled, ignoring the glare shot towards her way. "Give him a chance."

Her incredulous stare intensified. "A chance? Garcia, the man tried to argue with me about the most efficient way to organize my desk. And you know what's ironic? His own desk is a complete mess."

Garcia sighed, her playful demeanor softening. "One night, Y/n, that's all I'm asking."

She pursed her lips together. She could go on about how bad it would be to share a room with him, but the thing was, it would raise questions she did not want to answer. There was a limit to how much her disdain could stop her from entertaining the idea, and her avoidance, she realized, was more than just mere hatred.

Annoyed that she couldn't do anything to escape the situation, she shot a disapproving glance at him, who was still engrossed in conversation with Luke. With a resigned shake of her head, she turned back to Garcia.

"Whatever." She sighed, begrudgingly accepting the key Garcia handed her. "But if he starts reciting facts about, I don't know, the history of dental floss or something, I'm blaming you."

Garcia laughed. "Fair enough." She shoved her shoulder playfully. "But who knows, maybe you'll discover he's not as bad as you think."

That was the problem. Spencer Reid, in her eyes, was starting to... change. And she hated that. Why was the man she had never bothered to befriend occupying her mind more than she wanted him to? Was it because she now knew what it felt like to have his body pressed against hers? What it felt like to have him grunt in pleasure right in her ear? Just because they had sex?

Nope. Nuh-huh. She wasn't going to think of him differently tonight—or ever, for that matter.

She gave Garcia one last glare before making her way across the creaky floorboards toward him. Noticing her presence coming close, Spencer looked up and a slight tension filled the air as his gaze locked with hers. She quickly shook her head.

"You're sleeping on the floor," she declared with a point of her finger when she reached him.

A small amused smile played on his lips. "We're sharing a room?"

"Unfortunately," she grumbled. She then focused her attention on Luke. "Do you want to switch roommates?"

Luke chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm stuck with Garcia. Besides," he patted Spencer on the shoulder, "Don't act like you're not eager to spend the night with him."

Her eyes went wide. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Luke simply shrugged with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and walked away, leavingher staring at Spencer with a mix of confusion and suspicion. "What did you tell him?"

Spencer frowned. "Nothing." He sighed when her stare didn't back down. "Nothing, I swear. Luke tends to have his own way of interpreting things."

She narrowed her eyes, not entirely convinced, but decided to let it go for the moment. She turned on her heels, not waiting for him as she walked to their destinated room. She felt his presence close behind her but kept her mouth closed.

Spencer, on the other hand, found the situation amusing. He really shouldn't find any entertainment in her visible annoyance towards him, but he did. He couldn't help but notice that despite being angry, she still looked unbelievably attractive. The scowl on her face, her pursed lips, her chest heaving in anger. He took a step closer.

"This must be hard for you," he commented.

"What is?" she shot back, maintaining her brisk pace.

"Staying the night with me when you've been avoiding me."

Her jaw tightened. "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Really? So you haven't gone out of your way to avoid looking in my direction ever since what happened?"

Her steps faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, refusing to show any vulnerability. "That doesn't mean I've been actively avoiding you. It just means I have better things to do than engage in pointless conversations."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Pointless conversations, or conversations you're trying to avoid?"

She shot him a sharp look but didn't respond. "You know," he began again. "You do seem to be acting differently ever since that day."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Spencer couldn't resist a faint smile at her denial. "You really don't know what I'm referring to?"

She huffed, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. The narrow hallway seemed to amplify the unresolved tension between them as they stopped right in front of their room. She could feel his gaze on her, and it only fueled her annoyance.

She tried to ignore him by unlocking the door, but as she pushed it open, she felt his presence looming behind her. His proximity was so close that she held her breath as he gripped the edge of the door in front of her. His breath brushed her neck and her eyes involuntarily fluttered close when his other hand slowly rested on her waist.

"Should I help you jog your memory back?"

Her eyes shot open. She shoved him aside and stepped into the room. "No funny business, Reid. Keep your dick in your pants tonight."

His laughter lingered in the air as he followed her inside, closing the door behind him. "The question is," he taunted. "Can you keep it in my pants?"

She scoffed. Who was he and what did he do to the Spencer she once knew? The guy she remembered lacked any humor and always kept his distance from her. It was hard to believe a simple encounter—could you call sex as simple?—had turned him so crude, or maybe, she considered, this was his true self all along.

She decided to ignore his words as her eyes scanned the cramped room, containing only an old dresser, a nightstand, and a queen-sized bed, which she pointed at assertively. "That bed is mine."

His brow furrowed. "Why do I have to sleep on the floor?"

"You want me to sleep on the floor?" Her hand gracefully moved to her chest in a dramatic gasp. "Where is your chivalry, Dr. Reid?"

"We could share the bed."

She simply stared back at him, her eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and incredulity. Spencer, unable to resist stirring the pot, shot back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, it won't be so bad. Did you know that the concept of sharing a bed has been a cultural practice for centuries? It symbolizes unity and—"

"Reid," she interrupted, shooting him a pointed look. "If you're trying to annoy me, you're doing an excellent job."

He grinned, clearly enjoying her irritation. "I'm just stating a fact. Sharing a room, sharing a bed—it's all deeply rooted in human history."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I highly doubt our situation is deeply rooted in anything other than poor hotel arrangements."

Spencer chuckled, undeterred, his laughter resonating in the dimly lit room as he took a step closer to her. The worn-out floor creaked beneath his feet, echoing the subtle tension that lingered in the confined space of the room. "You never know. We might be making history right now."

She shot him a skeptical look, her gaze unwavering. "I doubt historians will be interested in this disaster."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this skeptical, or is it just reserved for me?"

"It's just reserved for annoying people," she retorted, not missing a beat. She took a deliberate step closer to him, the air thick with a blend of tension and... something else. Her heart quickened as his gaze swiftly swept over her lips before dragging back to her eyes.

"Really?" He closed the distance between them, and she held her ground, tilting her head back to meet his gaze due to his towering height. A subtle trace of his scent hung in the air, his presence enveloping her. She felt a sudden shift in the air, her senses heightened, and her eyes traced the contours of his face—the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth reflected in his hazel eyes. She also could sense the initial surge of longing coursing through her body.

Shit.

"Believe it or not," he added, his voice a low murmur that resonated in the confined space. "I find your company quite fascinating."

"Fascinating?" She responded, but it came out more breathless than she had intended. She took a deep breath, trying to act as if his close proximity wasn't affecting her. Her pulse, however, betrayed her composure. And it was evident in her voice. "T- That's a stretch."

"Really?" His lips curved into a subtle smile, catching the shift in her demeanor. "I think there's a small part of you that's enjoying this."

"Enjoy what? Your random facts and annoying habits?"

Spencer leaned forward. A tension crackled between them, and it swam in his eyes and played on his lips. It pulled at her chest, making her heartbeat flutter in her throat, and to her surprise, he extended his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch left a searing sensation on her skin.

"Admit it, you're starting to see a different side of me."

She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge his point. "One night doesn't change anything."

"You're right." His hand made its way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. "It can change everything."

Before she could register what he was doing, he closed the distance between them, holding her still as his lips crashed on hers. A thousand things flooded her mind all at once—each of them revolving around him. The way she melted into him felt oddly natural. The way his hands began to roam her body, the way her mouth opened for his tongue, the way her kisses became hungrier, also felt natural.

Which was bad. Really, really bad. This wasn't supposed to happen. One time, she could call it a mistake. But allowing him to have his way with her for the second time... there was no one to blame but herself. She should push him away and set the boundaries she was supposed to set the moment he invaded her personal space. But it was hard to think rationally when he tasted so good.

It was hard to stand her ground when his teeth softly nibbled her bottom lip. It was hard to think straight when she was already pulling hard at the locks at the base of his neck as his tongue explored her mouth, blindly walking her back until her back was pressing onto the wall.

"Look at you," he laughed against her lips. "You're not pushing me away."

"Shut up," she hissed, trying her best to keep her tone icy. But then again, it was hard to stay angry when he was touching her like this. His greedy hand traveled up her thighs, massaging the plush flesh. His fingers finally found the hem of her pants, and he swallowed her moan when they dipped underneath the material, slipping right underneath her panties.

Her breath hitched when two of his long fingers slide between her folds, spreading her slick before finding its rightful place on her clit. Spencer didn't hesitate when he started rubbing at her nub, smooth and deliberate, it made her toes curl and her body jumped in a moment of surprised bliss.

Her sound of pleasure was music to his ears, urging him to satisfy her even more. He was quick when those same fingers dipped inside her core, her inner walls tensing at the sudden yet pleasurable stretch. There was a distinct sound along her needy whines, wet and slapping as his palm makes contact with her clit every time he was knuckle-deep inside her. Her head fell back to the wall, mouth agape, face flushed—a sight Spencer secretly wanted to commit into his memory.

Without even noticing it, her hips started grinding to chase his fingers, desperate to reach that familiar pleasure twisting in her core. Her movement didn't go unnoticed by him, an amused, deep chuckle reverberating from his chest while he pulled his fingers out of her, rubbing her clit aggressively, knowing it would make her reach her high faster.

"You're going to cum, aren't you? This quick?" She glared at him through half-lidded eyes, not giving him an answer. His smile widened at her resistance. "Do you think I should let you?"

Her heart quickened its pace, knowing well enough what he was about to do. He was going to tease her, or as she liked to think, he was going to torture her by not giving her what she wanted. Her theory was proved right when he leaned down, his face inches away from hers, a sly smile on his lips.

"Beg me."

She quickly shook her head. A hand snaked up her back until it found the base of her skull. His fingers brushed through her strands before gripping hard, sending a jolt of pain down her spine as he yanked her head back.

"Beg me."

"Fuck you—ah!" A sudden pressure of his fingers sent pleasure shooting through her, pushing a moan from her that filled the room like a ringing bell—a bell that signaled the fact that despite how much she knew she shouldn't, she was already surrendering to his touch.

"No?" He taunted, his breath brushing against her ear. "Then I'm not letting you cum."

And just like that, the pleasure rippling through her body was ripped away.

He swiftly pulled his hand from under her pants with a smirk she wanted to wipe off before turning his back to her, leaving her all flustered. She took a moment to collect herself, her mind racing to grasp the situation. She loathed him. She really did. She despised the way he was so full of himself.

With a determined exhale, she shook off the flustered feeling that lingered. He may have momentarily unsettled her, but she was not one to let her guard down easily. She was not going to let him get under her skin. If he could make her sexually frustrated, then so could she.

If he was going to play dirty, she was going to get filthy.

Her shirt was the first thing that came off. Then she unbuttoned her pants, pulling them down over her legs. Dear god, she was going to regret this, wasn't she? But she couldn't stop. Not when the rustle of her clothes echoed in the quiet space and Spencer turned around, jaw slacked, a startled expression crossed his face as he watched her.

"W-What are you doing?"

There. That was what she wanted. That priceless, wide-eyed, disbelief face. She had to keep going.

"Taking matters into my own hands."

Her hand reached around to unclasp her bra before she intentionally took her time sliding the straps down her arms, enjoying the way his jaw clenched as you did. Eyes still focused on him, she tossed it to the side. Her hands lowered afterward, and an audible gasp escaped his lips as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of her underwear, sliding them down her legs.

"You're always so smug," she murmured, taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Thinking you have control of me."

Right hand reaching up, her fingertips just lightly swept the length of his stubbled chin, just below his lips. The corner of his mouth only drew up further at her touch. She smiled at his reaction, and her fingers dropped down to grip his chin firmly.

"But I can satisfy myself just fine."

And then she pulled away, the smirk now missing from his lips as she backed out of his reach. She then settled on the bed, and with her eyes never leaving him, she spread her legs wide open. She watched as a breathless sigh escaped his lips and smiled triumphantly, especially when the bulge growing in his dark pants was impossible to ignore.

With her gaze lingering on his steadily growing erection, she trailed her hand down her stomach, the tips of her fingers paused just over her clit. "What's wrong, Reid?" She hummed out, watching his chest heave. "You seem to be speechless."

Because he was, how could he not be when the pad of her middle finger slowly started to lightly circle over her clit. He watched as she teased herself, fingers gliding between her folds, gathering her arousal before slipping a finger inside. She gasped, the wet sound was audible even to her own ears as she gradually pumped her finger in and out.

He took a step closer, and her fingers moved faster as his eyes raked over her body—her luscious breasts fully exposed, legs spread apart, fingers between her thighs. A faint moan fell out of her, her eyes partially closing all the while her fingers never ceased their movement, vigorously thrusting into her cunt.

She then proceeded to put on a show for him, throwing her head back and rolling her hips. He was standing close to her now, eyes focused on her body, his tongue sliding along his lower lip. Her cunt immediately clenched at the sight of him, a bulge straining at the fabric of his pants. The sight sent a surge of warmth through her body, spreading from between her thighs to her cheeks as her fingers quickened in pace and her legs spread farther for him to see.

He was trying to hold himself, it was obvious in the way he held his composure. But then she watched with satisfaction as he stalked towards her, and just because she wanted to fluster him, she couldn't help herself from letting out a needy whine as she slipped her fingers out before rubbing her clit desperately, her eyes boring into his.

"Spencer," she moaned.

That was precisely when he lost it. He didn't even hesitate. He marched straight to her, and her finger stopped in its movement as she watched him settle between her legs, sinking to his knees. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and roughly yanked her over the edge of the mattress, and she fell on her back with a squeal.

"You're a goddamn tease, you know that?" He sneered, his warm breath brushing over her heat. "Fine, I'll let you win this time."

A gasp escaped her lips when he wasted no time leaning in, burying his head between her thighs. He wasted no time as she grabbed onto the sheets, feeling his tongue draw circles around her clit before flicking up and down at a rapid pace. Her thighs tighten around his head. and her whole body trembled beneath him, encouraging him to move his tongue faster.

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding them apart as he took his time. Ever so slowly he licked up her slit, gathering her juices on his tongue until he reached her clit, groaning every second of the way until she was shivering beneath his touch. She was breathless, mind buzzing and the room spinning as he thrust his tongue into her warmth, face becoming so deep between her thighs that heat rushed through her body.

When her thighs trembled and threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag deeper inside her. With a roll of his tongue, he was lapping at her walls, swallowing every drop until the second he heard her begin to whine.

It was embarrassing, letting him hear how worked up she was. But she couldn't help it, not when she was losing control of her mind and body. Her hips were starting to buck to meet his tongue. Her jaw slacked. Low moans spilled from her lips as he continued to ravish her, and her fingers dug into the sheets beneath her to hold onto her sanity as waves of pure overwhelming pleasure took hold of her.

"Oh my god," she whimpered, voice two octaves higher before growing silent. She was so, so close to the edge, his tongue relentlessly sucking her clit, licking, swirling over her entrance until her mind fell blank from the bliss. The heat began swelling from between her thighs, tension tightening and all she did was screw her eyes shut.

But seconds before the pleasure was nearly too much to bear, he suddenly pulled away.

"Reid!" She hissed, looking down between her legs. "You're fucking annoying."

He looked up at her with a teasing glint in his eyes, then his mouth parted a second before his tongue swiped over his lip to taste the remnants of her arousal. "What?"

Unbelievable. After pulling that stunt, he had the audacity to feign innocence. She huffed and opened her mouth to retort something but when he started to undress himself, she couldn't think of anything. Her mind was too busy taking in his slightly toned arms, his broad chest, his slim waist, and that patch of soft hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing underneath his pants.

And that was gone too, and now he was standing without any shred of clothing, and it then dawned on her that they were both very much naked. Their first time in that dusty storage room happened too fast that they didn't bother taking off their clothes, but now she had the time to sink in the way he looked wearing nothing but a smirk.

"I didn't bring a condom," he said as he climbed onto the bed. Like that was going to stop them, it didn't stop them before and it most definitely won't stop them now.

"It's fine," she mumbled just as he settled between her legs again, but when his eyes lit up at her words, she smacked his shoulder. "But you're still not finishing inside me."

He merely hummed a reply. Then seconds later he was lining up the tip of his cock with her entrance. His eyes meet hers as he teased her, and she noticed the smirk appear once again on his lips. She pushed her hips toward him, gripping his arm irritatedly, and released a breathy 'hurry up' before she could change her mind.

He wasted no more time pushing himself into her without warning, earning a gasp while he stretched her completely. He pressed his body into her, allowing her lips to collide with his and moan into the kiss when she felt him pull away just enough to slam back into her with one harsh thrust. His hands suddenly reached for her wrists, and he gripped them above her head, pushing them onto the mattress.

His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, and she quickly shut her own as he pumped himself into her cunt over and over again. His motions were aggressive, sloppy, and wild. The moment a particularly deep and brutal thrust hit her at the right spot was the moment she finally gave in to weakness as she let out a loud moan, her mind going blank to everything but the pleasure he was giving her.

Then he pulled back again, and his thick cock slid out of her partway, glistening with her juices, splitting her pussy apart around it before snapping forward, his hips going at a brutal pace, making her whole body bounce from the contact.

"God, you feel incredible," he groaned out just as she gasped from the intense pressure of him inside her, head falling above her, jaw slacked, sweat dripping down his temple. Her eyes fluttered open before exhaling a heavy breath, feeling him tightening his grip on her wrists. "We need to do this more often."

Though she didn't say it, she agreed with him. And it pained her to even consider making this a habit. But it was tempting. It was so tempting that the thought of having him inside her anytime and anywhere had her clenching around his cock, earning a low grunt deep within his chest.

Then something snapped inside her. She had started off holding back, keeping herself in check against the rising wave of sensations. But then, in a moment that felt like a long-awaited release, she decided finally to let go when he continued to hit that perfect spot inside her, and she almost felt ashamed at the noises she was making. She wasn't as vocal when she was alone, nor with other men, yet the man she claimed to hate earned every whimper, every desperate moan.

Hearing her cries urged Spencer even more. He leaned over to her and pushed himself deeper, earning a gasp from her as her legs fell apart even further, letting him sink himself as deep as he could. He pushed her hands above her head and hovered above her, letting his temple fall against hers as his hips rutted violently.

The pressure rose and the tension coiled in the pit of her stomach. Sweats beaded over her skin just the same as him, crying out for him, moans mixing with filthy noises of him thrusting into her wet cunt. His powerful thrusts then quickened, causing her to grow weak her body began to quiver in his grasp.

She cried out, wanting to warn him she was growing close to the edge, her mind growing numb, everything around her fading into black. But didn't give her the chance to speak before he pressed his mouth on hers in a heated kiss, all sloppy and wet and desperate, latching on her lips with so much fervor.

She felt him everywhere. On her lips, biting on her soft flesh. On her breasts, his chest rubbing against her hard nipples. And between her legs, his cock stretching her deliciously, a pleasant feeling that had her whining against his mouth.

But before she could whimper anything else, the pleasure erupted inside of her, red hot heat unraveling to every limb. Her release was a fiery blast—white-hot and overwhelming, turning her into the image of destruction. Her hair stuck to her skin, her back arching off the bed, feeling overwhelmed as his cock hit her deeper. She succumbed to the bliss, eyes shut tight, and her furrowed brow as she surrendered through her orgasm. 

He held her tighter, pumping himself into her as she finally let go, calling out his name in a breathless whimper. She came so hard her legs were shaking uncontrollably, but he didn't stop. He pounded into her harder, reveling in the way she fell apart for him.

"I-I'm close," he grunted. "Where... where do you want me to—"

"Inside."

He looked down at her, trying to hold himself to not combust right there and then. "Are you—" he groaned when she clenched around him. "Are you sure?"

She was already too deep in her climax that any worries faded away. It was like time slowed down, and all that mattered was the intense sensations taking over her body. It was wrong, but it was what she wanted. She wanted to be full of him.

"Yes. Please, just—please," she whispered. "Cum inside me."

It was enough for him to let go, chasing his own pleasure inside of her, hitting deep within her walls as her own arousal dripped out around him. The slick and messy noises mixed with his groans filled the room, heat continuing to rush to her face as her entire body became overly sensitive.

With one final, sharp inhale, the bliss took hold of him. His hips slowed as he began to release inside of her, filling her up with a few huffs and grunts, creating a bigger mess between her thighs. He thrust one last time as the last few drops spilled from him, continuing to press his body against hers as closely as possible.

Then everything went silent except the sound of their ragged breathing. He pulled out of her with a heavy sigh, just as spent as her, breathless beyond belief. He collapsed on the bed, his chest rising up and down as he tried to gain some sense of control, his mind trying to grasp on the euphoria that happened moments ago.

"Well that was—"

She quickly nodded beside him. "Yeah."

Spencer turned his head towards her, and she could already feel him gloating that before he had the chance to say anything, she covered his mouth with her hand. "Do not say anything."

His reply was muffled underneath her palm, and she didn't understand what he was trying to say. She didn't even bother wanting to listen to him anymore. So she got off the bed, wincing when she felt the mess dripping down her thighs as she walked over to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a shower," she called out. "I feel... sticky."

She then heard some rustling and she turned to see him hopping off the bed, following behind her. She narrowed her eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I feel sticky too."

"Spencer."

His lips twitched into an amused smile. "You called me Spencer."

She groaned and turned around. "We're not showering together, Reid."

"Why not?" He pressed, following her behind. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

She looked at him, assessing the way he was practically begging with his eyes. She was pondering whether it was a good idea to spend more time with him in an enclosed space. Probably not, but considering all the filthy, nasty things they had done, sharing a shower seemed harmless. 

"Alright, fine," she caved in, letting out a sigh. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

He nodded eagerly, but she should've thought better when the spray of water finally hit their bodies and he closed in around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he held her waist. Then he pressed her against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, and it was safe to say that he could not, as a matter of fact, keep his hands to himself.

Not that she was complaining.

.

a/n: I know this was supposed to be enemies to fuckable enemies but they're really starting to grow on me, they kinda cute

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[hysteria-things]

CANNN YOU MAKE A CHRIS FIC LIKE THISSS

ENEMIES WITH BENEFITS

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the hatred you have for chris sturniolo is ungodly… well; until you guys are alone, at least.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PURE FILTH, swearing, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, p in v, hair pulling, spanking, orgasm denial, dumbification, fingering, semi-public, stomach bulge, breeding, praising, low key toxic

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,475

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i kind of want to make an enemies with benefits chris universe… like not a series but some more fics in the same timeline/backstory does that make sense😪

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… you've hated since childhood.

"i hate you, chris." you whimper, wiggling in his gamer chair that you’ve been sitting in since you got here. “i hate you! i hate you!”

while repeating your hateful words, you tried your best to push his head away that was feasting on your insides. he doesn’t budge, his tongue flicking rapidly against your puffy cunt. legs draped over his shoulders, he eats you out so good that your toes curl. it’s like you’re the best meal he’s ever eaten, arousal coating your inner thighs and around his mouth. some even drip down his chin, the squelching sound turning you on even more.

blabbering out bits and pieces, you finally find words to let out a coherent sentence. “i-i wish i never met you. you— f-fuck.” slouching more into the seat, chris sucks on your clit, your eyes fluttering and mouth wide open with whines leaving it. you tug on his messy hair, letting out a cry when he sticks a pointer finger into your drenched hole to stretch you out more.

“i’m gonna cum!” you sob, a tear trickling down your cheek. he hums, intensifying the way he’s suckling at your swollen bud. shaking from the pure overwhelming sensation, your cum leaks beautifully onto his tongue.

“such a pretty pussy.” he whispers, collecting the sticky mess. “tastes so fucking good.”

all you do is sit there. panting with your eyes crossed, twitching when you try to get back to your senses, and nothing more.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… would pull your ponytail every chance he got.

FUCK FACE

you’re fucking irritating

i’m a big girl and you’re not the boss of me

i don’t even know why i do what i do with you

is that right?

yeah, asshole

fuck off

i never want to see or speak to you again

who do you think you’re talking to?

can’t be me because you weren’t talking shit when you were screaming on my dick last night😂

womp womp life’s tough

you ain’t all that anyway

i’m sick of your fucking attitude

get over it

you’re not going to do shit about it so🤷‍♀️

it’s like your scalp is on fire. the stinging makes you hiss, eyes shutting from the pleasurable pain. chris has you stiff under his weight, your ponytail wrapped tightly around his fist to keep your head in place. your ass is arched against his pelvis, meeting his brutal thrusts that are pounding into you with no mercy. his balls slap against your clit as your cheeks bounce back onto him.

guiding your head down, he gives you a smack on the ass. you moan and grip the pillow for dear life, your body pushing against the corner of your l-shaped couch. ironically you’re wearing one of his t-shirts, the hem being scrunched up at the small of your back.

your knuckles are white, feeling like you can rip the pillow in half at any second if you’re not careful. the couch bangs against the wall, and you thank god that both of your parents had work today.

“said i wasn’t going to do anything about it.” chris mocks with a chuckle. “now look at you. fucking stupid in the head.”

the tip of his cock hits that spot repeatedly inside you, causing a moan louder than the others to leave your lips. “oh, right there!” you scream, it being muffled before he starts to go impossibly faster. you try to crawl away from his grip, but instead, he grabs your chin to lift your upper body to where your head rests on his shoulder. at this angle, he thrusts upward into your pulsating pussy.

eyes rolling back, you bite your lip that’s wet from spit. “you need to cum? hm?” he coos, moving a piece of sweaty hair out of your face. you nod, unable to get words out.

he tuts before pulling out, making you gasp and fall forward. “that’s too bad. should’ve thought twice about that before picking up an attitude with me.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… at family parties, you’d never liked to see.

different aromas of cookout food flood your nostrils, the plate in front of you still full. you fidget the steak with your fork, your other hand gripping the edge of the picnic table. you’ve been trying to avoid eye contact with everybody since you sat down. what you are looking at is what’s happening under the tablecloth.

chris’s fingers pump deliciously into your sopping pussy, knuckle deep and covered in your wetness. originally, you weren’t wearing panties under your dress — upon his request.

fighting every fiber in your body to not make it obvious, you lean your head on his shoulder and exhale. “looks like you two sorted out the childhood banter.” one of your relatives jokes, looking at you cuddled up in the crook of his neck.

he continues talking nonchalantly to the guests when all of a sudden his fingers curl. it makes you jolt, the boy adding his thumb to rub on your clit for more pressure. that alone took you by surprise. giving him pleading eyes, you started to tremble, and before you knew it juices smeared all over his digits.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… you would scream at so loud that he'd have to cover your mouth when people were around.

patience runs thin with him, as you’re fully aware of. first, he snuck you in, and now he’s fucking you on his bedroom floor. matt and nick are home, having no idea what their brother is up to.

jesus. the way he’s fucking into you is different this time around. your legs wrap around his waist, and his thrusts are deep and hard. you engulf his dick perfectly, and he adores that.

covering your mouth with his hand, your sounds of pleasure are muffled, and you still seem to be too loud. your back is arched halfway off of the ground, his cock slamming into you at just the right spot. he removes his palm, taking your wrists and pinning them above your head. chris kisses you hungrily, your moans going down his throat. “shit.” he drags out, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. “you’re so fucking pretty.”

whimpering loudly, he kisses you again to swallow it. “shush, baby. you have to be quiet. you don’t want matt and nick to know how much of a cock whore you are for me.”

“but you feel too good!” you whine, eyes crossing when your g-spot starts to get abused with his length. he buries his head in the crook of your neck, releasing your wrists from his grasp to grip the back of your hair instead, pulling you as close as possible to him. your body lifts off of the floor slightly.

clenching repeatedly around him, it makes his dick twitch. “fuck, do that again. atta girl.” letting out a choked moan, you feel ropes of cum paint your insides. that alone sends you over the edge, a ring of white smearing around his girth. you clasp your hand over your mouth to silence your scream.

although, he doesn’t stop. he lays you back flat on the wooden panels, taking your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. your feet dangle beside his head, his throbbing cock still pumping deep inside you. you cry out his name before he shoves two fingers into your mouth for you to suck on, but most importantly to shut you up.

eyes scanning your body, he’s taken aback. there’s a bulge protruding in your abdomen each time his skin slaps against yours. your belly is swollen from his previous orgasm, his hips stuttering at the sight. it’s insanely hot to him.

face all fucked out, your brain starts to fog, stars overcoming your vision. “take my cock. just like that.” he says, glancing down at where you’re conjoined. you’re cumming once again without warning once he hits your cervix, too brain-dead to even realize what’s going on anymore. you slobber around his digits, moaning and whimpering around them.

“might have to fuck a baby in you.” he blurts out, groaning as his muscles tense. “stuff you full of me. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

nodding, even though at your state you don’t truly know what you’re nodding to, he pushes fully into you and stays put. his seed fills you for the second time now, and you can feel every drop on your insides.

with each string, he groans as he milks himself dry. he empties your mouth from his fingers and collapses next to you on the cold floor, his cum oozing beautifully out of your used sex.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… all this time had a crush on you… but you never have to know that.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @sturnlcvr @tpvmz @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws

[rafecameronssl4t]

I need more season one rafe fics please! I love your writing!! Also, last fic was amazing! Tbh I'm not a fan of #her ( yes I'm a hater)

Midsummers || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: It was concerning stumbling across your boyfriend and JJ fighting, but what was more concerning was his comment about Kiara.

Warnings: swearing, mild fighting? if there’s anything else lmk

Word count: 1,425

A/n: my summaries are always so shit 😭 anyways…. this was so much fun to write 😭 if u want more s1 rafe lmk and send thru requests!!!

MASTERLIST

Divider by @yoonitos

“Rafee,” you squeal, feeling his hands firmly grasp your ass, igniting a wave of pleasure that you struggle to contain. His lips trace a heated path along your neck, only intensifying the sensation and making it harder to stifle a moan. “It’s fine, no one’s coming here,” he mutters against your skin, his breath hot and reassuring as it mingles with your mounting desire.

A sudden knock at the door makes Rafe groan in annoyance. “What? We’re kinda busy here!” he yells out, his frustration evident. Undeterred, you press a trail of kisses along his jaw, your lips trailing down to his collarbone, trying to distract him from the interruption.

Topper and Kelce walk in making you huff in annoyance, pulling away from Rafe, who glares at their direction. “Seriously, guys?” you mutter, irritation clear in your voice. “Sorry—uh—JJ just walked in,” Topper stammers.

At the mention of JJ’s name, Rafe’s expression darkens, and he quickly rises to his feet. “What the fuck is that pogue doing here?” he spits out, his eyes flashing with anger. Without waiting for an answer, he glances at you sharply and commands, "Stay here." With that, he storms out of the room, his frustration palpable. You watch as they leave, leaving you alone. With a huff, you get up and begin wandering around the room, trying to find something to entertain yourself.

~

Rafe and his friends race through the island club, their eyes sights set on JJ. He darts through the crowd, but they close in on him, finally cornering him in the locker room. Kelce moves swiftly, seizing JJ and locking him in a tight headlock. JJ struggles, but Kelce’s grip is ironclad. "Hold him still," Rafe commands.

Rafe smirks, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "What do you think? A 4 iron, right?" he asks his friends playfully as they all chuckle. "Keep his head still, yeah, Kelce? I'm gonna line this up." Rafe adjusts his stance, mimicking the motion of a golfer about to take a swing. JJ, despite Kelce’s suffocating grip, manages to choke out, "Very Rafe of you. Five on one?"

"If you could please stop talking. It's very disrespectful. I'm trying to hit a ball, alright?" Rafe snaps, his tone sharp and irritated as JJ continues to struggle. He gives a disapproving shake of his head. "Hey, learn your etiquette, my friend." His voice drips with condescension as he lines up his imaginary shot, the tension in the room growing thicker by the second.

~

As the minutes tick by, your boredom intensifies, and you decide to defy your boyfriend's request. Leaving the room, you set off in search of Rafe. It doesn't take long before you hear his voice echoing down a hallway.

Rafe snorts derisively as he examines JJ's bruised and bloodied face. "Your face looks really bad. Starting to look a lot more like your dad—" His sentence is abruptly cut off as JJ spits directly into his face.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter under your breath, feeling your heart rate quicken as the scene unfolds before you. "Rafe?" you call out, stepping forward. Your eyes lock onto JJ, who is trapped in Kelce's grip, his expression defiant despite his situation.

As you approach, Rafe wipes his face and slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you tightly against him. His grip is firm and almost possessive, a clear display of both his irritation and protectiveness. You can feel the tension radiating from his body.

"What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay in the room," he mutters against your head, his voice low and angry. You shrug, unable to find the words to explain your disobedience.

You glance at JJ, who despite his predicament, meets your gaze with a steely resolve. His eyes flick between you and Rafe, and for a moment, a silent communication passes between you. The air is thick with tension, a volatile mix of anger, defiance, and barely contained violence.

Rafe’s friends stand around, their faces a mix of amusement and anticipation. Kelce maintains his grip on JJ, his muscles taut with the effort of holding him still. Rafe’s irritation is palpable, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard as he stares down at JJ.

"Y'know, I never understood why you're dating him, Y/n," JJ says, his eyes raking over you. A scoff escapes your lips as you feel Rafe tighten his hold on you. "What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, tilting your head slightly in challenge.

"Well, isn't it obvious?" JJ chuckles, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You need a man, but he's high off his ass every fucking day. That's not very manly, don't you think?" His words hit you hard, and your face falls. "Are you trying to get killed pogue?" Rafe growls, pushing past you to storm up to JJ.

“Rafe, it’s not worth it,” you whisper softly, placing a hand on his arm to pull him back. But Rafe’s jaw is set, his muscles taut with rage. Suddenly, the lights begin to flicker, and a man walks in. "Gentlemen!" he announces. Kelce immediately releases JJ, shoving him towards you, but Rafe moves quickly, pulling you out of the way just in time.

"Is there a problem here, guys?" The security guard scans all your faces. "Pardon me, officer," JJ quickly interjects, trying to regain control of the situation. "No, there's not an issue. I just—actually, yes. No, there is an issue."

"Uh, we got a criminal trespass in progress here. Beep! Call it in, right?" JJ continues, his voice trembling slightly with mock seriousness. You watch in amusement as Rafe scoffs at him.

"Blatant disrespect for private property—" JJ starts again, but Rafe cuts in "Yep," his voice dripping with sarcasm. "—I'm in violation of all kinds of shit, sir."

The security guard raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the theatrics. "But these young gentlemen..." JJ begins, reaching out to adjust Kelce's wonky bow tie, but Kelce aggressively pushes him away.

"Don't touch my shit," Kelce snaps, his tone sharp with irritation. JJ stumbles back, caught off guard. "...Uh, caught me, sir, and they're about to take me away," JJ continues, trying to regain his composure amidst the tension in the room. Your head begins to ache from the sheer amount of talking he's doing.

"And that's what you should do, escort me out of here. You got me," JJ says, extending his wrists as if offering them up for arrest, a sardonic grin playing on his lips. You all watch in amusement as he puts on a show for the security guard.

"Come on," the guard says, pulling JJ along with him. "All right. Fix that tie, son," he adds, glancing back at Kelce. JJ turns to Rafe with a smirk, "You're looking spiffy too."

"You powerpuff girls have fun!" JJ taunts, addressing Rafe and his friends before being led away. Leaving your side, Rafe hollers out, "Tell Kiara she looks pretty hot for a pogue!" The words hang in the air, and your jaw nearly drops to the floor at the audacity of his comment.

In a split second, JJ breaks free from the guard's grasp and charges towards Rafe, but Kelce is quick enough to stop him from getting any closer. "You think I'm afraid of you, bro?" JJ shouts, his voice filled with defiance as the guard yanks him away once more.

"Hey! Safe travels back to the cut," Rafe calls out with a smirk on his face, clearly unfazed by JJ's threats. "This ain't over!" JJ shouts as the guard shoves him through the door, his voice echoing down the hallway.

"Hey, hey, it was really nice seeing you again, JJ!" Rafe's voice echoes down the corridor, breaking the tense atmosphere that hangs thickly in the air. He turns, a grin playing on his lips, only to catch your unimpressed expression.

"What, baby?" he questions, his smile faltering slightly as he moves to embrace you, but you push him away with a firm hand on his chest. "The fuck was that for?" Rafe's confusion is evident, his brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of your sudden reaction. The other boys shift uncomfortably, their eyes darting between you and Rafe.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" you snap, your frustration bubbling to the surface. Rafe's expression shifts from confusion to concern, his brows knitting together in worry. "What?" he responds, his voice tinged with confusion.

"Tell Kiara she looks pretty hot for a pogue?" you spit out the words, your tone dripping with venom. "I said that to piss him off, I was fucking joking, wasn't I?" Rafe protests, seeking validation from his friends, who quickly nod in agreement.

"Ha. Ha. Funny joke, Rafe. It had me rolling on the floor," you retort sarcastically, your tone laced with bitterness as you push past him, the fabric of his shirt grazing your fingertips. "Y/n," Rafe starts, reaching out to you, but you cut him off with a sharp glare, your eyes flashing with anger.

"Don't fucking talk to me, dickhead," you say, your voice cold and cutting as you storm away, leaving Rafe and the boys in stunned silence.

[ilyhaitanii]

can you stay up all night? ft. boothill

nsfw. the galaxy ranger assigned to protect you as you make your way back to your planet seems to have other plans with you when you both get stuck at a hotel in penacony.

cw: vibrating body parts, cyborg dick, overstimulation, he's sort of mean </3

a/n: knocked this out in like 15 mins. if this isnt good, blame my ovulating brain

for a robot who is programmed to be kind to others, boothill is so mean-- brutal even. he doesn't curse, but aeons his mouth is filthy. that sultry, southern voice of his makes your brain go dizzy, melt into a pile of mush. it's like you're putty in his hands, molding your body however he sees fit.

the quiet whirring of his cock nestled deep in you, hitting at just the right angle has you seeing stars for hours. your legs slung over his wide shoulders, trembling. the hefty sobs that fall from your swollen lips fall onto deaf ears as boothill's thumb is rubbing against your sensitive clit, vibrating against the bundle of nerves.

you don't think you've ever felt so many different things at once. on one hand you want him to stop, allow you to curl into yourself and tremble off his vibrations, but the other is marinating, adoring the feeling of this never ending high.

"look you, baby~" boothill coos, thrusting his cock in and out of your sopping cunt. your eyes try to open, crossing in the process. you try to open your mouth to say something, but you're greeted by the taste of iron and your own slick. boothill's fingers gag you, pressing your left leg to your chest. "you feel that, cutie? im right here," his hand presses down on your tummy as the whirring on your clit increases.

you pulse and clench around him, hips shaking and begging for release. he can't help but laugh at the pathetic way you whine and kick at him. with your hands tied above your head, boohill turns you onto your tummy. he pounds into your from behind, making sure to press down on your lower back.

his fingers on your clit don't lose their place, making sure to swirl the bud to intensify the pleasure. all of it is mind numbing. you find yourself zoning out, only to be greeted by boothill's thumb rubbing at your sore nipples.

"oh please, i cant!" he hums against your hair, kissing down your spine. he tuts, shaking his head. boothill's arms wrap around your torso, pressing your hot sweaty back to the cold metal of his chest. the drastic temperature change has you experiencing whiplash. jaw slackened, boothill kisses your jaw, nipping at some of the skin with his teeth. this drags down to your neck and shoulders.

"you can, dolly, come on. cum for me, pretty thing. i know you want to," with a heavy hand, he presses down onto your pelvis, making sure the vibrating on your clit goes as fast as it can, twirling the bud. splotches of white, hot light flash before your eyes as your entire body trembles for the umpteenth time.

"there 'ya go. you're so good for me, arent 'ya, cutie?" boothill chuckles against your cheek, kissing your lips. you groan, trying to move, but he readjusts you onto his lap. "you can't tap out on me, dolly. we still got hours before daylight. come on, ride me, baby~"

© ilyhaitanii - do not repost, translate, plagarize or repost it to any other sites

[kckt88]

God Is A Woman.

Summary:

Aemond has always had a thing for his brother's wife, and of course Aegon being the good brother that he is offers to share.

Warning(s): Language, Temptation, Consentual Infidelity, Threesome, Unce/Niece Incest, Brother/Brother Incest, Kissing, Body Worship, Smut, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), Fingering, P in V, P in A, Lactation Kink, Breeding Kink, Muliple Orgasms, Mention Of Same Sex Encounters, Allusion to Child Birth.

AEGON x O.C NIECE x AEMOND

INSPIRED BY THE SONG - 'ARIANA GRANDE - GOD IS A WOMAN'

Word Count: 7944

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Aemond sat at the dining table, his one remaining eye observing the room with a mix of detachment and intensity. His gaze settled on his brother Aegon, who was leaning in close to whisper something into Vaella's ear.

The sight of her giggling and blushing, batting Aegon's hand away from where it rested on her thigh, stirred a storm of emotions within Aemond.

As Vaella leaned in to kiss Aegon on the cheek, Aemond felt a pang of jealousy swirl in the pit of his stomach. He wished it was him who was married to Vaella, not Aegon.

Despite knowing it was wrong to covet another man's wife, especially his brother's, he couldn't help the longing that gnawed at him.

Vaella's beauty and grace had always captivated Aemond, and her marriage to Aegon only intensified his feelings. He watched her now, her laughter like music to his ears, and felt a stab of envy as Aegon wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

Aemond's jaw tightened as he tore his gaze away, focusing instead on the goblet of wine before him. His duties as commander of the City Watch demanded discipline and control, yet his heart betrayed him.

He tried to drown his thoughts in the rich red liquid, but the image of Vaella and Aegon together persisted, a constant reminder of what he could never have.

Vaella's laughter softened as she caught sight of Aemond staring at her from across the table. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, a mixture of longing and something she couldn't quite place.

Leaning closer to Aegon, she whispered something in his ear, her eyes never leaving Aemond's face.

Aegon, catching the note of curiosity in his wife's voice, followed her gaze to his brother. When he saw Aemond quickly look away, a smile spread across his lips. The sight of his brother, usually so composed and stoic, caught off guard was rare and amusing.

"Seems Aemond has a lot on his mind tonight," Aegon said with a chuckle, his voice just loud enough for Vaella to hear.

Vaella's eyes lingered on Aemond for a moment longer, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. She couldn't deny the sensation that ran through her at the sight of Aemond's lingering gaze.

Though she loved Aegon dearly, there was something about Aemond's silent, brooding nature that had always intrigued her.

Aemond, realizing he had been caught staring, felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. He quickly diverted his attention, pretending to be engrossed in his wine, as the conversations around him continued, his mother talking to Rhaenyra of Helaena’s happiness in her marriage to Cregan Stark and Rhaenyra’s joy at Luke and Rhaena enjoying their stay in the Vale and Jace and Baela’s success on Driftmark as they had recently welcomed their first child a girl named Laena.

There was a time when all of them sitting around the table like this as a family seemed almost impossible, but after the unfortunate death of his grandsire Otto over six years ago any plans to usurp the throne had since fallen by the wayside and upon Viserys’ death, Rhaenyra had ascended the Iron Throne peacefully.

Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of shame and frustration roiling within him.

He cursed himself for being so careless, for allowing his emotions to slip past his carefully constructed defences.

He could still feel Vaella's gaze on him, and he dared not look up again. Instead, he focused on steadying his breath and calming the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

But even as he tried to push the feelings aside, the image of Vaella's soft, curious eyes remained etched in his mind. He knew he would have to confront these emotions eventually, but for now, he would bury them deep, where they couldn't betray him again.

As dinner came to an end, Aegon leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I think I’ll stay a while longer," he announced. "A few drinks with Daeron sounds perfect."

Vaella smiled at her husband, then turned to bid goodnight to Rhaenyra, and Daemon. "Goodnight, Mother, Father," she said softly, exchanging kisses on the cheek with them.

“Goodnight sweet girl” replied Rhaenyra brightly.

Turning to Aemond, she asked, "Will you escort me to the nursery so I can say goodnight to the children?"

Aemond nodded silently, rising from his seat. As they left the dining room, Aemond was oblivious to the subtle nod Aegon gave Vaella.

The corridor was quiet, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. The tension between them was palpable, yet neither spoke a word. When they reached the nursery, Vaella pushed open the door gently and stepped inside.

Aemond watched from the doorway as Vaella approached the small beds where Aerion and Valaena lay sleeping.

Their silver hair gleaming in the candlelight, Vaella's face softened as she stroked their hair, pressing a tender kiss to each of their foreheads.

"Good night, Issa byka zaldrīzoti" she whispered, her voice full of love and warmth. (My little dragons).

The nanny, standing by with a watchful eye, bowed respectfully to Vaella. "Thank you, Elinda" said Vaella softly before turning to leave.

Aemond followed her silently as they made their way back through the winding corridors to her chambers. The castle was quiet at this hour, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the walls.

As they reached her door, Vaella paused, turning to face Aemond. "Thank you, Aemond," she said, her voice sincere.

Aemond inclined his head slightly. "Goodnight, Vaella," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vaella paused at the threshold of her chambers, turning to Aemond once more. "Aemond, please, come inside. I wish to speak with you."

Aemond hesitated, his sense of propriety warring with his curiosity. "Vaella, it is improper-"

"Please," she insisted, her eyes searching his. "It will only be for a moment."

Aemond took a deep breath, then relented. "Very well," he said quietly, stepping into the room. He moved to one of the chairs and sat down, fiddling with the edge of his gold cloak nervously.

Vaella gave him a grateful smile before excusing herself. She ducked behind a screen to change, the candlelight casting a soft glow around the room. Normally, she would have her maids assist her, but she didn’t call for them.

Aemond's gaze wandered despite himself, drawn to the silhouette of her body illuminated by the flickering light.

He tried to look away, telling himself it was wrong—she was his brother's wife, and he had no right to covet her. Yet, he couldn't help but stare, the shape of her form was mesmerizing to him.

It had been some months since he’d last had a woman to warm his bed and he could feel his body responding in earnest to the sight before him.

Vaella's movements were graceful, and Aemond's heart raced as he watched her, guilt mingling with desire. He clenched his fists, trying to steady his breath, but the sight of her was too powerful.

Finally, Vaella stepped out from behind the screen, now dressed in a simple nightgown that clung to her form. She approached him, her expression earnest. "Aemond, we need to talk," she said, her voice soft but firm.

He tore his gaze from her and met her eyes, trying to regain his composure. "What is it?" he asked, his voice strained.

She hesitated, searching for the right words. "I’ve noticed the way you look at me," she began, her tone gentle. "And I think we need to address it."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat, fear and hope intertwining. "Vaella, I-I apologize if I've made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention."

Vaella simply smiled and shook her head, taking a step closer, her eyes holding a mixture of determination and vulnerability as she spoke. "Aemond, I like the way you look at me."

Aemond slowly stood, his breath hitching as she approached him. Her presence was intoxicating, and as she reached out to touch his scarred cheek, he closed his eye, savouring the gentle sweep of her thumb across his skin.

With a soft click, Vaella unclasped his eye patch, revealing the sapphire nestled in his eye socket, her whisper like a caress. "Sīr gevie," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine admiration (So beautiful).

Aemond's heart raced in his chest, his hands twitching nervously at his sides. "Vaella, we shouldn't do this," he said, his voice shaky with a mixture of fear and longing.

Vaella's eyes softened, her hand still resting on his cheek. "It's okay, Aemond," she reassured him. "You can touch me if you want to."

His hesitation melted away under her gaze, and slowly, he lifted his hands to cup her face. The warmth of her skin against his palms sent a shiver down his spine, and he leaned in, his lips brushing hers tentatively.

As their mouths met, a surge of emotion coursed through Aemond, overwhelming his senses. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration, but as Vaella responded, it deepened, a hunger and longing they had both been suppressing now finding release.

Aemond's hands slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as he poured all his unspoken feelings into the kiss. Vaella's hands moved to his shoulders, her touch encouraging him,

Aemond stood silently, his heart pounding as he watched Vaella's delicate hands move to unclasp the belt that held his weapons. The loud clunk as it hit the stone floor echoed around the room, resonating with the tension between them.

She then moved to remove his gold cloak and black armour, piece by piece, her movements deliberate and gentle.

Each touch sent a shiver through Aemond, and he struggled to keep his breathing steady. As she removed his cotton shirt, the cool air of the room met his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from Vaella's fingers.

When she lowered herself to her knees to remove his boots, Aemond's gaze never left her, the intimacy of the moment leaving him breathless, he could scarcely believe that this was real, that this was actually happening.

With each boot removed, Vaella rose to her feet, her hands running down the smooth planes of his chest, his muscles twitching under her touch. The sensation was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, each caress sending waves of heat through his body.

Vaella's eyes met his, her expression a mixture of tenderness and desire. She traced the scars from the training yard that marked his chest, her fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Aemond's hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as their breaths mingled.

"Vaella," he whispered, his voice hoarse with longing and uncertainty.

Her hands paused for a moment before continuing their exploration, her touch light yet possessive. "Aemond, I want this, I want you" she said softly, her voice steady despite the intensity of the moment.

Aemond looked into Vaella's eyes, and he saw the same need reflected back at him. Slowly, he lowered his head, capturing her lips in a deep, fervent kiss, her hands now sliding into his long silver hair.

Suddenly the door to the chambers creaked open, and Aemond jerked away from Vaella, his heart racing in panic. Aegon stood in the doorway, an amused grin spreading across his face as he took in the scene before him.

"Aegon, I-" Aemond began, his voice filled with guilt and apprehension.

But Aegon simply laughed, shutting the door behind him and locking it. "I see that you decided to start without me," he said, walking over to Vaella and kissing her passionately.

“He is very eager-” whispered Vaella.

Aemond tried to apologize again, his words stumbling out in a rush. "I'm sorry, Aegon. I didn't mean—"

Aegon raised a hand to stop him, his expression turning serious but still playful. "I see the way you look at my wife."

Aemond blushed, his gaze dropping to the floor.

But Aegon stepped closer, placing a finger under Aemond's chin and lifting his head so their gaze met. "I don't mind it, brother. In fact, we both think you should join us."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat, stunned by his brother's admission. "J-Join you?"

Vaella nodded, her eyes warm and inviting. "If you don't want to, it's okay. You can leave, and we will never speak of this night again."

Aemond looked between Vaella and Aegon, his mind racing. The weight of the decision hung heavy in the air. Aegon began to pull off his own clothes, each piece falling to the floor with a soft rustle. When he was fully bare, he stood in front of Aemond, his body confident and unashamed.

"Aren't you just a little curious?" Aegon whispered, his voice low and enticing as he pulled Aemond in for a heated kiss, the intensity of it sending shockwaves through Aemond's body.

Aemond's mind reeled, the conflicting emotions battling within him. But the touch of Aegon's lips, the warmth of Vaella's gaze, and the tension in the room were undeniable.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he allowed himself to respond, his hands moving to rest on Aegon's shoulders.

Vaella stepped closer, her hands joining Aemond's as they traced the contours of Aegon's body. The three of them stood together, the air thick with anticipation and desire.

“Vaella” moaned Aegon as she slipped her hands around his waist and stroked his rapidly hardening cock.

“Do you want this Aemond? Do you want us?” asked Vaella softly.

Everything Aemond had ever wanted was standing in front of him, and all he had to do was say say-

“Yes. I want you”

Vaella smiled and moved towards the bed with a graceful, unhurried elegance, her hands reaching up to the thin straps of her nightgown.

With a fluid motion, she let the garment fall, pooling around her feet and leaving her completely bare. Aemond stood speechless, his gaze sweeping over her body, mesmerized by her body.

"Isn't she beautiful, brother?" Aegon asked, a hint of pride in his voice as he watched Aemond's reaction.

Aemond nodded quickly, unable to tear his eye away from Vaella. Her pale skin glowed in the soft candlelight, each curve and line a testament to her allure.

Vaella motioned for Aemond to come closer, her eyes filled with a mix of warmth and desire. Aemond hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward, his fingers shaking as he unlaced his breeches.

As he struggled with the laces, Aegon reached out, his hands steady and sure, and pulled them off, leaving all three of them bare.

"Come, brother," Aegon muttered, his voice low and inviting, as he sat next to Vaella on the bed.

Aemond took a deep breath, the weight of the moment settling over him. He joined them on the bed, his heart pounding in his chest. The closeness of their bodies, the mingling of their breaths, created a heated atmosphere that left him exhilarated and terrified.

Vaella reached out, her hand gently tracing the lines of Aemond's face, her touch soothing and reassuring. Aegon leaned in, pressing a kiss to Aemond's temple, his fingers combing through his hair.

“Kiss her brother-” whispered Aegon.

Aemond leaned forward and pulled Vaella into a heated kiss. With a soft moan, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

Aegon began pressing a series of soft kisses to Vaella’s shoulders as Aemond’s hands slid around her bare back, pulling her closer, as his kisses growing more fervent.

“My turn-” muttered Aegon as Vaella pulled away from Aemond who watched as Aegon wrapped a hand around Vaella’s throat and ran his tongue over her lower lip before kissing her passionately.

Aegon released then Vaella’s mouth and bent down to lick one of her nipples.

“Oh” muttered Vaella as she flung her arms over her face, as pearly white liquid began to leak from her breasts, running down her body in rivulets.

Aegon ran his tongue over the milk that had dripped from his wife’s rosy nipples and delighted in the sweetened taste.

“Come Brother-You have one, I’ll have the other”

Aemond leaned forward and slowly ran his tongue over one of Vaella’s nipples, his lips wrapping around the stiff peak.

“A-Aemond, A-Aegon” gasped Vaella.

“Hmmm” moaned Aemond as he continued to lick and suckle at her breast, gorging himself on her delicious mothers milk.

Aemond looked over at Aegon as they indulged themselves in worshipping Vaella’s breasts, their gaze locked upon one another.

Suddenly Aemond reached around the back of his brothers head and took hold of his roughly shorn silver tresses, pulling him away from Vaella and seizing his lips in a brutal kiss.

Savouring the taste the mother’s milk upon each of their tongues.

Suddenly Vaella let out an adorable squeak, Aemond looked and noticed that Aegon had his fingers inside her cunny.

“You should touch her too” exclaimed Aegon as his mouth once again descended onto one of Vaella’s breasts.

Aemond gently ran his hand down Vaella’s body and had to recite a number of the faith of the seven prayers to stop himself from coming when he felt how wet she was.

“I-Is she always-” rasped Aemond as he slipped a finger inside Vaella.

“-This wet?-yes, my wife-so sensitive” muttered Aegon.

“A-Aegon-please” whined Vaella as their eyes connected.

“Patience my sweet pearl” replied Aegon as his fingers began teasing her slick folds

Aemond watched with awed fascination as Aegon expertly fingered his wife, the way he used his fingers and thumb in tandem with one another to tease her little pearl.

Aemond knew that Vaella was close to her peak, as he could feel her cunny fluttering around the finger, he had inside her.

However, Aegon removed his hand and sat back on the bed, his amethyst eyes darkened with lust as he pressed his fingers against Aemond’s mouth.

“Taste her” growled Aegon as his brother took his fingers in his mouth.

“Delicious” muttered Aemond as he swirled his tongue around Aegon’s fingers.

Vaella clearly not happy at being denied her peak, began to whine impatiently.

“Aegon-“

“-Now wife. I want you to sit on Aemond’s face, whilst I suck his cock” exclaimed Aegon.

“Brother” exclaimed Aemond shocked and very aroused by the thought of his brother willingly putting his mouth-there.

“Before my marriage I indulged with a number of men, this is nothing new for me brother, trust me-I think you’ll like it” replied Aegon.

“We will take good care of you-Issa gēlenka zaldrīzes” whispered Vaella (My silver dragon).

Aemond nodded and reclined on the bed, his cock standing hard.

Aegon’s mouth was watering just looking at it, his little brother the absolute twat had truly been blessed.

The largest dragon in the world and a cock to match-no wonder he was so smug all of the time.

Vaella hovered above Aemond’s face, her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Aemond”

“So pretty-" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Vaella’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaella her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it Issa dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Vaella.

“FUCK” groaned Aemond as he felt Aegon’s mouth around his cock.

Devouring his good sister’s sweet cunny as she sat on his face was one thing, but to do it whilst his brother sucked his cock was other worldly.

He enjoyed the feeling of Aegon’s mouth around his cockhead, his tongue teasing his slit, as the salvia dripping down his shaft.

None of the women that he’d previously experienced had ever made him feel this good.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaella, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaella "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“T-That’s it, fuck-Aegon” breathed Aemond, as his brother wrapped a hand around his cock and began to move in sync with his mouth.

“Oh" whimpered Vaella; her chest heaving as she began to roll her hips against him.

“That’s it, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond, thrusting his own hips.

Vaella was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that anyone passing their chambers would surely hear as Aemond’s nose bumped repeatedly against her pearl.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“Come for me baby, come foryour qȳbor” moaned Aemond (Uncle).

Finally, he felt Vaella’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Vaella’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

After a few minutes, Vaella moved off Aemond’s face and flopped down onto the bed beside him.

Vaella moaned quietly as she caught sight of Aegon sucking Aemond’s cock, she could feel herself getting aroused again, as she watched Aemond placed his hand on the back of his brother’s head, forcing him to take more of his cock inside his mouth.

Suddenly a naughty thought entered into Vaella's head and before Aemond could stop her, she bent down and began running her tongue along the part of his cock that wasn't in Aegon's mouth.

"SEVEN FUCKING HELLS" roared Aemond.

Aegon and Vaella shared a knowing look before they both began to take it turns slowly sucking Aemond's cock, taking him the brink only to stop.

"V-Vaella, s-stop-" groaned Aemond, he needed her, he needed her now.

"Yes"

“Come here” rasped Aemond, his chin still shining with her slick.

Vaella leaned forward and wiped her tongue across Aemond’s bottom lip before taking it in between her teeth and biting down gently.

“You naughty girl” muttered Aemond as he surged forward and pressed a kiss to her sumptuous soft lips.

One hand tangled in his brothers hair and the other in Vaella’s

“A-Aegon-enough-stop” groaned Aemond his hips stuttering, he could feel the urge to come building in his abdomen.

“Spoil sport” muttered Aegon as he wiped the spit from the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t want to spill in your mouth-”.

“And where do you want to spill your seed brother?” asked Aegon smirking.

“I-I w-want-“ stammered  Aemond looking around awkwardly.

“It’s ok-you can fill my wife‘s cunny with your seed-put a babe in her” replied Aegon.

“W-What?” exclaimed Aemond.

“Don’t you want your seed to take root, to see her all swollen with your child” muttered Aegon.

“B-But it would be a bastard” said Aemond.

“Not like anyone would be able to tell the difference, besides I know that you enjoyed seeing my wife round with child-imagine how good it will feel to know that it’s your child inside her”

Aegon was sure his brother was about to blow his load right there, judging from the way his eye rolled back into his head at every word that was spoken.

“Do you want that Aemond?” asked Vaella.

“Y-Yes” said Aemond as Vaella moved over his body, her slick folds rubbing against his cock.

Gods he was so hard, it was bordering on painful.

“Imagine-right here, your seed taking root, your babe-your son” said Vaella as she took his hand and ran it over her stomach.

Losing the remainder of his control Aemond seized her hips, and surged up, ploughing his hard cock into Vaella’s soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Vaella.

"Gods. You feel so good" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Vaella, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

“Aegon-husband-please” breathed Vaella as she felt his warm chest press against her back, his hands gently caressing her sides as he pressed a series of gentle kisses along the back of her neck.

“Do you want my cock as well?” asked Aegon, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

“Y-Yes, please. I want it-I want you both inside me” moaned Vaella.

“I need to prepare you first” whispered Aegon as he took hold of the small bottle of oil that he’d retrieved from the nightstand.

Aegon uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount of the oil onto his palm, spreading it over his fingers.

After discarding the bottle somewhere on the bed, Aegon reached down to her arse.

“Hm-yes, I-like it-please” whined Vaella, biting her lip.

“Be patient” urged Aemond as Vaella began to squirm against him.

Vaella gasped as she felt Aegon’s finger on her little rosette, and it felt so naughty, it was good.

“Yes, or no?” asked Aegon.

Vaella didn't even have to think.

“Yes, Aegon” moaned Vaella as he slowly inserted his finger into her body.

He worked in silence for a while, easing his finger in and out of her arse until she could take it easily.

Aemond began teasing her pearl with his fingers, his cock throbbing inside her.

Pulling out, Aegon added a second finger and brushed both around her hole.

“Yes, or no?” Aegon asked again.

“Aegon. I want you take my arse, I want both of you to fuck me until I scream out your names. I need to come, please. Do not deprive me any longer” begged Vaella.

Aegon let out a breath of air, but no words. Silently, he breached her arse once more.

Vaella screamed, “Oh god it feels so fucking good”.

Aegon continued to work his way into her tight space, his cock was like stone. When his fingers were fully inside her, he put his lips to her ear again.

“I'm going to breach your arse with my cock and fill you all the way up. It's going to feel so good, love, I can't wait for you to come around Aemond’s cock in your sweet cunt, whilst my cock shoved in your arse”

Vaella’s teeth were gritted, and she grunted low in her throat each time his fingers surged in.

“Yes” moaned Vaella loudly. Aegon slapped her buttock, and she wailed again.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy” moaned Vaella. She was pushing back against his hand, so he spread his fingers inside her, accommodating her to his size. At last, she was ready for him.

Aegon pressed the head of his cock to the entrance of her arse, and Vaella moaned in need, he pushed through her entrance and past her tight ring of muscle, swearing loudly as it gripped him unbelievably tight.

“Oh gods. Oh yes” moaned Vaella, flinging her head back. Aegon eased himself slowly into her tight anal passage, trying not to pass out from the sheer fucking bliss of it.  

Eventually, Vaella took his entire cock.

The three of them remained unmoving as Vaella got used to having both Aemond and Aegon inside her.

“I-I’m ready” whispered Vaella.

“We’ll go as slow-” muttered Aemond his hands resting on her hips.

“-as you want” said Aegon as he placed his hands on top of Aemonds and entwined their fingers together.

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Vaella as both Aegon and Aemond began to move, finding their rhythm and thrusting gently.

Both brothers moving in tandem with one another, a slow sensual pace, that drove Vaella to the brink of insanity.

"Faster, please" begged Vaella.

"Patience, Issa zaldrīzes" chided Aemond (My dragon).

“I-I’ve taken Aegon there before” admitted Vaella softly.

“Fuck” groaned Aemond at Vaella’s admission.

“I know but you’ve never taken us both at the same time” replied Aegon as he gave a quick shallow thrust.

“Yes, Aegon, just like that-" panted Vaella.

“Fuck” groaned Aemond as he felt her clenching around him.

“Oh-Aemond you feel so good” whimpered Vaella as she ran her hands over his arms, his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Vaella" grunted Aemond, as he began to move.

"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Vaella "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me your seed. I want another babe-”.

Aemond knew exactly what Vaella was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Vaella wanted faster and he was going much faster now. His pace increasing with every filthy word that dropped from Vaella’s luscious lips.

“Fuck Aemond” groaned Aegon, the force of his brother’s thrusts moving Vaella on his cock.

“A-AEGON-“ screamed Vaella as she reached behind her and wrapped her hands around the back of his head.

She craned her neck back and dragged Aegon’s head towards her, she wanted to feel his lips on hers as she took both of their cocks.

Aegon released his grip on Aemonds hands and slowly caressed her skin until he reached her breasts, both hands squeezing them as his tongue moved against hers, his cock thrusting inside her.

Both of them were cock deep inside her and it felt glorious, it was just a shame they’d waited so long to do this.

“Faster-I can take it-I can take both of you-please” stammered Vaella as she released Aegon’s hair from her tight grip.

Aemond and Aegon shared a quick glance before nodding.

Now they were both quickly thrusting in and out, the force of their combined movements shaking the bed, the headboard banging loudly against the wall.

Vaella was meeting them thrust for thrust.

“Aegon-Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaella.

Vaella looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her amethyst eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

“Make my brother a father-give him a child” exclaimed Aegon.

Vaella clamped down around Aemond’s cock so hard he could hardly move. That, combined with how glorious Vaella looked, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“God. Vaella” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside her wet heat.

Aegon followed not long after, his cock twitching as he spilled inside Vaella, his head falling to her shoulder.

His chest heaving with every breath he took; he had never come so hard in his life.

“Aegon-“ whispered Vaella as he gently pulled his softened cock from her.

“You were so good” replied Aegon as he laid on the bed next to Aemond.

“Hm-so perfect for us” said Aemond as he also pulled his cock from Vaella and moved over so she could lay in between the brothers.

Their sweaty bodies pressed against one another as they came down from their high.

Afterwards, the three of them lay together in a tangle of limbs, the room quiet save for the soft breaths of Vaella, who had fallen asleep between Aemond and Aegon.

Aemond, still grappling with the intensity of the evening, found his mind unable to rest.

"Aegon," Aemond whispered, turning his head slightly to look at his brother. "Were you serious when you said you wanted me to get Vaella with child?"

Aegon nodded, his gaze steady. "Yes, I was serious."

"But why?" Aemond asked, confusion evident in his voice.

Aegon shrugged casually. "You’re so good with Aerion and Valaena. And since you have no plans to marry any time soon, I thought it would be nice for you to have a child with the woman you've been in love with since you were a boy."

Aemond tried to deny it, shaking his head. "Aegon, it's not—"

"It's okay to feel the way you do, brother," Aegon interrupted gently. "I know you curse the fact that you're a second son, that if you had been firstborn, then you would have married Vaella instead. I hate that I took the one thing you've always wanted, besides Vhagar, of course."

Aemond's heart tightened at his brother's words, the truth of them cutting deep. He had harboured feelings for Vaella for as long as he could remember and seeing her with Aegon had always been a bittersweet torment, but as Vaella and Aegon were the oldest their marriage was seen as a way to unite the family, especially after the incident on Driftmark.

"But I love Vaella too," Aegon continued, his voice softening. "She's the only good thing I've ever had in my life, and our children-I never knew I could create something so pure and beautiful. I can't give her up, but I can share her with you, if you're willing."

Aemond looked at Aegon, stunned by the sincerity and generosity in his brother's eyes. "What does Vaella think of this?" he asked hesitantly.

Before Aegon could respond, Vaella stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She smiled sleepily at both of them. "I couldn't possibly turn down the chance of being sandwiched between two beautiful dragons," she said, her voice laced with affection and amusement. "But you two need to shut up and get some rest. If we want to increase the chances of Aemond's seed taking root, then we must be ready to lay together again very soon”

Aegon chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Vaella's forehead. "You heard the lady, Aemond. Let's get some rest."

Aemond, still processing the whirlwind of emotions, nodded. As he lay back down, feeling Vaella's warmth against him and Aegon's reassuring presence, he finally allowed himself to relax and drift off toe sleep.

In the weeks that followed, the bond between Vaella, Aegon, and Aemond grew stronger. Their nights were often spent together, indulging in each other’s pleasure.

Sometimes, Aegon would be content to sit and watch as Aemond fucked Vaella, with his own hand bringing him to completion.

It pleased him to see his brother grow in confidence as he began to take Vaella in different positions, his particular favourite was when he would watch Aemond take Vaella from behind, the raw sensuality of it was truly a sight to behold.

There were even times when Aegon and Aemond would take turns in experience their newfound desire with one another, but as Aemond wasn’t fully comfortable with fucking Aegon or getting fucked by him they only indulged one another with their hands and mouths.

There were also moments of soft intimacy when Vaella would allow Aemond to rest his head on her bare breasts and she would stroke his hair, whispering words of love and comfort to him as he spoke to her of the days events and some moments from his childhood.

Aegon never mentioned those moments, it was something private between Aemond and Vaella and he allowed it because he knew his brother needed it, as he himself needed it from time to time.

It wasn’t sexual, it was comfort and his sweet wife provided them both with what they needed without question and Aegon loved herall the more for it.

Given the frequency in which Aemond spilled his seed inside Vaella it wasn't long before she gave them both joyous news: she was expecting Aemond's child.

Aegon's happiness for his brother was boundless. He watched as Aemond's usually stoic demeanour softened with wonder and tenderness whenever he was near Vaella.

As the weeks turned into months, Aemond would gently stroke Vaella's swollen stomach, whispering words of love and promises to their unborn child.

Aegon would smile every time Aemond's face lit up with pure joy upon feeling the babe move within Vaella. It was a sight that filled Aegon's heart with warmth, knowing that he had played a part in granting his brother this happiness.

Deep down, Aegon knew that others might not understand or accept their unconventional relationship. The world beyond their chambers was filled with judgment and rigid expectations.

But Aegon didn't care. To him, this arrangement was an act of brotherly love and kindness. He had given Aemond the chance to experience the love he had longed for since childhood, and that was worth any scorn or misunderstanding they might face.

One evening, as they all sat together in the quiet of their chambers, Aegon observed the tender moment between his brother and his wife. Aemond's hand rested gently on Vaella's belly, his eye filled with adoration as he spoke softly to their unborn child.

"You'll be a great father, Aemond," Aegon said, his voice sincere.

Aemond looked up, his expression a mixture of gratitude and love. "Thank you, Aegon. I-I never thought I could have this. It means more to me than I can say."

Vaella smiled, her eyes shining with affection for both men. "We are a family," she said softly, her hands covering Aemond's. "And this child will be loved by all of us."

Aegon nodded, his heart swelling with pride and contentment. "Yes, we are a family. And nothing will change that."

Aegon and Aemond paced anxiously outside the birthing room, their faces etched with worry as Vaella's pained screams echoed through the halls.

Both of their mothers were with her, providing support and comfort, but the birthing room was no place for a man. They could only wait, helpless and hopeful.

Hours passed, each scream driving a dagger of fear into their hearts. Then, suddenly, the screams stopped, replaced by an eerie silence. Aegon and Aemond exchanged a glance, their curiosity and concern mirrored in each other's eyes.

Just when the silence became unbearable, the sound of a newborn's cry filled the air, bringing with it a rush of relief and joy.

Aegon and Aemond embraced quickly, sharing in each other’s relief when the door to the birthing room opened, and their mother, Alicent, appeared, her face alight with happiness. “A son!" she exclaimed; her voice filled with pride.

As the two men entered the room, Aegon went straight to Vaella, pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead. "You did wonderfully," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

Aemond hovered awkwardly by the door, unsure of his place in this intimate scene. The maester and midwives bustled around Vaella, ensuring she was comfortable and cared for.

Once the maesters and midwives were finished taking care of Vaella, Aemond exchanged a curious look with Rhaenyra who nodded her head at him and gently requested that everyone leave the room to give Vaella, Aegon, and Aemond some privacy.

Alicent questioned why Aemond was allowed to remain, but Rhaenyra simply smiled, ushering her out of the room before closing the door softly behind her.

"Aemond, come here," Aegon beckoned, his voice warm and inviting.

Vaella, her face radiant despite her exhaustion, gently placed the tiny babe in Aemond's arms. "M-My son," Aemond whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek as he gazed at the newborn in wonder.

"What are you going to call him?" Aegon asked, his hand still holding Vaella's.

Vaella looked up at Aemond, her eyes shining with love. "His father should name him”

Aemond thought for a moment, his mind racing with possibilities before he settled on a name that felt right, a name that he’s always liked "Rhaegar," he said softly.

Aegon smiled approvingly. "A fine name."

Aemond carefully sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his son. His heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of happiness and fulfilment.

In that moment, as he looked at his son and then at Vaella and Aegon, he felt a profound sense of belonging and love

After Rhaegar was fed and had fallen asleep in his cot, Aemond and Aegon lay on either side of Vaella, who was fast asleep. The room was bathed in a gentle glow from the hearth, casting a warm light on the peaceful scene.

Aemond, still absorbing the reality of the day, whispered, "It still doesn't feel real that I have a son."

Aegon laughed softly. "Wait until you have more than one child."

Aemond turned his head to look at his brother, his eyes wide with surprise. "M-More than one?"

Aegon shrugged, his tone casual but thoughtful. "It's really up to Vaella how many children she's willing to birth since it's her body. But we did discuss wanting to have a large family shortly after we got married, so who knows."

Aemond considered this, a mixture of joy and concern playing across his features. "Our secret would be harder to keep if I father more children with Vaella, they already question why my chambers remain empty most nights-"

Aegon turned to face his brother, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "That's why Vaella and I have spoken about moving to Dragonstone. She is heir to the Iron Throne, and as heir, the castle traditionally belongs to her"

Aemond furrowed his brow, his sense of duty conflicting with his desires. "I am the Commander of the City Watch. I can't just leave my post to travel back and forth to Dragonstone. And I don’t like the thought of being parted from my son, or any future children."

Aegon laughed again, his tone reassuring. "Aemond, you would be moving with us, if you wish. You could retire from your post as Commander of the City Watch and become Vaella and the children's sworn protector. That way, it makes sense why you would move to Dragonstone with us."

Aemond let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, a smile breaking across his face. "You’ve really thought of everything"

Aegon grinned, his eyes sparkling with admiration. "It was actually Vaella's idea. She's incredibly intelligent and resourceful. We're lucky to have her."

Aemond's gaze softened as he looked at Vaella, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. "Indeed, we are."

Alicent stood at a distance, watching Aemond, as he prepared to leave. Vhagar looming behind him, her ancient eyes observing the scene with quiet understanding. Alicent's heart was heavy with concern and curiosity.

"What is going on, Aemond?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry. "Giving up your position as Lord Commander of the City Watch—it’s not like you."

Aemond turned to face her, his gaze steady. "Mother, I was grateful for the opportunity given to me by Rhaenyra, I tended my duty well, but I wasn’t happy."

"And being a sworn protector will make you happy?" Alicent pressed. "I know you, Aemond. You are not one to stand idle, waiting for threats. You have to keep busy."

Aemond's eye softened slightly. "There is plenty on Dragonstone to keep me busy. Surely, you must know that I don't just love training with the sword. I also love to learn. The library on Dragonstone has items and histories from Old Valyria that I've longed to read ever since I was a child. And ensuring the safety of the heir to the Iron Throne is an important role."

Alicent scoffed, her suspicion clear. "I see how you look at Vaella." She stepped closer, her grip firm as she took hold of his arm. "Please tell me that Rhaegar is not your son."

Before Aemond could respond, Rhaenyra's voice cut through the tension. "All set for the journey to Dragonstone?"

Aemond nodded, turning away from his mother. "Yes, everything is ready, Your Grace"

Rhaenyra's presence was commanding as always, her eyes holding a knowing glint. "Vermithor and Sunfyre have already taken wing, and the hatchling dragons are already on board the ship."

Aemond bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Your Grace. I hope my replacement as Lord Commander of the City Watch will live up to the high standard I've tried to set."

Rhaenyra smiled. "I have faith in Daeron. And thank you, Aemond, for becoming Vaella's sworn protector, it warms my heart to know that she will have you at her side"

Aemond nodded, his resolve firm. "It is my honour."

He turned to bid farewell to his mother. "Goodbye, Mother. I will write as often as I can."

Alicent's eyes were filled with unspoken words, but she nodded, a tight smile on her lips. "Be safe, Aemond."

With one last glance at his mother and sister, Aemond climbed the rope ladder attached to Vhagar's saddle. He strapped himself in, taking a deep breath before giving the command. "Sōvēs" (Fly).

Vhagar's mighty wings unfurled, and with a powerful beat, she lifted into the sky.

Rhaenyra and Alicent stood side by side, their eyes fixed on the receding form of Vhagar as the ancient dragon flew above the ship sailing through Blackwater Bay. The powerful strokes of Vhagar's wings stirred the air, creating ripples across the water below.

Alicent broke the silence first, her voice low but insistent. "You know, don't you?"

Rhaenyra turned to her, her expression one of polite curiosity. "Know what?"

"That Rhaegar is really Aemond's son," Alicent stated, her tone a mix of accusation and despair.

Rhaenyra's lips curved into a serene smile. "I know nothing of the sort."

Alicent pressed on, her voice rising slightly. "It's wrong, Rhaenyra. The boy is illegitimate and a violation of the sacred vows of marriage."

Rhaenyra paused for a moment, considering Alicent's words before she placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Try not to think about it too much. They have their legitimate heir, and it's not like anyone can tell."

Alicent tried to argue further, her moral compass sharply pointed. "But—"

Rhaenyra shushed her gently, her voice soothing yet firm. "As long as our children are happy, that's all that matters."

Alicent huffed, clearly annoyed but unable to refute Rhaenyra's logic. The tension in her shoulders relaxed slightly as she sighed.

"Come," Rhaenyra suggested with a playful glint in her eye. "Let's have some cake. I'm feeling quite peckish."

Alicent looked at her, torn between her principles and the reality of the situation. Finally, she relented, her expression softening. "Alright. Cake it is."

Living on Dragonstone was a breath of fresh air for Aemond. He still woke up at the arse crack of dawn to train with the sword, often dragging a protesting Aegon along with him a time or two.

However, Aemond found his true element in the library. The scrolls and ancient texts were everything he had dreamed of.

He would often sit with Rhaegar on his chest, reading to his son from a book composed entirely in High Valyrian, and even though he was just a babe, Rhaegar loved nothing more than falling asleep listening to his father’s voice.

Aemond had his own chambers, but he rarely used them and even Vhagar seemed much happier with the warmth and all the sleep the old girl could ever want.

Once Vaella was sufficiently healed from birthing Rhaegar, she welcomed both Aegon and Aemond, and the three of them resumed their intimate encounters.

One of Aemond’s favourites was their encounter in the hot springs in an underground cavern. The warmth and seclusion added a new layer of intimacy and excitement to their bond.

Aegon in particular enjoyed himself as swimming meant no clothes, and more often than not no clothes led to far more exciting things.

When Rhaegar turned two, Vaella expressed her desire for another child. This time, Aemond fathered a sweet daughter, whom they named Vharla in honour of his dragon.

A year later, he fathered another son with Vaella, named Aerys. The final babe Vaella birthed was a daughter, fathered by Aegon, who they named Daenys.

After six children, Vaella decided she’d had enough of birthing children and was content to enjoy her life with her husbands.

Yes, husbands. Because Aegon may or may not have sneakily arranged for the three of them to marry in a traditional Valyrian ceremony, with only Rhaenyra, Daemon, Helaena, and Cregan as witnesses.

If anyone dared to ask him about it, Aegon would deny all knowledge of such an event taking place and trace the scar on his palm with subtle fondness, a reminder of the sacred vow shared by three dragons in love.

[dollfacefantasy]

Down for the Count

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: while spending time with leon, you want to play fight. but having you in such a compromising position is obviously going to lead to something more.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, size kink, praise/degradation

word count: 5.3k

a/n: yay a- a- another one. thank you so so much to @sleepyluxe and @explorevenus for inspiration and ideas on this one when i was struggling. both of them are so smart and wonderful and i love them so much. i hope everyone enjoys <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight

Small drops of rain fall outside and splatter onto your windows. You and Leon are lying in bed, limbs intertwined and bodies pressed against one another. The bedroom was dim from the overcast weather and felt perfect for the lazy day you were having.

Leon rubs your back while taking deep, even breaths. You can hear his heartbeat in the position you're in with your head on his chest. You were happy to see him so relaxed. It wasn’t everyday that the two of you could spend time together like this.

His large palm trailing up and down your skin in soothing repetitive strokes has you melting against his side, feeling so at peace and attached to him. You instinctively lean into his touch for more. You nuzzle his chest and drag your cheek against his pectoral muscle.

He chuckles at your little display and tightens his arm around you. He’s still caressing your back as he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Your eyes flutter shut momentarily. For a second, you just take in the soft sounds of rain outside and the feeling of his strong body wrapped around you between the soft blankets. It felt almost like a dream, like you and him had created your own little world for just the two of you.

Everything felt so relaxing right now, but at the same time, it all was building a need inside you. Whenever Leon got this soft with you, it just made you crave him more. You couldn’t get enough. Even though you were as close as physically possible, you still wanted closer.

In an attempt to satiate your desire, you reach over and grab his free hand. You lace your fingers with his, feeling that extra bit of intimacy you longed for.

While holding his hand, it’s impossible to not notice the size difference between you two. His hand engulfs yours completely, almost looking as if he’s made on a different scale. You bring his hand closer and stretch out your fingers against his to look at the disparity before locking your hands together again.

“Your hands are so small, sweetheart,” he notes, seeing what you were thinking about.

You respond with a shy smile and gently nudge his thigh with your knee. “Or your hands are really big.”

“No, baby, look at you,” he says with his own smile spreading on his face. 

He pulls your hand up and examines the size. He smirks as he loops his thumb and index finger around your wrist to show how they could touch.

“My little doll,” he coos and kisses the crown of your head. He absentmindedly plays with your fingers like he’s studying the different ways they could bend and stretch with his own.

The sweet names he called you, the loving tone of his voice, the constant physical contact. All of it only served to intensify the yearning you felt. You really just could not get enough of him, and it made you feel restless.

You hook one of your legs around one of his and pull slightly. He doesn’t react, so you continue, adding your other leg. You playfully squirm your legs with his to push and pull them. He drops your hand on his chest and looks down at you with a knowing smile. You nudge your head against his bicep as a way of signaling what you want.

“What are you doing?” he asks and brushes some of your hair out of your face.

“Nothing…” you say in a coy tone as you continue your movements.

He shakes his head, picks you up by the waist, and places you on top of him so that you’re straddling his abs. He smiles up at you, looking so cute in only his shirt and your panties. He already knew what you wanted, having played this game with you many times before.

“Try again, pretty girl. Use your words,” he says. His fingertips coast over your hips, causing chills to run through your skin.

“I wanna play,” you say, running your hands over his chest as you look down at him.

“You do, huh?” he says as his eyebrows raise. He squeezes your hips and a short laugh escapes his throat. He knew the mood you were getting into. “Well, what do you wanna play?”

“I wanna wrestle,” you say with a devious smile.

“Oh, do you now?” he says. He shakes his head and exaggeratedly sighs, “You never learn, babydoll. You know how this is gonna end.”

You whimper playfully and stick your bottom lip out into a teasing pout. Your hands grab Leon’s own and try to pull them off your waist. He tightens his grip and smiles to see you already struggling to match his strength at something so simple. Blood rushes to his cock as you squirm a little on top of him.

“See? We haven’t even started, and you’re already whining. Do you just want Daddy to let you win? Is that it?” he says and grabs your hands, pinning them to your hips.

“No…” you say, feeling heat flash in your belly. It was harder to be a tease when he slipped into this role. He could read you so well and drive you wild so easily. You wriggle in his grasp a little more, purposefully pushing your clothed cunt down on his stomach in search of some friction.

He looks up at you with a cocky glint in his eyes. He could see the effect one simple word had on you. He lifts you again, but this time, flips you over, pinning you down on your back with him on top of you. He holds your wrists down to the mattress and has his knees planted on either side of you. He leans down and trails some soft kisses on your neck before raising his head again to look down at you.

“You’re no fair,” you whine as you try to escape his grasp. Your legs try and fail to snake out from under him while you yank your arms, attempting to free yourself.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Just surrender, and then we can get to what you really want,” he says.

“I just wanna play. I’m not perverted like you,” you respond.

“Oh, really? You’re telling me if I slide my hand in those panties, that cute cunt isn’t gonna be all wet and sticky for me,” he says. He moves your wrists up above your head so he can keep them down with one of his hands now. His now free hand moves down to your lower body, lightly petting your center over the thin fabric of your underwear.

Heat floods your cheeks. His tone was dropping lower, becoming more seductive. You shake your head and struggle more. You maneuver your hips to try and get his hand off you. In truth, this game revved you up like not much else could but part of the fun was acting like it didn’t. He understood that just as well as you did though.

“You’re cheating,” you whimper with a gasp as he presses down on your underwear and slots his fingers between the folds of flesh. You bite your lip as his digits brush over your clit. 

“Oh, it seems like someone’s not so innocent,” he laughs, feeling your damp arousal through the cloth.

“Leon,” you whine. You put more effort into your struggling now. It still didn’t make any difference, “Stop cheating.”

He squeezes your wrists and brings the hand that was toying with your pussy up to your face. He holds your jaw and directs you to look straight at him. 

“Maybe I’ll listen if you ask properly and stop throwing a fit like a brat,” he says and kisses your nose.

“Daddy…” you correct yourself and speak with more composure, “I wanna wrestle. Please.”

“There we go. That’s better,” he coos as his fingers rub your jawline. Two soft kisses land on each one of your cheeks before he gets off of you. A smug smile graces his face as he takes one of your hands and gives you a firm pull to your knees.

“Ok, you know how to start. Not that it will make any difference,” he says with a mocking smile as he gets into position.

The two of you are kneeling across from each other on the bed. Your stance mirrors his, legs spread for balance like he taught you. You put up your arms and grasp his hands to begin. You thread your fingers between his and try to get his arms to bend so you can take the advantage.

It’s clear to both of you that he could get you in a hold right here without really trying, but like a wolf batting a bunny around before making the killing strike, he gives you a moment to think this time will be the one you can finally win.

He just can’t get enough of you. The cute way your face scrunches as you focus on getting his wrists to bend, your sweet and quiet grunts, the way your pretty leg extends out behind you to gain more leverage. And most of all, the size difference between the two of you that was even more apparent now. God, it drove him up the wall. 

This is why he couldn’t cut these moments short and win right away. If this was a real fight, he could shatter every bone in your hand without a second thought. Have you down and himself moved onto the next target without straining his smallest muscle. But he would never do that to you. His darling girl, his perfect baby. Never.

He never ever used his full strength while playing with you. In the beginning, he’d been concerned about putting his hands on you at all. Every small whine or whimper had him fawning over you, immediately checking if you were alright. Once you two had been together for a while and done this dance a few times, he relished those soft noises, each one stoking the flames of desire within him.

Now, he advances your little game as you still struggle to gain any control over him. He twists your wrists and inverts your hands to make you vulnerable. One of those soft cries leaves your mouth, and his lips curls upwards further in triumph.

He bends your wrist in a certain way and is able to spin you around, bringing you backwards and holding you flush against his chest. He locks his arms over yours and leans down to press some kisses to the crook of your neck.

“What do you do now, pretty baby?” he asks in a husky whisper.

You crack a smile of your own now as you remember what to do. You become dead weight, sliding down and flaring your elbows. You manage to push his thick arms off of you and escape his hold. You flip around as you fall forward and land face up on the mattress.

This was possibly Leon’s favorite part of this game. The moments where you could use tricks he’d taught you. In the beginning of your relationship when you’d just started this kind of thing, you were so eager to learn, and he found it so endearing.

You’d asked him to teach you some of his ‘secret agent moves,’ and of course, you were interested in roundhouse kicks and suplexes. He’d laughed when you said that, having trouble imagining you being able to lift anyone over your head, let alone suplex them. But he was thrilled to teach you some basic self defense. The way you focused and responded to each direction with a brief ‘mhm.’ The sight of your eyes lighting up when you got something right. Both had him falling for you hard.

In this moment, after you successfully broke free of him, your eyes do what they always do. They dart to connect with his, searching for his approval, the reassurance that you did it right, that you did it just the way he taught you to. He meets your hopeful gaze with a short laugh and a nod.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Proud of you,” he says. He takes in his favorite view, the way you glow as you bask in his praise, before lunging forward and pouncing on you. “But that doesn’t mean this is over.”

A startled squeal erupts from you at the sudden movement. You frantically flail your limbs as he tries to grab them. If he could get your wrists pinned down here, it was over for you. Luckily, you hook your heel at his hip and kick, giving yourself an opportunity to dart out from under him.

You fling your body across the bed, attempting to crawl away and get to the ground to get some solid footing. But before you can make it, a large hand wraps around your ankle and drags you back. You claw at the blankets that are bunching up beneath you, but it’s no use.

“Where do you think you’re off to, little love?” he teases.

The game is over now. At least, that’s what you were thinking. Leon strays from his usual strategy of getting on top of you here. Instead, he pulls you up and puts you in a headlock. His bicep wraps around your neck and holds you to his side.

“What do you do here, precious?” he asks.

This one’s a bit harder to get out of. Your natural inclination is to try and push him off by the waist. However, he’s way too strong for that to work. Your own head would probably pop off before you could slip out of his tight grip.

You rack your brain for the correct answer, but it’s kind of hard to think when the bulging muscles of his bicep are against your cheek. Finally, you figure it out and dig your fingers deep into the point on his wrist that causes his hand to spasm and loosen up the hold.

You slip out of the headlock and lunge across the bed, but he’s too quick. He’s on top of you in no time, caging you against the mattress from his position hovering above your back. You roll over underneath him to look up at his face.

“Nice try, but you should’ve gone for the leg, honey,” he says and gives you a few gentle, patronizing pats on your cheek.

“No, you were kneeling, and that move only works on the ankle,” you say.

His eyebrows raise and it’s hard to mask the pride in his eyes. He can feel his heart swelling in his chest. “That’s right, baby. Smart girl,” he says and leans down to peck your nose before returning to his position so he can give you that smug look, “But you still lose.”

“No fair. If you’d taught me how to suplex people then I could’ve won,” you huff.

“No, you couldn’t have,” he laughs.

“Uh, yeah I could have,” you say.

“Nope. One, you could not lift me, don’t kid yourself. And two, that’s not how a suplex works. You weren’t in the right position,” he says with a smirk.

“Whatever,” you concede, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles and lifts one of his arms to stroke some hair from your face. As his fingers coast over your skin like it’s the most delicate surface on earth, you take advantage of his less stable position. You lock your fists together and bat your forearms into his side, causing his other arm to buckle and him to fall to the side of you. You shoot up and start to rush to the edge of the bed for the second time, but again, he’s too fast.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs. His thumbs press into the sensitive area behind your knees. He yanks you back and pins you face down. He’s straddling your lower back with his hands on your arms and his feet hooked over your legs. His weight was firm on you this time. No room to roll around or dart to freedom. You still wriggle and squirm between his thighs in defiance.

“What’s wrong, baby? Not ready to cry ‘mercy’ just yet?” he mocks.

“You’re no fun. You never let me win,” you whimper, trying to flail your limbs for a potential escape.

“I don’t think you’d even know what to do if I let you win,” he says with a cruel laugh that has your panties dampening with more arousal, “You’d probably have to ask Daddy what to do wouldn’t you? Needing me to teach you what to do then too.”

You whine as your cheeks heat up.

“You know it’s true, baby girl,” he whispers, leaning down to speak directly into your ear. His breath fanning over you had chills breaking out across your skin.

But you still didn’t want to give in. You writhe more beneath him and try to thrash around the best you can. You attempt to push yourself up with your arms, but that doesn’t work. Not only were they held down, but when he saw you doing that, he twisted your wrist and had them pinned to your back with ease.

You buck harder, trying anything you can to get some type of chance. But all the struggling was a little tiring. Your muscles were starting to plead with you for a break, aching and cramping. He lowers his hips to press more of his weight on you. The combination of your dwindling energy and his increased efforts to keep you in place didn’t leave you with much optimism.

Your attempts get weaker, but your noises of protest get louder. You whimper and whine, occasionally throwing in a strained cry of “Daddy” to try and gain some sympathy. Like every other time you’ve done this though, the only thing your pleas do is get the blood rushing to Leon’s dick. You can feel it getting hard against your ass. You can feel the thick outline of it through his pants, and at this point, your panties are uncomfortable because of how wet you are. You shift your hips, pushing the roundness of your ass against the stiff length of his cock.

“Look at you,” he purrs, leaning down and rolling his hips into the fat of your ass, “This is nothing for me, baby. You’re gonna tire yourself out while I haven’t even broken a sweat. I could do this all night long, sweetheart.”

His hands release your arms, figuring you're done with fighting. He slides his own beneath your shirt. The rough skin of his palms drags along the smooth expanse of your back. His fingers ghost along your sides. He even reaches around to feel what he can of your tits while you're pinned down like this.

“Such a silly girl, thinking she ever had a shot at winning,” he breathes and presses some kisses from behind your ear down to the nape of your neck.

“I did,” you whimper, “You cheated.” Your eyes flutter as you try not to go dizzy from this alone. His lips just felt so good against your neck, and his voice felt even better to your ear.

“Aw, ok baby, you had a chance to win. Sure you did,” he coos condescendingly. He pulls your shirt up and over your head, tossing it off the bed and leaning down to press kisses all over your shoulders and upper back.

“I did. You set me at a disadvantage from the beginning cause you were trying to distract me,” you say, squirming a little more.

He quickly put a stop to that with a firm grip on your shoulders. “Mhm, I’m sure, princess. Daddy’s just so unfair, isn’t he?”

“Mhm,” you pout.

Leon chuckles at your stubbornness. He presses a kiss to your cheek and nuzzles your temple as he inches towards the main event. His hands knead your ass, giving it a gentle pat. Then, his fingers hook around the elastic of your panties and tug those down.

He can’t stop the arrogant look on his face when he sees your cunt glistening for him. Two of his fingers delve between your thighs with an exploratory touch. They stroke up and down your pussy, feeling the gathering slick and grazing your clit.

“Oh, baby. You’re making such a mess,” he chides playfully , “Daddy will make it better. Don’t worry, sweet girl.”

You grunt in pleasure at the touches. You rock your hips as much as you can in this position, but he pulls his fingers away. Whining in frustration again, you turn your head to shoot him a look. You see him trying to get his sweats off while still holding you down.

The slight struggle makes you giggle. He tries to maintain his stern facade, but it’s difficult to suppress the love pooling in his eyes when he hears that happy noise burst from your lips. That was why he played these games with you after all. Instead of just getting down to it and doing what he wanted, he always went the extra mile to see that smile. To make his baby happy. He gives your face a gentle shove and finishes up what he’s doing.

“Oh shut up. If you weren’t such a little brat, this would be a lot quicker,” he grunts.

That only makes you laugh more. He rolls his eyes and smiles now that you’re looking away. He manages to get his clothing and your underwear off while maintaining a good hold on you. Your time being a smartass is over as soon as you feel the warm, solid length of his cock hit your ass.

You bite your lip at the feeling of him lightly rubbing it on you. Your whole body heats up, nearly feeling the sensation that’s about to overtake you.

Leon knows exactly what’s running through your head right now, and it only serves to boost his ego. The clear power he held over you activated some primal desire in the deepest recesses of his heart.

“What’s that? Don’t hear you laughing now, babydoll,” he says.

You drop your face against the mattress, hiding your shy, lustful expression. You whine in protest from a mix of frustration and desperation at him making you wait. You start to squirm again. You pull at the mattress to try and gain some distance. You try to wriggle enough to shake him off. He isn’t put off at all by your little fit at all, only tightening his grip and pressing you harder into the mattress. He grins, leaning down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks.

“God, sweetheart. Every time, I wonder if it will fit. I mean, I know it will, I’ve got that hole trained to take my cock perfectly. But just look at you. It doesn’t seem like it should work. You’re just so small, baby. I feel like I’ll break you in half sometimes,” he breathes.

After he finishes speaking, you go to reply, but you feel a shift in his position. You close your mouth, choosing to focus on the chance to play some more, but you quickly realize why one of his arms had moved. It was only to reach down and guide his cock as he bullies it inside of you.

“This is how you like it though, huh?” he asks through a clenched jaw as he pushes in until he’s bottoming out, “No room inside you for anything else but my fat cock. No thinking unless it’s about how much you love Daddy, right? Yeah, my baby, that’s how you like it.”

And just like that, you’re over playing. Any idea of riling him up by resisting is gone. You were getting what you really wanted after all. He was stretching you out and filling you up so perfectly. His body was all over yours, the sensual contact between the both of you, warm skin against warm skin.

Normally, he’d give you time to adjust, cooing praises at you and kissing your face as your cunt sucked all of him in. But he wasn’t in the mood to be patient with you right now.

He buries his face in your neck and keeps his arms firm in their place that has you boxed in. You’re whining and whimpering as his cock nudges spots of bliss inside you. His hips roll into the plush of your ass, trying to get as deep as possible.

“Oh, I know my pretty girl loves to lose. Especially when this is what you get. I spoil you, babydoll,” he teases, “But you’re always so brave going against Daddy, giving it all you have. So much fight in you, but the loss in the end is clearly your favorite part.”

“No…” you barely get out, still trying to be difficult. Even though you were done playing, you couldn’t just admit defeat. Your eyes were fluttering and your body trembled with the ecstasy of being full.

“Oh, it’s not?” he mocks you, “You wouldn’t lie to Daddy, would you? Cause that would break my heart, honey. My good girl wouldn’t do that, right?”

All you can do is whine as his cock keeps pumping in and out of you. You weakly shake your head that you wouldn’t do that, you wouldn’t be a bad girl and lie. He knew exactly which chords to play to get you like this.

“That’s what I thought. I know this is what you really want when you act like you wanna play, babydoll. You just want to feel how helpless you really are. How Daddy can hold you down and fuck you full of cum in any position he chooses. You just have to take it, and you love that,” he coos and kisses your cheek.

His arms close in around you. He brings them up and wraps them around your neck. Your chin rests on the crook of his elbow. He ruts into your pussy with slow and even but deep thrusts, grunting in your ear with each movement. He’s so all consuming, you don’t think you’re physically capable of a response at the moment. But it works out because he just keeps talking.

“You could just ask, but that’s no fun. You need me to show you what you want, how you want it. Isn’t that right? Cause what Daddy wants is what you want,” he says before nipping at your earlobe.

Pathetic sounds of pleasure tumble from your mouth as he speaks. You squeeze around his cock in pulses as the words hit your ears. You drool a little, not really noticing since your mind is clouded with euphoria.

He notices though. He swipes the saliva off your chin with his fingers before sticking them in your mouth. He laughs as your soft lips close around the digits obediently and suck on them without a second thought.

“Aw, my sweet baby. Poor thing. So fucked out. There’s no fight left in you anymore, is there baby girl? No, there isn’t,” he croons.

You whimper in defiance but keep sucking regardless. He smirks and decides to tease while still working his hips against you over and over. He slides his fingers back out of your mouth and rests them on your chin, making you feel them so close to your mouth, covered in your spit, but just out of your reach.

“Stop,” you whimper, “Just give ‘em.”

“That’s not how good girls ask for what they want, is it? You know better than that,” he whispers.

Your fists tighten around the blankets below you and you squirm a little. “You’re so mean to me,” you complain before a desperate whimper bubbles from your mouth again.

“Oh, I know. Daddy’s so mean, isn’t he? So mean to you,” he mocks.

You whine again in a mix of pleasure from his cock buried inside you and annoyance as he continues teasing. You begin to speak, but as you do, he shoves his fingers back into the warm, wet embrace of your mouth.

“Hush, stop complaining,” he says and continues thrusting, his body sliding on yours with the motions, “You’re getting exactly what you want.”

Your eyes roll back, and your response slips back down your throat. You suckle on his fingers again, some more saliva dripping from your lips as he pushes them flat on your tongue. Low moans emanate from you around his fingers. The cocky look is permanently displayed on his face now.

“‘Daddy I wanna wrestle!’” he mocks you with a chuckle, “No no no, all my sweet girl wants is for me to pin her down and stuff her full of my cock till she’s just a little mess for me. Drooling with no thoughts in that cute little head. Those pretty eyes, totally empty, just locked on Daddy. My needy baby.”

You just nod at this point, giving up on any form of difficulty or resistance. Your eyes begin to water as his fingers probe deeper into your mouth. Thinking becomes more of an abstract concept as he hammers into you, driving you closer to the finish line. Muffled expletives and calls of “Daddy” sound around his fingers.

He was feeling the rush too as he got closer to his own high. His arm that was still around your neck tightens its hold on you. His head is right next to yours. You hear his breath in your ear becoming more ragged as his thrusts grow more erratic.

“Fuck, babydoll,” he grunts, “Perfect pussy’s gonna make me cum.”

“Uh huh,” is all you’re able to mutter with your mouth full.

He nuzzles his face into your hair and removes his fingers from your mouth to just hold onto you as he fucks into you with increased focus. He plants light kisses on the side of your head while low moans rise out of him. His hips sputter as the coils of release contract within him.

“Are you ready for it, sweet girl?” he groans, “Daddy’s gonna fill you up just how you like. All for you, pretty baby.”

“Mhm, thank you Daddy,” you whimper, leaning your head into his as your body spasms with the imminence of your release.

“My good fuckin’ girl,” he grunts before sharply exhaling and moaning against your shoulder.

His hips rock against yours as you both reach your peaks. Your body convulses beneath him as you cum, euphoria flowing through your body in waves. Choked moans come from you while he growls against your skin. He continues his deep strokes, flooding you with his hot, thick cum. Your eyes flutter closed as you feel the craving inside you satiated.

Leon stays inside you for a few moments longer as you both come down from the high. His chest puffs out against your back as he catches his breath. Soon enough though, he rolls off of you. The air feels cool against your back now that he’s finally off of you.

You take a moment to catch your breath yourself and look over at him. He brushes some hair out of his face and stretches a little. You crawl over to him and curl up against his side, nuzzling into his chest. He strokes your hair and gives you a soft kiss. His thumb runs across your jaw as he looks into your eyes lovingly.

“Satisfied, sweetheart?” he asks with his cocky smile.

“Mhm,” you hum and snuggle against his chest, lying how you were before this had begun. You adjust the position of your head to get comfy with a cute smile on your face. “You didn’t really win though.”

“Oh, is that so?” he asks. He tilts your face up and guides you to look up at him.

“Well, in real wrestling you have to pin the person on their back. Their shoulders have to be down, y’know?” you say.

“That is true,” he says and rolls on top of you, looking at you with a loving smirk, “So I guess you’re ready for round two?”

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (3) - Inconvenience

Chapter summary: It is poetic irony that sharing a prison cell with Astarion is what eventually gets the two of you attempting to have a much needed conversation...

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Poison sucking. Blood. Angst.

Word count: 3.5k

Previous chapter . Series Masterlist . Ao3

"You're bleeding."

"I know."

"It's distracting."

"Then look away."

He scoffed. "I can smell it."

It really wasn't a desirable occurrence to end up in one of Baldur's Gate's prisons. The last time you had the displeasure of descending into one was to liberate Gortash's victims from the Iron Throne Prison.

You had rarely been on the side that needed rescuing.

But fate worked in strange ways and had you thrown into a cold and rusty cell, trying to figure out how you ended up in this situation to begin with.

The torches scattered along the pillars of stone outside the cell provided little to no sufficient light, and it only added to the looming sense of dread.

Ripping a scrap of cloth from your clothing, you wrapped it firmly around the bleeding slash across your wrist.

Astarion sat across from you, eyeing your every move with a faint smile on his lips.

"You could have just run away, you know," you began, bringing your knees up to your chin with a sigh. "You are immune to Sleep spells."

He scoffed again with an eye-roll. "Please. I allowed myself to get caught. Gods know you could use the help."

The throb in your head intensified and you winced as discomfort tore through your body, as his words hit you.

"What help? We're both trapped inside," you ground out in annoyance.

He lifted a finger. "That, my dear, is merely an inconvenience. I am quite sure I'd be able to lockpick our way out of this."

The damp-scented mattress underneath you squeaked as you leaned against the ragged wall. "Using what? Your fangs?"

Astarion clicked his tongue. "Creative, but no. I just need to find anything to help me get through that lock." He rose to his feet and moved to inspect the sturdy door with attentive eyes.

As promising as it sounded, you knew deep down that it wouldn't be an easy feat. The guards had stripped both of you down to only your shirts and trousers, and removed anything deemed too creative.

Besides, this whole ordeal had to be a misunderstanding of sorts. It would be wise to, at least, get some enlightenment.

"Maybe we should just wait for Wyll."

He turned to you, a touch of disbelief crossing his face. "His guards put us here, in case you need a reminder."

"We did nothing wrong," you said, clutching on to reason. "We are not criminals. It's all a misunderstanding, I'm sure."

Whether it was a case of you trying to believe your own words, or because there was truth to them, remained to be seen.

As a sorcerer, it would be rather easy to blast through the cell door and be done with it, but you would only entertain that option as a last resort.

"Well, I suppose it could be worse," he said in resignation, curious fingers still prodding the lock. "At least, they didn't shove us in a cell with windows."

The lack of any opening to the outside had made it hard for you to keep track of time, but given the silence and snores from the inhabitants in the adjacent cells, you reckoned the sun had yet to rise.

Astarion would be safe from its scorching rays, for the time being.

You felt something trickling down your wrist, and upon closer inspection, you realised the cloth around it was soaked with your blood.

Odd.

Astarion was still very much entertained with the hinges and structure of the cell door to take notice of your finding.

You quickly brought another rag torn from your cloak and wrapped even tighter over the existing one, applying as much pressure as you could withstand through the pain.

Very odd.

He was now squatting down, taking a closer look at the lock, fingers tugging and rattling the device.

A true rogue at heart.

"Or, I could be sharing this cell with someone far less entertaining – like Gale," he continued. "I'd just beg the guards for a stake to rid myself of my misery."

He finished off with a dramatic laugh, but you found yourself scowling deeply.

"Can you give Gale some credit where it's due? He's helping you out."

His narrowed crimson eyes met yours. "By 'helping' you mean what, exactly? Cooking abhorrent meals and reading books that would put a screeching babe to sleep? Hardly helpful, darling."

You decided to fully ignore his taunt as patience slipped from your tired mind.

"He's going to Waterdeep in a fortnight to speak with someone willing to help out with the Wish spell," you informed as calmly as possible. "I was on my way to tell you that a couple of hours ago before… well, this happened."

His features eased and he rose to his full height, his undivided attention on you.

"Truly? That sounds promising, I suppose," he said, folding his arms. "And here I thought you were simply longing for my company. My apologies, darling."

He wasn't entirely wrong, but you would never let him know.

Suddenly, the sound of metal shrieking echoed throughout the room, and a jab of pain drummed steadily in your head.

"Wake up, you loiter-sacks!" One of the guards yelled.

Pandemonium ensued.

A wave of groggy protests were heard all around. The insults and taunts came immediately after, and your eyes widened at the vulgarity of all of it, while Astarion held the most amused smile you had ever seen on him in a long while.

He truly thrived in all things chaotic.

Another voice was heard. "Shut it, will ya?! Or no food!"

It effectively subsided most of the protests, though an occasional whispered 'fucker!' slipped through the mouths of some prisoners.

Squeaking wheels of a cart came to a halt just outside your cell, and you bolted out of the mattresses, gripping the vertical metal bars.

"Can you please call for Wyll. We need to talk to him."

The grumpy man frowned. "Am just delivering food, sweetheart. Now, have yours and get back."

He shoved a bowl of what looked like powdered wood shavings. The smell was positively nauseating , and your stomach twist and turn in revulsion.

You placed your meal on the floor, not daring to take a single bite.

A laugh burst from him before he attempted doing the same to Astarion, who visibly shuddered as he dodged the man's hand.

"Ugh. I'll pass."

He snorted, grinning maliciously. "Food strikes ain't going to get you out o' here, pretty boy."

Astarion's face twisted into an outraged look, but before he could voice out a snarky remark, the same man as before was heard.

"That one's the vampire spawn."

The guard came into view, and the atmosphere in the prison cell shifted considerably. Silence took over, only broken by some vague whispers.

"Give him pig's blood."

A few gasps erupted. 

"I prefer fresh blood, thank you very much," Astarion scoffed, visibly offended. "I am not feeding on scraps."

"Astarion…" you warned him lowly, not wanting things to spiral out of control.

The delivery man shrugged to the guard and pushed the food cart out of the way so he could attend to the other prisoners.

Another guard joined in, removing his helmet to take a closer look.

"Then you'll have nothing. You are in no position to make demands, spawn."

Astarion tensed by your side but merely pressed his lips as a reply. 

"Thought so," the guard chuckled.

You gripped the bars tighter, earning their attention. "Tell us what we are charged with, then."

They both exchanged looks and the first one bared his teeth. "Playing dumb, are we?"

"We didn't do anything that would warrant an arrest!" You nearly yelled in frustration. "Call for Wyll, please!"

The older man leaned in with a snarl. "The Grand Duke is absent. He might return later today."

Your heart dropped.

"Might?"

He nodded in indifference. "His duties don't bend to the will of his friends."

"We didn't do anything wrong," you said in a shaky retort, pressing your forehead against the bars. "We didn't…"

"Look, not to sound ungrateful given our luxurious abode," Astarion interjected light-heartedly, gripping your shoulders to have you take a few steps away from them. "But you do know who we are, don't you?"

"We do, and you are not above the law."

"And which law did we break, if you don't mind clarifying, of course."

The older guard was clearly running out of patience. "Killing a civilian."

Your eyes shot up immediately, and your mouth dropped in shock.

Astarion spoke before you could, his voice bearing confusion. "What? We didn't kill anyone." 

"We found the body in the alleyway."

You gripped the bars again. "No! I used a Sleep spell – and he wasn't a civilian! He attacked me!"

He was now dangerously close to your face. "Listen here, princess. You are both in a sticky situation, and I advise you to watch your words."

Astarion pushed you back with his arm once again. "Lay a finger on her, and you might just turn into a vampire meal."

Tension increased tenfold all of a sudden, and you could only glare at Astarion who remained unmoved and determined to hold his menacing gaze.

"Maybe you'd prefer an overground cell, hm?" The guard spat in amusement. "Having the sun to keep you company. I'm certain we'd be sweeping your ashes from the floor before midday."

An intense wave of anger burst through you, and you reached through the bars, nearly gripping one of them. "Fuck you!"

They both laughed hysterically at your failed attempt.

One of them reached for a pouch and threw a vial at you. "A healing potion. Drink it, princess. You're bleeding out."

"Unless you are to be his vampire meal."

The other guard cleared his throat. "Oh, and be on your best behaviour, and don't even think of escaping. This place is riddled with traps."

"And we have our own mages," the other glared at you.

They laughed obnoxiously loud again before turning on their feet and walking out.

You glanced at the vial in your hand, its crimson content undulating faintly.

Blood kept on seeping through the makeshift bandages around your wrist. The blood flow hadn't decreased, and a couple of droplets were dripping on the floor.

"Drink it," Astarion urged you, pulling his eyes away from the sanguine mess.

You could tell he was extremely tense all of a sudden, slowly pacing away from where you stood.

The compulsion to drink blood could be blinding at times, and you couldn't blame him for wanting to keep a distance given the current circumstances.

You quickly popped the lid off the container and downed the sweetened liquid, immediately feeling a rush of warmth coursing through your body with each pump of your heart.

Unwrapping the soaked pieces of cloth, you noticed the slash had barely healed at all, and that the blood kept pouring out.

Astarion had definitely noticed your confusion, gripping your forearm.

"Poison," he finally said upon inspecting the wound.

You stared at him wide-eyed, as the realisation hit you hard.

They had poisoned you?

"No wonder the flow didn't decrease with the potion."

Panic spread quickly. "Why would they poison me?"

"It was most likely unintentional," he concluded, smearing his thumb across the layer of blood near your wound. "They must have coated their weapons with it and slashed you by mistake."

"We need to call them for an antidote."

He shook his head. "I doubt they have one at hand – one that actually works. These idiots aren't well-versed in poisons to begin with."

Unlike him.

"What now?"

His eyes met yours. "Do you trust me?"

You stiffened, alarm bells going off in your head. He would never ask this unless… "You're about to do something questionable, aren't you?"

"Questionable, but potentially life-saving. How do you fancy your odds?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "What do you have in mind?"

"I will suck the poison out."

Instinctively, you tried to yank your arm from his grip. "No."

He simply glared at you. "This is your best option, darling."

You eased slightly, knowing fully well he was far more experienced in poisons than you were, and between 'bleeding out to death' and 'trusting your vampire friend who also happens to know a lot about this subject', you were far more inclined to pick the latter.

But then…

"What about you? It can be dangerous."

He chuckled in amusement. "I'm undead. Besides, I won't swallow this blood. I am vehemently against wasting yours, but exceptions must be made."

"Just… be careful."

He nodded, and you watched in awe as he brought your wrist to his lips, enclosing them around the wound. As he started off with gentle suckles, you saw the first droplets of blood dribble down from the corner of his mouth.

His touch was cold as ice, and you felt his fangs lightly press against your skin, but not hard enough to break the barrier. After all, your open wound – even if not that deep or wide – was enough to draw blood.

Somewhere along the line, his eyes fluttered shut as he held you in place, and your heart skipped a few beats.

Oddly intimate.

He parted from you not long after, all bloodied, and spitting the remainder of the warm liquid on the floor. 

"What a terrible way to taint your blood," he said with a wince. "It tasted… rotten."

He then grabbed a hold of your cloak – or what was left of it – and wiped his lips and chin clean.

"Just horrid."

Under different circumstances, you would have reprimanded him for it, but it was a fair exchange.

The flow of blood had already begun to waver, and you heaved a sigh of relief.

"Are you well?"

He nodded dismissively with a shudder. "The things I do for you, honestly."

Surprisingly, that did bring a faint smile to your lips.

Even if only for a fleeting moment, you were reminded of the many perils you had faced alongside each other.

He had your back, and you had his. 

No matter what.

However, It still felt grim that it took an erroneous arrest and being shoved into a prison cell to catch a glimpse of the trusting bond you once shared.

One that wasn't built on a mere transaction.

He silently eyed you for a moment, with an expression that was hard to decipher.

Then, he cleared his throat and walked over to his own mattress, placing his cloak along the length of it as a way to keep the damp at bay, before taking a seat.

Classic Astarion.

"Do you reckon I can now blame Gale for us ending up in this situation?"

You arched an eyebrow, wrapping yet another piece of cloth over your closing wound. "If anything, I should be blaming you, no? We're all doing this for you."

He shrugged with a side-smile. "Fair enough."

"I didn't kill that man… I don't get it…"

"I know you didn't, but it's not me you need to convince."

You sat down in defeat, rubbing your temple. "None of this makes sense…"

"No point in dwelling on it now," he said with a click of his tongue, inspecting his nails. "Get some rest."

You blinked. "I cannot rest in a place like this."

His eyes lifted briefly. "Darling, we've had worse."

"... and better." You mumbled.

"I'll give you the 'better' once we get out of here, then. Happy now?"

You winced at his words.

"Why do you do this?" You asked, unable to contain yourself.

He dropped his hand to the side, brows furrowed. "Do what?"

"This! This constant push and pull," you said, feeling the impulsiveness take control. "I try to have a proper conversation with you, and you just… push me away."

Astarion scoffed dramatically. "This is hardly the time or the place to be having this conversation."

"I tried to have you come stay with us… even when you're feeling more… vulnerable… you never let me in," you said in exasperation, words stinging in your throat. "You just…"

The words died in your mouth at the look he gave you.

It wasn't a look of anger or annoyance or outrage.

Just… nothing.

Like he wasn't even listening to you.

"Astarion?"

As if you had just snapped him out of his thoughts, he shook his head briefly, but didn't look in your direction.

"Go get some rest."

Had you pushed too far? He didn't sound upset, but then again, he was a master in deception whenever the situation called for it.

"Astarion…"

He was gazing out of the cell door, as if something far more interesting was worthy of his attention.

"I wasn't the one who pushed you away."

You sat up straighter, heart hammering fast against your ribcag. "Then who?"

"You did."

"What?"

He turned his head to you this time. "Don't pin this on me. You had all of me, and you chose to walk away."

A growing feeling of discomfort began to rise within you, competing with the confusion that had taken root.

And then…

Moonrise Towers.

That night.

"You didn't need a lover."

He sneered. "What about what I wanted?"

"Astarion, you–"

He immediately cut you off. "Don't. I wanted to be with you. I yearned for you like I never did for anyone else, and you chose the easy way out."

You were at a loss for words.

The conversation with Gale the day before immediately came to mind.

"Easy way out? You actually think I didn't have feelings for you back then?"

"Gods, then you should have fought for me – with me!"

He was being unreasonable. The pain of rejection had certainly seeped deeply into him, and it was now resurfacing brutally.

"And I did that! By giving you time and space. Besides, we had more pressing matters back then that required our undivided attention."

He looked back at you coolly. "How many nights did we spend thinking it would be our last?"

That caught you off guard.

"How many nights did you cry yourself to sleep, not knowing if we'd live to see another day?"

You fell silent, unsure of what to say.

"Yet you preferred having that emptiness and despair for company instead of being with me," he went on, his words were as knives that cut through you ruthlessly. "So do not lecture me about pushing others away, when you so clearly excel at that."

It took you a moment to find your voice again amidst the concoction of emotions that swirled in your head.

His accusations were unfounded. You knew this. But realising that that was how he really felt about the entire situation made you feel sadness beyond comparison.

That he mistook your altruism for selfishness. 

"I did what was best for you… and for us."

You wouldn't cry. 

You couldn't cry.

"And was that what you wanted?"

"What you needed mattered more than what I wanted. That's how much I cared for you," you said, voice wavering. "And I still do. Even through all your deception and lies and manipulation… you still came first."

That seemed to have taken him by surprise, and his face softened.

"You constantly mistake what you want with what you need, not even caring about the possible consequences," you went on with newfound vigour.

He scowled yet again. "I constantly cast aside what I want in favour of others."

You scoffed in disbelief. "You're not the epitome of selflessness you think you are, Astarion."

"What I want still matters!"

"If you'd done what you wanted, you would have sacrificed the souls of seven thousand spawn!" You exploded in a fit of rage. 

You were met with silence.

Deafening silence.

"You would have become the Vampire Ascendant and lost yourself in the process."

After glaring at you for a while, he then had the nerve to laugh. "Maybe that would have been the better option."

A sudden wave of nausea settled in the pit of your stomach. "You don't mean that."

"Stop speaking for me," he said through gritted teeth, words dripping with poison. "I had enough of it for two hundred years under his command – stop it!"

Your mouth had dropped open, and you were left speechless.

"Oi! Lovebirds, quit the chit-chat." One of the nearby guards rattled on the metal bars with a mace. "I'm afraid marriage counselling is postponed until further notice."

The other prisoners laughed and whistled teasingly as he walked away. 

Decided you were done with this conversation, you leaned back and rolled down to your side, facing the wall and fighting back the tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks.

You just couldn't stand looking at him.

Or even being near him.

You could only hope that Wyll would come back sooner rather than later, so you could finally get away from Astarion.

For good.

Disclaimer: sucking the poison from one's wound (in case of a snake bite, for example) has been discredited many decades ago. It's not really effective, and can do more harm than good, especially to the person doing the sucking. But for the purposes of this story, it works because fiction and magic and all that! Let's suspend our disbelief for a moment 😌

I don't keep taglists, so please consider adding this story to your alerts on Ao3 🩷

Next chapter: Solution

Series Masterlist . Masterlist

[suntoru]

─ ✰ TO YOU, WHO I LOVED THE MOST.

─ SYNOPSIS: letting go is hard to do. satoru can't imagine a universe where you are not his world, you'll always be. he'll always love you, just in secret.

─ WARNINGS: angst, breaking up, mentions of a toxic relationship, reader referred to as his pretty girl once, crying, swearing, 3k words

─ AUTHOR'S NOTE: dedicated to one of my moots. i'll always love u no matter where you go, even if it means i can't be there with you. i'm so incredibly proud of you, never forget how much i treasure you. 그래도, 놔두기가 힘들어.

he's practiced this. he had rehearsed this moment meticulously, running through the scenario in his mind countless times like a well-worn script. standing before the mirror in his bedroom, he'd practiced every word, every gesture, until they felt like second nature. it was supposed to be simple: just a quick stop to gather his belongings, utter a final goodbye, and then depart. and then cry for the rest of his life because he won't ever love anybody in the same way ever again.

in his carefully constructed mental landscape, there were no more than five conceivable outcomes, each neatly categorized and mentally prepared for. but you, clutching onto his sleeve like no tomorrow, begging him to stay wasn't one of them.

your knuckles strain against the fabric, turning white under the force of your grip, while fat tears trace pathways down your cheeks. every word that tumbles from your lips is tinged with disorientation, punctuated by cracks that mirror the fractures in your heart. you're crying, your sobs echoing in the small space between you, and with each tear shed, it feels like another piece of him crumbles away.

your breathing is ragged, hysterically bawling your eyes out as he stands there solemnly. it's a painful reminder that his presence in your life only brings you heartache and agony. he can feel the weight of your anguish pressing down on him, a burden he can't shake off no matter how hard he tries. his heart clenches in his chest, aching with a depth you may never fully comprehend.

"i'm sorry," you manage to choke out between sobs, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "please don't leave." each word is a desperate plea, a futile attempt to hold onto something slipping away. it infuriates him, but not at you— god, never at you. the anger that burns within him is directed solely at himself. why are you sorry? you should be cursing him out, scratching up his car and slapping the shit out of him.

he's the one who fucked up, he's the one at fault, the one who shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces.

so why, he wonders, why are you the one suffering? it only intensifies the ache in his chest, making it all the more agonizing to turn away from you.

"why are you crying?" gojo murmurs, his voice soft as he tenderly brushes away the tears staining your cheeks. it's a gentle gesture, one filled with a tenderness he can't afford to indulge in. each touch feels like a stab to his heart, a reminder of the pain he's caused and the irreparable damage he's wrought upon your fragile heart.

it hurts— hurts more than he can bear to know that this is the last time he'll ever see you, to know that the final memory etched into his mind will be of you, tears streaming down your face, struggling to even breathe. his pretty girl.

his hand moves to caress yours, his touch tender yet firm as he tries to pry your fingers from the fabric of his shirt. but your grip is like iron, unyielding and desperate, only serving to elicit more heart-wrenching cries of pain from deep within your chest.

"you can't go," you plead, your voice small, trembling with anguish as tears continue to cascade down your cheeks, leaving trails of devastation in their wake. "y-you promised... you promised me that it was going to be us forever and ever. y-you pinkie promised me..." your words cut through the air like shards of glass, each syllable a piercing reminder of the shattered dreams and broken promises that now lay scattered at your feet.

the weight of your despair hangs heavy in the air, suffocating and relentless, as the reality of his impending departure threatens to crush you beneath its crushing weight. everything hurts— the ache in your chest, the rawness of your throat, the emptiness in your soul— as you cling desperately to the fleeting remnants of a love that was once so pure and true.

"i know," he whispers, the words barely audible over the sound of your heartbreak. each syllable is heavy with the weight of his remorse, his longing, his love. he knows he said it, but he can no longer mean it, his heart screaming out in agony as he watches you crumble before him. despite how every instinct in his soul is telling him to stay, his rational mind, cold and calculating, reasons against it, reminding him of the harsh truth he can no longer deny.

your heart is pure, untainted by the darkness that consumes his own. it doesn't deserve someone like him, someone who has caused you nothing but pain and sorrow. he was selfish to ever believe that it could work, to entertain the foolish notion that a heart as precious as yours could ever love a heart as tarnished as his.

he is too broken to love. he's toxic, a poison seeping into every corner of your life, corroding the beauty and innocence you possess. you deserve so much better, someone who can love and cherish you in the way you truly deserve, in a way he will never be capable of. it tears at his soul, ripping him apart from the inside out, to let you go and to watch you find happiness with someone else. but he knows he has to do it. for your sake, for his sake, for the sake of the love he once believed in but now understands he can never truly be worthy of.

"i'm sorry," he sighs, the weight of his words heavy with sincerity. deep within his being, he truly regrets his actions. his voice, once meant to sing praises, now tainted by harsh tones that should never have been directed at you. his eyes, crafted to adore you, now bear the weight of regretful stares instead of the admiration they were intended for. his hands, meant to hold you tenderly, have instead caused you to flinch, a painful reminder of the hurt he's inflicted.

he's a monster. he's ruined you.

"it'll be okay without me," he promises, his voice trembling with the weight of his sorrow. he's trying desperately not to let the tears escape, not to show you the depth of his pain. a thousand times before, you've weathered storms together, but this time feels different. this time, it's final. but to you, it feels like the end of the world.

gojo's not just a pebble in the vast expanse of your life; he's a rock, solid and unwavering, filled with the very essence of your existence. without him, it feels like the air has been sucked from your lungs, leaving you gasping for breath in a world that suddenly feels cold and empty. the thought of facing each day without him by your side is unbearable, a daunting prospect that leaves you feeling lost and adrift. he's been your anchor, your guiding light through the darkest of times, and now, as he stands before you, ready to walk away, it feels like the light is dimming, fading into darkness.

"no, it won't," you croak out, your voice breaking with the weight of your despair. how could it ever be okay? it feels like the sun is leaving the earth, casting everything into darkness, leaving everything living to wither and die. you will die without him. how can you face a world without his presence, without his love to sustain you? you cling to him desperately, your grip tightening as if you could anchor him to your side with sheer willpower alone.

in your heart, you already know it's over. but maybe, just maybe, if you beg a little harder, if you hold on a little tighter, you'll be able to convince him to stay. your heart races with panic, the fear of losing him consuming you from the inside out. tears continue to stream down your face unabated, blurring your vision until all you can see is the hazy outline of his form before you. you sniffle, your breath hitching in your throat as you struggle to compose yourself. but how can you be expected to let go? how can you afford to lose him?

"it isn't the end," he reasons softly, his voice cracking with emotion as he presses your face deeper into his chest, shielding you from the tear that escapes his eye. "just the end of our story. but i promise there'll be someone else. someone else who is perfect for you, someone else who won't ever hurt you like i have." his words feel hollow, like empty promises meant to soothe the ache in your heart. how can he speak of someone else when you know, deep down in the depths of your soul, that you were meant to be together?

"but i don't want someone else," you sob, your words muffled against his chest. "i want- need you." your confession hangs heavy in the air, you're making this so much more difficult, and he can feel the weight of your pain pressing down on him, threatening to suffocate him with its intensity. but he can't be selfish again. he can't hold on to you when he knows deep down that he's not what you need, that he's only bringing you more pain and heartache.

so he holds you tighter, his arms aching with the effort to keep you close, even as he knows he has to let you go.

"one day, years from now, you'll be thinking of this day and laugh. when you're with the man of your dreams, walking down the aisle in your pretty white dress... you'll be so thankful for him," gojo says, his voice carrying a bittersweet melody that echoes through the empty spaces between you. his smile, though strained, is meant to offer comfort, yet his heart is turning blue with the weight of his own sorrow.

"at the end of the day, it wasn't meant to be us. at least not in this lifetime. in this one, i'm a lesson," he continues, his words heavy with resignation. he knows that he's been a chapter in your story, but not the final one. and while his heart aches at the thought of your pain, he knows that sometimes love means letting go, even when every fiber of your being screams to hold on.

"i know it hurts right now," he murmurs, his voice soft and tender as he reaches out to brush away your tears. "but there will be a day where it won't hurt anymore. that i can promise."

you shake your head, unable to accept his words, unable to bear the thought of a future without him by your side. your head aches with the weight of your sorrow, and all you want is to fall asleep in his arms and wake up to find that this was all just a bad dream, that this really isn't goodbye. but reality is cruel, and as much as you wish it were otherwise, you know that this is the end of your story together.

"w-we can work this out," you manage to choke out, your voice trembling with the effort of holding back your emotions. your words are desperate, a last-ditch attempt to salvage what's left of your shattered relationship. you know deep down that it's futile, but you can't bear to let go without a fight. "w-we can go to therapy, and things will be okay again..." his touch is tender as he strokes your cheek, his own eyes brimming with sorrow and regret as he gazes down at you. his heart aches with the weight of your pain, but he knows that staying will only prolong the inevitable.

"i think we both know it's too late for that," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. he knows that he's already cracked your heart, and any longer he stays will only make it shatter beyond repair.

"can you do something for me?" gojo's voice is tender, his touch gentle as he cups your face, tilting it upwards to meet his gaze. "hate me. slap me, cuss me out, just please... don't cry anymore. i want you to forget about me and move on." you're too pretty for all these tears, he thinks, even as they cascade down your cheeks, each drop a testament to the depth of your pain. but even in your sorrow, you're still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

his heart aches at the thought of causing you more pain, but he knows that letting you go is the only way forward. what he's asking of you feels impossible. how could you ever forget about him? even if you wanted to, you don't think you'd ever be able to hate him. the mere thought of it sends a fresh wave of anguish crashing over you, leaving you gasping for air amidst your tears. you can't bear the idea of moving on without him, of letting go of the love that has defined your existence for so long. your throat constricts, a choked sob escaping your lips as the weight of his request settles heavily upon you.

"i love you," you say weakly, your voice barely above a whisper, a last desperate attempt to hold onto him, to make him see the depth of your love. tears blur your vision, cascading down your cheeks in a torrent, but still, you cling to him, refusing to let go.

'i love you too,' he wants to say. yet the words that come out are a pleading, "please don't." but actions speak louder than words. his touch is familiar, comforting, as he combs through your hair like he used to when you cried over silly little things, on those off days when everything felt overwhelming. his fingers draw comforting patterns on your back, tracing constellations of stars as if to remind you that even in the darkest of nights, there is still beauty to be found.

you don't want to let go of him, because letting go means accepting that it's real, that it's truly over. it means saying goodbye to lazy sundays together, to midnight makeouts, to screaming karaoke in the car. letting go means he'll become a stranger, a mere memory, something that you both swore on your very lives would never happen.

you're lost without satoru, and he's lost without you. no exchange of 'you were a wonderful experience' passes between you two, for both of you understood, without needing words, that the other was everything. but what's shattered can't be pieced back together, and if this continues, you'll both suffocate under the weight of what once was. and the truth is, you're both better off apart, but it'll never feel like it.

no one will ever understand you like satoru did. no one will intuitively sense your emotions with just a glance. no one will ever fathom the extent of your love for him. the child within your heart stubbornly rejects it, unwilling to let your prince charming depart from your fairy tale. it takes every ounce of strength for you to loosen your grip, to slowly let go. and it takes everything for him to gently coax your hand away, to peel it off with tender care, and to press one last kiss to your trembling hand.

it takes all your willpower not to collapse on the floor, to stifle the gut-wrenching sobs that threaten to escape, and to acknowledge the painful reality that your satoru is leaving. for good. one glance is all it takes for both of you to know it means 'i love you.'

if he had known he had to leave so soon, he would have cherished every moment, held you close as if his life depended on it, loved you just a little bit harder.

he struggles against the overwhelming urge to hold on, his heart torn between the desperate longing to remain by your side and the agonizing realization that he can't undo the damage he's caused. you were, and still are, and will be for the rest of his life, his everything—the very essence of his existence, the light that guided him through the darkest of times. he promised to cherish and protect you, to love you with every fiber of his being, and deep down, he still means it with every beat of his broken heart.

but he was selfish, consumed by his own desires and fears, blind to the pain he inflicted upon you with every careless word and thoughtless action. he put himself first before you, heedless of the consequences, and in doing so, he did more than betray your trust— he betrayed your heart. as he gazes into your tear-stained eyes, he knows that he must bear the weight of his sins, must suffer a thousand lifetimes without you by his side. for in losing you, he has lost not only the love of his life but also a part of himself—a part that can never be reclaimed or restored.

"i know how much you hate goodbyes, so... see you again, my love. in the next universe." he whispers, his voice barely audible amidst the echoes of your shattered hearts. it's not just a statement; it's a solemn promise, a vow etched into the fabric of existence. with unwavering resolve, he swears, on his six eyes, that the next time your souls intertwine, he'll be worthy of cradling your heart.

in that universe, he'll stand by you through every joy and sorrow, holding you until the very end, sharing every breath until the final moment. in that universe, it will be his hand you hold as you walk down the aisle, his vows that bind you together as husband and wife, and his love that fills your days with endless warmth and devotion for all eternity.

just... not in this one.

and so, with a heavy heart and a soul burdened by regret, he forces himself to take a step back, to release you from the grip of his selfish desires, knowing that it's the only way you can ever truly be free. and with a heavy heart, he departs swiftly, each step echoing the ache within his soul. he resists the urge to glance back, knowing that if he does, he'll crumble under the weight of your sorrow, ensnaring both of you in an endless cycle of pain.

he leaves, not out of indifference, but out of a desperate hope that someone else will step in to fill the void he's left behind. it's a sacrifice he makes for your sake, a bittersweet farewell that holds the promise of a new beginning, even as it breaks both of your hearts irreparably.

a sacrifice to you, who he loved the most.

© SUNTORU 2022-2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 12.5 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: curses, alcohol, depression, panic attacks, unaliving attempt (ish, last scene of the drabble, do not read if it's triggering for you). basically jungkook's summer and he's severely depressed and almost proceeds to end it

☆word count: 4.6k

☆a/n: okay so this is an extremely tough one to read. the triggering scene is the last of the drabble, and I put a warning before it if you want to skip it! and if you ever need to talk, know that I'm here for you <3. I really relate to Jungkook's pain in this one, and I feel like I did not transcribe it well to paper, but I want you guys to have the drabble today so here it is :') hope you guys still enjoy even though it hurts like a bitch

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook counts his heartbeats. 

One, two…

Three.

He wonders if his heart will stop beating altogether. If the screaming in his head will mute, if the burning in his lungs will soothe away. 

Everything hurts, and it’s all his fault.

It’s always his fault.

His right leg bounces up and down, and all he hears is you telling him it’s over. Over and over again. 

If only he’d never made that promise to Gabrielle…

Nausea rushes in next, the taste of bile heavy on his tongue. The screaming intensifies, ripping his soul to shreds.

He lost you. He fucking lost you.

Not that he ever had you to begin with.

Tears threaten to fall, his vision blurring, but he blinks them away. He’s sitting outside on a park bench, the cool evening wind a caress on his features, yet he feels like he’s been dunked in an iceberg. He’s too cold, and his leg just keeps on bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down.

And his heart breaks and breaks, the screaming doesn’t falter, doesn’t quiet down.

He’s going to be sick. He barely drank yet he’s going to be sick. He doesn’t even dare close his eyes - all he can picture when he does so is you, and it breaks and breaks until he lets out a pained sound, hiding his face in his hands.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses, and he rubs his face, rubs his eyes, tries to chase the tears on your cheeks away from his memory.

But you don’t falter - you only become clearer. 

He lost you.

He should have told you he loved you before he left for Paris. Should have held you for a little longer - how could he have been so stupid?

The last time he kissed you… right next to the door. He barely remembers it. He should have known to commit it to memory. It’s already fading - the screaming overtakes the sound of your voice.

A tear slips free, and he dries it away. Like hell he’ll allow himself to cry when it’s all his fault. 

He was trying. He was trying to do what you wanted, and it backfired in his face. Regrets burn brighter than the sun. And now he’ll have to learn how to live without you when he barely had you to begin with. 

He straightens, sitting back against the bench. The leaves rustle in the wind, the moon shines on and on. Around him, it’s like the world hasn’t stopped. But it’s stopped for him - he collided with a wall at eighty miles per hour.

Can the screaming fucking stop?

He runs a hand through his hair, toys with his lip piercings, and then he gets up, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants as he starts walking.

He’s lost. He’s lost in the city of love - how ironic.

He wants to scream, wants to punch a wall, wants to break down. 

He wants to fly home and hold you close and never let go.

But he has to let you go. Has to let you fly. Your decision makes sense - even if it wasn’t for Gabrielle, Jungkook knows it never could have worked. He knew it on Valentine’s Day when he couldn’t resist but kiss you after wanting you for so, so long. He knew it the moment you melted against him, tasting sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted.

Like poison, disguised to strike when he’d be defenceless.

And as he walks the streets of Paris aimlessly, Jungkook wonders if he’ll make it out alive.

It takes him an hour and a half to realize he’s just been roaming, slowly but surely getting lost. With no clue how to retrace his steps, Jungkook leans against the wall, eyeing a rat running on the other side of the street. He tries to breathe, but his lungs are crushed under the weight of what just happened, and all he can think to do is grab his phone to call for help.

To call for help, to call for the one person that caused it all. 

Gabrielle stops in front of him some time later, rolling down the window of her car. In another world, Jungkook would have teased her for driving a Porsche, for flaunting her money like that, but all he can do is open the door and crash in the passenger side.

“JK?” Gabrielle lets out.

He’s crying. He starts crying, and it’s weak and pathetic, and Gabrielle doesn’t say anything before driving away. 

The tears recede. They recede before they get to their destination, and Jungkook is relieved when he sees that it’s not the Air Bnb. That it’s some kind of fancy apartment complex, and he follows behind Gabrielle as she leads him up the stairs and to her apartment. She unlocks the door, throwing him a concerned look, and he waits until they’re inside before talking.

Before voicing the pain in his heart.

“It’s your fault.”

Gabrielle gulps. “Do you want to sit down?”

“It’s your fucking fault,” is all Jungkook manages to repeat.

There’s a silence, and Gabrielle kicks off her shoes before heading towards the couch. Jungkook doesn’t register the luxurious apartment as he follows her in - it’s like the edges of his vision are red, and all he sees is the one thing that made him lose you.

“What happened?” Gabrielle asks as he sits.

“She ended things with me.” Jungkook rubs his face. “Because you kissed me yesterday.”

New tears slip free, and Jungkook hates them. Hates the weight that they bear on his heart, on his shoulders.

“Who ended things with you?”

Jungkook leans back against the couch, shutting his eyes. And then you’re everywhere, and he sees Valentine’s Day. He sees your sparkly eyes in New York, he remembers how you used to hold him.

You’ll never hold him again.

“OC.”

Gabrielle sighs. “Putain, Jungkook. You lied about her.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Jungkook whispers, unable to put the blame on you. “She asked me not to tell anyone, and then Tae was on Facetime with her yesterday and she saw us kissing and she ended things, and I won’t even be able to give her the gift I got for her.”

“Jungkook,” Gabrielle says, voice gentle and soothing, and Jungkook only then realizes that he can’t fucking breathe.

He’s hyperventilating. Everything burns and he can’t breathe - maybe you truly were the oxygen in his lungs.

“Deep breaths,” Gabrielle tells him. “Breathe with me.”

Jungkook feels his entire body freezing up, locking up. As if the thought of living without you is the predator, and he is just the prey. But he breathes with Gabrielle, feels the wave of the panic pass until he’s drained, his hands shaking slightly.

“Tell her, Jungkook,” Gabrielle says then. “Tell her everything. I don’t care if she knows.”

“I love her so much,” he confesses, and he’s crying again.

Gabrielle slides closer to him, and she rubs his back as he cries. It’s not as comforting as it should be - in the end, he still lost you. And Gabrielle doesn’t understand that he can’t tell you. That, even if he did, he still lost you. Because you never wanted Taehyung to know. 

That won’t change. 

It’s not like he can tell you anyway. Because what would Taehyung think, if you were willing to tell your brother? Jungkook would need to tell Taehyung about Gabrielle’s secret too, and he can’t do that to her.

Not when they were all they had growing up.

“You tell her,” Gabrielle repeats. “S’il-te-plait, Jungkook. Don’t lose her for me. Ça ne vaut pas la peine.”

What she doesn’t understand is, he’s already lost you. And he didn’t even deserve you anyway, not when he always fucks everything up. If it wasn’t for Gabrielle yesterday, he would have found a way to fuck it all up by himself.

No matter how much it hurts, Jungkook knows that you’re better off without him.

*****

Jungkook rereads the letter he’s written. He’s surprised he managed to keep paper free of the tears that have been rolling down his cheeks.

They’ve been staining his sheets instead, as he cries and chases your scent on his pillow.

He’s painfully aware that you’ve been sleeping in his room. The carefully made bed and the neatly folded t-shirt that you left on the night table are clear indications of it. And though Jungkook hadn’t planned on going home for the summer, the second he saw his room, he knew he had to go.

He can’t be near you. Not right now, when every single one of his breaths cut like shards of glass. So he decided to go home for the summer, to face the wrath of his family because at least that is familiar, that is something he can deal with…

He clenches his jaw hard, blinking away the sudden onset of tears. It recedes without leaving the confines of his eyes, and he manages to finish rereading the letter. 

He glances at the jewellery box on his night table next, and he dares to imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t broken up. He imagines your smile, your teasing when you’d realize he got you a gift. A cheesy one at that, but the second he’d seen it, he’d just known he had to get it for you. So he’d bought it while everyone was distracted by something else, hiding it deep in his pocket like you’d been hiding deep in his heart. So he imagines giving it to you again and again, your gentle laugh and light blush invading his thoughts. You kiss him to thank him, and he goes weak in the knees, because when doesn’t he go weak in the knees for you?

But life had other plans for you and him than the simple act of giving you a gift. Indeed, life decided distance was meant for you and him, and though he believes he might die from it, Jungkook just wants to respect your decision.

He gets up from his bed, knowing that he’ll never be able to leave the letter and the gift in your room if he doesn’t do it now. So he folds the letter, puts it in the envelope on which he already wrote your name, and then he goes to the door of his room. 

Taehyung and Ariane left to do some quick groceries ten minutes ago, yet Jungkook still makes sure the apartment is silent before actually stepping out of his room, heading down the hallway towards yours. And though it aches and burns and stabs and pains, he pushes the door open.

Your room is unchanged. He can almost picture the two of you tangling in your bed during the power outage, but he ignores the memories - they haven’t been doing him any good after all. He gently puts the jewellery box and the letter on the bed, and then he takes a step back. Stops in the door frame, eyes your room once again. He takes it all in, inhales the lingering scent of your perfume - the vanilla one that he was obsessed with - and then he closes the door on you, on his story with you.

It aches so fiercely that he tumbles back, almost falls, and then he heads to his room, to hide his face in his sheets hoping that the pain might finally recede.

It doesn’t. Especially not when Ariane and Taehyung come back, laughing together, reminding Jungkook that not everyone is breaking. It’s only him, and he assumes you too, though he tries not to think about that too much, because the guilt would eat him alive.

The guilt does eat him alive when he hears you coming home from work later, when he wakes from troubled sleep. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but then he hears your voice, and he remembers when you were whispering against his skin in the dead of night.

He doesn’t let himself break again. Instead, he packs his duffel bag, and then lies on his bed again. If only so that he can listen to you a little more before saying goodbye.

Jungkook startles at the sound of a knock on his door. He sits up, heart beating wildly in his chest as he dares imagine it’s you. But it’s not - it’s Taehyung, and they exchange a long look before Taehyung speaks.

“You hungry?”

“Not really,” Jungkook immediately replies.

Taehyung slightly frowns, glancing at the duffel bag, but he doesn’t say anything. He softly shuts the door behind himself to head back to the kitchen, and Jungkook sits there, the beginning of a panic attack starting to squeeze his lungs.

He hadn’t had panic attacks since he was in high school, but it seems that losing you has ignited them again, and he’s had a couple of them over the last few days. But he tries to remember to breathe, to not let it get to his head, and though it takes a moment, he eventually calms down.

He has to go. Has to leave before the panic truly seizes him and he dies.

He’s up and out of his room a second later, and though he knew he was going to see you, he freezes in the kitchen’s doorway. He just looks at you - you look tired, exhausted, and your eyes are just as haunted as his.

He doesn’t know what he says. Just tries to commit you to memory - your eyes, your hair, the way he feels naked and seen when you look at him. He commits your lips to memory too, and tries to compose a song with your voice in his head, something to listen to when  he’ll be gone. 

And then he turns his back on you to go put his shoes on. He hears Taehyung follow him more than he sees him, yet Taehyung remains silent until Jungkook is outside, the fresh evening air a soothing balm for the new panic rising in his heart.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks.

It’s not the first time Taehyung has asked since Jungkook lost you, but the answer doesn’t change. “Yeah, all good,” Jungkook lies, turning to face Taehyung.

Taehyung seems fully unconvinced. “You know, if you need to talk, you can talk to me, right?”

Jungkook almost wants to laugh, because that’s the last thing he can do.

“Thanks,” he says. “I appreciate.”

There’s an awkward silence, and Taehyung sighs. “I don’t know what happened with you and Gaby, but JK, please don’t let that fuck you up like this.”

“I’m okay,” Jungkook insists, pain and anger seeping in his voice. “I just want to go home.”

Jungkook is too much of a coward to hold Taehyung’s gaze, and his eyes drop to a spot on the ground between them.

“Well in that case, drive safe,” Taehyung says. “And text me when you get there.”

Jungkook nods curtly. “Will do.”

It looks like Taehyung wants to say something else. Especially as he glances inside, but Jungkook doesn’t wait. He turns around, walks down the stairs, and heads to where his car is parked. Taehyung doesn’t call his name, but Jungkook feels the weight of his gaze on his back.

And though part of him wants to, he doesn’t look back.

*****

Jungkook has always hated his father’s office. He’s never liked visiting JJS pharmaceuticals, and it hasn’t changed now that he’s a full-grown adult who should be indifferent to corporate buildings and tailor-made suits and the formality of his dad’s luxurious office. Yet, he’s still intimidated, still feels like he shouldn’t be here…

But this office will be his one day, now that he’s accepted to take over the company because Junghyun chose to start his own.

The office stands at the top of a skyscraper, offering a beautiful view of Manhattan, yet Jungkook doesn’t like it. He feels too far from the people down in the street, barely visible from such a height that he’s not even sure if they’re real or not. Like he’s disconnected - no wonder all the money and power have gotten to his father’s head.

Jungkook looks over his shoulder as the door of the office opens. To his surprise, it’s his mother walking in, and she dismisses her bodyguard as she heads towards him.

“Jungkook,” she greets him in that cold way she’s always reserved for him. 

He nods, turning to face the city again. “Mother.”

“I’m glad you have come to your senses.”

They were at the conference press earlier. Jungkook still feels like his eyes are burning from all the flashing lights, and his face still hurts from the fake smile he tried to keep on for the family image’s sake.

“I’m sorry?” he lets out.

“Though we are proud of Junghyun for his decision to start his own company, we’ve been worried about you taking over JJS,” she continues, entirely ignoring Jungkook.

He clenches his jaw, choosing to remain silent this time around.

“But then again, I think you just needed to have your eyes opened by that girl,” she adds. “What was her name again?” 

Jungkook’s heart feels like it’s been thrown in acid at the reminder of you, but he still refuses to answer.

“Nothing strengthens a man more than heartbreak,” his mother finishes. “Right?”

He takes a deep breath, knowing that he’s expected to answer this. “I guess so.”

His mother surveys him with that cold look of hers, slightly shaking her head. “We warned you about her, Jungkook.”

“What you said had nothing to do with why we broke up,” Jungkook spits. “Stop fucking bringing it up all the time.”

His mother’s gaze barely widens at the curse, and Jungkook hates that she’s so used to being disappointed in him that she doesn’t even say anything.

“In time you will see that I am right,” she says. “That… girl was just out to take advantage of you. It’s good that she’s out of the picture now.”

Jungkook’s heart breaks, like it’s been breaking since Paris. Like it’s been breaking every time you cross his mind. He never thought he could hurt so much - hell, he hasn’t slept or eaten properly since he came back to New York, surviving off of coffee and Buldak noodles. 

“If you ever say one more thing about her,” Jungkook seethes through his teeth, “I’m pulling out of the contract. JJS can go to fucking hell for all I care.”

He storms away. He doesn’t want to know what his mother has to say, just knows that he needs air and a glass of water before he collapses, the weight of his broken heart so heavy that he thinks it puts the weight of the universe to shame.

He truly has been breaking, shattering, crumbling to the ground. He never thought love could hurt so bad, but what is this pain if not the proof that he truly, fully loved you?

That night, Jungkook forces himself to eat a real meal. And though it tastes like ash, he reckons one day it might be able to overcome the taste of heartbreak that’s been lingering since he lost you.

***** (tw s**cide attempt-ish in this last scene, so please do not read if that is triggering for you)

Jungkook is drunk. He’s drunk and the city lies at his feet, the breeze fresh high up here. It plays in his hair, and he imagines it’s you instead. He imagines it’s your fingers, and that he can reach for you, if he dares to.

He takes a step closer to the edge, unsteady on his feet. Perhaps it’s the call of the emptiness in front of him - it’s so similar to the emptiness that has been his constant since he came back to New York and had that press conference. His mind is empty - there’s a hole where his emotions should be.

He’s a void. An empty husk, and two steps forward and he won’t have to deal with anything anymore. Won’t have to deal with his father calling him worthless - but hey, at least he’s talking to him again. Won’t have to deal with his mother calling him a disappointment, to deal with his brother ignoring his calls. 

Won’t have to deal with the guilt of losing you.

He’s alone, and lonely, and guilty and everything in between. It’s fucking eating him alive.

Jungkook takes a swig of the wine bottle in his hand, and then takes another step forward. He’s not allowed to be on this part of the roof - he had to climb over a fence to get here, and he still hears the sounds of the party in the distance. But he’s out of sight, and Lisa hasn’t come looking for him yet.

He’s on the edge of the roof. All it would take is a strong gust of wind, and he’d finally be free. But he doesn’t take another step forward. Not yet. Not when he remembers you - your smile is soothing the pain in his chest, and he holds on to it, if only for a moment.

His phone starts ringing, and Jungkook startles, dropping the bottle of wine. It slips off the edge of the roof, and Jungkook watches it as it falls and falls, and then explodes when it hits the pavement. It’s gore, his brain pictures himself there instead, and he takes a step back.

Jungkook grabs his phone. It’s Lisa calling, but for a moment, he lets himself imagine it’s you. He almost believes it - he’d pick up, and you’d tell him that you miss him, and he’d admit he almost texted you every day since returning to New York. But it’s not you - in this universe, you don’t even talk at all anymore.

“Hey,” he says when he finally picks up.

“Where are you?” Lisa asks.

He looks around. “Just on the roof.”

There’s a silence as Lisa moves away from the music on her side of the line. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t believe him. He knows she doesn’t, especially when she says, “Don’t move, okay? I’ll come find you.”

Jungkook nods. “Mmh.”

“But you have to tell me where you are,” she adds. “Do you think you can do that?”

“I’m on the roof,” Jungkook repeats, his tone flatter than the flatline that’s been echoing in his head since he lost you.

“Yes.” He thinks he hears her gulp, and then her voice is filled with panic. “Where are you exactly?”

“Ah,” Jungkook lets out. “There’s a fence on the roof. Climbed over that.”

“Jungkook…” Lisa trails off. “I’ll be right there in a moment, okay? Just wait for me.”

He makes a noncommittal sound, and just keeps looking at the shattered bottle down in the street. He has half a thought that it could have killed someone as it fell, yet he can’t bring himself to care. Not when a dark corner of his heart wishes it was him instead.

“Please stay on the line,” Lisa adds.

Jungkook doesn’t answer. Just listens to Lisa’s breathing as she makes her way to him. And then he hears the shuffle of her feet behind him, and he hangs his phone up, putting it back in his pocket.

“Hey,” Lisa says behind him. “Do you think you could step away from the edge of the roof?”

Jungkook shrugs. “What’s the point?”

“Please, Jungkook,” Lisa lets out. 

He barely recognizes her voice through the panic it holds, and he glances at her over his shoulder.

“What’s the fucking point, Liz?”

“Just step away from the edge of the roof and then we can talk, okay?” she says.

He clenches his jaw. “I don’t know.”

“Please,” Lisa says again. “I just want us to sit here and talk.”

Jungkook turns, and he sways. His heart lurches in his chest - for a moment, he thinks he’ll fall. But then he steadies himself, and he walks away from the edge of the roof, sitting next to where Lisa is standing.

She’s crying. He notices she’s crying and that, more than anything, breaks the dam inside of him.

“Holy fuck, Liz,” he lets out, and the tears finally break free.

Lisa sits next to him, pulling him in her chest as he cries, sobs racking through him. The pain is sharp as ever, a knife stabbing through his chest repeatedly. Everything hits him all at once - his family’s hate, his inability to control his own future, you… 

Yet the thing that hurts the most is the fact he lost you. Because he would have been able to live a life in hell if it’d been a life next to you but now…

Now he just feels lost.

“What’s going on with you?” Lisa asks through the tears that stains her own cheeks.

Jungkook lets out a bitter chuckle. “Everything. Everything’s wrong.”

“What happened?” 

Jungkook takes a deep breath, and then he confesses his love for you. Because it always goes back to you, and he wishes you were here with him instead.

“I was in love with OC,” he says. “You were right. But I lost her, and my family hates me, and I’m going to have to work for my dad and I just feel like life is so shitty. I’m so tired, Liz, you have no idea.”

“Jungkook…” she whispers, and her arms tighten around him, like she’s trying to hold his pieces together. “I am so sorry. And I know no words can truly help, but you are not alone.”

“I can’t even speak to Tae anymore because I’m convinced he’ll hate me,” Jungkook adds, and he wipes his cheeks dry. “Fuck.”

“You have me,” she whispers.

He hates it. He wishes she wasn’t there - some part of him wishes she hadn’t stopped him. Because he knows she has feelings for him, it’s always been obvious, and he’s only going to hurt her, too.

“I really loved OC…” he confesses.

“I know.” She runs a soothing hand on his back. “What happened?”

Jungkook tells her about Paris, keeping Gabrielle’s secret a secret, as he’s done his entire life. It makes him look even worse, he’s aware of it - how can he justify cheating on you without saying the full truth?

Simple - he can’t. Yet Lisa doesn’t call him an asshole. Doesn’t seem to judge him at all. No, she listens to him all night, clearly relieved that he’s not trying to jump off the roof anymore. And when she tells him she’ll help him find a therapist, Jungkook agrees. He agrees, because he’s tired of hating himself so much. He’s tired of everything, but maybe it’s time he tries to make it better.

If only so that he can live long enough to see you again. Because he wants to see you again. Wants to hear your voice again, wants to make sure you’re okay, better than he is. He likes to think you are - you have your friends and your family, and he knows they wouldn’t let you down.

By the time the sun rises, the flow of words that have been cascading from his mouth slows down, leaving him empty, yet it’s not the same. The void isn’t as dark anymore, like maybe there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. 

And though maybe he’ll break her heart one day by not being able to offer more than platonic friendship, Jungkook knows he’ll forever be thankful that Lisa stopped him from committing the irreparable. 

Read chapter 12 here!

☆☆☆☆☆

yeah so... I know it doesn't justify what he did, and the kiss with gabrielle but... my babie is broken and he needs a big big hug (and a lot of therapy so thank you Lisa for suggesting it). Feel free to talk to me if you need it <3

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[just-aake]

Boundless Devotion - Part XV (Final)

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Words: 8179

It’s difficult to know how much time has passed when you’re trapped within your own mind.

One moment, you’re glaring at the one who you once believed was your father, wishing for his downfall. 

The next, you’re falling into the eyes of the one who holds your heart, all while gripping a dagger aimed at hers.

The lost time spent drifting between reality and darkness always leaves you with a sense of helplessness, especially when you later awaken to discover the actions you took during that time, actions that still haunt you.

Your current condition feels similar to that feeling of being trapped, except, unfortunately, this experience is far more agonizing.

With each passing moment, every part of you aches, both mentally and physically. 

The sensation only seems to intensify, worsening to where it feels as though your entire body is engulfed in flames, burning from the inside out. Even the simple act of breathing becomes a challenge, let alone attempting to move.

At times, the overwhelming agony drains you to the point where your weary mind is tempted to just surrender to the dark void at the edge of your consciousness, promising relief.

But then a voice breaks through amidst all of the pain, calling your name in desperate pleading.

Though your tired mind struggles to place the voice in the moment, it feels familiar. 

There's something about it that warms your heart, making you forget about the pain even if only for a fleeting moment. 

The devastation in their tone is the reason you find the sudden need within you to push through the agony, if only to help alleviate the sadness in their voice.

And so, that's what you decide to do.

You endure, and you stay.

Gradually, it starts getting better. The pain lessens along with fewer waves of feverish sensations coursing through your body. 

Eventually, you hear other voices too, all familiar and all concerned for you. And as your mind slowly recovers from the fog of pain, it begins to piece those voices with their respective owners.

Wanda and Pietro

Yelena and Kate

Carol

Even Queen Melina

Ironically, the one voice you hear the most, always a constant source of comfort and peace at your side, is the one that proves the most challenging to place.

Frustrated at the mystery of this person, you eventually gather enough strength one day to will your mind to wake up, determined to finally discover their identity.

Slowly, your eyes open, and after a few blinks, your vision clears.

The first thing you realize is that you’re not in your room, but the surroundings look familiar. With a dull ache on your stomach, you opt to turn your head instead to survey the rest of the area. 

As your gaze falls upon the sleeping figure by the window, illuminated by the afternoon sun casting a warm glow on her red hair, memories flood back, and you finally recall the owner of that elusive voice.

Natasha

With her eyes closed, the princess sits in her window seat facing you, her head resting on her hand against her bent knee. 

The realization that she must have fallen asleep, likely exhausted from watching over you, causes a sad bittersweet feeling to form in your heart.

Glancing around once more, you take in Natasha’s bedroom, a place you haven’t visited in a while since before everything that had happened last year.

Despite subtle changes in details, everything remains mostly unchanged. Her swords and armor hang securely on the wall, and her shelves are lined with books and personal items that she treasured through the years.

On her desk, a small stack of papers awaits her attention, likely documents of the kingdom needing review, and adjacent to them sits a tray of obviously untouched food.

You frown at the sight, aware of Natasha’s tendency to neglect meals whenever she’s stressed or too busy.

Returning your gaze to her, you notice the dark circles under her eyes, deepening your frown and concern. 

Intending to call out to her and urge her to rest in her bed, you open your mouth, but your parched throat betrays you, plunging you into a painful fit of coughing instead.

Natasha’s eyes snap open instantly, her body tensing in alertness as she searches the room, before locking onto you in realization.

She swiftly rises from the window seat and approaches the edges of the bed where you lie, her hand reaching out to comfort you but then she stops in hesitation just before she touches you.

As you regain your breath, you notice her hand clench with nervous energy before slowly withdrawing to her side.

Summoning your strength, you reach out and grasp her hand firmly, not letting her go far, as you intertwine your fingers and rest them atop the bed. 

You nod toward the bed, silently urging her to stay by your side.

Natasha's tense posture relaxes at your gesture, and a faint, relieved smile forms on her lips as she takes a seat at the edge of the bed. She reaches for the cup on the nightstand, bringing it to your lips and helping you take a sip, soothing your parched throat.

In a whisper so soft as if afraid to break the moment with you, Natasha asks, "How are you feeling?"

“Sore,” you respond honestly, your voice still strained.

A flash of regret flickers across Natasha’s face as she looks towards your injury. Not wanting her to spiral into guilt over what happened, you tug on her clasped hand to bring her attention back to you.

“Can you help me sit up?” you ask, determination in your tone as you release her hand and prepare to push yourself upright.

“You really shouldn’t be moving right now,” Natasha cautions, her hands hovering tentatively in concern.

“I know, but I want to,” you insist. 

The thought of continuing to lie helplessly on your back, a sight that likely tormented Natasha during your time of unconsciousness, doesn’t sit well with you.

You want to reassure her that you’re feeling better than your previously weakened state.

Natasha hesitates, torn between honoring your request or prioritizing your well-being. However, she comes to a decision when she sees the determined look on your face.

“You’re so stubborn,” she remarks with a gentle shake of her head, a hint of fondness in her voice, as her hands move to support you carefully in sitting up against the headboard.

“Takes one to know one,” you tease lightly, offering a small smile as you lean back, taking a moment to catch your breath.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you stare up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Memories flood back, and you distinctly recall Natasha’s anguished face above you before darkness consumed your vision. 

Your smile drops slightly at the memory, and with a tired sigh, you turn to meet her patient gaze, breaking the silence.

“How long was I out for?” you ask softly.

“Three days,” Natasha responds gently.

Processing the information, disappointment washes over you as you realize what was supposed to have taken place yesterday.

“Your coronation…I missed it,” you say sadly.

Natasha chuckles softly, shaking her head in disbelief at your priority.

“No, you didn’t,” she reassures. “I’m not the queen yet.”

At your confused expression, Natasha continues her explanation.

“I postponed it. And before you say I didn’t have to, you know that there was no way I would have gone through with it without having you there.”

“Besides,” Natasha adds with a playful smirk. “Staying by your side is always better than any kind of event, even if it’s my coronation.”

Her comment lightens the somber atmosphere, drawing a small laugh from you, which makes her grin in turn.

The action causes a dull ache to appear at your side, and unconsciously, your hand moves to brush against the bandages covering where the blade had pierced you, reminding you of your ordeal.

“So what happened after…” you trail off, unable to voice the memory.

Natasha's gaze shifts sadly to your wounded area as she begins to explain.

"Yelena arrived with the physician shortly after. They tended to Pietro and you," she recounts. "Meanwhile, Kate stayed at her manor to apprehend the attackers and helped Wanda to recover."

Concern flickers in your eyes, prompting Natasha to offer a reassuring grin.

"Don't worry, Wanda's fine. She just tired herself out when she took down Rumlow and his followers.”

At your puzzled expression, Natasha moves her hand pointedly, mirroring the similar action of Wanda’s whenever she uses her powers.

“Oh,” you say, at a loss for words in realization.

Natasha chuckles at your expression, raising her brows at you.

“You did say she had a special way with people.”

Sighing worriedly, you explain your reasoning for keeping Wanda’s abilities a secret.

“You know how some people are towards magic, Natasha.”

“Well, considering she saved our lives, I’ll make sure no one messes with her, though I’m sure she can protect herself just fine.”

You let out a small breath of relief at her reassurance before inquiring further, “What about everyone else?”

Natasha tilts her head in thought as she continues to recount the events afterward.

“Clint was able to warn my dad, Steve, and Carol in time to capture the ones under control here in the castle. And as for the ones that went after my mom…” 

She lets out an exasperated sigh before continuing, “...let’s just say that they shouldn’t have attacked her in her lab when she was in the middle of mixing certain chemicals and powders.”

You chuckle lightly at the thought, knowing about Queen Melina’s tendency to cause explosions in her lab during her experiments. 

However, the mention of explosions brings a grim reminder of another figure Natasha hasn't mentioned yet.

“And Dreykov?” you ask cautiously. “Did he escape?”

Natasha's hand clench into a fist at his name, her expression clouding with silent fury.

"No, he's currently in prison, awaiting trial. Along with the rest of the traitors," she responds, shaking her head with resolve. 

Taking your hand in a reassuring grip, she adds, "But you don't need to worry about him. I won't let him hurt you ever again."

Natasha lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your skin.

“I promise.”

You offer her a grateful smile, relieved at the information.

However, a sense of resignation settles in as you prepare to bring up the next topic.

“I guess all that’s left is to decide what to do about me,” you say with a heavy sigh.

Natasha tightens her grip on your hand as she urges gently, "Just concentrate on getting better.”

You chuckle lightly before your expression turns somber as you clarify.

"No, I mean about me being the Stark princess."

An awkward silence descends in the air, both of you acutely aware of the weight of the decision looming over you.

As much as you dislike it, the reality of your identity remains, and you need to officially address its involvement in your future eventually. 

“What do you want to do?” Natasha finally asks, breaking the silence.

You contemplate your options and remember your conversation with Bucky, finding that your feelings about your decision remain unchanged even now.

"Honestly, Natasha, I want to just leave it in the past," you admit. "Everything's relatively peaceful between the kingdoms at the moment. What's the point in bringing up troubling revelations from mistakes in the past?"

“Are you sure?” Natasha questions in concern before pointing out. “You’re essentially rejecting your title as a princess.”

You nod, giving her a content smile.

​​"I've never needed it in my life before,” you say as you tilt your head at her in question, a hint of warmth in your voice as you ask, “Besides, I already have a princess in my life, don't I?”

Natasha returns your gaze with an affectionate smile before intertwining your hands together.

"Yeah, I'm yours," she affirms softly.

Gradually, you feel more strength returning to your body as you remain awake, nodding confidently as you adjust your position carefully.

"I think I'm feeling better enough to go back to my manor this evening," you observe, suggesting, "If you could have the twins come and help me, then you can finally get a proper night's sleep in your own bed tonight."

Before you can sit up any further, Natasha’s hand moves to your shoulder, gently holding you in place, her expression filled with disbelief.

Glancing at her hand, you give her a questioning look, causing Natasha to shake her head exasperatedly.

"If you think you're going to leave this bed anytime soon, especially after being stabbed for my sake, you need to think again," Natasha says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Meeting her gaze, you both engage in a standoff, locked in a silent challenge. After a moment, Natasha raises her brow at you.

“If the situation was reversed, would you let me move?” she asks pointedly.

You open your mouth to reply before deflating in resignation, knowing you would do the same as her if you were in her position.

“Fine,” you concede, though a small pout forms on your lips, before adding, “But I should still return your bed to you and move into one of the guest rooms.”

Natasha tilts her head in thought as she traces a pattern on the blanket on your lap before commenting.

"Is that really necessary? It's not like we haven't slept in the same bed before," she reasons, her tone light.

Then, with a teasing smirk, she adds, "Unless this is your way of avoiding me after I confessed that I love you."

You pause, taken aback by her casual declaration, and you feel your cheeks heating up as you finally process her words. 

When you see the victorious smirk on her face, you roll your eyes and shake your head, giving her a chatising look.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, frustration evident in your tone, though there's a hint of fondness.

“I believe you’ve always called me charming,” Natasha retorts, her smirk widening.

Frustrated, your hands grip the collar of her tunic tightly, pulling her closer to you.

"Natasha Alianovna Romanov," you begin, your voice tinged with both exasperation and affection.

She smirks, amusement dancing in her eyes as she catches herself with her hands against the bed on each side of you, encasing you between her arms. 

Gazing at you with a teasing expression, she prompts, "Yes?"

With a small smile, you finally gather the courage to voice the words you've been longing to tell her.

"I'm in love with you," you confess softly, your heart pounding in your chest.

"That's good..." Natasha replies, her voice tender as she leans in closer, "...cause I'm deeply in love with you too."

Her words brush against your lips softly, and without hesitation, you tug her closer, closing the tiny distance between the two of you.

The kiss feels both new and familiar, a perfect blend of passion and tenderness, as you lose yourself in the moment, savoring the warmth of her lips against yours.

Natasha is the one who pulls back first, resting her forehead against yours and letting out a happy sigh.

"You have no idea how many times I've wanted to do that," she admits, her voice filled with sincere longing.

Unconsciously, you lightly bite your lip to keep the warmth and feeling of her there for a little longer, before noticing Natasha's gaze drifting down to the subtle movement. 

You recall the countless times you've witnessed that look of desire in her eyes, prompting a small chuckle to escape your lips as you pull her in closer.

"I think I do," you tease, brushing lightly against her lips. "You're not exactly subtle, princess."

Natasha lets out a tiny huff, her lips curving into a playful smile before she leans in for another kiss and then another, each one gentle and delicate, never leaving your lips for more than a second, as she steals your breath away and makes you melt against her.

Your hand, still lingering on her collar, instinctively seeks more contact, slipping beneath the thin layer of her clothing to clutch at her bare shoulder.

The warmth of her skin beneath your touch only intensifies the longing between you as you try to pull her closer.

As you go to deepen the kiss, the moment is suddenly shattered by an unexpected interruption.

“Oh my—Nat! Let her breathe! She just woke up!”

Startled, you pull back from Natasha, breaking the kiss, as your gaze shifts to the doorway where Yelena and Kate stand. 

Natasha groans in frustration, her head falling against your shoulder.

Kate quickly steps in to cover Yelena's mouth, offering you an apologetic expression.

"Sorry! We just wanted to check on you two. We didn't mean to interrupt," she explains, as Yelena’s objection is muffled behind her hand.

Still pressed against your neck, Natasha responds in an annoyed tone, "Then leave."

Yelena rolls her eyes at her sister's bluntness, pulling Kate's hand away to respond, "Alright, alright, we get it."

With a warm smile directed at you, Yelena adds, "It's good to see you awake, Y/n."

"Yeah, we're glad that you're okay," Kate chimes in, relief evident in her eyes.

You offer them both a grateful nod. "Thank you two for coming."

“I guess we’ll visit you later then,” Yelena remarks, moving to take Kate's arm and guide her away from the door.

As Kate closes the door behind them, you catch snippets of their conversation.

"Should we really, though?" Kate's voice holds a hint of hesitation. "I don't want to interrupt them again while they're...you know."

Yelena hums thoughtfully before responding, "I mean it's a good thing we did this time, or else Y/n would have probably pulled out her stitches trying to undress Natasha."

Your face flushes with embarrassment as you instinctively cover it with your hands, feeling a wave of mortification wash over you. 

Natasha chuckles lightly, adjusting her tunic as she shoots you a playful smirk, a teasing glint dancing in her eyes.

“Don’t even start,” you warn, noticing her mischievous expression.

Natasha holds up her hands innocently, adopting a nonchalant tone as she suggests, "I was just going to say we should have the physician come and check your condition."

She then adds with a teasing edge, "After all, you may have overexerted yourself from being so eager to kiss me."

You huff in disbelief, raising a skeptical eyebrow at her.

"I'm the eager one?" you ask, a hint of amusement in your tone.

Natasha nods with mock seriousness. 

"If you say so."

Rolling your eyes, you playfully swat at her shoulder, then turn away with a small pout.

"In all seriousness, though, let me go get the physician," Natasha says, amusement evident in her voice at your behavior.

As she turns to leave, you call out to her.

"Wait, Natasha.”

She turns back to face you, curiosity in her eyes.

Leaning forward, you catch her off guard with a surprise kiss before pulling away.

"...okay, now you can go," you whisper against her lips.

Natasha's eyes fluttered closed at the unexpected contact, her tongue lightly tracing where your lips touched hers. When she finally opens her eyes again, they seem impossibly darker, filled with a mixture of desire and love that makes your breath catch.

“That’s unfair,” she breathes out, her voice husky with desire. “…doing that just as I’m about to leave.”

You pull away slightly, only for her to follow, not allowing the distance between you two to grow. A sly, knowing grin spreads across your face as you tease her.

"I just wanted to see who between us is actually the one who's more eager."

"I'm your princess, yet you're teasing me like this," Natasha says playfully, feigning disbelief.

"And you still love me anyway," you point out, a fond smile playing on your lips.

Natasha's eyes soften, and she closes the distance between you once more, whispering her next words against your lips.

“Yeah, I do.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Upon hearing that you were awake, Wanda and Pietro arrived quickly just as the physician was assessing your condition. 

Soon after, a request from her mother to speak with Natasha in private causes her to leave the twins in charge of watching over you at your insistence.

Now, Natasha stands in her private study, a deep frown creasing her forehead as she examines the letters that her mother had handed to her.

“What is this?” Natasha asks, her voice steady but laced with a subtle hint of anger as she reads the contents of some of the letters.

Melina lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing her temples as if trying to ward off an impending headache, knowing that her daughter won't take the news well.

“Many of the heads of the other noble houses in the kingdom are asking for Lord Dreykov’s release,” she reveals grimly.

“He tried to kill me,” Natasha states incredulously. “And yet they’re still defending him.”

“I warned you that Lord Dreykov is influential among the other nobles. You need strong evidence if you want people to turn their back on him,” her mother reminds her.

She then places a stack of documents on the desk, and Natasha quickly realizes that these are the results of Steve’s investigation.

Her mother continues her lecture, as Natasha skims the contents.

“The staff from the Bishop manor provided witness accounts of Lord Rumlow and the others' betrayal, but there were no witnesses at Dreykov’s manor besides you and Y/n.”

“What about his guards?” Natasha suggests.

Melina shakes her head grimly. “Found dead in their cells by unknown means.”

“What about Barnes?” Natasha points out the presence of the old captain.

Melina gives her a look of disbelief, raising an eyebrow. 

“The other nobles are not going to believe the words of a known criminal.”

Frustration and disbelief cloud Natasha's expression as she processes the information. She searches for another angle, another way to bring Dreykov to justice.

“If we can’t prove attempted murder against me, then what about the fact that he almost killed Y/n?”

Melina grimaces, her reluctance evident in her expression as she braces herself to deliver the answer Natasha doesn't want to hear.

“What is it?” Natasha presses, her tone betraying a hint of impatience.

Melina taps the stack of letters pointedly before explaining, “Many argue that Dreykov’s actions against Y/n are akin to a father disciplining their child and is not a crime, especially considering she survived. They believe it's a family matter that should be resolved within the respective house and not involve any others.”

Natasha's frown deepens as she hears this, her hand tightening around the letters.

“I told you handling the relationships between the nobles of the court is delicate work,” Melina reminds her gently.

“Yeah, I’m starting to see what you mean,” Natasha concedes, her expression resigned in anger at the twisted parts of the kingdom.

Melina offers a comforting gesture, placing a hand on Natasha's shoulder and giving her a proud look.

“Don’t worry, Natasha. Lord Dreykov can still be forced to face trial if you want. And I’m confident that you can convince the others to be on your side. In this matter and the future.”

Her mother’s encouragement does little to ease Natasha’s mind of the difficult task ahead for her once she becomes the queen.

Despite the troubling news, Natasha still thanks her mother for the warning before taking her leave.

Returning to your side, Natasha finds you resting once again, exhaustion evident in your features. She watches you with a tender and affectionate gaze, remembering her promise to protect you from any further harm. 

If there's one thing Natasha is certain of for the future, it's her unwavering commitment to fulfilling her vow to protect you.

With that resolve in mind, she later finds herself standing at the entrance of the most secure cell in prison, her arms crossed as she fixes a steely glare on the person seated in the shadows.

"Well?" Dreykov's voice cuts through the stillness of the chamber. “Is that girl dead yet?”

Natasha's jaw clenches at his callous words, refusing to be baited by his cruelty. 

A click of his tongue signals his understanding before he speaks again, his tone laced with a hint of mockery.

“No, you wouldn’t let that happen. So, then, are you here to finish what you started?”

Dreykov's eyes finally meet hers, his form emerging from the darkness as he tilts his head, his injuries still evident in the flickering light.

His face bears the remnants of bruises, one eye swollen shut—a testament to the beating Natasha had inflicted upon him when she first learned of the severity and uncertainty of your condition from the physician.

Unconsciously, Natasha's hands clench into fists, the memory of her rage surfacing as she recalls the moment she unleashed her fury upon him, her knuckles bruising and bleeding until Yelena intervened to pull her away. 

Dreykov catches her movement, a knowing glint in his eyes as a smirk tug at the corners of his lips.

“I see, so you’re mad because you can’t kill me,” he says confidently, accurately guessing her current predicament. “Tell me, how many of the other nobles have interceded for my release?”

Natasha grits her teeth in irritation at the extent of Dreykov's influence over the court and the fact he already knows that some nobles would rally to his defense. 

“They’ll abandon you once they realize what sort of person you truly are,” she retorts, her tone firm.

Dreykov chuckles in amusement, unfazed by her words.

“Feeling pressured already?” he taunts. “It’s just going to get worse from here on. After all, I’m not the only one in this kingdom who wants a war.”

“And you already know that I would never let that happen,” Natasha counters, her voice tinged with resolve. “That’s the whole reason why you didn’t want me as the queen in the first place.”

Dreykov eyes her critically, considering her words before a smirk dances across his lips.

“Perhaps I was wrong about you. You have potential. You just need the right…” he waves his hand dramatically. “…motivation.”

Rolling her eyes at his attempt at manipulation, Natasha turns to leave.

However, before she can reach the exit, Dreykov's voice calls out to her, stopping her in her tracks.

“Do you know what causes war the most, Your Highness? More than greed or vengeance?”

Natasha turns back to glare at him, irritated by his continued insinuations.

At her silence, he answers his own question.

“Love,” he spits out the word in disgust. “Such a foolish emotion, but you’d be surprised at how much destruction it can cause.”

He raises his brow at her, gesturing pointedly. “And it seems you have plenty for that pathetic girl.”

Natasha slams her fist against the bars, anger erupting, as she glares daggers at him.

“You better hope you don’t get to leave this cell, Dreykov. Because if I ever see you free…” she pauses, her voice lowering to a dangerous tone. “…I’ll kill you myself.”

Despite her threat, a pleased smile forms on Dreykov’s face, as if her words confirmed something for him, infuriating her further.

Turning swiftly to the door, Natasha indicates to the guards to let her out, but Dreykov's voice interrupts her again.

“I do have one more question for you.”

The door opens for her to leave as he continues.

“If that girl ever ends up in the way of you and your so-called peace, would you still choose to avoid war then…or would you fight for her?”

Natasha clenches her hand, finding herself unable to respond, her mind consumed by the weight of his words.

With a determined look, she decides not to entertain his question further, swiftly leaving the cell and slamming the door shut behind her.

“I look forward to seeing what your choice would be when that time comes, Your Majesty,” Dreykov's voice echoes tauntingly down the corridor as Natasha makes her way back to you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The unsettling exchange with Dreykov from that night a week ago still lingers in her mind as Natasha sits at her desk, lost in thought.

She ponders his cryptic words, bothered by his confidence that trouble was coming, and especially at the implication of having you in the middle of it all.

Her main concern is for your safety, prompting her to consider every possible scenario where you might be at risk.

After all, she had come dangerously close to losing you during the recent conflict, a thought that sends a shiver down her spine every time.

Leaning back in her chair, Natasha’s gaze falls on the small opened box resting on her desk, illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

The red gemstone embedded in the golden band glimmers with a silent promise, one that she hasn’t dared to ask you yet.

Pushing aside the unsettling thoughts of Dreykov's words, Natasha closes the lid of the box with a gentle sigh, tucking it away in the drawer for safekeeping. 

One day, she promises.

When she can guarantee your safety and ensure that she can provide you with a peaceful future, she’ll give it to you then.

A knock at her door draws her attention, and Natasha looks up to see you poking your head inside, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

"Don’t tell me you’re hiding already?" you tease, your voice laced with amusement.

Natasha's lips curve into a fond smile at the sight of you, her worries momentarily pushed aside by your presence.

Chuckling softly, she shakes her head before asking, “Did my mother send you?”

“She wanted me to make sure you wouldn’t be late,” you reply, walking over to her with cautious steps, mindful of your injury.

Leaning back against her desk, you give her a pointed look.

“After all, it’s your last ball as the princess before you become the queen tomorrow.”

Natasha smiles gently at the reminder before glancing down at the area of your dress where she knows the bandages are hiding underneath. Her expression softens with concern as she meets your eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Better,” you assure her. “I’ve been able to move around by myself without any help.”

Standing up, Natasha intertwines her fingers with yours, drawing you closer as she gazes at you.

“You look beautiful,” she compliments softly, her eyes reflecting genuine admiration.

“So do you,” you respond, your hand reaching up to gently brush against her cheek, slowly losing yourself in her gaze.

Then as if remembering your original goal, you clear your throat and nod towards the door. 

“We should go. Your mother’s expecting us,” you remind her.

At your suggestion, Natasha moves closer to you, enclosing you between the desk and her body.

“I’m sure we can spare a couple of minutes, can’t we?” she asks, her voice lowering suggestively, caressing the air as she leans in.

Raising a brow skeptically, you tilt your head slightly, your lips barely grazing hers as you ask, “Only a couple of minutes?”

The moment your lips touch hers, Natasha's eyes darken with desire, her breath catching in her throat.

Absentmindedly humming in agreement, she whispers, “…yeah, just a couple…” before closing the distance between you.

Arriving at the ball later than expected, you and Natasha are greeted by her mother at the entrance, who gives you both a reprimanding yet knowing look.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, offering her a genuinely apologetic expression. “We lost track of time talking.”

Melina raises her hand in a stopping gesture at your explanation.

“No, don’t apologize, Y/n. I’m sure I can guess what happened,” she says, shooting a pointed glare at her daughter before turning her attention back to you.

“Would you mind giving us a moment alone?”

You nod in understanding, softly excusing yourself.

Natasha brings the back of your hand up for a gentle kiss goodbye before releasing it, and you turn to leave the two women to their private conversation.

“Hold on, Y/n,” Melina calls out to you before you can go too far.

Stepping up to you, Melina carefully examines you before adjusting the strap of your dress on your shoulder slightly.

“Do try to direct Natasha to a less visible area the next time you two decide to ‘talk’,” she advises with a raised brow.

A flush spreads across your face in realization, and you quickly place your hand atop the area she adjusted, before giving a reprimanding look to Natasha, who looks away, barely concealing the satisfied grin playing on her lips.

You offer a quick, polite thanks before swiftly making your exit, eager to leave the embarrassing situation behind.

Turning back to her daughter, Melina meets her gaze with a raised brow.

“I guess it’s safe to say that your relationship with Y/n is still going well?” 

Natasha smiles softly at her observation, her eyes still following you as you go to join the others.

“Yeah, it is,” she replies honestly.

“That’s good,” Melina comments, handing her a cup before taking a sip of her own. “It’s important to show the other nobles how good the two of you are together so that they can have more confidence in the future with you as the ruler.”

Natasha nods in understanding, taking a sip of her drink in preparation for another lecture from her mother.

“Even if your relationship started as a ruse in the beginning,” her mother adds nonchalantly.

Natasha chokes on her drink in surprise at her mother’s words, coughing lightly as she gives her an incredulous look.

Melina raises a brow at her in challenge, daring her to deny her claim.

Looking away, Natasha glances over to where you are, oblivious to you and her arrangement being revealed at the moment.

As if feeling her eyes on you, you glance up, meeting her eyes and giving her a soft smile. She returns it before returning her focus to her mother.

Knowing there’s no point in trying to convince her mother otherwise, Natasha asks instead, “When did you figure it out?”

“Oh, I’ve had my suspicions since the beginning,” her mother reveals, swirling the contents of her cup in thought as she recalls how the events all started. 

“That morning, Y/n mentioned in passing about her meeting with Lady Maria as a potential partner, so I knew I had to do something to make you act.”

Natasha's brows furrow as she pieces together her mother's words with her own memories. She was right to think it was odd that her mother would suddenly take an interest in her love life, especially with such a ridiculous ultimatum given in such a short time.

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Natasha interjects, holding up her hand as she processes the information. “You're saying the only reason you pressured me to find someone was because you found out about Y/n’s date with Lady Maria?”

Melina nods before offering Natasha a sympathetic pat on her back.

“Let’s be honest, Natasha, you can be quite oblivious when it comes to your feelings for Y/n. I only pushed you to pay more attention to your love life because I didn’t want you to miss your chance with her.”

“No, you said that if I didn’t find someone, you were going to choose someone for me,” Natasha reminds her mother, her tone tinged with frustration.

Melina waves her hand dismissively.

“I was confident that you would come up with something before it ever got to that point, and you did. This charade that the two of you concocted worked out much better in the end, wouldn’t you agree?”

Natasha gapes at her mother, blinking in disbelief. She pinches her brows, feeling a headache forming at her mother’s antics.

“Please, go meddle with someone else's love life,” Natasha pleads, her patience wearing thin.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Natasha,” she says, chuckling, before pressing on, undeterred by her daughter's exasperation. “Now, tell me, have you thought of a plan on how to propose to Y/n yet?” 

Meanwhile, after leaving Natasha with her mother, you join the pair at one side of the ballroom. Stepping in front of the twins with a warm smile, you admire their new formal clothing that you had arranged for them to attend the event. 

“Well, don’t you two look beautiful and dashing?” you compliment, ruffling Pietro’s hair playfully. He swats at your hand lightly with a pout, then tugs at the collar of his shirt.

“I think you and Wanda are just trying to choke me in this,” he comments.

A red mist envelopes his topmost button and undoes it, granting him some relief.

“Better?” Wanda asks, returning her hand to cross her arms at her brother’s exaggerated behavior.

“Yes, I can actually breathe now,” Pietro responds with a teasing smirk, nudging his sister in thanks.

At the corner of your eye, you notice some nobles nearby shooting disapproving glares at your group, their attention mostly focused on Wanda, and then they begin to speak to each other, their voices intentionally loud.

“So disgraceful that they allow such people in here.”

“Did you see her eyes? They say it’s red like a demon.”

Pietro scowls at their words, moving protectively in front of his sister, but you stop him before he could confront them.

Then placing a comforting hand on Wanda’s shoulder, you check up on her. She gives you a reassuring smile, truly unbothered by their harsh words. 

You’re glad to see her adjusting okay to the fact that her powers are now known by others in the kingdom.

Still, you will not stand idly and let them talk about people you care about like that. The twins may not be in a position to say anything, but you can always defend and protect them.

Before you can confront the rude nobles, however, they are suddenly pushed off balance, stumbling to the ground, as the pair of canines rush through their legs towards you.

Their respective owners follow swiftly after them, with the younger princess giving the people a glare and challenging look, causing them to avert their gaze in embarrassment, looking elsewhere.

Yelena turns to your group with a satisfied grin.

“Don’t mind them, Wanda. They’re always judging everyone,” she says.

Kate nods in agreement, adding, “Yeah, intolerant people like them are not worth your time. There’s plenty of people in the kingdom who already know you’re amazing.”

Pietro chuckles and places his hand atop his sister’s head teasingly, remarking, “Careful with the compliments now, we wouldn’t want her getting a big head.”

Wanda rolls her eyes in response, shoving his arm off and commenting pointedly, “Your head is already big enough for the both of us.”

As the four of them continue their playful conversations, your eyes spot a familiar face hovering in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom.

Excusing yourself, you make your way over to the lone captain.

“Not one for parties?” you ask as you step up next to Bucky.

He sighs and shakes his head as he observes the surrounding guests joyfully engaged in celebration.

“It’s been a while since I attended events like these, but then again, I’ve never enjoyed them before anyway,” he admits.

Curious about something that you’ve been wondering about him, you finally ask. 

“Why did you decide to come to this kingdom? You know, after hiding away for so long.”

A silence follows, and just as you think he’s going to leave your question unanswered, he finally responds, nodding toward the distance. 

“To visit a friend.”

You follow Bucky’s gaze and realize he’s looking at Steve, who’s currently in conversation with Clint and Maria.

As if feeling your eyes, Steve glances up toward your direction, giving you two a welcoming smile and waving his hand in invitation.

A small smile forms on Bucky’s face, surprising you, and you find yourself asking curiously, “Then why not just stay? Enjoy life without constantly looking over your shoulder for danger and having to run away.”

He chuckles ruefully, giving you a look of disbelief. 

“I’m the most wanted criminal of the Stark Kingdom. Nowhere is safe for me or for those who help me.” 

“Well, at least consider the option,” you say, nudging him gently and giving him a pointed look. “Because you do have more than one friend here.”

He examines you carefully before giving you a silent, noncommittal nod, and you understand that this will be the most you’ll get from him.

“Y/n!” 

At the call of your name, you turn to see Carol coming towards you. As you turn back around to excuse yourself, you're not surprised to find Bucky has sneaked away.

Carol stops in front of you, the happy smile fading slightly into a serious expression as she examines you critically.

"How are you feeling?" she asks with genuine concern.

The familiarity in her question makes you laugh lightly as you shake your head.

“You and Natasha. Why do you two keep asking me that?”

Carol raises an amused brow at you.

"It's because we both care about you, Y/n," she answers softly before tilting her head in thought. 

"Maybe the fact we both like the same things is why we're always competing with each other," she muses aloud before extending her hand in invitation.

"Speaking of, would you like to join me for one dance before Natasha decides to keep you all to herself?"

You give her a playful warning look, raising your brow at her.

"No extravagant twirling, lifts, or dips?" you ask, knowing her tendencies.

Carol nods in reassurance, answering firmly, "I promise."

As she leads you in a slow dance, keeping an easy pace to avoid tiring you, you seize the moment to ask her something.

“Are you leaving after the coronation tomorrow?”

Carol nods in confirmation.

“That’s the plan,” she responds. “I want to do as much exploring as I can before my own coronation.”

A tiny, sad smile forms on your face at Carol's words. You've honestly missed her since she started her travels. Poking her pointedly, you give her a serious expression.

"Still, you should come visit more often," you tell her. 

Her eyes soften, and she gives you a small nod.

“For you, I will,” she says, a hint of affection slipping into her tone. "If you ever need anything, Y/n, just let me know, and I’ll have my ship practically fly back to you."

Her eyes glance at something behind you before she shrugs, adding with a sigh, “And I guess the same applies to Natasha if she ever needs my help again.”

“How generous,” Natasha remarks dryly, her voice tinged with sarcasm, as she comes to a stop beside you.

Carol gives you a small bow in thanks, her expression teasing as she remarks, “Looks like my time’s up.”

“Natasha,” she greets, giving her an acknowledging nod.

Natasha returns the sentiment, her demeanor cool as she replies, “Carol.”

Carol gives you one last smile, before pressing a chaste kiss on your hand goodbye and whispering sincerely, “Be happy, Y/n.”

As she leaves, you glance at Natasha and notice the small displeased pout on her face.

Unable to resist teasing her, you nudge her gently, remarking, “Jealousy looks cute on you.”

Natasha huffs in disbelief at your statement before offering her hand to you.

“May I have a dance?”

As Natasha leads you in a slow dance, you can’t help but feel nostalgic, leaning your head against her shoulder.

“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” you ask softly.

Natasha hums in agreement and nods against you, responding, “Last time we danced like this, we decided to be a couple.” 

You chuckle at the memory, reminiscing about how clueless you were back then, never imagining how things would turn out for the two of you.

The soft music creates a serene atmosphere, cocooning you and Natasha in your own world, away from everyone else.

Recalling the details of your original agreement, you meet Natasha’s eyes, a mischievous glint dancing in your gaze.

“You know, according to our deal, our fake relationship is supposed to end after your coronation tomorrow,” you point out.

Natasha raises an intrigued eyebrow, curious about your intentions.

“So, what should we do about that then?” she asks, her tone playful.

You tilt your head, pretending to ponder before flashing her a teasing smirk.

“Didn’t we agree that if anything were to happen between us, it would be the princess who confessed her feelings first?”

Understanding dawns on Natasha’s face, and she grins in agreement, a fond smile playing on her lips. 

“Y/n,” she begins softly, her gaze filled with affection. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were amazing…then I learned that you were really stubborn.” 

You roll your eyes at her teasing, but Natasha just chuckles before continuing. 

“But you're also kind and smart. And truly the strongest person I know.”

She leans in closer, her breath mingling with yours. 

“My heart and my life have always been yours, Y/n.”

You feel warmth spreading through your chest at her confession, and you can’t help but cup her face gently with your hands.

“You’re my best friend,” Natasha continues, her voice barely above a whisper as she covers your hand with hers. “But I would be honored if you are willing to have me as more than that.”

Your heart swells with love, and you nod happily as you respond.

"I want that too, Natasha," you whisper sincerely. “I want to continue to stay by your side and be yours too. Always.”

With those words of promise, Natasha closes the distance between you, her lips meeting yours in a tender kiss.

The sound of cheers and applause surrounds you, but you pay no mind, lost in the moment with Natasha.

You don’t know what the future holds, but you’re not afraid. As long as you’re together, you know you can overcome anything that comes your way.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Epilogue

In another kingdom, far away, inside one of the workshops of the castle, the king’s assistant waits patiently by the doorway for a pause in the king’s pastime of tinkering.

“What’s the matter, Jarvis?” Tony Stark asks without looking up from his careful concentration.

“A letter arrived for you, sir.” 

“Is it about the next shipment of parts?”

“No, sir, this came from a nobleman in the Romanov Kingdom.”

“Oh…you can just toss it in the fire then.”

There’s an awkward silence as his assistant makes no move to do as he asked, causing Tony to glance up in question.

The assistant hesitates before explaining.

“Counselor Potts strongly advised us not to do that anymore, under the warning of severe punishment should she find out. Also, the messenger stressed that the contents pertain to an urgent matter.”

Tony stops and furrows his brow. After the war and the deaths of his whole family, he preferred to keep contact between the kingdoms to a minimum. Just because there’s a peace treaty between them doesn’t mean he has to like or care about anyone there.

On the other hand, facing the wrath of his most trusted advisor for ignoring this letter is not something he wants to deal with in the foreseeable future.

“Just leave it on the table then,” he sighs with a roll of his eyes. 

If anything, it’s probably more news about the coronation of their upcoming queen. He’s already sent his decline to attend the event and a decent enough congratulations present that Pepper picked out.

He doesn’t understand why they can’t just keep the indifferent relationship between the two kingdoms as is instead trying to make them into something closer.

Shaking his head as Jarvis closes the door behind him, Tony attempts to return to his flow of concentration, picking up his tools as he continues to tinker with the parts in front of him. 

Unfortunately, as time passes, his eyes keep glancing at the letter sitting in the corner, something about it gives him some sort of unnerving feeling. 

Slumping with a resigned sigh that he can’t keep his focus anymore, he places his tools down again and swipes at the letter, sitting at the edge of the table.

Opening it, he skims the contents quickly before his posture suddenly straightens with tension, his expression turning serious.

The door of the workshop slams open, and Tony strides out purposefully, calling to his assistant.

“Jarvis!”

They are at his side in an instant, following him and listening for the next orders.

“Tell Vision to prepare the carriages and let Pepper know I’ll be away a bit for some business.”

“Yes, sir. May I ask where you will be traveling to?”

“The Romanov Kingdom,” Tony answers, glancing at the letter in his hand before tightening his fist, crumpling the paper slightly.

“Looks like it’s time to pay this new queen a visit after all.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

a/n: Thank you to everyone for reading all the way to the end of this series! (especially this long chapter) It's been a journey, and I'm happy that many of you enjoyed it and showed up for every update (all of your comments and reactions are so sweet and fun to read and honestly helped to keep me motivated).

This is the final part of the series, but it's not the end yet. There will be a sequel for Boundless Devotion, and it's called Everlasting Devotion (title mention in prequel Fateful Encounter 🤗).

I’m still in the middle of working on it, so the first chapter is not going to be released right away since I also want to finish some other one shots that I‘ve been working on and maybe take a little break.

That being said, for those currently in the taglist for Boundless Devotion and anyone else who's interested, if you also want to be added in the taglist for when the sequel starts, please let me know. (I prefer to ask again just in case instead of just assuming and forcing you along on another series that you didn't sign up for)

Again, thank you to all of you for reading!

Taglist: @lightwhoranoutoflight, @taliiiaasteria, @romanoffprentiss, @canvascoloredin,  @silentwolfsstuff, @blacklightsposts, @arcturusseer, @presser24, @dvrkhcld, @jujuu23, @screechcat, @vivs46, @cd-4848, @youneversawmehereooooooo, @pancakefan7529, @confusedspaceotter, @natbelovasblog, @izzy-b09, @iamheartless, @mrsrushman, @fxckmiup, @natty-taffy, @2silverchain, @traveler-at-heart, @autorasexy, @natsxwife, @mviswidow, @slut4johansson, @automaticdinosaurtaco, @jono723, @mousetheorist, @tofu9162, @natsbiggestfan1, @iheartjohansson, @nothanksbye07, @midastouch013, @dvrkhcld, @red1culous

[incognit0slut]

DARK DESIRES

Last part of kinktober | main masterlist

ghostface!spencer x fem!reader; dubcon, knife play, sensory deprivation, dacryphilia, forced orgasm, rough sex

A twisted encounter with the masked killer roaming in your neighborhood had you questioning your morals because as it turned out, you were more attracted to him than you let on.

words: 6335

a/n: this fic might not be everyone's cup of tea. IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU, DO NOT ENGAGE. Anyway, thank you for the amount of love everyone has sent me through this short series. I appreciate it❤️

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER you had with the masked killer was at home. You were in your living room, absentmindedly flipping through the channels on the television until the news captured your attention. You watched with a mix of fascination and horror as the unfolding report detailed a series of gruesome murders, each committed by a mysterious figure concealed behind a chilling mask.

"The armed suspect remains at large as law enforcement intensifies efforts for apprehension," the newscaster's voice declared. "Victims have sustained multiple stab wounds, with survivors recounting a chilling detail of a mysterious call from an unknown number before each attack. Citizens are urgently requested to report any suspicious phone activity."

As you sat there engrossed, a sense of dread began to coil around you. The details of the gruesome murders had been haunting enough, but a chilling realization gripped you as the camera panned across the crime scenes. Your eyes widened as the news footage revealed a recognizable building. That was the local library a few blocks away from your house.

A shiver went down your spine, and a cold unease settled in the pit of your stomach, as you realized that one of the victims was the young teenage boy who volunteered at the town's library every weekend. It then dawned on you with chilling clarity—a serial killer was lurking in your neighborhood.

The second time you saw the masked killer, his face was plastered around town. Ghostface. That was what they called him. The once-anonymous menace had transformed into a chilling icon that echoed through hushed conversations and whispered warnings. His mask, a pale and expressionless countenance with hollow eyes, exuded an unsettling aura of anonymity. It was what you saw in every corner; materializing on posters, shop windows, and even billboards.

Beware of Ghostface!

It was ironic. For someone who was murdering people with his bare hands, your community was giving him too much attention. It wasn't until you saw a group of well-dressed people, who clearly weren't from around here, that you realized how serious this situation was.

When the FBI arrived, you knew it was no longer a local matter, but a national concern. There was reassurance in their presence, in the sense that the full force of specialized agents was now focused on apprehending the killer that haunted the streets. But despite their formidable presence, against all expectations, the masked killer continued to pursue more victims.

You couldn't help but wonder every time someone you knew was reported dead—were these people even doing their job right? What were they doing here when they couldn't arrest one person when they came in a full pack?

You never really noticed these agents, although you did sometimes see them lurking around shops and houses to ask questions. You didn't really give them much attention, until that one night when you walked back from work and saw a figure leaning casually against a sleek, black SUV adorned with government markings.

He was standing alone, arms crossed and eyes focused on you as you slowly stepped closer because the only way to your house was to pass this street. He was clad in the quintessential FBI vest over his dress shirt and tie, his sleeves rolled up along his forearms. His height commanded attention, casting a subtle shadow that seemed to stretch into the surrounding darkness.

A cascade of curly, unruly locks framed his face, falling in a chaotic dance that obscured much of his features. But even in the dark, you could tell he was handsome, and the messiness of his hair added a touch of his disheveled charm. Yet, it was his eyes that held you captive. Stark and penetrating. Instead of finding comfort in the presence of an authority, you felt an unsettling chill crawl down your spine as his stare lingered on you.

"You shouldn't walk alone at night with a killer on the loose," he stated abruptly, his voice cutting through the silence.

Caught off guard, you stammered in response, "I, uh, my house is right around the corner."

His eyes, still fixed on you, held an inscrutable intensity. You shuddered. Without thinking much, and fueled by a sudden surge of unease, you briskly left his side.

People say the third time's a charm, that the idea after two unsuccessful attempts or failures, the third attempt is more likely to be successful or fortunate. However, in your case, you didn't know what to make of it when you encountered the masked killer for the third time.

It started with a call.

At first, you didn't bother the unknown number flashing on your phone, especially when a killer was roaming around town with its known trademark of calling his victims before his attack. So you ignored it and continued to prepare your dinner. But then it rang again. Once. Twice. Three times. The fourth time it constantly rang, you realized, that whoever was on the other line wasn't going to stop until you answered.

"Hello?" you nervously greeted.

"Hello there. Took you long enough," the voice on the other line replied. It was soft, distinctly masculine, quite disoriented, yet it carried a mysterious familiarity that you couldn't put your finger on.

"Who is this?" you pressed.

"A person."

You scoffed, a mixture of frustration and disbelief coloring your response. "Charming." With an eye roll, you dismissed the call, attributing it to nothing more than a prank. "Goodbye."

"Wait—no! Don't hang up!" The urgency in the voice pleaded, catching your attention before you could close the connection.

Frowning, you hesitated, the nagging sense that you had heard this voice somewhere before lingering in your mind. "No, really, who is this?"

The voice, now veiled in a playful tone, responded with, "A secret admirer." 

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across your face. "I doubt it," you said, leaning over the kitchen counter. "No one has ever had a crush on me."

"Well, I do."

"Tell me who you are then," you challenged.

"But it won't be a secret anymore."

You paused for a moment, the wheels of curiosity turning in your mind. "You really know me?" 

"Of course, I do."

"Do I know you then?" you asked.

"Maybe," he answered, a playful ambiguity threading his response. "So, you got a boyfriend?"

"Why?" You laughed, the unexpected question breaking the tension. "You wanna ask me out on a date?" 

"Maybe," he responded again, maintaining a hint of mystery. "So do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"That's a pity," he sighed, his tone taking on a flirtatious note. "You look too good in that shirt without a man appreciating it."

Your heart quickened at his words. Was he... you looked around your house, your eyes traveling across the many windows adorned in your personal space. A mixture of shock and discomfort settled in as you considered the possibility of being observed.

"W- What did you say?" 

"You look too good in that white shirt," he repeated. "Doesn't leave much to the imagination." 

You looked down at yourself. The shirt he mentioned was actually a tanktop you decided to wear for bed, but you weren't wearing anything else under it, so true to his words, this piece of clothing didn't leave much to the imagination. The hemline hung low on your chest, leaving a perfect view of your cleavage. The cold temperature of the room managed to make your body react, which was why your nipples were pressing hard against the material.

"Hello? Are you still here?" Sensing your silence, the voice on the other line held a sudden edge of urgency. "Wait—don't you hang up on me—"

You quickly ended the call. Feeling a sudden need for privacy, you hastily closed the curtains, shutting out the view from the windows as you clutched your phone in your hand. Your heart raced, and a wave of dread engulfed you. The unsettling possibility that someone might be targeting you, and not just anyone, but the masked killer, cast a chilling shadow over your thoughts.

The phone rang again. You hesitated, a part of you urging against answering, but somehow, almost involuntarily, you found yourself pressing the phone against your ear. The adrenaline of fear seemed to override your rational instincts, forcing you to engage with the source of the unease, even against your better judgment. 

"I told you not to hang up on me," the man greeted you, but his voice lacked the soft, friendly tone it had before. Instead, it had morphed into something more sinister, a deep resonance that reverberated through the air.

"Wh-who is this?" you asked, your voice quivering with a blend of fear and frustration. "What do you want?"

"To volunteer. Let me appreciate how good you look tonight."

You were desperate now. The urgency in his voice propelled you into action. Your feet guided you to the front door, and you locked it securely before quickly running up the stairs. Panic seized you as you checked and secured all the windows, the sense of vulnerability amplifying with each lock turned.

A sudden sound of laughter filled your ear. 

"What you're doing is useless," he taunted, the malicious glee in his voice sending shivers down your spine. Then, with a sinister tone that cut through the air, his next words had you stopping in your tracks.

"I'm already inside."

The air in the house thickened with dread as his words hung ominously. Panic set in, and the once-familiar surroundings now felt like a trap closing in around you. Every creak of the house, every flicker of shadow, became a sign of impending danger.

He was the one to end the call, and you looked down at your front door from the top of your stairs. You calculated how long it would take you to escape your own house as you slowly descended down. But then, the closet door by the front, the small room where you kept your coats and unused items, suddenly opened.

The creak of the door echoed through the silence, and your eyes fixated on the widening gap. Your escape route seemed to diminish and fear paralyzed you. The once-familiar confines of your home now held an intruder, and as you stared at the ominous opening, a figure emerged from the shadows.

Your eyes widened, because right in the flesh was none other than Ghostface, stepping out of your closet with a knife in his hand. The chilling reality gripped you, and time seemed to slow as the masked intruder stood before your eyes. The pale, ghostly visage stared back at you, obscured by the haunting mask that concealed any trace of humanity.

You moved on instinct. You turned on your heels and ran back up the stairs, even when you were aware there was no escape unless you jumped out of your window. But it was a better plan than running right into the arms of a killer, so you picked up your pace, sprinting as fast as you could down the hallway.

But he was fast, unnaturally so, and suddenly you felt a vice-like grip around your waist. His hand urged you with brutal force before slamming your back against the wall. The impact reverberated through your body, and a gasp caught in your throat as the cold surface of the wall pressed against you.

His presence loomed, the masked figure inches from your face. The hollow eyes of Ghostface bore into yours through the chilling mask, and the glint of the knife in his hand reflected the cruel intent that hung in the air.

Panic engulfed you as his other gloved hand circled around your throat. "Pl-Please.." you chocked, struggling against the force he pressed on your neck. "...don't—don’t kill me."

The air felt constricted, and the desperate plea escaped your lips in a struggled gasp. The gloved hand tightened its grip, the leather cool against your skin, as Ghostface's masked visage remained impassive. 

"Kill you?" he asked, an eerie edge in his voice. "That's the last thing I want to do right now."

You desperately placed a hand on his wrist as you let your phone hit the ground.

"Don't move," he warned. But you kept on thrashing around, the primal instinct for survival overriding reason, and he tightened his grip on you. "If you keep struggling, I might have to gut you out like a damn fish."

That made you stop. Satisfied you were listening, he finally let go of your throat. The release brought a gasp of air, and you stumbled back, leaning against the wall. 

"I'm not here to kill you," Ghostface declared, the chilling mask betraying no emotion. "But I do have something else in mind." 

He responded by caressing your face and pinning you against the wall. The cold, gloved hand traced a chilling path across your skin, and you felt the sharp contrast between the mask and the vulnerability of your flesh. He tilted his head as he saw the fear in your eyes, tears welling at the corners.

"Aw, come on, don't look so scared," he murmured, a perverse tenderness in his voice that clashed with the situation. His sharp blade went to your throat, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine. He forced you to stare into the hollowness of the mask.

"Let me have my fun."

You felt the blade on your skin as he dragged the weapon along your body. He smiled when he noticed you tensing, trying to avoid the sharpness of the blade from grazing your skin. Through tear-filled eyes, you looked up, struggling to catch your breath. Fear still consumed you, a chilling grip on your senses, but alongside it, an unexpected emotion stirred. Curiosity.

As you gazed at the masked killer looming over you, a strange sense of intrigue took place. It was a baffling response, the surreal proximity to the infamous Ghostface left you grappling with a mix of terror and fascination. The sheer scale of his presence seemed to stretch into the shadows, and you couldn't help but wonder—was he actually this tall?

A sudden movement caught your attention as he took a step. He moved underneath the black cloak he wore, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as he slipped a leg between yours. The confined space of the hallway seemed to shrink further as his presence pressed in on you.

And then there was silence. The air hung heavy with anticipation, and you sensed a deliberate slowness in his actions. It was as if he offered you a chance to resist, to push him away. But you didn't move. Instead, you held your breath, the rhythmic pulse of your heart echoing in the quiet.

"You've stopped struggling," he hummed to himself, trailing the knife over your shoulder. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

There wasn't time for you to reply as he hooked the blade under your top and ran it along the fabric, watching it snap under the sharp surface. The cool air hit your skin as you were suddenly exposed to him. Without warning, his other hand moved over your breasts, squeezing them roughly, earning a gasp from you. Your heart pounded with something akin to fear, or perhaps, it oddly felt like… excitement?

"Of course, you are," he muttered, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You could feel the cool touch of his gloved hand over your skin as he brushed his thumb over your sensitive bud. "Knew you were a fucking slut."

What was happening? It was wrong, morally twisted, yet you found a strange sense of anticipation as he continued to touch you. Your body was shaking, not just from fear, but from something else. While your rational side recoiled at what was happening, your body seemed to betray a darker truth.

You hated yourself. You loathed how easily you were giving in. You kept on reciting how wrong this was in your head, but when you felt the blade cut through the fabric of your shorts with ease, you didn't mind as much. Then your breath hitched when he quickly ripped your panties with his knife, and somehow you were now naked with his leg placed between your thighs.

"Would you look at that?" He taunted, his leathered hand moving over your curves. "You're dripping."

You let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up your thigh, stopping just before his fingers brushed over your heat. The touch was so faint it shouldn't have even had that much of an effect on you, but it did. It fucking did.

This was so unlike you, you weren't the kind of person to let someone you barely knew touch you. You even disliked the idea of a one-night stand. Yet here you were, legs wide open as you let a murderer touch you, and the messed up thing was, you wanted more.

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing your clit teasingly as if to test your reaction. You bit your bottom lip, stopping yourself from moaning aloud, your eyes fluttering closed as he played with your clit skillfully.

He was far too good at this, you found yourself thinking. Your body jerked as he increased his pace and you knew he had a goal in mind—to make you fall apart. The fast pace of his fingers had your brows furrowing as you chewed your bottom lip, desperate to keep quiet despite the way your hips bucked and rolled against his hand. He let out a chilling laughter.

"Stop acting like you don't want this," he said, increasing his pressure on your clit. Your eyes screwed shut, and you focused on that touch alone, the leather sliding over your wet skin. "Let me hear your pathetic voice."

You shook your head furiously.

"No?" He mocked. "You wanna bet how fast I can make you scream?"

His fingers moved from your clit, dragging down your slit and collecting your juices, briefly stroking you, earning a muffled cry out of you. Your chest began to heave, your hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over you casually. He laughed again.

"I'm going to make you scream so loud your neighbors will know how much of a slut you are."

And then he pressed the edge of the blade on your throat at the same time he plunged two fingers inside you. Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open and a loud squeal left your lips, the sound distorted by the vibrations surging through your body. He hummed in satisfaction at how fast it was to earn that moan from your lips, and surprisingly, he loved the sound you made.

It didn't take long for him to force more sounds out of your pretty mouth. You felt the coolness of the wall behind your back, the pads of your fingers brushing over the concrete in a pathetic attempt to get a hold of something, anything that could keep you steady while his fingers kept pumping in and out of your throbbing cunt with a wet, squelching sound.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, saturating every cell of your trembling body. The electrifying rush heightened your senses, amplifying the surreal nature of the pleasure. You wriggled your hips under the pressure of his body that was keeping you pinned against the wall, feeling so fucking embarrassed by the wetness dripping out of you.

"Fucking filthy, letting a murderer touch you." He then dragged his fingers out of you and started to rub your clit in tight, rapid circles. You practically cried out and quickly bit your lower lip to subside another embarrassing moan. "You know how many people I've killed with this hand? The same hand touching your sweet little pussy?"

Your thighs tightened around his hand, trying desperately to push him away. He responded by sinking three of his fingers inside you and groaned at the way you were clenching around him. "Look at you taking my fingers so well."

The leather slightly burned your skin, and somehow, it only heightened your pleasure. The heel of his palm pressed against your clit hard as he continued to curl his fingers. You gasped as your eyes fluttered open, looking up at him while his fingers pushed deeper into you, touching a spot you had never been aware of. The sensation brought an unusual feeling to your senses. You looked at him in confusion, your eyes widening.

"Pl- Please, stop," you begged out of fear of the unknown. The tickling in your abdomen was becoming almost unbearable, and you clasped your thighs together and involuntarily bent your knees a little in an attempt to make his fingers slip out of your wet cunt.

With a feral growl, he suddenly threw the knife on the floor before wrapping his hand around your throat, pinning your head against the wall.

"Take it," he hissed and tightened his grip, making you jolt forward. You helplessly part your legs and whimpered as his palm brushed over your clit with every thrust, his hard cock rubbing against your thigh as he held you in place. "Fucking take it."

The sensation was overwhelming to the point tears began to trickle down your face, and you tried to desperately blink them away as they hindered your vision.

"Oh, you're crying now?" He cooed, still rocking his fingers violently inside you. "Pathetic."

Before you knew it, your hips were bucking, distraught cries escaping you. Your body shuddered as if it were under his control, forcing out your orgasm like it was effortless as his fingers curled inside you, continuing to stimulate you even after you begged him to stop.

It wasn't long before he was bringing you back up again. His pace turned into a more intense speed that, to your surprise, the familiar contracting of your pulsing walls was followed by the splurge of weird liquid coming out of you. Your mouth fell open as you writhed against him, your sensitive cunt almost numb to the sensation as he pressed you for more.

You were so numb you could no longer feel his fingers buried deep inside your convulsing walls, squeezing around his digits as you shook in the tremors of your release. When you looked at him in shock, cheeks burning crimson and chest rising and falling heavily, a pretentious laugh left him. With a vulgar squelching sound, he slipped his fingers out of your pussy.

"Squirting like a pathetic slut,” he spat, his other hand still wrapped around your neck. "Told you I'd make you scream."

Your body turned pliant as you gave in and sank against the wall. You watched him lean down through your half-lidded eyes as you tried to ground yourself, his movements deliberate and swift, grabbing your wrecked shirt from the floor. You watched in confusion as he pressed the flimsy material together before firmly shoving it over your eyes.

Panic surged through you as the sudden darkness enveloped our vision. Although you couldn't see him, you heard him very well. His muffled breathing behind the mask, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusted the material at the back of your head. Your other senses were heightened when you were robbed of your vision that you could even smell him.

The sharp scent of sweat and a faint hint of earthiness clung to him, as though remnants of the ground followed his presence. Yet, amidst the rawness, there was a surprising note of sweetness, as if a subtle cologne lingered beneath the surface.

God, he was so close. His chest was now pressed against yours, and then suddenly, almost forcefully, you felt warm hands grip your jaw. Your mouth fell open.

He took off his gloves.

Goosebumps rose on your skin when a sudden breeze of air brushed across your face and you gasped. You could barely think clearly, and you could barely even brace yourself when harsh lips captured your mouth desperately. You couldn't believe what was happening, because holy fuck—you were kissing Ghostface.

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way he kissed you. A deep shuddering groan rippled through him as he continued to assault your lips. You were too stunned at the way he pushed his tongue inside your mouth, tasting you in a way that had your body trembling at the sheer force of intensity traveling through your veins.

And when you finally felt his bare fingers grazing along your drenched core, going up and down your swollen folds, he captured the moan falling through your lips with a groan.

"So fucking filthy," he whispered against your lips as he continued to tease you. His voice, once muffled, was now very clear. The tones were distinct, carrying an inexplicable familiarity that tugged at the edges of your memory. But before you could even try to recall where you had heard it before, he surprised you by increasing the speed of his fingers.

"You want more of this, don't you?"

You shook your head, but your body was saying otherwise. Your hand gripped his arm as he started to play with your clit again, and your knees buckled pathetically. His other hand fell on your waist to steady you while he pressed a kiss on the hollow point of your throat, traveling further up the skin till his teeth nibbled on your ear lobe.

He then grabbed onto one of your legs and hiked it around his waist as he pushed his hips into you. You could feel the outline of his hard cock behind the cloak he was wearing and you let out a whimper when he started rolling his hips.

"Is this what you want?" He rasped out at the shell of your ear. You felt strong hands grip your wrists before he pushed them above your head, pining you against the wall. "You want me to fill you up with my cock?"

You shook your head again, attempting to anchor yourself. The struggle was evident in the tension of your muscles, each fiber resisting the pull toward surrender. You should push him. You should cry for help. Yet here you were questioning your sanity as you slowly, almost desperately, grind your hips along with his, yearning for more friction.

"Dirty, dirty slut," he muttered against your lips before kissing you once again, swallowing your whimpers as his hips snapped into you. "I bet you feel so tight around me."

Desire roared fire in your veins, and you whined. He leaned over and captured one of your nipples in his wet, warm mouth, and you moaned again before he let out a satisfied hum. You could practically feel the smirk curling on his lips as he taunted, "You react so well. I might have to keep you."

Goosebumps rose along your skin. Then in a swift and forceful motion, he yanked you, abruptly pushing you to the ground. The impact was sudden and jarring, leaving you landing on your knees.

As you tried to make sense of what was happening, a hand pushed against your back, and you toppled forward, landing on the ground face-first, finding yourself on your hands and knees. A sharp smack hit your bare ass from behind and you jolted in surprise.

"Spread them wide for me," He murmured, gaze skipping over your nakedness. He marveled at the sight before him, the way you shamelessly arched your back at his command. Yet when he noticed you hesitating, he dropped his voice in a lower, sinister tone.

"Don't make me use my knife."

You quickly did as you were told, your hands traveling behind you, spreading your sticky thighs in a languorous stretch, and you shuddered under the weight of his eyes. You whined at the feeling of the cold air hitting your exposed skin and a trickle of your arousal ran down your thigh, much to your utter embarrassment. "Look how pretty you are."

Heat blossomed in your chest. Then the sound of a belt being undone had you whimpering, and you moved instinctively, arching your back even further. One of his hands landed on your ass again with a sharp smack before he gripped a firm handful of it. You could hear more rustling and a slight soft thud behind you. The lack of vision made you overly sensitive and you found yourself waiting with bated breath for his every move.

With a sharp tug, he pulled you back by your hips before one of his hands landed on the back of your neck. You felt him push down hard and you obliged, lowering your face and upper body to the floor as his other hand remained holding your hips up in the air. And then you felt him—pulsing warm right at your entrance.

A pitiful groan escaped your lips as the tip of his cock swiped back and forth along your folds. He moaned out a deep, pleasure-filled noise that reverberated around the small space at the feel of your arousal coating him. And then suddenly, without warning, he abruptly plunged inside of you. He thrust straight into that spot deep inside that stung so good a sharp cry slipped out of you. It was painful, his sheer force of girth stretching you apart, though that cry quickly became a low moan of pleasure.

The man behind you showed no mercy, thrusting his hips into you with force and purpose, so hard you felt your body inching across the hardwood floor with each stroke. Your mouth fell open when one of his hands released your neck before you felt him grabbing a fistful of your hair, just at the base of your skull, and sharply pulling. A high-pitched, breathy noise of pleasure tore out of you and he repeated the gesture, the tug on your hair even rougher.

He held himself there as he used the grip on your hair to haul you backward to him. Your back was arched, his cock still buried deep inside of you as you fell back into his chest. For a few moments, it was almost uncomfortable, but then, surprisingly, you felt even more aroused than you already were.

You pushed your ass even higher, arching your body in search of more of that delicious sensation. It felt like electricity shocked your entire body, triggering intense waves of pleasure that repeatedly spread wildly from your core as you focused on the pleasure building between your legs, the burning sensation filling you to the brim.

It was maddening. Frustrating, even. Because you didn't even care anymore, you didn't even care if you exposed for him, you didn't even care if your knees ached from the hard friction of the floor because any shreds of sanity and pride had long since been destroyed. You wanted more. You needed more. 

It was so twisted. You longed to be broken by him. You longed to be ruined by him.

You had never imagined being in this position, kneeling on the floor with a murderer thrusting himself into you, yet here you were, whimpering at the sensation of doing the forbidden. Your mind turned delirious he released the hold on your hair, his hand snaking around your front to grip your throat.

You continued to meet his savage thrusts with your hips, slamming into you as your wail turned into a ragged scream. The sensation, though pleasurable, became too intense to handle. You attempted to move away from him, stealing his breath as your inner walls clenched around his cock. His firm hand gripped your hips tighter, preventing you from pulling away as he held you in position, thrusting his cock into your throbbing pussy.

A helpless sound trickled from your throat as your body jerked, and he mercilessly fucked you through it. Everything was so intense your mind was struggling to comprehend what was happening as he pounded into you roughly. You tried to breathe through the incredible pleasure surging through your body but you were too overwhelmed. "T-Too much."

"T-Too much," he mocked. A sinister laugh sliced through the darkness, sending shivers down your spine. "Fucking. Take. It."

His words were punctuated with every snap of his hips. The insistent thrust made you thrash your head as your body convulsed, dragging it out and heightening it to a point where you could only wail. Your breath came in harsh pants; his breathing was as rough as he urged you on, and you gave yourself over to the wildfire consuming your body. You whimpered, head rolling back onto his shoulder.

"That's it, taking me so perfectly," his voice, now a sinister whisper, slithered into your ears. "Knew you were special the moment I saw you."

A gasp escaped you, the weight of his words settling with an unsettling realization. Amidst the darkness, you felt the contours of his laughter.

"Don't act so surprised. I'm your secret admirer, remember?" You felt his hand leave your hips before it trailed toward your front. You knew what he was about to do and you clenched him involuntarily, already anticipating what was to come. 

"Fuck," He hissed. "You feel so tight around me. I really do have to keep you now."

The coil inside you was dangerously close to snapping and he growled as your cunt clenched around his cock.

"Oh, you liked that. You like the idea of me using you? Fuck you whenever I want?" He questioned, his fingers moving to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. You bit down on your lower lip, feeling the coil in your abdomen tightening at his sharp movements, your hands moving to his wrist as you tried to ground yourself.

You gasped when you felt him tightening the grip on your throat, the skin tingling as he repeated the motion. "Filthy little thing, aren't you?"

"I-I—" You spluttered, feeling your legs going numb. You squealed when you felt him pick up his pace on your clit, rubbing messy circles against it as your back slumped against him, mouth parting, your tongue slipping out between your lips.

It was too much. You felt like you were about to explode. Your mind went blank. Your body felt numb. There was nothing else you could do but to give into the force of pleasure consuming you as he fucked you roughly, his hips hitting you in harsh motions.

"You gonna cum now?" He grunted, pressing his mouth at the shell of your ear. You helplessly nodded, not able to make out any coherent words anymore. He groaned between thrusts, keeping a firm grip on your ass to keep you from squirming. "Go on then, cum on my cock like the filthy whore that you are."

As if on command, your body spasmed involuntarily. It started with a prickling of your skin creeping up your body, over your breasts and face, inner walls tightening around his cock, and you came hard. You squirmed uncontrollably as all that pent-up pleasure welled up in your core. Your heart was pounding erratically against your heaving chest you could even hear the pounding in your ears.

Your mind was in a drunken haze as the pleasure continued to flow through your veins, his fingertips languidly brushed against your clit. But despite the desperate spasms of your pussy, he continued to penetrate your body. Every thrust hit more intensely than the last, wetness flooded from you as reality slipped away, and all you could do was burn, vocally urging him on as he moaned darkly behind you.

You were very far from sanity from everything consuming your body. You felt him everywhere. His grinding cock, the press of his fingers as they moved to toy with your clit, and his blunt nails cut around your throat. Your cunt continued to possessively grip his cock as you wailed breathlessly.

Heat traveled through you, body quivering and going boneless, the warm ripples of release dulling the sharp edges of your mind as he drove into you and finally chased his own high. The filthy feel of him emptying inside you, your shimmering release, and his hands decorating your skin with fingerprint bruises, was all you could focus on.

Until the distinct sound of sirens echoed in the background.

Your mind went hazy as you tried to anchor yourself and you heard him chuckle in amusement. "I guess you really woke your neighbors up," he said, letting go of his grip around your throat. You let out a breathless sigh when you felt him slipping out of you, surprisingly feeling empty.

He groaned as his eyes traveled down, watching the way his release dripped out from your convulsing pussy, traveling down the length of your thighs. “It’s a pity I have to cut this short.” Then you felt his lips near your ear. “Until next time."

"W- What?" Your head snapped up, disoriented in the darkness, as you tried to discern his voice. "You'll come back?"

"I'll be here when you least expect it." Then the unexpected happened. He surprised you with a gentle kiss on your shoulder, a stark contrast from everything that had taken place. The contradiction sent shudders through you as you felt his grip on your hips tightening. "Keep your doors unlocked for me."

A sudden emptiness enveloped you as he withdrew from your personal space. Your mind, still reeling from the inexplicable events, struggled to make sense of what happened. And now the realization that he wasn't behind you anymore prompted your hands to instinctively reach for the makeshift blindfold, swiftly slipping it off your face.

Blinking in the sudden light, your eyes adjusted to the surroundings. Your eyes caught his figure standing tall at the top of your staircase, back turned, a fleeting glimpse of brown curls disappearing beneath the mask he hastily put back on. 

Abruptly, he turned to you, the hollow visage of Ghostface now fixed in your direction. The tilt of his head sent a shiver down your spine as he looked at you for another fleeting second, as if he was giving you a silent promise as the faint sound of sirens continued from the distance. You stared back at him, heart thrumming in your chest.

And then he was gone.

[esouliie]

– TEARS ON THE GRAND PIANO

– pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader (MINI SERIES)

– synopsis: moving on from the only person you’ve ever loved is proving to be hard… so hard that hiring an escort seems to be the only way forward.

– warnings: poor dialogue lmao but my excuse is that it was written a while ago, offensive language, word count: 3K

– Prologue | Chapter 1

13TH NOVEMBER 2022

You were pretty sure your face was melting off with the way your cheeks burned against your hands. Your jaw ached tremendously from clenching, each muscle protesting against the pressure of the emotions welling up inside you.

The room felt like a pressure cooker, and the silence was the ever-tightening lid that threatened to explode at any moment.

The weight of awaiting unspoken words hung in the air, creating a palpable discomfort that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness. Seconds stretched into minutes, each passing moment intensifying the unease.

Your mind raced, replaying the events that led to this standoff… of sorts.

Joining the Avengers four years ago wasn't anything you would’ve expected for yourself. Raised as a normal teenage girl in a quiet suburban household, with a normal life planned ahead of you, you never imagined that your destiny would lead you to the extraordinary world of superheroes.

Tony Stark, the genius behind the Iron Man suit, approached you with an offer that would change your life forever. He explained that the world needed new heroes, and your unique abilities were the missing piece they had been searching for. After some hesitation and contemplation, you decided to accept the invitation to join the team.

And here you are - now a grown woman - sitting across from the same Tony Stark. His jaw was slack, eyes wide to an almost inhuman degree. For a man who had faced gods, aliens, and powerful foes, the revelation seemed to have caught even the Iron Man off guard.

To put it shortly, he was stunned. Such an uncharacteristic reaction from the philanthropist.

“What did you just say?” He finally managed to answer.

This was supposed to be easy; simple enough to not stress you even more, but you should've known that nothing comes easy with this man.

“I think you heard me, Tony.”

“Yeah, but I never thought I’d hear that… come out of your mouth.” He slaps his hand against the chair excitedly. He was both amused and bewildered by the unexpected turn of events.

“I mean, everyone thought you were a virgin, with the lack of relationships over the years, but I guess not, huh?”

His laughter irritated you no doubt.

Despite being twenty-three years old, your teammates, in their misguided assumptions, were certain you were a virgin. It was a label that stuck, fuelled by your shyness about your personal life. No one ever dared to inquire about your relationship status, but subtle concerns were shared between them, creating an unspoken curiosity.

In reality, your heart harboured a secret love for someone you couldn't have – a person who existed in the realms of impossibility. It was a love that had silently grown over the years, nurtured in the shadows of silent words and unfulfilled desires.

“So, you want me to set you up with an escort?” He asks, humour still evident in his voice.

You nod, a mix of embarrassment and anticipation washing over you. Your eyes briefly met his before retreating to your fidgeting hands, the room still echoing with his laughter.

“That’s fine. But first, I need you to answer some questions.” Tony continues, his tone shifting to a more serious note.

Confusion creeps across your face as you tilt your head, thrown off course by his unexpected shift in seriousness.

“First of all, why?” He inquires, leaning back in his chair and studying your reaction.

You hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much you should reveal. "It's complicated. There was someone… but the feelings weren’t mutual, and it’s time to move on. I thought this might be a way to help me do that."

Tony raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Feelings, huh? Well, I'm all ears. Spill the beans. Who's the lucky guy?"

You sigh again, knowing that this part might complicate things. “It’s not something … I just don’t think-,” You don’t want to tell him, it feels all too frightening, “I can’t say.”

He hums lowly, observing your obviously nervous state.

“Okay. What’s your preference?”

Your confusion grows.

He sighs, “Male or female?”

He asks so simply whereas you’re caught off guard.

Your ears burn in embarrassment as the implication dawns on you. You knew this would have to be spoken about at some point, you just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

“Uh, I t-think, female.”

Tony can't help but wear a sly grin. “So not a virgin and not into dudes. No wonder you shot Sam down.”

The mention of Sam makes you cringe, recalling your first encounter with the man who couldn’t take a hint that you were definitely not interested.

You attempt to regain your composure before warning Tony to be serious, but he interrupts your process, seemingly already moved on from your revelation.

“Anyways, what else?”

Again, you’re stumbling over how to answer but he saves you this time, deciding to lighten up on the teasing.

“I’m talking physically. What would you want her to look like? Tall, short, blonde, brunette, redhead?” His hands move drastically as if sculpting an imaginary figure in the air.

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was serious. "Does it matter?"

“Well, yeah, escorts are usually pricey, especially the ones I use to hire so… you might as well fuck someone you’re actually attracted to.”

He was right. It would cost a fortune for a high-end escort. Given your public image and the constant scrutiny you faced, you realise that anyone you brought into your private space would need to be discreet and accustomed to the world of celebrities. There would be NDAs to sign, and security measures to consider, and the whole process seemed more complex than you had initially thought.

“Assuming you want an escort for that?”

His words interrupt your thinking. He had a knack for understanding things without needing them explicitly stated. It was both a blessing and a curse. The fact that he guessed your intention to hire an escort without you saying it out loud was both impressive and mildly embarrassing.

Your blush deepens.

“I’d prefer her to be taller than me, brunette, green eyes.”

His grin slips slightly, realisation sinking in. Your preference seemed to match the appearance of a certain witch.

“Simple enough.”

“And also, old- actually, she can be my age, but I’d prefer an older woman.” You add, unknowingly unravelling another layer of mystery to your request.

Tony hums.

“Preferably not American, maybe like European, or…”

It couldn’t get any better for the man. The quick panic in your eyes, let alone the twitch in your lip, helped finalise his theory.

But ever the optimistic, there’s no way he’d caught that slip.

There are a lot of tall, brunette Europeans in America.

Surely.

He rests his head in his hand, feigning false nonchalance, “Sounds familiar.”

Oh.

Wanda Maximoff arrived in America with a heavy heart and a troubled past. The scars of Sokovia and the loss of her brother, Pietro, weighed on her soul, but she was determined to forge a new life. She was haunted by the memories of experimentation and the pain that had been inflicted upon her throughout her life. The scars, both physical and emotional, served as a constant reminder of the darkness she had endured. Yet, as she stepped onto American soil, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Hope for a new life.

Almost every day, she participated in training sessions to harness and control her formidable powers. Vision, an android and fellow Avenger, became her mentor and confidant. Together, they worked tirelessly to channel her abilities, turning the chaos into controlled strength.

Her dark eyeliner that used to coat her waterline thinned with each passing day. Her green eyes, now a striking contrast against her porcelain skin, began to reflect not only her pain but also the resilience that lay within. Her long, brunette locks remained a constant, gracefully cascading down her back.

The Sokovian Accords had torn her away from your life, but Steve Rogers, the man with an unyielding sense of justice, had set her free. She had been detained, left to rot in chains and a power-disabling device. But now, she lived in the shadows, on the run from those who sought to control her immense power.

The next time you saw her was on the battlefield in Wakanda. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the Wakandan landscape, and you found yourself standing amidst the chaos of the battlefield. The air was charged with tension, tangible electricity that mirrored the clash between the forces before you. Amid the chaos, you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, moving with purpose and grace.

Wanda. The woman you once knew as a fiery teenager, full of anger and confusion, had transformed into someone entirely new. Her crimson hair, cut to a length that framed her face, caught the fading sunlight as she weaved through the battlefield.

The old Wanda you knew was gone and yet she was still as beautiful. Still the same Wanda you were in love with.

Even so, she was your best friend.

The age difference never seemed to matter; you clicked in a way that transcended space and time. To you, her friendship was everything. And yet, as life unfolded, so did the unexpected twist of emotions that left you utterly devoted to her.

But your love was unrequited. She fell for Vision. The robot born from the mind stone, the same stone that granted Wanda her powers. They clicked instantly.

Unrequited love can be a heavy burden, and you carried it silently, painfully. From a distance, you observed the deep connection between Wanda and Vision strum stronger. Your heart ached, knowing that you never stood a chance against the android who had become the love of her life.

Her space and time.

And then came Westview. It hit you like a tidal wave of sorrow. Wanda, now known as The Scarlet Witch, had created an alternate reality in an attempt to find solace, to build a life where she could have everything she ever wanted. It was a bittersweet revelation - she had her family, but it was a fragile illusion. Life had decided to take everything good from this woman and that included her husband and twin boys.

Learning about their fates left you shattered. It had been a while since you cried over Wanda. You felt so much for the witch. To you, she deserved the universe but for all the time you knew her, she had only experienced pain.

It was a heartbreaking paradox - the one who could rewrite reality couldn't escape her own suffering.

Tony moves closer to you, breaking you out of your trance.

“You could always look for her.” His hand hovers over yours, unsure.

“No, I couldn’t,” You whisper gently, afraid your voice will betray you, “I don’t want to.”

He doesn’t say anything as he moves back to his original position, battling with himself whether to accept your defeat or encourage you to fight for love.

“Okay. I'll look into it.” He answers shortly.

“Thank you, Tony.”

You really do appreciate his help. He has always been there for you, a fun yet steady presence in your life. He had guided you through tough times in your career and offered a shoulder to cry on when needed. In many ways, he was more than just a friend – he was like an older brother.

“It won’t take long for me to find your woman. So make sure you’re ready for the best night of your life.” He concludes by flicking his tongue grossly between his pointer and middle finger.

But he’ll always be a pig.

--

15TH DECEMBER 2022

A few weeks later, you found yourself in the penthouse suite of one of Tony’s infamous drunk hotel purchases- The Ritz. He had managed to find an escort that fit your preferences within the same night, but due to conflicting schedules and multiple anxiety attacks, you pushed the date back as much as you could.

Tony helped you understand all the unspoken rules of high-end escort services. For high-risk clients, such as yourself, it’s imperative that a fake name is given.

Monica Dunn.

Tony said you didn’t look like a Monica but you didn’t care. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t an escort’s job to care what name their clients use.

Afterwards, NDAs are usually signed, despite the use of a false identity, just in case the escort discovered who the clients were, and sold the information to the press.

This has happened before. You giggle, remembering the scandalous article about Tony and his rendezvous with an escort that gladly divulged a particular fetish of his.

Five minutes before the agreed meeting time, the front desk rings, informing you that your guest had checked in and was on her way up.

You pace around the front door, nursing on the almost empty glass of wine. Soft music playing through the TV just outside the large conversation pit, a sunken enclave surrounded by plush, velvety sofas and cushions in hues of deep royal blue and silver. The pit was nestled in the centre of the room, creating a cosy and intimate atmosphere.

Perfect for tonight.

The suite’s architecture was utterly beautiful. The walls were adorned with gilded frames housing masterpieces of renowned artists, and the floors were covered in an expanse of soft, ivory carpet that allowed you to sink your feet into its embrace. A grand chandelier, dripping with crystal prisms, hung majestically above the conversation pit, casting a warm and gentle glow over the entire space.

Residing in front of the large glass windows, a grand piano stood proudly, its polished surface reflecting the glimmering chandelier above. Your eyes were drawn to it, a majestic instrument that seemed to beckon you with its silent invitation. Unable to resist its allure, you gracefully make your way towards it. The rich scent of aged wood and varnish envelopes you. Fingers delicately glide over the smooth keys, feeling the cool touch beneath.

You sit upon the plush bench, posture adjusting with the grace of a seasoned pianist. You begin to play, letting your fingers dance effortlessly across the keys. The room fills with an enchanting melody, each note resonating through the space. Lost in the music, you start to hum along, your voice blending seamlessly with the piano's tune.

The same tune you wrote for Wanda all those years ago. It's been a while since you’ve played this song. You’re not even sure why you’re playing it now.

The keys dip. A sombre note rings true. The music swirls into a reflection of your emotions, a silent expression of the feelings you had kept hidden for so long and how they remained unbound.

“That’s beautiful.” A voice broke through the harmony, pulling you out of your musical reverie.

Startled, you turn to find her standing there, in all her glory.

And time ceases to exist.

She stands tall. The red hair that once defined her is now a rich, deep brown, still its usual thickness and tied into a high ponytail that exudes a casual confidence. Bangs frame her sculpted face as a gloss stains her lips. She looks different. You can't help but marvel at the maturity that now graces her features. There's a certain grace to the lines that weren't there before, a subtle testimony to the experiences that have shaped her.

The room becomes a backdrop to the flood of memories rushing through your mind. The air is thick with festering emotions as you look up at her, trying to process the unexpected reunion. It's been years since you last saw her, and the wounds of her departure still linger.

You don’t say anything but she does. She steps closer, eyes flickering over your stilled hands on the instrument.

She laughs, and familiarity strikes as she recalls the tune you were playing. "Is that the song you were writing that night?"

The question hangs in the air, summoning memories of the last time you shared your dreams and melodies, the things that mean most to you. She was your muse and you had bared your soul to her in your music. And now you’re trapped between the resonating notes of the piano and the echoes of your past.

For a moment, you struggle to maintain composure. Indifference projected as a firm shield, a sort of defence against the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

"It's just a tune." You reply nonchalantly, trying to downplay the significance of the moment.

With that, her gaze intensifies, a shadow of uncertainty rushes across her features.

You can't help but feel a sense of curiosity mixed with a tinge of unease.

All this time that has passed and now she decides to come find you.

You don’t understand why she’s here.

She goes to speak but you interrupt her. “What are you doing here, Wanda?”

She’s lost for words, not even fully sure herself.

“I came to see you.”

Wanda sees the strain on your face. She didn’t have to read your mind to know you were in turmoil. Without much thought, she gently cradles your face in her hands, thumbs tracing delicately over your lips, and you lean into the touch, momentarily forgetting everything that’s occurred over the last few years.

This doesn’t last long. The warmth of her touch turns cold, and you stand up abruptly, the piano bench skirting backwards loudly. Anger simmers beneath the surface.

“Don’t touch me.”

You don’t expect it to hurt as you see the pain your words cause her.  

“Seriously, Wanda. Why are you here?” You continue, voice thick with led.

Wanda sighs, unwilling to lie to you anymore. “Tony sent me.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snow Angel

Gwyane's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Version

Gwayne Hightower x Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, servant!reader, angst, violence, blood, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved.

Frost was coming for your lips. You wouldn't be able to speak even if you tried. Your body was shaking; your clothes were muddy and torn.

It's ironic how it seems you would die in the filth after all the efforts you took to afford perfume, to rise in station, to reach him. And now look at you, you were bloody, beaten, and begrimed.

You flinch when you hear the dungeon doors open. You curl your knees deeper into your chest, fear causing your shivers to intensify. You barely have the energy to make out a word, but you do, for the sake of living, "please."

You hear a faint a voice. You force yourself to look up when you recognize it.

Gwayne looks at you, crouching down as he holds onto the bars of your cell. He calls out your name, and you feel yourself grow nauseous. He reaches out a hand to you, beckoning you over. You do not go to him. You do not wish to soil him. You do not want him to see you like this.

"Darling," he urges with his palm, "come to me."

You shake your head rapidly.

Gwayne gulps, waiting for you to change your mind. You don't. He grips the bars and clenches his jaw, "my father spoke to you."

You feel a chill run down your spine.

"What did he say?" he asks, as if he didn't know exactly what his father wanted from you. Still, he waits a response, to no avail. He sighs, "did he ask you to confess?"

Confess? There was nothing to confess. You were wrongfully sentenced and tortured. For what? Even now, you did not know.

The man feels his body tighten at the silence. He chews his lip before asking, "do you trust me?"

You turn to him, eyes watering.

If he professed the sky was red in the morn and yellow in the night, you would believe him. The things you did all to become Lady Alicent's handmaid, to be near him, to please him, to have him... you nod your head.

Gwayne stands, eyes still on your pitiful figure, "when my father returns, he will make you plead guilty. I want you to admit to it."

Your face drops.

"He would not hurt you. He will lose me if he does... he cannot lose his heir."

Your body was too weak to weep. You simply stare at him as your insides corrode.

"Will you do it?" he asks, tilting his head.

You turn to your knees. You watch them tremble. It's not like you had a choice. You shudder as a chill ripples through your body. You nod your head, curling into yourself.

He gulps at the sight of you. A line forms in his brow, "it will not be long... I will free you, I swear it."

He does. Everything he says comes to pass. Otto Hightower returns, face grave as ever. He asks if you will confess, and without missing a beat, you nod. Without another word, he releases you, and you are dragged out of your cell. You have to be taken by the arm to stay upright, too weak to do so on your own.

You flinch at the daylight, and though your eyes were irritated, you were relieved to see it. Otto, who walked before you, stops, sequentially turning to the guard escorting you. You are pulled back.

He walks forward, and your realize Gwayne is speaking to him.

Without warning, you are winded. A body numbing pain rips into your gut and you are no longer cold. Suddenly, you are incredibly warm; you feel it gushing down your belly. The guard withdraws his blade, wiping it on his sleeve before sheathing it.

It takes you dropping to the floor for Gwayne realize what's happened. His is too shocked to act at first. He reels back before dropping to his knees to cradle you.

He glares at his father, "did you have to kill her?!"

"She confessed to the crime. The sentence is death."

"She only confessed because-"

"She confessed."

Gwayne rocks you, eyes watering, "you told me I could keep her."

"You intended to marry he-"

"I DID NOT!" he snaps, turning to his father with a face of fury, "I would have kept her my servant, my maid..."

You manage to brush hand on his shoulder. He looks back at you.

"But she would be m-" he does not continue his words as he watches your eyes close.

[k9iriz]

𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐦𝐞

18+, [ ♫ 𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤 - 𝘬𝘦��𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘪 ]

𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳/𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘦

𝘴𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴: 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 & 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, (𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 “𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺” 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘹!/𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘶𝘱-𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘴𝘦𝘹)

i entered the house silently as i threw my pink-designed purse on the counter, my pink steve madden heels clicked on the marble floors as i heard a bag being thrown on the floor, a pissed sigh and a rough opened fridge door in the distance as i walked upstairs, slamming the door shut, locking it.

“what happened?” you ask.

travis was mindlessly talking to a woman—who was clearly flirting with him, attracted to him.

noting he was already neglecting me, in my mind, he was more busier than usual, on the road 24-7 even on his free days.

it raised so many eyebrows, the mindless kind and sweet gestures stopped, the phone calls got shorter, not even a full “i love you” would come out, or his responses would be dry and simple.

behind that anger was me, the love of his life,his wife who just wanted some affection, some tlc.

but hey, who’s marriages are perfect?

i showered alone, soonly lathering myself with lotion as i heard the doorbell jangle, soonly it got rough, like he was gonna break the knob off the door.

“y/n, quit fuckin’ playing and open the door.” travis blasted from behind the door, making me jump, rolling my eyes as i traveled back into the bathroom, combing my hair down.

“get away from the door, i don’t got shit to say to you.” i smartly responded, before he began picking the lock, randomly.

i sat in a white beater, my nipples grew harder as i stared at him, rolling my eyes.

“why do all of that if you was gonna pick the lock, stupid?”

travis chuckled as he walked towards me, picking me up as he sat me on the counter, standing between my legs.

i froze.

“you been bitchy with me all fuckin’ day. what’s the issue?” travis spoke simply, not breaking eye contact with my eyes at all.

i felt something tingle at the bass in his voice, the firmness and seriousness.

“you should know why. flirting with bitches in my face. then on top of that, you got the nerve to come in like nothing hadn’t happened. mistreating me, like i don’t got feelings.” i completely sassed back, folding my arms, my eyes still gazed on him.

the tension intensified, apparently just leaving it silent.

“that’s what you’re mad about baby?” travis spoke again as if it was ironic i was pissed about the obvious.

“no fuckin’ shit.” i barked back as travis gripped my neck, pulling me more towards him, our chests touching.

“oooo, you’re so sassy aren’t you? calm down.” travis annouced, making my eyes advert away from him.

“look at me y/n. just listen.” he spoke out as i huffed, rolling my eyes.

“no, let me go. go flirt with whoever the fuck—she was?” i smartly shoved his hand off my neck, jumping down from the counter as i bent over, looking in the sink cabinet.

“maybe i should do the same thing, go out and ask a dude questions who’s actually in love with me—or maybe flirt with him in your fucking face.” i ranted along as travis eyed me after the last statement.

“stop it y/n.” travis warned under his breath.

“or maybe kiss him, but nooo, I made vows to stay loyal to you, you! then neglect you in the process and not give a fuck about whatever is waiting for me at home, hm?” i ranted, pushing at his chest as i slapped it, soonly the anger turned into tears.

travis took it in, and realized what ive said…knowing he was wrong, but your attitude was just clogging his head in order to comfort you.

“im sorry baby, and you know it. listen to me, quit cryin’.” travis sighed as he pulled me into his chest, just sniffling into it.

“imma make it up to you. i won’t do it again, i promise. just let me.” travis smoothly talked to me as i nodded, easily forgiving him once again- before pulled away quickly.

“ugh, why did i just forgive you that fast?” y/n shook her head, mouthing to herself, wiping her tears as she leant over, travis coming from behind pushing me all the way down.

“trav, let me up!” i whined loudly as i instantly got quiet, the slap on my ass was enough to quiet me within one.

“y’aint gonna be satisfied until i put that ass in place, hm?” travis gritted as he ran his hands all up and down my ass, gripping it, caressing it all in one.

i bit my lip to silence my moans, or any sexual that could possibly come out.

“lift up, and spread em, baby.” travis mumbled as i obeyed, practically falling more in love with my husband, and he hadn’t even did shit yet.

travis slowly began stripping himself as i slightly grabbed onto the counter, feeling himself slightly fill me up & stretch me in the process as he shoved my hand off the edge.

“don’t hold onto nothin, i got you.” travis grunted as his strokes started off mildly slow—my light moans leaving my mouth.

“oh baby…” i hissed, as his eyes never left mines from the mirror, skin clappings filling the big bathroom, bouncing off the walls like music.

travis didn’t let up, slightly gripping the ends of my hair, smoothly gripping my neck as my hands touched the mirror, my mouth falling at all the pleasure I had felt in that moment.

“mnm, you see that? that fuckin’ ring? that’s all fuckin’. mines. say it.” travis gritted in my ear as his hand collided with right ass cheek, making eye contact from my upside down vision, whimpering, gripping his hand.

it felt like heaven.

“mnm…it’s yours baby, all fucking yours! ouu—ouu shit!” i whimper-moaned the last part, gritting my teeth as my mouth gaped open.

travis kissed me every chance he got, as he slapped my ass again, as i began matching his rhythm even on all fours standing.

“uh—-uhhh huh-im gonna cum.” i groaned out, as a whimper, feeling myself push back at his chest, grabbing my arm, holding it in place.

i lost it.

“what?”

“im gonna cum, i w-wanna cum.”

“y’ain’t loud enough for me, baby, what’s that?”

“im finna cum!” i whine-cried, closing my eyes shut as he slapped my ass cheek once again, groaning at the sight of me painting his dick pure-white, soonly hearing droplets hit the marble floor.

“you squirtin’ baby?” travis was suprised but wasn’t, as i went silent, my eyes rolling into the back of my skull, just babbling sweet nothings as i let it all out, saying his name under my breath.

“let it all out. mhm. such a good girl for me.” travis encouraged and praised me as felt him pull out, slapping my ass as i weakly held onto the counter, feeling him take me onto the bed.

A SHORT TIME LATER, the skin clappings surfaced the room as my knees touched my chest, my legs opened wide as i the white creamy-wet sight glistened my vision as i held onto his hand, as his other was forcing my head to watch the sight underneath me.

“ouuu—daddy! fuck me just—like that! mhm yes!” i cried out as he didn’t allow me dip my head back not once.

he was enjoying this all at once.

“you like it huh?”

“mhm, it’s so big baby.” i teased as i but my lip, looking up at him. just a undone slut.

my eyelashes were practically sweating off with my makeup and hair, i looked sweated out, along with him.

“you gonna cum for me again, baby?” travis bit his lip at me as i nodded, his hand collided into mines as his strokes remained rough and tact.

“yes daddy, mnm it’s all yours, i love the way you fuck me, mhm.” i whined again as i looked up at him, feeling him swirl his hips, slightly his strokes got sloppier.

his grunts, groans and moans grew louder with every messy stroke he sent as his chest touched mines, feeling him sloppily kiss me, mixing some salvia and tongues with it as well.

“cum in me, give it to me daddy.” i moaned in the kiss as i wrapped my legs around his waist as he grunted fully in my mouth, before sitting up, pulling out, letting a loud “pop!” sound full the air.

straight creampie. “you still gotta attitude with me?”

i shook my head as i smiled, looking down at the oozing cum from my thigh. “no.”

[ HEY YALL. MERRY CHRISTMAS. 🎄 I HOPE YALL GOT YOUR NFL MAN UNDER YOUR TREE BC I DID! ]

not proofread — • so excuse mistakes.

[raisedbythetv89]

The writers I think mostly completely by accident with the assistance of James charming his way into becoming a main character created the perfect storm to ensure people who love spike would reach absolute peak levels of being completely obsessively deranged about him forever

Season 2:

He’s a punk rock villain with killer cheekbones, enchanting eyes, and an absolutely DEVILISH smile - who’s an incredibly dedicated and dangerous fighter who specifically seeks out challenging fights he’s not guaranteed to win (brave and reckless - normally traits seen in heroes) hates everyone except his mentally ill physically sick wife (the statistics of men who leave their wives when they get sick in the US is horrifying like nurses literally have to warn married women who get sick it happens so often) who he’s hopelessly devoted to and unbelievably soft with and always listens to her while also exuding a psychotic amount of sex appeal and is just F U N he loves being a vampire and he loves fighting and it makes it so much fun for the audience. While still showing how much he respects and admires his enemy for her skill, strength, resourcefulness, and intelligence - NEVER underestimating her just because she’s a tiny blonde girl - and instead of destroying the world for love he SAVES the world for love - a villain doing good to get the love of his life back who essentially dumped him for her ex????????? D E V O T E D and shockingly extremely trustworthy??? And has amazing chemistry with our heroine and is there for a pivotal moment in her life and is the only one there for her when she has no one else????? *enemies to lovers girlies ENTER THE CHAT*

Season 3:

He shows he fucking MEANS IT when he says Dru is the love of his life when he shows up in Sunnydale because he blames Angel not Buffy or Drusilla but the man actually responsible for all their problems and he is the most pathetic mess we’ve ever SEEN!!!! He’s crying and drunk all the time and he’s so sad he goes to Buffy’s mom TO TALK 💀😭 our pathetic sensitive little self admitted lover boy who KNOWS he’s love’s bitch and he won’t be pretending he’s anything otherwise who shows how clearly he sees and understands other people and the depths of his emotional intelligence so much so Buffy herself admits she can’t fool Spike she can fool her friends BUT NOT SPIKE OR HERSELF EXCUSE ME MA’AM WHAT???????

AND Spike doesn’t just uselessly MOPE forever he gets some perspective and is like I know what I’m gonna do to her back and I’m gonna go do that now! 😁👍🏻 showing he never stays down for long and is always gonna get back up to keep fighting for his love while BOTH he and Buffy still honor the truce even though he’s broken it by coming back??? While Buffy’s all “I violently dislike you” YEAH OK GIRL WHATEVER YOU SAY *enemies to lovers girlies chomping at the bit intensifies*

Season 4:

CLEARLY heartbroken about Drusilla (DEVOTED!!!) but it’s turned into anger and resentment directed at Harmony who how bizarre looks nothing like Drusilla but A LOT like Buffy…… hmmmmmmmmmmmmm HOW INTERESTING *enemies to lovers girlies are vibrating with anticipation that turns into a full blown combustion when something blue happens*

Spike doesn’t pretend to love Harmony in order to get what he wants from her (shown in direct contrast to Parker) he’s ironically very honest despite being a villain - he’s showing he’s STILL loyal to Drusilla in ONLY loving her even after she’s dumped him... again!

We see Spike treat Buffy the EXACT same way he treated Drusilla during something blue reaffirming THIS IS HOW THIS MAN LOVES WHEN HE LOVES YOU. He’s extremely affectionate, helpful, protective, caring - D E V O T E D - and is truly just the most certified lover boy we’ve ever fucking seen

Season 5:

SURPRISE HE’S SECRETLY A LOVESICK MAMA’S BOY POET AT HEART UNDERNEATH THE BAD BOY PERSONA AND A PROTECTIVE BIG BROTHER AND NOW BUFFY AND HER FAMILY’S MOST LOYAL DEFENDER AND IS WILLING TO DIE NOT JUST FOR BUFFY BUT FOR ALL THE SUMMERS WOMEN AND HE KNOWS AND SEES BUFFY SO DEEPLY AND INTIMATELY AND CAN HOLD SPACE FOR HER PAIN LIKE NO ON ELSE CAN AND SHOWS THE DEVOTION THAT ONCE BELONGED TO DRUSILLA NOW BELONGS TO BUFFY AND IT IS GOING NOWHERE EVEN WHEN SHE DIES AND WE'VE SEEN IN HIM CRY BEFORE BUT NEVER HAVE WE SEEN HIM BREAK DOWN LIKE HE DOES AT THE SIGHT OF BUFFY'S BODY!!!!!!!!!!!

*all of us screaming, crying, throwing up, climbing the walls and generally just losing our minds*

Season 6:

No soul, his love is so great for Buffy as is his loyalty and devotion to her, he now helps all of his dead love’s friends fight evil and is raising her sister and dreams of saving her every night for 148 nights 🤚🏻😭 don’t even fucking talk to me I can’t take it

Forgive the absolute 180 in tone change here:

Dick game is FIRE - his touch is the only thing that makes Buffy feel alive AND SHE WAS IN HEAVEN BRO SHE KNOWS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE IN HEAVEN AND SPIKE IS THE ONLY THING KEEPING HER GOING like damn girl yes YOU FUCK THAT HOUSE DOWN!!! Also he is now just naked 50% of the time just to drive us all even FURTHER out of our minds and somehow has just gotten even hotter as the seasons have gone on like this is what’s been hiding under the leather jacket all this time! Enjoy!

And THE MOST unintended consequence of jw’s vindictive writing:

SPITE

He clearly didn’t want us to love Spike and tried to manipulate us into hating him in such a blatant and clumsy ooc attempt all that did was weed out the weakest amongst the Spuffy/Spike fans until all that remained were us:

The most devoted and stubborn fans who REFUSED to have the thing they loved ruined or taken away from us and were smart enough to see through his bullshit manipulation attempt in the first place.

Genuinely they created the equivalent of supersoilder strength level fans with this absolutely lethal combination of events 💀

AND THEN as if all that wasn't enough he goes and gets his soul on purpose for Buffy so he can be the man she deserves and she can love him without hating herself for loving him despite the immense pain it will cause him which is the most selfless thing we have ever seen anyone do for Buffy only to be topped when he sacrifices himself to destroy the hellmouth, save the world and free her from Sunnydale!!! Plus ya know once he gets the soul even though he did it for her he never tries to use that as leverage to get anything from her like he truly expects nothing from her at all but still wants to help her and James delivers the most devastating performances we've ever fucking seen, finally tells her friends off which has needed to happen for 5 seasons, the "you're the one speech" him being a dad to all the potentials with Buffy giving us supernatural parent core who made it through their rough patch with their first kid in season 6 with Dawn and now are just the beautiful team with their found family and Buffy finally has someone who can truly carry her burdens with her and just all the tenderness and devotion they both deserve after so many years of pain and fighting. Basically giving the audience the message that even if you have a metric ton of pain and trauma there are people out there who see you and understand you and there is a chance for you to heal both together and separately to build your own version of a more normal and stable life. It's a message of such hope and I personally know several people, including myself who watched what Spike and Buffy have and it inspired us to look at the relationships we were in and realize we deserved SO MUCH MORE than what we were getting and in my case it turned out I was being emotionally abused and manipulated that entire time!! Much like Buffy was by both Riley and Angel. So it isn't an exaggeration to say Spuffy saved my life in a lot of ways both in being there for me at such a dark time and helping me draw a map of how to get out. Not to mention loving them in fandom spaces has helped me connect with so many people just like me who share very similar experiences and have helped me feel so much less alone and has helped me heal in so many ways 🖤

Spuffies get "hOw cAn yOu liKe sPiKe aFtEr wHaT hE dId" all the fucking time and truly the better question is how can you NOT like Spike???? HAVE YOU BEEN PAYING ATTENTION AT ALL??? DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT GOOD RELATIONSHIPS NEED TO WORK?? BECAUSE AT THEIR CORE SPUFFY HAS THEM ALL!

It's jw writing so NOTHING will escape his toxic bullshit but Spike - because he was hated by jw for so long - so much of the time when he tried to make Spike less popular he just kept making him better and more complex and more and more targeted to the female gaze which is exactly why he snapped and made the choices he literally forced everyone else to go along with despite their protests with that scene to make it the most traumatizing scene in all of Buffy history not just for the audience but for the actors as well because yes it is incredibly horrific and upsetting to watch (which is why I skip it on rewatches) but I still am able to see if for what it is which is a narcissist lashing out at people he hates because he hasn't been able to control them and too bad for him I refuse to be manipulated by his bullshit so it failed completely and made so many of us that much more stubbornly protective of Spike and his and Buffy's relationship not just from other fans but from the creator himself 🙃🖕🏻like he basically just trauma bonded us to Spike and Buffy which has led to the creation of one of the most devoted, loyal, intelligent fanbases who is absolutely unhinged (affectionate) with their love of this character and his relationship which is why we are all still creating and writing about this character 25 year later and show absolutely zero signs of slowing down or stopping 💀