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bensolosbluesaber · 1 year

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Nowhere to Run: Part 1 (Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader)

Pairings: Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader

Warnings: Hints of suicidal ideation on reader’s part, Fang stuff (Miguel uses fangs on reader), Chasing, Miguel is maybe ooc (I only saw the movie once and was mostly trying to keep from audibly moaning every time he was on-screen), Miguel and reader fight - he does some damage, Poison, Wounds, Not edited (but I will come back for some minor edits later on), Let me know if I missed anything

Summary: After the collapse of your universe, you resort to jumping around the multiverse to survive. Evolution gave you the powers needed to escape your universe. Technology of your own design stopped the glitches. But you haven’t found a way to escape the man relentlessly hunting you across every universe - Spider-Man 2099. ~2,500 words

Angst, hurt/comfort, eventual happy ending

A/N: This is for all of us who watched the Nueva York chase scene/train sequence and thought ‘when do I get to be Miles?’ This is dedicated to the Miguel O’Hara editors on TikTok - you guys are doing god’s work over there (especially with the captions). There shouldn’t be any spoilers in here beyond what was shown in trailers, but tread as carefully as you feel you need.

EDIT: Part 2

A persistent tingle deep in your mind vibrated madly the closer Spider-Man 2099 was to you. It was your Spidey-sense warning you of danger. For the first few months, you managed to stay several universe’s ahead of the terrifying Spider-Man variant, but after running for months with no one to help you, dodging the Spider-Person in each universe, and growing more exhausted with each portal you opened, 2099 was catching up.

He was catching up quite literally. The man was a few blocks behind you, pursuing you through the streets of a Queens in a universe you had never seen before. Buildings were built into trees. The entire city was a perfect symbiosis between nature and technology. It was beautiful, but there was no time to appreciate it. The time on your wrist ticked down. Seventy-six seconds. Seventy-five.

You shot out another web. It caught a window, and you took a sharp corner then another trying to lose the hunter.

Seventy seconds until you could safely open another portal. Well safe was a relative measure. Ideally you would allow a full day between jumps, but if you only had twelve hours, well then odds of survival rose to about fifty-fifty. Anything less than twelve hours and implosion was basically guaranteed.

Sixty-eight. You extended your legs for more momentum, rolled in the air, shot out two webs and used them to zip forward. Sixty-two. 2099 was fast, faster than you. You didn’t dare to look back to see if he was still in pursuit.

He protected the multiverse, kept it from collapsing in on itself, and you put the entire web of connection at risk just by being alive outside of your universe. You didn’t begrudge 2099 for what he thought he had to do. Maybe it was true that your presence could cause a universe to collapse, but you were careful not to stay for too long, not to interact with the Spider of that universe, not to fight any super-villains. If he could just understand that you were careful, that you didn’t want a multiversal collapse anymore than he did, maybe he would be reasonable.

Then again, maybe not. He was relentless, and from what little you had heard of Spider-Man 2099, he wasn’t one for talk and negotiation.

Fifty-five. You dived down, shot another web, swung again. You could never go back to your world’s boundless emptiness and not another living soul. That thought kept your exhausted muscles working. Fifty. The void was all that remained of your collapsed universe, a void in which you could not die but where no one else could live.

Forty-eight. Forty seven. This block was all future, half-built apartment buildings.

Thirty. You’d long ago lost your suit. All that remained was the mask that obscured your face. You must look ridiculous swinging around in stolen street-clothes: a baggy sweatshirt, leggings, dirty sneakers.

Twenty-one. Nearly there. Just a few-

A solid mass of muscle stole the breath from your lungs and flattened you into a cement wall. Claws shattered the cement beside your head into a fine gray powder. A hand closed around your throat, and you were crushed between the blue and red clad Spider-Man and the wall.

He was pure muscle. This was the closest you’d ever been to 2099, and his sheer size was terrifying. The red lines on his mask narrowed with his eyes as he studied you.

Eighteen. You pushed at his broad chest, struggling desperately to fight him off, but he was enhanced too and probably well-fed and rested - two things you were not.

“Stop fighting me,” 2099 growled into your ear, his voice a deep rumble that you felt in his chest.

“I won’t go back.” You choked out the words while you planted a knee against him and tried to kick him away. Your efforts were utterly useless. Quite literally, you could feel muscles rippling across his chest and arms as he held you against the wall while you trid to wriggle free.

In the corner of your eye, you watched the red numbers tick down. Six. Five. Was it even possible? It had to be.

2099 brought you forward then slammed you into the wall again. The impact made your head spin. The red lines of his mask doubled and tripled. He was trying to get something around your wrist.

“Hold still!”

Two.

With the last vestige of strength left in your body, you brought a hand to his face and shot a wad of webbing at his eyes. He growled and stopped his attempt to hand-cuff you - or whatever he was doing - to wipe the webbing away. For a second he was distracted. You imagined the glowing golden portal. Closed your eyes. Energy sparked in your body, coursed through your veins and arm. You shot a web at the wall behind you. It shimmered gold, dim gold, but still gold.

There was a moment where you thought it hadn't worked. Then the wall crumbled away and you felt wind whip you backward as a bright gold light filled the space. 2099 reached for you, claws extended. Four knife-like talons dug into your shoulder, ripping through the ratty sweater, digging into your skin, and tearing four long bloody stripes into your flesh as the portal drug you away..

You planted both feet on his stomach and kicked him off. A bright red web shot out from 2099’s hand to tangle in a tree. The last thing you saw was 2099 falling then catching himself before you tumbled away from him and toward a new universe.

It was raining on this new Earth. Actually, ‘raining’ was a bit of an understatement. It was absolutely pouring, and you were soaked before you hit the ground. Hard.

You hadn't been as focused as you needed to be, and the portal had opened in the sky and dropped you ten feet to the roof of a towering building in some universe’s version of New York. You couldn’t tear the mask from your face quick enough as you gasped desperately for air. 2099 was strong, and he’d smashed you half a foot into solid cement.

Your ribs ached. So did your head for that matter. But it was the dull ache spreading across your shoulder, down your arm, and seeping through your muscles like liquid fire that really made you afraid.

The gray of your stolen sweater was soaked in crimson blood. Carefully, you pushed the stained fabric over your shoulder.

Shit. Shit!

Beneath the torn fabric, your skin glowed a sickly, dare you say radioactive red - the same red as 2099’s suit. His talons must have been poisoned, and now that poison was making it’s way through your body, causing unknown damage and immense pain. There had to be a lab on this Earth. Right? If you could only get there, you were smart enough to whip up an antidote.

But as you stood, it was obvious that you wouldn’t be going anywhere. The poison was potent and fast-acting. Insanely, you wondered if it was really poison or if you should be calling it venom. It didn’t matter, because a moment after gaining your feet, your legs failed. You careened forward and nearly smashed your head again, only just catching yourself before slowly laying down in the rainwater.

City lights sparkled in the distance and reflected in the puddle forming around your head. Purple and blues and few bright yellows. Not a bad view if this was how you died. If only the poison weren’t so painful. You wanted to scream, but you lacked the strength.

A familiar tingle shot across your spine a second before the bright gold light of a portal obscured the reflection of the city lights. No! He was so close when you jumped universe’s. He must have tracked you; no wonder he hadn't bothered to chase you through the portal.

You scrambled backwards weakly, your feet struggling for purchase on the slick roof as the broad shouldered man appeared. He was wreathed in gold light. You couldn’t jump again, couldn’t even stand, could barely drag your body through the rain as Spider-Man 2099 strode closer.

“Nowhere to run,” he said. His voice was flat, like he took no pleasure in finally having you trapped.

“I won’t go back!” You tried to sound tough, strong, but your voice cracked over the words. “There’s nothing there. I can’t. I’d rather die than- than go back to nothing. 2099, don’t send me back”

Your fingers felt the ledge of the building and empty air beyond it. Poison. Fall. The clawed Spider-Man. A slow descent into madness trapped in the empty and endless remains of your home universe. A fall seemed fastest. But you didn’t want to. You were scared. You didn’t really want to die. Your shoulder throbbed and head filled with fog. The skin was glowing such a bright red you could see it in the corner of your eye.

In the brief moment you hesitated, he was on you. 2099’s red webs wrapped around your chest, and he yanked you forward and away from the ledge. You crumpled at his feet, and he just stared down at you through that mask. His blue and red mask swam in your vision as you stared up at him. Was it the rain that was so cold? Or was it the poison? No, venom. Poison? Venom?

2099’s face got bigger as he knelt beside you.

“What is this?” He pulled at the torn sweater, his gaze falling on the bright red mottling your skin.

Miguel O’Hara had never seen his claws damage anyone like this. There was no venom in them… unless in whatever universe you had come from something about them was venomous. It was possible. His fangs were venomous, that he did know.

Miguel pulled off his mask, the adrenaline of the chase fading while he watched you struggle for life. He’d meant to stop you, take you back to base, figure out where you’d come from… not kill you. He ran his tongue over one of the fangs protruding from his mouth.

The next thing you knew, 2099 was sitting next to you and pulling you onto his lap. It might have all been a dream, you couldn’t tell. The lights were so beautiful. Your head lolled to one side, your whole body limp as a ragdoll in his muscular arms. His face filled your vision and blocked out the pretty lights.

He had a strong jawline, dark curls, sharp cheekbones, a broad nose, and were those fangs? And were his eyes glowing red? Yes, two orbs as red as the suit and your poisoned skin shone down at you. He was pretty too. This had to be a dream. The monster chasing you couldn’t be so handsome. You blinked, eyes unfocused. Your Spidey-sense was going wild, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fight. 2099 was warm, and you could go to sleep right here.

He shifted your body again so your side was pressed against his chest. “2099,” you whispered weakly, pathetically.

“I’m sorry for this,” he whispered in that low growl. Now it was tinged with what almost sounded like real regret. “It’s the best I can think of.”

He guided your head to rest in the curve of his shoulder, face turned toward his neck. One hand brushed hair away from your neck, the other wrapped around your waist. His fingers were no longer clawed, and his movements were gentle as he held you close, muscles tensing underneath your body. The expression on his face was tender. It seemed impossible that this was the same man who had made you his prey for months.

“Don’t panic now,” he whispered as he lowered his lips to your neck. “Stay still.”

You were barely aware of what was happening. His lips were warm, then four sharp pricks stung the base of your neck just above your collarbone and the deep poisoned wounds. Panic tried to rise in your throat, but you weren’t conscious enough to really process that a man currently had his fangs sunk into your throat. He drew back and spit out bright red poison, then bit into you again. Then again. And again.

Miguel was exceptionally careful with you, holding you perfectly still and being sure to sink his fangs into the same spot each time so as not to mark your skin any more than necessary.

Slowly, the world began coming back into focus. You were exhausted, but the poison was being was successfully being leeched from your system by his fangs. Brown curls were the first thing you became aware of, then the almost unnatural warmth coming from the man beneath you, then the cold pricks on rain on your back, then... then that something was biting you. Before you could wrench your head back, a large hand cradled the back of your head. You desperately tried to struggle as you realized what this vampiric Spider-Man was doing to you. The muscles in his arm flexed as he held your head still.

2099 pulled his fangs from your neck, spit bright red then let go of your head. You sat up quickly. The movement made you dizzy.

“I know you’re scared.” Miguel could see the fear in your eyes. He nodded to your still glowing shoulder. It was dimmer now and hurt less, but it was still obvious poisoned. “But this is working. Let me help you.”

You were looking him right in the eyes, the glowing red eyes, and though you didn’t trust him, you knew instinctively he was right.

“Okay,” you breathed lowly.

You laid your head on his shoulder. Miguel could feel how your whole body trembled, but whether it was from fear or cold or something else entirely he couldn’t tell. When his lips touched your skin you whimpered. That was fear.

Miguel still had one arm around you, but he took your hand in his free one, interlaced your fingers, and squeezed once. Then he sunk his fangs into your neck. It stung a bit but didn’t really hurt. Now that your were conscious, you could feel the poison being drawn toward the spot where his mouth connected to your skin. That didn’t really hurt either. It was like stretching a sore muscle - a satisfying pain that ultimately brought relief.

2099 drew back to spit out his poison. When was the last time you’d touched someone like this? A touch that was more than an accidental brush in the street - or a purposeful one so you could steal someone’s wallet. 2099 was your enemy, your hunter. He was dangerous. But he was saving your life and holding you so tenderly it made your chest ache.

“Once more,” he promised.

His fangs brushed over your skin for the last time. You pulled your hand from his and splayed your fingers across his chest. 2099 brought his now free hand to your poisoned shoulder and pushed the ripped fabric apart.

Miguel watched the last of the poison be pulled from your veins as it filled his mouth. He spit it out then turned back to study how your body was pressed against him.

“Can you stand?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. Then panic hit and you jerked back, still sitting on his lap but with your face now safely away from his fangs. “You- you’re going to send me back. 2099, please don’t.”

“Why do you keep calling me that? My name is Miguel.”

Miguel. 2099 had a name. Of course he did, but hearing it made him seem so human. And his face was handsome. That was no venom or poison induced hallucination. The man was beautiful.

“And no. Not yet.”

“My universe collapsed. There’s nothing for me to go back to.”

His red eyes softened as they met yours.

“We won’t send you back to an empty universe,” he paused, and one side of his lips twitched up. “You ran because you thought I’d send you back to a void? I see I have quite the reputation.”

Miguel lifted you to your feet easily. He set you on your feet and tapped the watch-like contraption on his wrist. You leaned against his muscled chest for stability. Even without his poison, you were still wounded and tired and malnourished. A portal spiraled out in front of you both.

“You promise not to send me back there?” You looked up at Miguel. He squinted at the portal’s bright light and tugged the mask back over his face.

“Promise.”

To be continued...

Part 2

A/N: Part 2 will be a little time jump, and we’ll actually see Miguel and reader get into a relationship!

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barbieaemond · 7 months

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A curse for a curse

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if that’s even a thing but it’s there)

Word count: 8.5K

Author’s note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond.

Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver

Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.

She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.

The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.

But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.

“When is Aemond coming back?” the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesn’t know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?

Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?

What is he doing with that bastard woman?

“They say she’s a witch.” King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.

“He killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.” He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. “Why did he not do it, sweet good-sister?”

He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.

“I do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Gods’ mercy and decided to spare a woman.”

His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and there’s nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.

He’s taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.

She has utterly bewitched him.

Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.

He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.

Soon.

Soon was two moons ago and he’s still there.

It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.

The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. “Princess?”

She immediately looks around, but there’s no silver in that huge black hall.

“What are you doing here?” the Hand asks, walking to her “It is not safe for you—”

“Where is the Prince?” she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.

Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesn’t show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says “The Prince is not here, your Grace. He’s out, on the battle camp.”

She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creature—a lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.

She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. It’s what she’s been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.

She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.

“Leave, please.” She orders the men “All of you. I need a word with the Hand.”

They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.

The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.

“What is going on here, Ser Criston?”

He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. “The situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the moment—”

“I don’t give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.” She almost hisses “You are perfectly aware of what I’m asking.”

His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.

“What is going on between Aemond and the witch.” she states, she is not asking.

The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. “My Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.”

She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. “What should I believe then?”

“It’s true. The Prince spared her life.”

“Does he keep her in his chambers?”

“What? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.”

“Did she ever visit his rooms? Alone?”

Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. “You must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.”

The wound between her ribs cracks open.

There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?

“I want to see her.”

“Princess, it is not wise.”

“I believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.”

Ser Cole sighs again. “She’s…dangerous, my Princess. She’s eerily persuasive.”

“So, you think it’s true? That she’s a witch?”

“I’m not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is that…one of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she just…murmured something to this man.” He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. “The next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.”

Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face.

“She claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happening—the Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.”

A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Hand’s reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. “Take me to her.”

Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. “As you wish, my Princess.”

Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.

She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.

There’s a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.

“Alas, you have come.”

The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she can’t stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.

“You must be Alys.” She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.

The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. “You are exactly as I saw you in the flames.”

“That will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.”

“No. I know who you are.” The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more “I can see his mark on you.”

“His mark?”

“Yes.” She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. “He leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, I’d say.” From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. “We have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.”

The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they were…what? Friends? Allies?

Lovers?

“Have you been in his chambers all this time?” she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To know if he cheated on you?”

“Answer my question.” The Princess orders.

“Darling, If I wanted to fuck him, I would’ve done it ages ago.” She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. “You left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.”

She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.

“Just as you, I’d say, since he’s forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever you’re making him do it with your witchcraft.”

She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.

“I’m not making him doing anything. I can’t play with his head. He’s too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.”

“Then what do you want? Gold? Lands?”

“I do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.”

“To see what?”

“What the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.”

The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. “Oh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conqueror’s Crown.”

Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?

“So that’s how you’re keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.”

“He asked me to. At the moment I’m more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.”

The Princess almost laughs at this. “I see. You think you can handle him, don’t you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?”

“Well, I’m not denying he’s handsome enough to please my eyes.”

“And once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.”

It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.

“All your witchcraft won’t be enough to handle him.”

The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.

“Ser Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."

“Your Grace, Prince Aemond will not be ha—”

“I’ll deal with Prince Aemond.” She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips “I know how to handle him.”

The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witch’s wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. “There is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, there’s even gold in the—"

“I told you, I don’t want—”

“I don’t care of what you want!” The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. “You live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.”

Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. “As you wish, Princess.”

She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.

The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say “I did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.”

Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.

Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.

“I am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.” He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. “Whether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.”

There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.

“My Prince, if you allow me—” one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths “We should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to consider—”

“I gave them enough.” He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. “They will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.”

They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.

“Summon the witch.” He orders “Bring her to me.”

He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.

“Uhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.”

“What do you mean she’s not here?”

“S-she left, your Grace.”

The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. “You let her flee?!” he rages with his eye blown wide.

“I-I did—not your Grace!” the boy manages to croak while he’s choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcher’s hands.

“He’s right. I did.” Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.

He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if he’s finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him him—something that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhal’s weight, not Alys’. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.

“Out.” he orders the Lords “All of you.”

They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.

The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?”

She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.

“What are you doing?” he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.

“My duty as wife.” She replies sternly, holding his arm “Or did you forget you had one?” she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eye—rage and maybe a tinge of hurt.

“Am I doing it right?” she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm “Was your witch friend better than me?”

The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. “I asked you a question. We’re at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?”

She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. “How strange, that is a question I should ask you.”

“Enough.” He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.

“Enough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.”

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re at war, my dear wife. Things in war don’t go exactly as you planned them—”

“Oh spare me!” she cuts him off, freeing herself “Spare me the war talk, that’s all I’ve been hearing from you.”

“What did you expect exactly? Love letters?”

“I expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what I’ve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.

“No, you will.” She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. “They said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says again, closing his eye for a moment.

“They said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.”

“I don’t want to hear about it!” he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.

“Why? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. “You know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.”

“You needed her?” she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. “You needed her for what? For her to tell you how good you’ll look wearing the Conqueror’s Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre can’t fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.”

“The Blacks will not attack.”

“Did she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?” she can’t fight back the contempt curling her lips “Are you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.”

“Watch your mouth, woman.” he seethes “You don’t talk to me like this.”

“Or what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought you’d like a token of your time with the witch.”

“Did you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?” his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation “What do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? I’ll tell you. None. You can’t even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?”

The wound is rotting from the inside and he’s pouring salt on it.

“I came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that I’m with child.”

Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witch’s curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.

“But it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.”

She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.

Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.

“I will leave at dawn.” She informs him with a blank face “I won’t disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.”

This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemond’s chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but it’s completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.

A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.

She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.

“We could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.” Her father had said in a letter, in the aftermath of Lucerys’ death.

As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.

As if he hadn’t left his mark on her.

She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldn’t bear his child.

“A child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.” Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital “How can they bless your union with a man so accursed?”

And yet.

She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she can’t stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?

She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.

She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.

“Eat.” An order, not an invitation.

She doesn’t even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. “I’m afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.”

She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.

“Eat or I’ll feed you myself.”

She doesn’t bother to even answer this time.

Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“That you’re with child.”

“In my husband’s lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess I’m capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.”

He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her. “You will stay here with me.” Another order.

Another rejection. “I will not.”

“Yes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.”

“I see. Now I’m worth something to you, am I not?” and finally she looks up “My duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. It’s a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. “I said enough.”

He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.

His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.

He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."

“I did not touch her.” He says like an oath “Ever.”

“I know you didn’t.” she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had.”

“Did you want me to fuck her now?”

“I wanted you to need me, not her.”

His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but it’s not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.

Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.

He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.

The surface has never been so frail. She doesn’t even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.

No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.

She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemond’s curse?

“I know you feel guilty.” She says, or rather whispers, as if she’s being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. “I know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.”

His answer is mute, but it’s the loudest confession she could get.

He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.

Aemond didn’t believe in curses.

He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.

He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.

For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.

Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.

In his head, he heard that word with his mother’s voice, with Aegon’s, Helaena’s.

He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge.

He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conqueror’s Crown on his silver head.

And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.

But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.

He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.

She, of course, had sensed it immediately.

“You can’t win this war if your mind is elsewhere.” She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.

He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”

“You need not worry, my Prince.” She retorted with a chilling smile “I can’t play with your head. It’s too heavy…and ugly. And this woman…oh, she’s eating you alive.”

The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.

She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.

The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.

The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.

He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.

He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.

“Looking for my love letters?” he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.

“I was looking for ink, actually.” she says looking below a paper left on the table. “Besides…love letters from you? Ghastly.”

He can’t fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and she’s stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she can’t help herself.

He doesn’t have a clue.

He doesn’t know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesn’t have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she can’t stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.

“Have you eaten?” he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.

She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t stand all the questions.

Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?

“Is this how is going to be from now on?” she asks looking up “You acting as if you are my maid?”

He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.

“First you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you don’t want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.”

“I want you to be my husband.” She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.

She wants to bathe in it. “I want to be your wife.”

Aemond’s eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. “You are.” He vows, locking his eye on her.

“Prove it.” She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.

He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. “Are you going to bite me again?”

“As if you didn’t like that.”

A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel he’s restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.

They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if he’s blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that she’s breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.

In all truth, she doesn’t have to.

He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.

“You know what you want, don’t you?” He teases with a feral grin.

“Curse you and your hideous smirk.” She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.

“You love my smirk.” He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. “Besides, I’m already cursed.” He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.

She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.

She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.

Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. “Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“Shut up.” She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.

Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesn’t even remember the face of the witch.

He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.

“No.” she says, and she stops his hands. “Do you think I would make it so easy for you?”

Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now she’s sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.

“It’s my turn to prove it.” She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.

“Prove what?”

“That you’re my mine.” She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.

She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. “I thought you were the one who wished to be chained.”

“I’m not the one in need of a lesson.”

She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. “What if I don’t want to?” but there’s an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.

“Then who will take care of you?” she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. “Are you sure your hand will suffice?”

He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.

“Chain me.”

She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.

She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."

He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.

Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.

He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.

The chains metal clink as he winces.

She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare he’s giving her.

“I can’t tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”

“I need you to fucking do something.”

“Like what?” she asks, palming his cock through the fabric “Tell me, husband. I may grant your wish.”

He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but it’s a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. “Move, grind on me.” His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is different—all heated and husky.

She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.

Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds it’s a useless fight when he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.

But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.

“Lift up your skirts. Let me see.”

She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.

“I don’t like that tone, husband.” She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored “Ask nicely.”

Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. He’s completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.

“Please. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.”

“Hmm.” She hums smiling. “Better.”

Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.

“Fuck” he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesn’t have a clue whether it’s the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.

“Do you see how I much I’ve missed you?” she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.

His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.

“I touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.”

“Enough of that fucking witch.” he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. “Faster.”

She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he can’t do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.

The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. “Once I’m free of these fucking chains, I’m going to fuck you senseless till morning.”

“Unless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.”

He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride won’t allow him to let go.

But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesn’t.

“Stubborn, are we?” she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. “Your witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, that’s why she couldn’t play with your head. She couldn’t handle you.” her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.

“I can, though.” her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.

“Please…” he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.

“Louder, my love.”

His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue.

“Please…” he begs freely “Please, touch me.”

A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. “Don’t rush it.” she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.

“I can’t take it…let me come…”

“Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“You’re cursed, woman.”

“Takes one to know one. A curse for a curse.”

She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. “I have half a mind to leave you like this.” She says and for a moment, he dreads she’s being serious.

“Luckily for you, I’m just as greedy as you are.”

In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and he’s moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks she’s going to utterly drain him.

She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds she’s making.

“Gods, yes…” he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her “Yes…just like that, just a little more…”

She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows he’s dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the rule.”

Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. He isn’t even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense they’re close to snap.

“What was it again?” she asks “Ah, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.” She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. “My ever-romantic husband.”

“Fuck the rule, you’re driving me mad. Let me come.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please.” He begs “Please let me come in your mouth.”

The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.

He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.

The chains are finally still and silent. He’s breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.

That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. “Did you think it was over?”

If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.

“Seven Hells, woman, give me a bre—” words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.

Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.

Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.

“Untie me…” he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.

“You are not in charge here, my love.”

“Then quit the act and fuck me.”

Perhaps, if she wasn’t so equally desperate for him, if she wasn’t leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she can’t take it anymore.

She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.

“Oh Gods—yes!” she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.

“D’you miss this?” he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence “Did you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?”

She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft.

They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.

He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.

“Untie me now, would you?” he asks softly on the crown of her head.

“I’m not sure.” She muses against his chest. “I’ve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.

“Besides, it’s your turn.”

She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. “Now?”

“Haven’t you heard? No man is so accursed as me.”

#a curse for a curse #liv (in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x wife reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond smut #hotd fic #house of the dragon #aemond one eye

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pinejayy · 1 year

Note

hi . i have a request

what if muzan wife had been reborn and he saw her by accident how would he reacts? . sorry for any mistakes English isn't my first language

sure thing!! I hope you enjoy this uwu

trigger warnings: mentions of death, a bit of yandere

here's part 2

I'll make you remember me (Muzan Kibustsuji x F!Reader)

It's been years since Muzan has lost you and it has broken him, he had lost you his wife. The Demon King truly missed you, he misses your smile and he misses how kind you were towards him. But everything was taking away from him after you were killed by some humans. They found out about your relationship with the Demon and since you were human it was just against their laws that a human and a demon could love each other. But he made sure to kill those humans who took you away.

But that was about 30 years ago, and Muzan has pushed those feelings down deep inside of him.

Tonight was a peaceful night, he was walking around the small village, as people were walking past him he couldn't help but growl to himself, he hated humans. He hated how they took you away from him. But the Demon needed a break from his work and the Upper Moons, they all get on his nerves. He just sighed to himself, as he was walking hearing the humans walk around and speak to each other but a voice caught his attention, it sounded like your voice. No that can't be right? You were long gone and 6 feet under.

"Fresh Noodles right here! Come buy them as their fresh!"

Yes that sounded like your voice, he decided to follow the voice, as he walked he seemed to be getting nervous. As he walked towards the voice he saw you? Standing by a small Noodle shop. You were smiling and waving at people walking by. Was it really you, Muzan walked towards you. Was this reincarnation? Did the universe send you back to him?

"Hello sir, would you like to buy some noodles." You say with a smile.

Muzan couldn't help but smile as he heard your voice and he just nodded. To which you just nodded, both of you walked into the shop. He looked around there was a few people. He sat down by a table that was away from everyone else.

"What can I get you today sir?"

He looked at you, it seemed like you don't remember him. "Y/N you don't remember me? It's me Muzan your husband." To which you looked at him confused.

"Oh I'm sorry sir, it seems like you have the wrong person." You say. "But would you like to hear about the specials today?"

Muzan looked at you, so you really don't remember him? He was heart broken. He just looked down. "Please Y/N...we were married. You were my wife...You were Mine." He hissed softly, looking at you. Muzan looked around the small shop and it seemed to be empty now. "You we're my Wife! They took you away from me!" He said. Standing up. He looked down at you. Seeing your eye color. They still looked beautiful.

" Oh sir...I don't know what you're talking about..Please leave now!" You say, taking a step back. And this just made Muzan even more upset. How dare you tell him to leave.

He looked at you one last time before leaving you alone at the shop. He was going to get you back and he was going to make you remember him and your past life.

After awhile, you were closing up for the night. Cleaning up everything, you sigh and thought about that odd man. He did seem familiar, and his voice you also recognized. But nothing came to mind. As you were getting ready to leave, you heard something behind you, and before you could turn around you felt a arm wrap around you. And a cold hand over your mouth, you tried to struggle. But whoever was holding you had a strong grip.

"Shh don't make this harder for me my queen."

Hearing the voice of the man from awhile ago. Struggling more, this made Muzan growl softly and he tighten his grip against you. "Stop moving Y/N." He said removing the hand he had over your mouth. and he started dragged a nail against your cheek.

"Please sir.." You started to cry out. "I don't know you."

He snarled and with that he turned you around so you were facing him. He grabbed your face quite harshly and forced you to look him in the eyes. "YES YOU DO, WHY CAN'T YOU REMEMBER ME Y/N! I LOVED YOU! YOU WERE TAKEN AWAY FROM ME!."

You whimper softly, and started to tear up. This made Muzan softly. He loosen his grip but didn't let you go. "I'm sorry my love, it's just been so many years without you and I deeply miss you."

You just stand there looking at the man's eyes. His pink oddly familiar eyes... "Please...let me go."

Muzan didn't want to force you out of here but if he has too then he will. He smirked, looking down at you. Placing a hand around your neck and bringing you closer to him, he placed his lips against yours. Oh how much he misses your lips.

You just stand there shocked, and of course you didn't return the kiss. Muzan pulled away and smiled at you.

"Don't worry my love, I'll make you remember me." He said and with a quick motion he hit you across the head. You fell to the floor. Out cold, Muzan just sighed and picked up your body and he threw you over his shoudler.

"You're going to remember me Y/N. I'll make sure of it."

#demon slayer muzan #muzan kibutsuji #muzan x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer

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yourplasticlittlespastic · 25 days

Text

E̴N̴T̴W̴I̴N̴E̴D̴ - Series - Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f/reader

Warnings: Angst and Benedict being a lil biatch - good stuff by the end and -> Raw +18 warnings will come later in other chapters

Notes: Goddamned gossipy tittle-tattle Whistledown, have you seen the first five minutes of S3?! Benedict looks so fineeeeee. Thank you for reading <3

WC: 5.2K

Such a quickwitted, bold, silly man he is. Number Two.

Benedict sighed harshly against the window glass. The third time in the day he has been spotted, by himself, trying to see someone outside. He could not care if someone made a fool of himself or herself. He just wanted to spot you.

Two days have passed after the mix of Brandy and your lips. Two insufferable days and he could not get enough yet for some reason he has been busy and he has heard from Francesca and Eloise that you... you have been busier.

Lord Coxingworth has made sure you were.

He has known you for more than seven years, nine actually but when you were fourteen both of you started talking and from there, he believes a good friendship arose. Friendship. He snorted. Friends do not kiss like that. He felt somehow dirty in not a good way. Was he taking advantage of you? he shivered at the idea of being perceived like Lord Rutledge with white hair, wondering eyes and dysfunctional manhood just waiting to breed.

No, he is not that to you or himself. You and him are seven years apart and that is not bad at all. He has seen worse.

"But she just debuted" he whispered

And indeed you had. Beautiful he observed that day in front of the Queen. You were not called a diamond. "Nonsense" he muttered. Why not? You were inexplicably bright and pristine yet again not pure at all.

His fingers traced his lips, the feel of your lips on his still burning, a phantom touch of a goddess that he had no right to even look at, let alone taste. But it did not stop him from wanting you, dreaming of you for the past few days.

His thoughts are scattered he realized. He kept thinking and thinking and thinking. He bounced from that night to those poems, to your age and his age, to your lips and your body, to the responsibility and the freedom he needed with you.

"My dear"

He turned around and saw his mother with a soft smile "Mother"

"Is everything alright?" She said

He nodded with a smile "I just need a bit of fresh air"

She came closer and he knew she was not convinced "Is that so? Have you been eating well?"

"Yes"

"You seemed lost these past few days, my son"

He was sure he was "My work has kept my mind occupied"

"Your work is beautiful and soul-touching, Benedict" she nodded "Keep working on it and I'm sure inspiration will come"

"I have inspiration," he said staring at the street trying to catch you walking there "Is just... a bit untouchable at the moment"

That day melted into a pond of questions. He could not let his work stand and at some point, he locked himself and made sure to paint. He painted with dexterity and structure. After all the commission has requested that. But the same room he has called a second home was not good to him anymore. The maroon couch, now empty, made him think of your body lying there. The table and the chairs reminded him of you and the brandy, the smell of the paint. Everything was not good enough for him. He felt sick and tired, like a madman trying to paint in such a condition.

He found himself out of the Bridgerton Residence and kept walking to his own place, five houses down and if he knew it correctly -and he did- three from yours. Like a child, he passed his territory only to step on yours. He stared at the well-maintained rose bushes, red ones by the entrance rail and closer they transformed into yellow ones and pink. So very tranquil.

Are you home? If he knocked and asked to speak to you would that be considered a house call as in... pursuing you? He has always stolen you from his sisters' talks but never requested by himself a talk. Perhaps if he waits and let Eloi-

"Ah, Mr. Bridgerton"

He turned around and saw Lord Coxingworth, his horrible dry hair and potato face smiling as he held a black umbrella above you. You. Your cheeks rosy, your hair pulled up and an unspoiled white dress with blue laces and that face always passive but now, hiding the surprise of seeing him that for a second he knew he was the one making you react in such way.

"Lord Coxingworth," he said and smiled back

"What brings you to these parts?" He looked at you and Benedict was sure his eyes lingered at your cleavage and he wanted to push the man away from you. If someone is going to set eyes on those swollen mounds it would be him alone.

"I was merely taking a refreshing walk"

"I see, in search of inspiration?" Lord Coxingworth kindly smiled

"Oh, I found it," he said quickly staring at you

"You see, Miss Ashbourne my dear friend Mr. Bridgerton is pursuing the arts"

You frown and look at Lord Coxingworth "From what I know he already is a well-formed artist, my Lord"

The compliment was heard and very well understood by Benedict who nodded yet the way you addressed the man as My Lord made in him a fire he could not explain. He wanted to mock your voice and see if you chose to slap his arm in return.

"That is quite kind of you, Miss Ashbourne. I must leave and return to my ordeals"

"Before you go, Bridgerton" Lord Coxingworth stopped him "I know you sent your regrets for one of the boys' gatherings, I must ask if we will see you tonight at Lord Fife's Ball?"

"Of course, I heard that it will be the first one after his nuptials"

"Indeed and as I was telling Miss Ashbourne, it is the first ball held by the newlyweds that matters the most"

Benedict looked at you and how you politely smiled at Lord Coxingworth. The fire he felt when you called him My Lord suddenly went ablaze at the thought of you and Karl Coxingworth being married. He was not an idiot, the man was looking at you and he was not even discreet.

"I do hope so, my lord. I wish Lord and Lady Fife a long marriage"

"As do I" he nodded and bowed at your proper response and looked at Benedict “If I must say so myself Bridgerton, the season has a few uncalled diamonds to offer, it is on my good intentions to tell you that it might be good of you to dig the cave for one of those”

Sick to his stomach, Benedict took the piece of damned advice and nodded politely. He knew that the soft glance he adverted to you was not the last of the day. He will see you much later and oh when he saw you that night…

Your skin has always looked the best in reds and greens and golden jewellery with sparkling diamonds around your neck. That naked form he has of you, still an imagination on his part, wears a necklace of diamonds and a bracelet of the same set and how he would like to see you sparkle in such a way.

“My dear,” his mother said and smiled “would you be a good brother and see that Eloise and Francesca are together?”

“And where is Colin and Anthony?”

Her face twisted in somehow pity “dancing with their dates. Kate and I believe Colin is with Miss-“

“Yes, I got your point Mother. I am the spare one without a lady”

“I didn’t mean it like that my dear and you know that” She patted his cheek and walked away with the grace only she had.

It was true to him now that his mood was ruined not by the thought of being eight and twenty and alone in society but by the view of your red gown and your figure flowing like water as you danced with Lord Coxingworth.

He has heard from ambitious mamas that you and he are a dupla most ready to wed. What do you see in him? Is he really that captivating? Why you don’t abandon him and take him instead?

The thoughts consumed him that he didn’t see that his wish came true. Lord Coxingworth left you and joined his mother and you gracefully moved to the edge of the dance floor. The exquisite decoration of orange and gold all around the place made you look so divine and when he thought things could not go wrong you were stopped by a polite man who requested a dance.

He somehow ignored the look you threw at him, he was already beyond mad at how things were playing out against him. He was not the only one looking at you. He was not blind or deaf to their attempts. His blood was boiling not for jealousy but for the need to have you, claim you as his. Hell, he doesn’t even know anymore. Sure, throw jealousy into the mix, he doesn't care.

Suddenly he remembered that he forgot to take Eloise and Francesca under his wing for the evening. Panic came to him as his eyes searched for other women, his sisters. And he exhaled deeply when he saw Colin and Anthony with Kate keeping them company. Reliable he was not tonight.

“Mr. Bridgerton”

Your voice made him blink and by his left, he saw standing there. You, a goddess in a red gown and he wanted to pull you aside and kiss you. Kiss those red lips, touch those red cheeks, and pull your hair apart.

Instead, he said politely:

"Miss Ashbourne, how do you do? I thought of yourself on the dance floor”

“I was…” you said and gulped “I intended to come here most of the time”

“And you got pulled away and that is fine” he spatted with a tone you haven’t heard before.

You looked around and your face contorted. Your hand touched his elbow and Benedict felt his skin burn under your touch.

"Come with me, Mr. Bridgerton"

The way his name rolled out of your tongue made him tremble, in the most delicious way possible. He felt anger and he knew he was not being fair to you and he will not be fair for at least some minutes.

“Is Lord Coxingworth aware of your whereabouts?”

You frowned at his comment and he was not the only one that was being impolite tonight.

"Why do you care about what he knows and doesn't know, Mr. Bridgerton?"

"Well, he is your intended-“

“He is not” you said and looked around, you were not one to remain stoic, your face always said how you felt “Perhaps if you join me for a walk…”

Benedict was filled with pride but not with stupidity. If alone time he wanted, he will get it even if it means his behaviour is far from gentlemanly.

The garden was decorated as the hall inside. He followed you and the sound of your heels against the cobblestone and his shoes echoed in the air. It was a cold night, one that made him shiver. Could you feel it? Of course not, your skin has always proven to be damned warm, he knows.

You reached a bench, a wooden one with roses around and you sat down. He followed and his hands gripped the sides of the bench as you spoke:

"We are not courting"

He turned and looked at you “Well thank you for being so forw-“

“I mean, are we?” You genuinely asked “Just tell me now and we can… I can… do something” You licked your lips “As far as my mother knows we are friends and Lord Coxingworth has been very forward with his intentions that is why she has pushed me to that path”

He squinted “But you clearly love to make your voice heard. You can easily tell her-“

“That your tongue went into my mouth and I was wearing such a thin sleeping gown?”

“You could have phrased it differently, Y/N”

“Like what? I don’t know what you want from me, Benedict. We haven’t had time to talk about it”

“Then here I am,” he said “Let us talk. What do you want from me?” He asked

“That is not fair” Your eyes popped “I… I want to…”

“Read to me? Kiss me? use me?" he whispered the last one and the way his eyes burned against yours made you shiver.

"I do want those except the latter," you said and he saw the hesitation. The way you bit your lips and looked around “I want to know first your intentions… I know how…” You went quiet

“How what?” He asked and saw the pause in your eyes “Tell me”

“No, I-“

“Speak”

The authority in his voice made your cheeks blush and your knees tremble. You looked at him, how the darkness and the moon illuminated his face, his features, his subtle beard already growing.

"You are the most handsome man in this ton"

The statement made him smirk "You flatter me”

“And I have heard how you had your fun with other women”

Benedict could not lie, not anymore and certainly not to you.

"I had a fair amount"

You swallowed thickly "And what am I? That’s what I ask myself. Because I don’t want to be seen like that by you but if that night was like that to you… then I don’t-“

“You are far from that”

You looked up at him, the sudden silence and the distance between you both made you gulp and your eyes went to his lips “Explain” you commanded

Benedict agreed to humour you "You are far from being that. The women I have been with" he paused carefully using soft words owing to the fact he did not want to hurt your feelings "were women that... shared a similar mindset with me for less than an hour"

"Oh" You nodded

"Yes, it was never meant to be something else than a good night," he said truthfully "and with you, I have no idea what turned inside of me"

you gulped "You want more than a good night with me?"

His insides melted at the innocent trail of your voice and words "Of course, Y/N" he said and he took the chance to caress your cheek. You did not move away. Instead, your eyes remained on him "I want more. So much more than just a good night. Yet I have no clue how to act upon it"

"Why?"

"Because..." he smiled, "a part of me thinks I am just like Lord Rutledge"

Your frown disappeared in an instant and you showed your teeth through a wide loud laugh "That old zany? God no" you chuckled "What makes you think that? It's such a ridiculous notion"

He shrugged "Trust me I... before we... started seeing each other with another shade I saw you as another sister and it is somehow complex to believe I did so in the past when now, well, I am far from seeing you as untouchable"

You blush and he can swear he saw a coy smile on your lips. You took his hand and placed it on your lap "Why is it that I don't see the problem in this?"

"It is quite different" he whispered "You just debuted, you're just a mere button of a rose trying to bloom"

You raise a brow "I have bloomed"

"Not fully"

"There you go, telling me again something about me as you knew me completely"

"Oh I do" he smiled scanning your eyes "I know everything about you"

"Not everything" you mysteriously smile, a thing he finds very hard to resist, blood flies to his groin

"Why you must remember me of that?"

"Because I hold that power and I have learnt to use it with you"

"Not fair, Y/N"

"You have not been fair this day"

"I know, I am sorry" he tried to breathe away the tension in his body "But Lord Coxingworth is... aggravating"

"Is he?"

"He speaks roses with you because he does want to be your intended, fiance, whatever... he might be wealthy, apparently he knows how to dress and he loves his Mama"

"But"

"But he is not good for you"

"And you are?" you asked

Benedict saw the honesty of your question but remained silent.

"I don't want to make you mad again" you admitted "but what you are telling me is that you don't want to make public we have something"

"I did not say that"

"But you said you don't know how to act upon this"

"It is not the same" he sighed "I need time, time to reflect on these feelings"

"Since when you have reflected on your feelings?"

Benedict smiled "Since this is important, quite"

"You are confusing"

"And yet you are still here"

"Of course" you smile "I am not done with you, Mr Bridgerton. Far from it"

The tone of your voice made him swallow and the heat that was in his body before returned with such force that he needed to take a deep breath. You stood up and he was tempted to pull you back.

"I will leave you"

"You should not"

"I must, Lord Coxingworth requested a final dance with me"

"Step on his foot"

"I have never done that before. I am an excellent dancer, remember?"

"Say you felt dizzy. Do it for me"

You sneered just a bit "No"

And he was left there, alone, cold, hard, thoughtful and hurt. Hurt because he knows what he should do. He should right now go inside, take your waist and spin you around that room. He should make everyone aware that he intends you and if Karl Coxingworth has a problem with it he is sure he will intend to prove his point.

And yet, he remained sat down. What if he steals you from a good opportunity? He wants the best for you and he has met your mother to know the pressure you have been raised with. But why does he feel you can't have a good opportunity with him? He never thinks so little of himself... Lies, he does. He always does.

"I am a fool" he muttered

What if you two marry and suddenly that spark is gone and you realize he is such a vanquished nonentity that paints for a living? What if you resent him for corrupting you?

"I must stop this"

He is being too dramatic.

When he went inside and smelled the champagne air around him he looked for you and couldn't find you amongst the dull colours of gowns. He then moved to be next to Eloise and Kate who greeted him kindly. He heard their stories and laughter.

"Brother you should have seen it" Eloise sniggered "Y/N, she stepped quite harshly on Lord Coxingworth's foot"

His eyes snapped and he stared at Eloise "Really?"

"Oh yes" Kate nodded "I wonder if he tried to touch her that she had to do it"

"Knowing her" Elose started "she would have punched the man in front of us"

"Good girl"

Kate and Eloise turned confusedly at Benedict who noticed he had said it out loud "I mean, that is not good girl behaviour"

"Ah" Eloise shrugged "Who cares and why do you care"

He dismissed the comment and tried to find you and he failed incredibly well because he didn't see you for the rest of that night.

***

The next morning he read Lady Whistledown, all those noisy paragraphs were nothing compared to the one talking about you and your "unusual" unbalanced dance of the night when you happened to land on Lord Coxingworth's foot and you apologized because you felt dizzy. He devilishly smiled.

"Did I hear correctly?"

He turned to see Hyacinth with opened eyes and for a brief second he forgot to read the last paragraphs of Whistledown. Did she write about you and him alone on a bench? did she overhear?

"Hear what?" he coughed

"Are you going away from this place?"

He felt at ease and smiled apologetically at his sister "I must"

"No, you must not, this is your home"

"I know," he said and saw the art studio with the easel, empty "But I have a house down the street and I feel like I should be there right now"

"Why the sudden privacy?" she inquired "Mother will not like it"

"Well," he said and smiled "I am a free man and I shall not be questioned about my choices"

"You are not a free man"

"Why?"

"You must answer to me and Francesca and Eloise, we love you brother"

"That I return," he said and took his case "I will hold more meetings with potential clients and it will be garish of me to treat this place as a come-and-go quarter when after all the sisters I love very much reside just one floor above"

Hyacinth smiled, a big grin and he kissed her forehead.

"Now I must go, tell mother I am not leaving the country"

"She will still think that"

"And she will have a letter from me in less than a day and you are more than welcome to visit me"

He felt how she stuck her tongue out for him and for once he enjoyed the defiance of his decision. He was true to the fact of being of poor taste receiving work commissions but also if he ever happens to extend any sort of... invitation towards you, he would prefer that whatever transpires -hell, even drinking tea- transpires in his domain.

When he arrived at his house he dropped his instruments in his studio and pondered the silence he was, very willingly, submitting to. He had his siblings' laughter back at Bruton Street and here the lack of it was loud.

Time. He said last night to you. He needed time. But how much? He knows he should act fast or you will be named Lady Y/N Coxingworth in less than a month.

He had dinner by himself, read a book and worked. One more day is gone... But Benedict rubbed his face in the monotonous routine. He aspired for more and you, the forbidden fruit were three houses down.

Like a magnet, he was attracted and it was a surprise to him when he saw your house in front. He looked up and knew you were awake but how can he get your attention? If your Mama was there with you or one of your ladies...

"Damn it" he muttered and grabbed pebbles from the decorated garden in front of him. He took aim and threw a couple until finally, you came to the window and your eyes were filled with surprise.

"What are you doing?!" you whispered shouted

"Well hello... Come outside"

"It is late"

"Then invite me inside"

"Hardly an option"

"Then what is the choice?" he snorted seeing your hair falling on your shoulders "Jump" You seemed shocked to your core as he extended his arms "I'm a good catcher"

This man was not giving you any option at all. You closed your window and didn't think further. You took your robe and slippers and made your way downstairs, passing the maids and butlers until you reached the garden and saw him. He was grinning, like a maniac.

"Do you know how many rules you have broken, Mr Bridgerton?"

"The same as you, Miss Ashbourne" he offered his arm "Did you bring the poetry book?"

You rolled your eyes "You told me not to bring it anymore"

Benedict smiled "Obedient-ouch!" he muttered as you slapped his arm "What?"

"That is the only thing I'll follow from you"

"We can debate on that" he smiled as walked under many bushes and trees, night becoming darker "You said your good nights?"

"I did"

"Good. What did you do today?"

You softly smiled "I was mostly with Penelope today"

"And Eloise?"

"She joined us later, we had a tea party"

He hummed and saw the light in his home and the light coming from a nearby lantern. He observed the lonely street and ventured with you to the entrance "What were you three talking about?" he curiously asked

"Boys"

He stopped and saw your mischief sparkling eyes "Ah, what about boys?"

"How they can be... insufferably immature for their age" You stared at the entrance door "What about the backdoor? So we don't disturb your help"

"I..." he said "contrary to other immature boys do, know that such a woman should always enter through here"

You blinked away "Touche"

"Let me open the door for you"

The silence was comforting and you did not realize you were holding your breath until you allowed yourself to see the beautiful panelled house he owns. He touched, barely, your back "My art studio?"

You smiled at him and looked up "That triggers my memory"

"I was going to offer my chamber but I do not want to fuel the talk you had with the girls today"

You tensed and quickly relaxed "Is it always going to be your studio?" you questioned moving to the well-lit room you supposed was the destination of the night

"No, if we are going to make this a habit... each night we shall use each room as we please"

Your cheeks burnt with the idea of his tongue venturing inside your mouth even in the kitchens and the garden. You hummed to yourself and had enough of his words. You took your green robe out of you and finally heard the man being in silence. You threw the fabric to the armrest and moved to the other couch, slowly, very slowly.

"You truly are holding that power aren't you?"

"Whatever you are talking about?" you laughed knowing full well "Now, what if you want to tell me"

"Hmm?" he said smacking his lips "Pardon me?"

"You took me out of my house, you brought me here..."

He so nonchalantly walked "Ah right, right" he smiled and plummeted by your right side on the couch "Is nothing really" he adorably shrugged and then stared t you "I just want to kiss you like there is no tomorrow"

The bluntness made you smile "You are so honest"

"I don't want to hide, not with you. I never did"

"And why is that?"

"Because..." he paused, thinking the question carefully "I do not know"

"Well that was a nice try"

"I did not want to disappoint"

"It was quite the contrary"

"Then" he sighed and smiled at the same time "I want you to kiss me, and not as a goodnight but as a..."

"Hello"

"Yes" he smiled and cupped your cheek, leaning into your space and your lips brushed his own, so slow, so painfully slow and so sweetly but you pushed him oh so softly aways "What?"

"There is a problem"

"What is it?"

"You have asked for time"

He cursed at your amazing memory "I said it last night"

"And that already expired?"

Benedict could almost smell the divine soap behind your ears but he licked his lips and leaned the other way "It hasn't"

"Then, I should wait"

"You shouldn't"

"Why is that?"

"Because time is cruel and I know what I want"

"What?"

"You, like this, always"

"Always is a lot, Mr Bridgerton"

"Benedict, I am your Benedict" he proclaimed

"And my intended?" you offered

He looked at your oh-so-delicate innocent eyes "I don't know" he saw your sadness and talked again "What if you see me in a month or a year as someone abominable to be with?"

You laughed hard "Are you serious?"

"Quite and" he stood up "I have known you that long to know you deserve every ounce of love in this world"

"If you have known me that long then wouldn't you know we have that already? Is not as we are strangers, Benedict..." you looked around "Many women have married strangers. What joy would be to marry a best friend?"

He saw the fire behind your eyes, the determination and he was sure the love, he was not ready to say it, not yet. He had his doubts and he hated them. He knew he was making a mess of something that appeared so natural to you.

"Why is this so confusing for you? Why?"

"Because I do not know"

"That is not a good excuse"

He blurted a laugh "I don't know!"

You stood up with a glint of anger in you, so unladylike for you to show such a demeanour "You don't know?" you walked further

"I don't"

You walked closer and he moved away "You really don't know what you want?"

Benedict saw himself now as the prey and he walked backwards, two steps "I-I don't!" he squirmed

"You do!" you accused

"I- I really don't, Y/N. I-"

"Say it" you commended

Benedict opened his eyes "How can I say something I don't know"

Going in circles you said "But you do know"

Benedict saw how you actually cornered him, mentally, physically, everything-ly. He was tired of your nagging, lies. He was not. He was tired of how well you knew him. If he could write a book about you, very well you could write a book about him.

He saw the fierce of his hands as they pushed you and slithered to you. One hand cradled your head, the other pinched your hip as he now cornered you against the wall. So close, so agonizingly close.

"What I want" he whispered to you, your pupils beautifully dilated, your mouth trying not to fall open "What I want is simple" he confessed to himself "I want your lips on mine, I want to be your only and I want to give you everything and take everything you have. I want my days to be immensely chaotic with you, because hell I know how you are behind closed doors"

You remained so silent that you wondered if you were breathing at all. You saw his eyes filled with lust and desire, the same feelings as yours.

"I want to feel how warm your skin is, how sweet your scent is. I want to know if I can touch and caress you like you deserve and make you come undone under me, above me, wherever me" he laughed as his grip on you softened "I want you to have my children, I want to address you as my wife and make everyone jealous. I even want you to read me that damned poetry book, over and over again if that means you will be by my side, Y/N"

It was like nothing you have ever felt. That kiss the other night is not reaching the level of the one happening right now. You felt how he tackled you, his lips devoured yours, and the wetness was spilt all over you. Benedict took a hand and cupped your neck, pulling you closer and deeper into the kiss. Your hands tried to touch him anywhere, you didn't know where. He was like a furnace and you wanted him all.

He moaned and growled, he did not enjoy not being able to push you closer to him. Physically impossible. He wanted more, more, and more. He moved away for a second, catching his breath and feeling the hot air around him. His fingers brushed your lips, swollen, wet, and red.

"Say it" He was hypnotized, you could see his blue eyes darkening with passion, "say you want the same" he ordered, begged, pleaded "say it"

You opened your mouth "I want the same"

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aphrodites-law · 1 year

Note

Apart from queen clarke are there any other historical ladies lexa is particularly interested in?

Most likely a lot of the rulers that came after King Gustus. His son had a female heir, Queen Susana, who ruled 50 years and was beloved. She was a military genius and forged a lot of international alliances. Lexa is most passionate about the history of Polis/Arkadia, which stemmed from learning about her lineage, so while she knows her world history, her expertise is on her own country.

#asks #f: the lost queen

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ludwig-van-gaythoven · 2 months

Text

Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader)

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

Underage smoking, underage drinking, implied ED

Parts

Part 1// Part2// Part 3// Part 4// Part 5// Part 6

School trips were never really your thing. Sure it was good to be out of classes but to you it just seemed like an extension of school and honestly you’d rather be anywhere else.

One of the teachers thought it would be a bright idea to take you all out of school for a week to spend it in a forest ‘immersed in nature’. Possibly their tactic to get everyone to stop being at eachother a throats especially after the whole Cady incident a few months back.

It didn’t help that your best friends Janis and Damien both ended up getting sick at the last minute so couldn’t come with you , now you had to stay in your shared cabin alone. At least you didn’t have to room with a random person the whole trip, small mercies I guess.

The coach drive there was boring. You sat near the front, making sure to put your bag on the seat next to yours so nobody tried to sit with you. Of course Queen Regina and her minions took ownership of the back of the coach, that’s why you decided to sit upfront. Best to stay out of the firing line.

It’s not that you hated Regina, you understand why she’s the way she is. It’s a smart move to position yourself at the top of the food chain to avoid being mauled. Your tactic has always been to just steer clear of the food chain entirely which has worked so far.

The coach finally comes to a stop after a few hours and everyone shoves their way off and mills around in groups before a teacher starts to call out names and lodge numbers so people can go and unpack.

As soon as you turn the corner you hear Regina’s shriek of horror.

“Eww, what the fuck are these. I thought we were staying in chalets”

You roll you eyes. The cabins were clean, neat, maybe a little rustic. Of course Regina would still have to be dramatic about it.

“I’m sure forcing us to stay in one of these is some form of neglect.” She snarks at Mrs Norbury as she takes her hot pink suitcase over to her accommodation.

Luckily you get assigned one of the cabins at the edge of the forest, it’ll be quiet. Unfortunately it’s the next cabin over from the plastics. Not that they’ll even notice you there, I’m not sure any of them even know your name. It feels safe to be invisible, if not a bit lonely.

Once everyone is settled, a teacher comes round to each cabin explaining that tonight you can just get settled. No hiking or activities today, just a campfire and dinner later. That suits you perfectly. You sit on the creaky bed in your cabin, pull out your Switch console and start to get lost in a game. Hours pass before dinner call and you make your way, alone to the campfire.

You sit on your own, out of the way of all the different high school cliques. At this point you wish Janis and Damien were here. It feels vulnerable sitting alone.

To distract yourself you watch the other groups like a documentary maker. Noting the way they interact, the tension between them and the clique next to them. However nobody quite catches your eye like Regina.

She’s like a lioness. She has this invisible hold over everyone. They can all fuck about in their own groups but as soon as someone steps a foot out of place she roars and swishes her mane and everyone scampers back to obedience.

Currently she’s sitting at a bench with Gretchen and Karen, they’re talking enthusiastically about their plans for the trip; makeovers, cabin decoration, girly shit. Regina seems zoned out, she’s been pushing the same bit of food around her plate for a good 15 minutes. Every few minutes it’s like she’s trying to solve a puzzle, rearranging everything until teachers tell us to go back to our cabins and rest for the evening. You’re not sure you saw her eat a single thing, the food is probably not up to her standards.

Regina stands and suddenly seems snapped out of her trance, flashing a grin and summoning Karen and Gretchen back to the cabin with her.

You follow, a good distance behind. No point getting too close to danger, and slip back to your Cabin unnoticed.

There’s not much to do alone in a forest so you end up putting on a movie and start a new page in your sketchbook. Janis and Damien are the only ones to know you draw. That’s how you ended up speaking with Janis in the first place. If that news ever got back to Regina she’d probably have something to finally pick on you for, but so far you aren’t even on her radar.

You lose a lot of time sketching out some of the trees you can see out of the window, lots of tall, looming pines fill the page, you start to sketch a lion between the trees.

Eventually darkness creates a blanket around the forest. There’s a soft glow from many lamps outside of cabin doors, but past that, the forest seems endless in the dark. It’s 10:30pm. Teachers are fast asleep. Students definitely are not.

You hear snickering coming from the plastics cabin. Their lights are still on, not that you care at all.

Since all the teachers are asleep you decide that it’s probably safe to sneak out and have a cigarette. You stand down the side of the cabin so that your silhouette is obscured slightly by a bush and hunt through your pockets for a lighter. Finally you light the cigarette, trying to blow the smoke downwind, away from the teachers window.

“Karen! Fuck! Would you just stop puking, shut up!”

You watch from the shadow as Karen falls out of the door and begins to heave into the bush next to their window. Gretchen follows quickly, shaking Karen by the shoulders, desperately trying to get her to shut up so they don’t wake anyone. Regina steps out too, slightly loosing balance and nearly falling down the steps after them.

Clearly they’re all drunk. Someone must have snuck alcohol in.

Regina tries to keep a composed look but you see panic flash across her face briefly as her eyes scan around them, watching for any witnesses. You stay completely still against the cabin wall.

Karen finally stops for a second and they grab her by the arms to try and get her back inside. Their balance isn’t very good either and on the way in Regina’s foot connects briefly with a terracotta plant pot which wobbles for a second and then crashes to the ground, smashing over the front step. A sound that cuts through the night air.

The light to the teachers cabin flicks on.

You quickly drop the cigarette and stomp it out before silently scrambling back into your room, making sure the door closes soundlessly, watching intently through the window.

Mrs Norbury storms over to the plastics lodge, already suspecting they caused the noise.

You can’t make out exactly what’s being said. There’s a lot of shouting, from both parties. Then Mrs Norbury leaves, and the plastics light goes off too.

You quickly get into bed. It’s unlikely anyone will check in on you, but you decide it’s time to sleep anyway, it’s late, and drift off to the sound of the wind through trees. The wind sounds faintly like a roar.

In the morning you shower and begin to get changed when there’s a knock at your door.

“Regina will be rooming with you for the rest of the week, make sure she doesn’t try sneaking out.”

#mean girls #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #renee rapp #mean girls fanfic #regina george fanfic #lesbian Regina george

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cockslutpadalecki · 2 months

Text

There Is A Heaven, Lets Keep It A Secret

Summary: The owner of the brothel you were sold to only offered you to the ghoul in the hopes it would frighten you. To stop you from trying to run away. You weren’t meant to actually like it.

Characters: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x F!Reader.

Words: ~1K.

Warnings: ghoul fucking, what else can I say? Mostly PWP, some initially unintended angst, 18+.

A/N: Dedicated to the queens that are @sweeterthanthis & @likedovesinthewnd ❤️ Not beta’ed so all errors, spelling mistakes and general bullshit are entirely mine.

The smell of leather and day old blood used to turn your stomach. But as Cooper slams his glove over your mouth to keep you quiet, your gut rolls with something that’s so far removed from revulsion, it makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Pavlovian instinct or not, warmth blossoms in your core, and flames take root in your veins until all you can feel is unmistakable heat.

“Ssh sweetheart,” he coos in Texan above you. “Can’t have them knowin’ you like it. You wouldn’t want me to stop comin’ around, would ya?”

He doesn’t need your affirmation in words. The way your cunt pulses around him is more enough to tell him what he already knows.

The ghoul was only meant to scare you into staying. To put you in your place.

But the more he keeps coming back, the more of the man beneath the irradiated skin shines through.

Initial terror morphs into adoration and some nights, when the raiders decide to get a little rough, you find yourself hiding inside your head— fantasising that it’s his hands on you instead.

But the fantasy only lasts briefly. Cooper Howard would never.

Unless you ask him nice and pretty.

You stare up at him, his eyes lost in the way your breasts bounce from the force of his thrusts. He ruts into you with abandon, the loud slap of his hips against your ass echoing around the room. The obscenity makes heat creep up your spine, and settle thick beneath your cheeks.

You can’t have anyone knowing that these moments are all that keep you sane.

“Maybe it ain’t gonna be your mouth that reveals your truth, after all, honey,” Cooper observes with a husk.

A free hand slides up your writhing body, and a gloved thumb runs circles over your pebbling nipple. Your back arches at the contact, forcing your hips up. His stare catches yours over the top of leather.

“There you are, little Jet,” he smiles.

Cooper lifts your leg over his shoulder, the contrast in depth steals the breath from your lungs. He notices— must see the way your eyes widen as he slides back inside you, right up to the root. Your hand flies up, tightening your grip around his wrist.

“Right there, huh?” With another brash smile, he presses his lips firm against the inside of your knee. The kiss sends pulses of electricity firing straight to your core.

Fuck. If there was still a God, you’d pray.

There was a part of you that used to hate how easily he managed to unravel the components that make you weak.

But hate fast became a need. Now you welcome it. Crave it.

Your stomach lurches with heat the moment his pace begins to quicken. Everything suddenly heightens around you— heartbeat and all five of the senses— and it’s evident your end is close to catching you.

“You gonna give me what I came for, sweetheart?” His voice is gentle, but his actions are not.

You nod. You’d give him your fucking life at this point.

His hand slides off your mouth, settling loosely around your throat like a necklace. “Wanna hear you beg.”

You lick your lips wet, the words, “Please, Coop,” hissing quietly through your teeth. Just loud enough for him to hear.

He smirks. His free hand finds its way between your legs without a second thought, and the roughness of the leather against your sensitive clit is everything you need to tumble over the edge.

Cooper clamps his hand back over your mouth, hurrying to stifle your scream as you splinter beneath him. Stars swell, bursting into bright white behind your eyes just as the tremors start off in your thighs. Euphoria claims you for its own, and by the time you’re finished, your entire body is shaking with delirium.

He stares down at you in awe, hips snapping to a rhythm that has you keening into the palm of his glove. Leather and blood encompass you. Your body ripples from the weight of Cooper’s body against yours, your name wrapped up within his lips as he surrenders to his high.

When he moves out from between your legs, you’re too fucked out to pull him back in. Every inch of you needs him back.

You hate this moment the most. The awkward silence before he has to leave. And as he glances at you over his shoulder, tipping his hat in your direction like the goddamn gentlemen he still is beneath the surface, you feel a twinge in your chest.

“Until next time sweetheart,” he drawls thickly.

You flash him a small smile. “I’ll be here, Coop, just like always.”

And just like always, you’ll be counting down the days like it’s fucking Christmas.

#the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout fanfiction

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landorris · 3 months

Text

yes, and? | carlos sainz x fem! leclerc reader

part two to this

fc; sophia birlem

warnings; english is not my first language, 10 years of age gap (20 to 29/30)

taglist; @thef1diary @bigsimperika @shobaes @d3kstar @stinkyjax @the-untamed-soul @bibissparkles @judespoision

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and others

yourusername: went on a lil trip to australia 🐨

danielricciardo: yeah you’re welcome

yourusername: for what?

danielricciardo: for me letting you stay at my house?!?!?

yourusername: oh that, yeah…….. thanks danny

user1: never beating the couple allegations

user2: he’s so much older than her

user3: will you atend to the gp this weekend?

charles_leclerc: i feel betrayed that you’re with him

user4: WHAT DO YOU MEAN WITH HIM?

visacashapprb: stunning🤭

yourusername: you know it admin

f1gossip

liked by imrebeccad, user1 and others

f1gossip: rebecca donaldson girlfriend of carlos sainz was spotted on a verbal fight with y/n leclerc carlos sainz ex and sister of his teamate charles leclerc near by the ferrari garrage, some people say they heard y/n saying “f*ck you both”. We don’t know what happened but this was probably about the ferrari driver.

user1: not rebecca in the likes, she really thinks she’s doing something

user2: imagine having 28 and go cry about your boyfriend’s ex being in the same place as you

user3: i was there and i can confirm that y/n said that and just walked out leaving the other girl talking alone

user4: this is queen shit

user5: she’s my mom

user6: i hope carlos feels embarrassed

your phone

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and others

danielricciardo: p3 in my home race! this one is for you 🤍

yourusername: he’s really proud of you danny❤️

danielricciardo: he’s really proud of you two, hope you know that

charles_leclerc: congratulations mate!! you deserved it 🍾

danielricciardo: thank you lord

charles_leclerc: you’re welcome brother, now heavy on the celebrations tonight, don’t let my sister get drunk

yourusername: shut up charlie

danielricciardo: you heard her! (i’ll take care of her dw, i’m not like some others)

charles_leclerc: i know

comments have been disabled

yourusername

liked by landonorris, arthur_leclerc and others

yourusername: got drunk, lost daniel and made friends

danielricciardo: girl bffr i just went to the bathroom

charles_leclerc: answer your phone

landonorris: i think my invitation got lost

user1: the drivers in the comments😭😭😭

user2: charles is such a big brother

your phone

#formula 1 #f1 #moodboard #cars #grand prix #aesthetic #ferrari #red #carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #sainz #f1 x you #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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yuqiyu · 1 year

Text

Guitar Lessons (Eddie Munson x F!Reader)

♡ part 2

Summary: During one of your hangouts at Eddie's trailer, he offers to give you some guitar lessons.

Word Count: 6.6k

Tags: NSFW, sexual content, cunnilingus, face riding, making out, eating out, fluff, friends to lovers (kinda), slight angst, dramatic reader, no use of y/n

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

“How long have you played?” you ask as you graze your fingers over the body of the guitar. It’s smooth and cold, the design fitting right in with Eddie’s aesthetic.

He’s looking at you cutely, leaning back on his forearms against the bed. There’s a sparkle in his doe eyes as he shifts a bit.

“So I see you’ve met the lady of the house,” he says, a slight lilt to his voice. “Go on, take her down.”

As you carefully step over a messy pile of cassette tapes beside another pile of clothes, Eddie makes a grabbing motion and mumbles a That’s right, come to papa. You stifle a laugh, releasing a snort in the process. He shoots a look at you, fully defensive.

Once the guitar (or the love of his life, as he’d say) is in his hands, it fits perfectly like a puzzle piece on his body. His neck is slightly craned over it. You think he’s looking at the strings, but as you move closer, his eyes are closed.

He starts plucking out a couple chords, a sweet melody completely contradicting the visuals you are being fed. You begin to close your eyes as well, allowing the music to flow through the both of you. It sounds beautiful despite not being hooked up to an amp.

It has been only a couple of months since you first met Eddie in the hallway between classes. You recall a head full of messy curls hanging over what you thought were interesting choices in an outfit. Girls were avoiding him left and right as he picked up the remnants of his stuff off the ground after a couple jocks had so kindly knocked them out of his hands.

When you had picked up a notebook that had fallen behind him, a few loose papers with unfamiliar charts and symbols fell out. You plucked them up for a closer study.

“Just getting ready for the Satanic rituals this Thursday,” he mused. You looked up in surprise.

He was a very pretty man, his hair framing his slim face surprisingly well. His large eyes bore into you, and you swore you could get lost in the dark abyss behind them.

“What?”

“Sorry, bad joke.” He looked at you sheepishly, then to the notebook in your hands.

“Right, sorry.” Even after you quickly handed it back to him, he continued staring at you, amused.

“Are you new?”

You shuffled your feet, feeling even more awkward than you already were.

“Yeah.” And the rest was history.

You open your eyes when the music stops. Eddie is staring at you with a crooked grin, inches away from your face.

“Jeez, you’re so creepy,” you laugh as you push him off. Ever the drama queen he is, he falls backward onto the bed limply, the guitar following suit. His hands are clutched over his heart as his face fakes a wounded expression.

“I just gave you the best serenade you will ever hear in your life, and this is how you repay me?” He all but shrieks at you as you continue slapping at his arm.

“ Ever? That’s such a loaded statement, Eddie. You haven’t even answered my question.”

He jumps back up, then pauses for a beat. “I don’t know, my whole life I guess,” he shrugs.

You stare back at the guitar, still being held snugly in his arms. There was no way to stop the idea of you being there instead, but you shake yourself out of it.

“That’s pretty cool, though. I don’t know how to play any instruments.” You copy his pose from earlier, supporting yourself up by your forearms. He twists his neck towards you, that beautiful damn smile beaming a hundred miles per hour your way.

“Really,” he questions, dragging out the word playfully. “How about I, the greatest guitarist ever, teach you some new things.”

“Again, such a loaded statement, but okay. Hit me.”

The next hour or so is not exactly what you were expecting. He has an old acoustic guitar hiding somewhere in his closet (which he searches for with difficulty, under more piles of items) and has you test the waters on it. With the pleasant surprise of Eddie literally wrapping your back with his arms, moving your fingers to the right formations, you are basically floating on cloud nine.

He is a demonstrations type of guy, not an I-will-show-you-first-then-you-play kind of way, but in an I-will-wrap-my-gorgeous-hands-around-yours kind of way. This shouldn’t have shocked you, ever since he cupped his hands over yours just to help you roll some dice when you hesitated during a campaign, at least. You often took sneaky glances at his fingers after that day, how could you help it? The day he finds out about your secret hand fetish will be the day you change your identity, because not only would it feed his already inflated ego, he would never let you live it down. He already has so much ammo against you, and you dread that only one more will put you six feet under.

Eddie was exceedingly patient with you in teaching the strings and the chords, even though you had trouble memorizing where to place your fingers. You wish you could say the same about previous teachers, who were truly wicked demons compared to him.

You let yourself falter and lean backwards, just enough for Eddie to notice. He suddenly peels your fingers off the instrument and gives little kisses to them.

You yank your hand back in surprise and squeak out, “Eddie!”

His stupid antics always make it hard for you not to fall for him. It sometimes feels like he does it on purpose, like he means to fuel your feelings even more.

“Just thought they needed some healing kissies ,” he replies, his pitch increasing at the end to mock you.

“Kissies are only for couples,” you snapped, unable to process anything but the imprint of his soft lips on your hands. You hope you don’t look as dazed as you feel right now.

He simply ignores you and strokes the neck of the guitar, still wrapped comfortably around you. “You’re a natural at this, y’know? Maybe you should get some real lessons.”

“Yeah, right. It sure doesn’t feel like it.” You give your hands a good shake, loosening all the muscles as you sighed in relief. Dark, red lines were etched deep into your fingertips. Looking at them only made the pain feel even more real.

He grabs them again, gripping them tightly. “Hey—hey, careful! These hands have unknown potential! You could be a god with these.”

“‘Thought you said you were the best out there,” you smile, nudging him in the ribs. He feigns offense.

“I am, but if there’s gonna be someone better out there, I’d rather it be you!”

You can only roll your eyes at him as he drops his chin on your shoulder. He must be bored out of his mind right now, so you push for a new topic.

“Why are you being so touchy today,” you tease, turning to look at his face. It is much easier now to admire his features now that he is sitting so close to you. His eyes are glazed over. “Wait a minute—were you high this whole time?”

He gives you a guilty look.

You aren’t sure if you should be impressed that he was able to teach you so well under the influence, or if you should be disappointed. His affections to you often occurred under one and only one circumstance, and that was when he was ridiculously high. He must’ve smoked more than usual. The thought hits you like a crushing weight, smashing through your heart and sinking down to your stomach in just under five seconds. You want to throw your head into your palms and cringe at how hopeful you were, even though you’re already used to the reality of this godforsaken friendship. But then the sinking feeling falls even deeper into your pit when you realized something might’ve happened to make him reach for his stash like this.

“Did something happen today?” You don’t mean to probe, but even stoner Eddie has his limits for most of the time. Sometimes the overcompensation is a little too obvious, even for your obliviousness.

His head is still lolling on your shoulder, though this time there’s a faraway look in his eyes. There’s a silence that hangs thick for what felt like forever, until you feel his chin shift, trying to find a more comfortable spot to sulk in.

“Don’t tell me it’s girl troubles,” you huff out. The thought of it already has the heat rising to your cheeks. It’s one thing to have an unrequited crush, but to see said crush pining for another person was simply soul-crushing.

He must notice your expression, because he looks at you amusingly. “Why? Would you be jealous?”

When you shoot him a deadly look, he only giggles and reassures you. You’ve heard this speech about a million times already: you’re his best girl-friend and no one can ever beat you. To be honest, it’s hard to be beat when you’re his only girl-friend, but hey, it’s still a win. If he has to constantly remind you, though, maybe you’re being too obvious. You remind yourself to tone it down around him.

Eddie suddenly jumps off the bed with renewed vigor and swipes the guitar from your arms before laying it carefully somewhere in the closet, then plops back down beside you. His face is serious, the playful energy lasting only for a few seconds.

You ease yourself down slowly, lying on your side as you soak in the sight before you. His arms are tucked under his head, ankles crossed at the edge of the bed.

“I only ask because I—”

“ Because you care. I know.”

You give him a minute. There are only the sounds of your breaths mingling with each other, and if you relaxed enough, you swear you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. You’d usually miss the peace you had prior to meeting Eddie, but now, when there is no sound of his annoying voice or music or anything , it makes you nervous. Because a vulnerable Eddie is a sad Eddie. There was no easy way to learn this.

“I heard you went on a date with Harrington,” he starts. His hands fly in the air as he continues. You can’t help but stare at the glint his rings give off in the different angles. “Went to the mall and everything.”

It’s your turn to look amused. When he catches it, he presses a finger to your lips, which only causes you to snicker. “How could you ignore me for some jock. Is that why you didn’t pick up my calls that day?” He has such an intense expression, backed up by the furrowing of his brows now hiding under his bangs. He seems so distressed, although you can’t help but smile at him in silence.

“Is that all you have to say to me?” He’s practically begging for response at this point.

“First of all, Munson,” you emphasize as he winces at the demotion of his name. It was easy to tell when you don’t feel like humoring him. Ever since the beginning, it had always been Eddie . When you had tried calling him anything else, it just didn’t feel right in those moments. And it still doesn’t. “It wasn’t a date. It was a double date!”

His jaw drops as he rubs a hand over his face, having expected you to at least try to comfort him, like you usually would. It was shameful, honestly, the way you would scramble to mend his sorrow every single time. You pause for a second, letting the moment really sink in before continuing again. This is payback , you thought. “It was Nancy, Steve, Robin, and me. It wasn’t really a date, Eddie. I don’t know why you’d even care.”

There’s a slight quiver in your voice when you articulate the last line, but you hope he doesn’t notice. However, it seems like that’s the only thing he noticed.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, missy, but I care a whole lot when my only friend in the whole wide world goes missing when I need her most.” The glazed look in his eyes hasn’t faded, but the seriousness is still there. You almost wish you aren’t still having this conversation because it only breaks your heart further the more he opens his goddamn mouth about friendship this, friendship that. But your love and concern for him overshadows it all, and you want to smack yourself over the head for that.

You take a deep breath, inhaling all the different scents of Eddie (if that was even humanly possible) and ponder your thoughts. You like to do it because It keeps him on his toes, you remember, as if he’s always hanging onto your every word, inching closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.

You allow your eyes to wander across his walls, taking in the various band posters, and then back onto the guitar. It’s so easy to get sidetracked in the confines of anything related to him, but the more you learn about him, the more you realize he’s just a huge dork who plays fantasy games and the guitar in his free time. He does a great job at keeping the air of mystery around him, though, and you wonder if people actually realized who he truly was, maybe they’d bully him a tiny bit less. That is, if they weren’t so scared of being sacrificed by him. He shakes you out of your conscious slumber with a couple snaps of his fingers in front of your face.

“Hey—are you even listening to me?”

His hand continues waving in your face for a few more seconds before you swat it away. You’re looking at him with as much sincerity as you could possibly muster. He’s doing the same, though you notice the way the corners of his mouth tug down, like how they usually do whenever you reject one of his hugs.

“Can I level with you?” you ask.

He looks at you strangely, eyebrows raise in question. There’s some clarity to his eyes now, and you feel yourself getting sucked in temporarily. His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps thickly. He nods.

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about your love life and who you choose to date, so why should you? ” The words come out with more venom than you mean to, but you couldn’t—no, wouldn’t , take back what you said. Even though you’re lying, it feels good knowing that he at least doesn’t know you have a massive one-sided crush on him. It gives the illusion that you’re in control, and you’d like to keep it that way.

Eddie’s features soften. He looks so hurt, and you can’t bear to look at him for more than two seconds. The room is silent again, though it’s lacking the comfort that usually comes with it. You slowly sit up, and start grabbing your things. Before you leave, he pulls your wrist back. His eyes are pleading.

“It’s still early,” he begins. “If you want to stay longer.” You look sparingly at his face, mostly darting to his bedsheets or the walls. His grip tightens.

“I—um, I’ve got some overdue homework I need to work on.”

He knows you well enough to know that if there was one person he knew that always had their shit together and done on time, it was you. But he lets go, and your heart stumbles because if he had asked you one more time, you would’ve stayed. You guess some things are just not written in the stars, and tonight was one of those things.

He only purses his lips and exhales, “Alright.”

He doesn’t walk you out the door today.

The next time you see him ends up being the following night. He had called the morning of, asking if you wanted to come over for more “guitar lessons.” When you didn’t reply quickly enough for his liking, he simply said, “See you at eight. Sharp, okay, sweetheart?”

Your heart twinges, so you agree.

Eight sneaks up on you before you know it. The night air engulfs you as you rap your knuckles against the Munsons’ trailer door. It rattles violently, so you stop, fearing that one more would completely knock it off the hinges. You hear a familiar voice ring out, welcoming you in.

When you’re inside, you spot Eddie running around chaotically in the small kitchen. Various snacks are being crushed by his arms clutching them close to his chest, and he nearly slams into a table (not without cursing) while tossing them over onto the couch.

He finally sits down among the mess, accidentally on a bag of chips, and it crunches. He makes a butt-shaped hole with the snacks next to himself, then affectionately pats the area and looks at you.

You scooch around and pop open a bag of gummy bears. “We’re starting the movie early today, huh?”

“You gotta return it tomorrow. We can’t have any more distractions now, can we?” He fiddles with the remote, pressing buttons here and there. There’s only static on the TV. He groans and gives it a good few smacks.

“Wow,” you drawl. “Eddie Munson himself, actually remembering due dates, and not even his responsibility? That’s new.” He turns around to retaliate, but is hit by a gummy bear straight to the face. “Bullseye,” you laugh.

He only sighs and walks towards the kitchen. His hand squeezes your thigh on the way and, with an exasperated voice, says, “Be good ‘til I get back.”

The movie ends without another hitch, and it’s not long after that both of you are back in his bedroom.

“So,” he says as he claps his hands together dramatically. “It’s time for lessons by Mr. Munson himself.” He picks up the acoustic guitar and seats himself down next to you on the bed. “Wanna show me what you’ve learned so far?”

“To be honest, not much. Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Munson,” you shrug, taking over and strumming out a few test chords. He wets his lips absentmindedly.

“Well, you seem to remember the C chord, at least,” he nods. “But—” He cups your fingers and shifts them downward. “You’re a bit too high there, sweetheart.”

The touch burns through your skin and sets your mind, body, and heart aflame. It takes you a second to answer. A second too long, is what Eddie thinks.

“Okay…what about my G?” you ask quietly, not trusting yourself to breathe.

“Your G what? G-string or G chord?”

You blink.

He winks.

And your body is at war. The rope inside you tugs between choosing violence or letting yourself melt in his arms. It’s close to betraying you, until you choose fight-or-flight’s third sibling: freeze.

Eddie cackles as he shakes you awake. You feel your consciousness slam back into your body with full force. Your mind is going insane. What did he mean? Does he want to do something? Does he want me ? You’re about to open your mouth, to say Yes! Yes, Eddie, I want you!

“Bad joke. Sorry.”

You wish the moon would become unlatched from whatever science-y, physics-y thing that’s keeping it in orbit and hurl towards Earth and just crush you to death right then and there. How does one recover from this?

Except you do. He spends the next thirty minutes teaching you an easy song that includes the whopping four chords you’ve learned. It goes as smoothly as you hope, until the heat radiating off of Eddie and wafting onto your back is making you uncomfortably sticky.

When you had left the house earlier, you wore tank top with a denim jacket to cover your arms. It wasn’t your best look, but you weren’t trying to impress anyone (more of a self-persuasion, but who’s really checking?). The decision feels like a huge mistake now, because you are definitely not comfortable enough at the moment to let him see your skin like that.

Each touch, each movement, and each breath of Eddie’s fanning over your neck so deliciously gives you more and more confidence as the night moves on. He’s pressing all the right buttons, as if knowingly, and your barrier begins to crack.

You carry on with full composure, as you always have . He gives you a simple task: play at least halfway into the song perfectly. When you do, he leans in, lips slightly brushing your earlobe, and whispers, “Good girl.”

Your face begins to heat up at a rapid rate. Your body, on the other hand, isn’t sure whether it should tense up or relax. Eddie notices and places his hands on your shoulders, giving you quick squeezes sympathetically. It only makes it worse.

Not sure how you did it, but you were able to get the guitar safely on the bed before jumping off of it entirely.

“Wow,” he exhales and simpers. “I just wanted to see if you had a praise kink or so—”

He’s cut short by your glossy eyes and trembling lips. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out, so he waves his hands uselessly.

“What, so I’m just a joke to you?” Your voice betrays you, as much as you attempt to conceal your vulnerability. It sports a matching look on your face. This is it , you think. You lasted only a couple of months after making your first friend at this stupid school, and thinking about it makes you feel ashamed. Somehow, this feels worse than a real break-up.

“I’m—Hey, look at me, please. I’m so sorry.” He’s scrambling to fix his mistake, hands all over you, and eyes frantically searching you for a hint of forgiveness, even if he knows it’s futile.

“Eddie, I need to go. It’s fi—”

“No!” he cries, causing you to flinch. His grip softens on your shoulders, but is still unwaveringly attached. “It’s not fine.”

Even through the thick material of your jacket, the knowledge that he’s still touching you has you squirming painfully. “God, please , stop touching me.”

Now, Eddie’s heart is breaking into a million pieces, and you know it well. Since the first day you met him, you could tell what his love language was. From the way he’d ruffle your hair affectionately after a campaign win, or how he’d pull you into a bone-smashing hug whenever you brought his favorite snack to school, to simply the way his eyes would twinkle right before giving you a first bump every time you parted ways. In a sense, this was a real break-up to him.

His arm slowly slides off of you, with a pained look on his face. He then stares at you expectantly. When you make a move to the side, he reaches out towards you, though not close enough to touch.

“Please don’t go yet. Just—” He closes his eyes and groans against his palms, and you’re sober enough to know it’s not directed at you. If you hadn't felt so terrible, you’d laugh at the way he was repenting. You stare slack-faced at him, and while it’s not the reaction he was hoping for, he takes it as a second chance. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Like how you don’t know why you said, ‘g-string’ or why you just messed with me all night?” you nearly shouted. It takes a lot of energy to force the sass through your pain, but it shows enough to cause Eddie to shrink within himself. You can’t even feel bad anymore. Maybe this was an overreaction on your part. He’s always been like this, so what is different now? In a way, there is still a part of you that actually does feel bad, but only because you let yourself waste away in your feelings without ever bringing it up to him. There is no way for him to really know how you feel about him without communicating it. Even then, normal friendships aren’t like this. Friends don’t whisper dirty things into each other’s ears. Friends don’t playfully flirt with real sexual tension. So it’s not fair that you have to endure this while he’s the only one having fun.

Eddie, on the other hand, wants to stuff his mouth with his fist. He wants to pull his hair out, he wants to scream into his pillow, but most of all, he wants to hold you and apologize over and over until he’s completely lost his voice. For you, he would grovel as much as you want him to, and to him, that would be nothing if it meant you’d take him back.

His voice cracks when he manages to find the courage to speak again. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable with my behavior.” He looks at you intently, eyes roaming your face, searching— begging .

You look away, and it scares him. He’s never seen you cry like this, and it’s even worse since he’s the reason why. His arms twitch, and he realizes that that was the last time he’ll ever be that close to you again.

After a million years (according to Eddie), you sigh, “That’s not the issue.” There’s a fierceness to you now, surprising the both of you. You jab a finger at his chest viciously. “My issue with you is that you keep taking my feelings lightly.” His brows furrow, and it only pisses you off even more.

“I like you, you asshole!” There was no point of return. All of that was out the window the moment he crossed a line. Instead of feeling scared or sad, like you thought you would, you were instead enraged with an addicting fury. “And you .” You make a point to jab him especially hard for emphasis. “You have the nerve to mess with me all night long—not to mention even whining about how I should spend every waking moment with you when I already do…and you know what the kicker in all of this was? I did wish I was at the mall with you! I did wish I was on a date with you!”

His forehead is creasing, eyes wide, and mouth pursing. When it finally opens, he breathes out an Oh. And he suddenly he knows how to make things right.

In your complete, utter mess of a breakdown, you don’t realize that you had balled your hands tightly into a fist until you let go, and the searing pain from your nails digging into your palms lets up.

Maybe you were okay with destroying this friendship before, you try to convince yourself, but the regret starts pooling into your belly along with nausea. You’re too ashamed to look at him, yet you also don’t have the courage to move from your spot. So once again, the room is just filled with the sounds of labored breathing and bated breath, both standing in a face-off.

And then you will your legs to move, to run far, far away. But Eddie catches you first, and his face is sloppily smashed against yours as he pulls your lips into his own. Certainly, this is bold, the boldest thing he’s ever done, he’d argue. Still, he’s unable to withdraw because once he has you—your scent, your soft skin, and your gasps keeps him wanting more and more.

It only ends when both of you come up for air, foreheads still glued together as you laugh mirthlessly. “This whole time?” you murmured.

You can feel the smug grin on his lips as he attacks the junction of your neck. You melt against him. “Yeah.” He continues down to your shoulder after pulling your jacket off, his mouth never leaving you. “So, was I right?”

“Hmm?” You couldn’t trust yourself to speak anymore. Somehow, Eddie has gotten you back to his bed, and you feel his necklace glide across your chest coldly, sending little shivers along your spine.

“‘Bout you having a praise kink,” he mumbles. He’s taking his time on a particular spot near your collarbone, making sure to really mark you well.

You’re too embarrassed to reply, so you hope he moves on from it. He doesn’t—worse, he stops. He’s holding himself up with his arms, caging you in, and looks at you mischievously. “Sweetheart, I asked you a question. Don’t go shy on me now. ”

You reach up to press a kiss against him, but he easily flicks you back down like a fly. His brow arches, though he’s still grinning arrogantly.

“Fine, yes, yes, yes, I do.”

“That’s my girl.”

You moan into him when he’s back on your mouth, tongues slow dancing. You still feel hot, but it’s different this time around. It’s more freeing—like you’ve let something go, and now you’re finally able to enjoy it.

Eddie is a much better kisser than you imagined. You’ve thought about how he’d taste and how it’d go, oh absolutely, but this is real . You memorize the way his tongue darts around as if mapping out every part of you, mixed in with the faint smell of cigarettes and pure testosterone.

He’s gripping your chest as he makes his way down and massages it to Hell and back. You can’t help but love how primal you’ve got him, which only turns you on even more.

“I’ve wanted to do many…many… many, ” he accents each word with a wet kiss down your arms. “...unholy things to you since I laid my eyes on you.”

You strip off your top and bra, tossing them to the side with urgency. He only chuckles at your brazenness before giving both of your breasts a firm squeeze. You push him onto the bed and straddle him. “C’mon, Eddie, your turn.” He looks at you incredulously, then his stare turns dark after a blink of an eye. His hands run up and down the sides of your waist, leaving little goosebumps in their wake.

“My, my, who knew you were so forward? All of that innocence…just an act.” He reaches out and captures your chin, firmly holding on as he angles your face around. The cold air drifts against your chest, causing your nipples to perk up. You release a shaky breath and close your eyes, suddenly feeling timid. “No, no, open them for me, sweetheart.”

When you do, you feel him twitch under you, provoking you to ground back down on him. Your eyes are half-lidded, hips rolling. A guttural groan expels from his throat, and he grips you to a standstill.

“Get—ugh, take it off already!” you whine, clawing at his t-shirt.

He’s looking at you with so much lust, yet it’s filled with tenderness; his hands rubbing circles into your own only reaffirming that. After a moment of silence (in which Eddie is aggressively admiring your beauty), he licks his lips and speaks.

“I want you to know that if we continue, this won’t be the last time. There will never— ever be ‘going back to being friends’ or ‘acting normal.’ Because to be frank with you, princess, I can’t do that.” His eyes take in your silhouette, wandering slowly and deeply, because he’s so afraid. So afraid that this will be the last time you let him see you again. He wants to memorize as much of you as possible in case it gets taken away. He takes a deep breath. “So, if we do this. I want more of you—not just the sex, but I want to take you out. And… I won’t do this if you don’t want that. I don’t want this to be a one-and-done deal. Got it?”

You’re unsure whether it’s the adrenaline running through your veins or the sexual tension you feel for him snapping, but you run your hands under his shirt and over his bare chest. For whatever reason, his thoughtfulness turns you on even more than you thought you could be. You ache for his touch, and the desire builds into a searing pain. He wants to stop you, but he can’t; you’re too mesmerizing.

“Eddie,” you moan out. He whimpers under your touch, and he bucks up into you. The muscles in his hand flex against your hip, fighting against his vices. Who knew having a pretty girl on top of him would have him become such a mess?

“Sweetheart,” he breathes out. “You’re not helping me here. I need you to tell me you—” He flips you under him, knee wedged conveniently between your legs, pushing barely enough against your core. He’s frustrated in more ways than one. His eyes implore of you, with the addition of his voice being much deeper. He lets you rub against his thigh for a moment before pulling back. He pins your hands above your head and hovers closely over you just enough for you to hear his harsh whisper. “Now, now, you’re not being very good, are you? Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” you beg.

“Understand what?”

“Fuck, Eddie, I want you to be mine. My boyfriend, my heart, my soul, and—” You slide your fingers down his body. “Your cock .”

“Shit,” he grins cheekily. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” He moves to unbutton your jeans as his tongue sticks out in concentration. You don’t understand how he could still be so cute during an activity as sinful as this. Once the garment is off your legs, you return the favor, nearly ripping his shirt off his back.

He quickly pulls you back onto his lap. You continue running your hands down his chest as one of his fingers hook into the hem of your underwear, rubbing the skin of your hips with the pads of his fingers. His other hand swipes teasingly down your cunt through the fabric, causing the thick wet line to fully soak your panties immediately upon contact. You rut against him, despising the barrier that is his jeans. You need to feel him now .

“Patience, sweetheart,” he says hoarsely, right before pulling your underwear off completely. “There’s something I wanna try first.” He pulls your hips up to his face roughly, and your hands land on the wall above him for support. You giggle.

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to put on the reigns.” Your heat is right above his mouth; you can feel his hot breath fluttering across, making you drip even more. His soft lips target your core, making sure to run his tongue over your clit from time to time. In the meantime, his hands continue roaming your body, starting from the bend in your knees to your quite indulgent thighs, all the way up to your chest. As you’re stuck in his maze of pleasure, he catches you off guard and pulls on your nipple. You yelp in surprise and arousal, the electricity of it aiding you in the roll of your hips against his face. He smiles against you, easily lapping up any juices that come out.

It causes you to release your most lewd sound of the night so far, and this man is soaking it all up. He loves that he’s the one to make you feel this way and no one else.

“Bet Harrington couldn’t make you moan like that for him.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, I wouldn’t have even let him.”

“Careful with those eyes, I don’t want them rolling to the back of your head unless you’re bouncing on my cock.” He continues suckling at your clit and your eyes squeeze shut, enjoying the sensation. You’ve played with yourself before, but it was never like this. You could only get so far with just your fingers rubbing idly as your mind sneaks off somewhere else. Just the way his tongue moves around you so languidly has you close to your climax already.

He abruptly palms both your ass cheeks and pushes you deeper down into his face, to the point where you’re terrified you’re going to smother him—but he keeps it there, firm and steady, and darts his tongue in deep .

Now, you’ve seen this man’s tongue countless times before. Whenever pure concentration is necessary, that one time he provoked Jason Carver in the cafeteria, and the many periods of time when he merely wanted to make funny faces at you to cheer you up, like a child. Have you thought about what they’d feel in your mouth and inside of you? Naturally. But what you failed to understand was the sheer strength and length of each thrust. When you look down at him, you expect to see multiple appendages because there is no way he could work on so much of you all at once. Oh, it is so much better than you thought.

The thin sheen of sweat on his skin has his bangs sticking to his forehead. The rest of his hair falls nicely around him, like a halo under your thighs. The tip of his nose is bumping wonderfully against your button, bringing you closer and closer to your release. He’s looking straight at you, cheeks slightly hollowed out from the sucking motion. He squeezes your ass and gives a single slap. Your arms fall from the wall and land on the sheets next to him. Unable to hold back any longer, you start tweaking at your nipples. The sight has Eddie groaning into you, sending heavy vibrations straight to your folds.

“ Fuck , Eddie.” You want to scream, but you’re afraid that the neighbors might hear. You stifle a few more moans to the depths of your soul, until you feel your climax inching towards you. He answers incoherently into your pussy, but you know what he wants. His hands grip you tighter, helping you grind against his face. With one more hard suck around your nub, your orgasm comes crashing down on you. Your center pulses with each high, and you swear you’re seeing stars. You topple over, body limp beside Eddie as he licks his lips. His face is drenched with your cum.

“Was it that good, princess? I didn’t even get to finger you yet.” He waves his fingers humorously in front of your face. He’s leaning on one arm, admiring the work he’s made of you. Your chest is still heaving from the intensity, and you fan yourself.

“God, yes, it was so—I don’t even—have you done this before?”

“Oh, but of course,” he replies without missing a beat. You looked at him in surprise, then at the mess he made out of you. “What, do I seem like a virgin?” Your eyes are half-lidded, and you feel the embrace of sleep coming over you, but you’re able to muster out a yes and a few chortles for good measure.

Eddie had gotten up in the meantime and wiped his face with a towel, then used another to wipe you down. You croak out a “ Thanks” as he places a kiss on your forehead. He’s about to pull his covers over you, but you grab his hand with a frightful ferocity, alarming the poor man before you. He looks at you in question.

You fight the sleep in your eyes, and yank on his belt loop. He falls over you, quickly catching himself with an arm next to your head. He chuckles. “What is it, sweetheart? Haven’t had enough?”

You palm him over the jeans, and he hisses, but keeps steady. It was the most overwhelming orgasm you had ever experienced in your life, and as a result, your body’s energy levels are depleted. You feel guilty, wanting to return the favor, especially since he still has a hard-on, but it was getting more difficult each second that passes by. He notices and moves to the side of the bed.

“Maybe next time,” he says.

“Next time,” you whisper.

And the world fades to black.

#stranger things smut #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #smut #eddie munson

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rise-my-angel · 1 year

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

Masterlist

Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn)

Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Pre Series Content and Extras:

Scattered Memories of the Starks

Shadows of their Hatred

The Lost Chapters of Jon Snow

A New Life's Darkened Lust

Interlude of Jealous Desires

NSFW Alphabet (contains spoilers for part 3 and 4)

Woes of a Modern Day Love (a modern!au)

Fresh Heals of Old Pain (a modern!au part 2)

Part 1:

Wolves of the Lone Stag

Mouth of the Lion's Den

An Intrigue Drenched in Blood

Standing Behind a Betrayal

A War of Tragic Beginning

Part 2:

King and Queen in the North

Shadow of a Fiery Stag

Reunion of New Enemies

Pleasure of Conflicted Desire

The Sanctity of Children

What Lies Beyond The Veil

Part 3:

The Cost of Our Sins

Dragged Through the Violence

Only the Cold

Fire for the King's Blood

Part 4:

Ashes of Various Grey

Plans of Pain and Horror

Afraid of a Ravens Flight

Trust in the Gentle Rasps

Visions in Eyes and Flames

A Bastard or The White Wolf

Part 5:

Home of Bloodsoaked Stone

Blazing Fire of Storming Ice

Ghostly Dreams of Old

Sailing Through the Glow

The Last Dragon

The Winter Rose

Part 6:

The Clash of Three Kings

Shrouded Truth in Sickness

Winged Shadow in the Sky

Light in the Darkest Storms

Peeking the Realms Woes

Blood, Roses and All Lies

Broken Love of the Dead

The Souls Tethered in Death

Wolves of the Past and Back

The Crows and The Sight

Part 7:

A Brewing of New Mystery

Great Wolves of White Mists

Darkness Heavy in a World

Past Becomes the Present

The Thing in the Night

Waving Tides of Turmoil

Greenish White Boodraven

Dark Blood of Blinding Light

And Wait for the Snows

Part 8:

Into the Haunted Forest

Fist of the First Men

Through the Frost Fangs

News From the South

Lies Within the Sunlight

Night of Two Distances

Screams of Cracking Ice

#jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones imagine

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daughterofyore · 1 year

Text

George and the Pond.

King George x f!reader

[[Queen Charlotte (Netflix)]]

category; heavy smut, fluff, angst (lil bit)

wc; 2,249

music inspired;- apocalypse

a/n:: George has a manic episode by the pond, you manage to calm him and he’s so thankful for you he fucks you to show it :)

TW!: NSFW, George porphyria episode (Venus), heavy smut, breeding kink, Good ol fast sex

Venus begged George to find her. She pleaded with him to search, to save her. She was his one true love. She needed him! He ran through the palace grounds, in the distance behind him there was a cacophony of shouts, someone begging for him to turn around. It was Venus’ ex lovers, surely. They didn’t understand the love they shared, the adoration of their coupling. Her beautiful, pale skin and blemished face. Glowing like a fading star against the ebony blanket of the night sky. An infinite amount of white blazing stars surrounding her like a halo in all her glory. Oh, how he longed to be by her side. How he dared to get closer to her. He needed to feel her glow upon his skin, so without a moments hesitation he ripped his clothes from his skin. Silk pyjamas made of the finest lapis lazuli blue discarded into the mud of the pond. He raised his arms to her, crying for her to join him on this mortal plane. For the goddess of love to bless him with her prowess. He could feel her compassionate deposition seep into his very pores, touching his bare, sculpted body. Casting shadows along the dips and ridges of his muscles.

“George!” You cried out to him, watching as he bared his body to the entire garden. Reynolds raced ahead of you, reaching before you could. You were still adorned in your glittering evening gown. Made of a deep fiery scarlet, as if it was made of the last embers of a great fire. Silver lining cascaded down its centre and bodice, elaborate lace adorning the contrasting peachy cream underskirt. It flew around you as you gathered the skirt into your arms, heels clicking off the cobbles and then sinking into the finely kept lawns. You stumbled and struggled to reach your husband, you could see his eyes glistening as he stared at the planet Venus. He cried of his love to her, his devotion. How is it I don’t receive that love? You scoffed, a moment of clarity as you were still unsure as to why he acted this way. You had suspected it for some time now, his comings and goings from Kew. The secrecy surrounding him and the protectiveness of not only Reynolds but his mother too.

Your voice was like an arrow through the fog, piercing the hazy clouds in his peripherals. Venus seemed to fade into the background as he spun to look at you. You weren’t Venus, you were you. Shining brighter than she ever could. As he watched you approach, the sparkles glittering from your dress enraptured him. He felt himself falling in your direction, before a voice called him to turn around. Venus, competitive as always. She challenged you for his attention. He laughed incredulously, how lucky was he to be fought over by the Goddess of Love and her rival? Reynolds stood at his side, begging helplessly for him to return to the castle. He gathered his clothes in his hand, looking at him with a pleading gaze. Continuously he requested for the King to go inside, tried to reason with him. You knew you had never seen this before but maybe, just maybe he would recognise you.

You reached his side, letting go of your dress. It fell on his feet and pressed into his calves. He turned to you, eyes wide, hyperventilating. “You won-“ He whispered looking at you, as if it was the first time he truly saw you. He turned towards the sky, laughing. “You lost Venus! Imagine that!” He returned to face you but upon seeing your worried expression, his celebrations halted. “How come you are not happy? You have won, have you not?”

“George, it’s time we go inside now.”

“What, why? The night is beautiful we-“

“George, Venus has lost this game but I would prefer to celebrate with you indoors.” He stood very still for a moment, dark brows scrunching together as he tried to concentrate and discern exactly what you were implying. His brain felt jumbled, mixed and confused. Like he wasn’t allowed to understand, as if there was a black alabaster wall separating from the here and there.

“I wish to stay here. Let’s celebrate here.” You paused and gazed at him, studying him carefully. You spun to Reynolds.

“Cover the windows and leave his clothes here. Ensure nobody enters these grounds or can see us.” Reynolds pressed his lips into a thin line before muttering a ‘Yes, your majesty.’ He left, grabbing Brimsley by the elbow and guiding him indoors. You turned back to George, your husband. Your king. You rested a gentle hand on his chest, and he stilled. He sucked in a devastating shaky breath before raising his arms to hold your shoulders.

“You, you saw- oh, wife I- oh I am so sorry.” His eyes began to water, a new clarity crossing them. His face slackened, now an evident frown replacing his once maniacal smile. You hushed him, gently guiding him to your chest as you snaked comforting arms around him. You held him in your embrace, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he let silent sobs escape him. He sniffled, clutching onto the fabric of your dress as he eventually sunk to his knees. “My dear I am so sorry, I am sorry I have avoided you. That I have tried to hide I-“ He couldn’t get his words out but you put a comforting hand on his head. Intertwining your fingers with his brown locks, you gently massaged his scalp.

“Do not apologise George. I understand you. I am here for you. Come, let us lie and look at the stars together.” You smiled at him, holding his hand and laying on the lawn. He tentatively lay beside you, he finally noticed his nakedness and his hands rushed to cover himself. You once again shushed him, grabbing the many layers of your skirts and draping them across his waist. “No need to worry about what I have seen before darling.” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled, sucking in a breath after as he looked to the sky.

“I could be married to a pompous wench right now, who wouldn’t give a damn about me. Who would run in the opposite direction if she saw what I did tonight..” he turned his head, gazing at you. You met his eyes and smiled. “Yet you stay, you lie with me. Why?”

“I believe I see myself in you. Trapped, misunderstood.” You took a shivering breath. “Sometimes all we need is a little kindness and a show of stability. I wish to be that for you.” His eyes began to glaze, he sucked in his bottom lip as it began to quiver.

He turned on his side, a new light coming to his eyes. Slowly he raised a leg to bend at an angle across your thighs. Bracing himself on an elbow he gazed at you. His face inches from you. “I do not know what I have done to deserve a woman such as you.” Slowly he lowered his lips to yours, kissing you softly. You reciprocated it, lips merely mingling before he slipped his tongue across them, asking for entry. You obliged, parting your lips as his tongue slipped by. He licked the bottom of your teeth, before dancing around your tongue with his. He sucked on your lip, biting it gently and sucking the sting away. You gasped, a hand travelling up his side. You could feel his muscles shiver at your touch, he manoeuvred over you, straddling your hips. His cock pressed against your stomach, hardening. His hands travelled up your sides before reaching your breasts. They were secured behind the corset of your evening gown, yet he managed to push a hand down its front and grope one. He massaged it in his hand, loving the mass and softness of it. His kiss deepened, he peppered them along your jaw and to your collarbone. Reaching your cleavage he looked at you mischievously, recalling his hand and replacing its absence with long, sensuous licks across the top of your breasts. His tongue travelled over them, then between. He licked up from your cleavage to your throat, to your lips. Kissing you again before he backed down, grabbing your skirts.

“And I you, my queen.”

You were breathing heavy, barely able to control the growing heat intensifying between your legs. A steady throb as it begged for attention. Your core tightening in angst of what was to come. This was what your wedding night should’ve been, but you didn’t care. This, this was better. Laying on the cool grass beneath a bright moon and stars that reflected off of a still pond. This was bliss. George hiked your skirts up, laying them across your midriff. He bowed down again, grabbing your pantyhose and pulling them down to expose bare thighs. He looked at you over the mound of skirts, smirking. “Are you alright my love, may I continue?” You nod, breath escaping you. You peered up at the stars between the foliage of the cherry blossom tree. George dipped his head between your thighs, gently pushing them apart. He kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin, licking the sting away again once more.

Agonisingly slow he made his way to your centre, licking over the underwear covering you. He raised a hand, rubbing a finger between your folds and feeling the wetness seep the fabric. He grinned, pushing a finger into you and watching you arch your back. He kept the underwear on, watching you squirm as he teased you. Ever so slowly he retracted the finger, dragging it up and pressing it to your clit. Your juices soaked the fabric now, it clung to your very shape. You jolted at the contact, the pressure on your clit making you pull away. He grabbed your left leg, putting it over his shoulder and gripping your thigh to hold you in place. He spread you with a knee, continuously exploring you over the whimsy barrier of your panties. You moaned, trying to move but he held you firmly in place. “Are you ready wife? Ready for me to take you?” You nod feverishly, his ministrations have built a fiery ache in your core. Begging for his attention. Your cunt wept as it pleaded for him to enter it, to give it attention. George smirked, gently taking your hands and pulling you up. He stepped behind you and made short work of the lace up your back. He quickly pulled the dress off, then the undergarments until finally you were bare before him. He smiled, standing back and admiring you. “My beautiful wife, in all her glory.” His eyes were ravenous, without a moments hesitation he was back between your legs. He kneeled, grabbing your hips he hoisted you into an awkward position, your legs dangled above his shoulders while you lay only on your shoulders and head. He held you in his grip, his lips placing tender kisses across your cunt. He licked, slow as of tasting your every essence. His tongue slipped into you, to which he began to lick inside you. He left it begging for more and turned his attention to your clit again. It throbbed for him, and he knew it did. He wrapped an arm around your leg, balancing your ass against his chest as he spread you with two fingers. He began to taste you, sucking on your clit. He nipped it, sucking it better straight after. You squirmed in his grasp but he still held you firmly, refusing to let you move. He lapped at your pussy like a thirsty dog, drinking you up. He turned his attention back to your clit, sucking intensely on it. You moaned, cried out his name. He seemed to only grow more excited and you could feel his length pressing into the small of your back. He sucked, and sucked, and sucked until finally the growing tension ruptured. You screamed his name, yet he continued to suck and lick you through the orgasm. You were trembling at the end, and he lay you down, kissing your stomach. He looked up at you as you threaded fingers through his hair. “I’m going to put a baby in you, my queen.” He smirked and you swore it nearly undid you again. He sat back on his knees, his cock long and hard as it stood. He grabbed your hips, pulling you towards him. He grabbed his dick, rubbing it’s tip along your slit. He pressed a firm hand down on your stomach as he slowly pushed his way in without any warning. You stretched, moaning around him. His sheer size pushing you close to ecstasy.

Once he was in he let loose a shivering sigh, looking back to you. “Are you alright my love?” You nodded, placing a hand on his as it pressed into your stomach. He could feel the faint mass of his cock in you, it turned him on even more. Slowly, he pulled out and pushed back in again. Keeping a slow and steady rhythm till you had adjusted. Once he could feel you relax, he began to pound into you. Growing in intensity. Gasps of air escapes him each time he fucks you. You were a moaning mess, barely able to breathe. Your breasts bounced up and down at the ferocity he pounded into you. His balls clapped off your ass, sounding through the garden. You felt like you were in heaven. He looked up at you and grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it. He pinched your nipple, pulling it slightly as he fucked you. You were in ecstasy. Every inch of your being burning, yearning for his touch. He grabbed your hips, spinning you around to be on all fours as he stayed inside you. He gripped your hips and continued his merciless fucking. “George! Oh fuck George-“ You screamed for him, moaning his name.

“I’m going to cum inside you pretty queen-“ He moaned your name, deep and guttural. “And watch you grow with our child, our heir.” You cried out for him again, and it was all he needed to slam himself into without mercy, he reached a hand around you, rubbing your clit with no remorse. It was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“George I- George I’m going to cum!”

“Do it, do it for me my queen. Do it together.” He moaned above you, continuing his ministrations. The pair of you cried out, heads thrown back in ecstasy. You orgasmed, and he spilled his seed into you. It’s warmth spreading through your core. He stayed in you for a moment, breathing deeply. You were gasping for air below him. Eventually he slid out, pulling you down to lay beside him. He held you close, running a lazy hand up and down your side.

“My beautiful Queen, fucked by the garden pond.”

#king george iii #king george bridgerton #king george x reader #king george x f!reader #queen Charlotte #queen Charlotte x reader #king George smut #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton series #bridgerton spoilers #bridgerton fanfiction #queen charlotte fanfiction

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yourplasticlittlespastic · 10 days

Text

E̴N̴T̴W̴I̴N̴E̴D̴ - Series - Part 10!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f/reader

Warnings: +18 filth, dirty stuff, drink holy water but also romance bc yes

Notes: This is (not) the final chapter of this series omg thank you for reading. I am not done with the series itself, whatever plot comes to my mind I am sure I will develop it. If you have also requests for the series, maybe headcanons, blurbs, or anything I am your loyal writer!

WC: 5.9K

Taglist: @fallout-girl219 @ravenwtfbro @thorins-queen-of-erebor @dollarstore-lydia-deetz @mmmunson

Bournemouth smelled like pines, salt, humidity and sex.

You grabbed your fan and placed it on top of your head, the sun was threatening to burn your skin any second now and you were already sweating too much for your own liking and still you loved every aspect of it. Your hand softly traced the damp sand next to you and you tried to sign your name in it, your eyes darted to the front and you saw Benedict kneeling on the sand meters away from you and he looked addicted to the view.

A chalk by his right hand and a sketching pad in his left. He was inspired.

"Did you see that?!!" he yelled, turning only his head and pointing to the sky "The birds are hunting fish!" he laughed

"I see it!" you yelled back, your hand grabbed the sweating glass of lemonade and you drank all of it "I must go to the water!"

"Yes! Yes!" he exclaimed turning to his sketch "Enjoy!"

You stood up, your head bending away from the umbrella and your feet touched the warm sand. You passed Benedict as he kept sketching and your feet finally touched the sea water. As you giggled, you ventured further and the water soon reached your belly.

The horrid dress you had to wear for sea bathing clung to your body, and the skirt threatened to float up if it wasn't for the small sacks hanging from the skirt actually to prevent that. You stepped further and the water was reaching the underside of your breasts. The waves hit you with their force and you almost lost your balance, but you managed to stay standing. Your hair was being pulled back, your face felt the wind and you laughed, looking at the sun. Why people don't do this often?

"Y/N?!"

You spun around and saw Benedict "Hi!"

"I thought you would damp your soles!" he snorted seeing your small head floating next to the vast sea "You are an adventurer!"

"I am a sea woman!" you laughed "A mermaid!"

Benedict replied with a smile, ran back to the several towels spread by the sand and took a sip of the lemonade. You floated naturally without help and you thanked your mother for taking you to the famous peerless piscine several times. You grinned when Benedict ran to the sea and shivered once the water touched him.

"Come on now!" you yelled

"It is cold!" he kept going forward, the breeches turned black as the water collided with his legs "Oh woman, how do you stay inside there?"

"It gets warm after a while" Your body lost its weight underwater and you kept on flowing with the tide as you waited for him to be next to you "Perhaps you can get in before night"

"Don't tease"

"I can't stop myself"

He reached you and you two looked at each other, the wind was getting wilder and his eyes were shining with the sunlight. Benedict looked like a creature, his pale skin contrasted with the dark water, his eyes were so blue turning green and his hair was slightly moist with the drops of the sea.

"You lo-"

Both of you laughed as you tried to talk at the same time. Benedict's hands floated your way as he hugged you and you smiled at the warmth of his body, his hands were so big they could probably wrap your whole waist and the idea was too thrilling to be ignored.

"You look like a goddess"

"Well thank you" you kissed his lips gently and looked to the sky, the sun was at its peak "Can we stay here forever?"

"We might turn into merpeople"

"Not the water, the place. Is so quiet"

"Just a few cottages around" he nodded "and they charged me shillings for a basket of vegetables"

"Shillings?"

"Four"

"Oh" you laughed "this is heaven then"

"I wondered," he said floating and staring at you "when would you like to get settled? London or the country?"

You smirked, "You know me, what do I like?"

"The country of course"

"And the city?"

"You like it a lot" he chortled "But you also enjoy the quietness of the countryside"

"What do you like?"

"The country, for sure. London has become crazy, hasn't it?"

"I Loved Your Cottage"

"It is yours now"

"No, I mean, Your Cottage, you silly"

"Ah" he beamed as he leaned backwards wetting all his hair and turning it from chestnut to black "It is not as big as your house"

"And? Doesn't it feel more like a home?"

Benedict got a glimpse of the future inside that cottage, the two of you waking up in each other's arms, making tea, making love, making breakfast and having the entire house for the both of you. It would be a quiet, calm, and peaceful life, like his parents and siblings, family, home, marriage, and kids.

"Come here" The sudden passion got the best of him as he grabbed you from your waist and kissed you deeply, he tasted drops of seawater by your lips and still he swore it was sweet just like before. "We can get a place here" he suggested "This might not be Italy but it surely has beautiful views"

"It can be a vacation place, I know that you want to practice art don't you?"

"No doubt"

"This is further from clients, you ought to have a closer practice to London and we can return to your house for any sort of commissions you might have there"

"That might be the most wifeful statement you have ever said"

"Am I not your wife?"

"You are beyond that" he stated playing with the water next to him "Whatever you want to do with your time?"

"You mean to earn money for a living?" you went straight to splash water on him "Who would employ me?"

"You are the smartest person I know, if you want to do something else I am here to support you, aren't I? Do whatever pleases you, darling"

You looked at the horizon, the sun was going down slowly. A mother? You wanted a family, you desired Benedict's children. Can there be something more than duty within the household?

"I will think about it. I promise" You nodded "I am parched, I'll drink something and will come back so don't move"

You kissed him again and swam back to the towels and the umbrella. Benedict looked at the sun as it kept setting, a smile was forming on his face as he imagined his life, and he was happy, happier than ever but alas his thoughts were cut sharp like a knife slicing bread.

"Oh, look at that" he murmured

As you walked outside the water he saw every angle of your body. The sea bathing dress -that was considered for modesty- did absolutely nothing to hide your modesty. On the contrary, he swears that you look like a marble sculpture with a thin veil covering your curves. The way the wet fabric clings against your thighs and your bottom, the way it hides next to your core and when you return from drinking your lemonade he got the best view.

Whatever for he was sketching the sky when he could be sketching you instead?

"Ben?"

But your questioning was cut because he didn't realize he was being pulled by the image of you. He felt the wind crashing against his damp clothing but he did not care he only shushed his name from your lips and pulled your body to his and kissed you fiercely, the world stopped spinning and everything went in slow motion. Benedict could not help himself but moan and he could feel the heat growing on his groin as he kissed your lips and tasted the lemonade by the way your mouth opened.

"What was that?" you panted, breathless

"I don't know," he whispered, his fingers touching your face, his other hand tracing your curves "you just looked..."

"Yes?"

"Every time" he snorted cupping your cheeks "Every time I believe I have found my inspiration, rather is in that bloody bird hunting fish with the sky and the sea as witness... you come and in your own way you make realize my inspiration is and will forever be you"

You were blushing, your heart was beating too fast for your own liking, your eyes were watering, and your mind was in a trance. You had the power to inspire such a great man "Try to take it back" you said

His pupils were dilated as his hands went to your waist and squeezed it, he felt his cock growing as his eyes travelled through the entirety of your figure. Benedict was in awe and in love. He ran his nose next to your temple and the scent of your skin mingled with the salt of the water made his groin ache

"Darling"

"I'm not stopping you, I am asking you"

"You are a dangerous woman" he gently pushed you down tot he and kissed you again, his lips traveled to your jaw and sucked your skin until the collarbones, his teeth nibbled the flesh and he groaned, his hands were pulling your hips to his "So dangerous"

"Ben" you sighed, your body was on fire that you swore the heat coming off from you could dry your dress in an instant. His tongue licked the salty water from your neck and he sucked hard, leaving a bruise. His lips kissed and sucked, and your head tilted to the side to give him more space, his mouth was doing wonders and your body was trembling, and your legs were clenching together "Oh"

Benedict stopped the attack and cupped your chin, he guided your face to look at him and it was the most absurd feeling he has ever had but nonetheless valid to him because he can swear on God himself that every time he is about to ravish you, he feels like it's the first time. Over and over again, like the most wonderful spell.

"Every moment without you feels like an eternity; you are my deepest longing and my sweetest torment, Y/N"

He caught you off guard and the gasp from your mouth came not only by his loving confession but by the attack next to your vocal cords. Suddenly your dress weighed heavily on you, and your body felt like sinking in the sand so you fidgetted and tried to take your dress off, he noticed it and helped you.

The damped fabric flew and landed heavily on the sand leaving you bare to him again. The exposure was very welcome by you, comfortable under his grip as he took one of your nipples inside his mouth and sucked. You moaned, your hands gripping his hair as he sucked hard and then licked the hard bud "Oh"

His cock twitched in his breeches, and the need for more friction was getting out of control so he unbuttoned the trousers and let them fall to his knees, and then he took his shirt off. Your fingers traced his torso, small grains of sand attached to his skin.

"Look at you" he stood kneeling with you lying down, he admired the way your breasts heaved and fell in a tantalizing rhythm and his hand traced your abdomen and the curls of your sex "So exquisite"

"Benedict" you pleaded, your legs were clenching against the need and you were growing impatient.

He smirked, his finger caressed the sensitive nub and you jumped in pleasure, a moan escaped from your lips as he touched you, the pad of his fingers circling and teasing the bud, his index finger slipped in between your folds and he could not help but grunt at the feeling of your warmth "So wet"

"Please" you moaned again, the heel of your feet pushing down the trousers away from his knees, Benedict hissed as the breeze hit him "Don't make me beg"

"Wouldn't dream of it"

He removed his finger from you and took your wetness around his throbbing member and started pumping his length. You looked at the act and the way his hand moved along with his shaft, his eyes were locked on yours as the pace of his movements increased, he could see how the sight affected you.

"Y/N" he murmured and dropped his body on top of you, the weight of his body against yours made your core burn and his cock rubbed the wetness of your folds, the tip was leaking and the urge of wanting him inside you was making it harder and harder to be patient "My love, you drive me insane"

"I want to feel you" you begged and you did not care

Benedict pushed himself inside you and gasped, the warm feeling was intoxicating. You bit his shoulder and the sting was welcome as he started moving. Your hips were meeting his thrusts and the waves hitting you didn't help at all.

"God!"

You moaned, feeling every inch of him, his thrusts were becoming frantic and the feeling of his body rubbing against yours was bringing you to the edge, his fingers gripped your hips tightly, and his head dropped by the crook of your neck, his breathing was irregular, He couldn't fathom coming now, so soon.

So he stopped and pulled out. A disappointing look came from you by the lack of friction but Benedict went to the other side of the towels and plummeted on his back as he waved his fingers at you.

"Come here"

And you did, climbing over him and placing his cock at your entrance. You sunk down and threw your head back, your hands placed themselves by his pectorals and he took your breasts with his mouth. You didn't know in which position you felt closer to him but this one, you could feel him reaching so deep.

"Ben"

"Y/N"

You were riding him and his hips bucked, his hands went to your hips and gripped them tight. Break all of him he did not care. The sight of you bouncing without any care in the world, the sun hitting your back, the sand sprinkled by your shoulders and the sweat forming on your chest.

"Take me all" he panted, his hand grasping your bottom and squeezing it hard "I'm so close, darling, take me"

"Benedict!, I-"

The orgasm came for you first, your core clenched around his cock while your sense only focused on the tantalizing moment of the shock, and he grunted, his hips bucking into yours with the sole purpose of making you keep all of his seed now and never let it go out of you.

Benedict contracted and his mouth opened gasping for air as he came. Your hips were moving and helping him ride out his orgasm. His cock twitched inside you and his hands fell limp by his sides, slowly he went to lay flat while you were still on his lap.

"Y/N" he rubbed his mouth

"Hmmm?"

"You are not allowed to go near the sea, you hear me?"

You chuckled "Why is that?"

"Because you are dangerous, a siren, and you will lure me"

"More than I have lured you now?"

By dinner time, you two were sore of the sun and without help around you were chaotic.

"Stew has carrots"

"Does it?"

"Please" you took the cutting board "Potatoes and tomatoes"

"Can we add..." he closed the basket "Artichoke"

"Sure! With some runner beans"

"Have you tried them?"

"No" you read the small note from the farmer "But he placed them inside"

"They are hard as pebbles" he scrunched his nose as he touched the vegetables "He ought to boil them"

"Alright, let's fill the pot and boil them"

"Is there tea?" he suddenly asked

"Whatever for?"

"Drink"

You rolled your eyes and stopped putting vegetables inside the pan "First we need to boil these, Benedict"

He sighed "I am clueless in the kitchen"

"And I'm not? You come here and fill this pot, I won't starve"

"We should have brought help"

"No"

"and why not?"

"We must learn to be self-sufficient"

"I'm quite sure that no matter where we go we will bring Mrs and Mr Crabtree with us"

"In the meantime we are alone. Did you fill it?"

"Here" he passed the pot

"Thank you" you smiled and placed the pot by the fire you struggled to start then you took the kettle, you placed the pot under the sink and waited for the water to boil "Where's the tea?"

"Uh" Benedict rushed, proud he found it he passed the can "Here, my love"

"Do you know how brew it?"

"O-of course!" he laughed taking the kettle "Mother showed me once"

"Once" you raised your eyebrow

"She had faith"

You nodded and went back to chopping vegetables and he watched how the water slowly started boiling, his mind wandered to the past days and the idea of having a family with you was the thing he was most looking forward to.

"I'm quite confident we have this!" he exclaimed

An hour later you sprinkled salt and butter on top of the bland boiled vegetables while sipping a tea filled with small leaves and dunking a small biscuit in it. So much for being self-sufficient.

That night however among some stomach cramps you slept and woke up with the sound of the waves hitting the shore. The sun was coming out and the smell of salt and seawater was fresh. You went to the balcony and looked at the ocean and the sky, the clouds were forming a beautiful view and you smiled. Breakfast came and it was less of a hassle to prepare, along with the confiture of many fruits. Afterwards, Benedict and you walked around the land, the pines enclosed a beautiful view and the bushes hid foxes and bunnies you tried -and failed- to feed.

By lunch, Benedict prepared lemonade, once putting salt rather than sugar, and ventured to the sea where you swam until your stomach roared. You went back to the cottage and had a light lunch before returning to the water before dinner. That was the routine, oh-so peaceful routine that usually ended with Benedict kissing your waist and burying his face between your legs trying to find something to eat that is not vegetables nor soup.

By the last night inside the cottage, you forgot about dinner at all while Benedict took the orange confitures and smirked at your bare chest by the kitchen table.

"It is like a painting" he said taking a spoonful and letting the translucent syrup drop from the spoon by your skin "It is so beautiful"

You moaned and felt the cold liquid dropping by your chest, his fingers played with the confiture and your body was responding, your legs were slightly shaking at the passive touch.

"We have blueberries? Confiture I mean"

"I believe so"

He chirped and walked back to the cupboard. You could hear him opening and closing, and you saw him going to the sink and opening the jar, he took the spoon and scooped some of the contents of the jar and came back to you.

"Blueberry and orange"

"I don't know but it looks amazing" he let the liquid drop, his movements like the artist he is and he sprinkled more drops by your navel. The heat in your body was rising and the need to be touched was getting bigger and bigger. Benedict dropped a small quantity over the curve of your breast and you were about to scream but then he dropped his mouth and licked the fruit from your body.

"It's too much sugar" you added

Benedict's lips, slightly covered by the syrupy fruit, smiled and licked his lips. He continued to do it again and again. It was so hot in the kitchen that the humidity was starting to get the better of you. He continued licking your skin and his hand grabbed the jar and opened the lid.

"I'm going to ruin you" he whispered, his mouth sucking your neck and the confiture of blueberry dripping into the curve of your stomach

"You already did" you gasped, and another kind of syrup started to form between your legs

"No, dear, this time I will make sure you never forget what means to be loved by me"

He dripped more confiture and his mouth was ravishing your skin. The mixture of his mouth and the cold sweet syrup was driving you mad. Your hips were lifting from the table and your hands were pulling his hair. The need of him, his cock, anything, was consuming you.

"Benedict" you were panting "Don't make me wait"

"Never, my love"

His lips went to your navel and as his hands pushed and pulled the skirt of your dress he found the absence of your pantalettes and grinned at you.

"This is the first time you don't wear them"

You felt like a child as you threw your hands in the air "Are you going to talk about them or do something about it?"

"Impatient" he scolded and his mouth went to your core. The heat coming off your cunt was making him hungry, he could smell your arousal, and his tongue licked the wetness. Better than any sweet syrup he could taste. His hands were holding the back of your thighs as his tongue worked his magic.

You whined and lifted your hips to push his tongue deeper, you needed more friction, but he was not having it. He promised to ruin you tonight, he needed to keep his word. Benedict took his time licking and nibbling the lips and then the hood of your sex, he dipped his tongue inside you and the taste of the fruit mingled with the taste of you and the need of filling himself with you was adamant.

The art of teasing was his masterpiece and as he moved his mouth to the little nub your cries were growing louder and louder. Your legs were shaking and the pressure in your belly was building faster than ever. Your fingers gripped his hair and your legs closed around his head not before he pulled apart and that left you breathless.

"Benedict!"

What a low man he is right now denying an orgasm to the woman he loves but he can't "Forgive me, this cannot end like this. Stand up, love"

He helped you stand up and kissed you, his hands were on your hips and his mouth was devouring yours, his teeth pulling your bottom lip, and you gasped. His tongue tasted like a mix of confiture, and you could feel your essence still there, and his cock was pulsating. He spun you around and softly bent you down. The cold table was hitting your body and his cock was pressing by your backside.

"Benedict, pleaseeeoh! oh!" you felt him inside in one single stride and your hand slapped the table with force "Oh!!"

He grunted at the easiness of his thrust, his hips were meeting yours and he could see the way your ass was moving against his thrusts, he was mesmerized and his hand reached to your hair and pulled your head back.

"I want you to come hard and scream my name"

"I will" you cried, his cock was pushing against the spot that makes you scream.

"Who is making you feel like this, love?"

"Oh, oh!"

"Y/N"

"You! God!"

But he stopped. As much as he liked the sound of his name spilled between your lips he stopped. He took you and trotted to the reading room where he sat on the couch and guided your body to his lap.

"Come here"

"I need you" you whispered as you took his member and aligned it to your entrance

"Then take me"

The position made him feel more intense, you were bouncing up and down and he was thrusting from his angle. He captured your breast in his mouth and sucked hard trying to leave his mark; his hand slapped and kneaded your butt and he loved how it felt.

"Benedict"

"Come" he grunted, and his fingers were rubbing your clit fast "Come with me"

Your mouth parted with the final release of what has been denied of you for some minutes. It felt better, stronger and more craved than an orgasm without teasing. You rode, rode and rode as Benedict was being milked by your insides. He squinted his eyes, flashes of your curves waving front and back as you rode him and dried him again.

Still. He was hard and full for you.

He remained quiet against your panting and allowed you two to giggle yourself out of the frenzy of the moment.

"Well" you rubbed your arm "Hunger is forgotten"

"Not quite" he took you from your hips, pushed you out of his cock and made you -in a second- kneel on the couch

"What ar-"

"Ruining you"

"Benedict"

"Y/N, love"

You screamed as he entered you again, his cock inside of you still strong against your walls and the new angle made the feeling even better. His thrusts were frantic, his hands were gripping the edge of the couch and the sweat was dripping from his chest.

"You're so tight, darling"

Your hands were stopping your head from hitting the armrest while naturally, your ass curved to meet his frantic hips, once, twice, thrice he kept on going and his hand rapidly rubbed your folds.

"Wai- wait!" you said between moans "Oh-wait, I'm-"

"I will make you so full" he rubbed your nub and saw your release under him, how one of your legs stretched backwards as your body quivered and the wetness dripped between your thighs "So full"

He didn't stop, he continued, his cock was throbbing and he could feel the seed ready to burst out and his body was aching, he could not fathom another minute, he couldn't.

"Oh, god!" you whimpered "Oh, Ben"

"My love" he grunted, and the white ropes of cum hit the walls of your cunt, and your walls milked him once more in too much sensitivity you both collapsed.

"That was..." you chuckled, your chest rising and falling "Something"

"Yeah" he said, his body falling by the side of the couch

You were sore, every part of your body was tired, but the warm feeling was present and Benedict's eyes were focused on the ceiling.

"Y/N" he panted

"Yes, love"

"I don't know about you, but I'm famished"

You chuckled, the smell of sex was intoxicating but the thought of having a good meal made the difference.

"Do you crave boiled artichokes?"

"With badly brewed tea?"

"You are reading my mind, Mr Bridgerton"

*-*-*-*

Your eyes darted to the inside of Violet's cottage, a gift from Edmund when she became with child -Anthony- and you felt somehow ashamed at the way you profaned the place. By the dining room, you took the duty of getting Benedict's cock inside your mouth. By the kitchen, Benedict spread strawberry confiture on your breasts and sucked them whole. By the reading room, you two wrinkled so many pages while he trusted into you on top of the desk or last night's encounter that you swore you could smell it in the air.

You blushed at the images and tried to remember if you left the house in a good state. You took your small satchel and left the Bournemouth Cottage -not cottage- and joined Benedict by the carriage.

"We will be back" he promised "Once we settle I will write to my mother and tell her that planning a family event here can be what we all need. Perhaps if Colin hears we will be next to the sea he will join... that man and his travels"

You giggle slumping on your seat "He's next"

"For?"

"For finding someone"

"Oh, so it's between Eloise and Colin, isn't it? What a season will be"

"And Francesca too"

"My God" he closed the door and patted the ceiling "If we have girls, I will never allow them to leave us"

"What if they meet someone like you?"

He snorted "Especially someone like me" he teased "So, where to?"

You smiled "My Cottage"

"Your Cottage understood... Sir!" he exclaimed "To Wiltshire please!"

It was a lost day from Bournemouth to Wiltshire, by dinner you two arrived and Mrs Crabtree could not stop telling both of you how red you were and how she owns a "special ointment" for such burns, Mr Crabtree was fast to argue that the ointment is the one causing burns and not fixing them.

The next morning however as tired as you were you woke up before Benedict, a routine that was well established and your appetite opened not with the smell of boiled vegetables but by a beautiful service a la francaise presented by Mrs Crabtree. You quite devoured most of it leaving Benedict with his share and when he found it, he finished it in half the time you took to eat yours.

"I have some news"

"Hmmm?"

"I read the letters while we were on our Honeymoon. One from my mother saying she expects us before the season ends for one or two balls"

"That is no problem"

"One from Anthony, he asked me to keep track of some accounts"

"The ones you managed while he was on his honeymoon?"

"Those exactly" Benedict took a final sip of tea, "He asked for some help that's all and then... another letter from this professor of mine, he has reached too many families in London and has advertised my talents"

"Oh"

"Yes, he is positive I will start my practice soon"

"I thought you already did"

He blushed "Thank you"

"So, will you open a studio?"

"Perhaps, I'm thinking about it, perhaps" he chuckled "And imagine them buying my own pieces?" he chortled "That must be the best feeling ever"

You reached across the table and squeezed his hand "You better get your supplies, you had an arsenal back in London. If we visit your Mother then we shall take them"

"I shall take that painting of yours"

Your eyes widened "Please tell me you covered it"

"Is not even finished, Y/N"

"Is that an invitation for me to keep posing?"

"Help an artist in need" he smirked

Peace after the honeymoon was achieved. The newfound freedom you got after being married had a certain glow on you. You started reading more, writing and debating more... Mrs Crabtree was quite the best person to polish your argumentative skills, that woman could not hold her tongue at all. It was a month of a blissful marriage life and countless "I can't walk" mornings.

By the time you arrived in London the gates of the Bruton House opened and Hyacinth and Gregory's voice filled the echoing entrance.

"Mother?!" Benedict called out as the children reached him

"In the drawing room!"

She greeted you so warmly, she asked about the cottage and rambled about her times in it, Daphne joined later surprising the rest, she beamed high and radiant with a plump belly and a child in her arms.

"Daphne" you greeted

"Come here, you" she hugged you with her baby by the side "You ought to tell me everything"

"Let me" you tried to help her with the child by her arms "Hi Belinda" you smiled at your good memory "Well, hello beautiful"

"Brother, I must keep Y/N for myself this moment"

Benedict shrugged at the proper way his sister always talked and turned around to talk with his mother, of course not after getting a glimpse of the small creature by your arms, the way you tried to hold her properly and how you failed to keep the poor baby steady, rather bouncing it all over. And he loved it.

That night you and him, presented as married joined Lady Danbury's ball, one of the lasts of the season and where a lot of debutantes went hunting, fiercely, for a "last minute husband".

"I got mine quite fast" you joked to Violet who gave you a small nudge and left to be with Francesca

"You are funny" Benedict said by your side

"I lied…Took us years, doesn't it?"

"Years and few days" he scoffed "Don't make it sound like it was the hunt of my life"

You turned to him with squinted eyes "Oh trust me, husband, if someone was indeed hunting... it was not you"

Benedict bumped your puffy dress skirt and you giggled, he leaned down to your ear as a diamond earring adorned it "But did you like the prize?"

You took your gloved hand and cupped his cheek "The most beautiful, most handsome, and talented man of them all"

Benedict gave you a solemn kiss while the clinking of cups echoed in the ball, he took your hand and guided you away from the crowd. After some head bows and smiles you smirked at the lonely room where he was letting you enter. As the shadows appeared, the music faded behind and the smell now of paper triggered your memory.

"And what are we doing here?"

"Bringing justice" he said, his hand touching his tailcoat but he stopped "You know that since I met you your joy was and still is my joy?"

"I did not"

"And your pain is mine too"

You bit your lip and blushed "What about my love? is it yours too?"

"No, it is quite bigger I'm afraid"

"Well," you smiled "at some point something had to differ... What you got there?"

Benedict slightly shook his head at the moment and took the small book from the inside pocket of his tailcoat "This curious little thing"

"Oh" you took it, your fingers expertly finding the poem he wrote inside, a poem for you "Curious indeed"

"I thought we must leave it where we found it" he shrugged "After all, we lend it and we put part of us there"

Your fingertip grazed the binding "I like the poeticness of the act"

"I knew it"

"Tragic too"

"Why so?"

"Shouldn't we put it on our shelf?"

"And hide our story from everyone else?"

You grinned and stared at his shadowy face "Perhaps then... one of those poems became a tangible thing"

You took the book and allowed yourself to read the poem he wrote, the beautiful curves of his handwriting and the captivating meanings of each verse. You extended to him but he pushed it back to you.

"You ought to put it, you took it"

"Alright"

You placed the book right where you remember you once took it. The memory of that night embraced your chest with nostalgia and a slight sting in your eyes. You blinked and pushed the fragile papers inside, a bit deeper so no one could be seriously interested in it.

"Done"

"Good job" he smiled, his face tilted as he captured in his mind this mere moment "You want to know something more?"

"What?"

He held your hand, discarding your glove as he threw it over his shoulder, he gripped your hand skin to skin"I cannot separate where you end and I begin" he proclaimed

You only could swoon at it with a smile, you allowed him to go first as you took the knob "And that is fine by me" you said, your hand pulled the door to the library and it closed "Because between you and me, there is truly not an end, is it?"

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