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forbidden-sunlight · 5 months

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yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader Valentine's Day scenario

Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], obsessive behavior, vulgar language, knowledge based on the first four episodes of the 2024 series.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

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Hey guys, welcome back to another Hazbin Hotel fic, starring Hell's one and only Radio Demon, Alastor and his little darling!

This is a collaborative piece with @isuckatwritingsobenice with special thanks to @witch-of-the-writing-desk and @riddle-simp for providing criticism and feedback. If you would like to read the one that started it all, I'll leave a link to it here.

As always, bullying is not tolerated here. If you have nothing nice to say, please do not say it. Furthermore, if you believe the warnings listed above will make you uncomfortable, please leave now.

For those who have decided to stay, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on for tonight's broadcast :)

Although he had figured out why you were and what he needed to do to push you in the right direction, Alastor was still annoyed with what he was…feeling towards you.

When his mother died, he had stopped feeling. There was no reason to keep feeling when the only person in his entire world was gone. Is that the reason why he became a serial killer? Who knows. Is she the reason why he keeps smiling, because he always remembered her saying that you never fully dressed without one? Absolutely! Why bother wearing a frown all the time when he could keep everyone on their toes with a smile and a salutations over the radio?

So why is it that when he thinks about you, it is like his mind is torn between annoyance and fondness? Why does he have the urge to simply hide you away from the world and keep you all to himself instead of making your misery even greater for his own amusement? He doesn’t know and if he doesn’t figure out why, he knows he will lose his temper very soon. Charlie had already demolished the second to last wall of his patience on the insistence that everyone in the hotel should participate in a crafting session to celebrate a human holiday. Valentine’s Day, of all things.

He is a gentleman. And a gentleman, as his mother has always taught him, is to never raise his hand against a woman. She did not say anything about Lucifer’s delusional daughter who believes that the people of Hell can be redeemed. Even you, someone who is just as rational and calm as he, believed in her. That a sinner had a chance to go to Heaven when their actions in life are reflected on their afterlife. It’s common sense, really.

So why couldn’t you see that? Even Vagatha was starting to have some doubts too. But she would not dare say what is truly on her mind about this passion project to Charlie’s face yet due to her incredibly strong loyalty towards the princess.

Regardless of his observations of these two ladies, Alastor found himself caught in the enigmatic web of emotions as he observed your seemingly indifferent facade from his favorite chair in the parlor. He was not helping with decorating the hotel. You were though. You stood underneath Charlie, steadying the ladder she stood with gloved hands as she pinned strings of pink and red paper hearts over the hotel’s entryway. Vagatha was nearby, busying herself with other tasks, including asking Husk to please not drink all of the red wine, they are saving it for tonight! Angel was flirting with Husk. Husk shot a rude gesture in return. Niffty was making the hotel spotless again when she already cleaned it a few hours ago. Alastor had no idea where Sir Pentious was and frankly did not care.

When he had decided to help with the hotel, he was just going to watch from the sidelines and let everything run its course. But there was something being formed here. A connection was beginning to make itself known and he did not like that. The Radio Demon comes and goes as he pleases without being tied down to anything or anyone. If this feeling continues to fester inside of him, why he’ll toss himself into the fiery pits just so that he could be his old self again!

“All right, these are all done!” Charlie said happily, pulling away to look at her handiwork with pride before she averted her gaze to you. “You good there, [First Name]? Sorry I had to pull you away from gardening to do this!”

“I don’t mind.” You said. [Eye Color] irises watched as the princess began to climb down, each step squealing creak-creak beneath her stilettos. “What will we do about snacks and dinner? We already have the drinks covered through Husk.” You held out a gloved hand to the princess on the third step from the bottom. Charlie gladly took it, but not before she spun you around, the bone-white skirt billowing slightly to reveal the laced-up boots on your feet.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out! In fact, I’ll make a grocery list for Niffty right now! Then we’ll need to see if we can add anything else. Ooh, maybe something for the staircase? Or the chandelier? This party is going to be so much fun! Can’t you feel the love in the air, [First Name]?!”

You blinked at her. “No.” You carefully distanced yourself away from her. “But I do remember there is something I need to bring inside before I forget about it again. I’ll be right back.”

You bowed your head to them and scurried across the parlor, making quick strides across the parlor and taking a left underneath the intricate railings of the grand staircase. There was a light click, and then there was silence.

The hotel, constructed on the hill, possessed a limited garden space that showcased carefully manicured flora. There was also a greenhouse. Both locations were left unexplored by Alastor because he knew the flora you had carefully tended to, and in his opinion, it was too soon to share his secret just yet. However, he did know that the door under the grand staircase, the centerpiece of the hotel’s architecture, was how you always traveled around.

Each corridor held secrets, inviting exploration and mystery within the confines of the Pride Ring’s overlook. But the door you took was a shortcut to whichever place you desired to go to: the garden or the greenhouse. Fifteen minutes passed, and then the door opened again.

Walking out of the staircase, everyone saw the bright red roses cradled carefully in your gloved hands.

Charlie squealed in delight, racing towards you with wide eyes. Vagatha followed close behind. Angel just looked up from his phone to see what was all the ruckus in faint interest.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh! You did it, [First Name]! You really grew something!!” Charlie all but shouted, her excited cries bouncing across the vaulted ceilings. Vagatha leaned forward, a small smile stretching across her face. “Great job.”

“It was a little tricky, but I was finally able to figure out the proper fertilizing formula, including a place where they can get just enough sunshine but not so much that the petals would not be burned. An inch of water each week. Too much water and I might actually kill the roots.” You explained. “Since the weather doesn’t change much down here except for the occasional acid rain, these actually had time to grow.” You then took one flower, holding out to Vaggie. “For you.” You said, then placing another one in Charlie’s hands. “And you. If you’d like to make them last for a little longer, put them in a vase with sugar water.”

Charlie beamed. “Thank you!”

“Thanks.” Vagatha said.

You inclined your head, then crossed the room and proceeded to pass around your hard earned flowers to everyone. You kneeled down to Niffty’s height, tucking one behind her ear before standing up. She jumped up and down in happiness, causing the flower to fall but she caught it, holding it as if it’s the most precious treasure she had ever been given. She promised to give you something in return, to which you politely declined.

You walked over to the bar and handed a rose to Husk. He stared at the flower, then back at you before he put down the bottle he had been drinking from on the counter, plucking it from your hand. “Thanks kid.” He muttered, laying it next to him and then taking another swing of his booze. Angel immediately slid into one of the booths, grinning toothily at you.

“Got any for me, toots?”

You held out a rose to him. He made a flirty joke and promptly shoved it in his chest. “So~? How do I look?” He crooned, batting his eyes at you as he pushed up his chest floof right in front of your face. Honestly, when will this whore learn this is not how someone speaks to a lady?

Your countenance held a fleeting perplexity at his vulgar words and actions, your brow furrowing for a moment before your stoic expression returned…though Alastor could see…an inquisitive expression in your eyes. You were thinking about something. What he did not know and he was quite curious to see what you do next.

So he sat in silence and watched.

He watched you stretch your hand outwards, carefully extracting the rose from Angel’s person. Angel opened his mouth, no doubt ready to complain when he froze midway as you artfully placed it on the right side of his head. You withdrew, casting a scrutinizing gaze upon him before nodding in approval.

“Flowers adorning your hair enhance your allure far beyond the glimmer of rainbow glitter or imitation jewels.” You said. For the first time since he arrived at the hotel, the famous pornstar Angel Dust was rendered completely speechless. The only thing he could stutter was a ‘thanks’, a faint red hue staining his pale face.

The gradual decay of the rose in your hand did not escape Alastor’s notice and he was delighted. A manifestation of the latent powers he possessed, to cause living things within a certain distance to wither. He smirked, appreciating the subtle dance of his influence. You spun around, meeting his gaze. “Permission to approach, sir?”

Husk gagged. Vaggie groaned. He laughed.

“Of course you can~!” He said. Oh, you were trying so hard to respect his personal space, how adorable! Goodness, hadn’t you caught on that he only touches people that he is interested in? Why, he’s touched Charlie’s shoulders so many times that he is shocked that Vagatha hasn’t tried to stab him out of jealousy!

So you approached him. But when you held out his rose to him, it was already dead.

You were shocked but you did not need to say anything; your face, and your eyes, told him everything. He was pleased and amused all at the same time. What would you do next? He thought. You looked down at the rose, then back at him. Carefully placing the other rose, the one that wasn’t completely decayed yet, on the coffee table. Your gloved fingers coiled around the stem of his rose and deftly snapped it in half. You took another step, and leaned forward to pin it to the left side of his coat.

You took a step back. You looked at the flower, then back at him. “It still suits you.” You said. “Although it is dead, a decayed rose suits you just as much as a fresh one.”

Alastor felt his withered heart pulse under his skin for the briefest moment until it went still again. He knows he is a dapper of a gentleman, someone who takes pride in his appearance and knows how to use it to his advantage. But hearing your compliment made him preen in his seat. Almost. He had a reputation to uphold.

“Coming from you my dear, that is the highest praise I had never believed would be uttered from your lips~!” He said, abruptly standing up from his chair and staring down at you with a grin. “Now that I’m all spiffed up, it’s your turn~!”

You tilted your head to the side. “I don’t understand.” You said with an expressionless face.

“I just remembered that I have an errand to run in our dear city, and I am in need of your skill sets~!” He was rambling. He knew it and it was pissing him off because the Radio Demon does not stutter or act flustered around anyone. He snapped his fingers, feeling the familiar thrum of his magic as it left his body, evaporating into a plume of red mist that covered your body before it disappeared as quickly it had come. Gone was the same outfit you wore every day, and in its place was an outfit much more suited for any self-respecting woman; a light pink sequined flapper dress, a rope of pearls around your neck with a nice little cloche hat to top it off. And he mustn’t forget the pair of white heels on your feet!

Yet just as the applause track echoed across the parlor, Alastor noticed that you looked away from him. You were uncrossing and crossing your adamantine skeletal arms, the gloved hands being the remaining piece from exposing the scars of war entirely to curious eyes.

Oh. Oh. You were even quivering? Such a shame.

Trying his best to ignore the disappointment gnawing at his bones, Alastor sighed and snapped his fingers again, dispelling the enchantment on you and simultaneously replacing the outfit with something….much more suited to your style, but matching him in every sense of the word. A white ruffled white blouse poking out from the collar of a red waistcoat, a matching ruffled skirt that covered your legs and stretched to your ankles, where the black-heeled stilettos peeked out from. The white gloves were dyed to onyx, and the cute hat was replaced with one that had a wider brim with a black rose stitched on the side. In your hands was a red parasol. But his favorite, personal touch was the ruby brooch shaped like a stag, like him.

Replacing the emerald one you wore every day, supposedly in memory of Major Gilbert. The man whom you claimed did not love him romantically since you cannot love. That tad-bit he had overheard when you shared one thing about yourself in the group exercise.

But more importantly, you no longer seemed anxious. In fact, you were back to your normal, monotone self~! How wonderful and annoying!

Alastor grinned in approval, twirling his microphone expertly between his fingers before rapping the end of it against the floor with a loud thump. “Now then, shall we be off, my dear~?” He said, extending his arm for you to take. You looked at him, then back at Vagatha before you stepped towards him, very cautiously placing your gloved hand in the crook of his arm. It took a lot of self-control to not pull away in disgust from the contact, but he held onto his composure because he is a gentleman not a brute.

“Now then, let us be off~!” He bellowed.

“You’re supposed to actually be helping us around the hotel, not fucking off, you prick!” Vagatha yelled, her lovely silver hair standing on end as she swore in Spanish. Charlie was trying to calm her darling down with a sheepish smile, wishing the two of you a good time and don’t worry about a thing. Alastor just grinned and quickly led them out of the hotel, down the steep hill and into the city.

Though as soon the two of you were parading through the streets, you immediately pulled away from him and stood exactly five feet behind him. He could not help but feel amused by your antics, nor the relief of actually having his personal space back even when he had offered his arm for you to take, not the other way around. You knew better than to initiate contact. Although unexpected joy hummed in his veins, this…genuine connection, this bond, began to chip away around the edges of his collected facade. And as the two of you continued your walk through the Pentagram at a steady pace, there was also this irritable and irresistible annoyance starting to bloom in the back of his head and quite frankly it was beginning to give him a headache. Why is he feeling so many things at once? Can’t feelings have an arranged timetable so he doesn’t lose his reputation as a fearsome overlord?

Why are feelings…so damn complicated? Why?

Not wanting to sink any further between the allure of your company and his own resistance to vulnerability, Alastor began to hum a little tune to distract himself. He did not want to think. He refuses to fall even further than he already has. He turned his head slightly, gazing at you from his peripheral vision. You were looking around curiously, watching sinners live their sinful lives and probably wondering why you had earned the same damnation as they did. At least that was what he initially thought until he saw your eyes darting from the street corners, the buildings…ah. The cameras.

You were worried about Vox seeing him after he had put the little pest in his place last week? Oh, you were quite a little darling, weren’t you?

“There’s no need to be concerned about those tiny picture boxes, my dear!” He exclaimed suddenly. “This face was made for radio, the proper medium to express oneself!”

“...You’re certain?”

“Of course! Now it should be around here…ah-ha! Here we are! Follow me or you might get swept up by another gentleman!” Alastor joked as he quickened his pace towards a mortar-and brick building sandwiched between two other more modern buildings on the other side of the street. The restaurant, embraced by mortar and brick, stood between modern edifices. Its interior exuded a warm ambiance, with dim lighting casting a subtle glow on polished wooden tables. The booths were nestled in the back, providing a private setting for the two of you. The menu possessed an array of culinary delights, promised a refined venison experience.

Rosie had recommended this place to him a while back, but never got around to it after he left for his sabbatical seven years ago. You did not keep him waiting, matching your stride with his and the host’s.

Despite just how much the host trembled in fear at the sight of him, handing out the menus and stuttering the name of their server, the host couldn’t stop staring at you with a dazzled, licentious look in his eyes. Alastor had to hold back the urge to make the server part of his menu. Or maybe he shouldn’t? Perhaps this youngster needed a reminder just who he is?

“…Alastor? Alastor? Sir?”

Your voice called out to him, the barest hint of concern laced with curiosity before he shook himself out of his thoughts. “Yes, my dear?” He asked.

“Are we doing a reconnaissance mission?”

The static around him screeched to a halt, and he stared at you with an incredulous expression.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You had said that you needed my skill sets on this outing,” You said, blinking at him, folding your gloved hands together on the sleek wood table. “My specialties from serving in the war include that as well as hand-to-hand combat and weapon handling. Is….this about new territories that are up for the taking? Why was the extermination date moved up to six months? Or this mission on a need-to-know basis?”

…He knew you were oblivious to Angel’s flirtatious remarks and modern slang, but he did not think that it would extend that you did not know that when a gentleman takes a beautiful lady for a night around the town, it means he has the intention of courting. What sort of life had you lived before coming down here? More importantly, how does he explain without looking like a complete fool?

The Radio Demon thought for a long moment before a proverbial lightbulb went off inside his mind. Yes, he thought delightfully. That will do. Mirroring your position - spine straight, bony fingers interlaced, and placed neatly on the table, maintaining eye contact. He spoke.

“Considering your skills-set, I wanted to see if you are truly as talented as you claim to be~! And there is no better way to evaluate a person’s worth than through a simple test. A game, if you will!” He leaned forward, pushing a wave of his powers throughout his body, releasing it from the bottom of his shoes and scattering throughout the establishment. Well, his friends at least. Now for the rules.

“My shadows are somewhere in this restaurant. Some are easy to see at first glance, some are not~! Find all six of them, and you get a prize! If you guess incorrectly, however, then you must truthfully answer a question I will ask. The time limit will be until we leave, and you must maintain eye contact with me at all times! Since this mission is….a personal one of mine, you must be able to blend with the crowd and not draw attention to yourself, to us, or this mission will be compromised. Any questions?” You shook your head.

“Wonderful~!” He bellowed in delight

And then the game began.

Between interruptions with their server and mild conversation, you whispered where each shadow as you looked at the second side of the menu, unable to decide what to try. He obviously recommended the venison, and he would either say you found a shadow or guessed incorrectly. By the time you had informed the server of your entrees, you found three out of six. You got two tries wrong. Alastor got two questions out of you.

“What was your life like before coming down here, my dear?” He asked.

“I served in The Great War as a soldier of the Leidenschaftlich Army. My commanding officer was Major Gilbert Bougainvillea.” You answered. “When I was relieved from my duties, I worked at a postal company until my death.”

“And do you know what it means when a gentleman asks a young lady to join him for an outing?”

You opened your mouth, and then closed it, confusion flitting across your face for the briefest moment until you answered him. “I do not.” You said slowly. “From my experience in the barracks, the men would escort the young ladies that have caught their interest to the pub or somewhere else…and they would not come back until past curfew. The major would lecture them if he caught them. He told me…it was a sex thing. But I was too young to understand what he meant back then.”

Alastor almost choked on his venison at your words, his equilibrium thrown off for a moment before he quickly recovered, swallowing the delicious morsel and maintaining his dignity by wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I…see.” He said slowly. “And you are aware that this is not that kind of courting, correct?”

“Yes.” You answered. “Because you do not like anything related to sex, which is perfectly fine.”

“But do you know that when a gentleman courts a young lady without…that in mind, it is because he has a romantic interest in her?” He asked, staring at you straight in the eye. “And he would like to get to know a little more in a setting that does not include any third parties?” There. He thought as he saw your eyes widen just a fraction. Understanding. You were catching onto his intentions! Finally, another emotion! You have shown him another expression besides indifference and confusion! Good job! Now will these blasted feelings finally go away? Out of sight, out of mind as they say!

Then the look on your face melted away, becoming a mask of stoicism as you answered him softly.

“I appreciate the sentiment….but I am afraid that I am no longer capable of feeling emotions, at least…what it truly means to love someone. It can come in many forms and is expressed differently with each person. The romantic sense…it isn’t meant for me. And I’ve come to terms with that when I was alive, and when I came here. I am grateful for what I already have.”

In the back of his mind, Alastor had actually thought he would get another reaction out of you, perhaps seeing your cheeks turn red and hear your heart thumping against your rib cage. But at the cost of hearing someone actually reject his advances?

That does not seem quite fair, does it? He chuckled darkly in amusement.

“Hm~. You say that you are no longer capable of expressing yourself beyond a grim facade? I beg to differ, my dear. I have seen you show discomfort, anxiety, and understanding all within a single day of being in my company. I can guarantee that’s the most I have ever seen of you since you came to the hotel.” He craned his head to one side, still smiling. “But fear not, I wholeheartedly welcome a challenge.”

With that being said, he graciously decided to extend the little game with the progression of their meal, right up to when the waiter brought them your desserts. There were still three shadows to find, and he continued his line of questioning, observing your reactions and demeanor as you answered him.

Alastor will not lie and say that your rejection of courtship did not bruise his pride. He was used to being feared and worshiped in a single breath. Being liked was something else entirely, yet being disliked? Quite rare, with the exception of Vox and the other Vs.

“You can certainly keep me on my toes, darling.” He said playfully as he stood up from his seat, walking to your side and offering his hand. You stared at him owlishly before placing your hand in his gloved one.

“My mind cannot change that easily I’m afraid, Alastor. You are wasting your time.” You said.

“We shall see, my dear. Perhaps you just need a little more…persuasion.” He replied, before delivering the final question to you, a personal one: how many had you killed when you were a soldier? You replied. I cannot remember anymore.

He was quite stunned at your answer…but he was satisfied, and that was all that mattered. He knew more about you than Charlie probably could ever pull out of you during a group exercise. No one else. Not Husk, Not Niffty, and certainly not Angel Dust nor Sir Pentious. And that gave him an advantage over anyone else who would be so bold as to approach you with a romantic intention.

“I see.” He hummed. “Come, come, you’ve passed the test~! And I did promise a prize to the winner~!”

Instead of the traditional flowers, chocolates, or stuffed animals that were given to a lover on this atrocious holiday, Alastor had purchased new ink ribbons for your Remington typewriter and another pair of leather gloves. Perhaps he will allow you to keep the outfit he dressed you up in. You did wear the same thing every day. It was better than trusting Angel Dust with upgrading your wardrobe.

You thanked him, the barest stretch of a genuine smile stretched across your face as you cradled the bag that held your gifts before it disappeared as quickly as it came, and you focused on the road ahead. Yet to him, the fearsome Radio Demon…it was such a smile that lasted long enough to commit it to his memory, and reinvigorate his desire to pursue you.

After all, no one else in this cesspool is worthy to court the soldier maiden of the Hazbin Hotel except for him…

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mschievousx · 16 days

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now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she love her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

prologue

she stirred awake with a grumble, as she does most days—which is immediately replaced with a grin after ten minutes of simply opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling. another day, another number of various things she can do. and so, she wasted no time to freshen herself up.

as she stepped out on the streets of grosvenor square, her immediate touch brought radiance to the place. no, she was not a smiling fool nor was she greeting everyone. it was not that type of radiance. she hated that. yet, one can argue the opposite when she finally arrived at the bridgerton's house.

"'tis a fine day, is it not?"

"raine!"

the girl jumped up, her book forgotten as she put it on the couch and hugged the girl who's standing with open arms under the arch to their drawing room.

"oh, how i have missed you, eloise!"

"why do you both act like you were not together the entirety of yesterday?" colin voiced out as he read the newspaper, not bothering with any greetings. they have all long passed that. eloise sent a glare to her brother just as their mother arrived.

"loraine, darling!" she took the young lady's cheeks in delight, "how are you and your father?"

she smiled warmly at that. violet took it to herself to act as her mother-figure, given that their families were closely tied, "never been better, lady bridgerton."

the older woman gave her a look at the use of her title before leading her to a couch near the fireplace.

"are you well-prepared for tomorrow's start of the season?"

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

"are you well-prepared for tomorrow's start of the season?

violet smiled as she asked her second-eldest daughter. eloise is well-prepared, she knew, in terms of physical and material aspects. internally, however, her daughter was having a fit, both of nervousness and fury.

"mama, i am very much prepared, but you should know that i am calling for all miracles right now so that i cannot attend tomorrow."

raine laughed, saying it's a good thing she's much prepared at the very least. her friend turned to her with a look of betrayal.

"you will be this next year, and i thought we're gonna be spinsters together!"

"no, that was penelope." she said as she stood up and dusted her dress, "when my season comes, i would very much like to marry, especially to that man dabbling on his pad."

she gestured with a head tilt to the man sitting near colin. they all need not turn to know who she was referring to as eloise rolled her eyes. raine chuckled at her reaction before another voice graced the room. well, not exactly grace.

"ugh, it's too early to deal with you."

violet turned to her eldest and immediately closed her eyes with a sigh before giving him a pointed look.

"anthony, it's already nine, and don't be rude."

the young lady turned to the source of the voice and grinned in an instant, clasping both her hands together in chest level sweetly, "i have missed you so much, anthony!"

"i don't share the sentiment." he replied with nonchalance as he took a biscuit and sat by his younger brothers.

"anthony will be marrying this season."

she paused for a moment, as if processing, before she broke out with laughter as she heard the words marry and anthony in the same sentence, but noticing the silence around her, she turned back to violet, "no... seriously?"

"why does it come as a surprise to everyone?" the man in question grumbled. raine finds herself nearing the eldest.

"but why the sudden change?"

anthony sighed as he swallowed the biscuit on his hand, "it probably has not come to your little mind that this family needs a viscountess. a viscountess is a lady that—"

"shush," he's lucky that's the only thing he got from her, given that she is to become a viscountess herself next year and he was mansplaining. she looked up in glee and clasped her hands again with true joy this time, "oh, i'm going to have so much fun this season!"

violet thinks that anthony and raine is a great pair and she would have been pushing for it already, had raine not been in love with benedict.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

"as much as i love you, lady bridgerton, i do not want to talk about anything with relation to my societal season and marriages."

kate and anthony entered the room, just in time for the debutante's antics. the matriarch sighed at the apparent lack of interest from the girl, while the latter broke into the widest grin.

"i would, however, welcome the conversation if i'm paired with benedict."

she turned to her other side where lies the subject, both of the topic and her affections, "speaking of which, will you marry me now, ben?"

the second-eldest son did not open his eyes from the sleepless nap he was having as a boyish smile made its way to his lips, "not a chance."

"ah, what a shame." she smiled at the sight of him before turning back to his mother with a clap, "well, there's always tomorrow."

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x oc #anthony bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict is a fox

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

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Playing with Fire (part 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

summary: Deep feelings awaken within you as you continue to explore your relationships with the princes. A betrothal is announced.

warnings: some sensual themes, drinking

word count: 3.4k

A/N: the love for this series is unmatched! thank you for all your support so far hope you enjoy this part 💚

masterlist

“I do believe the dressmaker has outdone themselves this time,” your mother praises, smoothing the fabric of your evening gown. You gaze at your reflection in the mirror, unable to tear your eyes away from the soft pink color of your lips, still tingling from Aegon’s kiss.

Aegon’s kiss.

The Targaryen prince had kissed you. Taken you to his chambers and kissed you, as he had done probably thousands of times before. Your stomach filled with butterflies at the memory. Could your mother see it? Could she read the blush on your cheeks, know that it was caused by a dragon prince? More than one dragon prince.

Aemond sent those same feelings swirling in your belly, and he hadn’t even kissed you. You tried not to let your mind linger on that thought. It was Aegon’s hand everyone desired, after all. Aemond was not currently available for a match.

“You look lovely, my darling,” your mother crooned, moving a loose piece of hair from your face. The dress she had chosen for the occasion was truly grander than your previous pieces. The fabric was a shimmering silver, with Myrish lace patterns swirling throughout the skirts like silver flames.

A silver lady for a silver prince.

You bite your lip nervously as you look at yourself in the mirror, and your mother makes a face at you.

“None of that,” she scolds and you release your lip from between your teeth, “and no playing with your rings, nor your necklace.”

She is referring to the rather large heirloom that hangs in the hollow of your throat. You squeeze your fingers into your palms as though they have a mind of their own and will fly toward your throat at a moment’s notice.

You frown at her.

“Shall I remain still for the entirety of the evening?” you ask as your mother fixes your hair.

“I expect you to dance,” your mother says, “for the majority of the evening. But pace yourself with wine, you know how it goes to your head.”

You nod in agreement and release a short laugh.

“And do not engage much with the other ladies, tonight is no night for gossip,” your mother says, fixing her own hair, “if you must speak with a lady, engage with Princess Helaena or Queen Alicent. They shall be your kin soon enough.”

You snort at your mother’s confidence. The woman is relentless.

“Planning the wedding already?”

Your mother takes your hands in hers, bringing you to sit on a nearby chaise.

“What happened during your time with Prince Aegon?” she asks, her curiosity evident in her expression and voice.

“Which time?” you clarify.

“(Y/N),” she warns, “do not be clever with me.”

“We simply conversed, tis all,” you tell her, “nothing indecent occurred I assure you.”

And he kissed me, you think to yourself. He kissed me and I wished it never stopped. I want him to keep kissing me again and again and -

“I told you he is a man of substance,” your mother says, face relaxing, “nothing like those gossips of court say.”

Perhaps I am famished, you remember him saying, his gluttonous eyes nearly devouring you whole in the hall. You wet your lips at the memory, cheeks flushing.

A knock from the door makes your mother’s face light up.

“That must be Prince Aegon,” she says, nearly in a whisper as though Aegon can hear from across the room and through the door.

You rise from your seat and go to open the door. To your surprise, Aemond is the silver prince at your door. His seeing eye widens slightly at the sight of you, his pupil enlarging until it nearly encompasses the violet entirely.

“My lady,” he says, nodding slightly, “I have come to escort you to the festivities, my brother sends his deepest apologies.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. Is Aegon with someone else? It seems entirely possible, and entirely in character. Surely, another lady must have captured his attention. It was only a matter of time. A man with such a voracious appetite would hardly be satiated with a maiden such as yourself. You try to ignore the bitter taste this thought leaves in your mouth.

“Oh,” you say, giving Aemond a soft smile.

He looks towards the ground as though embarrassed under your gaze. You remember your conversation in the garden, how strange he thought it was for you to be on his arm. You wished you could take away some of the shame he felt. You turn towards your mother who stands with an incredulous expression on her face.

“I shall go on ahead with Prince Aemond, mother,” you tell her. She nods with approval, a hesitant expression on her face.

“Shall we?” you tell him, offering your arm to the one-eyed prince. Aemond meets your eyes, and drinks in the soft expression on your face, before taking your arm.

“Darling,” your mother calls and you turn. She moves towards you, holding your masquerade mask out. A beautiful silver mask, seemingly conjured from only silver lace. You take it from her hands before taking your leave with Aemond.

The halls are quiet on the side of the castle, and you assume everyone has made their way to the great hall. Your steps echo as you walk down the corridor. Aemond’s arm is warm against you, keeping you comfortable in the cool evening air.

“One moment, my prince,” you tell him, before turning down the serpentine steps. You stop, holding the mask up to your face. Moonlight peaks through a window, bathing you in a silver glow.

“Do you have a mask for the feast?” you ask and Aemond shakes his head, still not truly looking at you. His gaze dances around you, as though trying to stare.

“I prefer the mask I normally wear,” he says, referring to his eye patch. You nod, attempting to tie the silk straps around your head. Aemond glances at you.

“Allow me, my lady,” he offers and you smile graciously at him before turning. You can feel his long, dexterous fingers moving on the back of your head as he ties the mask to your face. You chew your lip since he cannot see, feeling your skin blossom with gooseflesh.

“Nothing happened,” you find yourself saying, feeling his fingers still on the back of your head.

Aemond is very gentle with you as he ties the ribbon of the mask, as though you may shatter from his touch.

You do not know what compelled you to speak, something inside of you could not stop the words from bubbling out through your lips.

“The previous night, when I happened upon Prince Aegon,” you continue, feeling your cheeks heat up at the confession.

“It does not matter if anything did,” Aemond answers, “you are here to vie for his hand.”

“He did kiss me this afternoon,” you admit, for the first time out loud. Aemond lets out an unbothered hum.

You inhale a deep breath, your back still towards him. You desperately wish to know what he is thinking. Is he disappointed? Jealous? Does he even care at all?

“I just wanted you to know,” you tell him, feeling his hands slip from you. You turn to face him, tilting your chin so you can look upon his face.

“Why?” he asks, a curious expression on his face, pouty lips parted.

“I do not know,” you admit, “I just wanted you to know.”

Aemond reaches out to you, fingers dancing across the fabric of your skirt. You watch his gaze fall before he drags it up toward your face, slowly as if he is reading the pages of a book.

“You are very kind, Lady (Y/N),” he says, rubbing the fabric of your skirts between the pads of his fingers.

“Thank you, my prince,” you tell him, feeling your heart race.

“My brother does not always appreciate kindness,” he tells you. You wet your lips, bringing his attention to them.

“I do not wish you to get hurt,” Aemond continues, bringing his hand up to caress your cheek. You are sure he must feel the heat that gathers there. Your lips part at his touch.

“I shall be alright,” you tell him, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. His presence wafts over you and covers you like a blanket. He smells woodsy, with a certain saltiness as though he was recently flying over Blackwater Bay. It is deliciously tempting to lean into his touch.

“I shall make sure of it,” Aemond promises, bringing his other hand to cup both of your cheeks.

Your eyes widen at his words, at the way he gently holds your face in the palms of his hands. With every stroke of his fingers against your cheeks a shiver of need rolls through you.

“Would you like that?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Aemond leans forward and you close your eyes, feeling the sharp tip of his nose press against your face before his lips connect with yours. The kiss is soft and purposeful, a sweet promise. He turns his head, deepening the kiss, slipping his hot tongue into your mouth. You whimper against his mouth, and the prince pulls away.

The effects of the kiss are similar to that of Aegon’s kiss. A craving remains, settled deep within your bones and you want more.

Aemond smiles at your reaction, your wide eyes, and puckered lips.

“Let us continue to the feast, my lady,” Aemond says, taking your arm once more and escorting you down the steps. You swallow hard, bringing a hand up to your lips.

You’ve now kissed two princes. Two brothers. Seven hells.

The hall is alive with merriment when you arrive. Masked faces and flowing skirts flood the room, and music pours throughout, vibrating the very walls of the room.

As you gaze upon the Iron Throne toward the back of the room you watch as the melded-down swords shiver with vibrations. You see your mother from across the room; somehow she has beaten you here.

“I should go check in with her,” you tell Aemond, who releases your arm.

“Of course, my lady,” he says, kissing the back of your hand, “I shall be watching.”

A shiver rolls through you at the thought. You make your way to your mother, who is lost in conversation with Lady Redwyne.

“Mother,” you call, announcing your arrival. She gives you a disapproving look as you grab a cup from a serving tray. You drink the amber liquid greedily, you hadn’t realized how thirsty you had been.

“What did I say?” she tells you, as Lady Redwyne glances over to acknowledge you.

“To watch my wine?” you tell her, brows furrowed, motioning towards the empty glass.

“To dance, my daughter,” she says, shooing you away, “go on now, be young!”

Be young? Does that include kissing princes?

You shake your head at her but continue to the dance floor as a group dance is soon to begin. As you stand next to a lady whose name you cannot remember, someone pushes into you. You turn and meet the glare of Cassandra Baratheon.

“How lovely you look, Lady (Y/N),” she says, unable to hide the snarkiness from her voice.

She wears a beautiful mask, in the shape of golden antlers as a nod to her namesake. Her blue eyes are icy as she looks you up and down, lips curled into a snarl.

“You as well, Lady Cassandra,” you tell her, smiling politely.

The dance begins and you stay beside her.

“I would highly advise you to calm your efforts of appealing to Prince Aegon,” Cassandra hisses when she is spun close to you and out of earshot of other lords and ladies.

“Feeling threatened, Cass?” you tease, meaning it half-heartedly until seeing the furious expression on her face. Then your smile falters.

“Seven hells, Cassandra,” you whisper as she’s pulled into the opposite direction as the dance demands a partner change. The pounding of the drums echoes in your chest, the wine making your thoughts fuzzy. Your mother was right, unfortunately, you truly should take it slow.

The dance continues, switching partners, and you arrive in Aemond’s arms.

He smiles slightly at you, that smile says there is a secret between you.

“My lady,” he murmurs, delighting in the blush that gathers on your cheeks.

“Aemond,” you say, not attempting to hide your smile. One hand lays firmly on your waist, the other holds your other hand above your head while you spin.

“You are a delightful dancer, Lady (Y/N),” Aemond praises, sending a shiver down your spine, “what a shame we have been deprived of your dancing until now.”

You release a giggle as the crowd separates. The guests clap, before changing partners again. A hand snakes around your waist and you turn to face your newest partner.

You meet the face of Aegon, his face covered with a gold mask. He smiles at you, he always wears that damn smile, so effortlessly beautiful across his face.

“Hello, beautiful,” he murmurs, hands tightening around your waist.

“Aegon,” you breathe, causing his smile to grow.

“I apologize for my rude behavior,” he tells you, leading you into the dance, “I needed to speak to my mother before the feast began.”

He spins you again, and you are lost to another partner. The room itself feels like it is spinning, the air seems to suffocate you. Your eyes cannot track either of the princes, everyone is disguised so beautifully that you feel as though you will be driven mad by it.

Partners switch once more, and you are back in Aemond’s arms. He gazes down at you with a concerned look on his face as the dance continues. Your heart thumps wildly against your ribs, and the effects of the wine cause your skin to tingle.

“Are you alright?” he asks, placing a hand on your cheek, so like when he kissed you. You lean into his touch.

“Yes, it’s just-”

You’re pulled from him again, a stranger before you. You groan, then smile at the new lord apologetically, continuing to dance. The partners switch and Aegon loops a hand around your waist.

“This is madness,” you tell him, nearly falling against him, earning a chuckle from the prince.

“I am enjoying the chase,” he teases, grip tightening around you, “perhaps this time I shan’t let you go.”

You giggle at that, face flushed from the dancing. It feels oddly sensual, being spun between the Targaryen princes, and you are enjoying it far more than you care to admit.

“There is something I need to share with you,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. Your flesh erupts with goosebumps at the brushing of his lips against you.

You never understood the desire that ladies often spoke of before your trip to the capital. But the dragons had awoken something that lay asleep deep inside of you, that now was trying to claw its way out.

The dance ends with you still in Aegon’s arms as the crowd applauds. A new song begins, and the crowd separates into pairs. You sigh, relieved as the gentle music washes over you, a relief from the uproar of the previous song.

Aegon traces a finger down your neck, following a bead of sweat that travels below the neckline of your dress. He stops before his finger does the same, looking up at you with a smile. Your breathing has turned to pants, your chest heaving against his. You want him.

“I quite like you in this color,” he murmurs, his grin lopsided. Now that you’re closer to him, you can tell he has been indulging himself at the feast. His breath smells of sweet wine, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed. The site is quite enticing if you’re being completely honest, he looks so ruggedly handsome.

You once felt fearful of tales of the gluttonous dragon prince of King’s Landing, but standing before him now, feeling his hands on you, you want nothing more than for him to drag you down into sin with him.

Your gaze flickers to the movement behind you. Aemond stands, sipping from his cup and leaning against the wall. His violet eye follows you as you move in your dance. Your silent protector. Your heart thrums faster against the walls of your chest as your thoughts tantalize you.

You want him as well.

“My lady?” Aegon calls and draws your attention back to him.

“There was something you wished to share with me?” you ask, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. He tilts his head back, leaning into your touch.

“I spoke with my mother,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded as your fingers comb the hair at the back of his neck. You don’t know what’s gotten into you, the boldness of your actions. Your eyes flicker to Aemond, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“I wish to propose a betrothal,” Aegon states and you meet his eyes. Your hand drops from the back of his neck and you begin to pull away.

You can only imagine the look of utter joy that must be on Cassandra Baratheon’s face at this moment. She truly must be insufferable to be around, beaming about the throne room speaking only of her conquest.

“Congratulations, my prince,” you tell him, “she shall be a lucky lady indeed.”

Aegon fists your skirts, pulling you back toward him, your bodies flush against one another.

“Will she?” he purrs, bringing a hand to your waist. You feel your body grow warm as his hands roam your body.

“Yes, my prince,” you tell him, attempting to extract yourself from his grip, “though this is hardly appropriate-”

“Do that again,” he ignores your pleas, “with my hair, it felt so lovely.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, still attempting to wiggle away.

“Your lady would not like that, my prince, surely-”

“Oh she won’t mind,” he teases, vice-like grip never relenting.

You give him a desperate look. You have grown up alongside Cassandra, you understand how she operates. Though you are both grown women, you hardly think she would spare you from some sort of unseemly accident. Cass can be very clever, perhaps a poisoned cup of wine or a fall from your horse.

“Aegon,” you beg, “please, let me go.”

Aegon shakes his head playfully, his teeth biting into his lower lip.

“Aegon-”

“For a kiss, I shall,” he finally relents, causing your panic to increase.

“Please, not here Aegon, if Cassandra were to see-”

“Cassandra?” he questions, perfect mouth pouting. He scrunches his nose in confusion.

“Your bride, Aegon,” you hiss, looking about the room. People are paying you no mind, used to Aegon’s antics you suppose.

Aegon barks out a laugh, tilting his head back. You wet your lips, furious at how relaxed he is. You suppose he has nothing to worry about, it is you who would be murdered after all. Though you had hoped he enjoyed your company enough so as to not risk your very life.

“Lady Cassandra is not to be my bride,” he tells you. It is your turn to be confused.

“Then who?”

Aegon tears the mask from his head, and you lose your breath at the full sight of his face. He is truly a beautiful man, as all Targaryens are. The blood of Valyria holds more magic than that of dragons. His smile widens.

“You, Lady (Y/N),” he says, bringing his lips close to your ear.

The world around you stops spinning as you feel his lips graze the sensitive spot below your ear causing something in your stomach to tighten with desperate need. You bring your hand to his hair once more, reveling in the way he groans against you as your fingers tangle in the strands.

Your eyes lift, meeting that of Aemond Targaryen. The one-eyed prince continues to watch you, giving you a slight nod when your eyes meet. Aegon’s lips pepper kisses up to your ear, finishing with a whisper.

“You shall be my bride.”

note: oh no!! which 😏 one 🥵 ??

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nikkisheep · 10 months

Text

To Be Alone With You (Part Two)

Anthony Bridgerton x Sharma!reader

Series Summary: Let's see, dear readers, where this journey of betrayal, lust, passion, and love take our viscount and Miss Sharma as they find their ways back to each other.

Warnings: Angst, kinda betrayal, guilty reader, proposal, sexual tension, reader stumbles upon Edmund Bridgerton's grave, Smut (oral F)

Summary: After the night of passion that was of you and the Viscount on the dock, Anthony is hit with the realization that he still planned on marrying Edwina.

Tag list: @faatxma

"I dare ask, Brother, what has gotten you to smile so much this fine morning?" Colin asked with a smirk gracing his face.

"I just happen to be in a good mood from the lovely night of sleep that I received last night." Anthony said with yet another smile.

"Could it be that our brother is actually in love with Miss Edwina now?" Benedict teased.

Anthony looked at Benedict and his smile faded at the mention of Edwina. She is a kind girl, just not who Anthony wants. At this, the Sharma sisters hurdle down the stairs in a fit of laughter as you were carrying a bucket of water and chasing your sisters down the stairs in hopes of soaking them. Instead, you slipped on your dress and Anthony raced to catch you before you had hit the floor. The other siblings including Anthony's watched as you let go of the bucket as it soars through the air and you land in Anthony's strong arms. You look at him and go to speak but the water bucket comes crashing down on the two of you, soaking you both completely. The bucket landed on Anthony's head and all you heard was a groan.

"My lord," You say as you shyfully lift the bucket off his head and his dark eyes peek under and make eye contact with you. His hair was ruined and your lady's maids were going to be upset that their hard work went to nothing because of how wet your hair was. You give him a light smile and just as you were getting one in return, Colin cleared his throat.

"Well, Miss Sharma, I am quite impressed with your entrances that you have been making." He smiled.

"I do try," You smile and give a bit of a bow.

"Please, Lord Bridgerton, do not think that we are always like this," Kate tried to reason, hoping that he wasn't mad.

"Miss Kate, you are quite fine. Nothing to worry about. I actually enjoyed the refreshing shower," Anthony laughed, a smile reaching his eyes when he looked at you rather than your sisters. His intended.

----

Another walk in the gardens, you take in the flowers. You didn't realize how long you were in the garden and where the path was taking you. You walk under a large tree and see something that looks like a headstone. You look around and then continue on your walk to the headstone.

"Edmund Bridgerton, Loving Father and Husband," You read on the stone and figured that this had to the man that Anthony always looked up to. This was his father.

You looked down at the flowers in your hands and then bent down to your knees and placed the flowers at the grave site. You were in the middle of a prayer when you heard footsteps. You stand up quickly and then turn to the sound. It was Lady Bridgerton.

"Viscountess-" you started. She lifted a hand to shush you.

"Please call me Violet, dear." She smiled sadly when she looked at the grave.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know and I-I-I wanted to pay my respects to him," You say with a smile.

"This is Edmund. He is my husband. Well, was my husband," The older woman smiled with a sad smile.

"You loved him very much. I can tell. I wish I could have met him," You try to make her feel better.

"Have I told you yet about how much Anthony looks after this family?" She asked.

You shook your head.

"He has been there for all of us after Edmund passed. He was only 18 at the time. God, the stress that fell onto that poor boy. He was holding Edmund when he died and...and I think that was the day that my little boy died. When Edmund left, so did a piece of my son." She said with tears.

"Why are you telling me this?" You ask kindly. You thought she would be telling Edwina.

"Miss Sharma, when Anthony says that he is going to do something, he does it. He says he is going to marry your sister so I wanted you to know that she is in good hands. Anthony is the best of my sons to marry her because there is nothing more important to Anthony than his word." Violet said, taking your hand.

"Violet, he loves her?" You ask with a tremble in your voice.

"I fear so and I have seen the way you look at my son." You looked up with confusion.

"Viscountess...Violet, I'm not understanding what you are talking about. I don't look at Anthony in any way."

"I saw you in the hallway earlier today," She said with a sad smile.

"Tha....That was an accident." You sputter out.

"Darling, I'm not talking about your situation or position. I'm talking about the look in your eyes. It's exactly how I used to look at Edmund." She pat your hand and then stood up to invite you back to the house. You followed her with your heart heavy and mind clouded.

---

Dinner was prepared and you were seated to the left from Anthony who was seated at the head of the table. You couldn't keep a smile when you looked at him because you saw how your sister looked at him. Like he hung the stars in the sky. Your stomach hurt with guilt of what had transpired between you last night.

"And Miss Sharma, I was wondering if you would like to maybe be a model for my paintings," Benedict said with a hopeful look in his eyes.

You smiled at the brother and nod.

"Of course, I have always wanted to be a model and to have my face and body drawn for me," You laugh a little and Benedict smiled and then blushed at you.

Kate smirked at you as she watched you interact with Benedict. You finished your drink and stood up. You turned to leave and kissed Benedict on the cheek. You smile at Violet and she smiled back. You left the room and that made Anthony fuming. Yes, he was supposed to marry your sister but he didn't want her. He wanted you.

Anthony excused himself from the table to follow you. He ran after you and he grabbed your elbow to keep you from going all the way up the stairs.

"Follow me," He said, pulling you down the stairs to his office and closing the door behind you.

"Yes, my lord?" You ask.

"I have been looking for you all day. God...being away from you has been driving me crazy," He says before moving to kiss your shoulder that was exposed. Your head falls back in bliss as you feel his lips ghost your sensitive skin that has only been touched by him.

"My lord-"

"Anthony, darling."

"But my lord, we need to stop." You moan out the last part when he sucks hard on your sweet spot.

"Call me by my name, Miss Sharma. My name is Anthony," He growls into your ear before picking you up and laying you down on his desk, papers sticking to your sweat-layered back.

You look down to see Anthony move under your dress. You start pulling the fabric over your stomach so that you could see his hair and you smile when he kissed your hand that was pulling at the fabric.

"My lord, we should stop. You are to be...married." Your back arched as his tongue made contact to your secret area that he was just last night and you moaned out his name as he ate you like a starved man. He dipped his tongue inside of you and your hand shoots to his hair and pulls harshly and he moans against your body.

"Anthony, oh god.'' You cry out as his finger starts to poke at your entrance and you were overcome by pleasure to even think about Edwina or Kate or what the mother of the man in between your gracious legs had said when her son is tasting you like this.

"Fuck, sweet girl. You taste divine," He groans against your pussy as he pumps in a finger before adding another. Your walls clamped tightly to his fingers and his mouth moved to your clit and starts to suck at it as his tongue flicks out to run over the sensitive bud there.

You reach up and grab a hold of your own breast as he ravages you in the best way. He starts curling his fingers to hook at that sweet, sweet pleasurable spot that laid deep inside you and you felt the coil in your stomach start to tighten to a painful blissful way as he looks up at you with deep, dark eyes that were blown with lust and you let go just at his stare alone.

"Cum for me, let me feel you. That's it. Be a good girl and let go for me. Let me taste you," He moans against you as he feels you gush around his fingers and onto his awaiting tongue. He drinks everything you have to offer until you have to push him away due to the over stimulation that happens due to his constant assault to your sensitive nerves.

He kisses up your body again and fixes your dress. You lean into his kisses and he whispers about how much he loves you before he helps clean you up. You hold onto him and he carefully takes you back to your room. You sigh because you know that you have to tell him that you couldn't keep doing this because he wants to marry your sister.

"My lord," You start.

"Anthony," He says.

"My lord," You try to continue.

"Why won't you call me Anthony unless we are private like we just were?" He said with a sad look in his eyes.

"Because you are not mine, my lord." You sigh before closing the door in his face.

---

The following day, you were walking with your family as everyone was ready to leave and head back to London. You were sad but as soon as you saw Anthony walking to you, a smile crossed your face.

"My lord," You give a bow.

"Miss Sharma," You think he was talking to you but when you turn to his voice again, he was on one knee in front of your sister.

"Miss Edwina, I think this has been a long time coming and I would love to have the honor of making you my wife," Anthony said before you let out a gasp as he opened the ring box. It was his mother's. Edmund had given it to her and now he was giving it to Edwina.

Edwina gave a yes and kissed Anthony's cheek. Not knowing that his face was just between your legs last night and the night before. She will never know and you would sit in silence. You watched the happy couple and Kate hug them both and your mother was so happy. You smile to the couple and make eye contact with Anthony. All was said in those few seconds.

"I still want you."

#anthony bridgerton x sharma!reader #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x reader smut #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #to be alone with you

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ateliersss · 4 months

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Red Dead Redemption 2

...is part of The Bookshelf.

Arthur Morgan

He Used To Be Mine

Crimson Snow

Young Love

Hibernate

Just Friends Summary: You’ve been good friends with Arthur for some time, and when he visits Mary, your jealousy gets the better of you.

Happy Ending Summary: When the gang splits and Dutch shows his true colors, you and Arthur grab the gang's money from deep within Murfee Brood Cave and escape to live a happy life together.

A Selfless Act Summary: Your former partners abandon you in the mountains. Luckily, you come across a lonely cowboy who saves you from freezing to death.

Chance Encounter Summary: You have been working on Emerald Ranch as long as you can remember. One day, you notice a cowboy who from this day on seems to appear more often to do business with Seamus. You are not sure why, but this man has your fullest attention.

My Last Confession Summary: A robbery goes awry and you find yourself fighting for your life.

Lost and Found Summary: After getting separated from the gang, you thought you would never see Arthur or any of the other Van Der Linde’s again. That is, until you run into a familiar outlaw in the streets of Rhodes.

The Gala Summary: Dutch and Hosea take you out on your first job to a fancy gala. And Arthur isn’t too happy about it.

First Kisses Summary: Robbing rich folk in Saint Denis takes an unexpected turn, when Arthur and you are running from the law and in order to blend in, Arthur decides to kiss you - not knowing he had taken your first kiss. After finding out about it he hopes for a chance to redeem himself.

Placeholder Summary: You and Arthur have been together for a while, but Arthur gets another letter from Mary and goes to see her. You overhear their conversation, and it wasn't what you were hoping…

The Job Offer Summary: You get an offer for an honest job outside of the gang, making Arthur begin to confront his feelings for you.

No Offense Summary: You unintentionally offend Arthur while out in town.

Violet Flowers Summary: You find John Marston staring at you longer than you'd come to appreciate. As you confront your friend, he can't help but let it slip that Arthur has a big surprise for you.

Our Dear, Green Little Friend Summary: Oh, jealousy. When the thought of you straying too close to the comfort of Charles, the green monster claws its way into Arthur’s head.

The Final Choice Summary: Arthur has to make a choice, you or Mary?

Delicate Summary: When Arthur and the gang are out in Valentine, you can’t help but notice that he left his journal by his bedside, unattended. You’re aware that Arthur is never careless enough to leave something so valuable to him in camp and see you see it as an opportunity. Upon reading his journal, you discover something that changes everything…

Spark (Series) Summary: An impulsive and reckless girl who stands for everything Arthur tries to overcome joins the gang. Even worse, she is related to Micah Bell. What starts off as a relationship of mistrust and hate slowly transforms into a beautiful, deeper connection, as both parties realise that there is more to the other person than what meets the eye at first.

Your Protector Summary: Arthur comes to your rescue while you’re being harassed.

A Proper Woman Summary: After getting all dressed up for a day on the town, you need Arthur's help getting off a corset.

Low Below 0°C Summary: You’ve just escaped from Blackwater, barely ducking from bullets that were shot your way. Your trusted horse, however, wasn’t so lucky. Stuck in Colter with no stables to buy a horse from, Arthur decides to go out and get you one, but not just any one, a White Arabian. Is the horse the only thing he’s bringing back?

A Bastard Child Summary: After finding out that the reader is pregnant with his child, Arthur can’t help but think about Eliza and Isaac. Hosea comes to find him when after Arthur stayed away from camp for a while.

I'll Be Here in the Morning Summary: Words spoken so late at night are not always the most honest.

Accused of Love Summary: It reaches your ears that there in camp goes on a bet that you and Arthur will end up together. You decide that as an involved party you should get a cut from it, and go on to make sure that the bet is won.

Can't Buy Me Love Summary: Almost everyday like clockwork, Arthur brings you gifts like some sort of offerings. Is he trying to win you over? It doesn’t matter though, because you already like him, but a personal conflict is keeping you from telling him that. Until…

Walk Cut Short Summary: The tension hung thick and heavy as you walked down the deserted main street of Rhodes. “This don’t feel right,” said Arthur. That would be an understatement, you thought as you looked around the town that usually bustled with people, currently looking like a ghost town. Suddenly, a gunshot rang, sending everyone in action, and you on the ground. Was this it for you?

Liquid Courage Summary: Confessing your love to Arthur while he’s drunk is a great plan, since he wasn’t going to remember it in the morning, right?

Protector Summary: You can defend yourself. Arthur knows this. But he makes sure Micah knows you aren’t the only reason he should keep his hands to himself.

Defender, Protector, Keeper Summary: Arthur steps in to help you with your son after a run in with Micah.

More Take Than Give Summary: After Blackwater, things are only getting more strained between you and Arthur.

Loyalty and Liabilities Summary: Sometimes you can’t help but to stand up for Arthur when Dutch talks down on him.

Intuition Summary: You fear Arthur may have done something horrible.

Captive Summary: On your way back to camp, the O’Driscolls attack.

Lake Summary: He's walking in on you bathing.

Graphite and Gratitude Summary: After a difficult day in camp coming to a head when Micah crosses a line, Arthur comforts you in an unexpected way - by sharing his journal with you.

Drunken Flirtations Summary: Arthur is drunk, and some drunken flirtation ensues between the two of you.

Downtime and a Bath Summary: You take a part time job at a hotel near camp, hoping to find some leads on potential jobs for the Gang. Being called away from your normal duties to give a gentleman a Deluxe bath, the last person you expect to find in the tub is the Gang's enforcer, Arthur Morgan.

The Art Of Thievery Summary: A curious evening in the Parlour House when you meet a certain deputy.

Charles Smith

Beer Bottles and Broken Fingers Summary: Charles doesn’t like how Micah speaks to you.

Lake Summary: He's walking in on you bathing.

The Protrait of Charles Smith

Dutch Van der Linde

No Title Summary: Dutch seems like a stranger to you now and maybe it’s time to take a step back.

Of Cigars and Delicate Flowers Summary: Dutch just wanted to get new cigars. Who knew you had to save him.

Thus With a Kiss I Die

Bruises

Pregnant?

Micah Bell

Lilacs Summary: Someone keeps leaving flowers on your bedroll. Guess you have a secret admirer.

Lake Summary: He's walking in on you bathing.

Hosea Matthews

That Old Time Feeling

Flaco Hernandez

Home With You Summary: You hadn’t seen Flaco in ages, so decided to pay him a visit.

Mrs. Hernandez Summary: Whilst finally being reunited with your sweetheart, Flaco calls you something that he’s never called you before, and you love it.

Sean MacGuire

I Will Always Come Back

All I Need

Home

No Title Summary: Sean seems to have disappeared, but on his return he seems to have a strange surprise with him, and is it for you?

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #charles smith x reader #charles smith x you #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x you #hosea matthews x reader #hosea matthews x you #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella x you #flaco hernandez x reader #flaco hernandez x you #micah bell x reader #micah bell x you

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vivalarevolution · 5 months

Text

𝓜𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵

Devil Aemond Targaryen x Witch Reader

Summary: She wanted power and control , and she was determined to do anything to get it. She knew exactly how far she had to go and what she had to sacrifice to make devil himself appear and turn her dreams into reality.

A/N: There was a lot of inspiration from novels and series with witchcraft and witches, so there may be darker askpets in this work, as well as a slight devil worship. So if you are not comfortable with that , you are forewarned. Nevertheless , I hope you all will like the idea and as usual you will enjoy reading it. Please remember that english is not my native language, mistakes may happen.

Work contains smut , minors do not interact.

He stood before her. A fallen angel. The dark lord. The devil himself.

He was tall and lean, but behind the layer of blood she could see the muscles that tightened with every breath he took. His long hair had been tainted with a scarlet substance, but she could still see their silvery whiteness. One of his eyes was violet while a sapphire stone glowed in the other. He had long face which was decorated with a scar, but it only made him more handsome in her eyes.

There was a darkness around his person , a feeling of danger.

But despite this, she stood before him , staring at him. She did not fall to her knees before him , she did not bow , she just stood , silently watching the former God's soldier , who stared at her just as intensely.

-You came - she whispered after a moment , approaching him slowly.

-You called - he replied , smiling smugly , when he noticed how the woman looked at him , how she fought to control the trembling of her body.

The man allowed her fingers to brush against his pale torso, where his heart was hidden, taking pleasure in her curiosity , which seemed to grow by the second, with each newly touched patch of his skin.

-How should I call you? - she asked , leveling her gaze with him.

Suddenly he grabbed her wrist , that was touching his human flesh.

-You have called me , and yet you do not know my name? - he said, pulling her close to him, so close that their lips were almost touching, and their breaths mingled.

-You have many names and many forms - she replied , resting her free hand on his shoulder to try and push him away , but in vain.

The devil took one last look at her before his attention shifted to the witch's wrist, the same one he held in an iron grip, the same one he kissed extremely tenderly, leaving an electrifying feeling behind.

-Aemond - he muttered after a brief moment , his mouth moving upward, kissing her blood-stained fingertips - You will call me Aemond , little witch.

-Aemond - she repeated, tasting his name on her tongue.

-Again - he growled , embracing her around the waist , making her black , lace dress slowly become covered in crimson.

-Aemond - she whispered , looking at him , but his attention was focused on her full , soft lips.

-Tell me my beautiful Y/n- he murmured , catching her chin between his fingers, pulling her towards him again ,letting her addictive scent delude his senses -Tell me what you desire , and I will give it to you.

-You know my name? - she asked, but there was no surprise nor intrigue, which made the white-haired devil even more crazy about mortal woman.

-How could I not know the name of the witch who sacrificed so many innocent lives so that I could come down to earth? -he remarked, smiling tauntingly, out of the corner of his eye looking at the window, reminding her of the bodies lying in the forest deep in the ground and the sea of blood that she shed - I'll aks you one more time, what is it that you want? -he repeated himself, sliding his thumb over her lower lip , staining it with blood.

-I want Salem, I want it all for myself - she confessed without a shadow of hesitation in her voice.

-I'll give you Salem. I'll give you a town from the edge of the world, and with it all the miserable lives that are in it - he said - But I won't do it for free - he confessed, and the woman widened her eyes in disbelief and irritation, which she did not manage to hide from the man before her.

-I called you on Black Sunday. I have performed the ritual. I shed the blood of the pure and innocent so that you can stand here before me in a body of flesh and bone. I gave you all I could give. What more do you want? - she wondered , furrowing her eyebrows in an act of displeasure, which amused the devil.

-You- replied Aemond , stroking her cheekbone with his thumb -I want you to become Queen of the Night. I want you to rule at my side in hell as my beloved and as my bride. I want...to have you.

-Why me? -she asked, pushing him away moments later-What is so compelling about me that the devil himself wants to have me?

The woman looked at him expectantly, but he remained silent for a long time, trying to get close to her again, which resulted in her slowly moving back with every step he took towards her, playing a game of cat and mouse with him.

-Everything my beautiful Y/n - announced the king of hell , still following her silhouette , almost like a predator followed after its prey -I know your thoughts , your dreams , and your goals. When you made a pact with me, you let me see the darkness you hid inside your soul. The darkness that made me crazy about you - he growled , grabbing her by her forearm, pulling her toward him to trap her in his strong arms once again.

The young woman looked into his violet eye before her gaze focused on his scar. Her hand involuntarily lifted upward the tips of her fingers touched the thickened tissue , tracing its path.

Her act seemed to have no deeper purpose, but this was not true. That scar and that sapphire hidden in his eye socket spoke of the fact that someone had once defeated him, leaving him crippled and betrayed. And she knew that the devil was as vengeful as he was powerful and that no one would go unpunished as long as he existed.

And the witch needed this , she needed her own black knight ready to kneel at her feet.

-If that's what I have to do to get what I want - she purred like a cat, bringing her face closer to his -Then make me your queen - she whispered into his mouth , brushing them gently with every word she spoke.

Aemond growled lowly at her words , clenching his large hands on her waist before he attacked her soft, pink lips.

His body was hot against hers, giving her the impression that she was being burned alive, but despite this she did not move away from him, entangling her fingers between strands of his white hair, pulling at them and drawing him closer as he tore her dress off her shoulders, leaving her only in a black velvet choker with an obsidian crystal hanging lazily in the middle.

-Now you belong to me - he said , grabbing her neck and pulling her away from him -Your body and soul are mine. For all eternity - he muttered into her swollen lips.

-Yours. All yours - woman declared quietly, trying to reunite their lips in a fiery, passionate kiss, only to have the man's rough fingers tighten on her throat.

Devil laughed as he observed her actions.

The witch in front of him seemed so cold, yet one touch from him was enough for lust to take over her mortal mind.

She was almost like an enigma to him , but it didn't frustrate him , oh no , on the contrary. He was pleased with this fact , pleased that his new toy wasn't so easily broken.

But he decided to try break her anyway.

He pushed her body against a nearby wall , hovering over her almost immediately. Still avoiding her sweet lips , which called out to him , he kissed her ample breasts , going lower and lower , marking every , possible patch of her firm skin , until his tongue found it's place between her swollen and wet folds.

He tasted her as if she were the sweetest of desserts, causing her to let out a loud, erotic and lustful moan. Her fingers once again found their way into his long hair as she w writhe in convulsions of pleasure that the devil himself was giving her. His movements were precise and bestial at the same time, making the knot of her lower abdomen burst pathetically fast and impossibly intense drenching his face with her juices, which only made him more feral.

Aemond joined their lips in a sensual kiss , placing his hands on her thighs , lifting her in one , sure movement , as if she weighed as much as the feather itself.

Laying her down on the soft mattress , he did not even for a moment move away from her addictive lips , which so soft and sweet stimulated his senses . His hands, soon after, began to roam over the witch's delicate body , exploring every inch of her immaculate flesh just as his lips had done moments ago.

-Please - she panted - Please don't make me wait any longer.

The man leveled his gaze with her. Her eyes were misty and her lips were slightly parted. Her hair scattered over the red satin was almost arranged in a halo giving her an angelic appearance.

-Even if God himself offered me the kingdom of heaven, I would not be able to refuse you, my beautiful Y/n - he replied, tearing the leather pants he wore.

The witch let out a loud, uncontrollable moan when she finally felt him inside her, filling her, warming her body like a fire , which instead of burning gave her nothing but pleasure. Their sweat quickly turned into one as he moved inside her and as their naked and bloody bodies rubbed against each other creating the smell of sex that was so intoxicating, the two lovers couldn't pull away from each other. His mouth practically devoured those of the mortal woman, pulling away only to breathe after their heavy, wet and hot caresses. As Aemond began to pound into her harder, deeper and faster, the young woman's legs involuntarily began to shake, betraying how close to the end she was , and her hands, as if having a mind of their own, went to his back, driving her nails into his milky skin.

They were unappeased , passionate and almost brutal in their movements , making their act a sweet torture that went on and on , never stoping. Not even as night turned into day , and day turned into night again. They remained in each other's embrace , becoming more and more addicted to each other.

#house of the dragon #hotd #asoiaf #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x witch!reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader smut #witches #witchcraft #hotd x reader #house of the dragon smut #my writing #aemond targaryen imagine

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f1letters · 2 years

Text

the great war | dr3

"my hand was the one you reached for all throughout the Great War"

summary: after the media was filled with cheating rumours involving her husband, she faced hard times trying to rebuild what was left of their relationship

warning: angst, mentions of cheating allegations, the other woman involved has a name (Skylar James is a fictional character), lack of trust, temporary separation between a married couple, fluff ending

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

word count: 3.9k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past, and a public statement.

I'm sorry I took this long to post it, but I'm so happy I was still able to finish this today as I initially promised! hope you enjoy this one!

masterlist

My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked

Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground

And maybe it was egos swinging

Maybe it was her

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur

Isn't it sad how in a blink of an eye one single person can destroy your entire world?

Y/N felt exactly like at that moment. Her floor had collapsed, the walls around her had caved in, her roof had fallen on top of her.

She couldn't believe what her eyes were reading on the small screen she held in her hands. A thousand unanswered questions, a thousand unexplained feelings, a thousand screams trapped in her throat.

I might be sleeping still, this is a nightmare, it has to be, she thought as she looked for an excuse.

After all, it all started when she woke up in the middle of the night and decided to pick up her phone, expecting to see a message from her husband that should be on his way home after a week of work.

What she didn't expect was to have so many texts from her friends and family, and complete radio silence from the person who held all the answers she was looking for.

"Daniel Ricciardo caught in 'cheating' storm after an eventful night in Miami"

"McLaren's Daniel Ricciardo packs on the PDA with American model amid divorce rumours"

"SINGLE HONEYBADGER: everything we know about the Australian driver's wild night behind his wife's back"

"Divorce? Ricciardo seen with woman in Miami club... Spoiler alert: it wasn't Y/N Ricciardo"

It was everywhere.

In every magazine, every gossip page, every social media platform.

They were photos of her husband at a nightclub, clear as day. She couldn't deny it. She could recognize the distinctive curls of his hair, the characteristic smile that was always plastered on his face, and the shape of his body that she knew as if it were her own.

There was something that she couldn't recognize though. Maybe it was her.

Model body, long red hair, short white dress that reflected the purple lights of the bar. And especially Daniel's arms wrapped around a body that wasn't hers, but some other girl who was grabbing her husband's neck, with one hand straying through his hair, just as she had done dozens of times before.

She never felt like this. Somewhere in the haze of the media, she could only get a sense that she'd been betrayed.

She stayed like that for hours. Reading all the news, seeing all the photos, looking at all the comments. It wasn't at all what she needed at that moment. But in an act of masochism and in the absence of the man she loved, she stayed there, seated against the headboard of their king-sized bed, in the cold of dawn, all alone in the house the couple had called home for so many years.

Completely destroyed from the inside out.

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, sweet dream was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

What a fool, her mind kept repeating. But what to expect from a relationship that has advanced at lightning speed?

She still remembered the day they met as if it were yesterday, and she was perfectly aware that it was a moment she would never forget, no matter what happened.

No matter how much of the world she might travel, Canada was always going to be her home, right next to the people she loved.

One of them being her childhood best friend Chloe Stroll, with all her craziness and her giant heart. No one in the world understood Y/N better than the singer, and it had always been that way from the moment they became friends at the young age of 7.

The two of them were sitting on the terrace of Y/N's favourite Italian restaurant in the beautiful city of Montreal.

It all started when Chloe wanted to introduce her new boyfriend to her best friend. No relationship lasted without the seal of approval from the other half of the duo, so they both knew the importance of this meeting.

However, the two girls were taken by surprise when Scotty had the same idea and didn't show up alone, seeking the approval of his fellow Aussie friend. And what a surprise. Daniel simply stood out in the crowd, radiating from all sides like the star he was.

And without even realizing it, a casual lunch to celebrate the beginning of a relationship became a double date that symbolized the start of a whirlwind romance.

She had spent all day glued to Daniel, her eyes almost unable to remove themselves from his image. But the same thing happened on the other side: the driver couldn't have been more fascinated by her, something that provoked an exchange of suspicious glances between Chloe and Scotty, aware of the chemistry between their two friends.

And as crazy as it might sound to the people around them, in the space of nine months, the two of them were walking out of a church in Perth, hand in hand, wedding bands on their ring fingers, her in a long white dress, him in his best navy blue suit.

They couldn't care less about others' opinions and fears about their relationship. They were head over heels in love with each other and that was enough to be sure they were making the right decision.

However, at that moment, the young woman did not know if this was true.

She couldn't stop thinking about the countless times she'd been warned about the playboy fame her now-husband had before he met her.

Did he really cheat on me? Had he done it other times before? Was it the end of us? Their dream love story was over.

The sound of the apartment's front door opening and closing brought her back to reality.

It was him.

Always remember

Uh-huh, tears on the lеtter

I vowed not to cry anymore

If wе survived the Great War

Her body stayed still as she heard the sound of keys being placed on the kitchen counter and the suitcase being dropped on the floor in a hurry. But she just stood there, almost as if she was frozen in fear of facing reality.

The wooden door to their bedroom was opened and she immediately noticed Daniel standing at the bottom of the bed. His eyes were on his wife who, in return, couldn't even look in his direction, her gaze drawn to the white sheets that covered her body instead.

"Baby?" He broke the silence, his voice trembling.

She kept silent on the outside, but on the inside, her thoughts spoke too much. She searched for words to say, but sentences seemed impossible to form in the state she was in.

"I didn't do anything, I swear." He said, in a pleading tone. Y/N felt the mattress drop with the weight of Daniel's knee on it as he tried to get closer to her.

As soon as she felt his icy hand touch her thigh, she unconsciously reacted, pulling her body away from his touch, as if it burned like fire.

"Please." Daniel pleaded, revealing the pain her action had caused him. "Trust me, baby. Please. I didn't do anything." He repeated.

"It didn't look like that." The coldness in her voice was everything he didn't want to hear after the torture that had been the hours of silence during his flight from the United States to Monaco.

"She was trying to talk to me and I didn't think too much of it because she came with some of Lando's friends. You have nothing to worry about." He tried to justify himself. "The media is just exaggerating to sell some non-existent drama stories."

"Just exaggerating?!" She replied, with a louder volume than she perhaps intended, as she allowed herself to look at him for the first time. "Have you seen the photos? Can you imagine what people are saying about you? About me? I look like a fucking idiot."

"And so what they think like that?" His shoulders shrugged, in complete disinterest. "Let them talk. What matters here is that you and I know that these things are nothing more than ridiculous rumours."

"And do I know that?" He was sure he could hear his own heart break at the words coming out of his wife's mouth. "The issue here isn't what people say or don't say. What about me? What about my fucking feelings?!"

"You don't believe me. Is that what you're saying?" Daniel kept up with Y/N's change in tone and now also spoke angrily in his words.

"You've been playing with fire and now you expect me to sit here, watch this shit everywhere and still trust you blindly. How do you want me to believe that nothing happened when there's a bunch of photos of you clinging to some other woman?!" She rose from the bed, placing herself directly in front of him.

"Because we're married! Because I took a vow that I would be loyal to you until death do us part!" He yelled, taking a step closer to her, outraged at the lack of trust in him she was showing. "Because I fucking love you… That should be enough for you." He whispered, realizing they were walking a thin line.

You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone

You said I have to trust more freely

But diesel is desire, you were playing with fire

And maybe it's the past that's talking

Screaming from the crypt

Telling me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it

As soon as the last sentence left the driver's mouth, he left the room and walked at a fast pace to the room, with Y/N following his path right behind him.

This is it, she thought when she saw him reach again for the suitcase he was carrying before. This is the end of us, right here.

"Where are you going?" Her voice cracked as tears threatened to escape her eyes.

"I'd better not spend the night here. If I stay, things will only escalate and I can't risk losing you because I said shit I shouldn't since I'm upset about this whole situation." Daniel admitted with his eyes mirroring hers, also in tears. Both were surrounded by fear and anger, even if it was for different reasons.

Her body physically ached when she saw his figure disappear through the door. She let her back lean against the hallway wall and descend until she sat on the tiled floor.

The only thing left for her to do was cry. And she did just that. For hours, she stayed there, crying uncontrollably, releasing all the hurt and heartbreak that consumed her.

Eventually, she gained enough courage to get up and walked over to their bed, trying to get some sleep. However, as exhausted as she felt, she spent the rest of the night awake, with the numbers on her nightstand's clock tormenting her, seeming to go slower and slower as time advanced.

She didn't even know where he was. Was he with Max? With Lando? With ... her? She didn't even want to think about that awful scenario, but God, it was hard not to wander in painful thoughts without him there to reassure her.

As soon as the woman saw "6 A.M." displayed on the alarm clock, she decided it was a waste of time to stay there, so she got up, sat on one of the benches on the marble kitchen island and prepared herself a bowl of cereal to eat.

She picked up her phone for the first time since her husband left the apartment and hadn't even unlocked it when she read two words: I'm sorry.

Two words from Chloe, not Daniel. And followed by a link from TMZ.

When she thought she couldn't get out of this with her soul more crushed, she read the title in very big and bold letters.

"EXCLUSIVE: Skylar James reveals all about scandalous affair with Daniel Ricciardo, model claims he cheated on his wife with her multiple times before"

That was the last nail in the coffin.

In a matter of minutes, Y/N packed a suitcase with some of her clothes and her essentials and was ready to leave that house towards her real home in Canada.

But not before she took off her engagement ring and her wedding band and left them both behind on the entryway table.

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the bombs were closer

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Later that day, Daniel mustered up the courage to return to his wife, motivated by his friend, Max, with whom he had stayed overnight.

Such was his surprise and shock when he immediately sensed the silence that filled the house, her abandoned rings only confirming his greatest fear.

She was gone.

That silence lasted for weeks. Both were at extreme ends of the world, on different continents.

Daniel had to restrain himself from catching the next plane to Montreal, something he thought about doing dozens of times during those agonizing days of separation. But Scotty had been in contact with him, telling him that he and his fiancée Chloe were with the driver's partner and that he just needed to give her some time.

Until then, he could only dedicate himself to his career and racing as an escape from the real world.

The girl's absence from the paddock was not missed, especially by the media, who continued to sell stories on top of stories about the most scandalous topic of the moment in the motorsport world's gossip.

It was torture trying to avoid that subject day after day, knowing he had lost the love of his life to greedy people who were trying to make a career out of lies. It turned into something bigger unnecessarily, and he could only blame himself for being in that situation, even though he was also a victim of the whole thing.

That's how Daniel decided there was only one chance to work this out and try to win back his girl. And against the orders of the McLaren's PR team, he sat in his hotel room and released a statement about the false case on his social media, not knowing the consequences that could bring him.

They couldn't be worse than losing her.

For the first time in weeks, Y/N was able to breathe when she opened his Instagram story and read the words he wrote.

"Over the last few weeks, there have been a lot of rumours and lies spread around about my marriage and my alleged involvement with another woman.

I come here to clarify that I don't know that woman and that I have never cheated on my wife with her, or with any woman.

From the moment I met my partner, my life was completely dedicated to her. She is the most special woman in the world and I thank God every day that I was the lucky one chosen to be by her side.

I am the first to admit that the photographs published in the media look wrong and that I shouldn't have even let myself be put in that position. But not everything that appears to be true is true and I need to make clear again that all the claims made by the other person involved are pure fabrications.

My body and soul belong to my incredible, beautiful wife and I couldn't live another day without publicly asking for her forgiveness for the terrible position she was placed in through no fault of her own."

Reading that, she couldn't help but wonder if she shouldn't have trusted him more freely, if she hadn't punished him for things he never did.

At that moment she made the decision to return to Monaco. She wasn't ready to give up on their love just yet and to be defeated by this Great War.

Always remember

Uh-huh, the burning embers

I vowed not to fight anymore

If we survived the Great War

After 10 agonizing hours of travelling from Montreal to Monaco, Y/N finally found herself in front of the familiar door of the apartment where she had lived over the past years.

I was so unfair, this is my home, come what may, she thought.

She let herself in silently and walked slowly to the open room at the end of the hall, coming face to face with the image of Daniel, sitting on the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

He looked so distraught and so tired. It was evident he hadn't even heard her come in. The girl approached him cautiously and ran her hand gently through the brown curls of his hair as she crouched in front of him.

As soon as he felt her touch, a touch he could recognize anywhere in the world blindfolded, he looked at his wife. His eyes told her everything he was thinking about: the fear of losing her, the despair of someone who didn't know what else to do, the maddening love he felt for her and only her.

"You're here." He said, more to himself than to her. "You're really here."

"I am, baby." She gave him a weak smile, trying to reassure him that she'd come to make amends, not to fight anymore.

"I swear to you that I don't even know her, she showed up at that nightclub in Miami with some of Lando's friends. Everything that woman said is a lie. I never cheated on you, I could never do such a thing." He reached for her hand. "I am completely and truly obsessed with you. No person makes me feel the way you make me feel, and I would never put what we have at risk for anything in the world."

"I know, Danny." She leaned her forehead against his chest as they embraced each other. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you from the start. I don't care what she's been saying to the magazines. I know the man that you really are and that you would never do anything to hurt me on purpose."

"But that's the problem, Y/N. I still hurt you, even if I didn't mean to." Her husband grabbed her face with both of his hands, making her look him in the eye. "I'm the one who has to apologize to you."

"She was trying to say something to me at the club and she walked over to me so I could hear her. When I realized, she suddenly leaned over me and put her arms around my neck and I only had the reflex to grab her around the waist because I honestly thought she had lost her balance or something." He explained what really happened that night. "What I didn't realize was that she had a whole plan to spread those images on the internet in search of her five minutes of fame."

It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Your finger on my hairpin triggers

Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops

That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I'd lost you

"We are going to be okay, baby." She said. He had looked at her with such a sense of honour and truth. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt in her head that he was being sincere.

Simultaneously, seeking each other's touch, Daniel and Y/N got up on their feet and hugged each other, making sure their bodies were as close as possible.

And they spent the rest of the afternoon like that, in each other's arms, in comfortable silence, just cherishing each other's presence, at peace at last.

We can plant a memory garden

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

And we will never go back

When dinner time came, the couple ordered their usual Chinese takeaway, as they did every Friday when they were both at home, and sat on the sofa on their balcony while they ate under the beaming light of the sunset.

The only difference to the other Fridays was their phones. Instead of being a part of their conversation as they showed each other videos or photos from their week, this time they chose to turn them off and leave them in their dresser drawer so they couldn't be distracted by the outside world.

These were the moments that made it all worthwhile. These moments of peace, comfort and love all outweighed the war.

"I really thought I'd lost you, you know." She said, as she put her head on his shoulder, sighing. "I've never been so afraid in my life."

To that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the worst was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

He looked at her, appreciating every little detail on her face, from the small scar she had above her eyebrow to the delicate mole she had on her chin.

After experiencing the world without her, Daniel knew that life would never be as colourful as with his lover by his side.

"You could never lose me, baby." He placed a small kiss on her lips. "It's me and you against the world, forever and always."

Always remember

Uh-huh, we're burned for better

I vowed I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

Although they didn't need validation from others to make them feel good about their decision to stay together, after a few weeks, the truth eventually came out.

Y/N was getting out of the shower when she got a call from her best friend.

"Hey, Chloe!" The girl said excitedly.

"Y/N, you're not going to believe what just happened." Chloe was always up to date with everything that was going on, but Y/N couldn't help but fear what was coming, especially after the painful weeks she had thanks to digital rumours.

"Skylar was just exposed on Instagram by a 'friend'. She leaked some audios that show it was all a set-up to take advantage of Daniel." Y/N couldn't believe karma worked so fast. "She apparently joined Lando's friends to get into the club but she didn't even know them at all! Can you believe the audacity of this girl?"

Without warning, Y/N disconnected the call, wrapped a towel around her body and ran to Daniel who was in the living room playing PlayStation.

She quickly told him everything that had happened and it was possible to see the driver breathe a sigh of relief when he realized that his reputation was clean again.

Time had stopped when his lips found hers, making her knees go weak. Everything about him consumed her. Her focus was only on him and how he invaded her every sense.

"I vowed I would always be yours." He reminded her, as he leaned his forehead against hers, both of them with their eyes closed in a gesture of calm and tranquillity. "I love you more than anything in this world. You know that, right? We survived the Great War, Y/N Ricciardo."

I will always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

I vow I will always be yours

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thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

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promenadewithme · 10 months

Text

The Viscount Who Deceived Me - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ...

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem! Reader, Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader

Warnings: none, I think

Word Count: 1.7K

a/n: I'm having a lot of fun writing this series!

You took a deep breath and stepped out of your carriage in front of the Cowper residence.

Closing your eyes and gathering strength, you straightened your shoulders and released all the pent up air in your chest.

"Are you alright, my dear?" your mama asked, taking your arm in hers.

You gave her your best smile, that still turned out small, and answered "I'm perfectly fine."

She didn't believe you, but nonetheless nodded. You both walked around the house and greeted people you knew on the way to the gardens.

Candles were lit, floral patterns were freshly painted on the grass, and everyone was dressed in varied tones of red, orange and black. The invitation had said it would be a blazing event and that the guests should dress in the hues of fire.

There was said to be a never before seen surprise to do with the theme at the end of the night, but many disapproved, thinking it was too provocative for a ball.

You had thought it might be fun and were very excited to see what this innovative surprise might be.

You abandoned your family greens for a burgundy dress that evening. Madame Delacroix had truly outdone herself with your dress this time. The light fabric along with your hanging sleeves made it look like your clothes were dancing with your every move.

"There are the Bridgertons." pointed your mama with a nod of her head.

Sure enough, you saw the whole family except for the little ones.

They spotted both of you as you made your way over. You smiled and curtsied politely, trying to avoid Anthony's gaze. He made it impossible when he took your hand in his and bowed to kiss it.

'Has he ever kissed her hand?' you wondered.

'Of course he has, he was already kissing her neck. He might have even kissed her lips.'

"How are you this evening?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine." you said, but your voice was too weak, pitch too high.

"Alright then, if that is all." Eloise took your arm in hers and started dragging you away "We will be on our way."

"Do not linger too far!" called out Violet, but the two of you were already gone.

You leaned closer to your friend and whispered "Thank you."

"You looked like you saw a ghost, I had you get you out." she answered, looking around.

You spotted Penelope in a corner grabbing a champagne flute from a passing servant and gestured to Eloise that you had found her.

"Ah."

The two of you walked towards her and she smiles when she spotted you.

"There you are! I was beginning to think I'd have to spend the rest of the night in the company of plants." she quipped.

"I wish I could have stayed home," huffed Eloise, crossing her arms and glaring at a gentleman who passed by looking at her "You know how much I despise these sordid events."

You chuckled and nudged her with your elbow "Are you not the least bit excited for this surprise they have planned?"

"I am excited to finish my book. I am excited to lay down in bed and sleep."

"What are you reading?" you asked, looking forward to the topic.

The three of you were the only women your age you knew that enjoyed reading. Most ladies of the ton found that improving your mind with extensive reading was not an accomplishment, but a waste of time.

'Men do not want a woman who has read Shakespeare, they want a wife who can entertain them with the pianoforte or their voice. Men want women who can embroider and paint, not someone to discuss politics with.' was what you had heard a gentleman saying while you were at the bookshop one time.

"Wuthering Heights." she answered excitedly.

"What is it about?" questioned Penelope before taking another sip of her champagne.

"Vengeance." she smiled.

"I am very much afraid of you sometimes." you said and Pen nodded.

"Thank you," she touched her heart "but, in all earnest, it is a very good book. The both of you should read it."

"Can I borrow your copy after I finish my current read?" smiled Pen.

"Of course, I shall drop it off as soon as I finish it. What are you reading now?"

"Pride and Prejudice." she said and you gasped.

"So am I!" you exclaimed excitedly, gaining a few disapproving looks from other guests.

"What do you think of Bingley? she asked with a smile and a slight flush to her cheeks.

"I think he reminds me a bit of Colin," you leaned closer to her ear "and you remind me a bit of Jane."

"Oh, hush." she chided, but her cheeks had turned crimson and she grinned "Do you really think so?"

"I do." you nodded and turned to Eloise "And you, my dear friend, are Elizabeth Bennet."

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged the corner of her lips. "And who might you be?"

"Me?" you stopped for a second to consider your options "Well, I suppose I must be poor Mr Collins."

They both laughed and everything seemed so normal. When you were like this with your friends, it was like all your troubles faded away.

You did not have to marry the man who betrayed you, you did not have to worry about taking one step out of line with the fear of having to be wed to the oldest man you knew, you did not feel nauseous and anxious like you had the rest of the day. With Eloise and Penelope, you could just be.

That feeling of peace faded all too quickly when Anthony appeared in front of you and bowed "May I have your first dance?"

All colour drained from your face and you had to clear your throat before answering "You may."

He wrote his name on your dance card next to the first song. A quadrille.

At least you would not spend the whole dance with him.

He offered you his arm and you took it, giving your friends one last glance. They tried to smile encouragingly, but it looked more like they were grimacing.

You took a deep breath as you stepped into position. Four couples, including yourselves, stood in rectangular formation. You and Anthony on one side, a married couple to your right, Philippa Featherington and Finch to your left, and Benedict with Cressida Cowper in front of you.

Your shoulders were hunched, your muscles tense. Anthony's hand felt cold in yours and you remembered how it had touched the opera singer.

Benedict locked eyes with you and his gaze was warm. His eyebrows furrowed and he mouthed "are you alright?"

You forced a smile and nodded just as the song started. He didn't look like he believed you, but didn't say anything else.

The string quartet continued as you turned to Anthony and bowed to each other, you repeated the same with Finch. While the couples at your side met in the centre and danced around one another, switching partners then back, you stayed in place.

Benedict continued looking worriedly at you and you gave him a small smile.

Anthony interrupted your silent communication when he leaned close to your ear and whispered "I have to talk to you. About us."

"Are you sure this is the right time?" you asked and inwardly cursed him for bringing this up.

"This is the perfect time." he said before taking you to the centre of the group.

You briefly grasped both of Benedict's hands before passing by him and meeting with Anthony again. He held your left hand on his and his right held your waist. You stayed that way as you walked around the couples.

"Have you received the flowers?" he asked, a hopeful look on his face.

Anthony had sent you roses after you left the house that morning. Your mother had said it was romantic, you thought it was generic.

"I have." you answered, nodding curtly at Philippa.

'Does he even know that my favourite flowers are tulips?' you contemplated sadly. 'I was so blind to think he loved me.'

"Good, good. And are they to your liking?" he probed and you contained an annoyed sigh.

"They are perfectly fine." you stated, looking anywhere else but him as you stepped into your starting place again.

"I know that you have not forgiven me for what I have done." he whispered solemnly.

Your eyes burned and you stared at Cressida's hem, the couples on each side of you switched partners.

'I will not talk about this, I will not cry in public, I will not make cause a scandal.' you repeated the words over and over in your head.

When you said nothing, he continued "I do not expect you to forgive me, but I would be grateful if you would give me a chance to explain."

"There is nothing to explain." you spat then took a deep breath to calm yourself "I already know everything."

"But you do not." he insisted "You do not know the half of it."

You scoffed "If that was merely half, I do not wish to know the rest at all."

Stepping forward once again, Anthony and Benedict switched partners. One hand on your waist and the other holding yours, he leaned forward and his lips brushed against your ear, breath tickling your neck.

"Save your next dance for me?" he whispered and chills ran down your spine.

"Yes." you nodded as you switched brothers again.

"If you will not let me explain," he said, alternating his feet in front of him to the rhythm of the quartet's melody "at least let me say that I will no longer be seeing Siena."

"I truly do not care." you said between your teeth, attempting to hide your anger behind a smile "Do what you will, it does not matter to me. Not anymore."

Anthony pulled your body flush to his by the waist, searching eyes boring deeply into your soul.

"You hate me." he stated gravely.

"I do not hate you." you sighed.

"You do, I have wronged you and you have every right to hate me. What I do not understand is why you are choosing to marry a man you now despise."

Your voice was small and desperate when you answered "It is not a choice, Anthony."

The song ended and you untangled yourself from him. You curtsied and turned to walk as far away from a furrow-browed Anthony as possible.

a/n: guys!!!! I got so many requests for a part 3!! I hope you are all enjoying reading this series as much as I do writing it! (ps: this was my first time writing dialogue during a dance, so please tell me if it was bad or too confusing)

General Taglist: @crazy-beautiful @missryerye @flourishandblotts-inc

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#anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fic #anthony x reader #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x sis!reader #benedict bridgerton

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kissingghouls · 2 months

Note

'leave me behind' and Terzo if I may ☺️ you can chose if you want to break my heart or just let him be the drama queen we know and love 💜

Oh my goodness Cake this took so long! I am so sorry 😭

Here's 1k words of Drama Queen Retired Terzo Fluff 💜 (Terzo x Reader [gender neutral reader, but there is a mention of wearing a dress], established relationship, relatively SFW but suggestive, MDNI, not beta read)

Terzo Emeritus is a magnificent bastard. Magnificent and beautiful. The warm light of the morning shines on your lover’s bare face—a luxury very few are allowed to see even now in his retirement. Trouble is, he’s as charming as he is handsome. The Third has completely stolen your heart and—if you were inclined to search through his room—probably some of your clothes as well.

The suite is just as dreamy and over-the-top as he is, all luxe velvet and silk in the deepest violet built to house royalty. An opalescent gleam dances over every surface thanks to the large stained glass window on the far wall. Touches of gold and marble from the fireplace to the valet where his suit waits for him seem to sparkle at this hour. Even the bed feels softer than the night before—as if Papa Emeritus III would sleep on anything less than a cloud.

It's hard to leave this place. As much as you’d love to dramatically drape yourself over every opulent piece of furniture in the room and pose like a Victorian woman waiting for a letter, there were things to do. You were happy Terzo was enjoying retired life—even more so that he was spending his leisure time with you—but he’s been pretending to be asleep for a half-hour and you really need to get out of this bed.

You’ve tried wiggling, huffing, and physically trying to pry his fingers away from you, but Terzo will not let go. Normally you think it’s sweet the way he clings to you, but he knows you have important meetings to attend. And he knows exactly how it will look if you are late.

“Terzo, please,” you finally try, your voice hitting a pitched whine you hadn’t intended. You hope it helps to make your point.

“Amore,” he whines back. His eyes are still shut tight, but he’s fighting that sweet Terzo smile you usually enjoy.

“You have to let me go, Terzo.”

He groans in response, tightening his grip on you. “I will never.”

“Terzo, darling, I need to get dressed. You know how they get if I’m late for a meeting.”

He sighs heavily and slowly releases his hold. Before he can change his mind, you slip from the bed and gather your clothes for the day. He watches you dress, eyes following the line of your body as you move through the room. He knows every part of you now, loves every part of you. There isn’t a dip or curve he hasn’t traced with his fingers or his tongue. He’s committed each freckle and scar to memory, knows them better than all those songs he used to sing. Songs he’d still sing at your request, but only for you.

Maybe he is a selfish man, but he can’t help but want you to stay in his arms. If not forever, then at least ten—no—sixty more minutes.

“Go on then,” he laments, dramatically throwing his arm over his eyes. “Leave me behind.”

The mattress dips under the weight of your knee as you sigh and climb back onto his ridiculous bed. You straddle his waist, leaning forward to press a kiss against his chest—that perfect pretty space right over his heart. “Terzo?” Your voice is soft, but you know he can hear you. You repeat his name, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t move at all. “Terzo, look at me.”

“I can’t,” he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out a little more as he keeps his arm in place.

“Why not?”

“You’re too beautiful. Like staring into the sun,” he admits with a sigh. “And if I look at you now, you will never make it to that meeting. What kind of man would I be then? Contributing to your delinquency?”

You bite your lip and pry his arm away from his face, pinning it to the mattress instead. “I think you would be the same man you were last night—the same man who spent the entire evening with a hand up my dress.”

“Well, that’s not my fault, amore. You have bewitched me, temptress. I’m nothing more than a possessed man.”

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“Oh?” He asks, his left eyebrow quirked up. “Perhaps you could tell me what you meant, so I can understand.”

“I like you. I like being with you. I like being around you. I would rather stay here with you and let you worship me than sit in that stuffy conference room for even one second.”

“Sì, sì. I like where this is going,” he teases, raising his hips under you.

“But—” You pause to pin his other arm to the bed, holding him firmly. “If I miss this meeting, you better make it worth it—”

“Oh, amore, I—”

“And you are coming up with a much better excuse this time.”

He frowns. “And what was so bad about the last one?”

“Telling you brother I ‘choked on something’ isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Copia? He wouldn’t know an innuendo from his own fist.”

“You know the Siblings call him ‘Fuck Machine’ right?”

“They what—”

“It doesn’t matter, but you should be very proud.”

“Ah, sì, good for him I suppose…Why do you know they call him that?”

“Shush darling, it’s just girl talk.”

“Wait, what do they call me?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to work.”

His body shifts and twists until his hands are free. He grabs your waist, easily pushing you onto your back before he climbs over you. He softly traces his lips over your jaw as he speaks. “You said you’d stay.”

“I said if I stay. And that you better have a good excuse.”

“Hmm,” he hums, drawing a hand between your legs. “I don’t know, amore. I think it feels like you might be getting a fever.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm, Hell Flu is deathly contagious too. We should quarantine for at least a week I think.”

“A week, huh?”

“At least. You may need even longer to recover. I’m afraid you are very, very ill. I’ll call Copia and let him know you aren’t feeling well. You go ahead and get undressed, amore. Let me take care of you,” he says with a wink and hops up to call in sick for you.

#my writing #prompt request #terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #reader insert #the band ghost fanfiction #terzo fanfiction #papa emeritus iii fanfic #x reader

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liz-allyn · 4 months

Text

love on the brain: sugar & vice, vol 2 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!OC]

summary: You didn’t think it was going to be easy, did you? AKA The night Peter and Honey reunited—Four. Months. Later. [mob!peter parker x oc!MJ]

words: 11.8k (omfg)

NSFW/MINORS DNI - ABANDON ALL CHASTITY, YE WHO ENTER HERE (detailed warnings below)

extended warnings (spoilers): p^rn with plot, detailed smut, really just... filthy and deranged. slightly dubcon parts (although consent is clearly confirmed), no Y/N...ever, arguing, anger, jealousy, physical violence (slapping, scratching, throwing objects), almost hate sex, fem!reader with a vagina and breasts and wears a dress, oral (f! receiving), P in V, rough!dom Peter, sub!reader, possessive!peter, mirrors, titty!worship, shame and slight degradation, use of emojis, f! being restrained, discussion of masturbation, slight breeding kink, non-consensual voyeurism, moderate BDSM kink, “punishment” play (spanking, edging) bratty reader, peter parker being a dunce around women, mob!au, furniture harmed in the making of this

names used: daddy, princess, baby, babygirl

A/N: This is a one-shot standalone story that takes place immediately after the Epilogue of Vol 1. And serves as the official beginning of Vol. 2. If you haven’t read Vol.1, you really should. The main OC is AFAB and goes by the name “Honey.” You’ll need to read Vol. 1 to know why. I try to be loose with my descriptions for people who prefer a Reader-Insert. But I’m not perfect. In this canon, Honey has a Latina heritage (as do I). Take that as you will. Thanks to @moonyslove78 and @blooming-violets for cheering me on through this very long hiatus.

This is 18+ AF. And if you think the term ‘AF’ shows how old and out of touch you are, then you’re probably not old enough to read this.

This version of TASM Peter Parker is not canon. The relationships here are not healthy and the characters need therapy. Don’t date a mob boss IRL.

#1 - Love on the Brain

>>> heya boss. how’s your trip? 😜

Peter arched a brow as he peeked down at the text message.

>>> ⋯ >>> your trip to pound town? 🍆🍑

He rolled his eyes, swallowing back an irritated snort.

Real mature, Felicia.

He almost tapped out a haughty reply but stopped. Corners of his mouth turned down, he found himself unable to respond.

“So many choices. I just don’t know what I want.”

An understatement.

The girl of his dreams sat across from him in the quaint East Harlem Cuban restaurant. They were crammed together at a bistro table near the kitchen. The enormous menu took up the entire surface, and she had spent the last 25 minutes reading the items aloud.

It was nearly 11 p.m., and they had yet to pick an appetizer.

The woman he’d called ‘his Honey’ sweetly sighed with a shrug. “Now that we’re here, I just can’t make up my mind.”

Her voice had a singsong tune to it, purposefully careless. Blissfully ignorant of the fact that Peter was starving.

“Maybe I’m just not feeling Cuban food tonight,” she shrugged, nonchalant.

Peter swallowed hard. Tried to rid his expression of any hint of impatience or irritation.

“Oh,” he remarked delicately, thinking of all the different dinner reservations he’d made for tonight. It didn’t matter what magazine talked it up, didn’t matter how many “tire awards” it had won.

Honey was unimpressed.

“M’surprised,” he said, as emotionlessly as possible. “Thought you had your heart set on this place.”

The place was one of those hole-in-the-wall joints that had less than 10 tables, which made takeout the most popular choice.

On this night however—a Tuesday— the restaurant was nearly empty, except for the overdressed couple and the loathsome kitchen staff, who didn’t expect to be subject to “este cabrón” and his picky girlfriend strolling in 30 minutes before closing.

While Peter could feel the heat of their ire over the oven, Honey avoided it. She explained to the manager that Peter was “un ricacho que tiene demasiado dinero.” And with that, they were seated.

When Peter approached her earlier that afternoon in the park, he’d expected a much worse welcome. He nearly died of a panic attack when he spotted her on the park bench. It had been four long months since he’d attempted to communicate with her, and he half-expected her to throw her iced coffee in his face.

Actually, he had no idea what to expect from her. Terrifyingly.

Peter had lamented to Felicia— “There’s no card that says, ‘Sorry, I ghosted you for a few months while attempting to shake the heat off my back.’ Which flowers say, ‘I apologize that the last conversation we had, I called you a whore in front of a room full of cops’?”

The true challenge came when Peter actually looked into her eyes. He didn’t expect that one look would render him useless.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Ethereal. Glowing. The human equivalent of a bouquet of sunflowers, with happy round cheeks and her hair tied back in a ponytail. She was the color of rainbows, and summer, and sunshine. She was the cherries of her red lip stain and the golden rays of her yellow linen sundress.

God, that dress.

Peter planned for everything—but not that dress.

His carefully rehearsed speech went out the window when he saw her in that dress: a cotton ruched-waist, tea-length gown in a yellow gingham pattern. It featured a sweetheart neckline that cradled her breasts perfectly between the halter tie-back straps.

He had no idea where that dress came from, but it was the most perfect piece of fabric ever to grace a woman’s body. He would buy her twelve more of them, no matter the cost. He’d buy every last one.

He’d give her the sun, the ocean, Hawai’i, and all the stars in the sky— if only she’d forgive him. He was ready to throw himself on a bed of hot coals as long as it meant that she would take him back. If she would come back home.

Truthfully, he needed her to come home.

Not to get ahead of himself, he started by taking her to dinner.

That was Felicia’s advice—women love dinner. solves everything. the fancier, the better, with lots of red meat—u know how they say food is the way to a man’s heart? dinner is the way to the ovaries. works every time.

Actually, Felicia gave Peter lots of advice. For once, he was more than grateful to accept it.

>>> make her feel like you can’t take your eyes off her. but don’t stare. like a creeper >>> be a gentleman, but not a pushover. you wanna be the good guy. soft YA novel boyfriend type

Followed quickly by—

>>> but not too soft! don’t be a little bitch. if she plays hard to get, you play offense. >>> and defense.

Peter had no idea what she was talking about. But he knew when it was wise to trust the advice of more intelligent creatures than men.

Five restaurants later...

“I thought going to dinner was your idea?” Honey asked with pursed lips.

“It was; it was my idea,” he nervously replied. “Six hours ago—it was my idea.”

She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Hmm. Six hours. Long time to wait.” Her eyes fell down to the menu again. Her lack-of-sympathy said everything.

Peter’s pocket buzzed again, and he glanced down at the incoming text message from Felicia.

>>> ...????

He rolled his eyes. Tapped out a response.

<<< Not great.

“Am I interrupting something?” Honey asked with a clipped tone.

Peter jumped, pocketing his phone immediately. “No, just... just something... silly,” he muttered. “How ‘bout we get a few plates in, yeah? I’m gonna just order some stuff—”

“Like what?” she questioned skeptically.

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged, his stomach twisting. “One of everything.”

“That’s wasteful,” Honey said, judgment sharpening her gaze. “Food waste is bad enough as it is in this city.”

“Well, at this point,” he snapped with an exasperated sigh, “I might be able to eat two of everything.” The words floated away from him, and he bit the inside of his cheek, wishing they would come back. Hesitantly, he made eye contact with Honey.

She peered at him disgustedly from over the top of her menu. She scoffed, crossing one leg over the other, and dropped the leather-bound book closed.

“Don’t let me slow you down,” Honey said icily. “I’m not that hungry anyway.”

Peter’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. His pocket buzzed again.

>>> the fuck? what do you mean? >>> she was in love with you b4... how hard can it be to take her on a date? >>> christ. did you fuck this up, parker?

He shoved the phone back in his jacket, nearly punching through the silk fabric.

“If I’m wasting your time, tell me,” Honey sharply retorted. She crossed her arms even tighter across her chest. He had to force himself to look away from the way it plumped her breasts together. “I’d hate to keep you from something important.”

Felicia was right. He was fucking this up. Before he could open his mouth—

“Excuse me, señorita,” a masculine, smoky voice crooned at them.

Peter and Honey glanced up to see a chiseled man in his 30s approach the table with a hurricane glass of ice. He was a specimen of Latin American art—a bronzed statue, with carved muscles that bulged out of his floral shirt. Deep brown eyes—no, hazel eyes— fixed on Honey as he reached across the table with rolled-back sleeves. The corded muscles in his arm, toned by long hours of hard labor, flexed gracefully as he gently set a cocktail in front of her.

A frosted, colorless liquid speckled with crushed mint leaves filled the glass. Honey blinked with delighted surprise.

“Our compliments,” the young, disgustingly attractive waiter explained with a sultry smile and a thick accent. “In case you found yourself thirsty while browsing the menu.”

A blush colored her skin as she glanced up at their handsome waiter. The sparkle in her smile was as blinding as ever, and she graciously looked back between the glass and the server. The waiter— no way in hell this fuckin’ guy is a waiter— beamed back at her, enamored.

“Oh, wow!” she gasped, reaching for the glass with dainty fingers. “Is this a mojito? That’s my favorite! How did you know?”

The waiter graciously chuckled. “Lucky guess. You look like a woman of refined taste.”

Peter felt his blood pressure rising.

Honey didn’t even look at her date, as if he was suddenly invisible. “Thank you,” she grinned, self-satisfied. “I mean, I do know my way around a Bacardi bottle.” The waiter chuckled, maybe too hard, at her silly joke.

“We want you to enjoy your evening with us,” the waiter added politely, sparing Peter a glance but keeping all his attention on Honey. “We are honored to have you as our guest.”

The waiter spoke gentlemanly as he splayed his long fingers across his chest. “Please, take as much time as you need. No need to feel rushed. It is my pleasure to serve you.”

Peter could feel a twitch behind his eye. Could have been the fire shooting out of his eyes. Fuck this prick, probably another Broadway reject or somethin’, couldn’t buy himself a decent shirt—His mind churned along with his anger.

Oblivious, Honey beamed up at him with a golden smile. “Thank you so much for saying that,” she replied, endearingly sweet. “You are too kind, um... I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Pedro.”

Honey’s brows shot to her hairline. “Pedro?” she repeated, absolutely delighted. She glanced over at Peter. “Isn’t that something?”

The mob boss’ lip curled mirthlessly. “Oh, it’s somethin,’ alright.”

Peter continued to burn his stare—fuck his stupid accent— into the side of the aloof waiter’s head. He wondered if Pedro’s handsome, chiseled jawline was sharp enough to cut through a noose.

Buzz..

>>> you’re keepin’ your cool, right? >>> remember what i said. >>> anything she wants. no questions asked! >>> don’t get all crazy possessive either

The joyful sound of her laughter ripped his attention away from his phone and back towards his charmed date.

“Pedro,” she sweetly preened. “Can you give us a recommendation?” She briefly flashed her eyes at Peter before looking back at her new friend. “My date’s clearly distracted. He has no idea what I like.”

Oh? Peter raised a brow at that. And lost his appetite.

Peter followed Honey down the hallway to his hotel suite while storm clouds swirled in his gut. Lighting crackled with each footfall. Tension clogged the atmosphere, and they shuffled in a silent fog to the door.

Despite Felicia’s advice about controlling his inner beasts, Peter’s hackles were raised, and his stomach growled. Now, he was hungry for more than just food. And simultaneously, he’d never felt so powerless.

Peter noted how tightly she wrapped her arms around herself. Her face suggested she was deep in thought. He wondered if she was just as tightly wound as he was. Wondered if she could break his heart with just a look.

He was flailing. Pathetic.

Peter’s fist clenched his keycard tight. He had to be careful not to snap the card in half between his fingers. Was it from excitement or terror? Desire or rage?

He had to focus, to make this work. He had nothing if he didn’t have her.

Rigidly, Peter pushed the door open and stood to the side of the frame to let her enter.

She paused briefly, lips tight, as she gazed into the rotunda entryway of the lavish suite. They hadn’t spoken in the car, and he hadn’t had the chance to explain the location.

Letting out a steady breath, she strode through the threshold and stopped. Her body blocked the doorway. She turned to look up at Peter, defiant eyes flashing.

“This is as far as you go.”

Peter blinked, looking at her in confusion.

Her tone was curt. Icy. He recognized that sound. It was the tone of voice she used when she wanted to draw blood, and it never failed to inflict pain. Her voice. Her eyes. Even her tongue was razor-sharp.

Peter curled a brow upwards. “Sorry?”

Honey narrowed her eyes. “Not yet, you’re not.”

He took a step back, blinking owlishly.

“What did you think was going to happen tonight, Peter?” The ire of Honey’s question sliced through him. “Did you think you were gonna shave your face, take me to a fancy dinner, and then I’d just... open my legs for you?”

A literal ellipsis formed in his mind.

Peter swallowed hard. “Uhhh—?”

“‘I’ll wait for forever, Honey,’ she parroted his earlier admission mockingly. “Is that all you have to say to me? You left me! For four months!”

Peter nodded his head, not sure exactly why or when he began. “I know, I know...”

“You know!?”

The walls of etiquette and politeness between them began to crack.

“How many times I gotta tell ya? I was tryin’ to protect ya, Honey—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

It stung like a snake bite. Rage filled her eyes, disdain bubbling out of her mouth. She had only just begun.

“You buy me all this expensive bullshit!” she scolded. “And you dress up in your ridiculous designer suits and parade me to all these fucking pretentious places! Like I’m some kind of accessory! Like you own the whole fucking city and everyone in it!”

He replied with a string of noises. Or, at least, he thought so.

“Big bad mob boss—all that power—and yet, you couldn’t just talk to me? You had me wait around for you like a stray dog! You can just come and go as you please, but you—you expect me to follow you around on a leash?”

“Honey, please. Let me explain—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Peter!” her voice echoed through the rotunda and down the hall of the hotel. “I don’t want to hear a single one of your lame excuses! I don’t want a fancy dinner, or a new Porsche, or a mansion, or whatever else makes your dick hard!”

Peter blinked rapidly, stunned. His body responded as if she had just kicked him in the place she referenced, “Jus’lemme—”

“And I sure as hell don’t want another apology!” she asserted definitively. “I don’t want you anywhere near me!”

Peter’s jaw hung open, tongue dead in his mouth. The woman who barely stood at his collarbone stared down at him, making him feel inches tall.

“Now, I’m going to bed. Exactly as I have been for the last four months.” Her voice thundered, “Alone!”

With that, the door slammed in his face, rattling inches from his nose. The echo reverberated through the empty hallway and inside his chest, emphasizing the deep crack that formed.

Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The shock subsided slowly, and his heart sank. The ache soon sizzled into a burn, boiling his blood. At the same time, the sting of her rejection was raw. Unbearable.

Unbelievable.

Absolutely unacceptable.

He should break down the fucking door. Throw her over his shoulder and tie her up. Gag her—Anything to get her to listen.

Haplessly, Peter’s eyes fell on his expensive shoes—his Valentinos. Or maybe these were the Tom Ford’s? He had no clue. Just more bullshit.

Fuck—He was going to cry. Maybe he should let himself just do it. Lean into it. Drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Shoulders slumped, he squeezed his eyes closed.

He was a little bitch.

Peter pictured a door closing on a rocket or an airplane. Whatever it was, it was leaving him behind. He was falling back to Earth, having placed too much faith in miracles. This was his punishment for flying that close to the sun—

The door swung open.

Two hands grabbed Peter’s jacket, pulling him forward off his heels. It was a surprisingly fluid motion; his heartbreak had reduced the mass of his bones to nothing.

Honey’s nails practically pierced his lapels. She yanked him through the doorway into the suite, slamming the door behind him, and slamming him into the door right after.

Before Peter could open his mouth to speak, she was on him like a viper.

A sharp, biting kiss swallowed him whole, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. The heat was as intense as he had remembered. This time, they didn’t melt into one another. Honey was like a wildfire, her touch scalding him.

His skin flushed from the sudden unbearable heat. Before he could react, her lithe fingers started tugging the edges of his jacket. Clumsily, she tried pushing it back over his broad shoulders. As soon as he knew of her intent, he eagerly obliged, shrugging the garment off and to the floor.

Her hands went to his throat, ebony-painted nails leaving trails on his skin. Buttons popped as she yanked on his clothes. Her goal could have been to draw blood with her kiss.

Every time her teeth tore at his lips, he responded with a groan into her mouth.

Clumsy, he fumbled with his fingers—reaching up to grip her by the hair. Finally, he wrenched her head back, detaching her bite from his face.

Immediately, he was met with an open-palmed slap on the cheek.

Sharp gasps cut through them, and they jumped backward a few feet. Tension and shock reverberated in the chasm they created. Like the barometric pressure plunging before a storm, an eerie calm settled over them.

Honey blinked at him, jaw agape and her palm throbbing.

Peter glared at her in silence. He looked a mess—hair unkempt, the top buttons of his shirt torn open to reveal jagged crimson scratch marks across his milky skin.

His heartbeat steadily increased as he gently dabbed his fingertips at the ache in his jaw. The exquisite lines of his face were stained pastel pink, flushed by arousal or anger. His eyes were black as night, so it could have been either one.

She looked just as wrecked. Dress askew, her hairstyle half-unraveled. Goosebumps dotted her skin. She looked shocked at the violence she was capable of, surprised and possibly guilty at her own strength. As the seconds passed, the feelings faded.

Peter watched her, pupils dilating, blood pressure rising. The shadow of a smile curved his mouth. His features darkened into something primal. Something familiar.

There’s my girl.

Slowly, he lowered his hand, studying her threatening look until his own expression began to match.

Physically, his senses were haywire. Danger, excitement, and a sick sort of pleasure rattled his bones and labored his breathing. The hairs on his skin stood on end. Alarms blared in his head. The sound of his own blood was almost deafening to him, thumping like a kick drum.

Peter could hear her heart, too. Fast. Like a rabbit. He was a wolf in pursuit.

Maybe the pain of her slap triggered him, a preemptive action against further attack.

She got one in, Peter mused mockingly. He knew she was no match. Not as Peter’s night vision sharpened. Not while he could taste the salt from her perspiration on his tongue. Most intoxicating of all, Peter could smell her desire. Like a rose bursting open.

In another blink, they switched positions. Peter snatched her by her shoulders and slammed her back into the wall, pinning her there. She went feral—hissing and raging at her entrapment.

Not a rabbit. A honey badger, then.

“Get off of me!” Honey spat.

“Shut up,” he ordered. Quiet and fierce.

Fingers gripping her forearms tight, he attacked her lips, teeth colliding. The ferocity stunned her. For a moment, it seemed like she finally submitted to him before she wriggled her mouth free.

“Mmffucker—Let me go!”

His body might as well have been a brick wall. His face was stonelike, eyes just as cold.

“No.”

Honey’s brow scrunched up like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “I’ll scream!” she countered.

Peter smirked, the hickory in his eyes igniting. “Baby. You have no idea.”

Peter’s guarantee sent a shiver down Honey’s spine. He saw the gears turning in her mind as she carefully considered pushing him further.

He hoped she would.

His fingers tightened around her forearms. He crucified her under his gaze. And yet, despite the danger anyone else would have felt... A glimmer of curiosity flickered in her eyes.

It set his mind reeling. A tiny sign of weakness to temptation made Peter’s stomach trapeze. He zeroed in on it, licking his chops.

Not to make it easy, Honey brought her knee up, attempting to make contact with his groin. There was nearly a foot of difference between their heights, and she paid it no mind.

Brave girl.

Peter admired her tenacity. She had balls. Smart, too, he pleasantly recognized. Honey went for the weak spot first. Good call.

Pointless, though.

Nothing below Peter’s belt was weak when she was around.

Unfairly, Peter picked up on her attack before her leg was even bent. He snatched her above the knee, lifting her toes off the ground and prying her thighs open.

He pictured the bruises on her skin that his fingertips would leave behind. Just the thought made him rock hard.

A year ago, Peter would have been ashamed. He would have shied away from her, for fear of repulsing her, and took out his frustration by himself in the shower.

Grinding his teeth at those memories, he pressed Honey’s hips into his waist, forcing her legs around him, and—Fuck—her heat.

Peter’s brain nearly short-circuited. She was like a bonfire against his belly. His cock pushed against his trousers, straining for her warmth. He secured her hips to his with a tight grip, which only pissed her off more. She thrashed, enraged.

She really needed to stop doing that. It only made the burn worse.

A few months ago, Peter would have been ashamed of the rush he felt from manhandling her. Ashamed of how his cock ached and twitched at her fruitless tantrums.

“Fucking asshole!” Honey sneered.

“Yeah?” he said with a bitter laugh. “You're a spoiled little brat!”

“Fuck you!”

“See what I mean?” Peter scoffed, holding her tighter. He breathed hotly into the shell of her ear. “Not even a ‘please.’”

His pride was short-lived. Inexplicably, Honey arched her neck and buried her teeth into his shoulder. He roared—“Fuck! What the fuck!!??” —surprised she didn’t bite through the silk of his collared shirt.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only beast in the room.

They tumbled down ungracefully. Peter landed hard on his back, with Honey crashing on top of him. She collapsed on his lungs, knocking the wind from his chest. Sputtering, he reached out to grab her, his fingertips barely missing the hem of her dress. The small woman scrambled to her hands and knees, then to her feet.

Honey dashed into the suite while Peter’s voice echoed—“Goddamnitareyacrazy!?”—after her.

Padding on her toes, she ran into a darkened living room with vaulted ceilings that might have been large enough to fit her entire apartment. Outside glass walls, the Midtown skyline surrounded her. The Metlife and Empire State Buildings glittered proudly in a breathtaking view.

The room was situated in the corner of the building. Velvet curtains framed the floor-to-ceiling windows, providing an unobstructed view of the city. The Dark Academia-Meets-Glam aesthetic seating area featured a sleek, modern leather sectional and mod velvet chaise lounge chat set.

Without time to admire any of it, she scrambled to the first piece of furniture she could reach. She grabbed the first thing her fingers could find—a designer fruit bowl centerpiece made of polished stainless steel and brass pomegranates.

It was exquisite and expensive.

Honey spun on her heel and flung the heavy metal at Peter.

He dipped deftly, his spine bowing back, narrowly missing the bowl as it whipped past him. The object barreled through a crystal chandelier, glass shattering like raindrops as they came down.

“Hey—!” he scowled, facing her with an indignant glare.

A moment later, he quickly shielded his face from another flying object: an asymmetrical crystal-and-Riverstone candelabra that crumbled against his forearm. It might as well have been a brick, with ceramic shards tumbling off of his shoulder.

Peter bristled in aggravation, brushing the pieces off. Now, she was really pissing him off.

He glanced up just in time to see a glass vase containing two dozen roses—meant to be her gift—hurtling towards his head. Reflexively, he snatched it from the air with one hand, water and all. He palmed the crystal vase like catching a baseball. Didn’t spill a drop.

His quick reflexes stunned the both of them. Peter’s jaw went slack—partially at his ability to save the flowers, but mostly with indignation that Honey had somehow destroyed $1,000 worth of the hotel’s tchotchkes in a few seconds.

“Enough!” Peter barked, carefully setting the vase down. Ignoring him, the woman darted toward another side table, already reaching for another expensive object to throw at him.

Suddenly, Honey’s ankle was caught in a sticky grip. Both legs pulled out from beneath her. She flattened immediately with an ooof—her belly dropping to the wool carpet.

Dazed, she glanced back at her legs with a crease in her brow. With a jolt, she was pulled along by a stringy, spongy substance on her ankle. It felt the way canned compressed air feels when shooting skin at close range.

Her nails dug into the carpet fibers as she was dragged back. “Agghhh! What the—Getitoff!”

As soon as the pulling stopped, Honey was on her back again, gazing up at the sharp lines of Peter’s cold gaze. He towered over her, even on his knees, as he mounted her hips. Protesting, she pelted him tirelessly with her fists.

The smell of sweat loomed in the air as he finally restrained her. He caged her in, pinning her wrists to the floor. Nerves buzzing and tempers flaring, she continued to writhe and wrestle with him to no avail. Peter quickly overpowered the more petite woman, fomenting her anger.

“You’re hurting me!” she sneered breathlessly, teeth gritted.

Peter was unimpressed. “Liar.”

“M’not lying—!”

He glared back, barely breaking a sweat. “You’re so full of shit—!”

“Fuck you! What do you know—?”

“I know you, Honey!” he charged, silencing her.

She went still, subdued beneath his dark gaze. Peter loomed over her like a stormcloud. “I know the games you like to play,” he said—both teasing and sinister, toying with his prey. He lowered his lips until they breathed the same air.

Honey’s focus was split between Peter’s intense stare and glistening, kiss-ravaged mouth. She tried not to notice the sensation of her nipples brushing against the fabric with each labored breath. He could easily reach down and touch her. Tried not to focus on how solid his chest felt against hers, like carved marble. Tried not to focus on the dark chocolate of his eyes melting in the heat of their gaze.

Just as intensely, Peter watched her watch him—zeroing in on the idle way her tongue darted to wet her lips. The tiny action shot electricity down his spine, straight to his groin.

Honey felt that, too. A tiny gasp escaped her, her lashes fluttering. The fight suddenly left her arms as she noticed the heavy bulge against her hip.

He was hot. Not just figuratively. Feverishly hot. He was so hard, too—and just for her. The lewd image of him splitting her open on his cock made her insides clench.

Peter eyed her dangerously, his voice a dark abyss. “Think you can hide it from me, eh?” The teasing smile on his lips bordered on a snarl. “Gonna sit here an’tell me... that if I were to reach down between your legs right now...” Her heart hammered in her chest, hanging on every word. In her mind, she was begging him to follow through with the threat. “...Those panties won’t be soaked?”

Honey failed to swallow back a little mewl as he leaned down closer.

“Ya think I can’t feel ya, huh?” he mumbled, lips ghosting the curve of her throat. “Think I can’t smell how wet you are right now?” Another wanton exhale left her belly as she leaned into the heat of his breath on her skin. “Y’know I can already taste you on my tongue, babygirl.”

Honey’s mouth and legs seemed to part further at his vulgar words. She shivered at the sensation of his slick tongue traversing her pulse point.

“You’re... an asshole...” she murmured breathlessly. She sounded half-asleep.

Peter hissed, “And you’re a needy little slut, aren't’cha?”

The sudden ferocity made her eyes unintentionally roll back. A second later, Peter’s fingers collared her, choking off the small mewl in her throat. He turned her by the chin, wrenching her attention to him.

“Hey—Eyes on me,” he commanded.

Mesmerized, Honey blinked up at him like a fawn.

“How ‘bout that little stunt you pulled with the waiter?” he prodded. There was an icy edge on the last word. Her throat bobbed while she kept her face neutral. The bright amber of his glare penetrated her. Peter continued accusatorily, “Those flirty little giggles while he gave ya fuck-me eyes? Y’think I didn’t see that?”

Honey sniffed, stiffening her upper lip. This was a power move; she knew better than to back down. “Look who's jealous,” she scoffed.

With a jolt, she again attempted to wrench her wrists free. He simply held on tighter, closing his talons as she twisted like a snake.

“Jealous?” Peter repeated calmly, narrowing his eyes into slits. “Me? Nah.” His hands suddenly seized her hips as he forcibly jerked her up off the floor. A slew of profanities spilled from her mouth, bucking against him as he carried her.

In a few strides, he was at the edge of a dining table. With little regard for his barbarity, he plopped Honey on the surface, shoving her flat on her back. Peter arched over her as if to dominate her, spine bowing until he filled her periphery with his fierce gaze.

Honey’s eyes sparkled, cheeks colored from the rush. “Threatened, then!”

Peter’s face softened inexplicably. Blinked at her for a moment, head tilting. Then, he landed an open-palmed smack against her ass.

It was a surprisingly heavy blow, as close as he’d ever come to intentionally inflicting pain on her. Honey yelped, hissing from the sting on her upper thigh. Right after the strike, Peter’s fingers began kneading her flesh, soothing the welt that was bound to form.

“See, if I were a jealous man,” he noted with an evil sneer, “I woulda gouged his eyes out with a salad fork.”

Peter swallowed up her gasp with a forceful kiss. A few moments later, he broke away.

“If I felt threatened?” he added breathlessly, “I woulda bent you over the table and fucked you dumb. Let everyone in the Five Boroughs hear you beg for my cock.”

Once the filth rolled off his tongue, Peter went back to using it to lash against hers. Honey was overwhelmed by the soft, wet muscle invading her mouth. Not only that, the violent edge to his words felt like standing in a river and grabbing a livewire. A shiver racked through her body, a current of pent-up anger and desire sending blood rushing to her core.

As if on cue, Peter’s fingertips made contact with the lace fabric between her thighs. She tremored at his touch, heart skipping. He toyed with the soft, stretchy material. Snapped it lazily against her flesh.

His voice was hypnotizing. “I woulda shoved these dirty panties down his throat just to never hear his stupid fuckin’ accent again.”

Honey felt drunk off of the vitriol he poured into her ear. It was violent and possessive... and it shouldn’t have made her so horny, and yet—

Honey trembled with anticipation, panting like a bitch in heat. “I-I... can’t... ugh, fu—”

The pads of his fingers ran firmly along her seam. She let out an embarrassing whine. Peter's prediction was spot-on. A shameful amount of wetness coated the inside of her thighs. He played with the soaked fabric and smeared her mess across her skin with a smug smirk.

“Think I don’t know what you like?” he muttered darkly, echoing her earlier jab.

RIP!

The lace bunched at her waist. Honey’s wet skin felt particularly chilled being exposed to the air. She quivered with anticipation. Her head was spinning, pussy throbbing. She felt worshiped and simultaneously defiled.

Peter pressed his forehead into hers, skin-to-skin. She stared into the black of his eyes in suspended silence, like the pornographic thoughts in his head were being projected into her mind.

Her own pupils were blown black. “Fuckin’ hate you so much—”

“I don’t care.”

“—re’such an asshole—”

“I don’t care,” he repeated more firmly. Then, “You belong with me.”

“You left me!” she fired back.

The sharpness of her tone sobered him a little. He blinked and sighed. “I couldn’t leave you. I didn’t leave you.”

She attempted to sit up, trying to lift her shoulders unsuccessfully. She writhed with spite, “Fuckin’ selfish prick, I outta cut off—”

“What was my drink order?”

He blurted the last sentence out with a mind-blowing level of calm. At once, their bodies went still. Still pinned to the table with a hummingbird beneath her breast, Honey stared up at him in confusion.

Her brows pinched together. “Huh—?”

“My drink order,” Peter repeated, his expression void of the aggression he had the previous moment.

It was like a mask had fallen away, and the man on top of her transformed into a different person. Maliciousness evaporated, replaced by eagerness. Desperation.

Peter stared at her, intently searching her gaze. “At the shop,” he whispered, eyes soft. “What you used to make for me every time I came t’see you..?” The words fell away as he stared at her expectantly.

She arched a brow.

It had been black coffee, bitter and dark. Just like Peter’s entire world. How it had always been. Until—

“You said I should try something new,” he added, with urgency like reminding her of a forgotten dream. “So you made something for me—something... special.”

Peter’s heart swelled through his eyes at the last word. Honey stared up at him, perplexed. He was looking for the answer on the tip of her tongue:

Honey and Lavender.

Confusion ceded to aggravation. A line formed between Honey’s brows.

“You remember, right?” he asked, hopeful.

She did. He knew she did. He could see it at the corners of her eyes, pooling behind her eyelids. Sobering memories flooded her, cooling the heat between them. A different sort of ache settled in.

Reluctantly, she nodded.

He took a breath, relieved but still anxious. “Say those words,” he said, “if you really want me to stop.”

Her damp lashes fluttered as Honey blinked up at him in surprise. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, he swallowed dryly. His stomach lurched at the thought of being sent away like this.

Still, it was a risk he had to take.

“I can let go, walk away,” he offered tenderly. “Right now. No questions asked.” Each word felt like sticking needles through his tongue. He gave her an out, needing confirmation that her reciprocated lust wasn’t imagined.

“Say the words,” Peter whispered in lament, “and I’ll leave you alone.”

That word settled like a boulder crushing his chest.

Despite Peter’s heart telling him her rejection would be unbearable, the thought of truly harming her was more so.

Honey studied him with thoughtful eyes, contemplative and curious. He had won. He subdued her. Restrained her. She remembered when he threw a piano like a toddler throwing a toy truck.

She could do little to stop him if he wanted to force her. And yet—

There he is.

This was the man she remembered. The one that was ready to die for her. To die by her hand, if that’s what she wanted.

“Two words,” Peter sighed, his nose brushing against hers. It was a sweetly affectionate gesture. “Say the words, and this can end right n—”

Honey captured his lips, stealing his breath like it was her only source of oxygen. Static filled Peter’s ears, his body tensing and relaxing simultaneously. He was soaring and plummeting. Rising and falling.

Her tongue slipped past his lips, dragging along the pad of his mouth. Soon enough, the sweetness melted off in their flames.

Honey pulled her mouth away, barely able to get out her plea. “Touch me, Peter. Make me feel it.”

And she dove right back in. This time, Peter plunged with her, deep beneath the waves of lust. He sank into her current, dragging her with the tide of desire.

Peter’s hands were frantic travelers. Flitting from her wrists to her shoulders. To gently cup her face. To smooth over the mounds of her breasts. To dig his fingers into the linen fabric of the sweetheart neckline.

“Love this dress,” he idly mumbled between kisses, abusing the neckline. “Mmm—where’d ya say ya got it?”

“Oh…uhm—?”

The question caught her off guard. She blushed, brain foggy with lust. Her instinct was to say something like ‘thank you,’ but her tongue fumbled the words. “Uh... it was, I think, Old Navy—?”

A ripping sound shocked her. She squeaked as a flurry of cotton fibers burst from the top of the dress.

Peter yanked the linen bodice apart like tissue paper, his tongue chasing away any protest from her lips. Gooseflesh broke out as her skin was exposed to the air. Driven by lust, he shoved the ruined material down to her waist.

“Fuck, Peter...” she gasped, scandalized.

“Sorry,” he muttered, not sorry.

It was his turn to be greedy. Peter dug his hands beneath the cups of her bra, toying with the peaks of her breasts.

With a snap, the bra was torn in half. The strength in Peter’s long fingers stunned her. Puzzling her as much as it turned her on.

He laved at her left breast with his tongue, drawing an obscene moan from her. His hand pinched sadistically at her right nipple. The delectable sting traveled from her chest to her cunt. She arched—”ughhh, god”—her spine bowing beautifully.

He held the cleft of her left breast delicately in his hand while lapping at the ridges of her peaked flesh. Warm tongue caressed the tip, drawing shapes and discovering pathways to her pleasure. Every little flick inspired something new. She cooed and twitched beneath him. He was desperate to memorize her taste.

Languidly, he massaged each of her tits inside his mouth, his cock aching as he imagined licking her pussy with the same fervor. It was almost unbearable. A strangled moan vibrated through his chest at the picture in his mind.

Her reaction to the sound came out as an agonized mewl.

Oh.

He needed more of that sound.

Peter felt her push on his shoulders. Trying to wriggle away from his mouth.

This time, he had no tolerance for misbehavior. He grabbed both wrists and forced them above her head. Honey yanked back, stunned at being glued down to the table surface by his palms.

The peach of his pouty lips curved upward as his eyes took a turn ravishing her. She was a sight of wicked debauchery. Her hair was a mess, and her nearly-naked body lay across the table like a feast. Her thighs locked around his hips.

He used one hand to rub circles into the delicate skin of her restrained forearms. The other hand mischievously dipped lower and lower, sliding through her wet heat. Calloused, dexterous fingers spread her lips open, playing in her slick and prodding her tight hole.

Honey was finished. Ruined. Past the point of no return. Unconditionally surrendered. Helpless and eager to subjugate herself to her conqueror. Filthy sounds filled the room, punctuated by weak cries from his new loyal subject.

“So pretty,” he sighed breathlessly as he coated his fingers in her cream. “All this for me, princess?” He cooed at her, edging on cruel.

A broken gasp fell from her lips, her chest pulsing involuntarily.

“Aww, what’s the matter? Does this little pretty pussy ache, baby?”

A vortex formed deep in her belly, dragging her in. He licked his dry lips, salivating at the image.

“I know it hurts, baby, I know. I know,” he teased. “It’s been hard playin’ all by yourself, huh?” The sunniness of his voice was eclipsed. “All alone. Screamin’ out my name into your pillow. Fingers buried deep in your wet cunt.”

Honey’s eyes snapped open. Before she could respond, the breadth of his middle fingertip penetrated her. She gasped as his finger speared her open. All the while, he wore a devil’s smile.

“Ain’t that right? Only for me.” Entranced, he watched her every twitch and shudder. “This pussy belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

It was a question feigning the need for her confirmation. She couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe.

No, that can’t be right—had he been watching her masturbate in her apartment? Was he watching her the entire time he was gone?

The possibility enraged her. Ten orgasms from the King of New York’s Underworld couldn’t even quell that fire.

Peter smiled wickedly, playing with her pussy. Taking his time toying with her flesh. He was a tyrant-king, dominating her pleasure. With a calloused hand, he held onto her cunt like it belonged there.

But she was his wild colt. Difficult to break.

“Oh-n—ohh god,” she gasped. Unbeknownst to him, an evil plot bloomed in her brain. Her lips curled into a smile.

“Fuck—gah—ohhhhh…”

He licked up each broken syllable.

“Yes! Oh, god, yes! Oh—”

Sweat beaded on her chest, sin oozing through her pores.

“...Pedro.”

Halt.

Brakes squealing. Full stop. Not only in the physical world between them but also in Peter’s living fantasy.

Mischievously, Honey’s grin widened.

She got him, alright.

Flawless victory.

Dark eyes flashing, Peter withdrew his fingers from her. “Fuckin’ brat…”

In one fluid motion, Peter flipped her over to her belly, stunning her. He followed with another forceful slap to her ass cheek. This one was more punishing than the last, drawing a puppy-like yelp. His voice was ice. Eyes black.

Now, she was in trouble.

“Think that’s funny?” he said through gritted teeth.

Peter manipulated her limbs like a rag doll. He maneuvered her forward until her cheekbone pressed against the table. She panicked for a moment at being in such a compromising position.

The chill of the air across her wet pussy made her shiver. At the same time, she clenched at his roughness.

Peter kneaded her sides, pressing fingerprint bruises on her waist. He yanked her hips towards him until her knees were on the table’s edge. Honey’s face burned, stricken with modesty and flustered by how he hoisted her ass in the air.

Her hips were propped up like a rack of lamb, and he licked his lips at the sight. It was too vulnerable, being bared to him like this. Obscene, on display, inches from his face.

For a half second, she considered using the safe words.

She squirmed uncomfortably while her mess dripped down the inside of her thighs. Peter denied any attempt to escape, eventually gathering her limbs and pulling her hands behind her back.

Short puffs of breath fogged the glass surface of the table. Her heart pounded beneath her. Honey had only witnessed this side of him a few times—and never directed toward her.

She was in trouble. But was she in danger?

The buckle of his belt clinked as it came free. Honey quivered at the sound, pussy aching in anticipation.

And if she was in danger, why did that make her wet?

“Pete—” Honey muttered, a scream bubbling at the back of her throat. Leather nipped at her forearms as he used his belt to tie her hands behind her back.

“Ple-please—“

He fisted her hair, rearing her head back. Her neck arched beautifully, her chin dangling above the table surface.

“Listen to me, princess,” Peter snarled, hot in her ear. Spite peppered his tone. “If you ever call out another man’s name when I’m inside ya again— I’ll make ya wear nothin’ but my cum for the next week.”

The savage tone contrasted with the glow of his eyes.

It was always opposites with him.

This was the same man who coddled and worshiped her. The same one who kidnapped her, drugged her, blindfolded her, and gagged her.

He forced her, a willing participant, into his bed—by asking her permission.

Peter was more than capable of keeping her chained to his bedpost if he wanted it.

Or… if she wanted it.

Peter snickered at her expression. “Ooh, yeah… Betchu’d like that, huh?” He taunted her like she was broadcasting her dirty thoughts. “Such a needy little slut for me, ain't that right?”

Honey felt his warmth leave her back, like being plunged into the Hudson in winter. His hands reappeared at the back of her thighs, and her first instinct was to try to close her legs.

That was a mistake and an impossible endeavor.

He split her thighs like opening a book. Grinned at the sight as if he stumbled across gold.

“Fuck, babygirl, you’re soaked. Just talkin’ about it and look at the mess you made…”

Embarrassment and want ravaged her. The conflicting experiences had her ovaries twisted into knots. Honey bit her tongue, unsure if she was going to scream or moan.

Instead, it came out like a pathetic mewl. “Pe-Peter, please—”

Then he open-palm-smacked her cunt, fingers landing directly on her labia.

The wet sound it made was humiliating, and the sensation triggered all of the reactions above. She squealed at the sting on her folds. This was a delectable torture. For Peter, it was an appetizing sight.

“Ya like that?” he grinned over the sound of her whimpers. He already knew the answer.

Another slap to her cunt made her whole body shake.

“Like bein’ my kept girl? Tryin’ so hard to get my attention. Drivin’ me nuts. Well, you got it now, Honey.”

Slap.

A third strike had her pussy clenching. Honey had never experienced such an erotic rush before. She shuddered with embarrassment, afraid she’d cum from this—

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Honey gasped for air, a scream breaking through her voice. She was drowning in sick pleasure, tears in her eyes.

The mob boss gripped her thighs again, pulling her knees off the table and lifting up the weight of her lower half. The action was as easy as lifting a sheet of paper.

God, his strength was impossible. She struggled to comprehend it while picturing herself being broken apart by it. A slew of tiny pleas fell from her lips. She didn’t even know what she was begging for—his mercy or punishment.

“Shh, shh, babygirl,” he purred with a candy voice. Brought his lips to where she was split, equal parts seductive and sinister. “Be still for me. I gotcha.” He wore a Cheshire grin. “Lemme kiss it better.”

Slowly, he licked a line from her clit to the entrance of her cunt. She shuddered, followed by a lewd wail. She bucked her hips as he let the tip of his tongue toy with her.

“Mmmf—so fuckin’ sweet,” Peter mumbled between languid strokes around her vaginal gate. His grip was inescapable. “Can’t help myself, s-sooo hungry…”

Honey felt an evil smile against her skin before his mouth went back to work on her. Tiny, stinging nips and kitten licks tormented her flesh. With her hips locked in place, he lashed her clit with his tongue.

Honey squirmed against the leather belt, her nails digging into the grain. She wanted to be bound like this forever.

Peter had no intention of letting her go any time soon.

With her thighs spread open, he dragged her toward the edge of her ecstasy. As soon as he felt her body begin to shake, he pulled away. The punishment ended with another smack to her swollen clit.

Honey cried out in frustration at having her release snatched away.

Oh, yes—He was weak for that sound.

“What’s’a matter, baby?” he smirked with a dark chuckle. This was becoming his favorite pastime. “You mad now that you’re not the only one who can play games?”

“Gahh—Peter… fuck, plea—don’t tease—!”

Peter’s fingers slipped inside with a squelch, shutting her up. Simultaneously, he lapped at her juices while massaging her walls. Soon, he settled into an unbreakable focus.

Each kiss to her nether lips sizzled with passion. Fueled by devotion usually only reserved for a wedding day.

“—mmmm, tastes so pretty,” he murmured into her flesh, “my pretty girls...”

In her dazed state, Honey wondered with a pang of jealousy who the ‘she’ he was referring to was.

“—sooo sensitive; she likes it when I kiss her like that, yeah?—” He said, in between languid, open-mouth kisses to her slit.

Jesus Fucking Christ, he’s talking about my pussy? In the third person?

Honey gasped, scandalized at the preposterous thought. It was the most deliciously erotic moment of her life. Enraptured tears budded her eyes, the coil in her belly nearly suffocating her.

“—Fuck, oh god, Peter, don’t stop, don’stop, donstop, donstah—”

Preoccupied with his own intoxicating thoughts, Peter was eager with his tongue and steady with his hands. The room filled with the filthy, wet sounds of his carressing and French kissing of her cunt. He pleasured her with his fingers and mouth, passionately— reverently— as if making love to two different brides.

Soon, Honey’s pleas were barely more than breathless whining. He smiled like the devil, lips coated with her slick.

“Patience, Honey,” he admonished, sing-song and patronizing. “If you’re a good girl, maybe I might let you get to taste Her, too.”

Fuck—she was going to come from this.

The more perverse his words were, the closer she was. So, so close—

Then, another sharp slap.

Honey wailed, fingers digging into the leather of her restraints. Her whole body protested. The cycle repeated so many times she lost count—until her flesh was puffy from his torture.

“Please, don’t—please, Peter, don’t tease,” she frantically begged, tears streaming. “No more— Please, I wanna come so bad—”

He sucked on her clit. “Yeah?”

“God, yes, please—Nyahhh-need you—Need you... inside—“

Peter hissed behind his teeth, struggling to keep his pace even as his cock jerked at her pleas. He flashed an evil smile. “S’at right?”

“Pl-please, f-feels so good, ple—gah-I need it—!”

He was in no hurry. It was almost greedy, the way he ravaged her. His fingers pressed Merlot bruises into her hips and waist while his mouth left raspberry welts on her thighs.

Honey cried out around a moan as she felt his fingers deepen. His loving touches to her sensitive spots turned wicked, reminding her this was also a penalty for her bratty transgressions. She wept and squirmed, practically drooling on the table.

He simply grinned.

“—Mmmhm, that’s it—scream for me, princess—”

Honey’s tiny little hip thrusts fit easily in his palm as he groped her. He found it adorable, really.

“Mmm...m’sorr—ow—agh!”

“Sorry’s not gonna cut it,” he panted, eyes blown black. Shadow returned to his voice. “You’re mine now, ya hear?” His eyes traveled to where his fingers were buried to the knuckles. “Gonna fuck you every way I want—”

“Pleasepleasepleaseyes—it’syoursit’syoursallyours—”

His eyes swam over her body, drunk with lust.

All mine.

The sinfulness of his thoughts tugged his insides into a vortex. This was wrong, he reasoned. Not how he wanted this to go. Poor girl sounded brainless, begging to be fucked. He wasn’t much better off. This wasn’t how he planned this to go.

But he was willing to pivot.

Hands shaking, he fumbled with his fly. It wasn’t until his cock bobbed free, glistening with precum, that he felt any sort of relief. Peter grabbed her hips and lifted them off of the table, repositioning her so he was lined up with her slit.

“Fuckin’ need you so much, Honey—” he muttered mindlessly, focused on pushing the swollen, leaking crown of his cock against the silk of her pussy.

Her hips’ weight rested easily in his hands, and she keened at the sensation of his head pressing against her entrance.

And god, she'd forgotten he was thick.

Honey tensed up, even as her pussy throbbed with want. It was as if all her muscles were reaching for him, heart included.

It was too much. Mascara trailed faintly down her cheeks. Her heart soared. And ached. She felt spoiled with pleasure, delighting in this penance.

More. She wanted more.

“Fuck—wanted ya so bad,” Peter mumbled, watching his cock slip through her lips. He sounded airy, hypnotized by the view. “Wanted t’crawl through your window like the goddamn—ahh— boogeyman... fuck ya in your own bed. Wanted t’take’ya home with me and keep ya there— Never let you leave.”

Honey swallowed back a sob. Then why did you send me away?

He paused.

Uh-oh. Did she say that out lo—?

“Because I’m an idiot,” Peter huffed, his voice fragile.

He leaned forward and lovingly kissed up her spine, each tender press of his lips an apology.

“I’m a stupid fuckin’ fool.” The heat of his breath ghosted across her back. “So stupid—Thought I could protect ya if I kept you away. Thought I could somehow live like that—without you.” He shook his head. “Goddamn fool.”

Peter felt the sting of tears flooding his vision. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut to keep them out. “I can’t live without ya,” he nearly whimpered. “There is no life for me if you’re not in it.”

“Peter,” she said, feeling her heart lurch. Her spirit was a ship being tossed in a hurricane. One more wave, and she would break. Honey’s voice trembled, “St-stop t-talking—”

“Not until I’ve said what I shoulda said—!”

“If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next five seconds—”

Peter cut her off by pulling her up by the shoulders and standing her upright. Honey fought it—because, of course, she did—desperately clutching the steel armor around her heart.

Overpowering her again, he tugged the naked woman closer until her back lined up to his chest. It was an awkward position with her bound arms crushed behind her against his abs. He towered over her, eyeing her face from the side, seeking her gaze. Hooked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.

Always the fighter, Honey tried to wrench herself from his hold. Peter’s body was like a Greek god’s, with pillar-like arms and marble fingers keeping her from wriggling away. But his soft, soulful eyes are what pinned her in place.

As soon as she peered into their oaken color, she was trapped again.

“No,” she sneered, shaking her head. The tears weren’t from pleasure anymore. “Don’t—”

“‘Honey and Lavender,’” he whispered, featherlike. “Those are the words. All you gotta do is say ‘em, and I’ll stop.”

She gritted her teeth, bucking against his sweetness. His arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her in.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me!” she revolted, voice getting weaker by the second. “What the hell do you want from me, Peter?!”

His features softened. Serenity pressed between his lips. “I want all of you, Honey,” he answered with resolve. “Body and soul. Wanna spend the rest of my life with ya. If you don’t kill me first.”

He said the ‘if’ part with a teasing lilt in his tone and a half-smile. The same smirk that she loathed—and fell in love with.

Honey squeezed her eyes shut. Peter’s thumb came up gently, wiping a messy tear from her cheek. That loving and pure act was worse than any torture he could inflict.

Walls tumbling down, her body loosened. She went slack against his arms, instead fighting to keep more tears from flowing.

“I love you,” he whispered, pouring his soul into each word. “Forever. Remember? No matter what.”

Peter waited for her eyelids to peel back, revealing glossy eyes and a weary expression. They stayed still for eons. Nothing but their breaths and heartbeats between them, eyes locked on each other.

“Even if you’re mad as hell at me,” he added. “Even if you hate me—I want it all.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “And what then, Peter? What now?”

A moment passed. He leaned around her shoulder, bringing her chin close, and answered her with a kiss. Gentle at first, his tongue explored hers as she relaxed against him. She felt her toes leave the ground before she realized what was happening.

Peter broke the kiss. “Now?” he breathed into her hairline. “I’m gonna show you what it means to be mine.”

One of his hands left her torso—borrowed to push the head of his cock into her gate. An overwhelming burn erupted between her legs. She arched her back away from his abs as best she could while being split open.

Honey wailed brokenly, voice shattered, as he bottomed out. Peter’s hand instinctively came up to cover her mouth. She let the scream out into his palm, just as he’d promised.

Peter hissed, letting his head fall back in agonized ecstasy. His eyes drifted shut, feeling both relief and torment buried to the hilt in her warmth.

He barely ground out, “Shh-shhh, s’alright... that’s it, s-so good, so good for me...”

His Honey was already writhing on his cock, and he hadn’t even begun to move. She was so goddamn tight he wasn’t sure he wanted to move at all.

Still, he couldn’t help indulging himself. Never could, around her.

The arm bracing Honey’s torso snaked back across her body. His hand, burning hotter than a branding iron, stretched out and smoothed over the curvature of her belly. Her pussy clenched tighter as his palm found the trophy he was looking for—an obscene bulge in her lower stomach.

A slow, sinful curve played upon his lips. “Fuck, babygirl. Look at you.” When he uncovered her mouth, her roars had quieted down to a wanton purr. He gently tilted her head downwards so she could witness the depravity herself. “Just look at how you take my dick, Honey.”

She shuddered at the sight, nodding rapidly, unable to speak. She wondered if this was just more teasing, but she couldn’t think beyond the penetration.

“God, you look so beautiful like that,” he muttered breathlessly. His amber eyes were fixated on the sinful spectacle beneath her waist, unable to avert his gaze. “So pretty with my cock stuffed up inside your tummy...”

Peter sounded unhinged, even to himself. His abs twisted into knots. Vile, perverse images eclipsed his sense of decency—her body naked and wrecked, with his seed spilling from her holes. Then, her belly round with his children. Just the thought devolved him like his civilized nature was sucked back into a black hole.

Wordless whimpers poured from her lips as her taut muscles succumbed to his girth. Calloused fingertips reached further down, brushing against the hood of her clit. She jolted in his arms with the slightest touch.

At that moment, Honey’s world disappeared. Nothing existed but the exquisite ache between her legs.

The conquerer inside him preened. “Is that the spot? Is that where it hurts, baby?” he purred into her ear with a filthy, predatory voice. Her body answered him, rewarding him with a delicious squeeze around his shaft. “That’s it,” Peter groaned, insatiable. “Good girl. So good for me.”

His praise, even if it was teasing, was too much. Peter’s affirmations, paired with his ministrations, tightened the coil in her stomach. Exhaustion crept up on her body even as the bubble of desire swelled.

Ever so slowly, his hips pitched back and then forward. He bottomed out again at the end of the languid stroke. A shattered mewl burst from her lips, pussy pulsating around his dick.

She was magnificent.

”Fuck, baby. Feels s-so fuckin’ good—ahh, I missed this tight pussy so much. Wanted to play with her so bad…”

Peter’s hips moved of their own accord. They were a pornographic masterpiece in the decorative mirrors situated around the room. He stole a greedy glance at the couple’s reflection. Smiling wickedly, he turned her head, making her see what he was seeing.

Honey’s stomach fluttered at the sight of her body—glistening and restrained—slotted against him. Her head bobbed as Peter gripped her hips and fucked into her like a sex doll.

Perverse. Debauched. Divine. It made her lightheaded.

Slowly, he increased the pace of his thrusts, panting into her ear. At some point, she started muttering. Broken and embarrassingly desperate pleas and pet names tumbled unwittingly out of her mouth.

One of them must have caught his attention. But she honestly couldn’t remember what she had said.

“Ugh—I lose my fuckin’ mind when you call me that name,” he growled, throwing his head back. “Ya know that, precious? Such a good girl for me. Good girls get spoiled.”

Honey’s body thrummed at his baby talk. In all its depravity, she started to suspect what she must have said in all its depravity. Slowly, she was losing the ability to be ashamed.

The slick-coated pad of Peter’s thumb circled her clit, before traveling down further. He curiously prodded where they were joined—“Fuck, look at how good ya open up for me.” — His fingers trailed the outline of her stretched hymen wrapped around his cock.

Honey closed her eyes and turned away, blushing from his praise. Timid about how she relished in the filth. Peter brought his lips to her ear as if there was a secret the two of them shared.

“Don’t worry, baby. I gotcha—Daddy’s gonna make the ache go away.”

The spring snapped. She was nearly knocked over by the wave of pleasure that followed. Her pussy fluttered around his cock with no warning, body trembling and toes curling. Her cream gushed down his shaft.

He snickered as if he’d won a prize.

Honey could vaguely recognize her pathetic voice through the bells in her ears. She squealed and cried out over his repetitive, patronizing chants — “Awwgoodgirl, fuckin’ so-so perfect— squeezin’ me so tight” — while he fucked her through her orgasm.

It felt like several moments of pure pink haze, herself a willing victim to his delicious, relentless pull.

“Shit, sweetie, did you just come all over my cock?” he asked, exasperated.

Embarrassment flooded her despite her persistent mewling.

“Don’t cry, baby. Don’chu worry,” he murmured affectionately, himself obsessed with the cavern of her divine flesh. “When I said I was gonna make you my toy, I meant it.” She whimpered, nodding her head as it rested back against his shoulder. “M’not finished with you,” he said, dropping an octave. “Not by a long shot.”

Time ceased to have true meaning. Peter rammed into her steadily.

“Please don’stop, please use me, please, wan’more—” She yelped like a puppy.

He smiled against her sweaty skin. “Yeah? Ya like bein’ a good girl? My good girl?”

“I’llbegoodI’llbegoodm’yours—fuck—yoursyoursyours—”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he groaned, with another curse beneath his breath. Eyes drifted shut. “Good, good girl.”

All he could think of was more.

More of that sound. More of her juices. More of her staccato breaths as he fucked her tits into a steady bounce on her chest. More of her whining, whimpering like a bitch in heat.

“All mine, all mine…”

Peter needed more of her. He needed to watch her fall apart on his cock again. Honey was so close already; he could feel it. He’d give her another orgasm, one that leaves her in tears. Then another. He was going to fuck her into submission atop the throne he built for her. She was already his queen.

Then—He’d make her his whore.

Flip her on her back against the table—or couch— countertop—fuck, maybe the bed if he could remember where it was. Whatever he could reach first.

Then he’d split her open again on his cock. That way, he could see the enraptured awe on her face. The neediness. Big, round, wet eyes pleading for his touch, calling him filthy names, as his cock bulges below her pubic bone. Begging him to rearrange her guts.

It was heavenly to witness. Peter loved watching her come. And he would, over and over. Once he relocated her to his bed—as soon as he remembered where it was— he could tie her to it.

Not that Honey was fighting at the present. There was no fight in her body, except maybe the will to keep conscious. With every strike against her cervix, she spread herself wider for him.

But Peter knew she would like it. Honey wanted his unforgiving ecstasy. To take out the mounting frustration of the last few months on her wet pussy.

“M’gonna fuck you so good, babygirl, m’gonna use your body like my fucktoy—make me feel s-sogood, don’worry—“

Honey full-body shuddered with a sob, her head thrown back against his shoulder.

“S’okay, baby, you can scream if y’want, makes it feel better, doesn’t it, huh—”

Cock-drunk, she nodded, her words coming out as puffs of air.

“Don’stop—don’stop—please, fuck— fuckmehardDaddyIneedit—“

Oh.

More. Of. That.

“M’not lettin’ you get away again…” he muttered, voice emerging from beneath his twitching abdominal muscles. With possessed eyes, he was glued to where they joined. “Never—never gonna let you go again… All mine now, Honey—you’re all mine…”

Her arms came up to circle the back of his neck as she panted into his throat. “My-my pussy is yours…”

“Everything,” he corrected.

“Everythi—god—I’m yours, Pete—ahh!”

Peter was getting close. No matter. He’d let himself come inside her soon. There was plenty more to follow.

He barely recognized his own wrecked voice. “’m not leavin,’ baby. I’m not leavin’ ever.”

A gust of wind followed him as the front door to the suite slammed shut. Peter stood alone in the hotel hallway wearing a sheen of sweat... and nothing else.

He flushed pink, fumbling to cover himself behind his hands. The cool air made the task easier.

Peter sighed. He’d need to talk to maintenance about better insulation up here.

But not right now. Not while Peter Parker stood ass-naked outside of his door, having been kicked out like a cheap fuck.

Which might have been Honey’s point, he recognized.

The evidence of their past hour together made his skin sticky. She’d tousled his hair and etched into his back with her nails. He felt sore in places he hadn’t felt in years.

Peter also looked thoroughly fucked. A mixture of pain and relief surged through his muscles. His brain was branded with erotic images of her. He wanted them there.

The door opened again, lifting his hopes. He only caught a fleeting glimpse of Honey, wrapped sloppily in a bathrobe. The rest of her didn’t look much better than Peter. She wore a sour yet adorable scowl on her face.

With a huff, Honey hurled a tight wad of fabric at his nuts, unintentionally intentional in her aim.

Peter oofed, doubling over to catch the ball of his clothes. At the same time, an Italian leather shoe smacked him in the head. Probably his Tom Ford’s. He heard the door slam closed again, rattling against the frame.

Perplexed, Peter gazed at the molding of the door and the gleaming golden script marking the room number.

He wondered.

Would she open the door again to throw him the other shoe?

Or perhaps the slacks that went along with the dress shirt covering his balls?

Unlikely.

He marveled.

The nerve of this woman. This goddess-barista who served him his soul in a paper cup. Who held the keys to his heart, his home, and presently, his hotel room. Who somehow managed to kick him out of the penthouse suite of his own hotel.

Within the confines of his ruined dress shirt, Peter felt another buzz. He fumbled with the shirt, reaching the smartphone concealed inside.

>>> have you moved onto the main course? >>> or are you still tossing the salad? >>> pouring ranch on her hidden valley

Felicia. Peter’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. With a sigh, he tapped out a reply.

<<< Kitchen’s closed. <<< Need clothes. And a new room.

He saw the ellipsis bubbling up on his screen.

<<< Not another word.

As soon as the message was sent, Peter took another glance at his empty surroundings. Haplessly, he looked toward the closed door. A river of memories flooded him. It surged, swelled, and finally, came to a low simmer.

This was never going to be easy. Nothing ever was with her.

Nothing worth waiting for ever is.

“See you at breakfast,” he whispered aloud lips curled into a smile. “Sleep tight.”

Holding her breath and her ear to the door, Honey waited until Peter’s footsteps faded. When she could no longer hear them, she sighed with exasperation, overcome with exhaustion. Eyes falling closed, Honey leaned back against the door, body aching in places she would feel for days.

After taking a moment, she heard a buzzing sound further in the suite. Honey jumped with alarm, then stumbled on Fawn’s feet to reach the source.

Quickly, Honey waddled to the remains of her yellow dress, fishing out the buzzing object: a 10-year-old smartphone with a black glittery hard case. A holographic cat sticker was fixed to the back, shimmering in the dim light.

Not just any cat.

She unlocked the phone to see the latest message.

>>> how’d it go? u give him hell?

The heaviest exhale left Honey’s chest, shame creeping up her chest. With her thumb, she scrolled up to review the text messages sent to her. The oldest of which dated back almost four months.

Weeks of correspondence and reassurance from Felicia, not to mention very clear instructions about Peter Parker and how to play his game.

There was the one from last month:

>>> don’t let him think for one second that you’re gonna let him get off easy!

Then one from last week:

>>> make him suffer. make him grovel. make him lay down in a puddle so you can cross

And these:

>>> go to dinner, but don’t eat anything. order wine, the most expensive one, take one sip and refuse the rest. you pick the restaurant. if he picks the restaurant, hate everything about it >>> play hard to get— but don’t be too cold >>> be flirty. but not slutty. >>> give him bedroom eyes, but don’t let him stare at you too long.

Finally, there was a clear instruction sent earlier today.

>>> under no circumstances >>> no matter what >>> you need to remember this >>> DO NOT FUCK HIM!!1

Honey frowned as she gazed at Felicia’s text message bubble, sent with so much hope and good intention. A notion soundly defeated. A truly hopeless endeavor, if there ever was one.

Biting her lip, Honey tapped out a reply to her confidant:

<<< Sure did.

Thank you for everything you do. Please keep fanfic healthy and support my writing with a reblog.

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forbidden-sunlight · 3 months

Text

yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario: A Wendigo's Violent Love Part Three

Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], violence, OOC, spoilers for the first season of the 2024 show, possessive and obsessive behavior, Alastor is in denial of his feelings, possible angst.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the back button on your phone or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Hey guys, welcome back to another installment of A Wendigo's Violent Love. I am honestly overwhelmed with how much people like this series, and I wouldn't have come this far without the support of this community. I'd also like to give a special thanks to @a-witch-of-writing-desk, @illuminaresblog, and @yourdoorisunlocked with this piece.

Without their insight and assistance in writing this chapter, it probably wouldn't have been posted until early or late April because of my workload.

The scene where Rosie and Alastor reminisce about how they first met was inspired by a comic illustrated by the incredibly talented @notherpuppet. I won’t spoil what it is exactly, so I will leave the link here.

On another note, the Hobby Horse mentioned here is a direct reference to the weapon in American McGee’s Alice: Madness Returns video game.

So, with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on in tonight's broadcast with Hell's one and only Radio Demon!

Reblog to support content creators! ❤️

Part One

Part Two

Cannibal Town was a place unique in the Pentagram.

Its streets were lined with buildings that possess a vintage charm in which Alastor cannot help but treasure dearly; after all, it closely resembles the era he lived through in New Orleans. Everything in the town fitted like a tailored glove to the charming cannibal; from its automobiles, the residents’ everyday attire, and even how they greeted each other, tipping their hat off or curtseying with a smile. No one is fully dressed without one~! Who could ever think that it isn’t a lovely place to live in, of all the possible places to live in the Pentagram? Just follow Rosie’s rules and you would be fine~!

But the thought of his delightful friend reminded him that he had not come here for an afternoon stroll, nor to enjoy a delicious cup of coffee at a cafe and not even to see if there were any new meat shops open for business. He needed to speak to Rosie, discreetly.

She was a sensible woman whose establishment, a modest two-story building stationed right where the town’s plaza, offered consultation and other goods for all to enjoy; from the latest fashion trends to comestics to glass displays of ringed pinky fingers, there was something for everyone. No one had to venture outside of the Pentagram for anything. Rosie knew exactly what the citizens wanted and how to protect them. That’s why she is the leader, the one to talk to if anyone wants to do any business here. To set up shop without her permission…well, it was free for all.

He strode down Main Street, smiling and politely greeting a charming group of ladies who called out to him in surprise, currently feasting on some hapless soul who had walked through without following the town’s dress code. For a moment, his mind wandered to the impossible notion of you walking beside him, your gloved hand tucked into his arm with a parasol raised over your head so that you did not get a sunburn.

Alastor suddenly stopped. He felt the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably, his face burning, his blackened heart thunder against his ribs, and worse off…his eyes. He felt them changing to radio dials, followed by the unpleasant sound of a record scratching. And all because he is thinking about you, and what he-he did to you! He kissed you!

This is preposterous! Ridiculous. Why are these feelings simply getting worse and not better? Blast it all!

He inhaled slowly, deeply, through his nose and out through his mouth, matching it in tandem with his stride. By the time he reached the entrance to Rosie’s Emporium, Alastor felt his quickened pulse steady itself and he was calm again. Pulling the right stained glass open, he went inside and all the way towards the back of the establishment to see his dear friend sitting behind a counter, consulting a distressed young lady. Rosie was calm and cheerful as always, dressed to the nines with a lovely smile as she handed her client a business card.

Cannibal Town was truly lucky to have a delightful overlord reign over them.

When she looked up, ready to help the next person in the long line, their eyes met. He smiled, waving at her. She immediately perked up, rising from her chair and weaving through the crowd. Well, more like they willingly stepped aside so that their leader could walk to him, but same difference~!

Oh, that was a good joke, ha-ha!

“Oh Alastor, it’s so good to see you!” Rosie exclaimed, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around in a small circle. “I haven’t heard from you in a while, I was starting to worry that you forgot about me, though I could forgive you if you fill me in on all of the details that’s happened~!” She grinned. “I hear our princess’ hotel is finally finished with those renovations, all ready to accept all the sinners she could dream of! Oh, and Alastor, you truly haven’t let me down this time! The angel flesh we’ve managed to bring back? Well, not only is it absolutely divine in terms of flavor, but people are coming from miles around just to sample some~! ‘Course, with our limited stock, we need to increase the price just a wee bit. Business is booming, and it’s all thanks to you, my friend~!” She blinked, tilting her head to the side. “Hm? Is everything all right, old chap? You’re never this quiet unless those little gears in your mind are turning~!”

Alastor felt the corner of his mouth twitch. No, he told himself fiercely. Keep yourself calm, tell Rosie that there is absolutely nothing wrong and you just thought about stopping by to pass the time, not because you need her help. And even if you do, desperately, you cannot say it here for all of the world to hear!

But the only sound that escaped his mouth was the chirping of radio static. Nothing else. Nothing except the memory of his mouth being burnt from his earlier actions. His eyes widened slightly. Fuck. He was thinking about you again! When will this madness stop?!

He did not know how Rosie knew that he was in fact, not all right, but her jubilant smile softened, and before he realized what was happening, she was pushing him into a corner of the emporium. Two fuschia-colored lounge chairs and a coffee table with a tea tray resting on top of the dark wood, adjacent to the shop’s windows. This was the very same spot where she had dragged Charlie to sit down and ask why Hell’s princess had come to visit her.

This was…not a good sign. He thought as he sat down in the chair opposite of Rosie’s, watching his old friend gracefully follow his example. Not at all.

“Now, what’s going on with you? It’s rare for you to be the strong, silent type.” Rosie said, leaning forward. “I heard bits and pieces about what happened between you and that angel in charge of the exterminators, but I’m not gonna pry. You clearly got more on your mind than angels.”

Rosie has known Alastor for a long time. He’s a showman with all the flair and music at his beck and call, someone who isn’t all talk with no actions behind them. If there is something he wants, he’ll use his charm to get it before anyone realizes what happened. That’s how he rose through the ranks so quickly when he arrived, after all. But seeing him in a state of stunned silence like this…well, it worried her a bit. So she stood up, removing the tea tray from the coffee table with a snap of fingers, and gestured to Alastor to follow her.

He did.

Normally her clients were more than happy to discuss their problems within hearing range because it was the usual sort of issues everyone dealt with: a bad-tasting spouse, decoration advice, gossip on the latest trends in the Pentagram and rumors about the other overlords, etc. But Alastor….well, he definitely was not going to open up about his problems just like that. He preferred to keep things private, and there was nothing wrong with that in her opinion. So she led them to the parlor, a cozy little room with vintage furniture and fuschia wallpaper with flowers on them. There were enough enchantments in them to drown out explosions from the outside and keep anyone from hearing their conversation. Of course, no one is that silly to be that disrespectful in her store like that, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

The tea tray popped up on the coffee table, landing with a light clink. Everything was still warm and fresh as she poured the steaming liquid in the cups. One for herself, and one for him. Alastor inclined his head towards her as he accepted the tea. Oh my, the poor dear’s hands were shaking. Now she was starting to get very worried about her friend.

“Alastor, what’s wrong?” She asked, cradling her teacup and saucer with one hand as she stirred in a pinch of sugar. “Nothing will get past the walls, I swear. You know me, darling. But I can’t help you if you can’t tell me what’s going on -”

“I kissed her.”

She blinked. “Come again?” She asked.

“I…kissed someone, Rosie. An associate at the princess’ hotel. We made a deal in my radio tower and I kissed her.” Alastor’s fingers tightened around the handle of his teacup. His ears were pressed flat against his head, his face was flushed bright red and his eyes filtered between red irises and radio dials. Oh, shit. Better take this slowly or he’ll combust. Rosie took a sip of her tea.

“All right, so you kissed an associate who works at the hotel. Do I know her?”

“Yes.”

“Well, who is she?”

“[First Name].”

“Ah, the girl with the metal arms and the giant…hobby horse?” Rosie thought for a moment. “Couple o’ people said that she was wielding that thing like a baton! Smashed some angel’s heads too!” She chuckled, but noticed the deep sigh leaving her friend as he placed the tea down, reclining against his chair with a gloved hand over his face. She smiled apologetically. “Sorry, sorry. Keep going. Start from the beginning.”

“....She came to the hotel after seeing the commercial everyone made. We were not hiring any staff. Charlie wanted more sinners to come and try to redeem themselves. But [First Name] was stubborn. She and Vagatha did an interview and decided that the best thing they could offer to her was being a groundskeeper. Someone who could keep the place nice and neat, gardening and landscaping. The conditions Charlie laid out to her were that she needed to participate in the activities and make actual progress in changing her ways. In exchange, she’d be given food and board. I tell you, from the moment I saw her, I thought she’d be another form of entertainment~! Imagine, someone who can’t crack an egg, someone who struggles with day to day tasks because she has prosthetics from the Great War! She’s killed people, Rosie, she’s had front row seats to the depravity of humanity and she still believes Charlie’s dream will work! What a joke! What an absolute fool!” He laughed. The sound bounced off of the walls, sending a small chill down Rosie’s spine.

Alastor wasn’t laughing like when someone tells a dad joke he finds greatly funny or makes an ass out of themselves. He sounded….hollow. Confused.

“So why is that I feel so terrible for what I had done, Rosie?” He asked. “She had stumbled upon a secret she should have never known and I made a deal with her to keep her quiet. I did what I needed to protect myself. But I can’t get the memory of how she looked at me out of my mind! She was angry, Rosie, and keep in mind that this is a girl who doesn’t show her emotions as easily as others, and she showed me how angry she was towards me! She was disappointed, resentful, and I don’t know what compelled me to kiss her hand but I did because there was some silly notion in the back of my mind, thinking that it would comfort her! How could a kiss do that?! It makes no sense, what I’m feeling makes no sense!” He suddenly straightened himself up in the chair, and he removed his hand from his eyes….just for Rosie to see the frustration and desperation in them.

“What’s wrong with me, Rosie?” He asked. “Tell me there’s something I can do to forget what I’m feeling right now or I fear I won’t be able to escape this madness!”

“I don’t think you’d be able to, my friend.” She said. Rosie knew what he was going through because she had been in the same situation too, far too many times and it was because of these experiences that everyone came to her for advice on romance. “Al, my dear silly man…you’re in love with this girl. And it’s pretty clear that this love runs deep. You wouldn’t feel terrible for what you did if you didn’t care about her, right?”

He looked at her, stunned. “I…beg your pardon, old friend? I….care for her? I love her?”

Rosie nodded. “You do. And you fucked up your chance at building a proper relationship with her because of this deal you made.”

“That was insurance!”

“And it destroyed her trust in you. You said she was a soldier, right?” When Alastor nodded, she continued. “Well, soldiers need comrades they can trust to watch their backs as much as they need accurate information on enemy forces. You were her comrade, someone she could trust and now…she can’t. That’s why she was angry with you.” She tilted her head. “But it’s up to you if you want to rectify the mistake you made…or let it be the reason why she may never see you in the same way as you see her.”

“Then teach me, Rosie.” He seethed, leaning forward as he slammed a fist against the table, causing the tea tray to rattle. “Teach me how to forget these feelings because I do not want nor need to love someone to live a fulfilling afterlife. Love makes a person weak! A smile is a more valuable tool than love! It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing, and ensures what comes your way, you are in control!”

Rosie glared pointedly at him. “Mister, you are most definitely not in control. If you ask me, stifling these feelings towards [First Name] are just going to make things worse.” She sighed. “Do you remember how we first met? You were a fresh face, the newest overlord around the block after you overthrew all the rest. But the big, bad Radio Demon couldn’t even find the meeting room and asked me for directions with that cute little smile of yours. Gotta tell ya, you were a sweetie then, though Carmilla back then…well, she didn’t know what to think of you.” She smiled, leaning forward and placed her hand on top of Alastor’s. “Asking for help and guidance doesn’t make someone weak, old friend. And it isn’t bad to feel love towards someone, even if you are an ace in the hole.” She winked.

His smile twitched. “I really wish you would tell me what that phrase means.”

“Where’s the fun in that? It’s entertaining to see you keep guessing every time I say it!” Rosie laughed. “So…what are you going to do?”

“Words are cheap, but actions speak the truth. If you’re serious about serenading this girl, then you need your actions to reach her. Keep me posted, okay? You’ve got this.” That was what Rosie had told him as she walked him out of the emporium, giving him a brief hug and a warm smile before retreating back inside. Now, here he is, walking back to the hotel and back to you.

He had no idea how he was going to face you after what he had done. He gritted his teeth. As much as he wanted to keep his distance from you and be out of his afterlife for good, Rosie….had been correct. Eliminating what he felt would only make things worse, especially if Husker or that pint-sized fool who calls himself the King of Hell try to steal you away from him before he could do anything.

Shaking his head, Alastor continued his trek through the city and towards the Pentagram’s outer borders, on the hillside where the fluorescents of the hotel glowed in the distance like a lighthouse in a raging storm at sea.

Blessedly the lobby was devoid of any residents or staff when he had returned, so he had assumed that everyone was at dinner or had gone to bed. It wasn’t too late in the afternoon if he recalled correctly, but time was difficult to keep track of in Hell unless one had a pocket watch or one of Vox’s silly little devices, neither of which he had on his person. In an instant he teleported himself to the hotel’s western wing, ready to freshen a bit before cooking up a meal for himself to enjoy in the privacy of his room when he felt a thrum of power vibrate beneath his feet.

He glanced down, raising an eyebrow at the darkness on the floor before the shadow grinned, showing off a void of bright crimson for a mouth. Ah, yes. This little traitor. Of all the ones he has in his possession, this is the culprit responsible for the crime of stalking you without his consent.

“Well, well, where have you been today~?”

The shadow chuckled darkly, rising up from the floor and floated in the air, twisting its smoky body around him like a snake…no. It’s as if this little shit is performing a little dance of his own. But what for exactly? What is the grand occasion? Has someone died? The shadow shook its head, still grinning and conjured a sphere of green flames in its hands. Inside of it, Alastor could see you and Niffty in the kitchen cooking dinner and then the image disappeared, shifting to a scene where the two of you are putting ingredients together for…apple pies? Alastor gritted his teeth.

He’s gone not even for a day and Lucifer Morningstar has the audacity to make the calls on desserts. Blasphemy! This is absurd! UNACCEPTABLE!

The shadow’s flames then evaporated into nothingness…and in its hand was a single hair ribbon. Your hair ribbon. Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, he carefully took it from the shadow’s hand, cradling it in the center of his palm. To have something of yours to take for himself, and covet and yearn in silence until the time was ripe was the only method he had to satiate his darker hunger.

To think something as silly as your scent could tide something as fickle as his temper over was baffling, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Alastor’s thumb stroked the worn-out fabric, admiring its crimson hue beneath the fluorescent light of the hotel hallways. Before he could stop himself, the Radio Demon pressed his lips against it. The scent of cinnamon and ink made his mouth water, hungry for more than just a hair ribbon to pocket as a trophy. But like all good things and in the art of being a clever serial killer, patience is key. It shouldn’t be too difficult to lure his prey into his arms. After all, he is a true gentleman.

Taglist: @rorusena @alastor-simp @imperfectbloodmoon @anielly-2010 @bones4thecats @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @oucx @ang3lofdivinity @tonightwrites @chewbrry @horrorgirlshell @bladeismine @yourdoorisunlocked @no1sillybilly @mentallyunstablenoodle @solandis-does-stuff @facelessfionna @tired-of-life-86 @yandere-dark-cupid @pinkgoldweebgirl @lovely-nightmares @luthefriendlywitch @asianfrustration13 @lunaramune @lanxianschoenheit @zenix108 @solesurvivorjen @kanroji-san @whenitgrowsbright @aconfusedwonderland @candyladycry @ozzersauce @sleepy-hutao @justamegafan @the-cat-queen-peasants @swallowtail-lotus @circeyoru

#forbidden-sunlight #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #radio demon #yandere x reader #yandere male #fem!reader #violet evergarden!reader #ns.fw #yandere #cw obsessive behavior #cw obsessive love #tw obsessive behavior #hazbin hotel alastor #tw obsessive love

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Three

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Before you read this chapter, I want to tell y'all I am perfectly aware of how messed up this is. But if the male writers of Game of Thrones can show graphic depictions of sexual assault and get away with it, why can't I show something messed up but empowering? They literally showed sexual assault as a good thing because the trauma can "empower" a woman. How about a girl finding strength in her body and pleasure? Now, let's traumatize these men back. >:}

Also, I find it a bit humorous that the reader is wearing something like this during this entire chapter. Also, I made a playlist of songs that I listened to while writing this story.

Chapter Warnings: minor x minor sexual situations, CNC, we do not follow SSC here, folks. (safe, sane, and consensual.)

Aegon led you up a dark sandstone staircase worn from thousands of years of use, turning his head back periodically with a wide grin. You knew he was leading you to the Streets of Silk, where the high-end brothels were, not the type Ma ran. It was something interesting you found with Aegon, how he chose to forgo the upscaled silken sheets with finely dressed whores that most of the High Born frequented. But he, the first-born son of King Viserys Targaryen, First of Men, King of the Andals, and Protector of the Realms, choose to sink his royal cock into the cunts of lice-ridden women. You did not mind Aegon choosing something as malapropos as that, for if his tastes were better, you would have never met him.

"Come, little one, we are nearly there," he encouraged, squeezing your hand briefly and kissing it. The simple act made your cheeks hot, a hue of red blooming from your nose to your ears as your short legs struggled to stay in step.

You felt giddy with a man's affection, a feeling you had not experienced in many years. Ma had never let you grow close to a person near your age, always promptly snatching you away and telling your acquaintances to "get lost" or deal with the consequences. No child had ever dared to become friends after that. You had only Madam and the Ladies of the House until the unsightly curly, white-haired prince made his appearance.

Aegon led you down sharp turns and uneven ground, squeezing your fist every moment he felt you got too far behind. Despite the fast walking, his legs were shaking, his knees nearly buckling under him when his shoe got caught on a loose rock. You chuckled when you helped him up. His excitement was contagious. You could not help but feel the same, your cloaks billowing out behind you.

"Where are we going, my Prince?" You asked sweetly, biting your lip in anticipation. Aegon noticed you didn't use the title as an insult this time but as a... flirtation. Were you flirting with him, he wondered.

"Have patience, little one; we are only fifty paces away," he chortled, stopping for a moment and patting your hand in reassurance.

"I find it peculiar that you know the precise distance," you jested.

Jested? Jested! Aegon nearly died from happiness at the realization. Someone, who had no incentive to be kind to him, was treating him like a friend. Like he was not the royal cunt drunk fuck-up everyone claimed he was. You were so beautiful, kind, and innocent. And best of all, you were his. None of the other Targaryen knew of your existence, other than Daemon. Perhaps if his family had known about you, bastard or not, Aegon could have been betrothed to you and not that half-wit bug-obsessed sister he now called wife.

Aegon supposed things did happen for a purpose, though. If you had been raised as part of your actual family, you would most likely feel the same as all of them about him. You were too perfect, sent from the Gods, plucked from the very clouds he prayed to and placed into his wanting, needing lap. An angel finally leading him out of the purgatory he called life.

"We're here," he stated in finality, gesturing for you to look at the building.

It was much larger than Ma's. Whereas hers was built from solid oak wood and a straw-thatched roof, this was constructed from a smooth stone. Burnt steel braziers with yellow-orange flames lit the dark entrance, dancing off of Aegon's pale, veiny hand as he knocked. A woman with deep midnight hair cascading down her exposed tanned skin opened the door, hugging the frame as her golden dress did to her curves. You could see Aegon's purple eyes blown with lust as he drank her in, unabashedly wetting his lips.

She smiled, perfectly white teeth showing through her painted lips as she did the same to Aegon. More likely sizing up the potential profit in her head rather than his appearance. Then she looked at you, her smile dropping and full black eyebrows furrowing. You didn't know whether she was displeased at another woman being here, somehow seeing you as competition, or because you seemed so young. Being sized up as if you were any predator unnerved you. You were just a daughter of a whore, raised on moldy bread and stolen apples, not someone to be seen as a rival. You hid behind Aegon, intimidated by the beautiful woman's stare, and tightened your grip on his hand.

He chuckled, more at the fact you were so intimidated by an older woman's disapproving glance you sought him for protection as if he wasn't the very thing that brought you into this situation.

"Do not worry, sweet thing; Mila will not hurt you. The bitch's bark is worse than her bite." You were surprised by his brazen disrespect for the woman who might service him tonight, but she didn't seem fazed.

"This is not the first time you have brought another with you here, your grace, but never one so young, so..." Mila sucked her teeth in disapproval, raking her eyes over what she could see, "so inexperienced." Her insults upset you, and you moved from behind Aegon.

"Do not take age as a lack of experience, woman. I grew up with the sounds of women moaning and men begging to cum. It was my lullaby."

You brushed past her, deliberately bumping your shoulder into hers as you entered the brothel. You didn't need to look at her face to know you got a reaction from her—Aegon's snickering as he followed in after you were assurance enough. He knew that small demeanor could not last long, not in his hatchling.

Music filled the brothel, and the soft murmurs of people chatting amongst themselves melted into the songs, creating a gentle hum in the air. All you could see was gold. Gold walls, chairs, lounge seats, gold pitchers, and chalices of Arbor Red and green liquid as people flited along the main room. Shiny curtain dividers of the same palette divided private rooms as you entered further, the moans and pants becoming louder. Three more women came up, all dressed in varying shades of cream, tan, and gold, taking your cloaks and giving you and Aegon goblets.

It was nice. You could understand the appeal of a man such as Aegon devoting their time to a place like this. They treated you like royalty even when you were not. You were not used to being the one dotted on, usually watching from afar before Madam snatched you away and locked you in your room.

"My Prince," the lithe blonde one said, eyes a stormy grey as she bowed. "It is a pleasure to see you again. It has been so long." She took his hand, leading him to an empty bench as the second girl ushered you close behind. "And I see you have brought a guest with you." Her voice was tight as she addressed you, pursing her lips in an almost pity-like emotion.

Aegon released a breathy laugh, moving his fingers to lace with yours, smiling. "Yes, she is my companion for the evening. I expect her to receive the same treatments you would give me, as she is an extension of my crown tonight."

The girls shared a look, expressions, and wordless conversations thrown at each other before they decided to nod and smile.

"Of course. Whatever our Prince desires shall be given," the brunette nodded. "What shall we get you started tonight, your grace? Wine, mead?" She asked.

Aegon grinned to himself, flipping through all the options of alcohol he could choose for his hatchling, then let out a puff of air with his decision. "The Green Fairy, I would like to start with that, wench."

This time, you could understand the expressions on the ladies' faces. They looked shocked, worried, and scared, even for you, at his drink of choice. They both nodded, not protesting his request, as they got the drink. When they returned, they were holding a different set of glasses. They were crystal, intricate designs that blew into the stem as they set the supplies down. The pitcher was also transparent, and you could see a deep emerald liquid. It was unfamiliar to you, having grown up with mainly bottomless red and purple drinks.

"What is The Green Fairy," you questioned Aegon, leaning closer to him so the girls couldn't hear.

"That is the common name for it, little one. It is called Absinthe, and it is absolutely delightful," he assured you. You hummed, shifting your body centimeters away from him, still nervous.

You continued to watch as the whores sorted the supplies. It was entrancing, a ritualistic setup for something as simple as a drink, gathering ornate spoons with holes in them and pouring the green contents into the cup. It seemed like something a High-Born would drink, so you were not surprised that Aegon chose it. The blonde gathered another pitcher, this one not from the same set, and asked Aegon how he would like it.

"You know how I like it, Carmilla," he retorted, and she gave a slight nod, getting a small wooden stick and lighting the tip on it with a candle flame.

She brought the stick to the Absinthe, creating a burst of fire before it disappeared as Aegon put his palm over it. You stared in awe, your mouth agape as he brought the glass to his nose, removing his hand and inhaling the vapors with a moan before swinging it back. He slammed the empty cup on the wooden table, grinning like a madman at the burn in his throat. You could tell he loved the feeling, a blush creeping up his neck to his ears from the heat.

"And how would the lady like it?" Carmilla asked, gesturing to you.

"I-" you began to stutter, but Aegon came to your rescue.

"The classic way. We would not want to scare my sweetling off from the drink, now, would we? She is not as well versed in The Fairy as I am." He playfully nudged your shoulder, making you giggle. You were sure your skin matched Aegon's, heat covering your entire face and ears with embarrassment. After you just went and said something to Mila, he said something like that.

The brunette grabbed the fancy silver spoon, placing a sugar cube as she poured the Absinthe over it, the liquid running through the holes and into the glass. She repeated the same process as she did with Aegon, grabbing a wood stick but lighting the sugar cube instead of the drink. You watched it carmelize, burning the alcohol off for a few seconds as she slowly poured water over it, careful not to go too fast. It was so beautiful, so mesmerizing, watching the browned sugar slowly melt into the cup. Drip, drip, dripping down until it was dissolved.

Aegon paid no mind to the show before him, staring intently at your whole face. Watching your mouth, brows, and nose scrunch up as your eyes danced across the scene, taking in the unfamiliar experience.

Once all the sugar was gone, you looked at Aegon expectantly, waiting for him to tell you what to do. The realization that you were looking to him-- him to guide you, made his cock harden.

Oh, his little dragon. The things he could show you.

"Drink it, little one," he urged, eyeing you with a jerk of his head. You gave him a half-hearted grin, unsure about the drink. You've, of course, had alcohol before. Most of the time, water was unsafe to drink unless collected from wells or the skies. You had it for almost every meal. Still so young, you did not like the taste but knew the necessity of it. You brought it to your nose, taking a whiff and recoiling your head in disgust, grimacing.

Aegon studied your face, watching your thoughts show themselves. It smelled like madness, reckless abandonment traveling inside your nostrils and bursting into your head, yet it was cool, calming, like the steel of a blade unsheathing from its scabbard. It is... an extraordinary thing.

Adorable.

He repeated the same motion, wordlessly telling you to try it anyways. Well, if Aegon could drink it without so much as a reaction, you could, too... probably.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself as you flung the glass into your mouth, gripping the stem as the alcohol burned your tongue and throat. At first, it wasn't bad, a savory flavor hitting your taste buds, like the herbs a tavern would smell of, but then, everything else came crashing, nearly making you spit out the liquid. Your body heated in embarrassment, tucking your chin to your chest as you tried to hide. Everyone at the table laughed, the two women who were less than enthused about your presence shrieking, gaining the attention of the other patrons in the main room.

Aegon refused to let you wallow in shame as he grabbed your wrist, yanking you up as he cheered. "She's done it," he yelled, looking at the several dozen pairs of eyes trained on you. "Well done, little one!"

The others couldn't help but gather in the celebration, walking closer to the group of you and congratulating you on whatever. Most were too drunk to care, just happy to be around the excitement. You could not help but laugh along, enjoying the attention, something you never got with Madam.

"Another," Aegon shouted as the women repeated the same ritual.

What felt like moments later, you found yourself lying between Aegon's legs on a private bed, your back to his chest, his fingers playing with your frizzy hair and tracing up and down your arm. The room was hazy, but you didn't care. You were too far down in the feeling of his touch. You sighed into him, your glass replaced by some Dornish wine instead of The Green Fairy. You could not feel the burn anymore, tipping back the red drink, some slipping past your lips and down your throat. Your motor skills were sluggish, but your senses were heightened, hearing, feeling every sound and touch, nerves of fire through your body.

Serval women lay next to you, sleepy from the festivities or drunk like you were. Aegon had the tolerance of ten men. You found out after ignorantly challenging him to a duel of cups, which of course, you lost, much to your chagrin.

You hummed softly as Aegon slid his fingertips up your bicep to the base of your throat, wrapping them like a necklace. It tickled that area of your body unfamiliar with touch as you leaned your head back on his shoulder. The whites of his eyes were nearly bloodshot, staring down at your face with blown pupils. You had not realized how attractive he was until now, the yellow light from the torches shining behind him like a halo. He looked ever the prince. You lifted your arm sluggishly, trying to reach for the crown of light but stroking your fingers through his short curly hair instead. It was an acceptable replacement, you decided, closing your eyes to feel the strands between your digits.

Aegon leaned his head closer, resting his forehead on your furthest cheek, his nose poking into the other. You were content with the connection, nearly falling asleep until you felt his hand slide up your neck, gripping your jaw to be level with his. Your lips parted, struggling to breathe through your nose at this angle. His eyes flickered at the movement, then back to yours as you blinked slowly.

You realized too late that he was kissing you, his wet mouth pressed against yours, his tongue feeling it. It felt so lovely, a pleasant tingle traveling to your stomach as you slid your hand further into his hair. Aegon could feel the hot air leaving your nose faster, tightening his grip on your jaw. You whimpered into his mouth, the slight pinching uncomfortable but not unwelcomed.

Everything felt... heavenly. Aegon's touch was a gift from the Gods, one you accepted with open arms as he trailed his free hand down the front of your dress, pressing into the small space the fabric dipped between your legs. A jolt of ecstasy went through your body, causing you to part from him as you hiccuped a moan. He repeated the motion, pressing what felt like a button harder, making your eyes roll back into your head.

You knew there were ways to pleasure a woman other than penetration but did not understand the anatomy of it; perhaps this was what they were talking about?

Aegon continued pressing, now rubbing in tight circles as your humid breath covered the vellus hairs on his face, moving your hips to seek more friction. You were raised in a brothel. You knew about sex, practically an expert by the time you were ten and one, but the logistics were lost. As a child, you had a curious mind like any other, sneaking peaks through keyholes at the working girls at Madam's before she would grab you by your ear and haul you to your room. It was natural how your body reacted to Aegon, and you did not mind it.

"Aegon," you breathed against his skin, your eyes half-lidded as he kissed your neck. He hummed, nipping at the skin as you squeaked.

"You sound heavenly," he whispered, rubbing himself against your back.

"It feels..." You trailed off, losing yourself in the pleasure.

"Tell me, little one, tell me how you feel." Your back arched as a loud moan filled the small room, causing some guests to stir.

"It feels so... so good," you cried, rutting your core onto his fingers. He chuckled into your shoulder, nipping your collarbone as his free hand laced with yours.

A woman opened her eyes, disturbed by your loud noises, but she didn't seem to care, rolling onto her other side and going to sleep. You bit your lip, embarrassed that something so intimate, which was supposed to be done in the privacy of only two people, was in the middle of an audience.

"Do not silence yourself, my little dragon. Let them hear you roar."

You were lost, lost in the sea of alcohol and ecstasy Aegon had rowed you out too. The brackish waters pulled you under, and you struggled to fight them, running out of the will to do so. A tear leaked from the corner of your eye, running down your temple and into your hairline. He kissed it away, licking his lips and groaning at the salty taste.

Gods, he wanted to come so badly. He wanted to sink into your virgin cunt, tearing your maidenhead as your blood coated him, spilling his seed inside you. But despite what his family said about him-- despite what everyone said about him, he could be a good man—a good man for you.

"A-Aegon, it is happening." You knew what was coming, but not the name for it, not what this little death was called. "It-it's happening."

"Shh, shh," he brushed the strands of your dark hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, squeezing your hand in reassurance. "Let it happen," Aegon soothed, "let it happen."

You shrieked, allowing the waves to drag you under, consuming every fiber of your being with pure, unfiltered pleasure. Your crushed his grip, your hips moving wildly and burying your face in his neck while you cried. Having your senses heightened and stoked simultaneously was too much to handle. Aegon held you the entire time, pulling you out from under the ocean as air finally filled your lungs.

Your body shook, soft mewls escaping as the aftershocks wore off. You hated it but loved it. You wanted it again. You finally understood Aegon, why he sought out pleasure the way he did, for if it always felt like this, you would too.

"How are you, sweet thing," he asked, moving his hand between your legs and your face, cupping your cheek.

You couldn't respond, only groaning as your eyes closed. Aegon laughed, pulling your body on top of him as he laid back down on the sheets, head resting on the pillow. You felt yourself falling asleep.

"Thank you," he spoke quietly. You had never heard a man thank a woman for giving her pleasure. You turned your head, questioning his gratitude. He gently placed your head back on his chest, and you did not protest, too exhausted from everything that had happened.

Aegon's cock was in pain from the denial of your touch, silently begging for you. It had been problematic throughout the entire day, never ceasing the constant pumping as you explored the city. He had no idea how he managed to control himself for so long. Self-restraint was not his strong suit, but you changed him. You made him different. Aegon wanted to defile you when he saw your sticky fingers steal a bracelet off a noblewoman's wrist.

But you were precious, his little dragon, and you could not force a bond with a dragon no matter how much one willed it. It must be the dragon's choice.

Master List of Series

I hope y'all don't hate me for this chapter...

Thank you for reading!

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