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noorpersona · 2 months ago

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Jealousy: Tendou (NSFW)

The event was a swirl of warm lighting, soft laughter, and the rich, heady scent of tempered chocolate and burnt sugar.

Somewhere in the heart of Tokyo, a five-star patisserie had been transformed into an evening affair—a private industry showcase for chefs, culinary press, and the occasional wide-eyed investor. Tendou Satori moved through the space like he belonged to it. Which, of course, he did.

You stood near the back wall, watching him with an easy smile. Even dressed in black slacks and a soft linen shirt, half-buttoned and rolled at the forearms, he looked like trouble. The smooth curve of his freshly-shaved head caught the ambient light, shining faintly as he turned in profile to greet a cluster of press. He was striking—his angular features more mature now, but his grin still full of mischief, his eyes always dancing.

You were his plus one tonight—his girlfriend, his anchor, his favorite distraction. And while you didn’t know the first thing about ganache ratios or butter emulsions, you did know the way he talked about his craft with such unfiltered joy. It was endearing. Infectious. Sexy.

The event had gone well—Tendou had been in his element, the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand as he joked his way through tasting stations and critiques. You’d lingered behind while he stayed back to help clean up, perched near the edge of the room, sipping something bubbly and watching him from afar.

That’s when Ryouta—one of the younger chefs, clean-cut and too confident—approached you again. You’d met him earlier, briefly, and now he was back, a tray of glossy pastries balanced on one hand.

“Still hungry?” he asked with a smirk, holding out a delicate lemon-honey tart on a golden tasting spoon.

“It was really good,” you admitted politely.

“Here,” he said, stepping closer, holding out a dark, glossy square balanced on a miniature spatula. “This one’s been giving me trouble all month—bittersweet ganache with orange blossom and sea salt. Let me know if it actually works this time.”

He watched you intently as you leaned forward. “It’s all about the bloom at the end. Should hit just after the salt fades.”

You bit. Smiled.

“Yeah?” he asked, already reaching into the tray again. “Alright. Try this one too—different profile, less floral.”

He held it between two fingers, lifted it toward your lips.

You hesitated. “Uh…”

“It’s fine,” he laughed. “Happens all the time at these things. No one touches anything with their own hands.”

That logic was questionable, but the dessert smelled incredible, so you took it gently from his fingers and let it melt on your tongue. Rich. Decadent. It bloomed in layers—bitter, then sweet, then citrus.

You were nodding in delight when a voice—low and sing-song—broke the moment in two.

“Well, this looks cozy.”

You turned.

Tendou stood just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, head tilted like a cat watching something wiggle in the grass. His expression was all sharp corners and candy-coated charm, but you could see it—the tension. The tightness in his shoulders. The twitch of his jaw as his eyes dragged over Ryouta’s hand, still hovering too close to your mouth.

“Oh, Satori,” Ryouta said, laughing. “She’s got a good palate. I was just letting her—”

“Feed her with your fingers?” Tendou cut in, smiling wide. “How generous.”

You blinked. “Wait, it’s not like—”

But he was already by your side. He slid an arm around your waist and plucked your champagne flute from your hand like it had offended him personally.

“We’re gonna head out,” he said cheerfully to no one in particular. “Enjoy the rest of the night. Try not to lose any more chocolates to strangers.”

And then he was guiding you—no, steering you—toward the doors. Not rough, not rude, but with enough silent urgency that you didn’t ask questions.

Not until you were in the car.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “What was that?”

Tendou didn’t answer at first. His fingers drummed against his knee, eyes fixed on the city lights flashing past the window.

You leaned in. “Satori.”

“I watched another man feed you dessert with his fingers,” he said, tone bright and clipped. “Which was wild, by the way.”

You blinked. “He’s a chef.”

He turned his head toward you, smiling a little too wide. “So am I. But I don’t let people lick chocolate off my hands unless they’re gonna moan about it later.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I didn’t moan.”

“Not yet.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. But your body wasn’t. Your heart drummed loud in your ears, a slow and fluttery pulse you could feel all the way down your arms. There was a weight behind his silence that made your thighs press together involuntarily, your breath shallow with anticipation.

Every glance he didn’t give you felt like a brush of fire, and every flex of his fingers against his knee sent a little jolt down your spine. You were still tasting the chocolate—but now it was wrapped in tension, thick with something dangerous and deeply personal. It sat behind your teeth like a promise unspoken.

But the moment the door shut behind you both at home, it was like the tension snapped loose.

Tendou grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him—not harshly, but with purpose. His mouth met yours in a kiss that was all teeth and caramel heat, hands sliding up your sides like he couldn’t decide where to hold you first.

You gasped into him. “Satori—”

“I don’t share,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your throat. “Not food. Not you. Not the way you taste.”

He backed you toward the kitchen counter, palms skimming down your thighs to lift you up with practiced ease. Your legs wrapped around his waist without thinking.

“I didn’t think it would bother you,” you whispered, breath catching as he kissed your collarbone, nipping just hard enough to make you shiver.

“It didn’t,” he said, voice dark. “Until it did.”

He tugged your dress up, mouth following the line of your thigh, his hands everywhere—hot, demanding, worshipful.

“You gonna let anyone else feed you like that?” he asked, just before he slid your panties aside with two fingers.

You moaned. “No—”

“Say it.”

“I won’t,” you gasped, hips jerking as his mouth met you, tongue sweeping slow and devastating. He licked into you deliberately, like he wanted to savor every reaction—every stuttering moan, every twitch of your legs around his shoulders.

His fingers gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open while he devoured you. It built steadily—no teasing, no games—just hungry focus and the low hum of pleasure as he drank down every sound you gave him. You couldn’t stop it; your legs were trembling, your fingers tangled in his shirt as the heat curled, then peaked—

You came with a cry that echoed through the foyer, hips bucking as his name slipped broken from your lips. He didn’t stop until you were shivering, overstimulated, eyes glassy.

He looked up, mouth slick, eyes shining with something darker than mischief. “We’re not done.”

Then he stood, leaned in close, and kissed you deep—slow and messy and full of intent.

And melt, you did.

Again and again, until the only thing you could remember was how his name sounded in your mouth and how good it felt to be wanted this much.

—

The morning after, the room was quiet.

Golden light slipped through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the sheets. Tendou lay on his side, propped on one elbow, head tilted slightly as he watched you sleep. You were sprawled against the pillow, breathing slow and steady, hair tousled from his hands and the night before. The blanket had slipped down just enough to reveal the evidence.

His marks.

Your skin was littered in them—hickeys blooming along your collarbone and throat like wine-stained petals, small bruises dusting your ribs, and faint bite marks along the curve of your thigh where the sheet barely clung. Some were shallow, teasing reminders. Others were darker, deeper. Possessive.

He let his fingers trace a lazy path down your spine, not enough to wake you, but enough to feel you sigh in your sleep, your body instinctively curling toward the touch.

He smiled to himself.

“You’re covered in me,” he murmured, voice low, smug, and barely audible. His hand ghosted over the marks like he was admiring a painting he'd made just for himself.

You stirred slightly, blinking against the pillow. “You went feral,” you muttered, voice rough with sleep.

He chuckled, eyes still on you. “You liked it.”

You rolled onto your side, facing him now, the sheet falling from your shoulder.

“You got jealous over chocolate.”

“I got jealous over you.” His eyes met yours—sharp, unrepentant, glowing in the morning light. “And I’d do it again.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just leaned in and kissed him, slow and warm, lips brushing his lazily, your hand cupping his jaw.

“I think you left a tooth mark on my hip,” you whispered, breath curling against his mouth.

“Good,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching up. “Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

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berryz-writes · 2 months ago

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Nightmare

azriel x reader

summary: The roles have switched. Now it's Azriel broken and tired needing your comfort after a nightmare

Note: Guyss ik ik the title is basic but i wanted to post it and i've been staring at this for like 10 minutes because i can't think of one 😭 anyways enjoy <33

I had woken in the early hours, the kind of wakefulness that comes suddenly and without reason. My throat burned for water and no matter how many times I flipped my pillow or shifted beneath the sheets, sleep simply wouldn’t come. So I had slipped out, barefoot and quiet, letting the gentle hum of magic guide me down the hall to the kitchen.

I drank, cool water soothing my throat, the glass trembling slightly in my hand from the residual grogginess but as I made my way back toward my room the air shifted.

It started as a feeling. The faintest drop in temperature. A weight pressing down on the space between my shoulders, not painful, but insistent.

And then I saw them.

A slow, thick tendril of shadows spilled out from beneath a door -Azriel's door - curling like smoke over the cold marble floor. They moved with purpose, toward me it seemed.

They seemed distressed, brushing up my ankles more shadows joining a trail of them going to a crack in his door. My pulse spiked, but not from fear. From knowing.

Azriel.

I crossed the hall, the cool stone soothing against my feet, and stopped in front of the heavy oak door. The shadows recoiled slightly, drawing back as if giving me space, encouraging me to enter. I raised my hand and knocked softly.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Silence.

Only the sound of strained breathing carried faintly through the wood- sharp, uneven, like someone struggling to breathe without waking themselves. My brows pulled together, heart sinking. The shadows didn’t move now simply hovered near the door, waiting. As if pleading.

“Az?” I said, voice low. I turned the handle. It gave way with a soft click.

Darkness swallowed the room. No candles, no fire. Only moonlight spilled across the far wall casting pale light in narrow ribbons through the windows. And there, tangled in the sheets of his bed was Azriel.

Even in sleep he looked tense- dangerously so.

His wings were half-unfurled, his body was twisted in the sheets, muscles rigid beneath sweat-dampened skin and his brow was drawn so tightly it looked painful. The smooth caramel of his skin was filled with strain, his breath coming in short almost gasping bursts. Shadows clung to his face like a second skin, obscuring parts of it revealing just enough to see the silver trail of tears carving their way down his cheeks.

Something shattered in me at the sight.

He never cried. Not when he bled, not when he was broken. But he was crying now and utterly silent about it.

I stepped closer, heart in my throat and gently placed my hand on his shoulder.

“Azriel” I whispered.

His eyes flew open.

And everything happened at once.

In a blur of movement the shadows exploded outward and I was slammed down into the mattress, the cold bite of steel at my throat before I could even blink.

The blade shimmered with blue siphon-light, the edge so sharp I felt it hum against my skin. I froze. My breath hitched. His body hovered above mine, tense as a coiled spring. His hand gripped the hilt of his dagger with terrifying precision every muscle locked in place.

His eyes- hazel ringed in gold- burned into mine. Wide. Ferocious. Haunted.

For one long second we just stared at each other, my heart slamming against my ribs. The moonlight struck his features fully now: the angular lines of his cheekbones, the scarred curve of his jaw, his lips parted slightly, drawing shallow, panicked breaths. His hair, dark and tousled fell across his forehead in damp waves.

“Azriel” I said softly, carefully. “It’s me.”

The blade didn’t move.

But his eyes did- searching, flickering with recognition.

Then…something cracked.

His grip loosened. The dagger slipped from his hand and landed with a dull thud on the mattress beside us. His breath hitched sharply and he scrambled back, horror etched into every line of his face.

“I-” His voice broke. “Fuck- I didn’t know- it was instinct- I thought...”

“It’s okay” I breathed, sitting up slowly.

He backed into the far side of the bed dragging both hands through his hair. His wings trembled slightly before folding in tight against his back, like they too were ashamed of the outburst.

“I thought it was real” he whispered, barely audible. “I was still there.”

My chest ached. “What did you dream about?”

He shook his head once, jaw clenched, eyes unfocused. “I can’t- ” His voice caught. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does” I said, gently, crawling across the bed toward him.

He looked at me finally. His eyes were rimmed with red, still wet with the aftermath of whatever storm had ripped through him in his sleep. A warrior broken open.

“You didn’t call for anyone” I murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “But your shadows did”

His eyes widened slightly. “They…brought you?”

I nodded.

He exhaled shakily, some part of him unravelling.

He didn't wipe the tears.

He didn’t even blink them away.

They trailed silently down the strong lines of his face. Azriel sat motionless on the edge of the bed, hunched slightly forward, eyes locked on the far wall with the expression of someone looking through it.

Not at it.

And gods, his face…

His mouth was slack, lips parted as he breathed- barely. His jaw, normally clenched so tightly it looked carved from stone, now hung loose with something I could only call defeat. His eyes, usually sharp enough to peel lies from truth were distant. Dead.

And still, the tears kept falling.

Not sobbing. Not gasping. Just…falling.

I couldn’t take it. Not one more second.

I moved closer, slowly, gently, like approaching a man on the edge of a crumbling ledge. Because he was. His broad back rose and fell unevenly, wings trembling with the effort of keeping still. His head bowed slightly forward now, shoulders caved in like the weight of it all had finally broken through that impossible armour.

“Az” I whispered, kneeling before him on the bed “Look at me.”

He didn’t.

But when I reached up, when I cupped the side of his face in my hand- he flinched.

Not from fear. From shame.

His eyes squeezed shut, his whole body tensing like he was bracing for a blow. My thumb brushed beneath his eye, catching a fresh tear.

That single act undid him.

A sound escaped him- guttural, broken, like something being torn from the deepest part of his chest. His body folded inward like the strength holding him up had simply vanished. And then he was collapsing into me.

Into my arms.

He clutched me with such raw desperation it stole the breath from my lungs. His arms wrapped tight around my waist, his face burying in the crook of my neck as his body shuddered. Trembled and fell apart.

And he cried.

Not the silent tears I’d found him with but deep, aching sobs. The kind that only came from wounds so old, so buried, that they bled in silence until the dam finally broke. His entire frame shook, wings pulled in tight, shadows flickering helplessly around him like they didn’t know how to comfort him anymore.

I held him tighter. Pressed my lips to his temple. Let him break without judgment, without fear.

And then through the broken gasps he started to speak.

“They locked me in that cell when I was eight.”

His voice was hollow. Shaky.

“I screamed for three days. My brothers told me if I made a sound, they’d break my wings. So I screamed into my hands until my voice disappeared.”

My breath hitched, but I said nothing. Just kept my fingers threaded through his hair grounding him.

He pulled in a sharp breath and exhaled like it hurt.

“I started…seeing things in the dark. Hearing voices that weren’t mine. The walls felt like they were closing in. Sometimes I still feel them now.”

I kept my hand at the back of his neck, thumb stroking softly. Up and down. A soothing rhythm.

His voice cracked further. “The worst part wasn’t the silence. It was the hope. Every time I heard a footstep above, I thought it might be my mother." His voice broke off again. “She never came”

I shut my eyes, just for a moment, as grief twisted in my chest.

“And now” he rasped, shaking his head “even when I sleep- I go back there. That fucking cellar. I can’t stop it. I smell the mould on the walls. I taste blood in my mouth. And all I can think is that I deserved it. That somehow it made me stronger. Made me who I am today”

My hands stilled.

He laughed once- bitter and hollow. “What kind of person thanks the people who broke them?”

I tilted his face gently forcing him to meet my eyes. “You survived them” I whispered. “You're so strong....the man you are now is because of yourself.”

He stared at me, blinking slowly, as if the words didn’t compute.

“You didn’t deserve any of that, Azriel. Not then. Not now.”

He shook his head, but his grip on me only tightened, fingers digging into my waist.

“I’m not- ” His throat worked around the words. “I’m not good at this. Letting people see me like this.”

I smiled faintly, brushing away another tear from his cheek. “You don’t have to be good at it”

His breath caught. And for a moment, his eyes searched mine like he wasn’t sure how this was real.

“I don’t know how to let people love me” he whispered.

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to his. “Then let me start.”

He closed his eyes. A fresh tear slid down, catching the moonlight. But this time, he let me wipe it away.

And he didn’t look at the wall again.

**the next morning**

The morning sunlight bathed the room completely.

It filtered in through the windows in long, golden threads, brushing over the stone walls and scattering across the bed in delicate beams. The warmth crept over my skin slowly, and I blinked awake, not quite remembering where I was- until I felt the weight.

Azriel.

His arm was draped over my waist, heavy and secure. His head rested against my shoulder, his dark hair spilling across my collarbone. One of his wings was curled around us like a blanket, shielding us from the world. His breathing was steady now. Peaceful.

I hadn’t seen him look this peaceful before. Not once.

He still held onto me in sleep, fingers curled loosely at my hip like his body hadn’t caught up to the fact that the danger was gone.

I shifted carefully, not to leave but to see him fully.

He looked younger in the daylight. Softer. His scars caught the sunlight and turned to gold against his skin. His tears from the night before had dried, but I could still see the faint streaks they’d left behind. And gods, it broke me all over again.

Because even now- even resting in safety- he looked like someone who expected to be alone.

I reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his face, fingertips ghosting along the curve of his temple. He didn’t stir but his brow twitched faintly. I wondered how long it had been since someone touched him without needing something in return.

Azriel didn’t ask for things. He endured.

He gave and gave and bled for the ones he loved and yet he never asked for anything in return. Not comfort. Not kindness. Certainly not this.

But last night…last night he’d let me see the pieces he buried so deep I wasn’t sure he remembered they were still there. He had broken in my arms and still clung to me like I was something worth holding onto.

He stirred slightly and I felt the moment his body tensed, his mind waking faster than the rest of him.

His hand tightened reflexively at my side before he blinked his eyes open.

Those beautiful hazel eyes found mine.

And for one heartbeat he looked like he might panic. Like he remembered everything and was about to retreat behind those stone walls again.

So I whispered, soft as a secret “You’re okay.”

Azriel didn’t move. His lips parted like he wanted to speak but no sound came. Instead his eyes searched mine- as if trying to figure out why I was still there. Why I hadn’t run.

Why I hadn’t seen the worst of him and walked away.

“I’m still here” I said, reading the question he didn’t ask. My hand came up again brushing his cheek with my knuckles. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His voice, when it came was hoarse.

“I thought maybe…I dreamed it.”

“You didn’t.” I smiled gently. “You opened up. And I listened”

His gaze flicked away, shame creeping in around the edges.

But I touched his jaw, guiding his face back to mine. “Don’t do that” I whispered. “Don’t hide from me now.”

He nodded once, slowly. Like he didn’t know how to believe me but wanted to try. Pressing a soft kiss to my head we laid there in silence his wing still wrapped around us.

Azriel shifted closer again, hesitating, then pressed his forehead lightly to mine.

“I don't know how to do it without you” he said softly.

“You don’t have to” I murmured. “I'll always be here. I promise”

And then he closed his eyes, content to lie here with me for all eternity.

note: UHHHH idk if i did this idea justice guys. As you can tell I've recently learnt how to properly use effect in sentences. (look at me using them commas and dashes EXCESSIVELY😋) anyway i totally am not writing this note because i'm CRINGING at my old fics

#azriel x reader #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #azriel x you #berrywrites #pro azriel #azriel x reader fluff #azriel x female!reader #azriel spymaster x reader #acotar fic #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #acotar x you

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softsuave · 11 months ago

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Hire Angular Developer in India: Discover the best practices and tips on how to hire Angular developers in India for your project. Ensure a seamless hiring process with expert guidance. Soft Suave - read our blogs.

#hire #angular #developer #guide

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lizzyiii · 10 months ago

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His Lady Love (5)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC

word count | 6k words

summary | aemond goes to reader for comfort after murdering luke. aegon throws a feast and reader and aemond sneak out.

tags | mentions of death, angst/comfort, vampire powers, tensionnnnn, mentions of incest, SMUTTTTT (MDI), oral (f), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, p in v

note | born to give aemond heirs, forced to write fanfics about him. also I loved writing aemond's pov, though it is way more difficult than reader's. also I might be projecting with that finn incident.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

In the dimly lit chambers of the Red Keep, the oppressive weight of the night enveloped you. The velvet drapes fluttered slightly with the soft summer breeze that whispered through the open window, a rare moment of tranquility. However, your slumber was a mere illusion, your mind cloaked in the abyss of darkness, devoid of dreams and visions that now troubled your sleep.

But your heightened senses—bathed in the echoes of vampiric instinct—felt the air shift, heard the soft footfalls quicken in the shadows. The atmosphere crackled with apprehension, jolting you into awareness. You turned, just as the chamber door burst open to reveal a figure cloaked in night and anxiety.

“Aemond,” you breathed, relief washing over you as you recognized him despite the disarray surrounding his presence. Yet, the relief was short-lived, for the anguish etched on his face struck you like a dagger of ice.

Without a second thought, you flung the silken covers aside, the fabric whispering against your skin as you stood, a vision of natural beauty in your nightgown. It was a modest garment yet beguilingly elegant, the way it clung to your form had no intent to seduce, but it still felt unseemly for him to be here.

“Aemond,” you intoned once more, your voice laced with concern that echoed in the silence of your chamber, frantic to breach the bubbling tension, “What troubles you?”

He remained mute, his expression haunting—a specter in the moonlight. Each heartbeat that passed deepened your worry, and so you closed the space between you, tenderness guiding your hands to cradle his sharp, angular cheeks, your thumbs brushing against his skin with a gentle intimacy. You sought to anchor him within your presence, as if your connection could dispel the shadows that clung to him.

“Please, Aemond,” you urged, your voice softening with each plea, like a lullaby meant to calm a frightened child, “Speak to me.”

At your touch, something flickered in the depths of his violet eye, swirling with shock and unutterable things. “I… I did not mean to,” he stammered, his breath coming out in ragged bursts, as though each word was a struggle against a tide of despair.

“Mean to what?” Your heart raced as you searched his gaze, desperate to uncover the truth beneath the turmoil. “Aemond, tell me what you have done that weighs so heavily upon you.”

He leaned into your touch, surrendering momentarily to the comfort you offered. “I have damned myself,” he breathed, a confession laced with the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

“Please, Aemond, tell me,” you implored, your heart thundering in your chest.

Aemond shook his head violently, his silver hair cascading like a waterfall of starlight, wild and untamed. “I cannot! You will condemn me.”

You withdrew your hands from his face, your fingers intertwining with his as you drew them toward your heart, your palms cooling against his warm skin. “I could never. Please, reveal it to me, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice insistent yet tender.

His breath hitched in his throat, a harsh swallow betraying the turmoil within him. As tears glistened in his violet eye—he turned away, shame etching deep lines into his brow. “I did not mean to. I did not mean to take the boy’s life, you must believe me.”

The air froze around you, a chill creeping in as your breath caught in your throat. You slowly led him toward the intricacies of your bed, pulling him with you into the sanctuary of silks and shadows. “What boy, Aemond?” you pressed urgently, your heart aching for the truth, a desperate need to understand the depths of his torment.

His voice broke, drowning in hysteria, a stark reminder of his usual composed personality made from steel, “I didn’t mean to— I swear, I didn’t mean—” he stuttered, desperation pouring from him like the dark tides of the sea.

Frustration welled within you, sharp and biting as the chill of autumn winds crept into the chamber. You pulled him down beside you, urgency fuelling your movements as you grasped his face, forcing his haunted eye to meet yours. “Aemond,” you said firmly, your tone dripping with the magic that came naturally to one of your kind. The allure of your compulsion wrapped around him like a silken trap, gently commanding his frayed emotions to still. “Calm yourself and tell me.”

Gradually, his breathing steadied, though the tremors of his fear still lingered. You held his gaze, and through the dark storm of pain reflected in his eye, he managed to choke out the words. “Lucerys. He was at Storm’s End. When I laid eyes on him, all I felt was fury—so I chased him through the skies, on Vhagar’s back…” His voice cracked like the thunder that often heralded the tempestuous nights, and he swallowed hard, “And then… I did not know Vhagar would react so violently.”

Your heart plummeted at the mention of Lucerys—Rhaenyra's beloved son. The weight of his loss hung heavily in the air, and the grim reality sank in; Aemond had killed him. The Blacks would demand retribution, blood for blood. "Tell me you lie, Aemond," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, desperation seeping into every syllable.

He turned his gaze from you, shame encasing him like a shroud. There was a slow shake of his head, and it felt as though the world around you had muted, the chaos outside overshadowed by his revelation. "I cannot bring myself to lie to you. There is no penance that could ever atone for what I have wrought."

The sadness in your heart twisted anew as you murmured his name, "Aemond," the pain manifesting in your voice like a lamentation for the boy lost beneath the weight of his rage.

In the stillness that lingered between you, it seemed he had finally drawn a breath of composure, yet he refused to meet your eyes, speaking softly as if confiding a terrible secret. "I went to Aegon first, and he laughed... whilst Mother..." He faltered, the memory flickering like a dying candle. "She looked upon me as if I were a stranger, as if I were no longer her son."

Your heart ached for him, your hands clasped in his, both a comfort and a tether to the boy he had once been. Finally, he looked up, his eye reflecting a glimmer of vulnerability. "May I stay here with you?" he asked, almost timidly, as if fearing your rejection.

In that moment, you were transported back to another time, a fleeting memory of innocence—of the boy who had fled from the ignoble raucousness of a brothel, a shadow of the boy who once sought solace in your presence. You nodded, and the words flowed freely, tenderly, "Of course."

Yet, unease lingered in the air, evident in the way he fidgeted, lost amidst his thoughts. So slowly, you knelt before him, taking his leather boots in your hands, gently easing them from his feet. He remained poised on the edge of the bed, lost in his struggles. Next, you reached for his finely crafted doublet, peeling away the layers that held the weight of his distress. He remained clad only in his trousers and a simple cotton shirt, the stark contrast highlighting the tension etched into his features.

Your fingers found their way to his tousled hair, and with a tender caress, you could sense him leaning into your touch, a semblance of solace in the storm raging within him. But when your hand drifted towards the eyepatch concealing his scar, he recoiled instinctively, shaking his head as if to banish the very thought.

“Please, Aemond,” you urged softly, noting the flicker of resistance in his eye. “Remove it; it cannot be comfortable.”

His response was a stubborn shake of his head, reminiscent of a petulant child, “No, it is… hideous. You will turn away from me, repulsed.”

A sorrowful smile etched across your face as you cupped his cheek. Your thumb traced the remnants of his scar. “I have seen your truth before, Aemond,” you promised, sincerity tethering your words. “I swear on my mother's grave, it will not scare me.”

There was a moment of taut apprehension, then, led by both fear and a flicker of hope, he slowly lifted the eyepatch. You fought against the shock that threatened to break through your calm facade, for nestled where an eye once was, a sapphire gleamed—brighter than the sky itself. It was an iridescent gem, the very one you had gifted him just before you had left.

Slowly, you led him with great care to lie beneath the sanctuary of your blankets, cocooned in the warmth of your bed. After a moment's pause, you nestled beside him, drawing him close to your chest, his face instinctively burying itself in the curve of your neck, your arms enveloping him in a protective embrace.

After a time, Aemond's voice broke the silence, a mere whisper against your collarbone. "Do you hate me?"

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, your grip tightening around him. “I could never hate you, Aemond.”

He offered no reply, but the silence spoke volumes as you held him resolutely, the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing down upon both of you. In that moment, it felt almost surreal, how intimately connected you were to his emotions.

Gently, you began to hum, your voice weaving through the stillness like a soft breeze. The lullaby your mother once sang to you, a sweet melody birthed in the warmth of her embrace, flowed from your lips as if casting a spell of solace.

You wished, with every fiber of your being, to take all his sorrows and put it upon yourself, so he might find peace at last. You longed to envelop him fully, to draw him into the depths of your heart, to safeguard him from the malevolence and peril that lingered just beyond your chambers.

Aemond Targaryen loathed this wretched place, the shadowed halls of King's Landing, where the very stones seemed steeped in whispered betrayals and the lingering scent of ash. The oppressive weight of recent events pressed upon him like a heavy cloak; the death of Lucerys Velaryon hung in the air, suffocating him with its bitter aftermath. His beloved mother, Queen Alicent, having made her choice, had cast him aside, suspending him from his seat on the small council as if he were some wayward pup rather than the proud dragon prince he was.

Now, as the flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows upon the walls, Aemond found himself trapped within a feast thrown by Aegon — a disgraceful celebration in honor of Aemond’s brutal deed. The hall was alive with the raucous laughter of lords and ladies feigning joy, their revelry a cruel mockery of the bloodshed that had transpired. How could they toast to this, when the realm itself was a tapestry of grief and strife?

Aegon, reeking of wine and folly, reclined upon his gilded seat, a silver goblet clutched in his hand as he guffawed with a drunken abandon that made Aemond’s skin crawl. With each passing moment, the king grew more intoxicated, rejoicing in his own foolishness while the kingdom itself threatened to unravel under the weight of his incompetence. Aemond could hardly bear to watch. How could they hope to usurp Rhaenyra and her support when Aegon was unfit to rule, lost in a haze of mead and merriment whilst the fires of war devoured their domain?

As the raucous clamor swirled around him, Aemond's thoughts turned treasonous. He was the prince with blood of the dragon coursing through his veins, rider of Vhagar, the mightiest dragon in the skies; he had wrested mastery over sword and word alike. His studies had taken him deep into the philosophies of Targaryen history, strategy, and the art of war — all knowledge he wielded like the sword strapped to his side. Why must he remain the second son, languishing in the shadow of a brother who was more a child than a king?

The Grand Hall was stifling, heavy with the clamor of lords and ladies engaged in mindless revelry, their laughter slicing through the air like blades of Valyrian steel. The goblet of deep red Dornish wine— he had forced down his throat—now boiled in his stomach. He stood abruptly, ignoring the wary glances of curious courtiers, and stormed toward the moonlit balcony, pursued by a dread that felt all-consuming.

Upon stepping into the cool night air his breath hitched in his throat as his gaze fell upon you. There you stood, framed by moonlight, leaning against the aged stone balustrade of the balcony as you gazed at the stars above. In that moment, the world around him faded, the cacophony of the court silenced, as if the realm had been reduced to just the two of you—two souls adrift in the sea of night.

The moon cast a silver halo around you, illuminating your features as though the Seven themselves had blessed you. You appeared ethereal, a vision of solace amidst the tempest of his thoughts. You were an otherworldly being, a divine presence—you reminded Aemond of an angel gazing longingly at her heavenly home.

You wore a divine gown of crimson, its fabric clinging to your curves and accentuating your remarkable beauty, stirring memories of the first time he had beheld you in childhood innocence. Your hair was artfully braided, interwoven among the strands were glimmering rubies, and nestled between your breasts hung a necklace bearing your family’s sigil, a house still entirely foreign to him.

The last time his path had crossed yours was after the wretched deed had been done—when he had barged into your chambers, a storm of pain and regret in his heart after slaying Lucerys Velaryon. You had held him tight, drawing him into the warmth of your embrace, while your gentle whispers—sweet reassurances—had washed over him, as soothing as a dragon’s breath on a winter’s night. He recalled the way you had traced fingers through his hair, the delicate caress of your breath against his skin, and how he had surrendered to your comfort.

When dawn had broken and shadows had retreated, he woke before you, overwhelmed by that precious moment, and with the lingering scent of lavender and warmth still clinging to him. He had kissed your forehead tenderly and slipped away, haunted by what he had done and striving to shield you from the darkness that threatened to engulf you both.

"Are you not enjoying the feast?" Aemond murmured, his voice a soft cadence as he moved closer to you.

You turned, meeting his gaze with a fierce intensity. "Am I meant to revel in a celebration held in honor of someone's death?" With a sharp breath, you averted your gaze, a flicker of regret crossing your features. "Forgive me."

Aemond’s eyes remained locked on you, the truth like a weight upon his heart—he had taken Lucerys' life, a shadow he must now bear. “You speak only the truth,” he admitted, the gravity of his words mingling with the cool night air.

You shook your head slowly, those captivating eyes piercing through the veil of his turmoil. “It is Aegon’s folly to throw such a feast given the circumstances,” you replied, your tone laced with a mix of frustration and sorrow.

Aemond couldn't suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth at your disdain for his brother's decision. "You tread upon treasonous ground," he teased, though there was an undercurrent of approval in his tone

With a resolute lift of your chin, an unbidden smile danced upon your lips, illuminating your beauty, "Do you intend to tell?"

In that charged moment, Aemond closed the distance between you, the space that once separated you now laden with tension. He leaned closer, whispering with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, "You know I shall never."

With a soft sigh, you began to turn away, “I think I shall retire to my chambers now.” Aemond feigned indifference, though he struggled against the urge to let out an exasperated breath at your obvious attempt to distance yourself from him.

“Then I shall escort you,” he declared, a hint of determination flaring in his violet gaze. He noticed the way annoyance shadowed your features but sensed no protest forthcoming.

The two of you slipped away from the feast, indifferent to the lingering glances that followed your hasty exit. Festive laughter faded into the background as you walked side by side through the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep,

As you walked side by side, silence hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of your dress against the stone floor. Aemond cast furtive glances in your direction, grappling with the right words to breach the gap between you. The tension was palpable, and eventually, he settled on candor. “I wish to know more about you."

“Aemond,” you replied, and he could detect the undercurrent of hesitation in your tone as you reached your room.

With a sudden, almost frantic motion, Aemond pivoted to face you, his fingers brushing against your forearm, a firm yet gentle grip that sent a shiver down your spine. “Why do you persist in keeping yourself at a distance from me? You are like an angel I am forever barred from touching,” he implored, desperation edging his voice.

You yanked your arm away from him, your gaze fierce, betraying no hint of the storm brewing inside. “You must not perceive me in such a way! I am not the paragon of virtue you think I am.”

“Then share something,” Aemond pressed, his violet eye locking onto yours with an intensity that threatened to unravel your resolve. “Something dark, something impure.”

You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Is that what you seek? So you can soothe your own conscience?”

“Perhaps,” Aemond admitted with unvarnished honesty. He was, after all, a man well aware of his own self-serving tendencies, and he would not shy away from using emotional manipulation to achieve his desires. “But if you hold any affection for me, you will grant me this.”

Your eyes blazed with righteous indignation, and for a fleeting moment, he questioned if he had ventured too far. Yet, as the heat in your gaze began to dim, he felt an uneasy tension settle in the silence.

You drew your arms around yourself, a familiar gesture that he now observed closely. Your gaze fell away as you began to speak, “The Targaryens... Your customs are indeed strange. Some might even call them sinful or abominable. Yet there exists a rationale behind them, no matter how obscure.”

“There can be no justifiable reason for my desires,” you whispered, Aemond's brow furrowed in confusion as he sensed the shift in your tone. But when the next revelation slipped from your lips, it left him reeling with disbelief. “I once harbored unnatural feelings for my eldest brother.”

A surge of jealousy twisted in Aemond's chest at the mere thought of you harboring feelings for another. He cleared his throat, the taste of bile rising, and asked, "Did anything come of it?"

"A fleeting kiss—one I initiated. He loathed me for it thereafter," you murmured, your gaze falling to the ground in shame.

A grimace contorted Aemond’s features. "Loathed you?"

"He could scarcely bear to look upon me after that moment," you replied, your voice heavy with sorrow. Aemond felt a visceral urge to take vengeance upon your brother, to avenge the hurt he had caused you. "That was the moment I realized I had lost the only one who truly loved me."

"I recall you speaking of your mother’s grave," Aemond said softly.

You nodded, a glimmer of sorrow passing over your face. "She is gone," you said, and a bittersweet smile flickered briefly. "And I dare say, my family may be worse than yours."

Aemond shook his head with an amused glint dancing in his violet eye. “Impossible,” he replied, the word rolling off his tongue like the soft murmur of waves against the rocky shore. Then, in softer tones, he pressed, “Do you still harbor affections for your brother?”

“No,” you murmured, the admission barely escaping your lips, “Not anymore. Not for ages.”

Aemond studied your features, the interplay of moonlight illuminating the subtle lines of your face. A low chuckle escaped him, like the rustle of leaves in a breeze. Your brow furrowed, an indignant spark igniting within you. “What?"

“A mere infatuation does not alter the truth of my feelings, nor my perception of you,” he said with an air of certainty, the tension between you thickening as he took a step closer, almost as if the distance between your hearts diminished with every passing heartbeat.

“Then you must be a fool,” you whispered, breathless and yet emboldened, as his presence encroached upon you like the tide reclaiming the shore.

“A lovesick fool, indeed,” he replied, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, a mere heartbeat away. The memory of your last kiss flared in your mind— so in that fleeting silence, Aemond’s voice lowered, almost reverent. “May I kiss you?”

He could see the tempest of emotions raging within you, wrestling against reason and desire, your heart at war with itself. Aemond, sensing your internal struggle, began to withdraw, the flicker of disappointment clouding his striking features, but in a sudden rush of bold resolve, you seized the collar of his embroidered doublet, drawing him close, your lips colliding in a swift, fervent embrace.

His breath hitched at the warmth of your touch, and he instinctively cupped your face, anchoring you both in this stolen moment as if the world around you had ceased to exist. Tentatively, his tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, a question hanging palpably in the air—one you answered with the soft, desperate parting of your mouth.

Aemond’s heart raced, a primal longing igniting within him as he explored the depths of your mouth, each caress of his tongue inviting a sweet sound of pleasure to escape from you—a sound that intoxicated him, filling the air with a heady blend of passion and unanswered yearnings.

In that dimly lit hallway of the Red Keep, time lost its meaning, turning to mere whispers around you. The world outside faded, and all that remained was the intoxicating exchange of breath and soul, each sweet caress a vow sealed in secrecy and yearning. But the moment was fleeting; the distant sound of approaching footsteps pulled you both back to reality.

Without hesitation, Aemond seized your hand, urgency painting his every movement as he pulled you into the sanctuary of your chambers. You could not stifle the startled gasp that escaped your lips at his haste. Before you could utter a word, his mouth found yours again, this time with a fervor that struck like wildfire. It was wild and fervent, a collision of passion tinged with desperation.

He broke the kiss, his breath mingling with yours, heavy and frantic. "I need you," he murmured, his gaze dark and intense, searching your face for any trace of doubt.

But all resolve melted away in the warmth of his presence, and you nodded quickly, breathless and eager. "Take me, Aemond."

Though reason whispered for him to temper his passion, to shield you from the storm he bore and not taint your innocence, the dragon's need screamed louder still. His lips found yours once more, his hands exploring the fabric of your gown, tracing the soft curves beneath the layers of silk and lace.

A soft whimper escaped your throat, the sound intoxicating him as it echoed in the chamber. You tugged at his doublet, your voice a barely contained plea, “Get this dress off me, Aemond.”

A wild grin spread across his features, the kind that promised mischief and fervor. “With pleasure,” he declared, the words a fervent vow rather than mere amusement. In a swift motion, he spun you around, deftly severing the laces that bound your dress. You gasped as the fine fabric slid away, pooling at your feet, leaving you clad only in a tantalizing shift that clung to your form like mist in the moonlight.

Without hesitation, Aemond gathered you into his arms, your surprised laughter ringing like bells in his ears as your legs instinctively locked around his waist. He carried you with ease, the weight of expectations and honor forgotten in that moment as he made his way to your bed.

He laid you down gently, his gaze a blend of fierce devotion and raw desire, like a dragon surveying its treasured hoard, and he leaned closer, whispering a question that weighed heavily on his mind. “Tell me, sweetling,” he began, his voice a low rasp, “are you still a maiden?”

You nodded, your wide eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The confirmation sent a bolt of need through him, further arousing him as he hastily shed his own garments, baring himself to you. He crawled over you, a predatory grace to his movements, and as you reached out to caress his face, he halted, your touch grounding him.

"I wish to see all of you, Aemond," you whispered.

His lips twitched with a mixture of hesitation and determination. With a deft movement, he removed his eye patch, exposing his scar and sapphire. In response to his bravery, you leaned forward, claiming his mouth once more, the warmth of your kiss wrapping around him like wildfire.

As his lips trailed away from yours, they descended to your neck—his warm breath sending shivers cascading down your spine. His hands roamed freely over your body, caressing and squeezing as if memorizing every curve. His fingers brushed against the hem of your shift, lifting the fabric with deliberate slowness, savoring the moment.

As his hand ventured beneath the fabric, his fingers brushed against the delicate curls of your mound, a low moan escaping your lips, raw and unbidden. "What treasure lies hidden here? Hmm?" he murmured against your skin, his voice low and intoxicating.

His smirk deepened as your hips instinctively lifted, surrendering to the ghostly touch of his fingertips gliding over your wet slit. In a moment of tantalizing tension, he withdrew slightly, seated back as he used two fingers to part your folds, exposing your glistening cunt to his keen gaze.

He was captivated by the sight—your essence glistening, beckoning him forth like a siren’s call across the sea. His breath hitched as he lowered himself, savoring the intoxicating scent that wafted from your cunt; it was a heady blend of desire and vulnerability. With a swift flick of his tongue, he brushed over the tender bud of pleasure, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips as your hips jerked in delightful shock.

Aemond’s dark laughter rumbled softly in his chest, a sound that resonated with satisfaction at your response. He ventured further, dipping into the folds of your drenched warmth, his tongue dancing along your slit as if tasting the sweetest of wines. Each movement of his mouth sent shockwaves of ecstasy through you, prompting your fingers to clutch at the silk sheets in desperate need of tethering.

You were ambrosia made flesh, a divine fruit of the gods that rendered him intoxicated with longing. He lost himself in the act, the rhythm of his tongue reflecting the primal hunger within him, driving him to worship at your altar without restraint or decorum. There was no pattern in his movements, merely the frantic need of a man raised in the crucible of ambition, now reduced to a ravenous beast by your taste.

His low moans vibrated against your skin as your fingers tangled in his silken hair, urging him closer, deeper. Each sound that escaped your lips heightened his fervor, sending him spiraling further into a haze of lust, where only the two of you existed.

He thrust his tongue deeper, igniting fires within you that threatened to consume all sense. A tremor raced through your body, a shuddering gasp escaping as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive peak. The intensity of the moment left him breathless with longing as he stole glances at your rapturous face, seeking the delight in your face as he skillfully coaxed you towards the precipice of ecstasy.

In one final surge of fervor, he took your pearl between his lips, sucking with fervent need. Your voice rang through the air, calling his name like a battle cry as your release washed over you, your body clenching and shuddering beneath his eager mouth, leaving him lost in the euphoria of your pleasure.

Spent and quaking, you fell back onto the sheets, your chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut as the final ripples of ecstasy coursed through you. Aemond watched you with an entranced intensity, his lustful gaze drinking in the sight of your debauchery, before he positioned himself between your thighs, claiming his rightful place.

With a swift, possessive motion, he grasped the neckline of your shift, ripping the fabric asunder with a growl that echoed his primal desire. The cool air met your flushed skin, and a fresh wave of longing washed over you, eliciting a soft moan as your hardened nipples strained against the chill. Aemond, unable to resist, descended upon you, drawing one of your peaks into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, relishing the way your whimpers filled the air. He felt your fingers weave into his silken hair, tugging him closer, urging him on with your breathless pleas.

He reveled in the contrast of your previously cool skin, now warming deliciously beneath him, the heat of your body igniting a primal fire within him. He pressed his hardness against your lower belly, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through both. “I could be so good to you,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry as he nipped at your shoulder, “So fucking good. So why do you deny the need that lies between us?"

Your breath hitched, interrupted by a soft moan as he pressed against you with deliberate intent. “I do,” you gasped, desire flaring within you as his cock pressed against your pearl. “I do need you.”

“As I need you, sweet girl,” Aemond murmured, a predatory glint in his eye as he continued to grind against you. Though he was no man of debauchery, the fiery knowledge instilled by whispered secrets and that one fleeting encounter coursed through him.

You responded to his movements with an intoxicating sigh, rocking your hips to match his rhythm, a melody of desire unfolding between them. Aemond’s breath caught as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, and with a slow, deliberate thrust, he breached the sacred barrier that had kept the two of you at bay. A yelp escaped you, sharp and sweet, and he immediately softened, pressing featherlight kisses across your face, murmuring apologies as he reveled in your warmth.

Gripping your hip with a fierce intensity, he drew a sharp breath through his teeth as he buried himself deeper, engulfed in the sensations of your tight, welcoming embrace. You were exquisite—so wet, so warm, so perfectly crafted for him. Aemond began at a measured pace, savoring the glide of his cock within you, the exquisite stretch as you enveloped him, but the fire within quickly ignited into an unquenchable blaze.

Once he'd found a rhythm, he succumbed to the recklessness of desire, thrusting with urgency, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the chamber, a rhythmic drumbeat of passion. His hips snapped against yours with fervor, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure cascading through both of you, an unravelling of control as he sought to claim you in the way that dragons claim their territory.

Your moans echoed within the room, each sound a sweet melody, a heady mixture of fervor and abandon that filled the space with a primal energy. You had long since discarded any pretense of modesty, your voice rising like a songbird caught in a storm. His name spilled from your lips, fervent and loaded with longing.

With an urgency born from need, you surrendered yourself to him, your touch igniting a fire along his torso as your hands freely roamed, fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles. You clung to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his with reckless abandon. Your lips found the curve of his neck, the warmth of your breath a tempting promise. There was a strange thrill to your bite, and Aemond swore your teeth felt unusually sharp, as you nibbled delicately at his skin.

Yet even in the throes of ecstasy, an insatiable hunger gnawed at him, a need for greater possession. He withdrew slightly, capturing your gaze with his own smoldering gaze. His hand gripped the delicate expanse of your throat, sturdy yet tender, while his other found purchase on your stomach, fingers pressing into your soft skin. “You are mine,” he growled, the primal command taking on a life of its own as he increased the fervor of his thrusts. “Say it.”

The intensity of his possession ignited a fire within you; you instinctively pressed against his hand, urging him to hold you more tightly, to claim you wholly. “Yours,” you breathed, “all yours.”

“Good girl,” he groaned, the phrase rolling off his tongue like a hot brand onto your skin. Your body responded eagerly to his words, an electric shiver rippling through you as you arched your back, another desperate whimper escaping your lips.

It was not long before the dam broke, your body convulsing around him, the tension unfurling like the petals of a flower awakened by the sun. Your breath hitched in a final, breathless moan, and in that moment of exquisite surrender, you tightened your grip around him, pulling him deeper into the abyss of pleasure. And with a primal roar of ecstasy, he followed you into that dark, consuming void, painting your insides with his seed.

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @filmflux @esposadomd @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo

As the last waves of pleasure subsided, your smile glimmered like the stars beyond the castle walls. Reaching out, you traced your fingers along his jaw, drawing him back into a kiss that spoke of unbridled passion and afterglow—a sigh of contentment escaping your lips as you two joined once more.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd #ewan mitchell #the originals #mikaelson #vampire!reader

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diejager · 2 years ago

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I never thought I would like a stepdad!konig so much, I just don't. But here I am.Soo I saw the need to do this

I felt 'jealous' of f!reader's mother.Simply the fact of reading how she becomes unconscious (with good reason, it's könig!) After a while with him.... And that they are practically husband and wife. It's a strange feeling,You know. like a delusion (I feel so stupid right now)

How would stepdad!konig react if he found out about it? (I feel a little better with the comfort of dbf! Horangi, scary, I know)

You are incredible, thank you for your writings 🌻

Oh, that sunflower at the end is cuteee Cw: unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, sex marathon?, stepcest, DUB-CON?NON-CON, degrading, tell me If I missed any.

"Oh, is the what you want?" König cooed, smirk cruel and smug as he watched you wail beneath Horangi.

He recently came out of his room, baggy pants hanging low on his angular hips, dropping on one side and showing off the sharp dip on his navel and happy trail, a salacious way to walk into a room smelling of sweat and sex. He cleaned up, brushing his ginger hair with hints of silver to the side, messy and slightly damp from his session with your mom. Chest clean and body fluids wiped off, he always came to you clean and ruggedly handsome. Much like his friend who, until a few minutes ago, had the monopoly in your attention and silent cries, who drove his cock into you with strong and purposeful thrusts while he kissed your mewls away, swallowing them down with the harsh press of his scarred lips.

"You should have told me, Schatz," könig pushed on, pulling his waistband down enough for his engorged cock to spring upwards, slapping his deep V with a wet sound.

Horangi chuckled, hoisting you up on his lap, hands guiding your hips up and down his cum-coated thighs. You clung to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging into his sculpted back (for someone of their age, they still had an enviable physique, back, arms and thighs ripped with thick and strong muscles while having a soft but equally sculpted abdomen.) With every buck of his hips skyward. You hid your face in his neck, damping it with your tears and open-mouthed mewls by biting down on his shoulder, muffling any keens and cries that would echo too loudly in your room.

"Use your big girl words, ja?" Your stepdad went on, pumping his pre down his uncut head, pulling down the foreskin to show his red and angry tip.

Feeling quite smug about your disheveled look, being the one responsible for it after your stepdad took too long fucking your mom to sleep, Horangi pressed kisses up your neck, behind your ear and teasing you with his teeth, playfully nipping at you while he looked at König. He peered over your bouncing shoulders, brown eyes seeming pitch black in your dark room, illuminated by a small lamp, the dim yellow light giving a golden tint to his eyes. He was goading König in a way, narrowed eyes and cheeks pulled by scars when he smirked at your stepdad, flashing his teeth as he bit down, reveling in the whimper he pulled from you.

"We shouldn't disappoint, huh, König?" Horangi chuckled, ramming you down his cock, feeling your walls clamp down on him while your legs shook, toes curling as you come, painting a pretty ring around his shaft.

The only reply he got back was a vindictive laugh, deep and rumbling, a bigger hand wrapping around your nape, scuffing you. König yanked your head back, blurry and teary eyes staring up at him, he held you there until Horangi finished, until Horangi painted your cunt white, until he got a turn to stuff you full of his cock and cum, and until he could fuck you unconscious like you wanted to.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

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ruesol · 3 months ago

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catalyst - chapter 7

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex. (sukuna x reader)

fanfic masterlist

You wake up in flashes, chasing after sleep every hour or so. The pearlescent moon hangs high enough for its light to dimly light up the long window sill in Sukuna’s bedroom. If you squint hard enough, you can probably see the craters on it–similar to little scars around Sukuna’s arms and chest. Probably the result of amateur underground fighting with little to no safety gear.

This is when you really see him, though. When awake, he’s a tornado, a wuthering storm crashing into everything around him. Like your eyes, your hands are magnetized, and the tips of your fingers can’t help but glide along the harsh black lines on his face like they were guiding you in memorizing his face (not that you needed to.)

You start at his angular chin, tracing the smooth skin till you reach his cheekbones. The lines on his face are strategically drawn—the artist’s vision only brought out more of his rugged handsomeness. All chiseled edges and razor-sharp teeth, no room for softness besides in his loving gaze.

You traced the slim, jagged eye tattoo on his cheekbone, which looked similar to Yuuji’s scar. Knowing Sukuna, he never got tattoos for aesthetics. Whatever the black strokes on his face and body meant was deep to him.

“Can’t get enough of me, can you?” he grumbled out in a sleepy haze as you left a kiss where your finger previously was.

“Possibly,” you answered with a lovesick, Cheshire smile. “I’m just familiarizing myself with your tattoos. Why’d you get them?”

With his eyes still closed, Sukuna shifts so that you’re laying on top of him, chest-to-chest, bare bodies still warm from your activities a couple of hours ago.

“Yuuji was very self-conscious about the scars on his face. Felt like people were staring at him everywhere he went. I decided to get these tattoos to help him cope better. You know, take the attention off of him.”

Sukuna’s reasoning reminded you of why you fell in love with him in the first place. Sure, he was a hard-headed oaf most of the time, but when he truly loved someone, he was deeply invested, looking out for them more than himself.

A surprisingly selfless man, given his attitude to many things in life.

You brush your lips on his and see him immediately fight back a sleepy grin. “Go to sleep,” he murmured before tightening his arms around you and leaving a light peck on your lips.

You ignored his command. “You softie,” you giggled.

Your comment made Sukuna immediately open his eyes. He was still sleepy, but his gaze was energetically accusatory. “I’m a grown man. Don’t call me that,” he snarked. “I’m anything but a softie.”

You stamped a kiss on his cheek and grinned at him. “You’re right, grown men like you aren’t softies. Softies don’t like being held in their sleep,” you say as you try to get out of his grasp, but he tuts and rolls you back down on the bed so your body is trapped underneath his hard and muscled one.

“Don’t play with me, woman,” he playfully chided as he nipped your naked shoulder. “I can show you the difference between hard and soft right now.”

The hunger in his gaze from a few hours ago had returned once more. You licked your swollen lips and gulped for what was to come.

“Sukuna, I’m still sore from earlier,” you whine as his kisses trail from your shoulder to your neck, revisiting the places he made blotchy purple marks on before. His tongue traces along the path of hickeys, going all the way down to the curve of your breast.

“I’ve let you rest enough,” he mumbled against your dewy skin. “You’ve been resting for the past two years anyway, right? Waiting to be touched by me again.”

Even if Sukuna cannot see your embarrassed gaze, he senses your trembling heart when your hand unconsciously squeezes his shoulder. He knows he has to reassure you, or your mind will begin reeling as usual. “Good, me too,” he says before kissing your pert nipple, relishing the sound of your gasp when his warm tongue brushes against it. “There wasn’t one day where I didn’t think of you. Should’ve locked you down with a ring on your finger when I had the chance.”

You giggle at the thought of him proposing to you with nothing to back him up but dreams of being a professional boxer and a little brother who thought the world of him. The ring would probably have been a silver sterling for the time being–Sukuna made promises he fulfilled, so it would eventually turn into a diamond one.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” you pull him up to face you, and you need to take a moment to hold your breath because you had never seen him look at you or anyone with so much love. Eyes half-lidded, lips apart, and rubicund cheeks.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he playfully retorts before leaving a quick kiss on your lips. “If I’m gonna propose to you, then it’s gonna be perfect–when we’re both ready. With a ring and everything.” He kisses you again, taking more time to savor the taste of your tongue.

There’s a certain satisfying ache you feel when you realize that you have your arms wrapped around the love of your life–disbelief.

Disbelief that you could ever be happy and get what you want. Everything was slowly falling into place, and it was beginning to feel real; from visualizing your dreams to materializing them in front of you. Medical school didn’t seem so far away anymore. Achieving your dreams and getting your happily ever after was concrete–set in stone. Ubiquitous.

–

The following weeks were blissful.

The differences in Sukuna’s personality were surprising but welcoming. He had become better at communicating and was diligent when it came to following his treatment regime.

You quickly learned that he obeyed better when you rewarded him after he did supposedly annoying things like his physiotherapy sessions, meeting his psychologist, and eating the meals his nutritionist had provided for him. He was finally starting to get better. So quickly, you started feeling like you were being paid to be a stay-at-home girlfriend.

“I don’t know, I just–I don’t see the point of getting paid if you’re basically driving yourself to all your appointments and doing everything yourself. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” you said while sitting on the kitchen counter, watching Sukuna shuffle around, preparing dinner for you.

“Let me at least set the table–” he interrupted you by placing a piece of bread in your mouth.

“No.”

“Why not?” you garbled out.

“Sukuna Ryomen’s girlfriend does not service others.”

You swallow the piece of bread before speaking. “I am literally going to be a healthcare worker. My whole drive is to help those who need it.”

Sukuna scoffs at your answer and backs away, outstretching his muscular and tatted arms. “Does this man seem like he needs help?” he asks with a cocked brow.

“With his ego, yeah,” you quip as you get off the counter, making your way to the clean dishes by the sink.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Sukuna grabs you by your waist before you can walk over to your destination and places you back on the counter, locking your legs around his waist so you don’t leave again.

“What is wrong with you?” you groan as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned you as he gathered your face in his large hands. “You should start preparing for more important things like the next application cycle. It’s my turn to support you.”

“Sukuna, I’d much rather you focus on your career right now,” you answered.

“And I’d much rather support you as you do me.” He was adamant, gaze undeterred from your face as he leaned his forehead against yours. You didn’t miss how his chest started rising and falling quicker, proximity having similar effects on you two.

“This isn’t like the past. We’re one now. You and me forever, which means all your good and bad moments are mine too. Got it?”

You bite your lip before letting out a deep breath from your nose. “I understand,” you mumble.

“Good girl. Now, gimme a kiss to seal the deal,” he said through a smirk. His large paws moved from your thighs to your waist, pulling your center closer to his. You gasp at the light bump of his semi-hardness to your core. You lean in, lips barely brushing against his as you breathe him in, pine and sandal after shower after returning from his physio session. Your groan rattles you to your core as you kiss him deeply. He tastes fresh, possibly from the smoothie he drank earlier. You can’t help but suck his tongue and wrap your legs around his waist, lightly grinding your cunt against him.

The friction is too much for him because he hardens up completely and paws on your shirt. “Mmm…dinner’s gonna get cold,” you mumbled through kisses.

“We can heat it later. I’m in the mood for some dessert first,” he replies before licking into your mouth, hands massaging the bare skin of your waist beneath your shirt.

You're shapeless with him, body melting against his hold like warm butter on toast. He kisses you in a way that’s blissful, warm, and hearty yet sensual at the same time.

The sudden ringing of his phone jolts you out of your romantic daze. The phone rings about three times till you tap Sukuna on his bicep, who’s still busy kissing you. “You gonna get that?” you ask once he begins to move down your neck, licking and sucking your skin.

He ignores you until you pinch his arm, which makes him bite your neck in retaliation. “It could be important. Go pick it up, or there’s no dessert after dinner,” you reprimand him.

He groans before he pulls out his phone out of his pocket. “Just when things were getting fun.”

His facial expression changes when he sees the caller ID. When he picks up, his face hardens.

“Hey...now?....I–yeah, okay, I’ll be there.”

You kick your legs in the air out of anticipation. He places his phone on the counter and sighs, staring at it with his hands on his hips. If the circumstances were less tense, you would’ve called him sexy.

“Everything okay?” you ask, pulling his arm to focus on you. He doesn’t look back at you but holds your hand to acknowledge your efforts.

“Coach Yaga wants me to go the gym. He says that he wants to talk to me about my comeback.”

Sukuna’s loss was still a sensitive topic for him. He never said it aloud, but he went from being a champion to simply losing because burnout had been eating him up from the inside, often questioning his passion for the sport.

“Do you wanna go?” you asked as you rubbed up his arm. “You don’t have to if it’s too soon. It’s your call.”

There’s a sad smile on his face when he turns to look at you. His thick arms wrap around you as he settles a bit of his weight on your body, face resting on your shoulder.

“I’m not gonna lie; I’ve thought about retiring a lot quite recently. I only got into boxing to help earn some extra cash on the side. I never genuinely liked it.” Considering how prideful and guarded he was about his inner thoughts, you knew it took a lot for him to open up to you like this. Pity was never something he wanted from you–only acknowledgment and support. So that’s what you did–you sat silently and scratched his scalp.

“But if I’m gonna retire, I won’t do it so abruptly. I’m gonna do it with a win. I need you to watch me fight at least once,” he says as he pulls away. He lifts you off the counter with no effort and pulls you close by your waist.

“Will you come with me to see Coach Yaga?”

“Of course.”

–

The gym where Sukuna trains for his fights is high-end, a place meant for actual athletes. The walls and floor are black, drawing attention to the bright spotlights that shine down on the large boxing ring in the middle, where a few trainers are practicing. Some athletes are assessing their form while looking into a large floor-to-ceiling mirror. Black punching bags hang from the ceiling in another corner. The entire gymnasium smells like leather and sweat.

Some of the fighters at the gym recognize Sukuna and wave at him. Some yell that it’s great to see him.

True to his personality, Sukuna only nods in acknowledgment. He guides you to Yaga’s office with his arm around your shoulder, guarding you from the leery stares of other men.

“So possessive,” you giggle when he glares at yet another man whose eyes are following you two.

“Fuck’s sake,” he groans.

“I think they’re just surprised you have a girlfriend,” you try to reason when you notice his arms flexing. Jealousy was a good color on him.

“Yeah, right. Totally not because you happen to be hot,” he sarcastically quipped.

You peck his cheek to cool him off before he’s about to meet his boss.

The door to Coach Yaga’s office looks daunting even though the only thing displayed on it is his name. Sukuna sighs and opens the door before you can stop him and ask him to let you go.

“Hey, hope you don’t mind if my girlfriend’s here.” Ever so crass, Sukuna only lets you go when you hit his arm. It surprised you how he was so lax with his coach around.

“Hello, Coach Yaga,” you said through an awkward smile.

“Nice to see you again. Have a seat,” he said as he pointed to the chair across his desk. He didn’t bother asking Sukuna to do the same.

Coach Yaga brushed past your discomfort by immediately diverting his attention to Sukuna. “I’ve been in touch with your physiotherapist–they say you’re as healthy as a horse. Sure look like it too with her by your side,”

Sukuna only chuckles at his coach’s words, and you bashfully choose to look out the window.

“Yeah, well, I guess a break was what I really needed. And I’ve been thinking…I wanna retire with a final match.” The lack of hesitance in Sukuna’s voice convinced Yaga that this was a decision he must’ve thought a lot over. A coach always knows when his athlete has given his all and is ready to move on to the next stage of life. Like you, Yaga knew Sukuna didn’t have a true passion for the sport.

“Are you sure? You can’t go back on your word.”

“More than I’ll ever be. I just want to win one last match.”

You know you couldn’t hear it, but you could tell what he meant with how he stared at you.

He wanted to win his last match for you.

——

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