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couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 3 days

Note

Yandere batfam or justice league with a reader who’s afraid of strong people/men due to a past abusive relationship? She never wants to feel that powerless and weak again so she actively avoids interacting with anyone stronger, bigger, taller any more than necessary. She doesn’t hold it against other ppl she just has a lot of trauma that she’d rather not work through and feel safe in her little bubble

Hit me Hard and Soft

Synopsis: You get saved by Robin, but not everything is as it seems.

Pairing: Yandere!Poly!Romantic!Batboys X Gn!Reader

Tw: All characters aged up, of course; Mentions and descriptions of violence, including physical, psychological, sexual and financial abuse, and Damian fighting criminals (I'm particularly proud of the action scene I wrote); Drugging and being unconscious; Mentions of death of minor characters and suicide; Mentions of past grooming (Reader's ex) and age gap (Reader’s ex, Reader X Bruce, and the batboys age is not mentioned); Implied stalking; Mentions of kidnapping; Reader's very traumatized and weary of everyone; Reader doesn't trust the police; Mention of a panic attack and descriptions of actual panic; Guns and knifes; Mention of cigarettes; Implied needles; English isn't my 1st language.

Requested? Yes.

Extra notes: Wish I had more interactions between Reader and the batboys here, but I'm more than willing to make a part 2 with the right idea.

General masterlist

He's back again. You wish you could say you didn't know why he always came back, but you did. The food wasn't that great and it wasn't that close to where he told you he worked or lived. It also didn't help that he always made sure to be served by you. And that he flirted with you.

— Evening, (N/N)! Is there something as sweet as you on today’s menu? — You gave a small and polite laugh.

— Strawberry pie… As always…

It was kinda sad, but mostly scary. If it wasn't for your ex, you would be thrilled to have gotten the attention of Dick fucking Grayson. The whole city knew he was handsome, rich, talented and charismatic. Gotham's sweetheart, Gotham's golden boy. And from your daily interactions, he lived up to the expectations. He was polite even when flirting with you and asking you out. Yet, something held you back.

— Nice! Since you get out in a few, why don't you bring in two slices? One for me and one for you, it's on me, of course. — You shook your head quickly, with an empty heart, just wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

You were with your ex since you were 17 to 26. Almost 10 years wasted on a dirtbag. He convinced you to leave your friends, to leave your family, to leave your job. As soon as you started living together, you were completely dependent on him. Sometimes you blamed him, sometimes yourself, sometimes the people you had around you, but back then, where you came from, people weren't questioning the imbalance of powers between a 17 year old highschooler with no job and a 23 year old man with a steady job and living alone.

He convinced you that going to college and ending your relationship was the worst decision you could take. Then, that you didn't need your family, he could take care of you. One day, he decided you couldn't have friends.

He often locked you inside the house, cursed your skills and appearance, neglected your overall health, intimidated you, screamed at you, broke your things that he did and didn't pay for. He hurt you physically, even sexually. You knew both dating him and leaving him was hard, you just expected living with the scars was going to be easier.

And it was! You decided to run away from him and to Gotham when you received the news that your mom died and he didn't even want to let you go to the funeral. The grieving made you reflexive and you realized how shitty your situation was. For years you just thought that it would eventually get better, that you just needed to be strong, that he showed he loved you when he wasn't being an asshole, that you couldn't get anything better, that he made you feel special.

You couldn't even go to the police, he was a cop, you knew the chances that in any scenario you would lose. So you ran.

You knew it was dangerous, but you had nothing to lose. If he didn't kill you, you would do it yourself. You made a plan, drugged him, took some of his money, used his house keys, left everything behind for the second time in your life. You didn't waste time asking for help from the people you knew. You took the bus and went as far away as you could.

Your paranoia was so bad that for almost a year, you would settle in a city, work to save up enough, and leave again, rinse and repeat. Eventually, Gotham seemed big and far enough to go by unnoticed.

Or that's what you thought, until Dick Grayson stopped by the diner you worked to have breakfast before going to work, as a cop, and decided you caught his attention.

Since then, he came back everyday. Either breakfast, lunch, dinner, or just to hang out with some family member, usually one of his brothers, his dad appeared with him sometimes too. Your boss loved the attention Bruce and Tim attracted, the two most media active ones, since they both led Wayne Enterprises.

Eventually, even them started appearing multiple times a week. You thought you were healing, until you found yourself crying for almost four hours at home in a panic attack.

You didn't want their attention. Not only was it weird, but they were just so… Superior to you.

They were all taller, more muscular, faster, smarter, richer. It was like reliving the beginning of your relationship at 17, plus 10 times worse. Five because they were five people mirroring your ex, and more five just because of your trauma, experience, negativity and lack of naiveness.

Also, why were they ALL into you??? And they were aware of it! It was weird! Why??

Bruce Wayne was disarmingly charming in his dilf way. Dick was surprisingly accessible. Jason was soft spoken despite his resting bitch face and leather jacket. Tim was cute in a nerdy way. Damian almost made you laugh with his sarcastic humor.

Either way, you never wanted to feel as little as you felt before, so you just did your job, acted polite, but ultimately kept your distance.

Freedom has its difficulties, one of them being that you need money, and for money, you need a job, which means sometimes you have to stay until closing time, at 11 PM, in Gotham.

You're not the only employee to stay so late, but you and your co-worker live in opposite directions, so walking alone it is. They're taking the bus, but you only live two blocks away, so you gulp down your anxiety and keep walking. One hand on your pocket, holding your taser firmly, and keeping your head up, turning to look at every sound.

It's cold, and the street is empty and dimly lit. Some places are so dark that you wonder why you're even paying taxes if the streetlamps won't work.

Two men turn the corner a few meters in front of you, one at least a foot taller, the other, two inches max. They're wearing hoodies and their hands are on their pockets, the light behind them creates a shadow that doesn't allow you to see their faces, nor where they're looking at, but they are coming in your direction.

There's a car, parked between you both. Some people might think at this point it's just paranoia, but you’ve heard stories of people walking next to cars, getting pulled inside by someone who was hiding in there, and getting kidnapped.

Your first instinct is flight, so you turn around, ready to run, even if you look weird in case those guys weren't planning to do anything with you, just to see other two guys emerging from the other corner, those two almost as tall as that first guy. Aside from the smaller one, they're all broad, even with their thick clothes covering them.

One of them has a cigarette on his mouth, which he throws on the ground when you turn your attention to him. Your fear might have caused you to hallucinate, but you're almost sure he's smirking.

You freeze for a second, your only escape is to run to the side, and pray their long legs don't get to you first. You think you hear one of them start hollering at you.

You only take a step to the side, when a loud crash startles you so hard that you have to look behind, while walking backwards to the street. You take a second to process the sight.

Robin is standing in the middle, just a few steps behind where you were standing a second ago. He's at least half a foot taller than all of them, and a lot broader. He's holding the tall one by his neck with his right hand, repeatedly hitting his head against the car’s window.

You're shell shocked, torn between staying put to watch this disaster, as interesting as a car crash, or running away. Gotham is so big that you never thought you would encounter one of its heroes, you weren't sure if you even wanted to.

When the guy seems to stop moving, Robin throws him against one of the other tall ones, the guy practically flies across 2 meters before hitting him, and when he does, they both fall to the ground. You remember all the times when your ex pushed you to the ground.

Your eyes are wide, horrified, watching the shortest guy take a pocket knife out of his pocket. Your throat locks, even if you want to scream for Robin to turn around, you only manage to stare and stay in place, however, the vigilant turns halfway around just in time to grab the guy by his wrist and his arm, just as he launched to stab him. He uses his body’s impulse to push the guy forward, the knife going to the fourth guy's shoulder, you hadn't even seen him get so close to him.

You look at the man from the car, he's still unconscious, the one who got tackled with him, however, is already standing and walking to the fight.

Everything’s happening too fast, you turn to the side to see the guy with the knife on his back on the ground, groaning and twitching in pain, while Robin is punching the shit out of the other guy, movements faster than you could ever dream of achieving. You remember being on the receiving end of someone's fists before.

With a final elbow to the cheek, the guy stumbles to the ground, you don't know what level of consciousness he’s in, by his posture before, you knew he was already compromised since the first hits he took.

Robin doesn't move, doesn't even turn to look at the guy who just fell, he's just looking forward, and when you notice this, you look at the remaining guy.

He's pointing a gun at him.

You don't think you can watch someone get shot in front of you, and you know if he gets rid of Robin, it's over for you. Logically, you knew these vigilantes somehow never die, still, it's counterintuitive to think he won't.

And he doesn't, in the blink of an eye, Robin's on the air, his right boot kicking the gun away, while still on the air, he wraps his legs around the guy's head, bends backwards, puts his hands on the ground, then launches his whole body to the front, the guy getting thrown over him. He falls to the ground, Robin stands on top of him with perfect balance. You don't even have time to process what just happened, the coolest and scariest thing you saw your whole life, when Robin punches him one last time. Now, he's definitely unconscious.

You’ve felt like a bystander this whole interaction, it felt like ages, but in reality all of this couldn't have taken more than 20 seconds, maybe even less than 15. You don't know what to do now. You're theoretically safe, but Robin’s still too big, too strong, too fast. He knocked out four guys without getting touched a single time. He broke a car's window. He threw around two guys who weighed at least 80kg. He's not even panting. And now he's looking at you.

A whimper gets stuck in your throat. You don't know if you should thank him, stay silent, or yell at him to stay away from you. When he takes a step in your direction, your instincts get the better of you and you turn around, running.

You hear him call your name, although your brain doesn't process it. You see headlights and look towards it. It's a car. You don't trust you’ll get help, but at least you're not alone. You run in it's direction, waving your arms and screaming bloody murder.

The car almost hits you, but you don’t process that until the last minute, but you get tackled to the ground just in time by the hero from before. You scream again, he's too close. Now, he's trying to hold you down. You keep screaming and trying to escape. You look to the side and the car just kept driving away, likely the driver wouldn't stay behind to be another victim to Robin's hands. You know you're not being rational right now, those guys are known for helping people, he just saved you, he's still trying to stop you from getting hurt, but you're scared. You've been scared since you were a teenager.

Your eyes burn, your arms and throat hurt, but adrenaline doesn't let you feel anything. Not even the invasion of a needle on your side.

— Was it really necessary? — Tim deadpans Damian, who growls.

— You would have done the same, Drake.

— No, I wouldn't. You were supposed to use the psychological first aid approach and (Y/N) would've calmed down and trust us more in the future. But of course, you never use your brain. — Damian growls, stepping towards Tim, but he is stopped by Dick’s hand resting on his chest.

— Damian, calm down, Tim’s right. You knew better than to sedate them. You knew of (Y/N)’s trauma and you knew the route we wanted to take. — Damian's brows furrowed and he crossed his arms.

— I knew your feelings toward (Y/N) would make you become impulsive again. — Tim looked at Bruce, who was silent, with hands intertwined and elbows on the table, focused on your vitals on the screen and the sight of you laid on the bed on the medbay. — Will you now consider just letting you, me and Dick keep an eye on them during patrol? — Damian and Jason scoffed.

— Why you aiming at me now? It was the demon who gave that guy brain death! — Jason protested and Tim looked at him.

— Just to be sure you won't freak out like him and kill thrice as many people, on purpose this time. — Jason glared at him.

— B, you better add more security measures around (Y/N), before Timbo tries to clone them or something. — He muttered with snark.

Dick shook his head and sighed, going to stand on Bruce's side, crossing his arms and looking at you through the camera with him.

— What's the plan now, B? They're probably waking up soon. — Bruce hummed, relaxing his stance and resting his back against his chair. The silence lingered for a few seconds, everyone just looking at you, waiting for the oldest’s opinion.

Bruce turned around, looking at them.

— … Damian, Tim's right. You were impulsive today and you killed someone, even if it was an accident. I stopped expecting that from you since you were 12, you're an adult now. You not only broke our trust, but (Y/N)’s already shattered trust. They need to know they're safe with us, and drugging them, instead of puting to use more time and effort to bring the comfort to them, is not going to do that. You weren't much different than the man who hurt them tonight. — His father's words were like a punch to Damian's stomach, leaving him speechless. Dick pursed his lips, not turning around as to make it easier to not comfort his brother just yet. Bruce turned to Tim. — Tim, I understand you want to take measures seriously. But you need to give Jason a chance. That was unasked for. — The mentioned blinked, still unacostummed with the treatment he received from his dad when he followed his rules. Tim looked away. Bruce turned to Damian again. — Damian, no patrolling around (Y/N) until you prove we can trust your temper again. — He waited for a confirmation, which came with a sneered lip.

— Yes, father.

Dick looked back a Bruce.

— What about (Y/N)? — He bit his lips. Bruce hummed, turning to look at the monitor again.

— … What do you all think?

— Well… Damian said their name, they might not remember it, but they can't just wake up at home. They’d try to flee from us. We could bring them home earlier, but our ideal plan was to make them come willingly, in the period of at least two years, in the best case. We could leave them at the hospital, and just keep our plan going. — Dick listed the possible strategies they could take. Bruce hummed.

Tim piped up.

— I already altered their phone's algorithm to send the job application as my assistant at Wayne Enterprises to them. And the Wayne Foundation’s application for the internship at Gotham Uni. — Bruce nodded.

— Damian? What do you understand about that? — It was clearly the beginning of his test.

— The more secure in their independence they feel, the easier it is to heal and open themselves up to new opportunities. — Damian exclaimed with confidence. Bruce nodded.

— Jason, are you still interested in college? — Everyone looked at Jason surprised, he was also surprised, he hadn't talked to Bruce about college since before he died.

It took a few seconds to processes what it would mean.

— Uh… I think so?! — Bruce nodded.

— What about me, father? — Damian spoke inquisitively. — I also want more opportunities to get closer to (Y/N)! — Bruce narrowed his eyes at him.

— We will think about that when you're in the clear.

— But-

— That's final. You reap what you sow. — Damian huffed and nodded begrudgingly. — … Now, since Robin was the one to save them, take the batmobile and leave them in the hospital. Then come straight back home. Understood? — Damian clenched his jaw and nodded silently, leaving to get your unconscious body.

Moments later, when you were both out, on the way to the hospital, Tim fiddled with the computer, the scream showed the batmobile’s tracker, your tracker, Damian's tracker, Damian's contact lenses’s camera and the car’s camera. They all looked at him.

— … It's just to make sure…

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 2 months

Text

did some force take you because i didn’t pray?

── aegon x fem!reader (you’re one of helaena’s lady’s in waiting)

the 2 times Aegon had someone there to comfort him

(i’m slightly changing things but just go with it pls)

small a/n before we begin: no use of y/n, i do my best to avoid descriptors BUT do use she / her and mention reader being shorter than aegon. when he hugs / holds you he is able to rest his head on yours. also i know everyone has titles and long names but to save time and also make it easier i just use first names. changing aegon’s rant just so im not word for word with the show.

also disclaimer: i know aegon is not a good person by any means! this is just the alternate reality version of him where things could turn out different if he’s shown genuine love and care

For as long as you’ve known the Targaryen family, it dawns on you one day that you’ve never seen Aegon cry.

In the beginning, that didn’t mean much. You were one of Helaena’s ladies’ in waiting, and only ever saw the then prince on occasion.

Then Aegon was crowned King, and you saw him a bit more as Helaena was required to be present at what felt like too many ceremonies. Because you were almost exactly the same age, although it was against an unspoken rule, she came to see you as a friend.

When the twins were born and Helaena saw how good you were with them, it seemed to anyone who was around that she wanted you near at all times. She practically begged you to begin sleeping in her chambers to help with the fussing and crying at night, and of course you said yes. It occurred to you later that night that she could’ve just demanded it.

It wasn’t long at all before the twins also formed an attachment, as their mothers need to have you close by didn’t lessen even as they got older.

Though they both loved you, Jaehaerys in particular, was very fond of you. Jaehaera was a lot more independent and chose to play with her dolls or little trinkets by herself. But the boy, the other ladies’ in waiting and even Helaena herself, often called him your little shadow.

Whatever task you were given, it wasn’t uncommon for Jaehaerys to be nearby. As he grew a little older, he began to ask questions.

Once, he asked why his mother wore such fancy dresses, but yours and the rest of the ladies’ were only ever plain. It hadn’t occurred to you that because you spent so much time with him and had a big hand in raising him, he saw you as family and genuinely didn’t understand why you dressed differently.

Luckily, you didn’t need to answer. Aegon appeared from around the corner, calling for his son. Once Jaehaerys ran to him, he gave you a nod before grabbing his sons hand and leading him in the opposite direction.

To the King, you were a mystery. He knew his sister preferred you to the other ladies’ in waiting, and he knew she’d rather you over any of them to be looking after the twins when she was busy, but he didn’t know why. Still, his sister was set in her ways, and in the end he simply decided it was best to not ask questions. Even he could see that you cared deeply for his children, and for him that was enough.

On the day Aegon wished for his son to sit in on a council meeting, Jaehaerys was being a bit difficult that morning. For whatever reason, he refused to go unless it was you that escorted him.

After assuring him that you’d only get the boy in the room and then quickly make your exit, Aegon nodded and led the 2 of you into the room.

Just like you knew he would, Jaehaerys immediately went for “the ball” as he called it, in front of Tyland Lannister. You could see irritation immediately all over the man’s face, but to his credit he did his best to hide it.

The third time the ball was grabbed, you were the only one that heard it when Tyland snapped. The meeting hadn’t yet begun but you could see he already wished it to be over.

“That child doesn’t belong in here,” he muttered to himself, unaware that you could hear him.

“I will escort him to his mothers chambers now. Is the heir to the throne bothering you a bit too much?” That last bit slipped out, and you immediately regretted it as the room grew silent and all eyes turned to the 3 of you. After a few tense seconds, most everyone resumed their conversations.

You slowly stood up, Jaehaerys now on your back as that was the only way he agreed to leave the room. “Apologies Ser Lan—”

“Hold on,” the room stilled once again when it was Aegon that spoke this time. He looked at you, then back at Tyland. “She has nothing to apologize for. And I believe she asked you a question. Is the heir to the throne, my son, is he bothering you?”

Even Alicent opted to look down and fiddle with her hands rather than step in. You didn’t think you’d ever been more grateful for Aegon that in that moment.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

ONE.

On the night Jaehaerys was murdered, you were knocked unconscious. You’d later find out it was the man they called Blood that hurt you, but at the time all you knew / remembered was waking to a loud noise. Immediately you got out of bed, but before you could properly realize what was happening, you felt something sharp across your cheek. And before you’d even had time to cry out, something hard hit the side of your head, causing everything to go dark.

When you woke, you ignored the maesters requests to stay in bed. As soon as you stood up, you almost wished you’d listened as you immediately felt dizzy. That was also when you felt the stinging pain of the cut on your cheek. The maester explained that you wouldn’t need to have it stitched up, but he hadn’t yet bandaged you because even in your sleep, you tossed and turn whenever he tried to tend to that injury.

After agreeing to not over exert yourself, you were off to find Helaena. It was then that another one of the ladies’ in waiting broke the news to you.

When you were let in to Alicent’s chambers, and locked eyes with Helaena, she immediately stood up from her spot on the floor and ran to you, Jaehaera still held tightly in her arms.

“Are you alright?” You knew she would be with the maester if she were injured, but you still had to ask. “They said—”

“He’s dead,” was all Helaena could say. That and “they killed him”.

What felt like an eternity later, and you’d gotten Jaehaera to sleep and convinced Helaena to at least lay down with her, you were unsure of what to do. Only a few moments later, you found yourself wandering the halls. Every inch of the place had been searched almost immediately, so you know that the halls were alright once again.

Part of you felt like you didn’t have a right to mourn Jaehaerys, as he wasn’t actually your son. You were just trying to process the fact that you’d never see his little smile again. Never again would you turn a corner and be greeted with that sweet voice asking where the 2 of you were going, because him staying with anyone else was out of the question.

You were one of the first to hold him after he was born, and had seen him every day since. To already be in a world where he no longer existed, it seemed cruel.

When you stopped walking, you realized that you’d come to Aegon’s chambers. The doors were obviously closed, and you had only managed to take a few steps back the way you came, when you heard them open.

“Oh, good,” you turned around, surprised that it was Alicent that had spoken. “Did Helaena send you?”

You stuttered as you tried to form a response, but she seemed to take your silence as a confirmation.

“He’s distraught, obviously. I’m not sure he’ll speak to you but…” she seemed unsure of herself. In the end she sort of motioned towards the doors, before turning and walking away.

Before you even raised your hand to knock, you heard sobbing. It was then that you realized you were wrong. Yes, your heart could break even more.

It didn’t escape your notice that Alicent left the room as her son was sobbing. You knew she wasn’t the comforting type, but you couldn’t imagine simply walking the other way.

After a few knocks, you weren’t surprised when there was no answer. As you slowly opened the door, then shut it behind you, you thought to yourself that you should’ve thought about what to say beforehand. Here was this normally stone-faced man, showing more emotion now than he had in the entire time you’d known him. And after more thought, you realized that perhaps Alicent had tried to comfort him but was asked to leave.

“Who is there?” Aegon finally seemed to notice someone else’s presence, but hadn’t actually looked up. His head remained in his hands, and you could hear him trying to quiet his cries.

“I am sorry, I— I just thought I should check on you.” You noticed how pathetic you sounded only after the words left your mouth.

He let out a humorless chuckle, then slowly stood up and made his way towards you. “Check up on me?”

You nodded. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Stupid question to ask if you’re okay, I know.”

He studied your face for a moment, and his guard came down ever so slightly. He believed your concern to be genuine. And for Gods sakes, his own mother couldn’t even comfort him. She left quietly and Aegon knew it was in the hopes that he wouldn’t know she’d ever entered the room.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to answer you. Instead he returned to his sitting position, once again leaning forward so that his head was in his hands.

“I should’ve been there,” he spoke so softly that you didn’t quite hear him.

“Pardon?”

He looked up at you, fresh tears in his eyes. “I should’ve been there!” When he saw how you flinched, he regretted being so loud. But a larger part of him didn’t care. You were the first person to allow him to speak freely. He needed to let out his emotions somewhere. “I should have been there. But I thought who’d be stupid enough to try anything here? Look at how wrong I was.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” you shook your head.

“That is bullshit!” He stood up and began pacing back and forth. “My son is DEAD! It was an act of revenge, why else do you think the rest of you were left alive?”

You were about to ask if they already know who is responsible, but it’s as if he read your mind.

“My brother kills her son, so she has taken it upon herself to exact revenge, a son for a son!” He laughs, but again there is no humor in his tone. “My son, the heir to the throne, he is gone. Murdered while he slept and I did nothing!”

As he sat crying, you kneeled in front of him. Trying not to think about it too much, you placed your hands on his and forced him to look at you.

“Everyone around knows how much you love that boy. And he loved you just as much.” You decided it was better to not repeat that he couldn’t have done anything. Right now in front of you, was a father who needed to grieve.

Aegon knew he should be cautious. His sister knew you well, but he did not. He was already ashamed that you’ve seen him cry. Yet you didn’t seem repulsed. You allowed him to rant and didn’t try to shove advice down his throat. His son was gone, but you reminded him of the love that existed, that still exists.

The angry part of him wanted to shout at you to leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to yell again in that moment. So he allowed your hands to remain on his as he cried for his son.

You prayed that no one would walk in, as you stood up and pulled Aegon up with you. Before he could ask what was happening, you gave him a hug.

His first instinct was again, one of anger. He resisted the brief urge to push you away. After a few seconds, he even surprised himself when he almost melted into your touch. He genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he was in someone else’s embrace like this. And you didn’t ask questions. You only held him and listened to his heartbeat.

He found himself crying again as he returned the gesture and wrapped his arms around you. Although he knew he could never speak of this, and he’d have to ask that you not do the same at some point, he allowed himself to do nothing but mourn the loss of his son as you held him in your arms, and you in his.

He was grateful that at least in this moment, you allowed him to grieve.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

TWO.

After that, there was a noticeable change. Aegon gravitated towards you if he entered a room and you were already there. Everyone noticed, but none dared to speak on the matter, not even Alicent or Otto.

You heard about the meeting in which it was ultimately decided that Jaehaerys’ body would be placed on a carriage led through the streets, so that the public might see just what Queen Rhaenyra was capable of. You didn’t think this was her doing. How could a mother who has just lost her son, inflict that pain onto someone else? Surely she wouldn’t. But everyone else was so sure. And you were but a low-born lady in waiting, so you remained silent.

The thought of Jaehaerys being used, paraded through the streets for all to gawk at, it angered you. Yes, he was a prince. And you understood the message that they hoped it would send, but it didn’t make you any less upset. He was just a boy. You thought of the boy who would run into your embrace whenever you walked in to his mothers chambers.

You couldn’t even imagine how Aegon was feeling. He loved that boy deeply, and you had no doubt that he was pressured into agreeing.

That same night, you were abruptly woken up. Immediately you looked to Helaena’s bed, filled with relief to see her and Jaehaera fast asleep. But it alarmed you that it was Ser Criston Cole of all people, who’d woken you up.

He put a finger to his lips, then turned and exited the room. You made sure you looked at least half decent before you followed him, wondering what on earth possessed him to wake you at such an hour.

“I—” He looked unsure of where to start.

“Has something happened?”

“It’s the King.” He didn’t wait for you to respond, instead turning and practically running out of the room.

As you chased after him, it did occur to you that it was odd for him to fetch the King’s sisters ladies’ in waiting. You also realized that he never technically responded when you asked if something happened.

When the 2 of you finally reached Aegon’s chambers, Criston didn’t even open the door. He didn’t need to though, you could hear the shouting and loud noises from outside.

“Who else is in there?” You fiddled with your hands, unsure of what you were walking into.

Criston merely shook his head. “No one. He kicked everyone out. But I know you helped him that— that night. Can you…?”

Without giving it a second thought, you nodded. Instead of leaving, Criston sort of stood guard right outside the door. You’d seen Aegon angry before, and were secretly relieved that he was outside should anything go wrong.

This time, you didn’t bother knocking. You did, however, try to open and then close the door as quietly as possible.

“I declare war!” It was the first thing you heard since entering the room, and you didn’t bother asking who he was declaring war on.

“My King —”

It was as if he was in a sort of angry trance. You speaking didn’t even cause him to look in your direction.

“I want them all dead! They’ll all pay for this, every fucking one of them!” As he spoke, he moved about the room destroying King Viserys’ carefully and meticulously constructed display.

You could see he needed to let his anger out. And didn’t exactly want to approach him while he held something that could hurt you. Not that he intentionally would, but seeing as he had no reaction to you calling out to him, you didn’t think it wise to sneak up on him.

As the smashing and destruction went on, you could see Aegon begin to wear himself out. It wasn’t so much that the anger was leaving his body, but rather that he was losing the energy to continue. Now, you thought to yourself, was a good time to gauge where he’s at mentally / emotionally.

“My King—” you tried again. This would be a moment you’d come to regret, seeing as you hadn’t considered the fact that Aegon was so blinded by his rage that he hadn’t noticed it was you in the room. Sure he heard the doors open and close, but he assumed it had been one of his men.

Not registering who it was that just spoke, and only hearing that someone was interrupting his rampage, he turned around with an arm swung out. It ended up being sort of a backhanded slap, and unfortunately he was wearing a ring.

Once he realized it was you that he’d just harmed, Aegon froze. His eyes widened and he immediately dropped to his knees.

“Are you hurt? Did I— did I…” He didn’t seem to know what he wanted to ask.

You put a hand to your cheek and examined your fingers, nothing a small amount of blood. He hit almost exactly where you were cut, and by the feel of it you guessed that his hit reopened the wound.

“It’s fine,” you tried to reassure him. “I am sure I will be healed in no time. There is no need—” Before you could finish speaking, he’d fled from the room, but not before hurriedly asking you to stay put.

Only a short while later he returned with the maester quickly following behind him.

As the man tended to your face, you could practically see the gears turning in his head as he debated on speaking. In the end, he decided to ask the question.

“How did you manage to reopen this wound?”

Luckily for you, you’d studied the room and had your answer prepared.

You pointed to a spot on the floor where a glass of wine lay spilt. “I slipped just there. Tried to steady myself and ended up landing on my face and cutting it with one of the broken pieces.”

Because you spoke immediately and with such confidence, your lie was believed.

“Might not heal as well if it’s opened a third time. Still doesn’t need stitches, just try not to fall again, eh?” He gave you a pat on the shoulder before giving you a small jar of ointment to apply to the cut, instructing you to apply it once a day.

As soon as the man left the room, you studied Aegon. He was pacing the entire time, only stopping once the maester had left.

“Why?” He whispered.

You knew what he was asking. “I did not think it would do any good for him to know the truth. I know you didn’t mean to,” you shrugged.

He was almost in a state of shock. Here he’d just injured you, accidentally, sure, but it was still done in anger. And it wasn’t that long ago that he broke down in front of you. Despite all of that, you were still kind to him. You covered for him.

Aegon fell to his knees once again in front of a large portion of the mess he created. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly.

“My King you do not need to apologize. As I said, I know it wasn’t on purpose.”

He looked up at you, fresh tears in his eyes, and you lost count on how many times your heart broke for him. You joined him on the floor, and put what you hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t do anything right,” the first tear fell, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. “I allowed men to break in and murder my son, and this is twice now you’re hurt because of me.”

The fact that he blamed himself for it still, brought tears to your eyes as well.

“No one thinks this was your doing, and I swear to you that I don’t blame you.”

He was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “How am I meant to continue?”

His question caught you off guard. “Pardon?”

“My son is dead. Murdered, and my dear sister that claims to be the rightful heir may not have held the knife but I know she commanded the men that did. How am I supposed to to sit on the throne and continue to rule as if none of this has happened?”

“I do not think anyone expects you to act as if nothing has happened —”

Hearing that caused Aegon to laugh. “Have you met my mother? She is one of the many against me declaring war.”

“This tragedy —”

He cuts you off once again. “Tragedy? Hah! Understatement of the fucking year. And people are already speaking about my sons murder as if it’s a lesson! My grandfather, dear old Otto Hightower, wants to parade my sons body for all to see. Says it will show them the kind of Queen that Rhaenyra really is. You should’ve seen how many nodded their heads in agreement. How do I just hand him over to be stared at, as if he is no more than a piece of meat on display at the market?”

“I hate this,” you finally get a chance to speak. “Jaehaerys was the sweetest little boy I kno—knew. And I wish his death wasn’t being used in this way. A tragedy should not always be a lesson. Sometimes it should be allowed to be just that, a tragedy. I am truly sorry you are having to deal with all of this.”

Something about what you’ve said causes tears to spring to Aegon’s eyes. Perhaps it’s the way you speak so kindly of his son. He knows you genuinely loved the boy, after all. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” His quiet sobs begin as he echoes your use of those 2 words, and when you turned to face him, he practically falls into your embrace. You stop counting how many times he utters I’m sorry. In between the I’m sorry’s, he mostly said his sons name, but you heard your name as well as Helaena and Jaehaera’s.

Night turned into morning and Aegon finds himself in your arms once again. Eventually his sobs had slowed down, and he fell asleep, laying on the hard floor with his head in your lap.

As he slept, you allowed yourself to run your hands through his hair, just for a moment. Aegon let out a content sigh, finding comfort in your movements even in his sleep.

Here was this boy who was feared by many, who didn’t ever want anyone to see him as weak, and yet twice he allowed himself to cry and grieve in front of you.

At some point, you gently wake Aegon and convince him to get into bed.

As you take one last look at him before exiting his chambers, you can’t help but silently hope that the future would be a little kinder to him.

TAGLIST — @blupblupfish | @sapphirest0nes

If you’d like to be tagged in future Aegon pieces, let me know!

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f4ll-for-you · 11 months

Text

jealousy, jealousy

warnings: smut, degradation, slightly dark! rafe?, overstimulation

Three months you’d been dating Rafe Cameron, your best friend's older brother. After a year of pining after you, you’d finally given in and let him take you on a date, which of course, ended up with you in his bed the next morning. It took a month for you to believe he actually cared, given his fuckboy reputation that he needed to uphold. Luckily, you were happy to keep your relationship secret to avoid hurting Sarah’s feelings, she didn't get along with her brother, and if she knew you were dating him you were sure she would feel betrayed.

However, that was only the tip of the iceberg with Rafe's family. Rich, well connected, always throwing fancy dinner parties, nothing like the life you’d experienced growing up. To earn extra cash while at university, you’d often waitress at the parties, tending to Rafe's family and friends whilst they looked down on you, treating you like you were nothing and constantly forgetting your name. Yet another reason to keep your relationship secret.

Tonight, both you and Rafe were getting ready to go to the annual ‘Cameron Family Gala’, both to attend in very different ways. You arrived at the house, through the ‘staff’ entrance, dressed in a white shirt and short black skirt, your apron basically covering it. You smirked to yourself, knowing Rafe's eyes would likely be on you most of the night. You wished Sarah could be there, even if she was ‘one of them’ she always made things more bearable, but as usual she’d escaped to see the pogues.

As the party began to liven up, you circled the guests, handing out champagne from the tray you were carrying. You watched Rafe in the corner with his father, Ward watching him talk at Rafe as if he were a child whilst rolling his eyes, looking up to the ceiling as if to ask for help, anger coursing through his veins. Making your way over, you offered them both a drink, smiling politely at the pair of them, Rafe’s cheeky wink going unnoticed by his father.

You continued gliding around the party, slipping in between slightly drunk, wealthy men and women. Readying another tray of drinks, you recognised two familiar voices speaking in a hushed tone, angrily going back and forth in conversation.

“Rafe look, you are twenty now, you are to carry on my legacy and you must have someone suitable by your side to do it with,” you heard Ward whisper-shout.

“I don’t want to settle down, I’m enjoying myself,” Rafe said nonchalantly, enjoying winding his father up as usual.

“Anyway, there’s far too many options out there to settle for one,” he joked, making Ward scoff in disgust.

“There’s one now,” Rafe spoke, looking a tall blonde girl up and down, “I’ll be off.” He turned to smirk at his father before walking away, he was tired of doing everything his dad asked, and tonight, he wasn’t going to let Ward get to him.

Your heart dropped in your chest, you knew Rafe liked to keep up appearances, but you’d never had to watch it firsthand. A wave of anger filled your system, seeping through your body as your hands began to shake. You took a deep breath, two can play that game, you thought to yourself.

For the rest of the evening, you flirted with each and every boy you came into contact with. You smiled innocently at Rafe every time he noticed, watching him clench his jaw at your actions.

Once his friends took an interest in you, it was game over; Rafe stormed over to you, grabbing your arm tightly. He didn't care about the eyes of his family and friends staring at him in confusion as he dragged a waitress out of the large ballroom. “What the fuck was all that,” he growled at you, not even stopping to look at your expression before pulling you into the nearest room.

He let go of your arm, walking further into the room, running his hands through his messy blonde locks. “Are you going to answer me Y/N?!” he shouted this time, still with his back to you. You smirked, enjoying how riled up he got because of your actions.

“What did I do?” you shouted back, your anger from earlier refuelling. “What did you mean, Rafe, when you went off to ‘get to know’ that beautiful blonde earlier?” You asked, your words laced with jealousy.

Rafe turned, meeting your eyes, looking shocked for a moment, before his usual cocky attitude resumed. “We agreed to keep this secret, I was merely acting the part,” he remarked, smirking at the redness in your cheeks caused by your rage.

“As was I,” you spat, “so if you don’t mind, I’ll be getting back to my job.” Spinning around where you stood, hand reaching for the door handle.

Before you could turn the handle, a rough hand grabbed your ponytail, pulling you back into his chest. “You’re not going back out there until everyone realises you’re fucking mine,” Rafe whispered into your ear, his breath hot on your neck, as wetness pooled between your legs.

Keeping one hand tightly around your ponytail, his other hand grabbed your hip, guiding you towards the back of the sofa and bending you over it. Your cunt clenched with anticipation as he palmed your ass, ripping your skirt up in one motion, making you almost bare in front of him. “Already wet for me, little slut,” he purred, looking at the damp patch of your panties.

He slid one finger lightly up your clothed slit, making you stifle a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction he craved. Rafe pulled his hand away in response, quickly coming down to slap your bare ass. You jolted at the action, only making you soak your panties more. “I will do this until you moan for me” he threatened, you clenched again at the thought, rubbing your thighs together for some much needed friction.

“So desperate, so stubborn,” Rafe crooned before landing another heavy slap to your reddened skin.

Two, three, four more came before you broke, whimpering at his touch. “Are you going to be a good girl for me now?” he asked, leaning down towards your ear as he spoke.

“Yes,” you whined, barely louder than a whisper, your eyes glassy with desperation.

Before you could even think, you felt Rafe shove his fingers into you and began to pump them into and out with precision. The familiarity of his touch brought you close to your first high and you bite your bottom lip to try and stop the noises you desperately wanted to make.He released his harsh grip on your ponytail to your throat, lightly squeezing each side. The combination of his long fingers curling into you and his hand around your neck had you seeing stars, your first orgasm approached as you moaned loudly, tightening around him, his hand dripping with your juices. Rafe brought his fingers up to his mouth, savouring your taste like fine wine.

He then knelt behind you, barely giving you enough time to recover before attaching his mouth to your centre, licking up the juices he’d missed. “Mhm no, Rafe, too much,” you whimpered in response, trying to pull away from the overstimulation.

Rafe moaned into you as he grabbed your hips, pulling you back into his mouth as he dipped his tongue inside you. You were sure his fingers would leave marks, just like he wanted. “Fuck Rafe,” you couldn’t keep your moans at bay as he kitten licked you clit, brining you towards yet another orgasm.

“So, fucking, perfect,” he spoke against you, the vibrations of his voice making you scream out in pleasure.

He added two fingers into you once more, curling into your sweet spot as he lapped and sucked at your clit in unison. Your body began to shake as you came, screaming his name as you clutched onto the back of the large sofa. “That's it baby, let them know who owns you,” Rafe spoke as you rode out your high.

Rafe unzipped his trousers, his cock slapped up against his chest, his tip leaking precum. You looked back at him, eyes wide knowing what he was about to do, already feeling exhausted from your previous two releases.

He pushed into your dripping cunt, giving no time to adjust to his size. The grip on your hips tightening as he pounded into you, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. “Fuck, so tight, you were made for me princess,” Rafe moaned and his hand returning to your hair, pulling you back into his chest to find a deeper angle.

The new angle allowed him to once again reach your sweet spot. You could feel your cunt begin to flutter around his length. He moaned, relentless to chase his own release with a desperation to fill you with his pearly spend. Trembling, your climax washing over you, coaxing his own as he spilled into you. The pair of you scream each other's names in pleasure, forgetting the party down the hall.

Rafe pulls out of you gently, caressing your cheek. “Do you think now is a bad time to tell my father we’re dating?” he jokes, looking into your eyes. You look wearily up at him, a wide grin appearing on your face, “at least you’ve settled down.”

#rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe fic #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #dark rafe #rafe cameron x smut

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missmimii · 2 months

Text

☏ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐒 | 𝐌 － 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

－ 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which Matt and the reader have a long distance relationship due to his career, the lonely aspects of the relationship catches up to the reader.

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. Brief mentions of mental health, and a whole lotta angst ♡︎

ℳ𝒾𝓂𝒾’𝓈 𝓃ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓈 －Almost 300 followers? Ily all so freaking much

☆彡－ The vibration from the girls phone tickles her palm, the sound of static dialling being the same sound that filled her ears before she succumbed to sleep every single night, for the past nine months. He’s probably busy, the time zone is all over the place, maybe he forgot. With a sigh of defeat, her phone fell from her hand and toppled on the pillow aside her. “Hey it’s me Matt－they already know that if they’re calling you － shut up Nick,” her eyes fell shut, a lazy smile gracing her lips as she listened to his voicemail. “I’m probably sleeping or driving if I didn’t a answer this call, so .. call me back later? －just end it!”

☽－ She felt her body numb to feeling disappointed or sadness, too wracked with grief and exhaustion to care whether or not her boyfriend was purposely dodging her calls. It was rare when he did, but she’d notice it being a reoccurring event for the last few days. Matt would send her short texts throughout the day, a soft smile appearing on her lips as she swiped up on them with her thumb at work. ‘Sometimes I wish I was an owl.’ Was a particular one she found herself amused by.

☆彡－ His added reply came not long after, said amusement growing by ten. ‘just so I could fly across the world and see you.’ The girls heart warmed at the silly clarification, the miniature interaction between the two sealed in the back of her mind permanently. This was rare, seeing as Matt often forgot to open anyone’s texts, let alone send back a reply. And in result of that, FaceTimes and phone calls were the couples main source of communication.

☽－ As the girl’s eyes fluttered back open, she was met with her own reflection. The mirror faced aside her bed, aiming perfectly at the outline of her body that was positioned on her side. It was faint, the image of her own body. All that could be seen was the hair framing her face, a faint view of her nose and eyes. Darkness enveloped her entire bedroom, the only source of light being found from the street lights blaring in through her window.

☆彡－ With a drawn out sigh, she slipped a hand under the pillow her head rested on, shifting a bit to find comfort. God, she was restless without his voice. Sleep came easier after coming to terms with Matthew’s absence, but it didn’t cure it. Nothing but him could cure this pit in her heart.

☽－Buzzzzzz’. Vibration rattled neck to her ear, sending a shiver through her body as she peeled her eye lids open. As much as she did want to grasp her cellphone, the hesitation that fell over her kept her set in stone from her lying frame. It didn’t matter how much she tried to convince herself that he was busy, or that he fell asleep － the girl knew he’d forgotten. Beep.

☆彡－ Beep.The ‘Missed call’ icon was the top notification her eyes laid on as she powered her phone on, upon one message underneath. “You awake?” It read, making the girl’s thumb halt against the screen. Whatever, she thought to herself, fingers tapping across the surface. “I can’t sleep.” The girl replied, seconds after being sent his name popped up across the top of her screen. Incoming call: Matty.

☽－ “Baby,” Matt’s voice came through the speaker, a hint of husk in his octave from sleep deprivation. She wasn’t the only one who lacked sleep in each other’s absences. Silence filled the male’s end of the phone for a moment before he spoke again. “I’m sorry for missing your call.” Too sorry to send a message?

☆彡－ The tired girl’s lips parted to speak but only elicited a soft yawn, making Matt’s lips twitch. “S’okay,” pulling her hand from under her pillow, she grasped her phone and sat it on her chest while rolling onto her back. Boom, boom, boom. The triplet let his eyes slip shut as he stretched out across his mattress, feeling warmth course through his body at the sound of the girl’s heart pattering through the speaker. He missed the real thing so badly. “You sleepy, kid?” He murmured lowly, fighting a yawn himself.

☽－ “hm?” She misses his hands against her skin, she yearns for his sweet nothings to be lulled against her ear as she slept － she missed him so fucking bad. Matt opened his eyes, hearing her barely audible sniff. “How much did you sleep last night?” He knew. The girl sighed, shaking her head, forgetting he couldn’t see her. “That’s so boring, what did you do today?”

☆彡－ Matt immediately shot in. “Don’t do that.” He stressed, running a hand down his face in frustration. Guilt wrecked the boy inside out, churning his stomach as he fought his inner subconscious. Why did he have to be such a douche? The least he could’ve done was answer her call. Sigh. “I’m tired.” He heard the girl’s meek tone utter.

☽－ The girl felt her chest tighten, emotions running high in her system. So long she kept them in, knowing that Matt had no way of fixing the pain that tore her apart. Too far, he was too far to fix her. “.. I’ll call more often －” Matt trailed off, hearing a small whimper come from his girlfriend’s end, statics breaking the sound apart. “baby,” oh god, what has he done to his girl.

☆彡－ Suddenly wide awake, he shuffled up in bed, resting his back against his headboard while holding his phone in his one hand. “Listen to me, doll.” Matt attempted to get ahold of the girl, running a hand down his jaw. Cries emptied her throat, a blubbering mess she became as the exhaustion fell over her entire body. “I’m so tired.” So tired. Her head felt heavy with unspilled tears that begged to fall, making her skull ache as she buried her the side of her face into her pillow.

☽－ The pillow no longer carried the natural scent of the male, the lack of his presence resulting in a faint linen smell, along with a slight undertone of his musk. When he left it smelled just like him. But just like him, it was fading. “Why didn’t you call last night?” She whispered finally. “Baby-” she cut in. “Or the night before?” Or the night before.

☆彡－ Matt’s eyes flicked down to his side, breathing out a stuttered breath as his hand fisted the blanket next to him. Owl’s could fly. His hand slipped around the plush material, bringing it to his face as he breathed in the aroma of her. “Take it,” she giggled, Matt’s eyes rolling playfully as he felt the warmth weigh on his shoulders. “Is it really necessary?” He murmured, seeing his girlfriend’s eyes narrow. “pretend it’s me hugging you whenever you cover up at night.” Matt blew out a chuckle, but pondered on her words. Maybe he should take it..

☽－He awaited the end of her sobs and pained cries as he squeezed his eyes shut, a lone trail of water escaping the corner of his eye, sliding down his cheek leisurely. Not that he’d voice it in such a selfish manner, but hearing his poor girl in such a way left his chest aching in a way he was convinced hurt more than her. Matt couldn’t hold her, look at her as she broke apart, or even talk to her, fearing that he’d end up revealing his sorrow, but in tears.

☆彡－The girl shakily placed a hand atop her mouth, because when it rained, it poured. And it wouldn’t stop －it poured down on her entire body. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the fact that she’d cried everything out she could muster, but slowly her cries calmed into hiccups, and the hiccups drifted into sniffs. Boom, boom, boom. Both parties unknowingly listening to each’s pumping hearts, the two fell an inner deprived feeling of sleep come over their bodies.

☽－ Eyes fluttering shut, dried tears coating water-lines, trembling of hands. “I don’t even like owl’s.” A husky voice spoke up, the end of his sentence crackling a bit as he heard his girlfriend shuffle around in her no cold bed. Matt rubbed his one eye with his two fingers, water tainting the skin as he heaved in a breath that fought away sobs. “I don’t like planes, birds － I don’t like anything, really.” She listened overtop his heart. Boom, boom, boom.

☆彡－“But I’d rather face everything I don’t like in this world if it meant I’d face the one thing I love.” Her, it would always be her. It didn’t matter how many midnight calls he’d missed, or whether or not he texted her meaningless messages throughout the day －that really did have meaning, Matt would always choose her. He wouldn’t choose a FaceTime call, a picture － every single time, he’d pick her. Face to face, skin to skin contact, eye to eye, lips to lips － just his girl.

☽－ Despite loving the melody of her tired voice at night, just before he drifted off into a broken slumber, it wasn’t enough. He craved the feeling of her warm body pressed against his as they slept, the scent of her hair blowing into his nostrils as he placed affirming grazes and touches against her untainted skin. Because the love he felt for her across the world, was too strong for an electronic device － or mere words.

☆彡－ Boom, boom, boom. “Matt..” A mixture of her own heart and voice filled his ears, and for one second, it felt real. So real that he swore he felt the itch of her hair falling against her neck as her back pressed into his front. So fucking real, that he felt like there was a chance for a split second. “Call me tomorrow? Please －” but it wasn’t.

☽－ “No.” Her eyes drew open, the pattering in her chest shattering while falling to her gut. No? － “I can’t do it anymore －I can’t handle it.” Matt’s voice cracked nearing the end of his confession, the gut wrenching sound being followed by his harsh inhale. Don’t cry, Matt － don’t fucking cry. “I need you here － or there. Anywhere. Fuck, I’d drop everything in a heartbeat if it meant I could have you now. Feel you, be with you.”

☆彡－ If you loved me you would, she didn’t care to say. But she almost did. Because it wasn’t until he was thousands of miles away, that she dared to question his love for her. “Then do it.” The girl whispered, hearing her boyfriend’s breath hitch. Rolling onto her back, she sucked in a deep sigh. “Because I’m not sure how much longer I can handle it.” The statement was a reminder we that not only he felt such a way, it was consuming the both.

☽－ Boom, boom, boom. “I’ll have Laura book my flight tonight.”

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓈 － @fratbrochrisgf @jetaimevous @sturnstvr @sturnrc @stonermattsgf @imwetforyourmom @st7rnioioss @endereies

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #writers on tumblr #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #christophersturniolo #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #oh yeah

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written-in-flowers · 3 months

Text

Her Lover: Demon!Hongjoong x Fem!Reader

Pairing: incubi!hongjoong x fem!reader | side pairing: demonline x fem!reader

Genre: smut, fluff, major angst MINORS DNI

Word Count: 11k

Summary: Often called "The Beauty" of his brothers, Hongjoong's "hollow day" turns even worse with a visit from his vicious mother and an appearance from his absentee father. The only cure: you.

Tags: polyamorous relationship (m/m/m/f), depression, violence, ritual sacrifices, graphic depictions of death, mentions of mental illness, medication, mentions of bad childhood, mentions of abuse, mentions of emotional neglect, parents being shitty overall, orgies, incest, alcohol usage, outdoor sex, sex in the woods, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, rough sex, very little foreplay, exhibitionism, face fucking, rough oral sex, sloppy oral sex, cum swallowing, light spanking, dom/sub dynamic, choking.

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Previously on Pretty Lady

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***

He loved watching you sleep. He knew how creepy that sounded, but he enjoyed it. You looked the most peaceful when you slept. Wrapped in a cocoon of suede and linen, there was no smug smirk or furrowed brow on your face. In dreams, you escape all the confusion of this new world and sink into the familiar again. Laying beside you, he wondered what you dreamt about. You’d once had a nightmare about your mother, but as far as he knew, that didn’t happen anymore. Hongjoong hardly remembered his dreams. When he did, he saw blurry, brief images that left him empty inside.

The first time Hongjoong saw his mother, he was six-years-old and living with a witch in Korea. He recalled playing outside in the small courtyard in front of their hanok when a woman appeared at the gate. The witch, an old hag named Aro, looked stunned and fearful at the sight of her. Hongjoong recalled her stuttering and bowing to the strange woman. She had flowing black hair with smooth yellow-brown skin and thin dark eyes. He remembered her hardly giving notice to Aro, but instead focusing on him. Back then, Hongjoong didn’t know many demons. Aro told him he must keep his true identity a secret if he wished to stay amongst the living. She’d stared at him with brown eyes circled by a thin crimson line and he knew. Most mothers might smile at their child, especially one they barely saw. Not her.

‘Hello, Hongjoong. Do you remember me?’

‘No.’

How could he when the last time she'd seen him, she'd popped him out of her? Back then, he’d hoped she'd come to take him to France to live with Seonghwa, his elder brother. Perhaps take him to Hell, where he can see his father, Asmodeus, who’d seen him far more often than her. But, no. Mistress Youngmi came for something else.

‘I have need of him tonight. Bring him to the old meeting place at dusk.’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

Hongjoong didn’t know what she’d planned at the time, but he’d soon find out. His mother gathered her coven of followers, witches whom she’d recruited, to perform ritual. They needed the blood of a demon, the blood of a cambion, and the blood of a human to enhance their powers. He recalled his fear as he pushed stray hairs from your face. Witches, gruesome and snarling, terrified him as his mother dragged him to a cauldron at the cliff's edge. He thought she planned on killing him. He believed this mostly because he’d just seen her slice open the human’s and cambion’s throats. Hongjoong fought and struggled against her tight grip. His sharp claws detracted and he swiped at her sleeve fiercely. This only earned him a harsh smack to the face. Obviously, his mother did not kill him. She’d simply cut open his finger and let a few drops fall into the dark red potion. Humans and even cambions in those days meant nothing to demons. Their blood can be spilt by the gallon. His blood, Aro told him, was special.

He’d seen how your mother interacted with you. She’d embraced, kissed and comforted you. Witches weren’t known for their kindness. Aro begrudgingly cared for him, he knew. If she wished to have high favor with his mother, she’d care for her son. Yes, she fed, clothed and housed him, but nothing more. This left Hongjoong to his own devices most of the time. He then started hanging around the wrong kind of crowd: the street urchins who got by stealing and committing petty crimes. By the time he was fifteen, young Hongjoong had been behind bars eight times for mostly arson, theft, vandalism, and assault. Reform schools did nothing to “cure” him. The officers there, mean and wicked as they were, could not understand how the little boy with the dark red hair didn’t feel pain. In fact, whenever one of them hit him, they’re the ones who felt it.

That’s when Hongjoong learned his special ability: Transference. When he returned home from a stint in prison, he told Aro this. Hongjoong still remembered the terror on her face when she saw him put a kitchen knife to his wrist.

That’s when Seonghwa, sixteen and dressed in the finery of a French nobleman, came to collect him.

Your faint yawn pulled him from his memories. He laid there and watched you gradually shift from your dreams into reality. Hongjoong never felt or understood love before. Until Seonghwa, he didn’t know what that meant or felt like. He’d known nothing but cold, harsh anger and disdain. Only with Seonghwa, and eventually San, did he understand love and loving in return. He never imagined feeling that with anyone else. Yet, when he saw you, naked and trembling at his soft touch, he felt it blossom in his chest. Nobody other than his brothers made him feel whole. He didn’t understand it at the time; he still doesn’t, but he doesn’t question it anymore. The empty space in his heart belongs to you now.

“Morning,” you said, voice hoarse from sleep.

“Morning,” he replied, kissing your cheek.

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah. I just didn’t feel like getting up yet.”

He wanted to look at you a little longer. Even in the dimness of his bedroom, he still made out your face. “Don’t you work today?” you asked him.

“Always.”

The mere thought of the lower dungeons sent a shiver through him. He hated the cold down there. The tunnels only remained warm because of the volcanic vents underneath the stone floors, a luxury given to the jailors and not the prisoners. He much rather preferred the warmth of your body than the chill of his dungeon. But, he knew he couldn’t shirk his responsibilities, Seonghwa had taught him that.

“Stay,” you whispered, kissing him softly. “Stay with me today.”

“I would if I could, Pet.”

Even without your collar, he still called you ‘Pet’. He couldn’t see himself calling you anything other than affectionate pet names. You’d become too precious. Sometimes, he wondered how things might have been if he’d known you before. Would he have gone down that destructive path if he had your warm touch to soothe him? Would he have suffered lonely nights if he held you in his arms? He didn’t know. He didn’t like entertaining the ‘what ifs’.

“Not even for a little bit?” you asked, taking his hand to put on your chest. “You didn’t touch me last night.”

He hadn’t for a while. Not because you didn’t arouse him anymore. In fact, you are one of the few things that did.

“Is something wrong?”

Hongjoong stared at his hand on your breast. Normally, he’d be fondling and kissing you deeply, not caring about the consequences. But, today he couldn’t find it in him. Today was a ‘hollow day’. He rolled onto his back, staring up into the dark canopy of his bed. The wooden posters of his bed, molded snakes coiling around them, connected into a point at the top. His eyes followed them over and over.

“Hongjoong?”

“I’m fine,” he said, though it did not sound convincing.

“No, you’re not. Is it me?”

“Never.”

“Then what is it?”

‘I was thinking about my terrible childhood and how you’re one of the few people who matter to me.’ It sounded stupid when he thought about it. “Just tired, that’s all,” he said, stretching and yawning. “I really don’t want to go down there. It’s cold.”

He rolled out of bed before you pressed him further. Hongjoong did not want to talk about his mother or the letter she’d sent yesterday. He would’ve torn it apart if Seonghwa hadn’t opened it first.

“Then stay,” you said, your hand sliding up under the back of his shirt. Not a sexual touch, but a comforting one. Fingernails traced the small part of his back in idle circles, keeping him grounded beside you. “You’re a freaking duke, Hongjoong. What are they going to do? Fire you?”

He snorted a laugh. In truth, the dungeon masters cannot do much to him in particular. The higher a demon is in society, the less consequences they face. He couldn’t get away with murder, but he could get away with missing a day of work. But, Hongjoong couldn’t stay home today. If he’s in the lower dungeons, then he won’t be home when she arrives. If he isn’t home, she won’t stick around.

‘Mother is coming to visit. She says she needs you for something. I don’t know, it doesn’t say.’

“It’s my responsibility,” he said over his shoulder. “I have to go.”

“Well, can I come with you then?”

He turned to look at you, “What?”

“Yeah,” you scooted closer to his side of the bed. “I’d like to go with you.”

This didn’t sound like you. When he mentioned you coming to the dungeons with him, you’d look disgusted. Yet, now you’re in his bed asking to join him. Hongjoong turned to look at you, seeing the softness in your eyes. You know he’s hollow. He doesn’t know how you do, but you do. Maybe you don’t know either. Seonghwa told him certain people have connections they can’t explain. That might be what you two have.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s not a fancy place.”

“I don’t mind.”

He laughed, “You?” He laid across you, trapping you underneath him and said, “The one who gets all squeamish when she sees blood?”

“I don’t get ‘squeamish’ at blood,” you defended. “Women see blood way more than men do. It’s all the gore and torture and stuff that’s gross.”

“And there’s plenty and more of that where I work.”

“I know, but,” you gazed over his face for a moment, much like how Seonghwa does, “I haven’t seen you much lately. You’re always working.”

He felt guilty about that. His brothers made time for you: coming to see you at lunch, taking you out on dates at night or spending time in your room or the greenhouse. Hongjoong tried doing the same, but sometimes he didn’t have it in him. His hollow days became more frequent when he didn’t have the thin, minty elixir that balanced him out. Yunho told him the apothecary ran out of mint leaves, and wouldn’t have them for another week. This coupled with a visit from his mother had Hongjoong swallowed up by his sadness.

“I want to be with you as much as I want to be with San or Seonghwa,” you told him, not shuffling when he moved up your body. “I want to take care of you too.”

That sentence usually sparked a fire inside his loins, but not today. Hollow days never involved sex. “I know, pet,” he said, kissing your lips. Nothing tasted or smelled as sweet as you. He hoped his mother never saw you. He refused to let her ruin anything he loved. “Sure,” he finally said, “You can tag along this one time.”

He gave you one final kiss before the door opened. “Good morning, sir,” Yunho said, walking by the bed to open the curtains. Bright sunlight shone into the room, burning his eyes as they adjusted to the light. “I suggest you get dressed quickly.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, blinking his eyes and rubbing them.

“Your mother is here.”

Every muscle in his body turned stiff. “What? Already?”

“Yes,” the butler nodded, facing him. “She arrived a few minutes ago. Your brothers have been told, and Master Seonghwa is meeting with her now.”

“Your mom’s here?” he heard you ask.

He lifted himself from his position over you and sat on the edge again. She never came this early. Mistress Youngmi didn’t like rising early. She also rarely visited Hell anymore. She said she detested the stench of the city or the uncouth demons that lived there. Youngmi always considered herself above everyone else.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “She wrote and said she’d be stopping by.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” you sat up in bed, “I can meet her too.”

“I don’t want you to meet her,” he replied.

“Why? You know my mom. Why can’t I know yours?”

“Because she's a vicious bitch,” he snapped, irritation settling into his chest. “She’s a parasite that infects and sucks the life out of everything around her. Even Lilith doesn’t like her.” He looked over at you, “My mother is a narcissist who sees her children as nuisances. She only comes around when she wants something from one of us.”

When she wants something from him specifically. Much like you, things hadn’t ended happily the last time he’d seen her.

‘My sisters need your life’s blood in order to keep serving myself and your father.’

She loved those grotesque witches more than her own offspring. “I don’t…I don’t want her infecting you too.”

To be honest, once his mother learned who your grandmother was, she’d proceed with more caution. Even if she did think highly of herself, even the dumbest demon knew not to mess with Lilith.

“If she’s not happy, nobody can be happy.”

“I’m pretty sure she knows about me anyway,” you told him, rubbing his back. “There’s no point in trying to keep me a secret. I’ll go with you.”

“If you insist…”

Hongjoong went to his bathroom, forcing himself to clean up even if the hollowness weighed him down. You came in after, shedding your clothes and stepping into a prepared bath, he didn’t notice much. He knew you sensed his sadness, and didn’t know how to cure it. He wished he knew himself. Hongjoong tried giving a reassuring forehead kiss, but you still didn’t believe his muttered ‘I’m fine’.

“How are we today, sir?” Yunho asked, placing a tea tray on a table.

“Could be better,” he said, walking into his closet to pick out a shirt. She’ll expect him to wear proper clothes like his brothers. He picked up his torn, altered Sex Pistols t-shirt from the rack. “Has Andris called?”

“I’m sorry, he hasn’t. I’ve sent one of the footmen to his shop to get an update. As per usual, I added a bit of whiskey to the coffee. I know it is not a proper replacement-”

“-Better to be numb than hollow, Yunho.”

He pulled the white sleeveless shirt over his torso, and picked distressed black denims to go with it. If Youngmi considered him a child, then he’d act and dress the part for her. He took a sip of the coffee, tasting the whiskey in the richness, and felt it warm his body. Jumping into the tight jeans, he’d been sliding a studded belt through the loops when San appeared in the doorway.

“Where’s YN?” he asked.

“In her dressing room,” he answered. “She says you’re taking her to the dungeons today.”

“She asked,” he shrugged.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Not really, but she insisted and I want to spend more time with her.”

“Is it really quality time if she’s sitting in a corner while you torture people?”

“Like I said, she asked.”

San remained silent. He noticed his tailored three-piece suit, and thought of how suffocated he’d feel in that. Hongjoong wondered how awkward it must be to walk into the stone, ancient arena’s common area in a 1950’s suit. Then again, time periods blended together in Hell. Hongjoong ruffled up his hair, letting it hang in front of his face before he picked up an eyeliner pencil.

“Yunho says the apothecary doesn’t have your mint in stock,” he said, walking around the dressing room aimlessly.

“He said he might have it next week.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not.” He took another sip of his spiked coffee with hopes of feeling numb, “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you should take YN with you today. Just take a day off and stay here,” San suggested. “There’s nothing wrong with a mental health day.”

“I said I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”

“So, you’re not dreading going to work because of all the movement and crap you have to do there?” he asked, eyeing Hongjoong’s shirt collection. “You’re up to socializing today? Having to use up the last bit of battery in you to make it through the day?”

“Yup.” He held down his lower lid and applied the eyeliner.

“And this coffee is regular coffee, right?” San opened the carafe Yunho left behind and sniffed it. “And not spiked with whiskey at all?”

“It was his idea. Not mine.”

San came to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You know we’re here for you.”

“I know.”

“She’ll only be here for five minutes tops,” he said. “Just give her what she wants, then go do something with YN. Maybe take her into the city on a breakfast date or to the movies or something. Do something with her that isn’t breaking a person to pieces.”

“I have to work.”

“No, you don’t. You want to go to escape the hollowness. Torturing other people to relieve your own sadness doesn’t do anything but make it worse. You know that. Stay home today.”

San didn’t get it. Digging his knives into prisoners, listening to their tortured screams, distracted him. When he's working, he doesn't have to think about all the pain inside him. He'd be too busy for the hollowness to drown him. Hongjoong felt agitated about work, but knew that staying home made it worse.

“Come on,” San said when Hongjoong did not answer him. “Don’t take her there. You know she only asked because she can tell there’s something up with you. You don’t want her to see how you get when you’re in the heat of it. It’ll scare her. Shit, it scares me.”

Hongjoong rubbed his face, an irritated groan covered by his palms. He knew San was right. Even if you put up a tough front, the dungeons would sicken and frighten you. The only one allowed to be traumatized in the keep is him.

“She’s not going to let me stay,” he said, running his hands through his hair.

“Mom?”

“She’ll want me to go with her. She tells me the blood needs to be given, not taken.”

“Is it really ‘giving’ if you’re forced to go?”

“I guess?”

A rocky cliff at the edge of an old forest became the meeting place for his mother’s followers. Hongjoong thought of the open waves crashing into the jagged rocks below, and the sea air blowing through the tall trees. The cauldron often stood on a stone platform right where the moonlight shone. She never told him what the ritual did or what the potion was for. He only found out when Seonghwa told him.

In order for witches to maintain their immortality and immunity, they needed the blood of three beings: a human to keep their youth, a demon with the power of transference to keep them immortal, and a cambion to bind both together. She typically lured or paid demons handsomely for the ritual.

“Why can’t she just have another kid?” he groaned, his body heavy and fatigued. He had no desire to go anywhere or do anything. “It’s not like she’d have to care for it.”

“She says having kids gets in the way of her life,” he rolled his eyes. “Cunt.”

Hongjoong snorted, making himself finish the other eye. “Finish up here,” San said, patting his back, “And come downstairs. She’ll get more annoyed the longer you keep her waiting.”

And when Youngmi gets annoyed, it becomes everyone else’s problem. Hongjoong pulled on necklaces, bracelets and rings before deciding he looked suitable enough. He took a final gulp of his coffee, letting the whiskey settle into his stomach before nibbling on a biscuit. When he reentered his bedroom, you walked in at the same time. A tight black sweater and the blue high waisted skirt shaped out your gorgeous curves, and you’d worn minimal makeup and the long snake earrings he’d bought you. He gave a weak smile, kissing your cheek before bringing you into his arms.

“I decided not to go to work today,” he told you, burying his face in your hair. “I’ll probably end up going somewhere with my mom, so work’s out of the question.”

“That’s fine,” you said in his shoulder. “Do you want me to bring Linette to your room and you can have some fun with us?”

“Tempting, but no.”

“Maybe you can play your guitar and I can sing for you? You like doing that, don’t you?”

“Not in the mood. I…” he held you a bit tighter, inhaling your scent. “Let’s stay in bed together today. I can have Yunho bring the TV here and we can hang out.”

You pulled away from him, looking into his face. “We can do whatever you want to do,” you said. “I’ll tell Jongho to get us some snacks, and we’ll be a couple of couch potatoes together.”

“After my mom.”

“After your mom.”

He looked forward to it already. Taking your hand, he led you out of his room and down the stairs. He found his brothers in the sitting room where servants laid out a small cheese and meat spread with spirits. Hongjoong had no appetite for the food. The woman sitting on his couch ruined any possibility of breakfast. Youngmi, wearing a long black and red dress, sat on his couch with a glass of wine in her hand. She’d draped black strings of onyxes around her large horns, the strings connected by a large gem. He wondered who paid for that. When she looked over at him, her expression delighted him.

“Hongjoong, must you insist upon dressing like a child all the time?” she said with distaste. “Look at your brothers: well-dressed gentlemen. I can’t imagine what people must think when they see a Duke walking around like he rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing he saw.”

“Don’t, Mother. You know what too much thinking does to your head,” he replied. “What do you want?”

She didn’t answer right away. Youngmi’s eyes landed on you beside him. “Ah, so this is the one that’s been living here,” she said, unimpressed. “I would take her with us, but I already have a cambion lined up for the ritual.”

“You wouldn’t want this one, Mother,” he said, already feeling the animosity between them.

“Why is that? Because she’s your little plaything?”

“Because Princess Lilith will be absolutely wroth with anger,” said Seonghwa, cross-legged and munching on a cracker. “She wouldn’t like the idea of a no-name demon mistress utilizing one of her granddaughters in a blood ritual.”

“She’s one of Lilith’s?” Youngmi asked in surprise. “Impossible!”

“It’s very possible,” he replied. “Plus, our beloved doesn’t particularly like doing things people tell her to do, so I wouldn’t risk it.”

“What’s your name, girl-”

“-My lady-” Hongjoong corrected her. “I think you’re forgetting your place, Youngmi.”

She glared at him, “What’s your name?”

“I’m YN,” you replied disdainfully.

“YN, a name as pretty as you,” she simpered. “Your father is going to love her.”

“As if he’d ever see her.”

“He’ll have to when he shows up.”

“Dad’s coming here?” Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa, who grimaced.

“I just got the letter,” he said, nodding to a paper on the coffee table. “He said he’s coming for a special ‘visit’.”

“Great,” he gave a mirthless laugh, “First her, and now Dad.”

He sat on San’s couch, head in his hands. “I don’t see why you are so distressed, Hongjoong,” his mother said. “The Eternal ritual is done every ten years. You must’ve known this was coming.”

“A strangely short timespan for witches to recharge their powers, isn’t it?” he asked, leaning back on the couch. “Don’t you have another demon for this sort of thing?”

“I normally do,” she said, “But my usual volunteer got himself banned from the living world so now I need you.”

He grabbed a tea cup and one of the cheese knives. All he did was think of her, and with a single slice of his index finger, his mother hissed.

“Ugh, you little bastard,” she glared, holding her bleeding finger.

“Sorry,” he said innocently, “I can’t control it sometimes.” He squeezed a few droplets into the cup, then passed it to her. “There’s your blood,” he said, wrapping his finger in a napkin. The gash along his finger didn’t hurt, but it certainly bled. “Have a nice time. See you in another fifteen years.”

“You know that’s not how that works,” she scolded.

“Find a way to make it work,” he retorted, staunching the blood from the wound.

“The demon has to give it willingly.”

“You know, San posed a pretty good question to me earlier: is it really ‘willingly’ if you’re forcing me to go up there?”

“It’s good enough,” she said. “It’s not like it’ll take long. Besides, when we’re done, you can have your pick of the ladies there. They’re all eager to see you again, especially after this year’s mass.”

“Your witches are cute when they’re in human form,” he remarked. “I closed my eyes with most of them even then. Besides,” he grinned at you, “I have something much better now.”

“Enough of this nonsense,” Youngmi said irritably. “The longer I spend here arguing with you, the more moonlight I’m losing up there.”

“Money.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Pay me and I’ll go.”

“You’re already wealthy, Hongjoong-”

“-Don’t care. Money and I get to bring YN with me. I think I’d enjoy pounding her underneath a blood moon,” he winked at you, “It’d be special for sure.”

“Fine,” she snapped, “Fifteen-hundred gold and you can bring the girl.”

“Sixteen. I like even numbers.”

“So be it,” she grunted, slamming down her wine cup. “Why couldn’t I be like the other mistresses and have sons who don’t give me headaches?” she ranted as she stood, walking out of the room. “Patricia’s boys never give her so much grief.”

“That’s because she sees them once every two hundred years,” Hongjoong called after her, “Maybe she likes even numbers too.” Once she’d left, Hongjoong checked on his finger. The skin nearly knitted back together, he grabbed a new napkin and stood up. “Looks like pancakes are going to have to wait, pet. We have a ritual to attend.”

“A ritual?”

“I’ll see you two later,” he said to his brothers.

“Don’t make a scene, Hongjoong,” warned Seonghwa. “Just give her the blood, and come back home. It’s not worth making a fuss.”

“And then put up with Dad all night.”

“Dad’s not all bad,” said Seonghwa. “Alright, he’s just as absent in our lives as her, but at least he’s fun.”

“He also brings gifts when he comes,” said San.

“Yeah, to make up for not being around.”

“Still,” he shrugged, “Better than pure disdain. You’re also getting sixteen hundred out of it, so it’s not all that bad.”

“You’ll have me with you,” you told him, coming to his side. You examined his finger. You winced at the split skin, “Gosh, doesn’t that hurt?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “I might not be able to dig into people’s minds or lift them over my head, but I can make them bleed without touching them. That's why she wants me to go so badly.” He then kissed your lips, and said, “You being there will make it so much better.”

Your smile filled his hollowness for a few seconds. “I still want those pancakes when we come back,” you said with a small pout.

“You’ll get them,” he promised, “And a bit more if we’re up for it.”

“Hongjoong!” his mother screeched from the entry hall.

“Come on,” he slid his good hand into yours, “Before she comes back in here shrieking.”

The both of you walked outside where he saw Jongho waiting by the door. “Mistress,” he said, “Your mother just sent a messenger. She wants to know when you’re coming to Eden. You have lessons with your Aunt Gaia.”

“Tomorrow,” you answered as you passed him. “Tell her I had something unexpected come up.”

“Yes, Mistress. I assume I tell Cook to hold off on the breakfast?”

“That too,” you said over your shoulder.

“As you wish.”

Walking down the steps into the sunlight, he chuckled. “Aren’t you becoming a real Mistress…”

“I’m only being myself,” you shrugged. “I don’t mind doing stuff on my own, but I won’t complain if someone offers to do it for me.”

You took to your status easily. He imagined the life you lived above resembled the one down here, minus the CEO position and office jobs. Hongjoong couldn’t imagine working a normal desk job. It sounded dull. He saw the corporate slaves in the official buildings, typing at computers and answering phone calls. Like Mingi said multiple times: demons might scorn humans, but they certainly mimicked them well. They’d adapted a monarchy and class system; they’d rebuilt the barren wasteland of Hell into the flourishing city of Inferno; rather than live in caves or dens, they’d constructed houses and buildings. The volcanic rivers and lakes became utilized for a heat system underneath the city streets. Hongjoong saw it as they stepped into a car and began riding away. Demons of all generations and classes picked up culture and fashion from various periods, causing a period clash that molded together perfectly.

“I remember the first time I came to Hell,” he said out loud, gazing out the window. “I was seventeen and fresh from the living world. My dad threw this huge party for me in his mansion. I’d never been around so many demons before; I thought I’d never fit in with them. Everyone acted so sophisticated and refined, while I was a scruffy street urchin in fancy clothes.”

“Were you scared?”

He thought about it for a moment, “Kind of? I didn’t know anyone besides Seonghwa, and San hadn’t turned seventeen yet so he wasn’t there. I hardly knew my dad and my mom even less.”

“You see him more than her?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’re not close but he invites us to holiday gatherings and we see him during black masses. I’d rather take his company over hers any time.”

“Is that why you’ve been so moody this morning?” you asked him.

“Maybe.”

You wouldn’t get it; not many people did. He thought about the elixir again and wondered how long it takes to get some stupid leaves? He considered asking you to plant some, but the idea left him feeling sick. He didn’t like talking about it. If he talked about it, that meant his problem was real and not in his imagination. He only started taking the stuff when Seonghwa insisted. Even though he enjoyed rebelling against his brother from time to time, he knew Seonghwa meant well.

“You know you can tell me, right?” you said, breaking into his thoughts again.

“I know.”

“Then why don’t you?”

You’re likely not used to seeing him this way. He’s always been the fun, rebellious, handsome brother who fucks you until you’re a incoherent mess. Today, he’d rather be wrapped in blankets and staring into the void.

“Because I’m fine.”

“Hongjoong…”

“I said I’m fine, alright?” he snapped, a tightness forming in his chest. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m good, okay?”

“I’m only worried about you,” you stuck yourself into your side of the backseat, not touching him anymore. “But, whatever.”

He’d hurt you, and he hated himself for it. Hongjoong thought to reach out to you, but he stopped himself. Out of his pocket, he withdrew a flask. In a single swig, the smooth brandy went down his throat sharply. He knew you’d seen him. Mingi, the driver today, saw him in the rearview mirror. Why did people have to stare so much? Why can’t they leave him alone?

“We’re here, sir,,” Mingi’s deep voice broke the silence.

He moved to get out, but Hongjoong opened his own door. He hadn’t intended to slam it. When he looked up, he saw they’d parked in front of the transport station. While trains ran throughout the city, taking people from point A to point B, a special section remained reserved for trips into the living world. He spotted his mother standing near the gates, and he tucked his flask into his back pocket. You walked past him, hardly giving him a glance and likely regretting coming along, and he wanted to take your hand. He wanted to apologize.

“She hates me,” he told Mingi, who came up beside him.

“Hate is a strong word, sir,” he replied, watching you walk towards Youngmi. “She’s just ticked off, that’s all. She really cares about you, Master. We all do.”

Deep down, he knew that.

“Quit dawdling,” his mother called as he approached, “We don’t have all day.”

He considered taking even longer just to annoy her. The blood moon only lasts so long. His eyes met yours, and you looked away from him.

‘Please, don’t look away. I need you. I need you so badly,’ he thought.

“Hongjoong-” his mother started.

“-I fucking heard you,” he remarked at her, pushing past one of her Imps towards the transport gates, “Let’s get this over with.”

He reached the portal gate before the rest of them. At a kiosk, he punched in his name and chose the destination. A white ticket shot out of the slot, and he nearly tore it apart removing it. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his bed, holding you and wishing he never had to wake up again. Yet, here he was, scanning his ticket on the gate to let himself through. He felt several people behind him, their presence irking him the longer he noticed them. Naturally, his mother walked ahead of him to the black and green vortex inside a stone archway.

“I’m doing your stupid ritual and then leaving,” he told her one final time. “You have your little minions wire me my money after.”

“You better watch your tone, boy,” she retorted, “Or I’ll-”

“-What? Ignore me for another ten years? I wish you would.”

“You’re just like your father, you know that?”

“Better than being like you.”

He walked through the portal before her, enjoying the weightlessness in the dark void. It nearly suffocated him before the scent of pine wood and crisp winter air reached him. When he came out the other side, Hongjoong took in deep gulps of air. All around him, he saw a dark, sparse forest of thin trees and leafy grounds. Time in the living world and demon world flipped each other: Hell’s day time was a human’s night time. Seonghwa would have some scientific explanation for it that he’d tune out when it got too complicated.

“The breeze is so wonderful,” Youngmi inhaled deeply. “Hell never has any seasons.”

“It’s Hell. It’s supposed to be hot.”

Youngmi rolled her eyes, “Follow me.”

Hongjoong looked over his shoulder to you next to Mingi, taking deep breaths. He should’ve been the one explaining and preparing you. He felt like a total dick now.

“Hongjoong!”

If she called his name one more time, he’d find the sharpest stick he could and stab himself with it. Then, he could watch her bleed for once. Hongjoong moved along with her Imps, the small child-like demons who live to serve. He never particularly liked them. Their uncanny appearance to children freaked him out, but not as much as the witches up ahead. In the darkness of the forest, he saw a bright orange and yellow glowing between them. He could hear mad cackling, cheering and saw shadows dance around the large fire.

“The Grand High Witch approaches!” one of the Imps said in his gravelly voice, calling the witches’ attention. “All hail the Grand High Witch!”

“Hail the Grand High Witch!”

Oh, she loved this. Hongjoong did not need to see her face as she strutted up to the clearing with her head up high. He wished he could smell the ocean, but the smoke and fire overpowered it. When he pushed past the clearing, he hoped none of them noticed him. However, they did.

“Master!” one witch hissed, bowing awkwardly to him. It was awkward for her because her hunched back made it difficult. Her pale skin was marked by black holes, and her black lips were cracked and hung open. “Master, you came! You came!”

“We’re delighted to see you, Master,” another said. When he looked, he saw whom he called ‘The Twins’. Two women stuck together by the waist, their long mottled claws reached out to him with their black eyes full of lust and longing. “Yes,” said the one on the left, “So delighted.”

“Um, yes, evening ladies.”

They simpered at his awkward greeting. A witch with an elongated face and a long crooked nose grinned at him with rotten teeth, while another stood at hip height reaching out for him. His stomach churned seeing them. He wished they’d use their human forms.

“Who is she?!” a very tall witch, bony and stooped, pointed at you. “We already have a cambion!”

“She’s with me,” Hongjoong grunted at her, moving over to take your hand. He saw the shock in your eyes at the sight of the dozens of witches in front of you. "Stick close to me,” he assured you, knowing your fear outweighed your resentment towards him. Your fingers sliding between his kept him from drifting. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

The crowd of witches parted as he guided you in front of him. They hissed and snarled at you. One snapped her large jaws, laughing when you flinched.

“She looks tasty…” a witch with spikes coming from her head came to your side. It wasn’t her who spoke, it was the face in her throat. “Scrumptious.”

“I can smell your fear, little girl,” said another, her head similar to a skeleton head with skin, “You’ll make a fine feast.”

“Back off,” Hongjoong growled, baring his canine teeth and flaring the crimson in his eyes. He didn’t bring out his true form very often, but he would for you. “Before I shove you all in the fire!”

As he guided you by the waist, Hongjoong noticed your soft skin gradually turned hard. When he put his full hand on it, he felt the roughness of tree bark. It started at your waist and went up your sides. Armor? He knew you’d started taking lessons with Rhea, who taught you combat and defense skills. He didn’t think you’d gotten that far already.

“We’ll only take a bite!”

A witch with horns all around her head moved forward before a silver blade reached her throat. Mingi, stone-faced and cold, held his blade to her neck.

“Take a bite and I take your life,” he said, deep black eyes glaring at her as his skin slowly turned a light red. “Understand, witch?”

“Ye-yes, Master.”

Finally reaching the front of the crowd, Hongjoong saw a large black cauldron on top of a stone platform. The first time he’d seen it, he recalled the putrid scent coming up from the boiling pot. He remembered the heat against his skin, the steam burning him as she hung his hand over the potion. Hongjoong gripped your waist without meaning to, knowing he’d have to do that again. Looking into the sky, he saw a full moon hanging in the pitch blackness. Soon, an eclipse will occur that will turn the moon from its bright white to deep red. In the rays of its light, the ritual will be performed.

“Daughters!” his mother raised her hands for silence, “Tonight, we gather underneath our sacred moon to fortify and strengthen your powers! With the blood of humans, you maintain your youth. With the blood of a half-breed, you maintain your physical form! And with the blood of a demon of transference,” she glanced over at him, “You maintain your immortality.”

The witches around him hissed, clicking and growling their approval. “Saia, Beatrice!” his mother called to a witch nearby, “Bring out the human first!”

“Oh my god…” he heard you breathe.

“Please! Please, let me go! Please!”

She must’ve been nineteen or twenty-years-old, he deduced. Long blond hair that shone in the firelight, her porcelain skin and slim body made her a perfect candidate. Two witches dragged her over to the cauldron, the woman kicking and screaming between them. Hongjoong watched them force her up onto a step while his mother withdrew a long, curved knife. She began speaking in Latin, a language Hongjoong never bothered to learn, but context told him everything.

“They’re not…” you whispered to him, “They’re not going to-to kill her?”

“That’s exactly what they’re going to do.”

“Stop! Please! Someone help me!” the woman shrieked, tears streaming down her cheeks as the witches held her over the cauldron.

The steam and smell made her turn her head, but one of them forced her to face forward. Her terror did not last long. In the last few words, Youngmi put the blade across the girl’s long neck. You turned away right as blood shot out of the wound and into the cauldron. He held you close, your scent overpowering the stench around him.

“Now,” his mother said, “The cambion!”

“Let me go, you bitches!”

A man this time. No doubt they lured him with their disguised beauty. Like with the woman, they held him over the cauldron as his mother said the second verse. A bit stronger, he managed to break free of their hold, but only for a moment. Slamming his head onto the cauldron’s rim, Youngmi took the chance to slit his throat as well. The potion glowed a deep scarlet color, which will only get darker with his blood added.

“You stay here,” he told you gently.

“No, Hongjoong,” you pleaded, “Don’t go.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured you, kissing your forehead.

“And finally, my daughters, the blood of a demon!”

One witch tried grabbing him, but he shrugged her off. Hongjoong really wanted to know how a demon gets banned from the living world, and why she didn’t find another. Climbing the steps, he took his mother’s knife and stood next to the cauldron. Six-year-old Hongjoong screamed, cried and begged his mother not to do it. He’d never felt such terror before. But, two-hundred-and-sixty-nine year old Hongjoong knew better now. While his mother and her followers chanted the last stanza of the incantation, he quickly slid the blade along his injured finger to reopen it. The witch across him hissed as her own finger split open. When the first few drops fell into the potion, the smoke billowed thick with the scent of blood. He coughed as it entered his lungs and plugged up his nose. He squeezed his blood into it, then stepped back from the cauldron.

His mother waved her hands around the pot, finishing off the spell while he came back to you. Mingi offered him a handkerchief for his finger, but he only had eyes for you. He saw the terror in your eyes, though you did your best not to show it. You kept yourself from staring at any witch for too long; he saw you already figuring out an escape route as he saw your midsection and shoulders thicken. Daughters of Eden didn’t particularly need metal armor, even if the guards wore it.

“Hey,” he cupped your cheek with his clean hand, “Don’t be scared.”

"Are you serious right now?”

“Okay, yeah I know, but we’re going home,” he assured you. “They won’t hurt you with me around.”

“Drink, my daughters! Come and drink! Receive your blessings!”

Witches flocked to the platform, taking out cups from their cloaks. Hongjoong held you to his chest, about to turn you around to go home when another voice rang out.

“Ladies! How lovely to see you all here!”

A man in a long coat with a vest and ruffled shirt came out of the shadows. Black curls hung around his face and over his red eyes. People told him that his brothers all looked like Asmodeus in one way or another. Seonghwa had his long curls; San had his golden brown skin, and Hongjoong had his narrow nose. The witches all turned at his voice, delighted by the sight of their master, and bowed to him at once. It was only Youngmi who glared at him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, ladling potion into a witch’s cup.

“I was told you’d kidnapped my son,” Asmodeus said, walking further into the clearing. He stared around the semi-circle overlooking the cliffs. “This is a great meeting place,” he whistled his approval. “I think we’ll have our next black mass in these woods. They’re remote, old, and there’s plenty of camping space around here.”

“Get out,” Youngmi hissed.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” his father groaned. “I didn’t come here for any of you, even though…” he walked over to the twins, touching each of their long chins as they sighed dreamily, “I wouldn’t mind partaking while I’m here. How’re my favorite twins doing?”

“Do you have to ruin everything, Asmodeus?” she snapped.

“Hey, you’re the one that took my boy for this strange ritual of yours,” he quipped. He turned from the twins to see Hongjoong nearby. “There you are, Joongie!” he walked over to him, and they clasped hands before hugging. “There’s my handsome boy,” he patted Hongjoong’s back, smiling warmly. He spotted Hongjoong’s bleeding finger, “It doesn’t hurt, right?”

“It hurt someone, just not me,” he replied, which amused his father.

“Good boy, good boy.” His eyes landed on you, and the flirtation turned on again. “Hello there,” he said, drawing closer to you, “Aren’t you a lovely one? Are you new? I don’t see any rot in you at all.” He caressed your cheek, but you moved away. This only made the demon prince chuckle, “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. I don’t bite…unless you ask me to.”

“She’s with me, Dad,” Hongjoong got in between you both, “And she’s your great niece.”

Clarity came to him right away, “She’s Andromeda’s girl? Well, how nice to finally meet you. Your grandmother didn’t shut up about you when I visited yesterday. You really are a beauty,” he moved around Hongjoong towards you. “You should come visit my mansion sometime. I can show you a few tricks of my own.”

“What’s up, Dad?” he stood in front of you again. He knew with enough eye-contact and persuasion, you’d become putty in his father’s hands. “I thought you’d be at the keep.”

“I was, and your brothers told me you’d be here. Listen, son,” he fixed his coat as he said, “I’m having a gathering at my place this weekend.”

“For what?”

He glimpsed over at you as he said, “The Passionate Heart Ball.” He walked around Hongjoong again to you, “It’s an important celebration to us demons of lust, you see. It happens at the first full moon of spring. It’s when our powers are the strongest,” he played with the end of a stray hair, “Where our seed is most potent and we become…truly primal. You could ask your mates all about it: there’s lots of wine, food and fucking going on there.”

“That sounds…interesting, I guess.”

“You’re in Hell, darling. There’s no way you’ve never had a cock before,” he said, voice low with lust. “Not if you’ve been hanging around my boys. Oh…” he exhaled deeply, “I bet your orgasms sound sweet. I’d love to hear them myself-”

“-Seriously, Dad?” Hongjoong interrupted. “We’ll go to the damn ball. You know where to send the details.”

“Don’t be greedy, boy,” he said over his shoulder. “You get to fuck this one whenever you like. Isn’t that right, angel?”

“That’s right.”

Hongjoong froze. Your voice, breathy and low, told him everything he needed to know.

“How about we ditch this place and go somewhere more private, hm?” his father’s hands traced your shoulder up to your collar, “Where I can see just how beautiful girls from Eden are.”

“I don’t think you want to do that, Uncle,” you said, your own voice flirty and sultry. “I’ve been told my kisses alone can be pretty dangerous.”

“Is that right?” he leaned in closer.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Your sons can go for hours with a kiss or two from me.”

“Ha, I don’t need a kiss to do that,” he said. “I’m lust personified, honey. I can fuck pretty things like you for days.”

“Days? That’s excessive, no?”

“Excess is what I love. Just like how much I love gorgeous women with gorgeous tits.”

“Dad!” Hongjoong felt anger flare in his chest, and he pulled you away from him. “Come on, seriously? My mate?”

“Mate?”

“No harm in a little romp,” his father reasoned, hands in the air. “She must be special if even my Hongjoong doesn’t want to share her with me. How many of these did we take together during mass? Ten? Eleven?”

“I lost count after six, if I’m honest.”

His father laughed, distracted by the joke. He rung an arm around Hongjoong’s shoulders, “Bring her to the ball.”

“She’s not a lust demon.”

“I don’t care. Your other siblings will be bringing their pleasure slaves and mates. She can be your plus-one.” He looked back over at you, “Wear something easy to take off. You won’t be clothed very long.”

You smiled shyly, turning away at his forwardness. Hongjoong scowled at his father, who gave you a wink. “See you at the ball, son.”

He gave another hug before walking over to a group of witches. Hongjoong scoffed his disgust, moving towards you. “Let’s get out of here before he starts a full blown orgy,” Hongjoong said, but then he saw your expression. Intrigue filled your pretty eyes, scanning over his father’s athletic, slim body. “Really, babe? My dad? Your great uncle?”

“What?” you groaned, “He’s hot. Sorry I’m not made of stone. You don’t mind the incest when it’s us and your brothers.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“We actually love you, whereas my dad will pound into you for a few hours and then forget your name.”

“If you love me,” you put the handkerchief to his bleeding hand, “Why won’t you tell me what’s really bugging you?”

“It’s…complicated.”

“Then help me understand,” you said.

He saw witches who’d drunk their potion moving over to his father. The man truly slept with anyone or anything. It disgusted him, and he liked most things. Hongjoong didn’t speak as he took you away from the frivolity into the forest. Out of their notice, he guided you to a spot where the moonlight still shone on you. If anything made him feel better, it’d be a few minutes alone with you.

“Aren’t we going back to that portal thing?” you asked him, worry in your voice.

“Not right now,” he said.

“Where’s Mingi?”

“Probably still in the clearing. If he’s lucky, one of them turned into a hot girl for him to plug up for a while.”

“Do you always have to be so obscene?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Through a thicket of trees, Hongjoong brought you out of range of the clearing. He leaned against one of the trees, withdrawing his flask to take another swig. The cool breeze went across his hot cheeks to fill his lungs with fresh air. You stood beside him, where you took his flask and drank some yourself.

“There’s days…” he explained, “There’s days where I get this hollow feeling.”

“Hollow?”

“Empty. I can’t enjoy or experience anything because this emptiness sits inside me and takes up space,” he said. “I feel weighed down. I feel useless and unhappy. I start remembering things, and it only makes it worse,” he took the flask back from you and gulped some down. He let you have the last bit of it as he said, “I force myself to do things because I have to, but all I really want to do is stay in bed and let it swallow me whole.”

“I wouldn’t really know anything about that,” you told him, finishing the flask. “It sounds shitty.”

“It is. I normally take this elixir Yunho makes,” he said, “But he hasn’t had the ingredients for it so I’ve sort of been managing without it.”

“And self-medicating,” you added.

“That too.”

“Then coming here must’ve really been rough for you. Your mother is a real piece of work.”

“You don’t even know half of it.”

“You know you have me,” you told him, taking his injured hand. His finger healed up well, so the only thing you did was wipe off the caked blood. “I might not be able to make potions or anything like that to help, but I’m here if you need someone to stay in bed with you.”

“It’s what I wanted to do,” he said, “But then this happened. Now, my dad is here too? I wish I had more whiskey.”

“Your dad doesn’t seem as bad. He’s definitely better than mine.”

“He’s the lesser of two evils for sure.”

“He can’t be all that bad. My dad never invited me to orgies before.”

The both of you shared a glance in the dark, the red moon giving just enough light to see your face. He could hear the orgy beginning right on the other side of the bushes. Your beauty astounded him every time. If anything distracted him from his hollowness, it’d be you and your smile.

“A lot of people have shitty parents,” you said, hands sliding onto his chest. “My dad was a mean sonofabitch who liked hitting women and drinking. My mom tells me it’s because of the war-”

“-Your dad was a veteran?-”

“-Yeah, WW2,” you nodded. “He didn’t talk about it, but when I think about him now, I sort of see it. There'd been times that he seemed there but not there? He sat there physically, but mentally he went somewhere else. My mom told me he became this empty shell when he returned home,” you said. “Is that kind of the same for you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “When I was a kid, I didn’t have Seonghwa’s aristocratic upbringing. I lived in a village with an old witch who’d rather eat me than hug me, and I was left alone a lot.” He let his thumb trace over the necklace you wore today. An opal inlaid with stones, it stood out against your sweater. “I committed crimes. I drank a lot. I went to prison a few times, and that wasn’t exactly a holiday in the Bahamas.”

“You went to prison? How old were you?”

“Eight. Things have drastically changed since then, obviously,” he said. “They didn’t have juvenile prisons back then. You either went to big boy jail or a reform school; both are equally horrible. The only good thing I got out of it was I sort of honed my skills there? I learned I had transference, so whenever an overseer or officer beat me, it hurt them more. They couldn’t explain it. I think it sort of scared them?” Hongjoong didn’t like thinking about the cruel guards and their unusual punishments. “Things only changed when Seonghwa came. I’d killed the witch I lived with and he came to get me. There I had to be a proper gentleman. I had to go to boring lessons where they taught me how to read and write; they dressed me in fancy clothing with too many layers and taught me how to dance and table etiquette. I hated it. It wasn’t me. When I finally came down here, it was a whole new thing. I could be me and nobody could say anything. I didn’t think my hollowness would find me down here, but it did. It did…”

“Which sounds awful,” you said, kissing his lips. The faint sounds of moaning and groaning caught both of you, and you glanced through the bushes. “I can imagine having a dad like that didn’t make things easy.”

“He’s meant to be a demon who can read people’s emotions, but he seemed to never read mine,” he sighed, seeing his dad kissing the siamese twins. “He might not be Dad of the Year, but he still showed more interest in me than he did my brothers.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m the ‘Handsome One’.”

You laughed, “Really?”

He pinched your arm lightly, “What do you mean ‘really’?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” you assured him. “All three of you are handsome. Why does he have a favorite?”

“I’m the most like him, Seonghwa told me once. San is more into athletics and fighting. Seonghwa likes his books, poetry and philosophy. I was the one who liked having weekend orgies, flirting with anything that looked good, and indulged in his interests,” he shrugged. “To him, I’m the attractive brother. At the mass, I was the one he kept inviting to his tent for his private parties. I don’t know if you noticed, but rather than wait for me to come home, he came here.”

“And yet, he can’t tell that something is bothering his favorite son?”

“Nope.”

He turned to see his father tilting his head back as the twins worked him. Witches all around him paired up to engage in their own desires. He noticed his mother mysteriously disappeared. “He’s usually too busy with his own things to notice anything outside of himself.”

“I notice,” you said, and he heard the drop in your voice. “There really isn’t anything I can do to make you feel better?”

He inhaled deep when your hand slid down to his belt buckle. His hands went up your sides where he felt your supple flesh once more. You brought him in for a kiss, and Hongjoong didn’t protest when your tongue tenderly passed his lips. That heady endorphin your kiss brought hit him almost immediately. He pulled your sweater out from under your skirt, and slipped his hands underneath. Your fingers delicately danced over his torso, sliding over the flatness to his chest. Hongjoong gasped softly when your thumbs brushed his nipples. He unclipped your bra, which took your passion up a notch. Leaning against the thick tree trunk, he lifted one leg to his waist to pull your sex to his own.

“No panties,” he groaned between kisses, “Again, pet?”

“I stopped seeing the point,” you giggled, pecking his lips. “You know I love being fucked just as much as you love fucking me.”

He lifted the back of your skirt to grope the soft cheeks that filled his hands. Not a stitch of clothing kept Hongjoong from spreading and squeezing them. He lost himself in you. Your body pressed to his brought on a new feeling that overpowered the hollowness. It took up space in him that made him forget everything that happened. All he wanted was you. The clinking of his belt buckle alone accelerated his arousal, causing him to push you into his bulge more. He could have you just like this, right there in the light of a blood moon. There, he'd have his own special ritual.

His lips broke from yours to groan when you reached into his jeans. Your hand, cold from the climate, shocked his hot muscle. The coolness against the heat had him moving into your hand for more. You glided your hand as he continued kissing down your neck and grabbing your ass. Every sensation he hoped to grab reached him the longer you stroked him. Once he grew hard enough, you pulled him from his boxers to keep rubbing him. This let him lift your shirt and bra over your breasts so he could suck the hard nipples underneath. One hand massaging them, the other reached between your thighs to your slick sex. Your wet clitoris jutted from your folds as if asking to be touched by him; your folds already puffy and wet on his fingers, he had no trouble sliding to your entrance.

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered in a kiss, “Please.”

“As long as you don’t.”

Spinning you around, Hongjoong nearly slammed you into the tree as he kept one leg at his hip. Your eyes closed with one swift push into your heat; the penetration bringing relief to both of you. His hands under your thighs, your arms went around his neck to help keep yourself stable in his grasp. Once inside you, Hongjoong didn’t stop. Lips attached to yours again, he kept a steady stride in each thrust. Even with the burning in his arms and legs, Hongjoong chased after the desperation for release. Putting a hand to your throat, he gently squeezed as he pinned you to the tree and picked up the pace. His balls slapped against your soft ass cheeks; his cock pushed deep through your bumpy walls, their taut squeezes driving him insane.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you said through gritted teeth, strained by his hand on your neck. “Fuck me, Master. Please, fuck me. Use my pussy to cum.”

“I plan to,” he grunted, tucking your skirt into the waistband for glimpses of your full sex. “Just a pretty hole for me to use whenever I want,” he said, watching himself slide in and out of you. “Are these mine?” he asked in a groan, pumping you faster. “Are your holes mine?”

“Yes,” you whined, “Yes, Master. They’re yours.”

You cried when he withdrew, panting as he turned you to face the tree. He forced you into an arch, then shoved himself back into your heat. The smacking of his lower stomach to your ass joined the lewd sounds it created. He watched your fingers dig into the thick tree bark, smiling as you moaned up into the heavens for him. Keeping one hand on your shoulder, he pinned you to the tree as he slapped your ass cheeks. The harsh smacks must be heard even through the bundle of trees and bushes between you two and the clearing. He loved the way you yelped if he smacked particularly hard or in the right place; how your ass bounced as your need for release grew. Hongjoong made deep thrusts that he swore reached right into your stomach and arranged your insides.

“Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

Hongjoong might’ve jumped at his father’s appearance had he not been overcome with your drug. Asmodeus stood a few feet away with the humpback and the horned witch naked and rubbing up and down his body. Hongjoong leaned forward and grabbed your breasts, still pushing and pounding you hard. He heard his father’s low groans, suspecting one witch started filling her mouth with him. Hongjoong turned you sideways, lifted your other leg up and gave him a view of your cunt wrapped around his wet cock.

“Oooh, that’s a nice one,” his father groaned, eyeing where you both met.

“So nice,” he huffed, “And it’s all mine.”

“Yes, it is,” you giggled, hand around the nape of his neck as you stayed completely still. He felt your nails dig into his flesh, the slight pain pushing him further. “All yours.”

Hongjoong pulled out a moment, tapping and sliding himself on your clit. “I can never get enough of this,” he said, loving the sloppy sounds the touch made. “I end up fucking her until I’m empty.”

“As you should with a beauty like that.”

Pushing back in, he lifted your sweater over your breasts more to see them bounce as he fucked you. “And I love emptying you,” you breathed, moving from your position to squat down on the floor, “Especially if you do it in my mouth.”

Hand in your hair, Hongjoong forced himself into your open mouth. You held onto the trunk while he started pushing to your face. He loved your mouth as much as the other holes. Your mouth sucking his tip and shaft the right amount of firmness had Hongjoong trembling in place in minutes. Blinding passion shut his eyes the moment his body stiffened in his clothes. Every suck suddenly became sensitive as he started squirting into your mouth. You elevated it by sliding him to the back of your throat to let him shoot further down. In the faint light, he saw his cum dripping from the sides of your mouth to your chin. When he pulled out, still hard and pulsing, he saw the few strings keeping you connected.

“I’m not empty,” he said, slapping his leaking head on your tongue. “I think you need to fix that or otherwise my dad will think you’re not serving me well. You don’t want the Prince of Lust thinking you’re not making his son happy, right?”

“Of course not,” you replied, stroking him slowly as you licked down to his balls. “I’d hate to leave a bad impression, Master.”

“Ass in the air,” he said, grinding his balls to your mouth for gentle sucks from your lips.

You assumed the position in the dirt, ass up towards him to give him complete control of you. Hands hooked to your skirt’s waistband, he forced you down onto his still hard cock, and used it to guide you along his length.

“Fuck me,” he ordered, smacking your ass. “I’m the master. I’m not doing the work. Fuck me, slut.”

While his father began fingering the horned witch as the other pushed her sex to his crotch, Hongjoong and you fucked on the ground. His father had no idea the effect your saliva had on people. Perhaps even he would regret inviting you once he’s had a taste of you. You kept the same speed until you began shaking and throbbing on him. Hongjoong knelt there and watched you completely spiral in front of him. He didn’t care if his father saw it. Your pussy creaming and coating his dick caused the muscle to vibrate inside you, as he’d done that first night with you. A gift he inherited from his father. This heightened your orgasm, and you became needier.

“Keep going,” you whined, your climax subsiding. “Please, Master. Please?”

“I suppose I can.”

And there you continued. The hollowness disappeared the more times he came inside or on you. Clothes and bodies soon smeared with dirt and leaves, muscles tense and shaking each time, Hongjoong let himself be taken over by you. By the time the drug wore off, you both laid on the ground in a messy heap. He left soft kisses on your jawline and neck, his entire body like a puddle of jello. While you drifted to sleep on the floor, he stayed there and looked at you as the sun rose up.

“She is quite something,” his father said. Both witches laid their heads on his bare thighs, nude and sweaty from pleasuring their master. He leaned against the tree, pushing hair from his face. “I’d hoped to have my turn, but I suppose she’s all spent now.”

“You’ll have her one day, I have no doubt, Dad,” he replied, not looking at him. He smiled softly when you sniffled in your sleep.

“It’s nice to see you have a girl that makes you smile.” When Hongjoong looked up at him, he said, “I was an angel once, son. I can sense the good and the evil in people. That means I can see their happiness as well as their sadness. I don’t know anything about all this new mental health stuff, but…I know, Hongjoong. I know.”

From his pant’s pocket on the floor, he withdrew a small pouch and tossed it to him. Hongjoong opened it to see a bundle of mint leaves inside.

“Give that to your butler,” he said, starting to shut his eyes. “You are not the only one who feels hollow.”

Neither of them spoke, but Hongjoong nodded his appreciation. He rested beside you, arms around your waist and face close to yours.

Yes, he certainly preferred his father over his mother.

***

A/N: aww, the "handsome one" really has some parental issues. I hope you guys really liked this one, I have San's coming soon after <3

#pirateeznet #ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong #hongjoong ateez #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #hongjoong smut #ateez smut

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adragonprinceswhore · 3 months

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The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Chapter I: Red Lake I Next

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: After being forced to spend his summer at Red Lake Resort, a drunk Aemond meets a pitiful dance instructor at a party he did not want to attend.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, alcohol consumption, intoxication, classism, Aemond thinks he’s better than everyone, Aegon is an awful older brother

A/N: Enjoy 🫶

The lush greenery of the Reach would still be beautiful even if the mid-summer sun didn’t illuminate it.

Despite the modernisations of Old Town, Ashford and Tumbleton, the southwest region of the Seven Kingdoms still feels reminiscent of a time when Westeros was ruled by noble families. Fields of wildflowers and ruins of ancient castles lay scattered across the vast landscape, instilling a false sense of serenity inside Aemond Targaryen as he steers his fathers car towards Red Lake.

He had mistakenly assumed he’d successfully dodged his mother’s pleading; begging him to join the family’s yearly resort get-away. Besides his siblings, the only other guests seem to be his father and grandfather's old business associates, making the holiday he’d grown tired of appear even more unappealing.

Embarking on his final year of university, Aemond had gotten used to the solitude of one-man study sessions and spending his weekends working with his grandfather. It was all worth it in his eyes; the tireless preparation for the position he’s been working towards since he was old enough to walk.

He’d planned on using the summer holidays to fully submerge himself into the mechanics behind the almighty machinery that was Targaryen Holdings. Unsurprisingly, his father had barely responded when he told him about his desire to spend the summer working, but his grandfather had offered him a nod of approval and a comforting pat on the back.

The fleeting moment of validation had provided Aemond with enough fuel to cancel all other summer plans in favour of spending his last weeks of freedom soaking up as much knowledge as possible inside the glass-covered skyscraper Targaryen Holdings called their HQ.

Yet he found himself driving his parents to their usual summer retreat, only two weeks after finishing his last seminar for the semester.

When Aemond had ignored his mother’s countless requests begging him to join the family one last summer before being completely engulfed by the corporate world, she’d changed tactics and instead reasoned with her father, convincing him that for Aemond to successfully integrate with the top of the company, he needs to familiarise himself not only with the business side of being a Targaryen, but the private expectations as well.

That entails rubbing elbows and making contacts at exclusive holiday resorts.

His grandfather and siblings had arrived a week prior, but because of his father’s deteriorating health, hospital appointments and check-ups had held him and his wife back, giving Alicent the perfect opportunity to push her third child into complicity and ask him to join them by acting as a chauffeur.

After enough nagging, Aemond often gave in to his mother’s wishes simply because he couldn’t stand to disagree with her for long.

Pulling up to the luxuriously restored ruins of House Crane’s seat, he recognises every detail from his previous summers there; the multicoloured flowers abundantly hanging over the sand-coloured balconies, the brightly yellow lemons ripening in the citrus trees decorating the sides of the villas, the variegating shimmer dancing in the water of Red Lake.

He hands the keys to the valet diligently standing by the driver’s side of his father’s favourite vehicle as his mother helps the withering elderly man out of the sleek, black car. She offers him a hand to hold and another to steady his trembling body.

“Mr. Targaryen, what a pleasure to see you again”, a middle-aged man clad in an impeccably tailored suit exclaims enthusiastically to Viserys, white teeth on full display as he quickly signals for two bellboys to grab the esteemed guests' baggage.

Feeling like he’s gotten his fill of mandated family time for one day, Aemond quietly retreats to the usual villa where the Targaryen’s stay. He slips inside undetected, heads to his usual room, and promptly locks the door behind him.

It is easy for Aemond to get lost in his thoughts whenever he’s around his family.

Either it’s his older brother retelling a ‘funny’ anecdote that he doesn’t feel sad to miss out on. Or it’s his younger brother and mother discussing plans for the summer, a topic he knows he doesn’t have much say in anyway, consequently choosing to remain silent.

As long as he remembers to hum in reply whenever addressed, he can comfortably sink into the depths of work or school related pondering; laying out a plan for when he’s allowed to get back to being productive and useful instead of wasting his time drinking overpriced wine.

The unbearable sensation of his older brother's wine-soaked breath next to his ear pulls Aemond out of his thoughts, “I’ve been told there’s a staff party happening tonight”

“Have fun”

Aegon snorts and then smiles at his brother’s instant dismissal and the predictability of it,

“Oh, come on! I can’t go alone”

“Ask Daeron”

Aegon leans in even closer, causing Aemond to recoil further away from his brother as he clicks his tongue in annoyance, “Daeron and I had a little disagreement this morning, he won’t talk to me”

He hadn’t even noticed the strained tension between his brothers during dinner, the uncomfortable aura seemed to be a permanent companion to the Targaryen-Hightower family. And Aegon angering one of his siblings didn’t come as a surprise to him.

Aemond’s momentary silence is wishfully mistaken as compliance by his brother, who finishes his glass of wine instantly before standing and thanking his family for the “lovely dinner”. He gestures for his brother to stand as well, flashing a victorious smile at his table-companions before he informs them,

“Mondo and I have a party to attend”

Aegon's rough hands shove Aemond into the packed room, following so closely behind that the younger brother has no choice but to walk further into the room.

Rarely in his life had he witnessed such an over-crowded space, sweat flying from intertwined bodies, the heat of the room causing the air to almost taste salty.

He wrinkles his nose at the scenery in front of him, shoulders stiffening as he feels embarrassed by how utterly out-of-place he is. Afraid that his uncomfortable state will soon become prevalent on his features, Aemond shifts to the side, moving away from his older brother in an attempt to slink off as quickly as he’d been forced inside.

Before he has a chance to retreat, he feels Aegon’s arm tighten around his shoulder in an aggressive, false sign of brotherly affection.

“Don’t you fucking dare”, he leans in to scold his younger brother, steering them both towards the wonky fold-up table filled with colourful bottles of alcohol.

The music’s loud enough to drown out all other noise, and Aemond has to duck his head to speak directly into his brother’s ear, “You really should have brought Daeron”

“He’s not the one who needs to relax”, Aegon replies matter-of-factly. He grabs two clear plastic cups from the table and fills them with what looks like vodka and some type of red soda. Shoving one cup into Aemond’s chest, he swallows half of his own’s content in one gulp.

Aegon watches how his brother eyes the cup suspiciously, gaze trained on the fingerprints sporadically decorating the clear plastic, evidently reluctant to bring the stained cup to his lips.

“Oh come on, princess!”, Aegon shouts, catching Aemond off-guard as he grabs his hand to forcefully move the cup towards his lips, “It won’t kill you!”

Aemond slaps his brother’s hand away before reluctantly taking a sip. The drink is sickly sweet, nothing but sugar and food colouring, but with a sharp, bitter aftertaste of cheap alcohol. Quite the contrast to the aged Dornish Red they’d had with dinner.

The neutral expression he’d schooled his face into falters as the revolting taste of the concoction prompts him to involuntarily grimace. Aegon’s obnoxious cackle follows, face beaming at his younger brother's misery, “So I take it you don’t party at uni then?”

“Not like this”, Aemond admits, once again letting his eyes wander across the room. The space reminds him of the utility room at the Sept he visited as a child, old and worn down without anyone ever bothering to fix the dilapidated space.

Some effort had been done to zhuzh up the place; hanging thin, blinking strings against the walls in lieu of using the cool-toned fluorescent lamps, and placing a mirror ball by the oversized speakers shoved into the corner. Still, the obscuring lightning couldn’t hide how foul Aemond found his surroundings.

For their entire lives, his older brother must’ve downplayed his ability to read his younger sibling’s mood, because as soon as Aemond attempts to place the nauseating drink back on the table and leave, he feels Aegon’s alcohol-infused breath warm his ear,

“It’s your last summer before graduating uni and officially taking up residence in Grandfather’s arse”

Despite his clear intoxication and the playful jab, Aegon sounds uncharacteristically serious as he adds, “Have some fucking fun”

The filthy floor sticks to the soles of Aemond’s shoes, forcing him to aggressively pull up his feet with each step. He doesn’t recognise any of the music playing, and the people surrounding the Targaryen brothers grind on each other in the most depraved excuse for a dance he’s ever witnessed.

Still, he stays, bracing himself as he downs the rest of his cup, reluctantly readying himself to learn what Aegon’s idea of ‘fun’ entails.

Despite continuously finishing cup after cup of the sickly sweet concoction Aegon’s forcing down his throat, Aemond fails to see what it is about parties like this that his brother finds so much enjoyment in.

The crowded room still feels suffocating, the smell of sweat is pungent, and the young staff members Aegon’s been chatting up provide little in terms of being interesting conversation partners.

“You’ve never had a girlfriend, right?”, Aegon half-shouts into his ear as yet another girl escapes Aemond’s one-word replies to her intrusive question, “You still a virgin?”

He stares blankly in reply to his older brother’s question. Like he’d tell him of all people about that.

Before being forced to answer, he’s saved by an excited shriek,

“Oh Aegon, you made it!”

A clearly drunk young woman appears behind the duo, wobbling a bit to the side as she tries to find a comfortable stance. Aegon flashes her one of his insufferable smirks, surely thinking it’ll impress her.

He introduces her to his brother, explaining that she’s the sad thing working as the resort’s dance instructor, and thereby spends most days in the arms of soggy, old pensioners.

She rolls her eyes at his comment, gaze melancholically drifting away as she states, “Hopefully this’ll be my last summer here. If all goes well, I’m enrolling in dance school”

Aegon’s barely listening to what she’s saying, instead he giggles over how she slurs when she says ‘enrolling’.

Guess she’s not the only drunk one here.

“So we’re celebrating tonight!”, his brother happily says before filling another cup to the brim and offering it to the dance instructor.

“More like grieving”, she mumbles, bringing the cup to her lips to take a large sip, “Just found out I’ll need to bring a dance partner to the entrance exam in three weeks”

Her unfocused gaze again drifts across the room, to a lean, mousy-haired guy grinding on one of the restaurant’s busboys, “I’ve asked Greyjoy to help me out but he’s not strong enough”

The older Targaryen’s eyes light up at her comment, leaning in closer to her ear, “You know, I’ve got some experience”

Her eyes widen in hopeful excitement, “You do? What kind of dance?”

“Well-“, he licks his lips as he locks eyes with her, “Most of my practising has been horizontally. I’m very skilled with my hips”

She instantly pulls back, expression thoroughly unimpressed, “I’m fine, thanks”

Turning around to leave, she’s stopped in her tracks as Aegon grabs her elbow,

“Oi, what about Aemond here? He works out like a maniac, I’m sure he’s got the stamina”

Aemond hadn’t really been paying attention to the conversation, finally feeling the effect of the alcohol heating up his face and causing his hands to tingle.

She turns around, eyeing him up and down, “Have you ever danced?”

“No”, he answers truthfully.

“He used to do horseback riding”, Aegon chimes in, “That’s kinda the same thing, right? Like, girly sports”

Her eyes stay trained on the statuesque man before her, “I need someone who’s strong enough to lift me over their head”

“I’m not interested”, he curtly replies.

Her gaze travels between the two brothers, once again rolling her eyes and shaking her head before mumbling something and walking off on unstable legs.

Unpredictable as always, Aegon releases a roaring fit of laughter, “You’re so fucking dumb, Mondo”

“Shut up”

“She’s out of your league anyway”, he breathes out between cackles, “You’d probably cum just from touching her”

Aemond clumsily places his cup on the table, drunken haze elevating the irritation his brother instils in him, “I’m leaving”

Shoving Aegon out of his way, he hears his brother’s laughter grow louder as he shouts, “You’re so fucking boring Aemond! Live a little!”

When he’s finally free from the musky prison of the party, he takes a deep breath of fresh summer air and sets sight for the family villa.

Aegon’s mocking echo in his head, much harder to shake off when he’s not in his usual, sober state.

Just as he hears Aegon calling him boring for what feels like the 100th time in his mind, he spots her outside one of the more modest-looking cabins on the outskirts of the resort.

Fuck it.

Stomping towards her, he blurts out, “I’ll do it!”, a bit too loudly, causing her to jump from the sudden noise, eyes darkening as she recognises who’s approaching her.

“It’s fine, I’ll find someone else”

Aemond huffs impatiently at her unwillingness to cooperate, “I said I’ll do it”

Her eyes narrow, taking in the stern look on the strange man suddenly insisting he wants to help her out,

“Fine. Tomorrow morning at 07.00. Meet me by the boathouse”

She’s by the boathouse almost every morning, thoroughly enjoying the fleeting moments of solitude she’s allowed at the resort.

None of the residents were ever out and about at this hour, which means no distractions or expectations of politeness on her part.

Taking a large gulp of water, she’s still feeling the taste of yesterday's cheap cocktail on her tongue.

Drinking your problems away never works, stupid.

Like most days here, there’s not a cloud in the sky.

Early mornings were really the ideal time to practise; the sun’s still hanging low and the air is still chill enough to remind its surroundings of the night that had just passed.

Starting with stretches, she stands wide while altering between preparing the muscles in her legs.

Being granted a reserve spot at the school meant she had to perform an original routine, which was clearly instructed to showcase her creativity, as well as taking a written examination, testing her knowledge of dance theory. So, she’d made it a habit to spend the limited leisure time she had before work practising physically, and the evenings in her dorm reciting theory.

The grass under her feet might not be the optimal choice for stability, but it allows her to take risks, the green softness cushioning her failed attempts.

Just as she’s about to put on her headphones and begin, she spots a figure emerging from the other side of the large field overlooking Red Lake.

He walks with pride, broad shoulders pushed back and head held high; a clear contrast to his slightly unstable steps outside of her cabin last night.

Despite the time it takes his non-rushed movements to reach her, his eyes stay on her, locking her in place with his gaze. She’s almost overwhelmed by his presence; shock, intrigue and fatigue from yesterday's partying swirling in her gut.

He came.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond x oc #modern!aemond #aemond fic #aemond x you #aemond targaryen

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yandere-writer-momo · 10 months

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I had this idea in my head but I just couldn’t type it into a story. Chances are it be well near 15k word or more. So enjoy this super depressing head canon/ short story creation!!

Yandere Baki Shorts: One More Time

Biscuit Oliva x Afab Reader x Regretful Yandere Reverse Harem (Baki, Jack, Hanayama, and Katsumi)

TW: Angst and mentions of emotional neglect

(Your name) is Tokugawa’s granddaughter so everyone tolerated her excessive kindness since they did not want to upset Tokugawa. Though it was no secret he was indifferent to her and often ignored her in favor of the fighters of his tournament. She gave a lot of her nuturing love because she wanted nothing more in the world than to be loved in return. Sadly these men were emotionally constipated so they did not understand her affection and unknowingly took her for granted… she had an inkling that they did not like her but she still tried to cheer them up and encourage them to keep pushing through… despite no one doing the same for her (not even her grandfather)

Hanayama ignored her whenever she made an attempt to speak to him, Katsumi was always ‘too busy’ to spend time with her, Baki complained about Kozue all the time to her and would cut her off every time she spoke, and Jack was just mean. Jack was the most vocal of his distaste for her…

- Jack was the one who pushed her off the deep end. She visited him since he wasn’t at the Baki and Yujiro fight to check on him. And she offers him words of encouragement and support but he shut her down by saying, “Of course I’d get sympathy from someone as pathetic as you. Can’t you get the hint that no one wants you around? Why don’t you just do everyone a favor and disappear.”

She felt her entire world fall apart around her but she just asked Jack if she can just sit beside him for five more minutes and then she’ll never appear again. That she will disappear from his and everyone’s life if he just let her sit beside him for a few minutes. Jack relented so she rested her head on his large arm. He was disgusted by her touch but if it meant she’d leave him alone, then he would do it. Jack had no idea she simply wished for comfort since he himself had never experienced comfort (despite her constant attempts to comfort him since she felt he was the most traumatized).

After the promised five minutes passed, she rushed out of his apartment in tears. She ended up leaving her jacket behind since Jack had cried on it (she used it to cover his face since he didn’t want her to see him cry). He sighed in relief and gets back to watching the fight he believes should have been him

(Your name) was there for everyone in her free time. She was there for Hanayama when his mother died, she was the mediator between Baki and Kozue when they argued, she sat beside Katsumi while he was in the hospital, and she was at the hospital with Jack and even pitched in for some of his hospital bills since he sustained so many injuries… she was a very nurturing light but they didn’t appreciate her. No one cared about her.

None of them ever celebrated her birthday with her and they didn’t visit her in the hospital when she was sick. They didn’t know her favorite food or color. They didn’t know her favorite restaurant or her nervous ticks. They hardly responded to her texts if at all… (your name) was so lonely it wasn’t even funny.

So she decided to go to the family’s rumored well for a wish. An old wishing well from an old scroll she found hidden within a secret wall of the Tokugawa estate. It was written by one of the first relatives who wished for the Tokugawa family to become wealthy. Btu there was a price to pay… but it’s blurred out. Regardless of the unknown danger, (your name) travels up the mountain alone with the old map in hand… to make a wish.

Rather than wish for something selfish, she wishes for her friends- no the people she cared about, to have all their desires come true, but in exchange, she offered the spirit in the well her life. She’s never been touched, she’s still pure. (Your name) could be of value, right? But the spirit pitied her so they had her disappear from the Japan for five years... they wanted her tormentors to suffer the heart ache she had for the rest of their lives

The baki men all have their dreams come true… Shinshinkai dojo became world renowned for the best karate, Hanayama was successful as the leader to his family, Baki became the strongest creature in the world, and Jack defeated his father … but they were without her love and affection for five years… they missed her. They don’t feel like they deserved the success because she wasn’t there to cheer them all on. It all felt empty without the unwavering support of the bubbly (your name). They went insane in their search for her but she disappeared without a trace…

Baki often found himself glance at the stands after a fight in hopes he’d hear (your name)‘s voice cheer for him and sing his praises. That she would run over to him to check his wounds and treat him to dinner. He swore he would thank her this time and he’d give her some compliments himself. He had seen some pictures of her and had forgotten how pretty she was…

Katsumi would often unconsciously reach for a bento box on the bench he usually sat on at the dojo. He missed (your name)’s cheery smile as she handed him a home cooked meal. He swore he would make time for her if she asked to hang out with him. Katsumi would take her to every restaurant and fun date spot she wanted to try if she came back through the Shinshinkai’s doors. Katsumi would spend his time researching date spots in hopes of her sudden return. He wanted to make up for all the broken promises he’s made to her over the years…

Hanayama often found himself glance at the door in hopes she would come in and ask to walk through his rose garden with him. He made sure to add an extra chair in his office so she could sit beside him and talk to him as he worked. Hanayama swore he would listen to her her this time.

Jack is the most distraught. He was the last to ever see her and he still had her jacket… he felt so guilty. He hadn’t moved out his dinky apartment in hopes she would walk through his door again and ask to sit beside him. That she would want to share a meal with him and rest her head on his arm. Jack would do anything for her to come back… she was the only one who wasn’t afraid of him. Jack would give her the effort she deserved if she came back to him

Her memories of her so called ‘friends’ are wiped. She can no longer remember any of them or much about her life at the Tokugawa estate. The spirit sent her off to America where she comes to be under the care of a lonely Biscuit Oliva who had lost Maria. He’s instantly taken with her and he helps her since she seems so lost… he was lost too. And they found each other.

She spent five years by Biscuit’s side, where he spoiled her rotten. She was granted her true wish of being loved the way she deserved. Her true wish was granted and the Baki men paid the price.

Biscuit and her have a beautiful relationship. He talks with her and he listens to her. He remembered every small detail she shared about herself, even ones she did not verbally share. He’s so considerate of her and he helps her build self esteem. Biscuit constantly made time for her and always put his best efforts into making her happy. And Biscuit never stopped giving her compliments about her appearance or of a task she completed that she felt was minuscule. Biscuit claimed everything she did was perfect to him and he’d never change a thing about her. She often found herself crying here and there for no reason… like there was a part of her that finally started to heal

Five years later and Baki went to see Biscuit to challenge him for a fight out of boredom. Baki is shocked to hear such a familiar laugh and he runs into Biscuit’s room to find (your name) and Biscuit enjoying a meal together. She looked so beautiful in her designer dress… like a princess from a fairytale… but she had always been a princess now that Baki thought about it

Baki immediately collapsed in front of her and hugged her knees while he sobbed. He told her how much he and the others have missed her. How they were so sorry for the way they treated her, that she could come home… but she had no idea who he was… she didn’t know him. She didn’t remember him and it sent Baki spiraling. Baki is insistent that she’ll remember if she returned to Japan but she declined his offer. She told him that despite not knowing him, she was happy that his dreams came true

Baki refused to leave the Arizona prison until she returned back with him. She said she would so long as Biscuit can come with her. Baki is so thrilled… but the other men are much worse than Baki. So much worse.

When she arrived at the Tokugawa estate, Katsumi is the first to run to her and pull her into a hug. He’s bawling his eyes out as he hed her body as close to his body as he could. He babbled about his accomplishments and how he wished she was there to see them… that she belonged by his side. She just awkwardly pushed him away and apologized to him because she had no idea who he was. Katsumi went silent in disbelief and at first had thought it was a joke… but Baki frowned at him.

Baki explained to the other martial artists that (your name) completely lost her memories. They don’t believe him at first. Especially Katsumi who kept bringing up memories he had of her being at every tournament and by his side in the hospital. He convinced himself she was in love with him. (Delulu isn’t the solulu)

Hanyama just stared at her while she held Biscuit’s hand for comfort. He’s consumed with jealousy (on the inside) when he saw the way she looked at Biscuit… she used to look at him like that.

Hanayama quietly shared how the last five years of his life was without her and of his feelings for her… Hanayama admitted that he couldn’t date or sleep with anyone since she haunted his dreams since her disappearance. Hanayama kept his rose garden beautiful all year round since she loved it so much. Kaoru wanted to walk through the garden with her and pluck roses with her so she could display them in the compound… Hanayama even had a bench placed in the spot she’d always kneel in the grass in… he would be better for her if she came back to him… Hanayama would marry her on the spot

Hanayama offered her a lot of power, pleasure, and luxuries if she returned to his side but she politely turned him down. (He continued to bring it up whenever Katsumi or Baki weren’t speaking… it was so awkward)

Katsumi then spoke up about the last five years without her and about the true love he held for her. Katsumi admitted he searched for her face in the stands every time he had a tournament and he’d search for her when he was training people at the dojo. He never gave up his search for her. He felt awful for not making time for her and all the broken promises he made. Katsumi vowed to make as much time for her as she wanted if she just returned to his side… Katsumi swore that he would be an amazing husband to her. That he wanted to start a family with her and build her dream house… Katsumi poured his heart out to her with a pink blush on his cheeks. He sounded like he was sharing a dream that would never be in reach (delusional mf)

Baki then shared the last five years without (your name).. Baki and Kozue finally broke up for good a few years back due to their differences. Baki didn’t have the (your name) to help him make up with Kozue or to be his voice of reason. He didn’t have the (your name) to make sure he ate or that he rested enough. He didn’t have her compliment him or congratulate him anymore… he missed her motherly affection. He missed someone being proud of him. Baki rested his head on her lap while (your name) sits beside Biscuit. He kept trying to get her to rub her fingers through his hair but she swatted his hands away

Jack remained silent the entire time. He’s trying his best to remain calm but he looked angry… and he is. He’s so upset that she had been fine this entire time and she hadn’t came back to see him… he doesn’t believe she lost her memories because she’s so scared of him. She was never scared of him before… he wants to talk to her alone. His eyes don’t leave her the entire time while he clenched his jaw

Tokugawa brought up how she was always there for all the men in the room and how everyone had missed her so much but not a single person brought up any memories where one of them had been there for her… she asked if any of them knew her birthday and none of them knew. They were ‘so close’ to her but didn’t even know her birthday…

Biscuit pitched in and shared the date and the exact time of her birthday. The older man gave her a big smile before he began to list off her favorite color, food, and her hobbies. He shared all her quirks and her interests. It touched her heart… Biscuit knew everything about her which caused her to burst into tears .

The men all try to hand her handkerchiefs but she rejected them (she accepted Biscuit’s). She can’t explain to them why she started to cry, but she tells everyone that something within her was so happy… that Biscuit made her so happy.

(Your name) sadly had no desire to get to know any of the guys again because she’s happy with Biscuit. She tells them all that she’s happy they achieved their goals and that she’s proud of them but she no longer has a desire to be a part of their lives. Memories or not, from the way they talked about her, it seemed like she was the one who put in all the effort. Not a single one of them brought up a memory in which they did something for her… and that made her sad. Perhaps it was better she didn’t remember any of them

They cannot accept her rejection. Baki and Katsumi begin to beg and bargain. While Hanayama threatened her family (Tokugawa), but Biscuit held her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He began to try to take her away but Baki blocked the exit. He’s frantic and his eyes are crazy. He began to beg her not to disappear again. “I don’t want to live in a world where you aren’t there… I can’t do it again. Please stay.”

She tells him, “Perhaps that was the kind of world I lived in… a world where no one cared about me until I disappeared. Please live a good life and don’t forget to take care of yourself, Baki.”

Baki broke down and that’s when Jack rushed forward and grabbed her. He hurriedly brought her to the garden at the Tokugawa estate at an inhuman speed while the others all chased after him (especially Oliva)

Jack began to scream at her once they were far enough from everyone. He’s yelling on the top of his lungs while his face turned red and tears all from his cognac eyes. He finally fell apart in front of her after he tried to hold himself together for all these years.

“You do remember! Stop lying… you know who I am and that’s why you can’t look me in the face because you remember our last conversation all those years ago…”

“I swear I don’t remember-“

“You’ve never been scared of me before!” Jack screamed, the blonde ran his large hand through his short blonde locks. Jack tried to reel himself in but the emotions broke through the dam he held together for the last five years. “You’ve never looked at me like I’m a monster!”

(Your name) flinched at his sharp tone, her eyes wide in shock when Jack suddenly fell to his knees and held her hands. The blonde placed his jaw in her hands while he cried. The shouts of the others can be heard as they make their way towards the two of them. Yet it felt like it was only Jack and her left in the world in this very moment.

“I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to tell you to disappear!” Everyone froze in shock when they make it to the outer perimeter of the garden. Their mouths open like a fish out of water at what Jack admitted… he was the reason? He was the reason she disappeared? “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

(Your name) squirmed when Jack pressed his lips to her hand in a way to apologize. She didn’t know why, but she needed to leave. She wanted to get away from him because he was scaring her. But his iron grip on her hands prevented her from escape.

“You can hit me… you can do whatever you want to me so long as you come back to me. I won’t be mean to you ever again.” Jack whispered into the palms of her hands as he guided her right hand to cup his scarred cheek. “You can sit beside me as much as you like. You can wear my jacket on your head when you need to cry and you can share meals with me. W-we can go for hikes together and you can sit on my back when I do pushups. I’ll do anything for you to be by my side and to not look at me like that.”

(Your name) can only stand there in shock as the giant man before her now appeared to be more like a lost child eager for love than a man… it broke her heart but he wasn’t her responsibility. If he was the reason why she lost her memories in the first place then he deserved her forgiveness the least.

And that’s when all the memories flooded in. The loneliness. The heart break. The broken promises. The constant rejection. She lived such a pathetic life before she was granted a second chance… these men didn’t deserve her. They never did.

“Jack?” Jack perked up at his name, his breath hitched as he clung to the sound of his name leaving her lips for the first time in years. He missed when she spoke his name. To him, she was meant to speak his name… she was his.

“Yes?”

“Do me a favor and forget about me.” Jack felt himself shatter at her words, the blonde now her her hands tightly to his face. His breathing now erratic.

“What?” Jack was in disbelief. He didn’t hear that right… this wasn’t his (your name). There was no way his sweet (your name) would tell him to forget her. She would never reject him. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Forget about me. Treat me as if I never existed.” (Your name) repeated as she tried to move her hands off his face. “You don’t need to have someone as pathetic as me beside you.”

No… no. No. No. No. No. No. She was supposed to forgive him. She was supposed to kiss his scarred cheeks while she happily accepted his apology with tears of joy in her eyes. (Your name) should know he never apologized and that he truly sought forgiveness.

(You name) snapped her hands out of his hold and turned on her heel to leave. She ignored the men who had once constantly let her down now try to gain her affection. She didn’t need these people. She didn’t need empty promises and sweet words… (your name) just needed her lover, Biscuit Oliva.

“I want to go home.” (Your name) told Biscuit with a smile. She took his large hand in her small one and gave it a squeeze.

“Of course, dear. We can do anything you want.” (Your name) rested her head on Biscuit’s arm as he lead her out of the estate. She ignored the screams of her name and the loud begging of Katsumi and Baki.

They never turned their heads for her when she begged for love and when she’d ask to spend time with them… why should she turn hers?

(Your name) finally had the love she always wanted while they had fulfilled their goals… how could they be so selfish to want more?

“(Your name)! Please stay in Japan! We can get married and I’ll take you on dates every weekend!” Baki shouted while Katsumi tried to one up him.

“I’ll take you out everyday and we can get married as soon as tomorrow!”

“I’ll give you the world if you turn around and come to me right this moment.” Hanayama piped up from behind her. “If you don’t turn around, then the Tokugawa family will be no more.”

Tokugawa began to shout out to the granddaughter he neglected for years in favor of these men who didn’t value him. “Please don’t let him do that. You love your grandpa, don’t you? You can be the heir to the Tokugawa family!”

Poor Jack remained on his knees in the garden. His brown eyes dull as he watched her leave with Biscuit without so much as a glance behind her.

For the first time in five years, Jack and the others have suffered a true defeat. All they wanted was one more time.

Just one more time and they’d make it all right… for they could not accept that they already wasted so many chances to make things right due to their own selfishness. They had lost the one love of their lives forever.

583 notes · View notes

myouicieloz · 10 months

Text

What Friends do

Kim Minjeong x 5thmember!reader

Synopsis: winter finds out that you and giselle have been fucking. as you grow tired of her subtle glares and questions, you ask her if she wants to try it, too. She’s hesitant about it, at first, but soon confesses that she’d love to try being edged in public, and naturally, you’re more than happy to help her with that.

Warnings: sub!winter x dom!reader. public edging + cumming. vibrators. lots of plot w a little bit of smut, I guess :) I hope this is ok ˆˆ I tried my best.

Word count: 5k

Notes: I j kept writing and suddely it was 5k long lol. honestly, I think +3k words (personally speaking) might be too much… the words start to lose their meanings and my writing kind of slacks off, yk? So it’ll try to tone it down, for any future works. that’s my opinion, tbh. what do you think?

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3

“Are you and Aeri unnie a thing?” Winter asks, ever so casually. Her eyes are still glued on her phone; playing sudoku, most likely.

Her words make you choke on your milkshake, coughing violently. “What? No. of course not,” You add, curiously, “What makes you think that?”

“She checks you out all the time.” Your bandmate shrugs, tone indifferent as if she were talking about the weather. “And it’s not like you’re exactly subtle, either. You’d think her face is in her tits, with how much you ogle them.”

You frown, playing with your drink’s straw. Your encounters with Aeri were happening with some sort of frequency now, although it was rather natural— you were both needy and the sex was good and easy, so it was truly a win-win situation. However, you’ve never stopped to think about the way you acted in public. Now that you did, you could observe the truth behind Winter’s comments: you’d gotten closer to her over the past few weeks. Giselle wasn’t a naturally over affective person, but she’d often be found tugging your shirt or brushing your hips, dragging you to be closer to her whenever you wandered too far.

You gulp, reminding yourself to talk to her about it, later.

“…because if you are, then it’s ok, too.” You’ve missed most of Winter’s discourse, lost in thoughts, one she’s deeply immersed into. The older girl’s voice hushes in a low, hesitant tone, the usual confidence she’d try so hard to bring on stage all gone now. “I just wish any of you told us. I-I thought we were friends! I tell you everything. It’s not fair.”

Winter’s short, auburn hair moves with the wind’s breeze, enticing her delicate appearance. She crosses her arms, rolling her eyes once she realizes you were too distracted to pay attention to her words and give her a proper answer.

She already knows about it, somehow. And she’s hurt you haven’t told her. You realize. She’s a smart, attentive girl, of course; probably figured it out all by herself.

“Sorry, I dozed out.” You shrug as she remains silent, not backing down from getting her answer—yet not amused, either. It wasn’t uncommon for you to unintentionally drift apart during a conversation, with your unnies having to explain stuff to you two, sometimes three times, before you finally managed to maintain your focus for long enough to understand. “Ok, ok. We might’ve fucked a few times…”

Minjeong smirks; she loves to be right about things. Clapping her hands, she lets out little giggles, “I knew it! Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Y/n? We’re literally best friends!”

She was right; Winter was the one you were closest with, out of all the girls, even though none of you knew exactly why. Your personalities were rather different. However, you’d often be found talking for hours and hours over the craziest topics with insane enthusiasm. You tell her everything, and she was great at giving you advice and putting you back to your senses. She never complained, not even when your banter was too frequent or too whiny for the other members to endure.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize, sincerely. You really should’ve told her: it was nothing serious, and there was no reason in hiding it. “It just didn’t even go through my mind. It was so natural how it happened the first time—and the others… I didn’t think it would even matter.” You poke her nose, noticing the way Winter’s pout turns into a small smile. You knew she wasn’t truly upset— she simply just longs to be a part of your life. “What do you want to know, though? C’mon, I’ll tell you everything.”

Your suggestive tone is the reason Winter’s face turns as red as a tomato, sipping on her Coke Zero avidly to avoid your suggestive answer.

She does smack you when your loud laugh starts attracting them attention, though.

“Aeri is going out.” Winter announces, taking your AirPods off without your consent, so you’d fully focus on her.

You glance at Aeri, who’s caught up rearranging a bunch of stuff in one of her small Prada purses. Your bandmate is wearing a beautiful leopard dress with scandalous black heels, pin-straight hair falling neatly to her waist and red tint kissing her lips. She looks flawless, much different from you— too cozy in your big pajamas and disheveled hair.

“I have eyes, you know.” You mumble, but smile at the sight of the Uchinaga, dropping your nintendo on the couch and whistling to get her attention. “You look so hot, Aeri unnie! Have fun!” Aeri smiles and gives you and Winter a kiss before running towards the door.

“I will, thanks Y/nn-ie! Don’t wait up for me!” She screams as she locks the door, leaving the room silent. The only apparent tension is Winter, who stares at you with narrowed eyes.

“What is wrong with you, unnie?” You scoff, annoyed as you return to your game. Mario’s red cap and silhouette can be seen through the screen in your hands, and Winter shifts on the couch, hugging her knees as she keeps on staring at you.

“Aeri is going out. Somi-sunbaenim will be there, too.” She repeats herself, making you even more confused. Seeing your frown and how her words weren’t enough to have you interested in paying her attention, Winter grabs the device, shutting it down.

“Hey! What the fuck?” You try to take it from her hands, only for her to tighten her grip.

The auburn haired girl has, unlike you, a significant amount of strength.

“Yn, focus! Aeri is going out and Somi will be there!” Her voice is outraged, not able to understand how you were so chill about this.

“So?” You are still frowning as you try to get your nintendo back, clearly not bothered. “Somi’s fucking hot, Winter. I hope Aeri fucks her. Again, I mean. You know…”

Winter’s mouth opens to a big O, surprised by your answer. You take advantage of that moment to grab your nintendo back, although she’d managed to get your sole focus. You cock your head to the sides, engines running with the earn of being able to understand what went through her mind.

“Aren’t you jealous? Or insecure?” Winter asks, frowning.

“What? No. Why would I be?” seeing her equally confused expression, you sigh, sitting properly. “Winter, we fuck, that’s literally it. Aeri and I are friends, and will only be friends. It’s just sex, really.”

It was clear that the older girl still didn’t understand your dynamics, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to be a bitch about it.

“Ok.” She nodded, messing her hair, “I just don’t really get it, I think.”

“There’s no jealousy between us, Minjeongie.” You tell her, hoping to clarify things. “Because there’s not a relationship, get it? And there won’t be one. We are friends, and bandmates, and we like to have fun, sometimes. Nothing else.”

She stands up, still looking at you as if you were an alien.

“Ok.” Your bandmate sighs, clearly disapproving your whole dynamics. “I’ll go to my room.”

“Huh, ok.”

You stare at Winter’s back while she leaves the living room, without waiting for an answer.

The two of you are splashed on your bedroom’s massive rug when she mentions it again.

“So… it all started with that?” Winter asks, looking at the vibrator displayed on your desk. You grit your teeth, realizing you’d simply thrown it in the first place you saw, after cleaning it. You had found the toy when doing your laundry, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to keep it extra clean, even if it had been ages since you’ve last used it.

After the day Giselle went to the party, you started noticing how curious Winter had gotten about your relationship— or lack thereof. She’d send you subtle glances whenever the five of you were hanging out, and her questions were soon becoming more and more obvious. It was fairly noticeable, how intrigued and interested the whole thing had gotten her.

With that, Winter started seeking for details of how you and Giselle fucked for the first time, which led you to the current situation: the green vibrator displayed in your hands, teasing your friend as you playfully jiggle it onto her face. You try to hand it to her so she’ll touch it, but she retreats instead, face all red from embarrassment.

“Pretty much, yeah.” You smirk, eyeing her just as curiously, “Why are you suddenly so interested, though? Would you like to try it?”

“What, no! Ew.” Her eyes go wide at your suggestion, and Winter shakes her head vigorously. You laugh at how she looks like she’s about to combust; she’s always been so composed, and so… chaste, whenever one of you mentioned anything about sex. It’s endearing, even.

You had thought, initially, that she was simply a private person— which was more than ok, of course. However, her current reactions led you to wonder if her reactions weren’t from lack of experience, too.

“Ok, then.” You tuck your vibrator back in the drawers and brush the subject off, immediately sensing how her muscles relax, and her face changes into a mix of easy features. The last thing you’d want is to make her uncomfortable, so the change is much appreciated.

You do notice how Winter keeps biting her lip, though. And the way her eyes flicker to your drawers, before focusing back on your face. You bite your cheek, too, to prevent a big smile from covering your face. She’ll come around, just like you did. Patience was a virtue, and you would happily wait for your friend to grow confident enough to come out of her shell and take whatever she wanted to.

“I changed my mind.” Winter announces, staring down at you with assertiveness. You snort, pouting.

“Yeah, that’s too bad. You gave me that fucking top, there’s no way you’re getting it back.”

“No.” She rolls her eyes, annoyed. “I mean, about that other thing.”

The five of you have just finished performing at Music Bank, and you’re currently trying very hard to sit still, so the makeup artist can work on getting all the foundation out of your face. As a result, you’re unable to turn and take a proper look at your bandmate, whose voice is so quiet you barely hear her correctly.

“You mean dinner? Because we still have to cook, even though it sucks, I know. It’s our day, there’s no escape.” You frown. Winter rubs her arms nervously, eyes staring everywhere but at your face.

“No!” She’s exasperated, and impatient to know you’re not playing with her: you simply don’t understand what she’s implying. Which means she’ll have to be direct about it, nearly begging. And that’s the last thing Winter wants to do. “I want to… try what you’ve suggested, the other day. With the, ahn sex thing.”

You try your best to not make your eyes grow wide, swallowing deep to keep focus. “Ok. Do you want to do it when we get back home?”

Winter hesitates. Her hands trace patterns on the beige vanity, “I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to do it at home, either.” She seems to ponder, before adding. “But I do want to do it. Badly”.

“Ok.” You nod, smiling at her to make sure she’s comfortable and completely reassured. “We can just go with it whenever you’re comfortable, then. There’s no need to hurry.”

Winter smiles back at you, before being dragged by Ningning to film that new tiktok challenge the maknae’s been so eager to shoot. You don’t mind, though. In, fact, you thrive on watching them being the silliest, carefree versions of themselves they can, while on camera. It pleases you to know they can show such part of themselves to your fans without being scrutinized or criticized.

The five of you are at the mall, enjoying your day off together as if you’ve never been separated in your entire lives. You’re laying in one of the waiting room’s cushions, waiting for Karina and Ningning to be done with trying on the whole store’s winter collection. Giselle’s hands are full, too, and her critical eyes examine every piece before choosing for herself. Her expressive faces leave you curious, eager to you know what thoughts go through her mind. In fact, you get so invested in trying to guess the girl’s internal monologue, you barely notice Winter’s frame standing beside you.

You haven’t touched her at all, not ever since she’s confessed to you about her urges. You know Winter must be fuming, whimpering with need and the desire to be relived, or simply touched, in any ways you’d like. Your intention was to leave the idea of being pleasured linger on your bandmate’s mind. The flashes going through her brain for weeks until she was nothing but pliable and ready for your commands, searching restlessly for an orgasm that she’d have to work really hard for.

It was the sweetest part, out of all of it. Being able to see Winter jump slightly whenever your fingers brush her skin, like a lost, fragile bunny. You adore it.

“Y/n.” She whines, and you can hear the neediness in her voice, no matter how much she tries to hide it. “I don’t want to wait, anymore. I want it now.”

You roll her eyes at her demands, even though you’ve already decided you’ve had enough playing, too.

“I do have something for you, Winter.” You tell her, reaching your arms out. Once she gets to you, you kiss her hands, ever so gently. “Something to make you feel better. To kill the urges that have been going on your body for weeks, now. Would you like it?”

Her voice falters. “I thought you had forgotten about t-that.”

“Oh, I could never.” You think your smirk will surpass your face, with how much you’re smiling. Ever since she’d pleaded for you to touch her, your mind has been plagued by the numerous ways you’d take her, ruining her pretty little body until she was passed out, drunk on her orgasms. “Shall we, then?”

Truth be told, the anticipation you’ve built was starting to get to you as much as it riled Winter up.

She was confused to be guided to the restroom stalls rather to the car. Were you not taking her home? How else would you get a taste of her, like you promised, then?

Her thoughts, however, dissipated once you started to unbutton her jeans, letting the loose piece fall through her knees.

“W-What are you doing?” She paled, trying to reach for them back. Her back hit the wall, and she was once again reminded of how petite she truly was, cornered by your frame. She tried her best to nudge you, hoping to get you off her. Your feet, however, were stamped onto the ground, and the grip you had on her hips was a tad too strong. She gulped, realizing you’ve allowed her to overpower you every time you played games or competed for something. “Someone might c-come in, Y/n. Please…”

It aroused you to have her begging so quickly. You’d barely touched her, yet there she was: with her mouth half open and her fingers poking, scratching your neck. You smiled.

“They can.” You confirmed, seeing her gulp. “We better not take long, then. Right? We wouldn’t want anyone to see you like this. You look so pretty, though. I wish you could see yourself, right now.”

Your words were nothing but true. She looks so adorable, it leaves you aching. Your hands twitch, tense with how much you’ve envisioned groping her tiny body and sticking your fingers up in her cunt until she was screaming loud enough for everyone in that store to know what you were up to.

You’d wait for her to come around and be confident, though, just like Giselle did to you. Besides, the anticipation was part of the fun.

She hums, already feeling herself become lightheaded by your praises. Soon enough, Winter finds herself getting distracted by your sweetness, and it’s not long until she’s completely relaxed under you. In fact, she’s so engrossed by your frame, she barely registers your hand. It trails lower, and your fingers brush her clit through her small panties.

Winter drops her head, even though she’s no longer worried, and looks up to meet your eyes.

“I did say you were going to get what you’ve been asking for, didn’t I, dearest?” You explain, focused on her big orbs. Winter’s eyes observe your every move, attentive. “And you’ve been doing so good with the shows and rehearsals… You deserve a treat, naturally.”

You allow your hand to cub her sex, slowly caressing it as you feel her shiver under you. With gentle manners, you insert two of your fingers into her cunt, smirking to find her already dripping wet. She moans so loud you start placing small, wet kisses down her neck, to gather her focus back to you and not to the deep, unhurried pleasure your fingers provide her, now pulling in an out in a slow rhythm.

Taking all of her in, you add, “Do you like this, Minjeongie? The thrill of knowing someone might walk in and know how dirty you are, spreading yourself for me with such ease?” You smirk, not resisting on rubbing her clit for a few seconds, before your fingers find the place they were meant to wander for so long. “God, your cute little cunt is so wet already.”

You let out a little laugh, reminding of yourself of your intentions as you retrieve your fingers from her pussy, making her lick them clean. She does so, like a good, obedient girl.

“You always excel in everything, unnie. Such a good job you’re doing.” You praise the girl locked in your arms, immediately shutting down her needy whines and complaints.

“Please don’t stop…” Whatever words Winter’s had in mind die the moment she spots a small toy in your hands. You flicker it between your fingers, allowing her to process what you intended to do. “It this—“

“What you’ve told me about? Yes, it is.” You smile, making a show of sucking and getting the vibrator wet for her yourself. This time, it’s her turn to have a darkened gaze, one filled with hunger. Her attention is all on you: on your next movements, on your body. You adore it. “I even got it in purple, just like you had told me. It’s so pretty, Winter. A pretty little toy for a pretty girl, begging to be ruined.” You murmur, getting to your knees and facing her pussy. Your gaze never leaves hers, careful to not miss a single breath of hers.

Winter is truly a sight, and you want to make sure you’d remember all of her sensitive, fast responses.

In fact, you were actually very surprised when Winter went to your room in the middle of the night, confessing about her few, failed sexual experiences and what she’d like to try, someday. It wasn’t unusual for you to talk about sex with your bandmates, although Winter never spoke about herself to you— at least, not directly. However, the two of you were already used to talking about numerous topics, and the conversation went by easily enough. You were pretty surprised to hear her confess, with a quiet tone, about how much the thought of herself being tossed around like a doll aroused her. How she sometimes fantasized about doing things in public, yet hidden enough so people wouldn’t be completely sure about her actions. It pleased her, knowing she’d be clouding their minds, leaving them wondering without a proper answer. Though they’d have their doubts, no one would have a clue about it: that was what aroused her the most.

Of course, you were more than eager to make her wishes come true, and the current time seemed like the perfect one to do just that.

Winter’s pretty cunt’s all on display for you, and you can’t help but to get a taste of her. So, of course, you do so: parting her folds, you give her clit a brief, sloppy kiss. You feel your friend’s delicate fingers forging a firm hold onto your hair, and Winter tries her best to not make any noises. It’s the same as nothing, though.

She is, just as you had imagined it, too sensitive.

“No! Y/n, don’t tease…” She huffs, frustrated. As the toy slips inside, she can’t help but to let out a high-pitched scream—one that’s muffled by her own hands, who run towards her mouth in hopes to keep herself quiet. Her shoulders shake due to her laughs, then, as she fails terribly.

Seeing her so carefree is more than enough to have you giggling, too. You mess her hair, pinching her cheeks.

“Behave, ok? If you’re good enough ‘till the end of the day, I might reward you when we get home.” You promise Winter as you get up, zipping her pants back to place adn kissing her cheek.

The look she gives you assures you she’ll be anything but.

“Are you okay, Minjeongie? Your face is all flushed.” Karina asks the red-haired girl, as the oldest sits beside you at the restaurant.

The three of you nod, and Ningning is quick to put her palm over Winter’s forehead.

“You’re hot, too. And all sweaty. Were you this sick earlier in the afternoon?” She asks, with a worried tone. Winter takes a sip of her water, hoping to collect herself before answering her bandmates, but nearly drowns herself in it once you increase the intensity of the vibrations. They echo into her cunt, making it impossible for her to answer anything straight.

She was so stupid, thinking it was an easy task: walk around with the girls as they tried some clothes on, then attend dinner, and soon to go back to their dorms, where she’d get her reward for being a good girl and finally get properly fucked, like she had silently begged you for so long. No, she was a smart, attentive girl. How could she not have predicted that stupid toy would send such hums deep into her walls? It was difficult to stay still, and nearly impossible to focus or to keep her mouth shut. In fact, she feared deeply she’d just end up moaning loudly if she even tried to speak anything.

Luckily for her, you decide to give her a few moments of peace. As soon as the settings were back to its lowest, she takes another long gulp, with deep breaths, too.

“I’m all good, really. Just tired from walking around so much.” It’s all she manages to say, avoiding Ningning’s lingering touches.

“We should get you to the doctor, perhaps.” Giselle suggests. Her eyes, however, are not focused on Winter. Her attention is all on you, instead. Her gaze is so strong you turn your head away, looking everywhere but to your best friend.

“No! No, there’s no need for that.” Winter gesticulates, nodding and moving her upper body as much as she’s able to without getting the toy to budge. She tries her best to prove to her friends she was indeed ok. “Really, I’m sure it’ll pass once the food c-comes fuck.” Winter stands up abruptly, leaning on her arms to lift herself up as her legs felt like pure jelly. “Nervermind. I j-just have to use the restroom real quick. If you’ll excuse me.”

So, Winter leaves, without waiting for an answer. Almost instantly, you get up too, setting your napkin aside in a calming motion.

“I’ll go help her, girls. Don’t worry.” They all nod, their features completely diverting from one another; while Karina is frowning, Ning keeps alternating her looks into you and the hallway Winter has just disappeared into, torn between letting you handle the situation or stepping up and helping her unnie herself, and Giselle… Giselle has a blank expression, the engines running inside her mind.

Her long nails tap the wooden table in a steady rhythm, staring at your back as you leave them be, walking into the restroom to meet your bandmate. You make sure to lock the door once you get inside, too.

The room is exquisite, a perfect portrait of the whole establishment; embroiled with white and red, the adornments are carefully thought to have the room give off a harmonious, eloquent vibe. You don’t pay much attention to it, though. Instead, your gaze is focused on the girl in front of you, the one who’s gripping the sink with too much strength.

“Are you unwell, unnie? How can I help you?” You ask her, playfully.

Winter stares at you thought the mirror, as you approach her. Her teeth are clenched, her clothes are nibbled and her looks hold fire in them. You’re certain she could kill someone with such thing as a stare if she wanted to.

She opens her mouth, ready to throw a world of curses at you, but stops herself once you motion to your phone, now placing her vibrator at a particularly high setting.

“I’d keep some of those pretty thoughts of yours inside your head, if you’d like to cum just now.”

She’s smart, insufferably so, and you get the proof of it as soon as your words leave your mouth. Quickly, Winter’s defiant stare is gone, and she’s all pliable in your embrace, instead. She’s a whiny little mess, rubbing her teeth on your neck, licking and sucking it just slightly— though not enough to bruise.

“Let me cum, Y/n? Please? I really think I might explode.” She pleads, looking at you with her best puppy eyes. “I need it s-so bad, I swear I’ll fucking do anything, ‘promise.”

You smile at her change of attitude, nodding as you take the vibrator out of her cunt in one, swift motion, replacing it with your fingers. Your thumb works on her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure on it. Finally, you allow her to get the relief she so desperately wants.

“You can cum now, darling. Do it, then.”

The permission is all Winter needs to explode, her body throbbing as she feels so full of pleasure, with fireworks dangling from her skin into every possible part of her body. It’s so good, and she feels so complete it becomes difficult to breathe— the overwhelming sensations enough to make her shiver. She bites on your neck, then; just a single one, to keep her from screaming like she wanted to. You hold her through her orgasm, your strong arms helping to ride her through it as you whisper sweet praises in her ear. You’re proud of Winter.

You lose count of how many minutes you wait, making sure her breaths are even and stable to release her from your hold.

“You did excellent, holding up the whole time. Didn’t even let a single whimper out, in front of the girls. You took it so good, Winter…. Truly perfect.” You smirk, giving Winter’s tiny waist a reassuring squeeze. She hides her face in embarrassment, humming curses at you, but you can tell she’s delighted, too.

Grabbing her by the hips, you gently put her up on the marble. It’s an easy task, with her being so small, but the way your palms nearly circle her entire waist is enough for her face to get all flustered, once again.

Your low tone soothes Winter, who leans her head back as she feels your soft hands between her thighs, cleaning you up with paper the best you can, careful to not touch her most sensitive areas. The ghost of your fingers are enough to make her twitch, though, as much as she tries not to. Her responsiveness lets a laugh out of you, and you kiss the insides of her thighs, looking up at Winter with a reassuring smile.

“Stop saying it like that.” She murmurs, biting her bruised lip. Her hands run through her hair, just for the sake of having something to occupy herself with.

You smirk, throwing the paper away as you turn, taking a proper look at the beautiful, messy state she is. Still knelt between her thighs, you massage her thighs, palming them in big, circling motions.

“Like what?” You smirk, feigning innocence. Winter slaps you, playfully, and you shake your head, helping her to get down.

“Let’s go. The girls must be worried.” She says, trying to guide you out.

You stop her, gently grabbing her by the elbows.

“Are you really ok, though?” You ask, scanning her. “It’s ok if you still want some more time to gather yourself before going out, again. I can totally come up with something to fool them, or I don’t know—.”

Winter shakes her head, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She’s shy, suddenly, as she answers, “I’m completely fine, I swear! Actually, I liked it a l-lot.”

You sigh, relieved. “Ok, ok. But if you feel otherwise, tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.” Your bandmate assures you, reaching out for the door. Before you leave, she calls for you quietly, “Y/n?”

You hum, staring at her still-flustered face.

“Thank you, you know. For… all of that.” Winter says, giving vou a faint smile.

“Don’t stress about it, unnie.” You smile back, nudging her. “It’s what friends do, right?”

Winter laughs, not believing your words.

“Sure. That’s what friends do.”

#sol writes #aespa x yn #aespa x you #aespa x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa smut #aespa winter #kpop x reader #kpop smut #kpop x y/n #kpop x you #winter x reader #kim minjeong x yn #kim minjeong smut #kim minjeong x reader #kim winter #winter smut

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redroomwidows · 1 year

Text

notes: Sirius x James my love. Sirius and James sweaty and shirtless my love. Sirius and the reader are just as in love with James as he is with them in this. not a lot of quidditch content I'm sorry.

warnings: I can't write flirting, second person, I guess like sexual flirting?? I feel like i've written this wrong idk. reader is referred to as ‘gorgeous’

Poly! Prongsfoot × gn!reader

——-&——-

Dating Sirius Black came with many perks, he was all over you, all the time, and had no problems with PDA, or ‘defending your honour’. A perk you didn’t expect though, was bonding over your crush on James Potter.

James was tall, buff and had dark brown curls you wanted to run your hands through. He was also kind and passionate -

“You two are staring again,” Remus mutters from his spot next to you and Sirius. James had appeared after a nap, his hair a mess and his lips pouted and your eyes had not left him.

When you’d first started dating Sirius, Peter had joked how you’d also be dating James, oh how you both wished that was true. Sirius had been best friends with Jamed since first year, and he’d probably been in love since fourth. You could love two people at the same time, you both knew this.

What you didn’t know however, was that James felt the same way. Well, until he became terrible at hiding it.

You’d first noticed after a Summer Quiditch match, when the entire team had celebrated their victory by lying on the floor and begging McGonagall to pour water on them - she’d refused. Thus after the match, as little clothes as possible were on and Sirius had insisted you stay in his dorm while he showered. When he exited, a towel draped over his waist, two pairs of eyes were on him.

“Both of you see something you like?” he’d joked and while you merely laughed, James blushed and looked down “Prongs?”

“Huh?” he looks up, and then down again

“Are you checking my boyfriend out?”

“What! No-”

“You weren’t? I’m offended, I thought I looked hot,”

“No I mean, you do!” an eyebrow is raised and James scrunches up his face “I’m going to shower!” when he leaves the room, you smirk at Sirius.

Around a month later, after lots of flirting (mainly on Sirius’ end), the Gryffinfdors were throwing a party, And a lot of firewhiskey was involved. James ended up on the sofa with you, his head in your lap, looking at your boyfriend dancing .

James sighs, almost lovesick “You alright there Jamie?”

“He’s pretty,” you smirk and run your hands through his hair

“Yeah, he is,”

“You know he’s finally dating someone?” Oh, he’d got to that stage where he didnt know who you were “And they’re great, they’re really great, as great as Padfoot, and I love him, so they must be really great,” you stay very still, letting him continue “But I still feel jealous y’know, and I don’t actually know who of,”

“Maybe its both of them?” You suggest softly and he nods

“Both,”

Once you’d told a sober Sirius, that had opened up a rabbit hole, a huge one, one which included dates, that weren't really dates, and flirting that definitely was flirting. Sirius liked to make James - and you - blush, and laugh, and very flustered.

As the weather gets colder, you find yourselves in the common room more often, and on Wednesday, you enter and find James and Sirius cuddling on the sofa, this wasn’t new, it was something they’d always done, but today you needed a hug, and it made you slightly upset to see them so content.

“Hey Gorgeous,” Sirius greats and you smile, James waves “You alright?” you shake your head

“Need a hug,” you mumble, James goes to get up but you stop him “Want a James hug,” and so you sit next to him, and climb into his arms, sighing comfortably, Sirius’ hand’s find your hair, and James arms are around your waist. You were tired, tired of pretending that you didn’t like James, that you didn’t know he liked you, that he and Sirius haden’t loved eachother for years.

“James,” You start quietly “Do you remember getting incredibly drunk and forgettting who I was?”

“Uh- No?” you sigh and turn around, your elbows either side of him, you look up at Sirius and wink.

“I do,” and then you kiss him.

#prongsfoot x reader #prongsfoot x you #prongsfoot x y/n #hp x reader #james potter x reader #the marauders x reader #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x you #poly marauders x reader #sirius black x you

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precious-little-scoundrel · 6 months

Text

Four Weeks in New York

gorgeous gif credit to @violaobanion

Requested: ☑️

Warnings: SO. MUCH. SEX. 18+, reunion jitters, potentially out of character actions due to rough sex? but then again, they’ve missed each a lot other, ok?! Also, i dunno, but beware he’s a horny over thinker and he’s in a funny headspace due to, ya know, war. Jean is a champ, Harry can’t manage to blow a load for awhile, mild breeding kink if you wanna call purposefully making a baby that…Gerry Hamilton and Margaret Blakely make tiny little cameos in here and I swear I’m half thinking of writing this trio of women all giggling over their legendary husbands

Word count: a hefty 7k and we’ve got more coming for ya

Coauthored with m’baby @crazymadpassionatelove

Synopsis: Harry Crosby is sent stateside to be with his wife for a month of terribly needed R&R in the summer of 1944

Caveat: this is based off a portrayal of real people in a tv series, while Jean wasn’t represented by an actress as Harry was, in this price of media I intend the same. I mean no disrespect to the real men and women mentioned and dramatized herein.

Scene One:

Jean had been at it so long in front of the mirror she began to notice every grain of powder collected in her smile lines and every infinitesimal blur of strong coal from around her eyes and -she needed to step away, at least a few inches from the reflective glass and get a grip. At the more sensible distance of gripping onto the edge of the counter -marble and swanky like everything in this posh and paid for hotel- she saw her face restored to what it was, a pretty decent cutie’s with a perfect mask of makeup and freshly styled hair: fit for a homecoming.

It was going to be fine. She was going to be fine. She was going to need to make him fine again, and give him back to them strong enough to come back to her for good. Happiness and dread swirled in a gnawing cocktail inside her, the cruel thought of almost wishing not to be teased with him at all until she could keep him for good fighting with the braver parts of herself that wanted every second of him she could have, even if it had a big red finish line drawn at a month.

A month was a long time, a month was about all they’d had to be married before he left. Technically, or at least Jean wondered if technically, it would mean she’d only been fully “married” for two months. Of course that was nonsense to the general public and the pastors who reminded about vows and the wedding band she flashed at over eager servicemen, but to her select little girl gang, the ones who worked at the factory with her and who had to give up their husbands too- they talked about their brief marriedness with hushed and giggly fondness, like something out of a dream and just as brief.

The fiancés in the girl gang were jealous of this topic and Jean supposed they had a right to be. She indulged the innocents with all their questions about being “actively” married, tried to repay them with the same frankness she’d so desperately sought before her wedding. But as it was, she’d only had a month of active service, and while it had been spent as vigorously as any young couple’s first four weeks of legal license, it had left Jean in the interim with a plain impression of herself being a little bit of a hussy.

She wanted Harry so badly this past year since he’d gone she hardly thought it medically sane. Wanted him so badly, and that was something not even the girl gang could always bring themselves to titter about. It was one thing for Margaret Blakely to joke about her Ev coming back the previous month ‘taking’ his leave in more ways than one, but they weren’t often out here asking each other if nothing really fixed the hunger since their man had been gone. It was all Jean thought of. Jean wanted to ask if it ever cooled, if the sticky frustration with one’s own inadequate fingers ever subsided.

By the dreamy eyed state of the recently visited Mrs. Blakely, the answer appeared to be a resounding no. Nothing ever beat the real thing. And that made Jean want to writhe in frustration before learning that she too, would be visited by a on-leave husband.

A year of being married and only a month of it “active”, Jean had concluded it was a chronic case on her part of salivating need for her Bing, the only cure would be him -him inside her, in perpetuity. All she’d gotten out of Maragret had been a grinning warning to Jean to “get in shape for Major Crosby’s furlough, you’ll spend it on your back.”

Jean could freely admit to herself that she needed to be ripped apart by her man, she needed him lingering inside her when he left again. She just feared that it wasn’t exactly their usual way. How could she tell him, what if that’s not what he needed. What if it was all different, what if it needed to be?

Jean pointed a finger at herself in the fancy gilt mirror, red nails pointing at her fancy clad self in pastel silk and tiny bows, “He’s your husband,” she told herself sternly, trying not to sweat at the idea he could be here any hour, catch her in this state of intentional undress, and help himself to her jittery body, “he loves you, you love him. All you need to do is let him have his husbandly rights and things will go smoothly. It’s a vacation not a death trap. You’ve got a man to patch up, get on with it.”

This speech gave her four whole seconds of empowered determination before a vigorous set of knocks on the hotel suite’s outer door made her jump out of her skin in surprise. She could go open the door but then -what if someone was in the hall with him? And saw her in this state of…lack of…well, her in her lingerie. He had a key, they’d have given him a key. He was the Mister to her Missus Crosby, they were allowed a shared suite.

“Jean?” Hearing that dear voice for the first time in twelve months, even faintly from far outside the bathroom door, flooded Jean with so much feeling her knees locked up and her throat collapsed on her response. He was her husband, her Bing, her first and only love, they’d be alright. They had to be.

Harry gingerly closed the door behind him, the heavy painted wood shutting with a finality that made him feel terribly anxious. While he had been trudging up the hall to their suite he’d been able to laugh a little at his dismal procession, morose shuffling and hang dog attitude. It had been absurd for a guy coming back to see the wife who he loved. He knew that and he could say that again and again in his head in a voice that morphed more and more into Bubbles’ voice an-

-and now he was in the room and he wasn’t anticipating anything, he had arrived and as if he’d just touched down in occupied Europe, he couldn’t help his braced posture or hunted surveillance of the oddly empty room.

“Jean?”

She wasn’t in here, but the en-suite bathroom door was shut. She wasn’t in here but from the bathroom came wafting something so viscerally nostalgic of her that he felt his heart pound in devoted recognition before his brain even caught up: her soap. Not some fancy hotel brand, it seemed she had brought her old stuff, the stuff he’d lathered on her as many times as he’d had the chance before leaving, the stuff she smelled of before church and the stuff that got more strong and pungent when he made her sweat in it from their exertions in bed.

It smelled like Jean in here and it was enough to make him drop his duffel bag with a decided thump. He was staying. This was his wife, everything might be different but some things like soap -they’d still be the same, as would the dry mouthed want it filled him with.

“Jean?”

He ventured further into the room, not bothering to call her name again, maybe being around guys had made him callous to spooking her but no real harm would be done, he was…him.

“Oh! Bing?” Jean sounded flustered behind her door and Harry found himself grinning. “I’m coming! I’m coming right out!”

It sounded less like a reassurance than it did an order to herself, which was amusing and it made him wonder, just how awkward were the two of them going to manage to make this? God knows he’d tripped over himself enough times winning her over the first round, he had such hopes never to revisit the bumbling stages of courtship. Seemed like once they’d married and joined it had been smooth as glass ever since- until…until he’d stopped being himself.

Until he had wandered into a hotel room with a woman who didn't wear a matching gold band. Jean knew nothing of that though. She never would. Sweet peaches and cream Jean who had come all this way to see him. Bringing that soap and the books he saw stacked on the night table. Bringing that sweet, pink pussy he needed to sink himself into. Remind himself of who he was. He didn't want to be Major Crosby at the moment. He wanted to just be Jean's husband. He heard the clock in the room ticking, felt the sweat pooling at the back of his neck as he waited for her. Her Elizabeth Arden lipsticks lined up like perfect little soldiers on the dresser. It had been so long that kissing her was surely going to feel like the first time all over again.

There was more amiss in the room, upon further inspection, besides her trunks and her hat boxes and the lipsticks. Amiss in that: there were elements no hotel should have, the plate of very delicious looking misshapen fudge, for instance, the plate itself looking suspiciously like their wedding set. Harry could describe that pink and green pattern on ivory in vivid detail if you had asked him yesterday, tracing it now was like no time had passed at all since that first breakfast as husband and wife, tittering over having “things” of their own. And beside the plate a book, one he’d not finished when he went over, he realized with a lump growing in his throat. Then there was the bed beneath these things, tidily made but not pristine, ha -how could it be with homey floral sheets in place of pristine white and a monogrammed pillow case each.

Giant embroidered C’s. For Crosby, of course.

Jeepers -he’d taken Jean for the first time on those very sheets, now he was recognizing them, and some very uncivilized part of him suddenly wanted to rip the covers back and find out if her virgin blood hadn’t fully scrubbed out-

“Bing!”

He is awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed, thumbing through the pages of Look Homeward, Angel when Jean manages to saunter out with a summoned amount of calm. His hair is sleek and trimmed, his jacket well fitting, his whole self in his army duds seeming so comfortable, filled out, self possessed -it’s the floral sheets beneath him that ruins the effect just a little, makes him seem shifty, out of place. That and those great brown eyes suddenly round as a newborn calf’s at the long awaited sight of her.

She’s seen the soldier’s return posters -does he expect the same greeting? No little party at the station in satin and lace here, but they’d both agreed it would be better to be private, secluded, uninterrupted. Now it feels too tame and mild.

Does he want that? That reunion embrace?

Before she can rethink it she rushes him. “Binger!” she gasps out right as he stands to meet her head on, long arms outstretched to engulf her. This she knows, this she dreamed of. If she squeezes too tight she must be forgiven, it’s too fabulous to be considered real for many moments, the feel of his flexing back beneath her hands and his chest under her cheek. It’s tight and jarring and not a bit smooth but it’s him, it’s him and all is well.

Harry has his nose buried in her hair, that smell is wafting in again. It’s Jean -hits him with the force of a rocket and he’s suddenly responding in kind, arms crushing her to him, can’t get close enough, can’t tell her enough about missing her and loving her and how he’s put one step in front of the other all these years for this moment.

“Oh Bing,” she exclaims again, her face just barely pulled away to really get a look at him, her hands on his cheeks, “I can’t believe it. I’ve prayed, every day I’ve prayed for this.”

Prayers -the word sours in his mind after what he’s seen, after how many he’s sent up and not plane returned with an answer. “Mmm, Mrs. Crosby.” he contemplates the dear face before him before dragging his hand beneath her hair, cupping the back of her head with his large hand, watchface cool on the back of her neck. She’s been waiting for him to kiss her, wanting to let him lead, hoping her initial enthusiasm would embolden him like before. Instead he seems lost in archiving her face, those dear, melancholy eyes flitting over every feature, the hands studying and firm but not a caress. It’s obvious there’s something missing here, a piece ajar from the puzzle.

Jean stands atiptoe carefully, and determinedly slots her lips against his plush, red ones. That seems to rouse him a bit, Harry responds instantly, making up for his hesitancy, deepening it as his tongue meets hers in a heart wrenching reunion of sorts. He always was fond of kissing, her Bing. Now he was kissing her senseless and this -this was more like what she imagined.

His hands trail from her neck down the her ribs and into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hips where he vaguely notices she’s adorned in some silky little something, no doubt chosen and worn just for him.

Say something Croz, you big idiot —he thinks to himself, confronted with the fact he is gripping at her and sucking face without another word said besides inane repetition of her name.

“Jean you look…perfect.” he mumbles against her lips.

It’s boyish and reminiscent, the stumbling praises mumbled so earnestly. It makes her giggle fondly. She breaks their kiss and takes hold of his face in her hands, indulging a little inspection of her own. “My beautiful boy,” she croons, “you came back to me.”

She kisses the prominent bridge of his nose and his perpetually furrowed brow and the smooth below each heavily fringed eye, his cheeks, his chin, the corner of his mouth -she pressed at his chest till she’s got him sat on the edge of the bed again. He’s fully dressed, taut as a bowstring and she wants him, needs him, to relax. She can feel the tension, the uncertainty, rolling off him.

She won’t let them take this away from them, she won’t let them rob them of their comfort with each other.

She kneels gently before him and undoes his boots, enjoying the way he pets her hair, quietly admiring its shine and style. His trousers are creased and starched and knelt between his legs Jean finally notices it then, the prominent tent beneath the olive weave. It makes her breath hitch. Was he always this big? Even camouflaged by trousers?

“You must be tired,” she frets aloud, working on the laces, “and cramped from such a long flight. Did you take something? Your eyes are a little…funny.”

Harry nods before realizing she’s not one of his men. Wives tend to value words and sentences, the more syllables the better. “Yeah,” he croaks aloud, “something for the stomach.”

Oh Bing and his stomach. Ever the dutiful wife, Jean rubs the sock feet she just liberated and kneads her way up his calves, hoping to leech some of the tension out of him. She works her way to his thighs, rising back up to her feet when he grabs her wrists and pulls her into another kiss. It’s even hungrier this time and his first moan of the evening sends a jolt of longing triumph straight to her core.

“I’ve missed you.” she chokes out between kisses and he responds by biting her neck, his thumbs rolling the satin in circles on her hips. His front pressing hard and firm against her lower belly, making her mouth run dry.

Still, Harry’s not saying much and if he wasn't kissing and caressing her so ardently, she'd have no clue they were even on the same planet.

And so Jean decides to do something rather bold. Something her mother would not approve of. She puts her hands on his shoulders, briefly causing him to pull away from her neck, then she whispers temptingly in his ear, “Last night I…slid my ring finger inside me. pretended it was you…I won't have to pretend anymore, will I, Harry?”

She feels him twitch against her belly beneath his layers. It’s her turn to kiss his cheek and nibble his neck, finding his little groans to be intoxicating. His grip tightens on her waist as he buries his head against her with his eyes closed, breathing her in. That scent.

That's when she adds in a plea, “Y-y-you're gonna have to…open me

up again Croz.…..you know what I

mean?...my poor little fingers are so

tiny and now I'm back to how I was

on our wedding night…”

Harry’s groan is animalistic and pained and she -well Jean’s a horny, rambling mess and she can’t bring herself to be ashamed, she missed him too strongly. “You're a hero to America.” She swears into his panting mouth, “And to me. I'm gonna give you the strength to help you get through the rest of what you need to do. But I need something from you, I need you to put a baby in me Bing.”

That is what he responds to, like orders in war. He’s good at finding his way with directions. His head rears back and his eyes sharpen with concentration. Jean wants something? he’ll deliver it, always was that way.

He nods.

“Lay back on the bed Jean.” his voice is quiet but she’s never heard it so steady, so commanding. That must be the voice he uses when he speaks to his men over there. If she wasn't squeezing her thighs together and scrambling onto the bed to follow Major Crosby orders, well, she'd cum right then and there. This isn't the same Bing that reads the paper, his beautiful lips mouthing the words as he does, the one who brings her flowers just because, or is quick not to curse in public. This man before her is a war weary Major who is used to being obeyed. Jean intends to follow every word he says, the thought of seeing him off without a little piece of him nestled inside her would just devastate her.

She burrows up against their Crosby pillows, looking like an absolute treat and admiring her man's package that seems to be growing bigger by the second. He's panting like a wild horse above her and she realizes she should heed all that advice she'd been given. Be a good wife, take care of his needs. Her painted toes rub against the sheets as she slowly inches forward to help him undress. Major Crosby beats her to it though, ridding himself of his uniform efficiently and tossing it on to the floor in a rumpled mess accompanied by a huff.

Is he mad? Jean wonders to herself. His freshly exposed cock sure looks mad. It's red, and almost looks hot to the touch as it dribbles and leaks down his thick shaft.

Was it always that big? Were his eyes always so wild? Bright -she remembers them as being bright.

He collapses on her purposefully, a crushing embrace with his hands snarled in her hair, elbows to the bed, his belly to hers, his lips devouring her own. It’s a shock and a thrill, that first feeling of skin against skin again, Harry’s so warm his tongue is nearly scalding and she feels herself sweat in her skimpy finery. The anticipation is harsh, the dynamic fumbling in its ravenous rush, her head spins when an irrational spike of fear slices through the heady haze of desire that his touches coax. Touch? -a mauling of sorts, more like, he is all teeth and nails and assessing hands, grabbing at her ferociously.

Instinctively Jean begins to rub him, his shoulders, his neck, his forearms

-a soothing caress at a kinder pace than he allows but she means it well, channels that little spark of anxiety she feels to sooth his own keyed up self.

“I’m here, I’m here,” she keeps swearing as she feels him buckle just that little bit to the insistent kneading of her hands on his arms, “I’m not going anywhere.” she swears and the rigid line of his body sags further into her neck, some off kilter focus he’s carried about him slipping under her gentle persuasion. “Baby, how about a little rub?” she coos, lithely extracting herself out from under him before she thinks on it too long.

“That might be nice.” he manages, not sure what the hell it is he needs, “My neck maybe..took a little spill a few days ago...” he casually mentions the incident, underplaying that whole fiasco of passing out cold from exhaustion, splattering on the floor like the contents of a mop bucket.

“Then let me rub your neck.” she begs.

He allows it and with a slightly lost gaze he follows her movements as she props up beside him and brings him closer for leverage. She scoops his head into her lap with that familiarity that made him fall first and hard for her, and suddenly he is pillowed on the warm, giving belly of a woman. His woman. And Croz feels himself begin to melt from that feeling alone, long before her clever thumbs start working at the knots nearly calcified at the base of his neck.

She used to do this for him when he was at school, too much reading in an ill advised position had him often so stoved up he couldn’t be of any use on the baseball team. Jean had learned to work her magic then, and Harry had learned how very much he liked his face buried against the swell of a girl’s womb.

Oh fuck -her little speech comes rushing back to him- Jean wants a baby.

Damn the jet lag, the separation jitters and all the rest that got him sent here like a looney to a special holding facility. Jean wants a baby and he hasn’t been rock hard since Dartmouth only to let it go to waste by sleeping it off.

Right when she begins to feel the motion of her hands take effect on his rigid shoulders, her Harry is suddenly lifting his head again, face slightly flushed and creased from the lace of her nighty and he smiles at her then. Mischievous and warm, “C'mere,” he beckons with a voice that means something and so she follows him as he sits up, “stand up babydoll, show me that outfit. Let me appreciate ya.” He slides his warm palm into her smaller one and tugs her to her feet, an easy sort of dance move to bring her round in front of his position, swaying her back and forth just outside the v of his legs.

“Well, look at you.” he marvels at her, his expression gone soft under that wrecked mop of curls. Jean recognizes the old spark alight in him, the one that might go dormant for her when away or when she couldn’t make up her damn mind but anytime she wanted him back?—oh he looked at her like this, like he was lucky as hell to have her and intended to be brave with that luck. “Turn around for me, loverdoll, c’mon, show me what I’ve got, come onnnn Jeaaann,” he insists, his voice playful and insistent as he spins her with a hand at her hip until she shows him the back of this frilly little excuse for nightwear, “Look at that.” he whistles behind her and Jean feels her cheeks burn pleasantly, “Pretty as a fawn, Jean.” he punctuates this odd little compliment with the back of a finger running up the length of her thigh, to the little swell of her rump and Jean knows her legs tremble in helpless response. “Go on, strike a pose for me, I know you didn’t put on this get up for nothin’. Who'd believe it? My Mrs. Crosby out here lookin’ like one of those girls.”

‘Those’ girls, whoever they are exactly, are left nebulous and Jean likes it that way, it gives her a saucy bravery to pitter patter away from his hold and turn back to face his unabashedly admiring gaze. Jean cocks a hip and drops a shoulder, knee turned in, toes pointed. Gerry had made her perfect it a million times in the mirror when she should’ve been sensibly getting into a gown and getting some shut eye instead.

Thank God for Margaret Ann Blakely and her fun loving pastimes. And also: “Screw him for us Jean!!” -thank God for Gerry Hamilton and her brazen preoccupations with her own man, for how she piled on as she convinced Jean of an assortment of little silk things thrown into her suitcase, “Screw him good, for all of us! For Americaaaaa!” the young and empty Mrs. Hamilton’s candor had built until Jean was close to frantic to get into the taxi and leave her best friends and their antics behind.

Jean didn’t doubt for a single minute that Hambone and Ev would shortly be receiving letters that good naturedly bemoaned Jean and Croz’s luck.

“You think you needed to look like this to get me to nail ya?” her Croz teases her now and his grin is lewd and Jean likes it that way, it matches the disrespectful hands that reach out without her Harry’s usual calculation and instead paw at her tits like a sex starved man. It sends a line of electricity straight to the little button between her legs and Jean ends up leaning into those hands until she’s suddenly so near him she’s on top of him and then, easy as anything, he knocks her sideways and under him once more. Legs splayed wide and with a husband lying on top of her with a very determined look on his face -she reckons the games are over.

“Gonna be like a second wedding.” she squeaks out, giddy eyed in excitement, toes curling in terror, he feels so big slotted at the spot.

Was he always so big?

Harry slings her leg over his hip and he’s suddenly in her without even needing to fumble for entrance. Little Croz pries her open all at once in a smooth, brutal, unyielding shove and that’s all it takes, he’s so overwhelmingly substantial that Jean finds herself bowing under him in a climax from the painful pleasure of reunion alone.

“Really, already?” he chuckles at her as she hoarsely keens out her ecstasy beneath him, her nails digging crescents in the flesh of his tense shoulders, his own thumbs stroking along her throat, “I missed you too, Mrs. Crosby.” he laughs.

She slaps at him, lovingly as her throat still hasn’t fully come back to use, “God you feel good.” She croaks.

“Just wait till you learn there’s more.” he teases before pulling his hips back and keeping that far tip barely nestled in her petals before slamming in again so forcefully she feels something funny in her chest.

“Bing!” it’s not a protest on her part but, my God -he, they…they used to give it the ole college try before he left, but this? This must be what it’s like to get really and truly screwed.

Screwing her, that’s what he’s doing and she wonders in a vague haze of helpless sensations if he’ll auger a hole straight through her back to the mattress with this merciless rhythm. She’s as vaguely impressed by his strength and capability as she is by her own body’s ability to absorb it, her freshly rediscovered hole burning at the use and somehow it’s all just a wonderfully heated, overwhelming miasma of delight as she keeps on seizing under him and he bullies her right though one peak after another with only a wicked grin on those full lips to suggest he’s got any idea what she’s so happily enduring.

“I can’t stop, I just can’t stop, it's just so -it’s so much.” she babbles, very keen to get her point across but very unsure what her point actually is. All thoughts, feelings and intentions center around Harry and that fat schlong of his rearranging her insides. She’s not sure her toes have been uncurled in over a quarter hour and her mind’s not been her own for longer still. “You’re so much.” she wails, and for half of it she means not his size but how long he’s been going at it.

“And you’re gonna take it.” he confirms, the hand on her hip inexorable and his pretty face is half snarling at her in desperation. “You miss this?” his voice shakes from his exertions and Jean is sure she’s never heard a more attractive sound than his wrecked breathing, “Miss this, huh? Bet you did, so goddamn tight. No married woman’s got any…any…any business being so tight. Gonna fix that, gonna make you so married you’re not gonna-“ he presses her legs back until she feels her hamstrings burn, knees to her chest, his body lunging into hers…angry again? she doesn’t know he just keeps grunting “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She’s milking him so perfectly, peaking and shuddering and clenching more frequently than he ever remembers and he should be so saved up he can’t manage to hold on but instead -the fuck if he can blow. It just won’t let go. The noise of his work is a lew phwap phwap phwap of split splat suction and from her whimpers and begs he knows he has already spent her but-

Goddamn! Came all this way, waited all this time and he can’t let loose?

Through the haze of her overstimulation Jean can feel something amiss, the tension back and worse than that, there’s the frustrated anger of before. Harry is breathing hard and his face is dark and the prominent vein across his alabaster forehead is popping so significantly she worries about stroke. He’s about to crack a tooth at this rate, his tension is so extreme and then suddenly, there’s a pause.

He stares down at the wet mess where they’re joined, brows knit together and mouth firm before a flicker ignites in his eye and in a fit of rage at himself and this deficient cock, he grabs at one of the decorative pillows and throws it across the room. It bangs dully against the window and flops to the floor.

Unsurprisingly the outburst against cotton batting and fancy trim does little for his pickle, he’s still stiff as a board and nowhere close to relief. He fought a whole goddamn war and came back just to not be able to get his rocks off. What a joke.

Gently as he can, and with rampant self pity running loose, he disentangles from Jean’s snug self and throws himself beside her on his back.

Bewildered Jean is more than a little grateful for the intermission. She does her best to collect her wits, looking over at him and clocking his defeated expression and closed eyes, the hand pinching the bridge of his nose. And poor Little Croz that is a furious magenta red with veins about ready to burst from swelling, sticking straight up from between his legs.

Shifting onto her side to face him rubs her poor kitty just wrong -or right- and a helpless mewl escapes her as she creams herself again from that little movement alone. The sound and shudder of his wife makes Croz crack open an eye, watching intently as Jean bites her lip and timidly runs her fingers through the hair on his chest.

“Come sit on my lap, Jeanie.” he mumbles.

She perks up with a smile, “Whatever my hero wants, baby.” she condones before shakily straddling his lean hips and sinking down with a noticeable squelch. It earns a drawn out moan of satisfaction from both of them. Sensing the agony and desperation of the man beneath her as she begins to lift her hips and slam them back down, juices splash on her feet from the movement. To lift his spirits she attempts her best at shoving her tits in his face while she does it and gets her nipples tugged in thanks.

This right here is perfect, she’s so full she can hardly bear it but he feels so good she ignores the burn of her legs and keeps her pace up, the beautiful expanse of her man laid out before her a perfect spur. The sun seems to have set by now and through the open curtains the sounds and lights of the city pour in, glistening off his sweaty skin like a million stars and doing nothing to dim the noise of his appreciative moans, the hoarse grunts of her name, the sounds of their sticky hips colliding.

“I've dreamed about being full like this every night since you left.” Jean tells him, stuffed beyond her limits it feels like he’s so damn deep he could describe the feel of her cervix in detail.

She can feel those tight bowling balls she's sitting on that need to unload inside her, and precariously she reaches backwards to fondle them with one hand, remembering how he used to react to it. She gets her first high pitched whine of the evening from him at that, his chest heaving and his head thrashing, curls everywhere. “Bing -- oh it's big, it's big, I'll take it all though I-I promise….we gotta make you cum, baby.” she determines, not needing the discarded pillow or fuming passion to alert her to his desperation, “Lemme help you…just fill me up, let it alllll out... you need to, must be aching so bad”

At the mention of the ache he begins to buck into her wildly like a feral thing. Jean would have toppled off from his vigor if he hadn’t seized her hips in an iron grip and held her still for his assault from below. Jean hears herself squealing and whimpering and begging nonsense, still a bit fresh -and respectful- to this new and ferocious side of him. Somewhere in it though, Harry’s beginning to crack, frustration going from anger to fury to desperation to some boyish and pitiful need for relief.

Harry doesn’t mean to groan so loudly, so pathetically but it’s all so perfect and he’s so damn close and Jean’s like a sprinkler down there she’s enjoying herself so much and -why the hell can’t a fella just blow?

Jean instantly stills atop him and cradles his face tenderly, soft searching eyes and lips whispering about …something, something something “baby boy” -and he shudders. His pants are harsh as if he’s about to have a heart attack and his chest is so winded and achy he thinks he might. Or else cry.

Wouldn’t that be fun.

Beneath his hands he feels Jean’s hips begin to flex and she’s grinding on him again, twisting her hips in a slow figure eight that feels like a man’s heaven beneath his palms, and ten times that for his cock. It’s not doing it enough to make him blow but for a moment he decides that’s fine, he inflates his poor lungs again and lays back, admittedly a bit too stiff and rigid, and touches her as she pleases herself on top of him. She giggles shyly to him and her near constant moans are music to his ears as she swivels on his cock. He enjoys watched the pink little folds absorb him and the way their curls brush and mix where they meet, his lower belly a wet mess and streaks of the same running down to her ankles, they’ve made such a soup.

Clam fuckin’ chowder, by the looks of it.

Maybe he did blow. Doesn’t feel like it. And after watching and coaxing her through another melting peak, he lets her sag onto his chest for a minute and regroup before, with a kiss to her hair and a hard smack to her ass, he tells her,

“Hands and knees, Jean, if you want that baby -hands and knees.”

He barked it like an order, and while a little startled by it, she still wastes no time in flipping herself over and off him, scurrying into the position he specified, shaky from so many orgasms and the anticipation of him back atop her. Wincing inwardly at the thought of that package at this angle with how sore she already is-

-and he wastes no time. But instead of a cock she feels the shockingly familiar but never less exquisite feeling of his tongue running up the messy length of her slit. Her face collapses into the pillows along with her pleased shriek of “Bing!”.

He he laughs warm and wicked behind her, enjoying the ass up display of what he’s done to her.

“Spread ‘em Jean.” he tells her, and two dainty hands leave off from gripping the covers to bashfully pull her cheeks apart and show her husband where his fat cock belongs. He can see her pulsing down like a living entity of its own, even in this dim light.

“I'll be good... I'll be good for you, Major. Tell me what to do.” Jean swears hoarsely, those fawnish legs trembling again.

“Just take me.” he mutters simply, mounting her suddenly with his hand on the back of her head, keeping her cheek to the pillow and her scream muffled as he shoves in and begins to plow this squeaking little lady like tomorrow is indeed not promised to men like him.

Beneath him, between the high pitched squeals of pleasure and the urgent whines of endurance, Jean is muttering a litany of …something. Again and again she’s saying words like “it’s ok baby, it’s ok” and Harry isn’t sure if it’s meant for him or her, she sounds like a drunk fairy and his head begins to buzz with likelihood. “It’s ok baby, they told me you'd be like this, it’s ok. I can take it. I’ve missed you—“ she just keeps muttering that and vaguely Harry is pretty sure that comfort is meant for him and he wonders who ‘they’ are and what ‘like this’ even means.

On Jean’s part she is legitimately unsure who’s she’s trying to convince, likely herself but also, maybe that part of her between her legs that’s torn between panic and absolute ecstasy at his rough usage. Jean's mind spins at the realization of how much she likes it, likes the feral proof of how badly he missed her, needs her, wants her still. Her sweet and mild Harry climbed on top of her and is now railing her, and while it’s not your average little jaunt in the sheets, she clings to her pillow and takes it with something like pride…in between the moments when Harry’s fat cock wipes her mind a starry white as her legs kick up helplessly beneath him and her back arches and her hole clenches and another happy mess slides down her inner thighs to the sodden sheets.

And all through it the best of it is Harry and his voice, half sane sounding for once this evening as if to balance out the animalistic pose he has her in, groaning above her,

“That's it, be my good girl..my good, good girl. Always so good to me.”

He’s petting her hair like she’s a damn Labrador or something, wrapping her beautiful curls around his hand, arched over her like a cat, it’s perfect and he’s so deep he thinks he could fuck his balls in, foot placed sturdily on the bed beside her for further leverage.

“-Croz! You gotta!” His wife wails nonsensically beneath him, he picks her head up by the hair to hear what the hell she’s jabbering about now, husbandly rights or how she was ‘told’ he’d be.

She’s so cock wrecked it ain’t even funny but when he prods her with a “What's that Jean?” between thrusts he gets a slightly more formulated thought-

“You gotta put a baby in me!” she insists through sobs, orgasm after orgasm turning her into this shaking, shuddering, limp excuse of a woman.

A loverdoll, for real.

Her words ping in his head like that damn red light everywhere he goes on base. A light at the end of the tunnel, an eminent thing he’s needed for. Tightness seizes his belly and takes him unawares, suddenly Harry’s roaring out a resounding,

“Oh FUCK! Jean! Fuck-“ that bounces around the room like a cacophony.

The hotel guests next door might be

wondering why a moose is dying in

Manhattan? But no sweat, it’s just Major Crosby seeding his willing wife.

Like a soothing balm on a surgical wound, Jean feels him exploding warm and sticky and healing inside her at last. It doesn't stop coming, rope after rope of the thick, steaming hot gold of his body swelling her own and this adds the finishing touches to what was already a melted woman. In his last rapacious thrusts, she can feel her body playing the minx, trying to squeeze him out but her Croz is having none of it, like a dying man to water, he uses every bit of strength left to shove himself back in and flood her until she’s a collapsed and leaking mess.

In a haze, Croz pulls his now mercifully limp cock out of her and surveys her wrecked self with bleary, appreciative eyes. “Looks like you been through a war of your own, baby.” he jokes but his voice is so wrecked from his previous yells it startles his newly moderated self and he ends up toppled over beside her, no longer capable of giving a damn about anything.

His eyelids refuse to stay open and his neck is laying funny but -fuck! He was just inside Jean!

“You ok, Bing?” he hears her sweet voice whisper beside him and it was no dream then, and God forgive him he was probably mean. She’s panting beside him and when he can’t manage to answer he feels her hand grab his wrist and gently guide him somewhere until he’s petting startlingly warm petals that are saturated with his spunk.

“Think you managed to open me up, alright.” she titters, still sounding drunk and he can’t help the way his cheek crinkles in a returning smile.

Smashed into the pillow as it is, it’s still the prettiest expression of the best man Jean has ever known. “Y-Yeah.” her man croaks, half insensible but his beautiful hand keeps petting her where she’s sore and recently excavated, his identification bracelet jangling softly in the stillness, “You were such a good girl Jeanie..a good wife…ya did your job.” he mumbles more, fully in Major mode as he begins to drift off, forgetting entirely that maybe a fella shouldn't praise his wife like she's one of his men gotten back from a mission.

But Jean takes the compliment well, knowing how it’s meant, knowing that maybe tomorrow when he’s more conscious and healed, she may be blocked out from that world entirely. It’s a little glimpse and she takes it for what it is, with soft appreciation. Smilingly she lets go of his hand to give deflated Little Croz some pats, the sticky, shrunken thing is playing at being harmless and she has a longing to meanly suck on it until it shows it’s true colors again.

But no, for now, Croz’s heavy and nearly insessible arm throws itself over her waist and drags her to him, slotting the married couple together like spoons in their drawer.

They could try to shower but that seems too daunting a prospect at present, and highly futile considering what lies in store -more of the same. And for her part, Jean doesn’t dare move and slosh and waste any of what her Bing gave her. His forearm is heavy over her battered womb, cum and abuse swelling it just that little bit as if she were on her menses. She’s not, those were two weeks ago.

When his hand splays and cups the swollen bulge he made, Jean whispers to his already snoozing self, “We made a baby Bing, I just know it.”

And if not— there’s four more weeks to make certain.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

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@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

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@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

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@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

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@ka-ski

@darkestbeforethedawn16

@slowsweetlove

@richardslady121

@barbeygirl

@prfctplcsreads

@vaf24

@harrys-housewife

@claireelizabeth85

@pearlparty

@piastrinho

#mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air #mota #harry crosby #anthony boyle #Harry crosby x Jean Crosby #Harry crosby fanfic #Harry crosby imagine #mota smut

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cherrieflavouredheadcanons · 1 year

Text

I've fallen in love with Fontaine and especially Neuvillete so I had to write my thoughts about him down. I hope you all enjoy my Neuvillette ramblings

CW: None GN Reader

Romantic/ Cute Neuvillette headcanons

Awkward. Neuvillete was so awkward when he first fell for you. He may be a very old dragon but human emotions still often confuse him so suddenly having this warm feeling in his chest whenever he looked at you confused him on what to do.

At first he thinks he is getting sick, not connecting the fact that this weird feeling in his chest and stomach only appears when either you are around or he is thinking about you.

Though Neuvillette finally makes the connection and understands his feeling, when one day you laugh at something he said and he wishes to preserve that laugh, to have it always replaying in his head. It is the most beautiful sound to him and he is willing to do anything just so he can hear it again. You of course laughed around him before but somehow the moment he understood his feelings your laugh became even more special to him.

Furina teases him that it took long enough to realise his feelings for you, and that if he had taken any longer she’d probably have intervened, so let's all be glad Neuvillete realised it on his own.

Once you two are finally an official couple he is so gentle with you. It's almost as if he is afraid that any touch that may be a bit rougher would hurt you.

Also he is such a gentleman. He holds the doors open for you, he always makes sure to walk on the outer side of the sidewalk, pulls out your chair for you. He is just the perfect man.

Though if you think his awkwardness stopped once you two became an official couple I have to disappoint you. While he sees many couples near the Fountain of Lucine and sees how they interact with each other he is rather clueless himself on what to do in a Relationship.

He may be over 100 years old but he had never been in a relationship with anyone, yet alone a human so you have to be patient and show him what humans in relationships do.

This is how he learned that he loves cuddling and being physically close to you. Neuvillette enjoys the feeling of having you in his arms and holding you close. If you lay your head on his chest when he holds you close you will be able to hear that his heart is beating faster than normal. This happens regardless of how long you have been dating each other. It’s honestly adorable that even after months and years of dating you still have that effect on him.

Now we all know he is the hydro dragon, and we also all know that it rains when he cries, even if he does try to hide his tears around others, the rain speaks for him.

It almost seems as if he is inconsolable when he cries, seeing as it takes a while for the rain to let up. That is until you are there with Neuvillette when he cries. You hug him and hold him close to you, running your hand through his hair and let him cry it out. Sometimes you repeat one of the many rhymes Fontaines kids speak whenever it rains since it has the ability to make him smile.

“Rain, Rain Go away. Come again another day. Lonely dragon it will be okay. So rain, rain go away.” It may sound childish but he believes it when you say it will be okay, because he knows that as long as he has you close to him, he can get through anything.

Ever since you are there for Neuvillette, the skies appear to be even brighter after it rains, the people of Fontaine joking that the hydro dragon must have found someone who is able to brighten his mood, even after the stormiest days. Oh if they knew how right they are.

Neuvillette was unsure at first how the Melusines would react to you, he was basically their father so what if they for some reason didn't like you? Would he have to choose between you and them?

Luckily for him (and you) the Melusines love you, and have basically now adopted you as their second parental figure, so congratulations you are now a parent to a bunch of Melusines!

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette x you #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette headcanons #genshin neuvillette #genshin x you

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apomaro-mellow · 29 days

Text

King and Prince 29

Part 28

“Summer will be upon us soon”, Nancy said while scribbling away on some parchment.

“Mhm, that means a new crop of squires, ready to start their trials”, Eddie was lounging on a chaise, playing with a mess of thread in his hands.

“You know I can’t give Lucas any special treatment. Not because he’s my brother’s friend, nor your paramour’s protege.”

Eddie turned over onto his stomach to look at Nancy sitting at her desk, his eyes sparkling. It wasn’t quite the reaction she had been expecting. He had heard her, right? That she wouldn’t be giving anyone preferential treatment? She never did.

“You think Steve and I could be paramours?”

“....I swear you only hear half the words I say.”

“I heard you loud and clear. I just don’t think Lucas will need a leg up or anything like that. But your thoughts on me and the little prince would be news to me.”

Nancy let out a breath. “I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with you pursuing him.”

“The ‘but’ is so loud you might want to get your intestines checked.”

“But, you should know you’re playing with fire. Even if he’s been unofficially disowned, he’s still a prince. One whose family has wished for our destruction. If this goes to your favor and you are wed, have you thought about what your subjects might say?”

Eddie stopped fiddling with the thread. “I have. And I’ve decided that while I am open to hearing concerns, I’m not giving up on him. Anyone with a problem with that can take it up with me personally.”

“Hm. I thought as much. Just don’t, you know, burn the whole kingdom just for him.”

“Do you really think I’m that far gone?”, Eddie asked.

Nancy thought about how she’d seen Eddie around the training grounds more and more and how that had everything to do with Steve taking Lucas under his wing. And because of that, she deigned not to answer.

-----------------------

“You really think I’ll pass?”, Lucas asked, panting as he put his wooden sword away.

Steve was wiping the sweat off of himself with a cloth. “I think you’re one of the most passionate kids I’ve ever met. You’re on your way to mastering swordplay and archery. You’re going to ace this.”

“So like, are you planning on actually marrying Eddie?”, Lucas asked.

He wasn’t the only one curious. Everyone in the castle was abuzz with this new development and of course, the news began to move from within the walls to outside of it. The gossip traveled and everyone had their own spin on it. The king was courting a young man was what everyone got right. But as to the identity of that man, people couldn’t quite agree.

He was a prince, no a duke, no an earl, no he wasn’t from the aristocracy at all. He was in his thirties, no his twenties, no he was only fifteen because he was around the children of the castle often, no he was, but as a mentor so he had to be at least a few years older. He was very handsome, no he just looked okay, well their immortal king had written so much about his appearance so he must be ethereal. The king had written a few, no many, no an entire tome’s worth of letters courting him.

“Either way, can you imagine it? A royal wedding?”

Jason could hear some woman prattle on with his mother while he wrapped up a few chops in the back.

“I can’t even imagine what that would look like”, his mother replied. “King Edward has never done anything like this.”

“He must truly be in love. And if the rumors are true, he’s a real bonafide prince.”

Jason slammed the meat down onto the counter, jolting them both. “Has anyone figured out which kingdom?”

“Oh, this is all just gossip, Jason”, Mrs. Carver said. “If His Majesty is truly courting with foreign royalty, it would be for the good of our kingdom.”

“Well how do we know it isn’t completely selfish? How do we know he didn’t just snatch someone up?”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Or how about this? If they are a prince? How do we know his intentions are pure?”

“Oh you’re being paranoid”, his mother said placatingly. She muttered something to the lady about him recently breaking things off with a lover and the woman nodded sagely before grabbing her order and leaving.

But it wasn’t as simple as all that to Jason. He alone, knew the truth of what was happening and yet he had to hear misinformation everywhere he went. In his own family shop, on the streets, even in the tavern. The very place he had met Steve one night and while he was trying to drink himself to numbness, he had to listen to a group of guys sitting at a table, trading rumors about Steve’s true identity.

“He’s not what you think he is”, Jason finally spoke up, pushing his drink away.

“Huh?”

“What’s the butcher’s boy going on about?”

“The man our king is trying to tie himself to”, Jason clarified as he stood up from the bar and walked over to their table. “He’s a lying snake.”

“And what do you know about him?”

“I know him too well. Met him right here, even talked to him at this very table. He looked sweet. Until he wasn’t.”

The men scoffed and that riled up Jason enough to raise his voice, garnering the attention of the other patrons. Even the musician in the corner stopped playing. Emboldened, Jason continued.

“His name is Steve. And he would come into town. He would, he would spread his legs and break hearts and damn those he left behind.”

“Ahh, he’s just a spurned lover”, someone commented.

“That’s how it was at first!”, Jason quickly regained control of the conversation. “I thought I was just another person on his trail, to be left behind when he moved to the next town because that’s what he led me to believe. That he was just a traveler. But then he gave me this letter. This letter told me everything and now I know the truth.”

When no one interrupted him, he kept going, telling them of the kingdom that Steve had come from. That he was a Harrington, someone who had actively pushed against their borders and that wasn’t enough for them. People began to leave, not wanting to hear the drunken ravings of a man who had been dumped.

But the seed had already been planted. And the longer this courtship went on without an official decree, the more doubt began to spread among the people. The story turned from their wise king finally giving his heart to someone, to an invasion in the form of a seduction.

“Why else would he be going after our king, huh?”, Jason posed the question to a crowd that gathered outside the butcher shop. “He was literally walking these streets, stringing people along, he could’ve had anyone. But he goes for the most powerful man in the country. Nothing he ever did made sense to me but when I got this-” He brandished the letter, crumpled but still legible.

“This made everything so much more clear. Within those walls”, he pointed to the castle, “Is an imminent danger. Today it’s just him, tomorrow it could be his whole army at our doorstep.”

-------------------------

Eddie was pretty good at keeping his ear to the ground. So he could tell almost immediately when the rumor mill began to turn against him and Steve. He hadn’t wanted to make an official announcement and thus thrust Steve back into the royal spotlight too soon. But what was happening was getting too much to ignore.

He knew of it, even before his council brought it to his attention. He was pacing about in a sitting room, Robin, Nancy, and Jeff there as he figured out how to bring it up to Steve, and how to move forward. Of course, as if summoned, Steve pushed the doors open and stomped in.

“Have you heard what they’re saying about you?!”

“I have”, Eddie said. “As well as what they’re saying about you.”

“It can’t stand. He can’t talk about his king that way. That isn’t why I gave him that letter!”

Eddie came over to Steve, clutching his hands. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look with the fire of righteousness blazing in your eyes?”

Steve would have been embarrassed to say how fast he melted if it wasn’t for the fact that it came with how warm Eddie’s gaze was on him. It almost made him forget why he had come in here in the first place.

“As I was s-saying, you can’t let this stand. You can’t keep letting him spread these lies about you.”

“What lies? You came from another country with the sole intent to seduce your way to my throne”, Eddie teased, bringing Steve’s knuckles up to his lips.

“Is that how it happened? Because I remember carting a package and dumping it in the dungeon”, Nancy piped up.

“I remember you handing him off to me with little regard”, Robin added.

Jeff started, “And I seem to recall-”

“Now those are lies and slander that I will not allow”, Eddie said. “I have always treasured you above all, my sweet.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Don’t try and change our story, I was there for it. I will say, I think I’m getting to my favorite part…”

“Hey your faces need to be six inches apart at all times”, Jeff reminded.

“We are such good chaperones”, Robin shook her head.

“Eddie, let me do this for you”, Steve said, taking a step back from him.

Eddie’s brow raised. “Do what?”

“Fight for your honor.”

Part 30

Taglist CLOSED

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie

@goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble

@jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24

@justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord @notaqueenakhaleesi @swimmingbirdrunningrock @queenie-ofthe-void

@nebulainajar @lil-gremlin-things @nicememerino @robininblue @hornedqueenofhell

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @moomkin77 @here4thetrama @bookworm0690 @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-steve

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie

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cloudshuffle · 7 months

Text

an arrow, a spark. yan!childe

index / next / beta reader @malewifeharem

When they assign you to a new division in the Fatui, you think nothing much of it. People were always being moved around in the organisation, people disappeared under mysterious circumstances, new recruits were popping up out of nowhere.

What was strange, however, was whose division you were assigned to. Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, all the way in Liyue, no less - or Ajax, as you knew him better.

“I'll be sorry to see you go,” Signora says from behind you.

You jump, nearly dropping the stack of papers in your hands. She stands in the doorway, imposing as always, yet the air she gives off implies she's left off a “darling” at the end of her sentence.

Madame Signora's always been fond of you for reasons you've never known, though that often meant being stuck in dull, dull meetings and organising her paperwork for her.

You salute her, then laugh nervously. In the midst of your packing, your office looks like a hurricane hit it, stacks of books and papers scattered everywhere. Not the best look to put forward to your boss.

“So, Liyue.” She takes a step, placing her right inside the threshold of your office. Behind her, her new bodyguard slash secretary shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Quite a ways from home, yes?”

“It is.” The land of the Geo Archon, Morax, but most importantly his creation of mora. A warm place by far, considering Snezhnaya's standards, but its trade sector was coldly competitive.

“How do you feel about it?”

How did you feel? The question catches you by surprise, much like her appearance in your office. Never before had you been asked your personal opinion on anything before, least of all by a harbinger.

It’s just work.

“It’s a great opportunity to expand my horizons and learn about another culture, ma’am.”

She chuckles elegantly. “A textbook answer. Good. It’d be useful if you kept those same wits around Tartaglia.”

You blink, a cloud of dust distracting you briefly from what she’d just said. “...Tartaglia, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes.” Her red lips curve into a wry smile. “He requested for you specifically. He’s been pestering me, in fact, to let him have you.”

You remain silent, unsure of how to respond.

“But look at me, holding you up. I do hope you have fun while in Liyue - it can be quite the interesting place, after all.”

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You don’t quite know what all the fuss about Tartaglia is about till lunch, when you venture into the mess hall with Nadia.

She doesn't even wait for the two of you to sit down before broaching the topic. “Did you know the eleventh is back is Snezhnaya?”

“He is?” You stab at your potatoes with your fork, eyeing her cheekily. “And I don't suppose you're in the market for a partner at the same time, are you?”

“Oh, not a harbinger.” She laughs. “That’s way too high profile for me.”

You eye the raised platform at the front of the hall where a long table’s been set. It’s more for show than anything else, seeing as how the harbingers have never once found themselves privy to dining with you common soldiers. There are twelve high-backed, intricately carved mahogany chairs, and one in the middle, larger than the rest, gilded with gold and complete with red velvet cushions. The Tsaritsa’s. Yet another reminder of who you all served.

Nadia's chatter washes over you like a soothing wave. You're grateful to have a friend when you go abroad, if only for distractions like this if nothing else.

She wants to marry and settle down already - a noble sentiment for a young Snezhnayan lady. You think any man would be lucky to have her.

For yourself, you're not so sure.

“Ooh!” She nudges you. “Don't look, but Vlad's over there. Isn't he cute?”

Against her wishes, you turn your head. He looks like any regular Snezhnayan man to you, blonde and with an angular face that could’ve been carved from the frozen earth itself. “Well, I guess. He looks kind.”

“And he's coming to Liyue too!” Nadia stage whispers.

“Exciting.” You raise an eyebrow.

You excuse yourself from your meal after a while, leaving the mess hall alone. Nadia's conversation was entertaining but exhausting, provided one could keep up with her endless stream of news and gossip from various sources.

But it's from this river of information that you sift out a tiny gold nugget: that Harbinger Tartaglia would be in the archery fields if he weren't busy preparing for his return to Liyue with his new crew.

Perhaps it's curiosity, or pure boredom that drives you outside into the cold.

The walk is familiar, ice crunching under your boots. It was admittedly difficult to walk on snow and ice - if you were anything but Snezhnayan, born and raised.

Your fingertips tingle with the phantom itch to hold a bow. It'd been a while…

You follow the path, rounding the building to a frozen field. A number of wooden targets and straw dummies are lined up, some in varying states of disrepair. A small hangover, an incline, really, provides minimal coverage against the wind like a very tiny rock against a great river.

As expected, there’s no one there. You feel a small sense of relief at having missed that chance encounter.

The new recruits train elsewhere. It’s a place only for those who want to exercise the muscles you rarely get to use, being cooped up in front of a desk all day.

You take up position at the edge of the field, summoning your bow and fixing three arrows to it.

They arc in a graceful, shining line, each landing perfectly in the middle of its respective target board.

You affix another arrow to the shelf, taking a deep breath. The world narrows to the point of your arrow and the fletching on the arrow you landed.

Dimly, you’re aware of the shuffling of feet behind you, quickly hushed. Probably just another of your fellow soldiers who wanted to get out of the noise of the mess hall. You pay them no mind.

You release the arrow, reload, release, reload. Three arrows land in rapid succession, splitting each of the previous arrows neatly down the shaft.

You exhale, and your senses return to you. The cold embraces you again, and you shake the tension out of your shoulders, putting your bow away. You can almost feel its sigh, already impatient for the next occasion it could perform.

Slow clapping. “An impressive show, soldier.”

You spin on your heel.

Tartaglia stands at the top of the incline, flanked by two bodyguards. As if he needed them within the walls of the Fatui stronghold, the youngest of all the harbingers, who single-handedly dug his fingers into the fabric of Liyue to get the Tsaritsa a foothold.

It’s been quite a while since you last saw him, you realise. He looks a little sharper, a little leaner, his gaze perhaps a little more complex, as if he were thinking of the future while simultaneously discerning all your secrets. The hydro vision on his belt winks at you in the cold light.

Standing on the incline, he looks like a conqueror, surveying his land. It's a good look for a harbinger to have.

“My lord.” You salute him smartly, tamping down your embarrassment at noticing them late. “My apologies for taking up your time.”

“Oh, no need for all that, padruga.” He comes down the slope, the bodyguards following a respectful distance behind. “It's always a delight to watch you in action.”

What had Madame Signora said? “He requested for you specifically”?

Ajax- no, Tartaglia, is a good head taller than you, maybe more. As he approaches, you have to incline your head to meet the unfamiliar gleam in his blue eyes. Whatever could he want from you?

“You've been well, I trust?” He summons his bow, and you take the cue to move a step backward, leaving him room to shoot.

“Well enough, may the Tsaritsa continue to watch over me.”

To your surprise, he snorts a laugh, loosing his arrow. It strikes deep into the wood, igniting a spark as it scrapes against yours. “A devotary? Some things certainly have changed around here.”

One of the bodyguards shifts his feet. You glance back at him, then at Tartaglia. “Is a harbinger not also subservient to her majesty?”

He chuckles. “Of course he is. I’m just… surprised.” Another arrow, another target. “You never struck me as the type to believe.”

You remain silent as the last arrow hits its mark. All just to the right of your own arrows, pressed so close they seem on the verge of falling off.

“Excellent marksmanship, my lord.” The impersonal compliment comes easily to your lips. You clasp your hands behind your back.

A gentle breeze begins to blow (the kind that might have killed a man in lesser clothing), unsettling his already unruly ginger hair. The bodyguards adjust their stances, as if roused by the cold wind.

“Certainly.” He grins, a self-assured smile, unhidden by a mask. You’re grateful for yours in that regard - no need to hide your emotions or expressions too well when all Fatui are shrouded in uniform secrecy. “Nothing but the best to serve her majesty.”

Somewhere deep within the halls, a bell begins to toll.

You snap to a salute. “Thank you for your time, my lord,” you say, as if he hadn’t been the one to seek you out for conversation first. “I must be taking my leave now.”

padruga: friend (female) according to google

— word count: 1598. thank you for reading!

#cloud writes #yandere genshin #genshin #childe #yandere childe #genshin childe #yan!childe #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #tartaglia #genshin tartagalia

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thoughtsfromlayla · 7 months

Text

Love and Loss

Summary: Despite being married for centuries, the two lovers have yet to produce an heir. Desperate for a child, she makes a deal with Phanes, God of Life, unbeknownst to her that motherhood has its own complications much like love and marriage. Now she must find a way to save both her child and her love.

Notes: ~11k words, only lightly edited... so yeah. Also, this is my first time posting any of my writing so I'm nervous as fuuuuck. I keep switching between past and present tense but I think I caught them all but idk. Let me know if I miss any tags or warnings! (There's so many plot holes but shhhh)

Warnings: MDNI - 18+ content, one use of Y/N but written in 3rd person, Reader has a "name" that's only used twice, pregnancy, loss of pregnancy, metaphorical use of surrogation, usage of miscarriage themes, jealousy, P in V, oral (F! receiving), unprotected sex, jealous Dream but that's to be expected really, regency-esque, diverges from cannon

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

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Despite having been in the Dreaming for so long, its frigid air was something she could never get used to. The temperature always fixed itself somewhere between an unheated house on a winter’s day and a spring day in the shade. Despite her title in the realm, she always felt like a child walking to the kitchen late at night to grab a snack whenever she meanders into the great hall.

The castle of the Dreaming was her home, and she was the owner in every right as her husband. A small black cat accompanies her, its green collar and bell jingle with each step in its preppy trot. Her Lady wore simple garments, a dark green dress with slits to match her feline friend. Its light-weight fabric billows around her with a breeze that never seems to stop and some golden jewelry decorated her neck and arms, all gifts from his Lord. She opted to walk barefoot, skin to soil, so as not to hurt her feet necessarily before the upcoming dinner the Dreaming would host later today—the idea her own entirely that her husband agreed to for her sake.

Her legs move her toward the throne room, where she is certain her husband presides. Still, her feet are cold and thus she picks up the pace. Her steps are lighthearted as she prances on her tiptoes, heels dangling from her fingers.

Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of the Nightmare Realms, Prince of Stories. She was sure there were more, but if she were to start listing them all in her head, she’d be stuck there all day. Morpheus was as old as humanity itself, perhaps even older. But as she sees him spread out on his throne, the air of authority is never questioned. Age has only made him more intimidating.

Morpheus commands any space he enters. His shadow fills each nook and cranny it seemed fit, aura chilling and distant. Yet he himself was a beautiful creature indeed. His modern form molded himself into a lean body, distinct muscle lines, and a strong jaw. His dark hair always looked tousled as if he had rolled out of bed a mere minute ago, and despite how often she would run her hair through the silky strands, they never behaved as they should have.

“Wife, mine,” Morpheus greets as she nears the bottom of the stairs. “What ails you to seek me out?”

The Lady smiles and gives a small curtsy before she ascends the curved stairs. “Nothing ails me, my lord. Must one have a reason to see her husband?”

Morpheus lets out an entertained breath before opening his arms in invitation. Another graceful smile appears on her lips as she sits comfortably in his lap, his arms encircling her.

“No, I suppose not,” He replies. He watches as she makes herself as comfortable as she can, leaning her head on his shoulder in a way that wouldn’t mess up her hair. The handmaidens would not stop fussing over it if a single strand was out of place from their original design.

“I simply wish to spend some time with you before our feast. I fear that I will be whisked away as I entertain guests for the evening.” She closes her eyes and steadies herself on the patterned breathing of her husband.

“I will stay by your side if you so command it,” Morpheus says. He runs his thumb in circles on her bare shoulder.

“And have everyone afraid to approach me? With your dark and brooding act?” She jests, her eyes opening briefly to look into his.

He can’t help his eyes rolling at her slight tease. “As you wish, my love.”

The two lovers sit for a moment. The sounds of her cat purring and their breaths mingling fill the air. But serenity such as this never lasts long in a castle like theirs. Lucienne comes from a hallway, presumably, the library’s, dressed up as well. Her coat was tailored to fit her body, her shoes freshly shined, and her glasses cleaned.

She gives a curt bow to the two sovereigns. “My lord, my lady,” She addresses. “The guests will be arriving soon.”

“Thank you, Lucienne,” Her lady says. She reluctantly releases herself from the warmth of her husband and uses the throne as a brace to put on her shoes. Her husband’s hand rests on the small of her back to further assist her.

“I will see you very soon, my king,” She says leaning down to peck his cheek before descending the stairs. She looks back once with another smile and then follows Lucienne to greet the arriving guests.

Morpheus’s eyes watch her figure until she turns a corner. He was still underdressed, his day previously preoccupied with trying to find a certain nightmare. He was simply idling on his throne in a simple black attire with his long coat. After all, a king need not worry about how he looks if he commands respect without golden bribes. With a wave of his hand, sand befalls him and covers him like ivy to a broken wall. When they recede he is dawning a tight button-up undershirt and vest, its fabric weaved with intrinsic cloud-like designs. His coat is now replaced with another of a similar shape and design but resembles cotton instead of the original felt. He fastens the raven cufflinks and smooths down his pants before rising from his throne and going to the Dreaming’s castle garden.

When Morpheus enters the gardens he immediately spots his wife at the entrance, standing underneath a pergola of purple wisterias and climbing hydrangeas. The flowers slowly lean towards the goddess as her presence fuels them by simple proximity. Her cat is nowhere to be seen and probably ran off into the gardens after a rodent caught his eye.

Morpheus slides up beside his wife as she greets the last of the guests arriving. He turns his head towards the decorated table and can see a great spread of gods, goddesses, fairies, nymphs, and other mystical creatures that his wife had managed to befriend—the feeling of her arm wrapping around his redirects his attention.

“Shall we, lord husband?” She gives him another one of her smiles and he understands how the hanging flowers feel. How he had ever lived without her before was still a mystery to him. To be him without her, it is like the Earth without its Sun - and he wishes to always feel the gravitational pull of her love.

Morpheus leads them towards the aggregation of guests, all of whom devote their attention to them.

“Beloved guests,” His wife starts speaking in her nectar-like tone, “Despite what is currently happening in the waking world, we are pleased that you could make time and attend this wondrous dinner.”

The goddess pauses for a brief moment as her guests clap in agreement. When they stop, she continues. “The feast is served buffet style, please eat and enjoy yourself to the fullest content. The Dreaming is here for your convenience.”

With her open palm, a long table appears with dishes of all types. Wreaths and fresh flowers decorate any empty space, which is to say, not much. Lambs, beef, and several types of poultry and fish take centerpieces along the table. Fruits, vegetables, and freshly baked bread weave in between the large plates as palate cleansers and small plates appear on the very corners of the table. A satisfied smile appeared on Her Lady’s face as the guests began grabbing food.

As the dust settles and smaller niches of guests start grouping, Morpheus is displeased when his wife leaves his side to mingle amongst the other gods. He watches from the shadows, small fruit plate in hand, glooming as she smiles with her guests. A hand comes up to hide her mouth as she laughs at something Phanes, God of Life, said. Jealousy brews and grows bitter like spoiled milk.

Morpheus stands, ready to come to his wife’s side in hopes of deterring the god, but before he can a nymph comes forward and gives an exaggerated curtsy. He can’t help the slight roll of his eyes as she begins to talk him up. The nymph’s voice carries a small lithe to it and he becomes unfocused, only noticing the movement of his wife’s green dress and Phanes walking off into the hedge labyrinth.

A frown etches itself onto his face. The nymph choosing to ignore the frown finds the courage to lift a mossy hand to caress his coat’s lapel, to which the Endless notices. Morpheus looks down at the nymph, his hand tightly grabbing into her wrist and dropping it away from him.

“Do not presume you may touch me, insolent child.” His voice is deep and grave as his frown deepens.

The nymph’s face contorted into embarrassment as red poppies boom across her cheeks and ears. She briskly walks away, forgetting to curtsy, with her tail tucked between her legs. The forest nymph looks forward to the next time she meets the Dream King, but she does not know that this will be the last time the doors of the Dreaming will open to her.

Dream makes a beeline towards the hedge labyrinth, taking a right turn as he had witnessed his wife doing moments ago. But, as something as lucid as the Dreaming, the labyrinth path twists and turns in new ways each moment. Morpheus turns left and right based on where he could feel his wife’s presence, but seems that she does not want to be found.

As a deity in her own right, should she so command it, she would not be found. Something that the Endless found infuriating at the moment. What could she possibly be doing with Phanes? Did she invite him for a personal reason? Was the dinner event a ruse so she could speak with him without raising any questions? Well, Morpheus surely was starting to ask questions.

Jealously turned into guilt quickly like the crack of a lightning bolt. Has he not been a good husband? Was she getting bored of their marriage? It has been several centuries, after all. Guilt turned into sadness as the questions he asked started bringing down his spirit. Surely there is something he can do to make her happy again. Surely she is faithful, surely, surely, surely…

Morpheus stands still, the drive to find his wife lost. The hedge leaves shiver as the temperature grows colder from the king’s mood. The lovely sunset leaves the last of its warmth before disappearing, leaving the sky full of stars. He turns around and retraces his steps, if his wife does not want to be found, he will grant her this wish.

Morpheus would never admit to anyone that he mopes. But with his sluggish walk and downturned lips, he clearly was. He sees his wife had made it out of the labyrinth quite some time ago and is already waving her guests goodbye, Phanes nowhere in sight. When she sees him emerging from the hedges, she perks up and excuses herself from her conversation.

“Dear husband, where did you run off to? Too many people in your presence?” She jokes, latching herself onto his arm.

“I was merely looking for you,” Morpheous murmurs. He starts walking with her back to the castle.

He waits as his wife takes a pause, slowing down in step. “You followed me into the labyrinths?”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Yes…” He draws out, trying to tread lightly, hoping that she would open up without much prompting. “I saw you and Phanes entering together.”

An amused huff escapes her. “I see.”

The silence lingers like the plague: uncomfortable and heavy in the air.

“Will you not speak as to why?” He questions and he almost hates how desperate he sounds.

The lady takes a seat on his throne, only to lean down and take off her shoes with a satisfied sigh. She rubs the ankles of her foot when she speaks again. “I believe it to be a personal matter.”

The answer was vague, and Morpheous hated it. Angry, gray storm clouds formed overhead and the ice-cold rain started to hit the stained glass behind her.

“Am I not worth sharing with?” He asks again, but he doesn’t stop to let her answer. With her eyes wide in surprise, he continues. “Am I not good enough? Faithful enough? Am I not devoted enough to you, my love? Will you command me to beg on my knees, I shall if you so ask.”

He falls to his knees before her and runs his hands from her ankle to her knee, slowly, deliberately. His lips follow soon after, tracing the same path his fingers had. Her breath hitches and her hearts start beating faster.

“How can I show my devotion to you, my love?” He kisses.

“My wife?” He kisses again.

“My forever goddess?” And again.

“Morpheus,” She breathes out, and it’s all he ever wants to hear. She is all he ever wants to breathe and all he wants to taste.

“I pray to Daleena, Goddess of Husbandry, for forgiveness. I have left my wife unsatisfied and feel the crop of our love withered. I shall repent for my sins by your guidance.” Morpheus says in a hushed tone as he slowly inches higher on her leg.

The goddess feels power surge through her as the prayer leaves her husband's lips, and she craves the touch of them on her own. Heat pools between her legs as her husband’s breath fans across her lower regions. Her dress slits exposed her legs deliciously to Morpheous but there were still her undergarments, which he removed slowly, keeping contact with her silky skin as it slid down.

Her Lady looks down at him with uneven breaths and waits for him to give her what she wants. Morpheus, however, is patient. He traces his lips higher, he kisses all the spots she wants, but not where she needs it the most.

“Morpheus,” She pleads, and it is all he needs. One moment it is the cold air of the Dreaming and the next it is the warmth of his lips, tongue languishing the length of her slit.

She jerks in place, strong hands holding down her hips. Her own hands shoot out, desperate to grab onto anything. One, bear-clawed and desperate, on the arm of the throne and the other weaving itself into the silky strands of her husband. She gasps at the wet sensation and her head is thrown back in pleasure.

The Endless is unmovable, driven solely by the purpose of satisfying his wife. A low groan emits from deep in his throat at the unapologetic sounds she cries, babbling in a series of his name and other obscenities. He tilts his head higher until he finds her clit and relishes in the pain of her nails in his hair, lapping at her arousal with contentment until it drips down his chin. He is a starved man and she is his salvation.

Morpheus continues his demonstrations, alternating between her clit and her needy cunt. She clenches her thighs hard as she feels the impending rise of her orgasm. Her fingertips buzz with excitement as he continues to ravish her sensitive clit. His pace continues, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

She calls out his name again, and a high-pitched whine leaves her lips as he easily adds two digits into her weeping hole. He moves them slowly, slightly curved to touch that delicious spot inside her that has her arching her back taught like a bow. From below, Morpheus looks at her through his lashes, and he can’t help the smirk that tugs on his lips as his wife tries to thrash from the sensations. She tightens around him, cunt pulsing sporadically, and he is flooded with her orgasm where he drinks greedily from the taste - sweet like a plentiful summer wine.

He places a final gentle kiss on her clit before looking at her again, the skin of her extremities glowing ethereally as she tries to control her ragged breaths. She is still in the midst of her orgasm, trying to calm herself from the high and he finds it the perfect time to leave a bruising hickey on the inside of her plush thighs. Morpheus gets up, dick painfully hard as it brushes against his pants. He takes hold of her hands to help her stand on wobbly legs and leans back.

He leans until he falls, through the throne room floor and then onto the plushness of their shared bed. His command dematerializes both of their clothes and he basks in the sticky warmth of his wife on top of him. He runs light fingers down her spine, shivers following behind like a loyal companion, whispering sweet nothings into her ears.

“Come back to me,” He murmurs, kissing her sweat-filled brow.

“Hmm,” The goddess exhales after a few more seconds of silence, eyes opening languishingly, lashes tickling the skin of her husband.

She looks around the dimly lit room for a moment before realizing that she is in their bed. Using her husband’s chest, she props herself up, effectively straddling him beneath her. Morpheus remains unmoving, ignoring the way his tip brushes against her lower lips, only messaging the meat of her hips with his thumb.

When she meets his eyes again, he speaks. “Have I proven myself, dear wife?”

It takes a moment for the goddess to remember what he was talking about and her feelings crash down again. “You had never needed to prove yourself to me, Morpheus. What happened between me and Phanes will remain between me and Phanes.”

She lifts herself on sore thighs, but can’t get far as gentle hands turn rough. The next moment, she is lying down with her husband looming over her. There was not enough light to illuminate his face, leaving only the impression of his merciless, mercury eyes. Deep down, she knows no harm will ever befall her, but in this moment, something primal presents itself.

Perhaps it is how his eyes bore into her very soul, to the very moment she was born several millennia ago. Or perhaps, she was just crazy about how his touch was driving her mad. She was very aware of the appendage that settled between the two of them and the way that her slick was coating it. His hands cup her cheek and slide down her neck and her head tilts back at the ticklish and yet pleasurable sensation. She swallows thickly and a broken sigh escapes her as his hand ghosts over her nipple.

Shivers bloom once more as his mouth incloses over the perk nipple, suckling at it in a way that has her legs wrapping around his waist. Her arms come up and snake over his shoulders, fingers gliding over the smooth marble-like skin, then resting behind his neck. One of her hands finds itself back into his hair, clenching as he gives continuous pleasure to her body.

Her hips buck up, her pussy clenching down on nothing. Cold fingers glide down the center of her stomach, going lower and lower until they cup her heat. A thumb gently circles her clit, understanding the overstimulation it recently received. They trace over her outer lips, downwards, then upwards again, coating themselves with a mixture of spit and arousal.

Morpheus removes himself from her breasts and presses his lips at the junction between her neck and shoulder. He licks at the sweat that accumulates on her collarbone and continues up her neck. When he faces her again, he speaks.

“Beg for it.” He commands.

Her Lady remains silent, slowly chewing on the inside of her lip, weighing the options in her head. Morpheus, as always, is patient and he continues running his fingers between her folds, keeping his pace but occasionally rubbing his pointer finger in circles around her clit. When she realizes that he really would just keep rubbing her and nothing else, she opens her mouth.

“P-please,” She stutters, the mere idea of begging or pleading foreign on her tongue. As a goddess, one would never allow such lowly behavior. Nevertheless how her husband will give her whatever she asks for.

Morpheus hums in approval, removing his hand to hold his dick instead. He rubs it this time in lieu of his fingers around her cunt and the goddess almost begs again. Before she can, a moan releases from both of them as he inserts himself into her and she whimpers at the familiar dull ache of being stretched out. Morpheus dips his head between her neck and shoulder again and remains stiff, feeling the warmth that only his wife can provide.

He pulls out and she mews beneath him in pleasure, ushering him to fill her up once again. Her cunt sucks him back and he wraps one of his arms underneath her waist to ground him. The other slams against the headboard of the bed, and he grabs on for all he is worth. His thrusts grow harder as her cries grow louder and he feels the way she clenches down on him.

“How divine you are, my love,” He says with a shaky breath, kissing more bruising hickeys that he hopes will last for millennia. He blows cold air over them and goosebumps rise in place, her back arching again and he can feel each perk nipple rubbing against his chest.

She moans his name again, losing herself in each drag of his cock, screaming curses when the head brushes against her sensitive spot, and whimpering when it kisses her cervix. Morpheus rises, looking down on his wife with half-lidded eyes, running a hand down between the valley of her breasts, feeling each desperate breath of air. He goes lower and groans when he sees how the two of them are connected.

Each thrust creates an unholy, slick noise and he can see the inflamed clit begging for attention. He presses his fingers on her lower stomach and she cries out for him.

“Can you feel me, my Queen?” He growls down at her, feeling the way his dick moves within her.

“Yes!” She cries back, her brows furrow and her cunt pulses around him, gripping him like a vice.

“Do you love me, my Queen?” He asks again.

“Yes!” She cries again. She starts begging again. Please, please, please, please. “Don’t stop, please my King. Please, don’t stop!”

“Will you tell me why you spoke with Phanes?” His last question.

Her eyes snap open, all the build up from her orgasm lost in the question. With her legs still around his waist, she twists her hips and topples Morpheus over until he is beneath her again.

“No,” She whispers, rocking her hips back and forth to regain the momentum they had lost.

This time, it is him who pleads. “Please,” He whispers back. His hands cup at the roundness of her ass cheeks, loving how soft they were.

She increases the ferocity of her grinds, looking down at her husband like he had just done with her. His head tosses back and she loves watching his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat as he moans for her. His eyes are squeezed shut and his grip tightens but she doesn’t relent.

That familiar searing hot feeling appears again in her lower stomach and with one final grind she releases her orgasm all over him, falling onto his heaving chest. Morpheus cums right after, shooting his release into her in hot loads and she feels each jolt inside of her.

Her orgasm rocks through her body, feeling both too hot and too cold at the same time. It tingles in her fingers and toes and when she closes her eyes, she sees the stars of the Dreaming shinging back at her. When she comes back to her senses (again) she can feel her husband’s hand running through her bed hair, untangling it as much as he could with the one hand. The other hand holds her waist flush with his. The two lovers share a quiet moment after their throw of passion before she speaks again.

“Phanes and I…” She starts, and she can feel Morpheus stiffen under her. She groans as his cock is still deep in her, semi-hard and the only thing keeping them together.

She shifts a bit and some of their combined release pool down onto his abdomen. He would never admit to her how filthy he thought it was, nor the fact that he loved it all the same.

“Yes?” Morpheus urges, looking down at her on his chest with full attention.

“We made a deal.” She finishes her sentence.

Everything stops as Morpheus sits up. “What deal did you strike? I can do it instead, terminate the deal at once, my love.” He says with anxiety.

His wife grabs onto him as she is rocked back and a smile appears on her face. “Morpheus, my love, you have done your part.” Her smile turns sad and a forlorn look cloaks her face and she casts her gaze downwards. “We just needed some extra help.”

A confused look crosses Morpheus’s face. He brings a hand to lift her chin to look at him. With the raise of an eyebrow, he doesn’t have to say anything for his wife to know he wants a better explanation.

“I asked for a child, Morpheus.”

When her husband remains quiet, her lips start to tug downwards and his heart lurches at the sight. Her waterline soon floods with tears.

“We have not been able to produce an heir once.” She says, voice wavering. She dares not to blink for she is afraid if a single tear were to fall, all of them would.

“What in return?” He asks.

“I look after his pet snake for a weekend.” She replies simply. Morpheus has returned to his previous position.

The tears start to fall, each fat drop hitting his skin seemingly striking him directly in the heart. “You need not worry, wife. This time it will take, with Phanes’s help or not.” He whispers into the crown of her head.

She nods once, sniffling as her nose starts to run, too. The rhythmic breathing below her and the continued brushing of her hair rocks her to a dreamless sleep. Morpheus wraps his arms protectively around her frame and should he have known, he would’ve stayed longer. He would’ve held her tighter, kissed her longer, and promised her that he would be there when she woke. Alas, there was a missing nightmare, rampaging through the waking world, something that was his responsibility as king.

When she wakes up the next morning, with a satisfying ache throughout her body, the bed was cold and empty, and her husband was nowhere to be seen. To say that this was new behavior would be a lie, unfortunately. The number of times that a night of passionate love-making ended in a cold and lonely morning was more than she could count on her fingers and toes. That isn’t to say that Morpheus didn’t want to stay in bed with her, it’s simply a sovereign that understands his responsibilities, and she could never blame her husband for that.

Avoiding the difficult conversation the two lovers shared last night, her Lady avoids the locations her husband is most likely to reside in. Instead, she chooses to look towards her duties in the Dreaming. She finds herself amongst a simple dream from a small farmer who looks after sheep, who struggles with getting their weight to increase during the harsh winters. Carefully, she admits herself to him, dressed in a light yellow dress, sunflowers decorating the fabric and her hair. Her hands were covered in dirt, and she held a shepherd’s crook that had a bell attached to the end.

The farmer looks up from his rocking chair, prized sheep chewing lazily around him, and smoke from his pipe circles him. His face was rough - old and wrinkled from long days in the sun during his youth. But she smiles gently at him when his laugh lines appear around the edges of his eyes and mouth.

She stands next to him and they stare out on his flock together. He shares his life story. The story of a young boy whose father was also a farmer, and his father before him, and his father before him. He talks about his first puppy, named Barkly, his first love, whom he lost after he was drafted into the First World War, and how he now finds solitude with his late wife’s grave and his grandchildren.

He mentions that he needs to fatten his sheep up for the winter as he can’t lose any more stock so he may afford medicine for his sick grandson. He confesses that he has tried everything and nothing seems to have worked. He looks up at her now, tired, and slumped over, and realization dawns on his face as she smiles down at him.

She whispers at him a simple solution, one he can’t quite hear over the muddle of a dream. He stands abruptly as her figure distorts, the dawn is rising and a farmer’s body rises with it. He thanks her - he offers a sheep for her, which she nods at before he wakes from his dream.

The goddess visits a few more dreams, each giving her ethereal presence. Some were like the one she was just at, some needed comfort from the loss of animals, and some dreamed of a new pet to have. By the 5th dream, she realizes that several days had passed in the waking world, and her husband was nowhere to be found.

She admits to herself that she had been avoiding him longer than she intends, but perhaps it was time to face him again. She teleports to the castle, summoning herself before the drawbridge of the magnificent building. The ivory dragon perks up at her arrival, but otherwise pays no attention to her, going back to hoarding its gold coins, a few of them falling when she crosses the large doors.

As always, the castle is slightly colder than what she likes. A small sense of deja vu encapsulates her as she walks to the all-familiar throne room. This time, however, it was empty. No figure on the throne, nor the stairs as he sometimes preferrs it. Odd, she thinks, but not impossible. So she turns a corner to the library, she often finds him here as well, looking over the books of his dreamers. She searches high and low, through each aisle and reading spot, but still nothing. Anxiety and thoughts of doubt begin to fill her. Perhaps she did mess up, making that deal with Phanes.

Her last stop was Cain and Able’s homes. She finds the two brothers in front of their own homes, tending to their garden and playing with the gargoyle that Morpheus had given them. The two were of no help as they were unable to answer something worthy of even a hint of where her husband was.

She rolls her eyes as the walk away from their homes was accompanied by the sound of a scream and the resolute bang of a metal shovel hitting a skull.

As her last resort, she calls for Lucienne. Often, she hopes to never bother her, understanding that the work she puts into maintaining the Dreaming is never-ending. And, she knew that if she were to ask something of her, Lucienne would stop everything to help her.

“His Lord left several nights ago to fetch the Corinthian,” She spoke, pushing up her round glasses.

“And since then?” She questions, her hands wringing with themselves. She hopes for an answer she knows she won’t get.

Lucienne shakes her head no. “My Lady, Jessamy hasn’t returned either. Perhaps his Lord is simply taking longer than usual.”

“Let us hope,” She says defeated.

For the next few months, the goddess stays within the Dreaming. Each day that passes, more hope was lost for her husband's return. Doubt and anxiety cloud her mind at the uncertain future.

She looks down at her stomach, a distinguishable bump had made its appearance and she rubs it gently with her hand. The deal with Phanes went through, she is with child. She should be happy right? Except for the obvious fact that Morpheus still had not returned.

Her cat lounges at her feet where she sits and she pets its head. With a trill, it looks at her, similar mercury eyes of her husband stares back. She had no choice but to find him herself.

“Go,” She asks of it. “Go to the waking world, find Morpheus.”

The cat sits up and stretches, hind high in the air. Its claws grips into the plush carpet it rests on. With another stretch to its lower back, it trots off, the jingling sounds of its bell disappearing as it crosses over to the waking world.

All the goddess could do was wait and hope. She runs another anxious hand across her stomach and a tear escapes her.

Lucienne had mentioned it to her in passing a few days ago. The librarian stated that it probably was nothing to worry about, but the conversation had stuck with the goddess since.

The Dreaming is dying.

As much as the Dreaming is hers through marriage, it is suffering without its true ruler in the realm. She could see it in the dying leaves and small cracks of the castle. The ivory dragon that rests above the castle has gotten more restless in the past few weeks. And despite her best efforts to comfort the animal, the dragon did not listen to the Goddess of Husbandry.

This brings up a second concern of hers. The child she carries is as much a part of her as it is the Dreaming’s. It embodies a part of the Dream Lord and if the Dreaming is suffering, there stands to reason that her husband is suffering as well. If both of these entities are suffering, what is to happen to her child?

This child that she already loves until she is forgotten and nothing but stardust and she had been asking for centuries. This child that Morpheus is finally ready to love after the untimely death of his son. She must find Morpheus, and soon.

For the sake of the Dreaming and her child.

Several more weeks pass and her cat had yet to come back. She only hopes that it was due to the difficulty of finding an Endless and not because it got distracted with a family whose heart was big enough to take in a “stray” cat. Each day that passes, she grows significantly weaker. The prayers of her followers still ring in her ears, but she could not leave the Dreaming to help her devotees.

Another war broke out among the humans, the one they call World War II. Less and fewer people were crossing over into the dreaming and slowly, the once beautiful realm was losing its colors. The goddess couldn’t stop the residents of the realm from leaving its gates, the Dreaming was no longer a place they wished to stay. Furthermore, there weren’t enough dreamers for them to bother staying. She only remains thankful for those who decided to stay.

She sits on Morpheus’ throne, the castle colder than ever. Behind her, the once beautiful stained glass had shattered. The Corinthian had still not been captured, or else her husband would have been home and Fiddler’s Green had decided to leave. She runs a hand through her hair at the issues that seem to keep piling up. As she ignores her prayers, her powers start to wane. Fewer and fewer people were still believing in her.

And how could she blame them? She hasn’t made herself present in any of their prayers and with the war, people were less concerned about animals and more about themselves. She sighs.

A sharp pain yanks her out of her thoughts and a scream rips from her throat. She doubles over from the throne and kneels, hunching over on the floor. The pain spreads across her lower abdomen and a shaking hand holds her stomach. Immediately she knew something was wrong and it involved the safety of her child.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, too focused on staying conscious. The throne room was empty, her fall echoed around and bounced across the wide walls. When she thought the pain was over, she took in a large breath, inhaling shakily in gulps.

Salvation lasts a few seconds before another wave of pain overwhelms her. It wraps around her like a hot blanket on a sweltering day, sticking to her skin and making her overstimulated. Too much was happening at once and it was almost too hard to bear.

“Lucienne!” She screams between cramps. Tears fall in fat drops onto the floor and wets the hand propping her up.

Lucienne appears quickly, followed closely by Mervin. Hands grab at her weak body and hoist her back onto the throne. Where she had fallen, blood pooled and more fell from between her legs.

Her whole body shakes with shivers and a whimper leaves her.

“My Lady,” Lucienne says with concern. The librarian couldn’t stop from staring at the growing pool of blood below her.

“What do we do?” Mervin asks. Even though he was a glorified janitor, constructor, and destructor for the Dreaming, he didn’t know how to fix this.

“Call for Phanes,” Their Lady said weakly. Sweat begins to appear like morning dew across her forehead. For once, she was grateful for the cool temperature.

“Mervin, take her to his Lord’s chambers,” Lucienne instructs. She doesn’t stay to watch as she sprints to the library.

She flips through leather-bound books, old and new until she finds the correct summoning spell she was looking for. The loyal librarian could only hope that a god would listen to a dream like her.

She hauls the large book into the room her Lady lays in. Labored breathing came from both women, although for two vastly different reasons.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I require your assistance,” Lucienne said next to the goddess’ bed.

The goddess gives her a hand limply and Lucienne starts chanting the words on the page while holding her cold fingers. The wind whirls around them and Mervin holds onto his pumpkin head to not have it knocked off.

Lucienne finishes the spell and looks down. Her Lady was glowing with power but she could not have looked any more weak. Nothing happens for a few bated breaths, only the sound of howling wind around them. Then nothing, not even the sound of crickets could be heard.

Enters Phanes, golden and warm like the sun. He materializes in a cloud of golden dust. He slams his staff down, and his golden snake slithers up from under his robes.

“Who dares summon m-”

“Lord Phanes,” Lucienne interrupts, something she knows she would be punished for, if not for the more important matter at hand.

A glare is thrown her way and softens at the familiar face. Phanes’ eyes travel across the intertwined fingers and land on his friend.

Weak eyes open and meet his. The godly figure is almost too much to stare directly at.

As if understanding what was happening to his friend, he drops the golden light he had been shining. The Dreaming returns to its cold blue, and it was just two deities and two dreams in understanding.

“A new deal,” Phanes announces and the goddess wants to weep again. Judging by how her husband acted the last time she had done this, she was going to be doomed. But the decision was easily made.

“Anything,” she whispers. Her eyelids are starting to feel heavy. She had delivered countless calves, kittens, and cubs, but never another deity. Was she supposed to feel this weak?

Silky scales slide across her feverish skin and she is face to face with Phanes’ serpent.

“Give your child to him, he will keep them safe until they may come to fruition. Until then, you must look after the serpent as if it is of your blood.”

The goddess could barely pay attention but understood in a way without words. She nods in agreement and the relief begins almost immediately.

Pain seeps out of her body, slow, like molasses and her body starts to glow again. Lucienne shields her eyes and peeks through her fingers. The goddess’ stomach glows and deflates.

A small glowing ball releases itself from the warmth of her womb, its dim light is warm and lights the room like a lantern on a foggy night. A weak hand cups it and it sits in the palm of its mother.

“Hello, darling son,” She whispers. The ball stays still, a small high-pitched noise emitting from itself.

The goddess smiles. “Darling daughter, then?” This time, the ball bounces gently a few times in response but otherwise doesn’t do anything.

The golden serpent is slowly making its way up the arm that holds the glowing orb. A tongue flicks out and smells it. Then with a nod from the goddess, the serpent unhinges its mouth and swallows the child whole. The light shines through the crevices of its eyes and ears as it makes its way down the serpent's throat. Eventually, the light dissipates and the serpent looks all the same, save for the bulge in its stomach.

A sense of longing borrows itself into her chest where her heart lies. Quite literally, the light disappears right in front of her. Physically, her pain had been removed, only the dried blood between her legs reminded her of what had happened just moments prior. And yet, a dull pain resides. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she could feel it behind her eyes and how it lodges in her throat.

Her gaze is unfocused as she pets the golden snake, her golden snake now, her child. For the rest of the night, she rests and Phanes leaves without a word. Lucienne stays by her side the whole time, eyes only moving when the serpent shifts. Mervin went back to work after a few hours, the castle’s foundation still cracking under their feet. He left with a sorrowful look, well, as sorrowful as a pumpkin head could be.

As the sun rises the next day, the goddess wakes up to not only the snake by her side but the librarian and her long awaited cat. Lucienne wakes up at the first shift that her Lady makes and stands.

“Let me draw you a bath,” She said before any debate.

“Lucienne,” Her Lady calls after her anyway in rejection. All of her handmaidens had left. They were only there to help the goddess under the instruction of the Dream Lord who created them. Without him here, no one would punish them for leaving and not attending his wife.

Still, the librarian doesn’t listen and disappears into the joined bathroom. Meanwhile, the goddess looks down at her cat and raises an eyebrow. It has certainly gotten fatter. And a new name tag was attached to his collar next to his bell.

“Buttons,” She said out loud, reading the new name. At that, the cat perks up and stares back at her disappointed face. “You got distracted on your mission didn’t you?”

She pets his rounder stomach and scratches his head. “Well, they certainly loved you…” The hidden passive-aggressive message was evident.

The cat, now Buttons, doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, it lays back down, flicking its tail aggressively at her comment.

She rolls her eyes. “Did you locate his Lord?”

Buttons rolls onto his back and stretches, belly exposing to her, and opens his mouth in a yawn. “Burgess Manor,” He says and turns his body away from her.

Finally, an answer. She throws the blanket off her body and goes to stand. She looks at her closet, thinking of what to wear to the waking world to retrieve her husband.

“My Lady!” Lucienne exclaims as she walks out of the bathroom. The goddess looks over at her and notices her staring at her dress. She looks down as well and remembers all of the blood that she spilled last night. It had caked itself into the fabric and was still crusted on the inside of her legs.

The librarian’s shock was still on her face when she realizes that her Lady fully intends to go to the waking world looking like that, having overheard the conversation between her and the cat. Lucienne insists she take a bath first and that she would find something for her to wear.

Her Lady doesn’t disagree and disappears into the steaming bathtub that was made for her. She doesn’t regret it for a second the moment she steps in. The warmth was comforting like a mother huddling to keep its cub warm. The water washes away the filths of yesterday and within the embrace of the water, she finally cries.

It’s not a gentle cry, it is hiccups and gasping for breath. The pain of yesterday that she felt behind her eyes and in her throat spills out. Her bathwater which used to smell of apples and cinnamon now turns into a maroon as her blood washes out. It starts to smell of iron and salt and it reminds her of war.

Her hand runs over her stomach and a whimper leaves her again at the lack of the bump she had grown so accustomed to. Logically, she knows that her child, no her daughter, was safe. But, one would have to admit that having their daughter in the stomach of a serpent was a bit unnerving.

A golden head peaks at her over the side of the ceramic bathtub and flicks out its tongue.

She sniffs the last of her tears away and pets its head with her index finger. “I’m sorry for leaving you already, dear daughter.”

The serpent’s stomach had grown twice as large since last night and since this is new territory for her, she must make haste so she may be back in the dream to witness the birth of her daughter.

Before she left, though, she walks into the castle gardens and gets to work. From her fingertips she grows a birch tree, its white branches and muted green leaves fit right into the dying realm around them. She sprouts flowers and brushes for scenery and a bed made of straw under a tunnel that she dug out.

The golden serpent follows her and slithers up her body, wrapping around her curves. When its head was next to hers, it let out a rattling-like noise in agreement with the small open enclosure the goddess had made for it. It slides back down her body and makes it home in the tunnel.

“Mommy will be back,” She whispers to it when it settles in and gives it a quick peck on the top of its head. It flicks its tongue at her and moves further into its nest.

The goddess stands back up and dusts off any dirt that could have gotten on her dress. Lucienne helps her pick out an appropriate attire for the waking world. Something she wouldn’t personally wear, but it certainly helps to blend in with the mortals. She quickly had to locate her husband. After all, she has no idea how long it takes for a snake to incubate a child.

It was easy to find the Burgess Manor when she arrives in the waking world. Everyone who was anyone spoke about the grand magus who managed to capture the devil in his basement. That the devil had granted him eternal life and some other rumors. All she had to do was flaunt a smile and go where the fingers pointed.

The rumors, of course, were mere rumors. The devil? No. Without knowing it, Rodrick Burgess managed to capture something even more powerful. How he had managed to keep him captured was a different question entirely and the goddess had a sneaking suspicion that he had some help.

It was nightfall when she arrives at the gates of the manor. Thousands of people clamor in the front garden, talking amongst themselves. Suddenly, the clothing she had worn was not fit for the environment she was walking into. Using a little bit of her powers, she changes the outlook of her clothing into something else. It was a bit more formal, growing longer and softer to the touch. However, if someone were to squint and stare hard enough, they would be able to see the original dress she had worn.

She weaves her way to the front and listens carefully to the words around her.

“I had arrived this morning, my feet are killing me.”

“Ha, me as well. But anything to get into the manor. I want to see what the Great Magus is hiding.”

“Not to mention the party of your lifetime!” They joke together.

Someone taps her on her shoulder. Another young man was waiting to be let in.

“You are a new face,” He comments and takes her hand. He presses his lips to the back of it. She takes her hand back and wipes it away on the back of her dress while keeping a smile.

“Yes, I wish to see the Great Magus himself.” She half-lies through her teeth. The young gentleman offers an arm to her which she reluctantly takes. Perhaps he will be the key to getting into the manor.

The doors of the manor open and people slowly trickle in. She peers over shoulders into the manor but couldn’t immediately find anything of note that would be dangerous. The warmth of the building fans over her as she enters through the large doors and a breath of relief escapes her.

“Isn’t it everything you could ever dream of?” The gentleman asks. He looks down at her with a smile.

She looks around, the manor was certainly lively. Foods of all kinds sprawl out on tables, fresh flowers almost too sweet to smell, and candlelight flickers and dances from the sudden wind. There were some party tricks as well, the flames seem to sparkle a bit more, bubbles were floating around in the air without popping, and the statues follows her with their eyes. But, they were all small party tricks, nothing to indicate this holier-than-thou man.

Through the buzz of it all, she could feel it. The string of fate that connects her to her husband. It was faint, but it was there and she knew she was in the right place. She just had to find out where.

A man emerges on the top of the stairs to the second floor and opens his arms in a flourish. She frowns at him because there he was, Rodrick Burgess, the man who took her husband. By the end of tonight, she promises herself, there will be no Rodrick Burgess.

“Ow, dang you’ve got a grip on you,” She breaks eye contact with Rodrick when her escort for the evening exclaims out. She releases the iron grip she had wrapped around his lower arm and apologizes.

“I am terribly sorry,” She apologizes. “Actually, I am parched, can you be a gentleman and fetch me some lemonade?” She bats her eyelashes and gives a smile. His face lights up in a blush and runs off to fetch her the lemonade she wants.

As soon as he was out of eyesight, the goddess began moving. She moves between bodies like wind on the beachfront - gracefully, wistfully, but with purpose. She uses her senses to locate where her husband could be. It was like an invisible dance.

When the sense weakens she backtracks, when it strengthens she moves forward. She was so lost in her quest that she almost did not register when she ran into a wool-covered chest. Surprise overtook her face as she looks up, ready to apologize and continue on her way. But she stops when she realizes that the man she bumps into is the very host of the party.

“Rodrick Burgess,” She says almost breathlessly. Oh, how she wants to commit a grievous crime to this mortal.

The old man chuckles above her and grabs onto her shoulders. His fingers are cold when they come into contact with her bare skin and she wants to cringe away from his touch, but he holds on strong.

“You seem like a curious creature, my little dove,” He comments and starts to walk. Without much room to budge, she is reluctant to follow him.

“Yes,” She drawls out much like how Morpheus tends to do. She suddenly acts with interest when she realizes that the bond strength between her and her husband increases. She holds on tighter and presses her body against his arm.

“I heard that the great Magus kept the devil in the basement of his manor. Can we see it?” She fakes a supple voice and looks up at him with an innocent smile.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think a small thing such as yourself would want to see the devil.”

“No!” She belts out, a bit too quickly. But she recovers smoothly. “What I mean to say is, I am far too excited to see him. Please don’t deny me this one pleasure Great Magus.”

“How loathsome,” She thinks to herself.

“Very well, I can’t deny you anything if you keep looking at me like that.” He confirms.

Rodrick Burgess leads her away from the party, down a long and quiet hallway. It is decorated with antique and rare collectibles. The older man talks about each one, dragging on his time that leads to her husband, but she nods along anyway.

She had waited decades to be in the arms of her husband again, a few more minutes surely wouldn’t hurt. Soon, she is led to a dark and demanding set of double doors. Locks and bolts seal it from top to bottom. With a nod of Rodrick’s head, the guards stationed outside open the door slowly and a cold air seeps out and blows her hair back. The basement smells musty of old water and stale air. A cough emits from further down the stairs and she frowns.

“Scared yet, child?” Rodrick says to her mockingly.

She only shakes her head no as she continues down the steps.

The smell grows stronger as she gets closer and she can also make out a small portion of dirt and sand amidst it all. Despite it, the air was crisp and cold, suitable for a stone basement.

A light emits from the end of the long staircase downwards and she can’t stop her jaw unhinging as she finally sets her eyes on her husband. Tears well up in her eyes as they dart across the room.

Arches supported the basement throughout the floor and a moat still separates between her and her husband. A singular fluorescent light is cast on him in a glass prison as if he were some circus animal on display. Below the glass prison were some sort of gold runic markings and even from far away, she could feel the real magic emitting from them.

Rodrick releases her hold on him and turns to the two guards on duty that night. “You two may go,” He instructs, and the two leave without debate.

At the sound of his voice, Dream opens his eyes but remains in his laid position. His gaze pierces into his corrupt heart, if he even had one left, but quickly notices his wife by his side. With this, he sits up and gently places a hand on the glass barrier.

“Would you look at that!” Rodrick boasts. “He moves, he doesn’t do that much. Perhaps he has feelings for a pretty thing like you.”

The goddess doesn’t hear him and walks up to the glass cage in a trance. How does she free him? Tears fall restlessly down her face and her stature dejects. She snaps out of her trances on the small bridge above the stagnant water when a rough hand squeezes her upper arms.

“Stop, you must not get any closer. He is trying to seduce you into releasing him!” Rodrick hashes out between gritted teeth.

She opens her mouth to tell him something, anything, to release her husband but stops when she hears Dream’s voice again.

“Wife,” He calls simply and her body fills with all of the love and adoration she had been missing for decades.

Rodrick’s grip tightens at his voice, the first time he remembers hearing it. With a shocked face, he looks down at the woman in his grip. “Wife?!” He screams at her furiously.

She takes a deep breath and steels herself, ripping herself away from his bruising grip, and stands between him and her husband. The tears had dried and only anger left in its wake.

“The one before you is Daleena, Goddess of Husbandry, Mother of Agriculture and Protector of Animals, Saint of Farmers, Queen of the Dreaming, wife of Dream of the Endless. You face me now, mortal.”

Wind swirls, somehow, in the basement but it is the least of Rodrick’s worries. He plants himself firmly as the wind picks up and sand envelops the two of them in a vortex of anger.

“I have captured something more than a god! I have an Endless!” He points a finger at her, eyes scrutinizing. “What makes you think you can defeat me? The Great Magus Rodrick Burgess?”

Walking a few steps forward, her shepherd’s crook materializes in her hand, the bell jingling violently in the wind. Her extremities start to glow their familiar light as she musters power. She points the staff at Rodrick as billets of wheat start growing around his feet and crawl up his legs, the nice wool of his pants long forgotten against the harsh stalks of the plants. The plants bloom as it sucks the life away from the very thing they grew on.

Rodrick starts chanting in Greek.

“Prostasía,” He chokes out. “Prostasía.” He chants again and he breathes easier. “Prostasía.” He chants one more time and he’s back to standing at his full height. The plants that were wrapped around him wither away and fell into dust, sucked into the sand vortex around them.

The goddess frowns, she did not realize how much power she had lost until now when a simple protection chant could stave off her attacks. Rodrick lunges at her, hands open and clawed, ready to grab onto any piece of her clothing. In turn, she slams her crook into the ground and a fissure opens up, but not before he can shove her further and her body slams into the wall of the glass prison. The fissure separates the two opponents away from each other and Rodrick steps back before he falls into the Earth.

She braces herself on the glass wall at the impact and loses her breath for a moment. She could feel the warmth of her husband’s hand and she turns away from Rodrick to look at him. His hand was aligned with her own, so close, only inches apart.

“The runes, my love,” Morpheus tells her. She looks down at looks at the graphics that surround them, the sand had erased some of it through the abrasive nature of itself. The magic within the runes would still be strong if not for the defiant smudge she creates with her foot, just in time for the fissure to finish opening. With a final look at her husband, she walks closer to the fissure, pulling the sand vortex smaller so it was just her and Rodrick again.

From the fissure glows a golden light, soft and merciful but quickly overshadowed by the growing dust. The light expands as the golden serpent which holds her daughter emerges. It had grown in size since the last time she had seen it. Its length and mass have nearly tripled in size and the baby bulge it used to flaunt was now merely a small bump.

Rodrick’s stare grows higher and higher as the snake continues to emerge, it stares at the man, tongue flicking angrily at him for daring to harm the goddess. The snake lunges, all fangs and dripping venom, its large scales clattering against each other like gold coins. Rodrick moves to the side and the serpent misses. It hisses in retaliation and comes around again, this time wrapping its body around the legs of the Great Magus.

Panic sets in as the serpent starts to constrict around the man and he can feel his pulse pounding against his head and the blood circulation gets cut off. The bones in his knees pop as they press together.

“Father!” A young boy’s voice screams across the vortex and the goddess sees a glint of silver cross into the vortex arena.

The serpent is halfway up Rodrick’s body when the goddess notices the sharp dagger that Rodrick now possesses. He rises it high in the air and with a large gasp plunges it into the flesh of the serpent. The golden scales provide little to no protection against the artifact.

“No!” She screams and takes a step forward, only to be stopped by the protective tail of the serpent.

The metal hisses as it melts against the golden scales, melting the scales together until they become smooth around the wound. Rodrick slides again and again until the weapon becomes too slippery with blood and he loses grip. The snake is now a mosaic of gold and red as it tightens one last time.

“Curse… you…” Rodrick strains out, his face turning purple as the last bit of air leaves him. The serpent weakens and falls in a slump like an inanimate rope and the sand around them falls like rain.

The goddess leaps over the fissure and after making sure the man is dead runs to the head of the golden serpent. Its eyes were dim, mouth agape as its muscles weakens and she can no longer feel it breathing on her skin when she places a hand above its nostrils.

“No, no no,” She mumbles to herself. She grabs her dress up and away from her feet as she makes her way down the length of the serpent. When she reaches where she last saw the small baby bump, she runs her hand along its underside, soon becoming slick with cooling blood.

She finds a particular cut that was deeper than normal and when she sticks her hand in there, they grab around a small appendage. A cry of relief leaves her lips as she digs deeper. She pulls her baby from the dying body and cradles it to her body. Golden scale imprints are decorated across her arms and legs and a few more along the spine of her back.

Her breath hiccups as silence fills the air. She pats her daughter’s back and wipes her mouth clean and panic seeps into her bones when still she remains quiet.

Morpheus appears behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turns to him, tears streaking down her neck.

“Crying, why-why isn’t she crying?!” She wails and clutches her child harder against her chest.

Morpheus hugs her from behind and holds the two of them to his chest.

“Y/N,” He calls her name, her real name. Not her titles, or what the mortals call her, but the name given to her since her creation.

She weeps into his form, salty tears mixing with blood and the amniotic fluid that covers her child. Her tears fall into her daughter’s mouth and feed into the child her grief, regret, and guilt as well as the hope she still had in her.

A soothing hand pets her and the silence disappears. Loud wailing comes from below and her eyes shoot open. Her daughter was finally crying, her hands in fists as they move around in the air.

“Praises,” She sobs again, this time tears of joy. Her child's eyes peel open and smiles as she grabs at her mother’s hair.

Morpheus smiles, a rare one, all teeth showing as he touches his daughter’s head gently. The three, now a family, return home to the Dreaming. There will be more to do, especially for Morpheus but for now, a small victory lies within the hope that is their daughter.

Extra:

“Well I’ll be baffled, bamboozled, and befuddled,” Phanes says, hands on his hip and his staff leaning against one of the walls of the basement.

He stares at his serpent covered in dried blood and dearly departed, lying alone on the cold basement floor.

“Look at how they massacred my boy!” He screams to no one in particular, arms out in disbelief.

He lets out a huff and crosses his arms. “I’ll let you borrow my snake, blah, blah, blah, take care of it like it’s your own, meh, meh, meh,” He mocks.

Phanes runs a hand across the top of the snake’s head and watches as the dried blood rehydrates and moves thickly back into the cuts. The gnashes done by the weapon stitch itself back close and the gold scales return to their original form.

The snake shrinks smaller and smaller until it is back to its original size. At which, it perks up and flicks a tongue out in thanks to its god.

“All right, let’s go,” Phanes says with a sigh as if this was a mundane chore. He extends out a hand for the serpent to slither up to.

“I am never making a deal with those two ever again, that was crazy.” He says to his snake.

The snake flicks its tongue again and rattles the scales on its back.

“Ohh, that’s nice that she made you an enclosure.” He responds, then remains silent as the snake says something else. “What do you mean she forgot to put mice in the enclosure for you to eat?!”

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