#he loves my mother yet he it seems he cannot let my mother love him

[i-am-just-a-girli]

I can forgive my father for all his wrongs against me, if only he had treated my mother differently. It is an echo, of what my mother says, "He may not be a good husband, but he is a good father." How do I tell her that one cannot exist without the other? He will never be a good father. He is not good to my mother.

—Reva

[explosionkatsu]

Unadorned Love

Human!Alastor x Waitress!F!Reader

Warning: Gore

Alastor finds you to be quite similar to his deceased mother which made him enticed to you. He couldn't help but visualize you attending to him with a cup of hot coffee instead of the random stranger who ordered it. He couldn't also help his smile widen, yet at the same moment, his heart ached when he saw you smile at the man who appeared to be flattering you.

He didn't appreciate the thought of you, going home to a male who wasn't him.

Alastor has been visiting the same cafe for almost years now. At first, he would just simply walk in, have his breakfast then depart after dining. But once you began laboring at the said cafe, he couldn't help but catch a glimpse of you. He couldn't keep his eyes on how elegant you looked just as you gracefully cater to every consumer with a smile. That softly angelic smile seemed to capture his being.

This is why Alastor now spends most of his time dining in the cafe to catch sight of you.

Finally getting out of his daze, he looked at the same menu, scrutinizing every dish he knew he tasted these past few years. Nothing changed, only a few new meals were summed up but he couldn't bring himself to order them. After finalizing what to feast for this morning, Alastor raised a hand as he tried and catch the attention of the waitress who happened to be you.

“Ah. A lovely morning, Mister Alastor.” You bowed your head while clutching the clipboard to your chest. “What have you chosen to devour this morning?” You raise a question and pull the pen out to write his order, your glossy natural pink lips forming into a gentle smile.

Alastor glanced down at your lips which you caught on before he darted at you with his eyes half-lidded. “Good morning as well, Y/n.” He spoke. “My, how numerous times do I have to inform you to call me by my name only.” He chuckled telling this.

You laughed lightly after hearing this. “Mister Alastor, you are a paying customer. Every customer must be treated with respect.” You explained smiling at him.

Hearing your laugh was the best melody he listened to. He cannot help himself but gaze at you fondly whilst his pride swells up for his ability to make you laugh. “But not every customer respects you, don't they?” He expressed. “Do you still consider they merit the respect they can't provide in return?”

“Well, I presume there is no harm in disregarding that, as long as they won't provoke any physical harm..” You drifted off as you guessed about it.

“Hm.” Alastor hummed. Oh how easy it is to control you. You were indeed destined to be his wife. “Think about it, my dear.” He continued. “If things like this ever occur, do not hesitate to reach out to me.” He spoke before fishing out his calling card to his chest pocket and handing it to you. “Now! Please add these waffles along with the eggs! And don't forget the maple syrup!”

You took his card since you guessed you were never gonna use it in any way, but an incident earned you to consider otherwise.

No. It was not concerning her job. It was something else.

You didn't quite expect the cafe to finish off this late due to a colleague who wasn't able to arrive for work due to a crisis and the number of consumers suddenly increased. You, being an understanding person as you are, stood for their shift. The 16 hours of labor was finally taking a toll on you and you didn't appreciate it. Your back was aching and your heels were weakening. This is the first time you've had a tough time stepping on 2 inches heels on your way home.

11 pm is what it says on your watch once you inspect it. You were grateful though that your boss let you take an off tomorrow since the usefulness you provided today wasn't a joke. You were already planning your day when a sudden chilling feeling ran down your spine. You sense somebody is watching you, observing you. Just pondering about this made you clutch your purse to your chest as you fearfully proceeded with strolling on your way home. It’s still a 15-minute walk which caused you to swear under your breath.

Looking behind you will do no good so you pressed on, concentrating on going home safely. But the noise behind you urged you to run, but you didn’t. Instead, with your trembling hands, you took your phone out and attempted to recollect any number you could to dial down but nothing came up. It would be a hassle for you to take your contact book out of your purse and flip through it in a situation like this.

All of a sudden, you remember the calling card you hid in your bosom. With minimal movement, you seized it out and had to squint to read in the darkness of the pavement. After successfully dialing it down, you placed your phone to your ear as you hear it ring.

Your pace is now rapid as you hear the steps behind you grow closer. You were chanting in your mind for him to please answer.

“Hello-”

‘Finally!’ You thought. “M-mister Alastor.” You whispered getting slightly breathless.

Alastor was just finishing up after his broadcast. He thought he could use a liquor after his shift since his shadow is quenched for now which means he doesn't need to slaughter for now. Once he stood up, he took notice of his telephone ringing. ‘This late?’ He thought raising an eyebrow before proceeding to respond to it. “Hello-”

His eyes slightly widen when he hears your voice. It's you. You called him.

“M-mister Alastor.”

He immediately senses that something seems off. You were stuttering, whispering, breathless, and appeared to be terrified.

“I-i know I-it’s a bit late. But c-could you please escort m-me on my way home..”

“My darling, where are you?” Alastor muttered as calmly as he could as he gripped his telephone tightly causing his knuckles to turn white.

“I-I’m here walking alone near the- AAHH!!”

“Y/n!?” Now he was panicking. He instantly put on his ebony trench coat and fedora, fleeing his home in the middle of the woods. “Find her.” He spoke, his voice low and dark. “Keep the insolent fool alive until I arrive.”

His shadow nodded in response before finally fleeing.

When he finally arrived at the scene, his blood was raging as he gazed at the scenario in front of him.

You were half-naked, cowering to the corner of the alleyway. Your beautiful dress was ripped and torn, your hair was everywhere, and your smile wasn’t visible. He could see tears streaming down your cheeks whilst you made an effort and cover up under your thin arms.

Something snapped inside Alastor. His smile was crooked when he laid his eyes upon the drunk bastard who tried claiming you forcefully.

Before he could initiate his vengeful plan, he took off his coat and draped it on you. “My darling. Shh. You are safe now.” He whispered wrapping his arms around you and leaving a kiss on your temple. “My love, will you close your eyes and cover your ears for me? Do not open them until I said so, is that clear?”

You, looking at him with your terrified expression, nodded and did as he said.

“Such a good girl for me. You shall have a reward after this.” Alastor spoke before finally turning his eyes onto the guy who was being beaten down by his shadow.

“As for you..” Alastor smiled, his steps were gradual as he walked nearer to him. “You’ve made a great mistake of touching what’s mine.”

A cry of agony was the only noise through the night but no one appeared to hear this.

Alastor and his shadow feast on the organs of the now-dead man. The splatter of blood was everywhere when he tortured him for what he did. His intestines were shoved down his throat, his eyes were out of their sockets, and his heart was now missing, as well as his other organs. “Take care of the rest. Make sure there's no trace left behind.” He spoke before finally standing up and walking toward you whose eyes were still shut and ears covered.

Alastor carefully lifted you in his arms as he fled the scene and returned to his sanctuary where he planned on taking care of you. He was now replacing the nasty lewd kiss spread on your delicate skin and the marks that he was trying to cover with his own.

“Ma belle cheri... I shall take care of you.”

[atlabeth]

(not so) simple pt 4 - anthony bridgerton

pt1 pt2 pt3

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: SO. UM. once again this took fucking forever to come out which is kind of insane when you think about it because i've had 7000 words of this chapter written for like 4 months. truly wild. 2 babies have been born in the time that it's taken me to write this mini series but anyways there’s a lot happening here, shoutout to anthony for finally getting some more pov parts, the fun thing about your mc being out of commission for a while is that you have no choice but to write for the other characters. equality we love to see it. anyways most of it is angst, but it’ll all be wrapped up with a little regency romance bow i promise

wc: 7.6k

warning(s): aftermath of the end of last chapter which is angst. stab wound, talks of death, mentions of edmund's death, quite a bit of crying, anthony bridgerton's inner angst, miss worthing makes poor decisions. not a happy chapter but WHAT CAN YOU DO

“What were you thinking?” Violet demanded.

Anthony could barely hear his mother over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears, the pure terror gripping his heart. He’d no idea how to respond to her. He doubted she would like to hear that he, indeed, was very much not thinking. 

And he was certainly not thinking much now, what with you on the brink of death with their doctor and his apprentice the only thing there to stop you. He could be of no help to you, bent half over in his chair, head in his hands, the image of you collapsing burned into his mind. 

“Anthony Bridgerton, answer me.” Violet stood over him, her face flushed and eyes filled with anger and fear. “What were you thinking, bringing Miss Worthing out into the city?” 

“I cannot deal with your questions right now, Mother!” he snapped, something letting loose inside of him. Anthony would have been ashamed had he any sense. “My future wife is in that room fighting for her life, and it is because I was not able to protect her. I am hardly able to form words at the moment, Mother, so please—” Anthony’s voice broke, and he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Please just be quiet.” 

It took a bit of nerve to be such an ass in front of his very own mother, but Anthony apparently had plenty of nerve at the moment. After you collapsed, he’d done the only thing he could think of in the moment and brought you back to Bridgerton House—it was closer than your residence, and if their physician had been able to keep his mother alive through eight pregnancies, then surely he could bring you back. 

Now, though, he was not so sure. Every other option seemed to be plaguing his mind, for your blood still stained his hands and his clothing and Anthony didn’t know if he would ever be able to get it off. 

His father died in his arms from something so small as a bee, and yet you had been stabbed. How were you meant to come back from that?

The door suddenly slammed open, and when Anthony glanced up, his insides twisted. 

“Where is she?” Eloise demanded. Her windblown hair matched the wild look in her eyes, and the flush of her cheeks and haggard breathing told him everything. She was meant to be promenading with Penelope Featherington—her speed on foot was admirable. 

“With our physician,” Violet responded. She seemed more subdued now, and though Anthony knew he would apologize profusely later, he could not find it in himself now. He could hardly find anything in himself apart from panic.

“With our physician—” She turned on Anthony, her gloved hands clenched into fists. “What in God’s name happened, Anthony?”

He allowed himself a moment to breathe before he responded. “She was stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” Eloise cried. “She was with you! How could she have been stabbed?”

“I was not with her when it happened—”

She scoffed. “That is a likely fucking story.”

“Eloise,” Violet said, “language.”

“I do not care about my language,” Eloise spat, gesturing wildly with her hands. “My best friend has been stabbed— I will say whatever I please!”

And then, as if to just add fuel to their fire, Benedict rushed in. Anthony held back a slightly unhinged laugh and shook his head. You were dying and they were out here arguing. 

“I’ve made sure this hallway is off limits like you said, Mother.” Benedict looked just as shaken as the rest of them, and in a strange way Anthony was grateful. You’d grown closer to his family than he’d known. “Your lady’s maid is outside the door alongside a footman ensuring privacy, and your driver is on route to the Worthing residence to alert her parents. They’ve all been sworn to secrecy—no one will be disturbed, least of all Miss Worthing.”

“Thank you, Benedict.” Violet sighed, and she collapsed into an armchair. “At least one of us is in order.”

Benedict sat down on the sofa, his words coming out in a mumble. “I am hardly in order.”

The fire seemed to have died down in Eloise, for however temporary a time, and she settled down next to Benedict. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her.

“She’ll be okay,” Eloise whispered, “right?”

No one answered for a moment. At last, Anthony looked up, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Yes,” he rasped, hoping with everything in him that his words would be true. “She will be okay.”

He would not have been able to live with any other outcome, not when it was his fault in the first place that you were in this position. 

Anthony didn’t know what he should have done, but he should have done something. He should have brought you to your senses and suggested a promenade in the park instead. He should have called on you at your estate, safe and sound in your drawing room. He should have been arm in arm with you, his heart steadily melting as you smiled and laughed and made him aware of all things good in the world. 

He could not lose you. Not when he still had so much to tell you, so many words left unsaid. 

Not when you didn’t know he loved you. 

“I’m sorry, Anthony.” He looked up at the sound of Eloise’s voice—though she did not look at him and her arms were still crossed, the sincerity of it was not lost on him. “I know it was not your fault.” 

His chest tightened. It was his fault. 

“You clearly care about her,” she said. “It is not fair to pin this on you.” 

“Sometimes we hurt the people we care about,” he said, his voice hollow. 

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “But not this time.” 

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Eloise had been at odds with him for nearly this entire season because of their ruse. Though she knew of its falsity, she still chastised him for taking up time that could have been spent with her, still rolled her eyes when he announced his leave to go see you, still questioned why he had to go after her best friend. 

But Eloise was driven by her emotions, no matter how red hot or icy cold they may have been. At this moment, her concern for you outweighed anything, and she recognized the same in him. 

So Anthony nodded. Once, twice, hardly moving but a clear acknowledgment. He glanced at his mother and brother, both unfocused with glassy eyes. His mother’s were red-rimmed, and she held a handkerchief tightly in one hand. The guilt hidden from earlier struck. 

He silently thanked their governess for keeping Gregory and Hyacinth occupied, thanked that Francesca was on an outing of her own. The last thing he needed was for his littlest siblings to find out that the woman they believed to soon be their sister was one misstep away from death. And thank God for Colin’s decision to spend the day with Mondrich—one of his younger brothers in the heat of the moment was enough. 

Anthony let out a shuddering sigh, screwing his eyes shut for a moment before he ran a hand through his hair then planted his palms on his knees. He could hardly sit still but he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to get his nervous energy out. 

All he could think of was you. Of how the last word you spoke was his name. Of your dried blood on his hands, staining his clothing where he had held you. Anthony barely kept you from hitting the ground when you collapsed, and he nearly did the same once he reached his residence. 

Yelling at any servant in the proximity to call for the physician, unaware of his mother trying to calm him until she shook him by the shoulders, having to literally be forced out of the room by the physician’s assistant once they arrived because he refused to leave your side.  

It all felt like a blur, and yet he remembered it perfectly. It all played on repeat in his mind no matter how much he tried to block it out. 

The door slammed open this time, and when Anthony looked up, he felt as if he could wither away.

“Where is my daughter?” Cecilia Worthing demanded, her husband trailing after her. She was all out of sorts, with an even wilder look in her eyes and a deathly grip on her skirts. Mr. Worthing’s expression made his heart sink, with his haunted eyes and taut lips. 

“I am so sorry, Cecilia,” Violet rasped, and she crossed the room and enveloped her in her arms. It took a moment for your mother to respond, but she returned the hug as a sob escaped her. 

“Your footman said she had been injured,” your father said levelly, though his voice shook ever so slightly. “How?”

“She was stabbed,” Anthony spoke up, forcing himself to look at your parents. “Some zealot in the city. I brought her here as quick as I could.”

“The city—” your father started.

“Stabbed?” your mother interrupted, halfway into hysterics. “How?”

“We got caught up in the midst of a riot,” he said quietly. “We were separated, and I assume it happened then.”

Mrs. Worthing let out another sob as she pulled her husband into her arms, and though he kept a semblance of solemnity as he whispered to his wife and held her close, Anthony could see the fear in his eyes. 

How could he possibly offer reassurance? It felt different, staring at the desperation of your parents. The horrific realization that they might leave a family of two, might have to bury their only child. 

His stomach twisted and Anthony’s head fell into his hands again. He couldn’t. 

Eventually, Philip helped his wife onto the couch, and she remained curled into his side. No one said a word—how could they?

Apart from whispered reassurances between your parents and even shorter conversations between Benedict and Eloise, their saddened group continued in silence for the better part of an hour. No one spoke louder than a whisper, no one rose and left—they just sat together in their fear, hoping and praying that the inevitable could be denied. 

Until the door creaked open and each of their heads snapped towards the noise. Anthony shot up at the first glimpse of their physician’s assistant. 

“What news?” he asked immediately. The tension in the room had grown to be near palpably thick. 

“The surgery went well,” the assistant said, and all the air dissipated from Anthony’s chest. “Miss Worthing lives. The doctor is ensuring a final few things, but provided our treatment is followed, we believe she will recover fully.”

Anthony fell back against the couch with a breathless laugh, and Mrs. Worthing sank against her husband, wrecked by thankful sobs. Eloise’s smile was enough to brighten the whole room, Benedict’s relief just as obvious. Violet just let out an exhausted sigh, her hand pressed to her heart. 

“Thank you,” your father said. “Can we see her?” 

“Miss Worthing is resting,” he said. “You will not be able to speak to—” 

“We do not care,” your father asserted. “I need to see that my daughter is still alive.” 

The physician’s assistant nodded after a moment, and the tension lessened in his shoulders. He helped your mother up, their hands clasped tightly together, and Mrs. Worthing looked at Anthony. You truly had your mother’s eyes. 

“Will you come with us, my lord?” she asked. 

“Oh, I—” 

“You are family,” she said softly. “You’ve a right to join us.”

Emotion swelled in Anthony’s chest, and it took a moment for words to come to him. 

“Of course,” he finally said, inclining his head. “And it is just Anthony between us. Please.” 

The slightest smile spread across her lips as she nodded, and they all stood up together. Anthony took her offered arm and they started down the hallway together, your father on her other side. 

How strange it was to be arm in arm with your mother. She thought the man beside her would be her future son-in-law, when he was truly nothing but a liar. 

No, he thought, not wholly a liar. Not anymore. Because they believed that Anthony was to be your husband. And if there was anything this had proven to him, it was that he wanted nothing more than for it to be true.

Anthony just had to figure out a way to tell you. How strange that it would be the most difficult part of this ruse. 

Violet’s maid and the footman stepped aside when they arrived and the assistant opened the door. Anthony followed your parents in, and his heart nearly stopped upon seeing you.

Your mother’s eyes filled with tears as she approached your bedside, and, after a nod from the doctor, brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laid the back of her hand against your forehead. 

“She’s burning up,” she whispered. 

“It is typical after surgery,” the doctor said. “With any luck, she will sweat it out. I will monitor her throughout.” 

Your mother nodded, a shaky sigh escaping her, and she took your hand. 

“I am so sorry, darling,” she whispered. “I am so sorry I was not there for you.” She brought your intertwined hands up and lightly kissed the back of your hand. “I love you more than anything. Please, come back to us soon.” 

Your father joined her, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I do not know if you can hear us,” he said, voice slightly shaky, “but we are here for you. We will be here when you awaken, and every moment onwards.” 

Mrs. Worthing looked back at Anthony, inclining her head towards you. Anthony swallowed his doubt as he moved forward, but the breath was stolen from him when he could fully see you. 

Your eyes were closed. Your chest rose and fell just so, hardly noticeable, thin linens provided by the doctor rested over you, and sweat beaded on your brow. Alongside the discoloration of your skin, you looked… 

You looked as if you were dead. 

And Anthony knew that you were not—for God’s sake, you were breathing—but all he could think about, all he could see, was his father, all those years ago, dying in front of him while he could not do a single thing to stop it. And he felt that same helplessness with you; just standing there, watching, unable to do anything but hope. 

“We are here for you,” he whispered. “...I am here for you. No matter what, I am here for you. Just know that, if nothing else.” 

Your mother’s watery smile made him look to the doctor for fear of the same emotions eliciting even further in him. 

“When will she wake?” Anthony asked. His voice sounded almost foreign to him. 

“In a few hours, with any luck,” the doctor said. “At the very most, it will be the end of the day.” 

“We will gladly host her until she is able enough,” Anthony said, looking at your parents. “And we have plenty of spare rooms for you to choose from if you wish to remain by her side during those days.” 

“Thank you, Anthony.” Your mother placed her hands on his shoulders, though she had to look up at him, and she smiled. “You make her so happy. It will be my greatest pleasure to officially welcome you into our family.” 

Anthony’s throat bobbed. God above, he hoped that was the truth. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. “She… she means a great deal to me.” 

“You’re a good man, Bridgerton,” your father said. “I’m thankful my daughter will end up with someone like you.” 

“Your approval means the world,” he said, and he found he meant it wholly. 

The doctor cleared his throat. “It would be best for her visitors to be limited as of now. The parents can stay, but…” 

Anthony nodded, smoothing his lapels. “Of course.” 

“We will alert you of anything,” your mother said. Anthony nodded again, and he allowed himself one more moment to look at you before he left. 

You were alright. You would be alright. That was all that mattered. 

Still, when he found himself alone in the hallway, finally able to breathe again, he still had that weight on his shoulders. 

A revelation such as the one he’d had should have been a blessing, a relief. A man in love was meant to be a happy one. But a man in love did not usually find his feelings in the midst of season-long ruse whilst his beloved fought on her deathbed.  

Anthony blew out a loose sigh, shaking his head as he continued through the halls. Being on his own, he found, was worse than sitting in silence with his family. He was trying to think of something to say, trying to gather his emotions and push them aside so he could be the man of the house as he was meant to be, but when he reached the room from before he was only met with Eloise. 

She looked up from the floor, and he noticed the puffiness of her eyes, her slightly blotchy skin. His heart sank yet again. 

“Benedict helped Mother to bed,” she explained, her throat bobbing. “All of this exhausted her. I’ve no idea where he is now.” 

Anthony nodded, his mind still wandering. “Ah.” 

“How is she?” Eloise asked, her brows knit in concern. 

“As well as she can be.” Anthony sighed. “She has a fever, but she’s resting. Her parents are with her and the doctor is watching over her. He said she should awaken before the end of the day.” 

The furrow softened as she smiled. It was good to see her smile. “Good. That— that’s good. I’m glad.” 

“And how are you, Eloise?” Anthony asked, folding his arms. 

“As well as I can be,” she responded wryly. Anthony’s lips twitched in a momentary smile, but she leaned against the couch and let out a sigh of her own. “This all certainly ended in the best way it could have.” 

“The best way would have been for it to have never happened,” he said. “I should have prevented it—I was meant to keep her safe.” 

“Brother,” she said wearily, “I already told you that you cannot blame yourself.” 

“And I’ve never been one for listening to you,” he said dryly, “have I?” 

Eloise huffed a laugh and shook her head. “I am not a fool, Anthony. I know what is happening between you two.” 

Anthony frowned. “Eloise—”

“You love her,” she said bluntly. “Do you not?” 

He tried to say something, but no words would follow. He could only stare at his sister and her nerve, resulting in a small smile from her. 

“You are not that talented an actor, brother,” she said. “It is easier for me to believe the two of you are truly in love than that you could actually trick me in such a way.” 

He blinked. “You believe she loves me?” 

Eloise laughed, turning her head slightly. “I do,” she said. “And seeing as you are not denying it, I believe that means you love her.” 

Anthony bit the inside of his cheek. So the two of you could fool the entirety of the ton for over half the season, but apparently not Eloise. How typical. 

He walked over and took a seat on the couch next to his sister, leaving a bit of space between them. He took a deep breath before he spoke. 

“I do.” He glanced at her. “I love her.” 

Saying it aloud—admitting the truth of feelings he’d been fighting for so long—brought him an unexpected lightness. One other person knew both truths: that they had been lying about their love, and that Anthony had been lying about his lies. 

It would have been laughable had he not been so unsure of everything else. 

It took Eloise a moment to say anything back. For a while, she merely looked at him, unreadable depths in her eyes. He didn’t think he would ever be able to fully decipher his sister. 

“I know my blessing means very little in the scheme of things,” she finally said. “But know that if this does come into fruition… I will support you two. Every step of the way.” 

The smile that spread across Anthony’s lips was brighter than anything he’d experienced today, and he inclined his head. “Truly?” 

“Yes, truly,” Eloise said, a smile of her own growing though she tried to hide it as she glanced away. “It is not a big deal. Do not make it out to be one. There are far worse men that she could end up with.” 

“Alright,” he said, unabashed in his joy. For such a solemn day, Eloise had turned his mood around. 

“And I will also keep your secret,” she said breezily, “again, so do not worry about that.” 

“You say it does not mean much,” Anthony said, “but you are wrong. Your support means more to me than you know.” 

She shifted, seemingly bolstered ever so slightly by his praise. “...I’m glad.” 

He smiled as he stood back up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his outfit. Anthony grimaced as his hands came into view. He was in dire need of a bath and some new clothes. He could not deal with your blood on him for much longer. 

“I must be going,” Anthony said. “I need to clean up. And,” he sighed, “ensure that none of this has spread to the rest of the ton.” 

Eloise hummed, and Anthony was nearly at the door when she spoke up again. 

“...Thank you. For being here for me.” 

His expression softened as he glanced back at her. “I will always be here for you.” 

Her lips curved just so. Anthony had never been so thankful to no longer be at odds with one of his siblings. 

-

Your head hurt. 

That was the first thing you could truly understand as your eyes slowly cracked open, squinting while you came to. You blinked a multitude of times, trying to regain your bearings and relieve the dryness of your eyes. 

It took another moment for them to adjust to the darkness—the curtains were closed, but no light filtered through. How long had you been asleep? 

You grimaced as you shifted ever so slightly, a dull but constant ache in your chest leaving you stiff, but there was a weight of a hand in yours. You glanced over and recognized your mother, asleep but still grasping your hand. 

You smiled. She came for you after all. 

But as you tried to shift further in the bed, you groaned, a sharp column of pain shooting through you. Your mother’s eyes shot open, her body starting from instinct, but it took a moment for her to truly realize it all. 

“Nice of you to wake up,” you said wryly. 

“You—” tears sprung in her eyes, and her lips spread in a grateful grin— “You must be alright if your first words are to antagonize your mother.” 

“I am still here,” you said. You didn’t want to tell her you didn’t think you would make it. That you thought your fate was sealed when you pulled your hand away to nothing but blood. 

“That you are,” she said breathily. “Are you alright, though? How do you feel? Does it hurt?” 

“I believe I am alright,” you responded, “I feel… tired. And my chest aches.” 

“The doctor said that would be expected,” she murmured. “What do you remember?” 

“...That depends,” you said. “What do you know?” 

Your mother gave you a look as she said your full name. “This is not the time for games.” 

Your cheeks heated and you averted your eyes. “I was in the city with Anthony. I was stabbed after a riot broke out. That is all I remember.” 

“Lord Bridgerton is the reason you are alive,” your mother said. “He brought you back to Bridgerton House, and their doctor saved your life.” 

Somehow it was possible for your face to burn even more. You dragged Anthony out to that meeting, and you repaid him by making him drag your near lifeless body all the way back to his estate. 

You were the worst fake fiancee a man could have. 

You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears and you rapidly blinked them away. 

“Where is he?” you asked quietly. “Where is Anth— Lord Bridgerton?” 

Your mother gave you a knowing look. “It is alright to call him by his name, darling. It is quite clear how much he cares for you.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You could not do this. “Where is he?” 

“He is with his family,” she said. “You caused everyone quite a fright.” 

“I can imagine,” you said hollowly. 

“Would you like to see him?” she asked. “Because I am sure he—” 

“No.” The haste with which you sat up drew out another wince. “No— I…” 

You closed your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip. You could not do this. 

Your mother said your name softly. “What is it?” 

You opened your eyes, ignoring the wetness around them as you looked at her. “Anthony and I cannot marry.” 

She blinked. It looked as if it took a moment for your words to sink in. “What?” 

“We cannot marry,” you repeated. “We— we never could marry. Our courtship is a ruse.” 

Your mother blinked again, this time wholly taken aback. “What?” 

“It is a ruse,” you repeated, more forcefully. “I wanted to escape the baron, and Anthony wanted to escape a thousand desperate debutantes. I proposed a mock courtship between us, and he accepted.” 

Her brows furrowed deeper than ever before, as if she still couldn’t fully believe it. “You lied to me.” 

“To everyone,” you said. You hadn’t a clue what had gotten into you, tearing apart a story carefully crafted throughout nearly the entire season, but something burned inside of you. You couldn’t keep going with this—you couldn’t keep stringing Anthony along, not when your feelings were far more real than they had any right to be. 

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would you do such a thing?” 

“Because I did not want to marry,” you repeated. “The baron is nothing more than a lecher, and the thought of any sort of marriage to him disgusted me, but you and Father refused to listen to me. The only way to get out of it was for you to believe I had caught the affections of someone better. Anthony Bridgerton’s word was certainly better than mine in the eyes of the ton.” 

Your mother stared at the floor for much longer than you anticipated, and you could not tear your eyes away from her. 

“Mother,” you said quietly, “say something. Please.” 

“I do not quite know what to say.” She finally looked at you, and your throat bobbed. “All of our plans have hinged on this marriage for the entirety of the season. What am I to tell your father?” 

“Do not tell him,” you begged. “Please. It is enough that you know— I could not handle the shame if he were to as well.” 

“I do not keep secrets as well as you,” your mother snapped. “Marrying into the Bridgerton family would have saved us, both in riches and name. Even your dowry would have gone to use for something of your choosing.” She shook her head, clasping her hands together.  “And now you have almost died and we will have to control this and I just—” 

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you interrupted. 

That ceased her arguments quite quickly. “What?” 

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you repeated. “He has both riches and name.” 

Your mother frowned as she gripped your hands tighter. “You despise him. You got yourself into this entire mess in order to avoid him—you’ve said so yourself.” 

“What choice do I have?” you asked desperately. “His name is enough to weather the scandal I’ve created. His money will secure a life for you and Father, and he has a fine pedigree. It is the only way to save the Worthing name.” 

“Have you not considered the very man who has been courting you this season?” Your mother gestured with her hand. “Look where you are, darling! Lord Bridgerton has offered up his estate to us so we can be near you as you heal. Your courtship may have started as a ruse, but the man clearly feels something for you!” 

“We have become very good friends over the course of the season,” you said, “and I am thankful for it. But I cannot taint the Bridgerton name further.” 

“Dearest—”

“It is necessary,” you interrupted, but your quick movement brought on a sharp thread of pain in your chest and you winced. 

“Do not push yourself,” your mother whispered, and you nodded. 

“It is necessary,” you repeated, though slower. “My rebellion was just… naivete. I will not be the reason for our family’s ruin borne from my own stubbornness. I will secure our legacy, I will secure my future—I will marry Lord Cardew, and… and I will finally stop trying to resist my fate.” 

Your mother stared at you, and you stared back. “You said it yourself—our family’s well being hinges on my marrying into wealth. What sane man would consider me after what I’ve done?” 

She continued to look at you long and hard, her expression one of unreadable depths. “You are sure?” 

No, you wanted to say. You had never been less sure of anything in your life. But you could see no other choice. So you nodded. 

Your mother glanced away from you with a sigh, eyes searching the room for a moment before she nodded as well. “...Alright. If that is what you wish, your father and I will contact him once you are recovered.” 

“Mother—” 

“That is non-negotiable,” she said, and she smiled at you. “You may be blossoming into a true lady, but you are still my daughter. And I will not allow my daughter to do anything until she is fully healed.” 

You nodded. “Alright.” 

“I am sure that it goes without saying that you are never going to be allowed out of our sight until you are married and settled?” your mother said, and though it caused a sharp pain in your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I assumed just as much, Mother.” 

-

Dearest Reader,

It is a fact well known throughout Mayfair that the social season requires the full attention of every single person, frantic mamas and bored bachelors alike. It is a game of wits unlike any other, and this season has proven no different. The middle of our merriment marks many of the most eligible debutantes as engaged — this author pays special attention to the season’s diamond, Lady Adelaida Kennington, who has found her happy ending with the young Earl Pembroke.

Though congratulations may be due to another lady of the ton, one of the simple yet highly discussed Worthing family — as it seems, Miss Worthing has tossed aside the much desired Viscount Bridgerton for the hand of the Baron Jonathan Cardew. One can only be left to wonder what Lord Bridgerton must have done to go from an obviously incoming proposal back to his rakish ways in little more than a night, but it most certainly has to do with Miss Worthing’s recent disappearance from society. Word has passed around of her frequent visits to the lesser parts of London, engaging in activity that can only be described as scandalous. Perhaps it was not the fault of the viscount indeed—Miss Worthing may have finally pushed Lord Bridgerton to his limits. 

No matter the reason for the ending of the courtship, this author must extend her thanks to the pairing for providing such material for my pen. It is not every day a nobody in the ton manages to bring down two families at once. Perhaps Miss Worthing deserves congratulations for conducting this fantastical feat all on her own. If it was outrage she was searching for, she has certainly earned it. 

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown 

You huffed a sigh and threw the leaflet across the room, letting your head fall back against the wooden headboard. It was one thing for Lady Whistledown to criticize you, it was another thing entirely for her to bring your family and the Bridgertons into it. You deserved everything that came towards you for what you had done, but your parents, the Bridgertons, Anthony— they were not a part of any of it. 

Especially when all your father had done was visit the Cardew estate to have a conversation with the man, see if he was open to the possibility of a marriage with you. Nothing was at all set in stone, but the way Whistledown told it, you were already steps from the chapel with a ring on your finger. 

So now, as if it weren’t enough that you were bed bound until your physician deemed you recovered for regular activity, as if it weren’t enough that you were likely set to be married by the end of the season, as if it weren’t enough that you were constantly denying Anthony’s requests to visit you, every single one of your idiotic mistakes was revealed to the ton through a woman too cowardly to write without a pseudonym. 

If you ever found Lady Whistledown, you thought bitterly, you would strangle her. 

The silence in your room was broken by the door opening, and when you looked up you were greeted with Julia’s face. The usual smile she bore when around you was not there, but before you could ask she answered your unspoken question. 

“I apologise for the interruption, my lady, but you have a visitor. He insisted on seeing you.” 

A small part of you knew who it was even before she stepped aside, but when Anthony Bridgerton walked into your room your breath still hitched the tiniest bit. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked immediately, holding back a grimace as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. 

“I had to see you,” Anthony said. 

“And you chose to do so by invading my privacy.” 

“I have not heard a single word directly from you nor your pen since the accident,” he said, his voice not without a slight barb. But underneath it all, an uncommon hurt festered inside of him. You could not see it, exactly, but you could sense it. “Forgive me for wanting to confirm with my own eyes that you were still alive.” 

“I will remain here as a chaperone,” Julia said, closing the door behind her. “You may talk as freely as you please — I will not repeat a single word.” Anthony nodded and pulled the stool away from the vanity so he could be closer to you, then sat down. 

Despite Julia’s reassurance, neither of you spoke a word. The silence began to weigh heavily, the tension growing so thick it could be cut with a knife. For so long you had been rejecting Anthony’s requested meetings, not wanting to see him after what you had done. You feared for how he would react, both to your complete ignorance of him after your nearly fatal injury and your acceptance of Lord Cardew’s courtship. 

You left Bridgerton House without a word mere hours after your ill-fated decision despite the protests of your parents—you could not stay there for another moment under Anthony’s good graces, not when you had doomed any possible future with him. You did not deserve a single millimeter of Bridgerton good will. 

You stared down at the covers you laid under, fidgeting with your hands in your lap as you focused on everything except your visitor. You could not bring yourself to meet Anthony’s gaze, though you’d felt his own on you for the past five minutes. 

“Is it true?” 

You finally looked up at his sudden question, meeting the intensity of those dark brown eyes you’d lost yourself in so many times. “Is what true?” 

“Your marriage to Jonathan Cardew,” he said stiffly. “Is it true?” 

Just as quickly, you glanced away. It was near impossible to even be in the same room as the viscount since you had made the decision, even more so to think of the reason why it was that way. So instead, you just nodded. 

“Yes. If all works out, we are to be wed at the end of the season.” 

“Why?” Anthony leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees as his hands clenched into loose fists. “You openly despise the man—you asked me to court you to avoid him. Why in the name of all things rational would you willingly enter a marriage with him?” 

“He will provide for me,” you said. “He has money, he has land, and he is a respectable member of society. He has already been content with the possibility of marriage once, and his name is enough to weather the scandal I have created. It is the smartest choice available.”

“And what of us?” He had an almost wild look in his eyes, and the worst desire took root in you to root your fingers in his hair and ease the troubles you’d caused him. “We have spent the near entirety of the season becoming closer, and you are willing to just throw it all away for a man like Cardew?” 

“I could not trap you in a marriage you do not want,” you insisted. “You deserve more than a woman you share no love for, Anthony, and to be married to the woman who made a fool of your entire family. Lord Cardew is the only option.”

“Even if all of that is true, that does not mean it is a smart choice!” he exclaimed. “He is not a safe man to be around! If he has been pursuing you so strongly and only backed off because of my influence, what do you think will happen when you are his legal wife with no sort of protection?” 

You swallowed thickly at his words. “He is not that sort of man, Anthony. He may be… horrid, and a complete egoist, but it will be a life of comfort. And that is the life that I need.” 

Anthony laughed breathlessly, completely devoid of mirth as he frowned. “You cannot be serious. I have been by your side for an entire season of feminist rants and marriage complaints, half of which revolved around Cardew himself, and now you are telling me that you are just— just alright with this sort of compliance?” 

“Nearly dying because of my own idiotic choices has forced me to reexamine my life,” you said plainly. “If I had been even the slightest bit unlucky, I would have perished on those streets, and what would I have had to show for myself? A rebellion that I was only able to take part in because of the privilege I so often fought against?” 

“You have made a difference,” Anthony insisted. “You provided for women that no one has the gall to look out for. You’ve spoken out for your own rights, you’ve stood up for your own interests rather than sit around and take what you have been given.”

“I have been fighting against a life that so many less fortunate than myself would kill for,” you said. “I believed death to be a better fate than being forced to marry a man I did not love, but when I was on death’s door, I realized how foolish I was— how utterly selfish.” 

“You are not selfish,” Anthony said, but you shook your head. 

“I am. Unbelievably so.” You huffed a mirthless laugh as you looked at him. “My parents did not love each other when they married, but they were friends. They could tolerate the other’s presence, and neither of them were fortunate enough to be able to care about anything else. They have grown to love each other in their own way, of course, and they are in a better situation now, but they could not have known it would turn out that way. They did what they had to for the sake of their families and themselves, and it is time I do the same.” 

“Love matches are rare,” you murmured. “And even if I were granted the opportunity… I would not deserve it.”

Anthony shook his head. “Do not say that.” 

“It is the truth,” you said, letting out yet another humorless laugh. “I have been horrible to my mother when all she has ever wanted is a better life for me than she had. I have fought her for every step of the way for no other reason than my hubris and the dim belief that I deserved different than everyone else simply because I wanted it, no matter what the greater good was. How can that not be selfish, Anthony?” 

“You do not have to do this,” he insisted. “You said you dreamed of unmarried life! You told me your fantasies of escaping from society, of living on your own and depending on no one but yourself. You are willing to give all of that up, just like that?”

“I was a fool for ever doing so!” you exclaimed. “Anthony, this world is hard enough on its own for married women — what do you think will become of my family if I do not marry? What do you think will become of me?”

“But you are strong.” Anthony leaned forward, his brow knit in determination. “You are strong, and intelligent, and fully capable of managing on your own. Spinster brand be damned, if it is what you wish, you will flourish completely!”

“Will I?” you questioned, and you gestured at yourself. “I am bound to this room of my own doing because I refused to see the truth of the world around me. I was young and naive to believe I could achieve anything of the sort I dreamed of without consequences, and I will be naive no longer.”

“If you insist on marrying, at least find somebody else,” Anthony begged. “You will be miserable for the rest of your life if you marry Jonathan Cardew.” 

“I cannot afford to marry for love, my lord,” you said simply, “and even if I could find a man who loved me, I could never love them back. I would not force anyone into a marriage they did not want, not when…” You trailed off, the words catching in your throat.

You shook your head, choking them down. “It is not important.”

“Please do not marry him,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I beg of you.” 

“Then who should I marry?” you asked, almost brazenly. “Who should I marry, if not him? I am certainly not one for options.”

You did not know what you wanted Anthony to say. To marry him? That he felt the same for you as you did for him? That, while you were indeed a fool for falling for him, he was one as well. That he would not leave you, not now, nor ever. 

But instead he just stared at you with those dark brown eyes that even now could make you melt, a million emotions brewing inside of them yet none of them being given an outlet. 

“I do not know,” he murmured, and your heart sank. “But I beg of you, do not let it be him.”

“It is not your decision to make,” you said quietly. “Soon I will be engaged to Lord Cardew, and I will be out of your life.”

There was an underlying desperation in Anthony’s eyes as he looked at you now, that storm of emotions thundering inside of him begging to be expressed. “I do not want you out of my life.”

The words felt like poison leaving your lips. “You do not have a choice.” 

Before Anthony could protest any further, you stood up and looked over at your lady’s maid. “Please escort Lord Bridgerton outside. I wish to be alone.” 

“My lady, are you—” 

“Julia,” you said, your voice strained, “please.” 

She nodded and she gestured for Anthony towards the door, but he did not move a centimeter.

Anthony said your name with such pain that you could not even stand to look at him, the inside of your lip drawn so tightly between your teeth that you could taste blood all in the effort to prevent tears from emerging.

“Do not make this harder than it has to be,” you whispered. “I beg of you, Anthony.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” Julia said quietly, “please obey my lady’s wishes.”

He stared at you with desperation before he finally nodded and walked out the door, Julia closing it behind him. 

You screwed your eyes shut as you dug the heels of your palms into your forehead, letting out a frustrated sob as your hands dropped back down. The pinpricks of tears were already starting, and while you were thankful you were alone, you already longed for Anthony’s presence. 

You wished, more than ever, that things could be how they used to be. You wished you’d never even made this ridiculous deal with him—then you would not be in such pain, yearning for a man you could never have while the reputation of you and your family was destroyed and your life fell to pieces around you. You could not do a single thing about it, and you could not blame a single soul for it other than yourself. 

You’d never felt so useless.

-

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. pls dont ask to be added because i do not do tag lists anymore!! follow me or rb the masterlist or something idk @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart @seninjakitey @vlodi @arianagrandes-things @preciousbabypeter @youraliendaddo @stupidlittlebei @illuminwtesz @eringaitskill @otheliesstuff @users09 @chloepluto1306 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @m-rae23 @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @diemdurantia @theyoungestchild0w0 @mschievousx @alwaysreading1019 @ibelieveindragons141 @pretzywetzy

[toms-cherry-trees]

Thrilling Chase || Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: All the girls want him. One does not. And he wants her

Word Count: 1551

Warnings: Not really. Aemond being a bit more of book Aemond than show Aemond and being overall annoyed with life

Author’s note: I dreamt this plot Sunday night and spend the entire day racking my brains to turn it into a fic. Please let me know about any errors, I am still polishing my English. Also this Aemond I am not sure I got the characterization right but I liked how it turned out. And remember I interact from @finite--incantatem

The ball is being hosted with the purpose of celebrating Aegon’s nameday. What better way to celebrate the anniversary of his birth than being surrounded by fine drinks and lovely ladies, a field full of flower buds for him to pick and spoil? Aemond can barely stand the frivolous pomp and pageantry, the ass kissing lords showering his brother and father in banal pleasantries and praises, as if any one of them paid any heed to such flummery; one too inebriated to care and the other unable to hear anything above his own wheezing. 

Aemond has tried to excuse himself three times before the feast has even been served; as dutiful as he could be, even he has a limit, and his limit has been long surpassed by this insufferable event. But his weak spot has overcome his distaste, in the form of his gentle mother, who implores him to play the part for the evening. His sweet mother, who does everything in her power for the family to present a united front, all while sweeping the shambles behind the drapes. Only for her happiness is he willing to endure this foolery.

He hoped that chatting up some minor lordlings and not yawning before them would be enough to fulfil his obligations; but he has not accounted for the unwanted feminine attention. Aemond thought his physical imperfections and his downright hostile demeanour would be enough to ward off the ladies, but he could not deny the facts; as the eldest bachelor in the family, he remains a coveted prize to whom lords would offer their daughters in silver trays. He can vividly imagine them, ambitious men whispering in the ears of their girls and urging them to employ any means necessary to get in Aemond’s good graces. Only then could he explain the parade of fair maidens, all of them more adorned than carnival horses, showering him with their candid smiles and their coy giggles, batting their eyelashes and hinting most cunningly how much they would love to dance. They all seem to ask the same pre thought and bland questions; if one more lady asks to ever see Vhagar, Aemond would go and bring her down to the hall for them to see up close and personal.

Just when he hopes he has done enough to please his mother and the crowds, the first dances begin. One look from the Queen deters his efforts to flee the scene; without word, he has been reminded that his duty has yet to conclude. But Aemond would much rather eat Aegon’s toes than be found dancing with a lady. All his dexterity and gracefulness in the sparring yard do not translate to his waltzing skills; while he could be fast and silent and slippery in the face of the enemy, at the tune of the strings he possesses the elegance of a rotting tomato left in the sun.

The Prince knows the second he sets foot into the dance floor, he will be swarmed with adoring girls. But he cares not for them, since he has already set his eye on one. Just like the others she is burdened by golds and silks and stones, but unlike them, she carries her adornments with such grace and dignity that the opulence of her garments only brings forth her natural beauty.

There is something in her, something unidentifiable and unexplainable, that makes her so…so alluring. It may be the way her lips hold a perennially ineffable smile, so subtle one cannot truly tell it is there, but the mere possibility of its existence is enough to entice the mind. 

It could also be her hands. Aemond cannot stop staring at them, from the way her fingers curl around the stem of the goblet, to the particular way they bend when she holds onto the pendant hanging from a fine gold chain around her neck, a subtle move that occurs whenever a young man engages her in conversation. Her left hand holds delicately onto a small fan, although its purpose seems to add to her aura of mysticism rather than keep her cool; her face disappears behind it whenever her smile becomes too wide, only her piercing eyes remaining visible, keeping her expressions unreadable, a most intriguing secret.

Only the greatest artists of the country, working for years on the best of marbles, could even dare to come close to resembling her splendour. The figure of the Maiden brought to life, and that would be a most dashing compliment - for the Goddess.

If he is to dance, he must dance with her.

He cuts through the crowd, moving past wide-eyed ladies and squeezing around dancing couples with one objective in mind. She is right there, standing near the pillar bearing the image of King Jaehaerys. She is alone, and she saw him coming. The proximity of the prey has Aemond on edge, muscles tense and ready to pounce. A man cuts his way, and he pushes him aside vigorously, but it is too late. Her figure has disappeared amongst the crowd like a vision.

Aemond spots her again a few minutes later, near the massive gates of the hall. Once more he approaches her, but he is distracted by his mother asking something, and once more loses his chance. The process repeats several times, with her always standing just at his fingertips but never close enough to grasp, her presence so real yet also so unsubstantial he begins to think he is trapped in a vivid dream.  

The Prince is well damn tempted to just order everyone but her out of the chamber, but there is something in the chase, the subtle yet invigorating excitement of the pursuit, the way his pupil is blown wide and his jaw set in concentration. A sensation he has only ever experienced while wielding his sword in the training yards or soaring the skies with his dragon. An unexplainable elation, all due to this little dove who keeps flying away.

Aemond groans in frustration as she evades him once more. How can she be so fast and nimble while wearing a heavy gown? Are the Seven playing a wicked game on him, fate holding the prize above his head just out of reach? He does not care now for dancing nor pleasing his mother. This is a matter of pride; to go through all these obstacles to drop out mid-hunt would be shameful and disappointing. 

She is now across the room, now more easily visible due to the dwindling crowds. She is looking straight at him, half her face obscured by her fan. But she pulls it down softly, painfully slow, and Aemond’s heart beats frantically in his chest, like he is witnessing the unveiling of the world’s greatest mystery. The fan rests lightly on her chin, and she rewards the prince with a cunning smirk.

She is doing it on purpose.

It all makes sense now. How could he be so stupid not to realise she has been playing the game alongside him? Evading him and taunting him, letting him think he had her and then slipping away like sand. This newfound knowledge spurs his desires. He needs to have her close, needs to know who she is and why is she doing this to him. His decorum and self-control slips away as a new feeling blooms within him. A warmth blooming in the depths of his body and spreading through his body. The more he cannot have her, the more he wants her. She may be akin to the image of the Maiden, but Aemond is sure the deity has never evoked the thoughts now crossing his mind, nor has any other woman ever before. 

Determined to sate his curiosity, and perhaps some other lowly needs, he makes a straight line for her. She does not move nor backs out, and he can already feel the silk of her dress under his fingertips and the scent of her perfume in his nose. He doesn’t understand where the primal urge to crash his lips against hers stem from, but he is ready to give in to that urge as well.

His marching is cut abruptly by the colliding of his body against a long table. He had been so focused and lost, so unlike himself, that he paid no attention to anything or anyone around him, his vision like a tunnel focused upon her. The table is so long he would have to wander half the hall to circumvent it, and he still has enough hold of his wits to know it would be improper to vault over it or slide under the tablecloth. They are so close, yet the brief distance is unbreachable for the time being. 

His eye meet hers, the mischief dancing in her pupils. The corners of those soft lips tug just a bit more, sly and bewitching. She backs away slowly, the fan coming up once more to shield her face. She turns around and disappears behind a column amidst the rustle of stiffened skirts and the tinkling of her bracelets

Defeat overcomes the Prince, but a smirk spreads across his own lips. He has not given up the chase; he is just giving the dove a head start before the hunt resumes. 

[fan-goddess]

aemond + sex pollen + getting caught + public sex 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

aemond is betrothed to reader (who he only v recently met after she comes to KL), they had no intentions to bed each other before the wedding bc honor ofc it’s aemond lol but the pollen gets them and they dont even get to make it out of the gardens before they started getting freaky 😭

Authors Note: oooh great idea nonnie i like how you think! The setting is similar to the small garden with the gods wood tree, but it’s A LOT more secluded than that. Plus changed Aemonds morals a little but it’s still the same man we know and love ❤️

Warnings: P in v sex, public, getting caught, praise kink, breeding kink, praise, degrading, mentions of aegon being bad, alicent shows up surprise! (I know I’ve missed a lot let me know what though so I can add them!)

Taglist: @sofiyathecunt, @marvelgirl123, @sylasthegrim, @arcielee, @mochi-rose, @valeskafics, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity, @omgbrcat, @lovelykhaleesiii

Ever since you were a young girl, your duty had all you’d ever been taught.

It was what your whole childhood had been preparing you for. Your septa’s had taught you what you must do to make t your husband happy and content with you, whilst your mother had insisted on taking on the role of teaching you the acts of the marital bed.

It was graphic, how she told you that you must simply lay there and allow the man to enter you, allowing him to do whatever it took to for him to impregnate you.

It was those teachings alone that haunted you for days when you were informed of your newest betrothal to the young Targaryen prince.

You had heard the gossip of the eldest prince Aegon. How maids that were assigned to his quarters left mere months later with not only a coin purse, but a swollen stomach hidden under their dress too.

It’s probably was why you found yourself as shocked as you were when you met the prince Aemond, and fell in love with him as deeply as you did.

When you kissed him one late night in the depths of the library, it felt like everything was right. Aemonds hands felt perfect as they held your waist and chin respectively as he could. Yet no matter how disrespectfully you wish for him to hold you, your duty once again held a tight grip on both of your senses.

You knew that the morning after your wedding night, the bed would be checked to see if you had bled. And if you haven’t, you would bring a great shame and dishonour on your house, no doubt passing onto your own family you and Aemond would create.

So no matter how deliciously sinful it is to feel Aemonds lips on yours, that addictive forbidden feeling of his hands beginning to roam your body in between the tall bookshelves flowing through your veins, you know your duty as of now holds you hostage.

“Aemond, we-we cannot do this here…” You murmur between kisses and heavy breaths, trying your best to keep your composure as you lean away, only for Aemond to immediately follow your head with his own eager lips.

“Please my love... just five more minutes alone with you... then I will be satisfied. I swear it!”

“You swore you’d be satisfied nearly an hour ago my dragon! You’re never satisfied whatever it is you do! Whether it is your books, your training, and now even me it seems!” You grin, biting your swollen bottom lip in a teasing motion that only makes out betrothed more undone as he groans slightly in frustration.

“I am a prince of the realm! I could easily demand there be no checking of your blood!” It is almost amusing how desperate Aemond looks in that moment. His eye blown wide as he looks at you. His lips nearly swollen like your own. Even his cheeks now a deep shade of red.

“Aemond my love, it is because you are a prince of the realm that they check my Maidenhead!” You laugh lightly, stepping away from Aemonds heaving form that leans on the space you stepped from.

“I-I’m sorry darling. The moment got away from me… I will see you in the morn. Do you wish to break fast together? I could tell the chefs to prepare your favourite?”

“Aemond my love, we have broken fast together for nearly two weeks now! You must spend more time with your family before your mother believes I’m taking you away from them!” You laugh, intending for a small joke, only Aemond looks serious as he responds.

“I don’t care. You’re my family too. Married yet or not.” It leaves a heavy blush on your cheeks as you move to kiss his scar with devotion.

It takes the two of you a while, but eventually you find your own ways back to your respective chambers, where the both of you much to your respective guards reliefs, stay till the next morning.

Aemond to his chagrin meets with his family, while you dine with your own.

Your mother can’t help herself but talk eagerly on the debates of your wedding. What colour gown you shall wear and what food will no doubt be at the feast. But instead all you can think of, is meeting your betrothed later that day in the gardens, just as he suggested before the two of you parted.

Eventually you escape your mothers questions, and when you make your way to the gardens, you can’t help but admire the bright flowers as you walked past.

You turn your head, and when you spot Aemond standing there smiling by the godswood tree as he watched you, you can’t help but smile seeing the small bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“Here you go my love. They’re flowers newly shipped from Lys, that have not even had the grace to sit in Westeros soil yet. I thought you deserved the first bouquet of them before anyone else…”

“Well thank you darling…” You smile, grinning slightly at Aemonds out of character bashfulness before leaning forward slightly and sniffing the bright flowers.

Only, you can’t help but gasp slightly when you’re suddenly hit with a strange smell. One akin to dark chocolate and a slight tinge of salt. It was odd, given what it was you were smelling, but what’s even stranger is that you find yourself already addicted to it within mere seconds. Already eager to bury your head into the arrangement and practically live there in order to smell that delightful thing as much as you could.

The only reason you find yourself not, is because Aemond quickly takes the bouquet out of your hands to sniff it himself.

Only when you see his eye widen and look at you, you can practically see it turn from a light lilac to a dark shade of purple, and you realise it’s not just you whose affected by the strange aroma.

“My love… I wish I could be sorry for what I am about to do, but I’m not.” Is all he says, before dropping the arrangement somewhere and shoving you against the tree, his lips eagerly connecting with yours in a passionate embrace.

Yet even with the vow of keeping your honour and your maidenhead screaming at you in your head, the feeling of Aemonds hands roaming your entire body is doing something to you that you cannot help but embrace wholeheartedly.

Your own hands eagerly take grasp of Aemonds hair and tugs, allowing a deep groan of his to practically resonate throughout your whole body.

“Aemond…” You murmur, “I want this. So much… but are you sure?”

He growls as he speaks, as if taken over by some other being, and you can’t deny how it makes your smallclothes feel strangely sticky and wet against your skin, and how much you like it.

“Of course I am ñuha jorrāelagon… but I must say that with what is coursing through my veins, I will not be gentle with you, like how I know you would enjoy. I will be rough, and animalistic. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Yes Aemond… I think I am able to handle all that… and more-“

You don’t even get to finish, as Aemond takes ahold of your face and kisses you harsher than he ever has done before. His teeth clash against yours, and you almost swear you can feel a tinge of blood on your tongue as he forces his and your own to move in some strange type of dance.

It’s so intense that feeling, that you don’t even realise entirely when Aemond rips the front of your dress open, allowing your front body to be revealed to him whilst you shiver slightly at the cold. Though you begin to quickly warm up when Aemond hot mouth leaves wet kisses all gone the length of your chest, trailing all the way to your breast that heave under the harshness of your sudden breaths.

“Good girl… what a good fucking girl I have for me to marry, and fuck my seed into…”

You whimper, and it all seems to turn into a sort of heavenly haze.

The taste of his lips on yours are like pure heaven, and his touch feels almost sinful as his fingers tweak and kneed at your breasts with hunger.

It’s only worse when he practically rips your soaked through smallclothes from your body, and stops a moment to smell them. The sight alone shocking you whilst you hang your mouth open in surprised arousal, a small breathless sound you don’t even realise you’re making being all you can say in that moment in response.

When he stuffs them in his pocket though and quickly undoes his leather trousers, allowing them to fall to the floor, the desperation in your entire body making you feel as if on fire when you catch sight of his cock, which smacks against his belly with a slight wet sound.

“Do you wish for it wife? Do you wish for me to fuck you senseless and fill you with my seed, until all you can feel is me? Until you’re stomach is swollen with our babe? Our heir?”

You’re breathless, but you don’t know what else to be. All you can focus on, is him, and nothing else.

When you nod your head enthusiastically though to his question, his brows furrow in some type of anger, and quick apologises and pleas spill from your mouth.

“I’m sorry husband, yes yes yes please fill me with your seed! I want all of kingslanding to know who is my lord husband, and who has claimed me as theirs! I want your cum dripping down my thighs and to remain inside of me until a child is born from us! Please husband allow me to carry your heir!”

Your pleas certainly seem to affective, as Aemond releases a roguish growl of approval and quickly moves to position his weeping almost pretty looking cock at your entrance, before looking at your face carefully whilst he inserts himself slowly.

You can feel your face scrunch in a painful way whilst you make a wounded sound, but Aemonds soothing touch and words make you preen so much you almost find yourself forgetting about it all.

“Doing so good for me ñuha ābrazȳrys… my sweet wife’s going to be dripping of me…”

You let out a broken moan, and yet in Aemonds eye it is too loud, as he swallows it with his own mouth. His tongue prying you lips open and practically dancing with yours.

He ruts into you like a madman, the thrusts having no true rhythm as he allows himself only to have his mind sink into the feeling of pleasure only you can give him. The feeling that consumes him better than anything in the world.

It’s deadly, and hot, and sinful, which is why it is such an addictive thing to be feeling at that moment as he groans into your mouth. The frantic rutting of his hips becoming somehow more manic as you feel his cock throb deep inside your heat.

However, such an addictive thing is dangerous, as when Aemonds grip on your upper thighs tighten to become near bruising whilst his cock spasms slightly as he groans in completion, your own face hidden in the sweaty curve of his neck as you feel your own walls tightening around him. However, the sudden realisation of a voice being heard, leaves your eyes suddenly widening in horror.

It’s a shrill feminine voice that speaks. “What in the seven is going on here!”

You can feel Aemonds spent still hot in your womb, aswell as your own juices dripping down your naked legs, which is why it is so horrifying to turn your head to see who the voice belongs to, and make eyes with the queen. Who stands before you and Aemond with a stern and scared face, her eyes seemingly unable to continue to stare at the scene before her as they look to the sky.

You and Aemond quickly move to correct yourselves, even though that feeling of desire in yours and his’ bodies almost seem to force you to want to continue. Though the shame quite forcibly overwhelms it.

It’s overwhelming in fact, when you attempt to make yourself modest and realise Aemonds eager attempts to caress you made it so the front of your dress is ruined. It’s even worse when you quickly realise you have no smallclothes to stop the trail of Aemonds spent flowing down your thighs.

An almost amused expression taking over him when he sees your dilemma, and an even stranger reaction seems to take over him when his mother turns her back for a second and he flashes you a glimpse of your smallclothes from his trousers pocket.

“I have excused Aegons debauchery for many years, and for it to go unpunished-“ The queen starts as she can now finally look at the two of you, her hands fiddling with themselves whilst she does so in what can be described as a nervous manner. “Which is why I cannot allow this sort of thing to go unpunished now with you Aemond. I would have never of suspected this of you my son, and this is the reason I feel so shameful of you. I expect this of Aegon, not you.”

You turn to your betrothed, and the man flashing you a view of your smallclothes with a smile on his face is gone. What instead stands beside you is a grim faced gentleman, who is an image of solemness and dishonour. It is obvious how much the queens words have affected him, no matter how much you know he’ll deny it later.

“I shall make it so that the two of yours betrothal to be hastened. As quick as moon tea is to be made and drunk, we cannot allow gossip to be weaves into our already, dare I even say it, hellish society. Is next month too quick? I only say as as much as the two of you would like to deny, it only takes one time to conceive a babe. That much your brother has proven to me…”

The queens words shake you, and yet when you meet Aemonds own anxious gaze, the two of you cannot help but nod heads in agreement.

“Splendid! I do believe this soured castle is in need of a happy day or two…” The queen smiles, almost looking lost in thought for a moment at the idea, before walking away without a glance behind her. Allowing the two of you to stand in the seriousness of the moment.

Aemond turns to you with sorrow, and you almost find yourself gasping in shock when he begins to get on his knees and grasps his hands on yours. “My love… I am so sorry! I have dishonoured you greatly with what was supposed to be a gift, which I why I completely understand if you wish to-“

“Aemond my dragon, you must not be sorry! We both had been struck with whatever was in those dreaded flowers! Yet it does not matter now! I love you, my dragon, and this will not change that…” You kneel with him in the dirt, and it’s like his whole personality changes, as he pulls you into a deep hug and buries his face in your neck.

Your hands move to cup his head where it lays, and you almost swear you can feel the fabric of your dress dampen with possible tears. But you say nothing to spare him the embarrassment. Instead, you allow him to stay there.

Your dragon, your Aemond, will always be safe in your arms.

[bumblinv]

I desperately need baby daddy Neteyam with twins. DESPERATELY

--- papa of two ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

neteyam x f!metkayinan!mate!reader

your journey of raising your two little twins together. reader and teyam both on their early 20s

a/n ; love this man sm i got carried away writing this, hope you enjoy reading this the same as how much i love writing this piece!!

your stomach is a little crowded, dear sister

what do you mean? 

maybe it was the way you tilt your head to the side, or your clueless gaze into his cloudy orbs, or the way you look so innocently curios. what ever it was, it made honäk burst into laughter

his previous loving, gentle clicks to inspect your belly turned to a streak of high-pitched whines. you grumbled. both your biological and spirit brother, both take joy at mocking you

oh, my sweet sister, and her tsiki-sized brain

stop, brother, i am no fool

you are, he chuckles, how come you not notice your two younglings inside?

you coughed,

bubbles erupting from your mouth so violently you swam to the surface. instinctively rubbing your face from utter disbelieve as water came prickling down your braids. you phant loudly. honäk's teasing whines echoed even from the depths, laughing at your mate as he joined you soon after

"we... two, two babies... twins..."

his breathless, uncomprehend whispers of joy shook you back to reality

oh dear mother,

you've got two

                                 ˚ · • . ° .

“morning, my childrens”, neteyam breathes out,

“good morning, dad”

the man let out a chuckle againts your belly, his warm breath tickling your skin made you giggle in return

soft mornings like this really made you fall in love for him all over again. you couldn’t blame yourself, he was so loving

his voice was hoarse and eyes half-lidden, yet every morning, no matter how tired he was, talking to his children were the first thing on his list

“how did you slept?”, you asked him. voice high, mimicking the cheerful voice of a child. it never failed to make neteyam grin lopsidedly, it was like as if he was communicating to his child through you

“your momma and i had a hard time sleeping, sweeties” he sighs, acting like a disappointed father, yet a smile had crept on his lips, “but it’s nothing to worry about, since you two seemed to cannot wait to meet us, hm?”

a gentle kick, 

it made him laugh 

“i know you are excited to meet us, sweeties, but please understand,” he kissed your belly, hands stroking yours, “kicking around and keeping your momma awake at night isn’t too nice. she needs her energy to carry you two around, okay? 

another kick, 

he looks up to you, smiling so happily, “i think they understand” 

“this one’s more energetic than the other,”, you giggle as you touch the spot where your baby had kicked, “reminds me so much of ao’nung and lo’ak”  

“no, they’re just like their momma” 

“oh, teyam”, you giggled as his hand went up, cupping your cheek with his warm hand ever so lovingly. his gaze soft on yours

“i’m being serious, love”, he kissed your temple, a soft smile crept through his lips, “they’re just like their mother, a bundle of energy who loves to cause a little bit of trouble”

you rolled your eyes, scoffing playfully, “at least i’m not the person taking the olo’eyktan’s daughter ikran-riding to a quiet beach” 

“its great for field research”  

“field research? at night?”, you raise an eyebrow to him, giggling as he bites down his lips. his smart remarks died down, wich you found amusing

“sorry babies, your tough papa’s just avoiding your grammpa tonowari, he’s afraid he would get his butt whipped” 

“children, don’t listen to her. i was fifteen” he sighs, shaking his head like a disappointed father, eyes turned to you,

“they aren’t even born yet and you’ve ruined my image” 

you giggle at his words, looking up as his ears shot down, “oh, teyam”, you grab his hand, intertwining them on yours. your attention now back to your belly, smiling softly as you place the man’s hand on your warm skin, 

“but the moment your dad went through his rite of passage,” you started, guiding his hand to rub on your stomach, “when he got home on his first ever tsurak, the first thing he did was to invite my parents to have dinner with us” 

“olo’eyktan tonowari and tsahik ronal, i ask for your permission to mate with your daughter”, neteyam says proudly, a wide smile on his lips

your gaze soften. you recognize that smile

it was the same, determined and sure smile he gave to your parents the moment he said those very words, two years ago

“and that, children, was how i became you papa” 

                                                ˚ · • . ° .

aside from your fluffy and soft mornings of waking next to him, some mornings left you dumbfounded

like this morning,

it was the first time in a few months you awaken to the throaty gawks of seagulls by your window. usually they won’t show up for another hour or 5,

and the warmth radiated from the sun, you weren’t used to it. usually, the first thing that greets you the moment you wake was the silver and dimmed light of the moon

but the thought that bothered you the most was how peaceful your sleep was

it was too peaceful that it felt....

off

there were no crying, no wailing. no dirty diapers to clean. it was a quiet night, except the faint cry you heard between your sleep

your brows scrunched,

a faint cry you barely heard

quickly to turn your head to the side, and oh...

oh dear eywa,

your heart dropped

“teyam? neteyam!” 

you jumped, scrambling clumsily to your feet as you frantically called for your mate. every single drop of sleepiness, all died as you hurriedly slide off the layers of blanket and pillows littering your empty bed,

“neteyam! the babies’ gone!” 

you cannot think straight, your mind was spinning. causing all sort of thought flooding in, 

awa’atlu was quiet. but there could be a chance that there were a kidnapper running around, or maybe it was a hungry tsurak (you admitted you really did think too far), or the thought of the past few years were a mere lucid dream, 

that you were just dreaming of marrying the love of your life, having beautiful little twins together. and this morning were the moment when you had finally waken up from that dream,

and thank eywa,

it wasn’t

pay and Ììum were very much real, who turned out to be sleeping peacefully on the hands of their father

you gaze to your sleeping mate, dumbfounded

it was a peculiar morning indeed

you face palmed yourself mentally, of course you hadn’t notice them, neteyam had slept on the floor of the darkest corner of your marui, completely wasted. his face looking up, his neck stretching in an awkward position so that his head could rest on the marui’s thin walls

“mawey… mawey ma’itan”

he blabbered as soon as Ììum cooed in his sleep,

you couldn’t help but chuckle as neteyam began reciting in what you think was supposed to be an omaticayan lulluaby, wich he always sang his children to sleep

it was barely recognizable, all the lyrics were jumbled up together with no melody whatsoever. he sang it out of pure instinct

you sit down next to him, after quietly cleaning up his successful attempt to comfort his babies. empty milk bottles, fluffy blankets, all littered around his feet

ever so gently, you remove pay from his left arm. and just like you thought, she remained asleep

once you get her all comfortable in your hold, with your right hand, you move your lover’s head to rest on your shoulder. you couldn’t bear having his neck hurting by sleeping in that way

“Ììum cried all night”, neteyam blabbers, “pay did too, cause he was cyin’ too loud and disturbin her sleep” 

you smile dearly, kissing your lover on his forehead

“thanks for helping me, teyam”

“anythin for you, yawne”

[tojisun]

dunno where this came from bc i honestly just wanted a short ramble and not smthn long but here we are :'D this is an extension from my rambling yesterday about simon x reader but it's a dowry of blood au (brides of dracula retelling). i havent finished the book yet tbh but if ur planning on reading it, i do just wanna give a warning that it's dark and prose-heavy

cw: death/massacre; blood drinking; vampire-turning and stuff; inaccurate references to dracula lore

the village is gone. burnt. fire crackles amidst the broken hymns of the dead—they don't sing, not anymore of course, but their losses are catastrophic. you never realized how the apocalypse could be so loud.

you stand at the centre of the chaos, bloodied. bruised. ruined. the lone survivor.

the only one who was lucky enough to be saved.

brought out from the pyre, you were dragged into the shadowed corners and hidden from the pillagers who slaughtered everyone you loved and everyone you knew. you shook in your grief, screams erupting from the base of your throat, but all were silenced by an ice-cold palm over your mouth.

"shh, little one," he said. the first of his words; the first of his kindness. "you must be quiet."

your fury sputtered into anguish, the loss descending to you like the first drop of snow. tears spring from your strained eyes, staining even his hand; you did not know how to compress the bloating agony that was pressing into your lungs. your only comfort was that he seemed to favour you enough to keep you safe, even if just for a moment. 

rain had fallen by then—it seemed like it knew that tragedy had struck this little place. it extinguished enough of the fire, washing away the smell of ashes and leaving only the pungence of iron. blood.

with it, your adrenaline wore off, and you began to feel the extent of your pain. of course, you were not unscathed, but you didn’t expect your body to be so brittle. 

you fell, tumbling into the muddy ground and right before his feet. you croaked in pain, lungs constricting. it was becoming a lot more difficult to breathe, to speak. you wondered why death came to you slowly.

he knelt down by your side, cold hand brushing away at your dirty hair. he was speaking to you softly, words passing through his lips in soft lilts. you struggled to hear him, your ears ringing, numb, as your mind pulsed in your skull.

you groaned, begging him to stop. to go away. you had nothing to pay him back with, nothing to entertain him, so you told him just as much. you told him to let you die in silence because how else could he save you?

“that is troubling,” was all he said, his words were rumbled from the depths of his chest like he hadn't used his voice in eons. 

you peeled your eyes open, wondering what it must be that he was after, then you finally saw what he was—pale skin gleaming underneath the moonlight with eyes dark like wine. he was not a human. he couldn’t have been one.

your mother told you tales of the wicked. of those cursed and abandoned by the almighty father—she told you of their beauty, of their wealth, of their hunger.

(they do not know how to love, she said as she tucked you underneath your sheets. they only know how to deceive.)

your body locked, heart congested with fear—your body knew then, didn’t it? that this being that held you close was far more terrifying than the invaders. that your body survived the fire, the greed of humanity, only to be devoured by the devil.

“please,” you whimpered, the will to live burning inside you once again. you didn’t care about the pillagers, you didn’t want their mercy, but this being. this creature of the dark, oh how you craved his clemency.

“please, save me.”

“i cannot save you,” he said. 

his hand fell to your throat, grasping it gently, almost reverently. he swiped his thumb along the expanse of your skin to feel the way you swallowed. 

“but i can help.”

you tried to reply, to beg once more, but the words could not be sounded out, your throat having been too ruined for any prayer. you shook with your desperation, turning your eyes to him to express your ragged hope. you prayed that he may see your plea. you prayed that he may bless you with his curse.

he smiled, fangs glinting before your eyes. then, he murmured, “of course.”

(mama? how do you know when your prayers are answered?

well, sometimes it starts off painful.

painful?

yes, little star. but then, it becomes euphoric. freeing. good suffering.)

his teeth tore into your skin, ripping apart the muscles as it hunted for the blood. you screamed, throat scratching at the intensity of your pain; it was unbearable, burning unlike that of fire, scalding as it slithered down your very being. something was happening then. something unholy. 

you were being remade. reshaped. taken apart one bloodied fragment at a time.

you felt like you were at the precipice of death, so close to the edge and into eternal damnation, but he would not let you. chained to his hunger, your body writhed underneath the extent of his power; burning. burning. burning.

he was your new pyre. 

he was hell.

you begged for anything to subdue the pain; for a touch kinder, warmer; for the ceasing of it all. 

and it did.

his lips left the sensitive patch of your neck, pulling away with a hummed smile as though it were ambrosia he was sucking out of you. you stared at his lips, stained with your blood, and, within a fraction of a heartbeat, unrelenting hunger coursed through you.

you yowled, your mind heavy and your body sore. you felt lost; you felt like you were drained and left as nothing but a shell of what you once were.

“good. that’s good,” he crooned, his eyes wrinkled in his joy. “this hunger is proof of your new life.”

he brought his wrist to his lips and bit into his own skin. the first puncture oozed out with blood; you watched it pool, beading, before it trickled down the length of his arm. your throat constricted, tongue heavy all of a sudden in your mouth.

a taste. you craved for a taste.

he smiled as he pressed his wrist to your lips. “go on,” he murmured. “drink.”

you were delirious, or you must be, for you to have listened to him—your weak hands grasped at his wounded arm, pulling it closer to your maw.

you drank. 

that experience of having the first drop on your tongue was indescribable. it was like you have never eaten before; like you have never been fed. never been nourished.

it was like anything that sustained you before had been erased from your memories; you don’t remember the taste of your mother’s cooking anymore, nor the sweets that your grandmother brought home with her for you on occasions when her mistress remembered to reward her, nor the milk from your father’s cows. 

every sweet memory was washed away by the blood pouring down your throat; every gulp a sinister promise of what would be irreversible.

your body sang, skin mending itself, and bones healing underneath torn muscles. numbness filtered in—it had never felt like salvation before.

lost in your new paradise, you didn't notice as your saviour cupped your cheek once more. his touch was gentle. it was kind.

he leant forward and kissed your forehead—a reward for surviving.

“my name’s simon,” he whispered, nuzzling you. “and you will be my bride, won’t you, my dark miracle?”

your mouth left his arm, reluctant but necessary, because even before he said his name, you knew he was your master. you knew that in exchange for this new life he’s cursed you with, you were to be obedient to him no matter what. 

you nodded, breathless and ragged.

“yes, my lord.”

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

All Kinds of Trouble

Alfie Solomons x Reader, Fluff, 1.2k words

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: Hi guys!! Ok so maybe hiatus is over? I'm trying to be gentle with myself and not hold myself to high standards in posting schedules. Again, therapy and Bar prep are a lot to handle rn, but I was able to do this little piece! This is based of a request sent in by my sweet friend @jassiefayee !!!! I hope you enjoy this angel!! Anyway, love you all so much! Have an amazing day!

Alfie didn’t find peace in many things. The business and all. Made him toss and turn at night, and in the daylight caused him to explode from the pure idiocy of people around him.

But walks in the park with Cyril? Now that gave him peace. With Cyril by his side, anyone who may have wanted to cause trouble stayed far away. Cyril’s imposing stature and mean looking face kept many men looking to scrap at bay, but little did they know that Cyril was by far the sweetest dog in Camden. And the fresh air did Alfie good. Being out in the park, feeling the breeze, hearing children and birds milling about created a sort of temple for him. A quiet place for him to let his mind rest, talk to himself (or God if he had a particular question), or just hum to the beat of Cyril's paws on the ground. This was his rest. This was his peace.

Now it should be noted, that one of the reasons that Alfie loved this particular park was that it was free of distractions for both him and Cyril. While Cyril was a very sweet and good natured dog who hardly ever caused an unnecessary ruckus, he was still a dog. And dogs have this strange habit, if not fantastic ability, to completely change the course of their owner's life.

So it was during a brisk walk on a fine November day where Alfie was suddenly pulled with all the force of heaven’s angels by Cyril’s lead through the park. And just as quick as he was yanked he was halted, nearly tripping over his boots and coat, and falling into Cyril and what might possibly be one of those treacherous angels.

It had become a relatively new habit for you to take a few moments of your day to sit in the park. Whether strolling, reading, or simply listening to the music of the city, you found the meditative state you entered in the park particularly divine. Spending all day cooped up in the house was not doing anyone any favors, and your mother insisted that you look at the sky, breathe in fresh air, or do something to get your energy out. And you enjoyed the respite from your family’s eyes and ears, and the view you caught of other people’s comings and goings. Often making up stories for the familiar faces that passed your eyes.

You had seen Mr. Solomons and his a dog before. It was hard to miss them. Both imposing. Even if Mr. Solomons wasn’t physically too tall, the air in which he carried himself made him seem absolutely monstrous. And the dog he walked along with came with a silent stature to match. When you mentioned to your mother that Mr. Solomons frequented your park, she all but forbid you to go to the park again. He was dangerous. A brute. Nothing good was associated with him. He was an animal. Damned.

Everyone in Camden had a story about Mr. Solomons. Even if they personally had never met him, they knew someone who knew someone who had crossed his path and suffered greatly. Fewer than those who crossed his path, were the women who had the pleasure of spending an evening with him. Demanding. Particular. Incredibly cross with hardly a smile crossing his firm mouth and creased brow. You had heard them all, many a time. And each time you heard the stories more fantastical and gory and outrageous they became. From the way the neighbors spoke of him, he might has well been an ogre who ate good men for supper. A confidant of the devil himself.

Yet those stories never deterred you from letting your eyes wander over to him when he made his way to the park. Surely observing doesn’t damn one’s soul right? And wondering if stories are true surely cannot condemn. Besides, he was never close enough to truly make a difference. A glance and gaze and thought were all that you experienced with the fearsome King of Camden. Until this afternoon, when that monstrous dog came charging at you with a gleeful and slobbery smile. And for whatever reason you never moved from your seat. You stayed planted on your spot on the bench, waiting for whatever was to come. And your supposed attack was merely a disgusting kiss to the neck and chin from the dog, and happy pants from it as well. It’s master, cursing and bellowing at hundred pound puppy who was uninterested in the threats of its flustered master.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the reddened face of Mr. Solomons, clearly out of breathe from the exertion of the sudden chase. “Mr. Solomons are you quite alright? Do you need to sit?”

“Hmm? No, no don’t worry about me angel, m’fine. This damn dog knows better than to run full force in a park. You alright love? Hope Cyril didn’t scare ya.”

You smiled warmly at him, and he was convinced he must have died in the chase and gone to Heaven. Your sweet eyes and tempting lips all too pretty to be here in Camden. You scratched Cyril’s ears before answering, "Oh no Mr. Solomons, I'm fine. Cyril here is very very sweet."

"Now treacle, I think I'm at a disadvantage. Don't like that at all me. Now how is it yeah, that you know my name and now my dog's name... but I don't get to know your name sweetness?"

With a quirked brow you answer, "Oh Mr. Solomons, everyone knows your name. The ferocious King of Camden, and his demon dog. Lots of tales about you Mr. Solomons.”

Alfie allowed himself a smile at your cheek, “Lots of stories eh? Which one is your favorite?”

“The one where you bested the devil himself in a game of chess and won the keys to hell.”

Alfie made himself comfortable next to you on the bench, making sure that his thigh touched yours, “Is that so? Your mum tell you that little one?”

You shook your head, “No sir. She told me I wasn’t to go near you.”

“And yet here you are, talking to bad men. Tsk tsk tsk. Naughty ain’t you?”

“It’s fun to be naughty sometimes. Don’t you agree Mr. Solomons?”

Alfie couldn’t help but bring his shiny rings to your cheek, taking stock of your face. You never flinched away, keeping fiery eyes locked on his. He hummed a tune you didn’t know, and stated, “There’s an opera tonight at 8. You’ll come with me. Wear something nice.”

“I don’t go to operas with strange men.”

“I don’t go to operas with strange women. Yet here we are sweet. I thought you liked being naughty.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his brazenness. In truth, you couldn’t believe you allowed yourself to get this far. But it was too delicious to let go now. “You’ll pick me up on the corner of 10th and Victoria? At 6pm.”

“Now what will I do with you for two hours before the play treacle?”

You shrugged, “Show me how the King of Camden has a good night.”

Alfie laughed heartily, “Fuck me you really are a bad little thing aren’t you. Alright sweetness, I’ll pick you up there at 6. And let’s see what we can get up to.”

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: “she’s a bastard—‘innit the truth, mother?”

warnings: explicit language. angst. much angst. nothing but angst. i cannot stress it enough.

notes: well this is rather unfortunate.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

The raven arrives at nightfall, at an hour so late that only Aemond is awake to accept it. The princeling could not find sleep that night, instead rolling off the bed and crossing the chambers to his windows, before pulling back the heavy tapestries and throwing them open one by one.

The cool air is a welcoming feeling to his feverish skin, hot to the touch from hours of lovemaking under the sheets.

He stands facing the darkness, naked and at utter peace, in pure happiness. His precious girl sleeps soundly behind him, with the thick furs pulled up to her chin, hiding the most of her beneath the blankets. She is so utterly beautiful in the moonlight. It’s been three long months since his sons were born, and Aemond was beginning to hope his seed would again take. His loins ache at the thought, and he fights the sudden urge to slip in between her thighs. Perhaps she’d give him a daughter this time.

In his dreams, she wears her mother’s face, in a gown of Targaryen colors with a dragon hatchling sitting on her shoulder. She pokes him awake in the morning, and pleads for a quick ride atop Vhagar before grandmother arrives to begin her history lessons.

His daughter has his love’s eyes and smile, he thinks again, and her nose scrunches up in the same way hers does.  

I want it.

He shakes his head.

Let her rest, you fool.

When the black raven arrives at his windowpane, he is a bit confused. He waves the bird away before it could make another squawk, and stares down at the scroll taken from it, eying the blood-red ribbon tied into a pretty, tight knot around. In his head, he weighs the choices in taking it as his own. Should he…? Or should he not? His curiosity clashes with his righteousness.

Aemond decides to, in the end.

He takes the scroll to his desk, quietly lighting a small candle before taking a seat and unrolling it out to read. The writing is in pretty cursive yet smells of cheap ink, with a slight smudge staining the edge of the paper. It is addressed to his handmaid, he realizes, starting with her name that leads to a sweet congratulations on her newfound motherhood. Twins, your uncle had said. How marvelous to hear. I hope to meet them soon, my dear.

With all the love in this lifetime—your mother, Alys Rivers.

“With all the love in this lifetime,” he repeats aloud, shaking his head, refusing to believe. His fingers tighten around the letter, the tips turning a jarring white. “Your mother, Alys Rivers.”

Aemond then glares up at the woman lying in his bed, a bitter twist on his mouth. She shifts a little bit beneath his gaze, but remains relaxed and asleep and blissfully ignorant of the rising anger sparking deep inside him.

Who is she? For the first time since he met her, he asks himself that.

He should’ve suspected this.

“A bastard, Lord Beesbury, mothered by the daughter of a milk cow.”  

Aemond turns away from her, back to the darkness outside.

Her mother is a bastard rivers woman, it seems. At least that is how it reads. Alys Rivers. She carries no man’s last name in her letter. What is her daughter, if not the same as her? He picks at his mind, trying to remember if she ever mentioned her father. Aemond returns to staring up at the moon and the white stars blinking high above in the midnight sky.

He suddenly feels no desire to return to bed with her tonight.

But she is the mother of your children, his mind argues, and it leaves him irritated.

She’s given him two heirs, his first-born children, beautiful twin boys that are mirrors to their own father, himself. And the daughter he’s dreamt of…But…they’re bastards too, he then reminds himself. You love them the same way you love her, do not lie to yourself. It was not enough to ease his thoughts, and reason with him, and stop the ugly bitterness from rising in his throat.

Damn her.

Aemond stuffs the letter inside one of the desk drawers, not wishing to lay eyes on it again. Maybe he’ll burn it later in the day. He then shrugs on his robe, tying it around his waist, before leaving the room. She’ll wake up in the morning, and search for his hand buried within the sheets. When she realizes she is alone in the bed, he knows she will pout before readying to tend to her babies, like the mother he’s made her into.

Damn her.

Then she will move on to her responsibilities, like the silly, dumb handmaid she is.

Damn her.

That is all she should’ve remained, Aemond thinks, curiously calm as he strides down the hallway. He doesn’t know where he is going, but he knows he will not return this night. Bastards never amount to anything else.  

Aemond hasn’t spoken to her in three days, dismissing his handmaid from his bedchamber before he retires for the evening. She no longer fetches his hot baths or crawls beneath the blankets with him. He hasn’t allowed it. He avoids the nursey too, where he knows his twin sons sleep in their cots, too young to notice their father’s absence. Aemond walks the halls of the Red Keep, as he has walked a thousand times before, but disregards all the rooms where he knows her presence painfully lingers.

She does not fight nor question him. He knows she won’t.

“Aemond.”

He hears her voice in his slumber, always- sometimes in a breathless whisper, and most times in a scream, or a whimper, or an anguished howl. She always manages to find him, following him into his dreams and nightmares and antagonizing him into insanity. Her shadow stands over his bed. And around her neck dangles the sapphire necklace, while her pretty eyes weep both tears and blood.

“Aemond, please!” she cries, bawling up the sides of her dress in her fist. The plain cloth is stained in dried blood, splashed across her belly and thighs. “Aemond, please, I need you, husband!”

“AEMOND.”

This time tonight, it causes Aemond Targaryen to jerk upright, pulled from a horrible nightmare that still clouds his thoughts. The sheets are tangled between his fingers, and his heart is heaving heavily within his breast. He hears her voice echoing, begging for her husband. “Aemond.” His attention quickly darts to the door, where his mother stands, tall and regal and noticeably pissed. She calls his name again loudly. Although still groggy, he stumbles his way towards her.  

His mother does not greet him. Instead, her brown eyes remain on his empty bed, skimming across the sheets and the way the heavy fur blanket nearly hangs off the foot of his bed. He must’ve kicked it off him during his sleep.

She frowns at the sight, before looking back at him.

“So it is true, then.”

Aemond rubs at his eye, tilting his head in confusion. “What is true, mother?”

“That she hasn’t been seen in your room for the past three days; instead, she’s returned to her old room across the castle, where the other maids sleep. Three days, and three nights.” His mother spoke in anger, yet her face remained a mask that betrayed nothing. It is one thing he greatly admired about her, in the same way it terrified him the most. “And you haven’t visited your sons as well, I’m told.”

He flushes. “I’ve been busy,” he grumbles, shifting on his bare feet. “I’ll see them tomorrow, in the morning after we break fast together.”

“Tomorrow? You’ll see them tomorrow? AEMOND!” she shouts, incredulous. Her hair hangs loosely around her face, and she pushes a thick strand behind her right ear. “You wanted these babies so badly, and yet you are beginning to neglect them before their second nameday. Have you lost all fucking sense?!”

Aemond bites his tongue in an attempt to keep his own temper from flaring up in response to her yelling. He says nothing in return, which he knows only upsets his mother further.

“What has happened, Aemond?” she asks. “This is unlike you. You love those boys, and that girl too.”

“Nothing,” he says, a bit too quickly. “Nothing has happened. I’ve simply been too busy to play anymore games with her.”

“Games? Games?! That is all shit,” his mother blazes. “Utter shit. Do not begin to take me as a fucking fool, Aemond. I am not your father, and I am not your brother, and eldest sister either. Now you tell me, boy, what has happened.”

Aemond sighs. “She’s a bastard—‘innit the truth, mother?” He meets her eyes and feels his poor heart sinking at the silent shock that instantly falls across her features and the way she makes no move to deny it. “A bastard.” Saying it aloud, it makes him wish to return to his bed, and curl up in his sheets, completely hidden from this cruel world that damned him to fall in love with a stupid bastard girl. “A damn, no good, bastard girl from Harrehnal—”

But he is then cut off by a sharp backhand blow to the side of his face that quickly sends him stumbling two steps back, almost falling hard against the wall. Aemond holds his cheek, breath hitching as he brushes a tender finger against the already reddening skin that he knows will surely show a dark bruise on the morrow. It feels hot, and it stings. He looks up at his mother, who has never hit him before.

“How dare you speak of her in such a way,” she spits, purpled with rage. Her hand twitches at her side, as if she itches to slap him again. He deserves it, he thinks. “HOW DARE YOU. She is the mother of your children, and you dare behold her with such loathing venom?”

“AND YOU DID NOT THINK TO TELL ME BEFOREHAND?” he shouts back, half hurt from the realization that she watched him fall smitten with the bastard, and never thought to tell him the truth. “She is the cousin of those bastards that took my eye, their own blood!”

“And? It is the truth, yes, that she is a riverlands bastard, born to a woman at Harrenhal. Lord Larys is her true uncle, who brought her to us at my request. But damn you, Aemond, that girl is so fucking in love with you.”

All his words fall stuck in his throat, and he fails to push them out.

“Have you nothing more to say?”

His queen mother sniffs when he says nothing, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. Perhaps it is best she drinks the moon tea, lest she gives you another child that you won’t love nor appreciate because of its mother’s unfortunate bastardy.” Aemond remains silent, and her mouth drops into another scowl. “You lied to me when you promised that you would never be your father or Aegon.”

I am not, he wants to scream out. His knees buckle in weakness at her cruel words, and the sheer disappointment laced within them. It hurts worse than her slap.

I love her so much, I swear, and my boys too. I love anything she gives me, and I promise…I promise…I promise…

“You, Aemond, carry their eyes and hair and nose, everyone can see. But I know the truth now—you carry their pig attitude as well,” she remarks, pushing herself toward him. “I’ll send her back to her mother, I promise, and find another handmaid for you, one that is to your liking.”  

She says not another word, instead turning to the houseguard that had accompanied her to his hall. “I’m tired. Please help me back to my bedchamber,” she asks, pressing her fingertips against his temple. “I would appreciate such, my good knight.”

His mother leaves him silent and still, sad and scared and helpless and heartbroken, staring down at his toes as they grow damp from his tears.

tag list for "his handmaid's tales": @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @avidreader73 @the-common-cowgirl @inlovewithhisblueeyes @elegantsplendour @katzarantos @fan-goddess @okfashionista @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @mochimommy2002 @fangirlninja67 @iiamthehybrid @bellstwd @katzarantos @crazymusicgirl104

taglist for everything aemond: @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @moonteas @chompchompluke

[babygirl-riley]

I was thinking of this, if you'd be willing to write it, something based on "Redeemer" by Palaye Royale where simon's s/o is depressed and suicidal... it's ok if you don't want to thanks anyway luv ya<3

Every Step

Reader is struggling with their mental illness

A/N: This is a HUGE trigger warning, if you cannot read any sort of suicide please do not read. It gets dark in this one. And Anon! This really broke me, this song really just wow! Beautiful and damn sad. Good one 🖤

“Will you please pick up the phone?And I'm waiting for you to come home. And I'm screaming all on my own”

Warnings: suicide attempt, thoughts of suicide, depression, anxiety, mentions of anxiety attack, mental breakdowns, angst, soft!simon, husband!simon

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst

You sat curled in the corner of your bedroom. Everything seemed to fall apart in the last 5 months. You had a job you loved just to be let go due to company being bought, your rent was becoming overdue for a month, job hunting going South, your family starting to become more distant after the death of your mother, and Simon and you have been at each others throats.

You have tried to just smile and move on, that life will eventually piece itself back together. Mask your true self-feelings. Even when Simon had been around it was ‘fake it to you make it.’ Little to your knowledge that he noticed, mind you, it wasn’t always your fault when starting fights. However, it was most. He would ask what was the matter and you would blow up.

You never mean to, never wanted to, that’s just how it goes when you get into these ruts. Just not too long ago you and Simon fought, it wasn’t pretty both things from each other were said that shouldn’t have been. Not meant. It got to the point where

Simon left the house, didn’t say a word and left.

You threw things, punched things, broke things. Now you are here, curled up with bloody knuckles and a stained red teared face. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there. Everything ran through your mind of what was going on. What has been happening. Your mind trailing to dark places. It started to panic you slowly, things you have never thought of before.

You thought about ways to make yourself not here anymore. Ways to make the pain go away. You thought how everyone around you would be better off than to handle a bitchy person. Simon would. Your parents would. You friends would. No one truly thought of you as important or loved. You were only loved because it was an inconvenience to them.

You looked at your bathroom and thought about all the pills that were stacked inside the cabinet. Sleep then not wake up. That would be the best way. No pain. You got up to walk to the bathroom, mind racing on how rude and feeling like you have been fake. You shut and locked the door, grabbing each bottle and opening them.

You heard a soft knock on the door then the handle moving. “Love, let me in,” Simon started to put things together, he didn’t hear the water but he did hear pills. Panic rushed through his veins. “Open this door now.” He was stern yet soft at the same time. That’s when he heard the soft crying.

Simon backed up to kick the door. One. Twice. And it slammed open, he scanned the room as you were in the corner in the bathtub. He looked at the pill bottles and froze. Empty. He stormed towards you with panic on his face. “How many!”

You cried even harder. You shook your head, as he grabbed your cheeks gently yet firm. “Y/N how fucking many!”

You looked at him your tears spilling harder. “None! I threw them down the drain!” Simon stood up quickly to look in the sink, the cover go on the drain open.

You sobbed harder as Simon inhaled deeply. He walked to you and gently picked you up. You leaned more into his chest and sobbed harder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You kept repeating.

Simon hushed you softly as he placed you on the bed with him following. Laying your head on his lap while he used his fingers to comb through your hair. You just sobbed and sobbed, it felt like hours until you were able to stop. It was silent. Dead silent.

Simon inhaled deeply. “What made you want to take ‘em?”

You sniffled a bit. “I don’t know.”

Simon’s heart hurt before remembering all the phone calls. All the ones he missed just to think it could have been your last. He knew that you were going through something, he tried to be there but you seem to push it off or push him away. “I don’t think anyone would miss me,” His mind lost track of his thoughts when you mumbled those words. “I have been so angry, so upset, and so not happy. I just thought that you and everyone else would be better off without me.” Your voice choked at the end as you sobbed again.

Simon felt his chest tighten, looking at his band on his ring finger. For better and for worse right? He couldn’t fathom the world without the woman he married. Has the last couple of months been hard? Yeah but both of you said in your vows, you would always be with each other. “Baby, I couldn’t live without you. It would-it would kill me.” Simon said softly feeling his throat closing. Softly gliding his finger over your stained cheek. “I’m sorry you felt like you weren’t loved or shown differently.”

You sighed as you started to calm down. “It’s not your fault.”

Simon slowly shifted you to look up from him from his lap. You could tell the worry and hurt in his eyes. The emotion that you caused, he frowned like he read your mind. “I think we should call your therapist.” Simon suggested softly rubbing your arm with one of hands.

You rolled your eyes sitting up, your back towards him. “I don’t need to see her. I can…”

“Baby you attempted...” He said his voice breaking a bit before sighing, he saw your shoulders tense then soften. He gently rubbed your shoulder. “Please.”

You nodded slowly as he heard sniffling. He stepped up and walked over to you kneeling in front of you. Simon’s expression softened even more as he watched you cry again. He rubbed his thumbs against your knees. You sighed and wiped your eyes. “I will call her tomorrow. Can you be next to me while I do so?”

Simon smiled and nodded. “‘ll even dial her up.” You half smiled and nodded placing a hand on his. “Let’s get food?”

You nodded and looked out in the hallway. “Can we eat in here and watch tv?”

Simon stood up and kissed your forehead closing his eyes. “Of ‘ourse.” He stood back having his hand on your cheek before grabbing out his phone. He glanced over at the door and the scene that was once live. His heart tightened. Simon will fight whatever demons you have, he won’t lose you. In sickness and health. He will be there every step of the way.

[crystalskiesandcherrywine]

And all the pieces fall, right into place // Part One

So Feyd Rautha is still on my mind and that’s my second try of writing about him and an Artreides!Reader.

This will get smutty later on, but not in this chapter.

Summary: As the Princess of House Atreides, you don’t shy away from what ever must be done for your family. Your impending union with a Harkonnen, though anticipated, doesn't unsettle you. However, the events take an unforeseen twist, placing your fate on a precarious edge. This sudden shift brings about consequences far beyond what you could have ever envisioned.

English is not my first language.

All feedback is welcome <3

Part two // Part Three

----------------------

There are so many songs that make me think of our favorite psychotic Harkonnen, but I stick with „Found“ by ††† (Crosses) for now.

_____________

Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

FxM

1.349 words

___________________

The dim light wandered through the corridor, veiling most of the space into a velvety dark. The earthy brown and green tapestry on the wall illumined ever so slightly by the flowing arms along the wall. But even if there would be no light, you know the way by heart, having followed it more times than you can remember. Your feet shuffled along the floor, finally stopping at a closed door almost hidden at the end of the passage. Before your knuckles can touch the polished wood, a slight gap appears.

„You are late“ Paul says, and pulls you in, closing the door behind you at once.

„Well, you can take it up with our Father. I love him with all my heart, but with him being in the library for so long there was no chance of getting past him earlier“ 

„He seems to spend an awful amount of time there nowadays“ Paul muses and lets himself fall on a cushion on the floor. 

„That’s true. I believe he hides from Mother.“

Both of you cannot suppress a laugh. Since Lady Jessica is with child she seems quite easily irritated with everyone, especially with the Duke. 

„Well, at least she will have a new baby to take care of when we are gone“ 

„Let's drink to that“ Paul says, and produces a bottle of wine and two glasses from a cupboard. 

The liquid is the perfect ruby color, reflecting the light on the walls. It feels like all of your home planet has been distilled into the glass in your hand: the sweetness of the sunshine rays, the vibrancy of the hills covered in forests, the deepness of mountain lakes you wandered with Paul & Duncan, the acidity of the soreness after training with Gurney and the light twinge of bitterness of the goodbyes Paul and you were to say so soon. 

„We have about a fortnight still“ he says, as if reading your mind. 

„How about you stay out of my thoughts, “ you reply, but there is no sharpness to it. He is right, your future is about to unfold, but now you are here still, far away from the harsh and unforgiving Giedi Prime where the man you were promised to awaits.

„I really should go there and tell them off“ Your father sighs, his eyes still resting on the book he has had for half an hour without reading a single word. 

„And what good would it do? Let them, they will need the memories to sustain them through what’s to come“ Lady Jessica says with a benevolent smile. 

Her hand rests on her belly, instantly protective of the new life. But she feels the same unease as the Duke, with hints of trouble in the air being almost tangible to her. 

_______

You regret the last cup when you wake up the next morning. Your mouth feels dry and ashy, your head throbbing. Your handmaidens say nothing, but a vial with medicine is placed wordlessly on your nightstand. You gulp it down and rush to the private dining room, where your mother and Paul are already there. 

A servant plates some bread on your plate but is dismissed by Lady Jessica with a stern look. 

„No, please. Not now“ you whine „ We practised for so much already“ 

Lady Jessicas looks at you sternly „And yet there is a need for more“.

Your eyes wander to your brother 

„Don’t look at me for help. I had earned my breakfast already“

With a sigh, you sit upright and focus on your mother

„Give me the plate“

Like in a trance, her hands move as she grabs the plate from the servants' hands and puts it next to you. 

„Good, now what else do you want?“ 

_______

Days pass by in training, between the library and the combat space, with afternoons free for you and Paul to do as you please. To sit at the cliff just outside your ancestral fortress, with seagulls rushing over your head, while you look at the waves crashing at the shore is something you cannot believe to be able to leave without. The hours spent in comfortable silence are so precious to you that you almost can’t find back the tears prickling in your eyes. A servant comes running to you one of those afternoons, visibly distressed. 

„My Lord, my Lady“ he finally gets out between snapping for air „You are requested at the guest hall at once. Please come“ Paul and you get up, exchanging a glance. In the hall, the fireplace is lit and everything is a buzz with servants carrying silver plates, candles and chairs. Your father stands next to the fire, his hands clasped behind his back with the message scroll he holds so tightly his knuckles are almost white. He turns around, and his expression is carefully neutral.

„There has been news for you today, my children. Paul, you are to leave for Arraki with me in a week. We will meet the Fremen delegation there and your wedding is to take place in Arrakeen. You, my daughter, however, will be gathered by Baron Vladimir Harkonnen and Na Baron Feyd Rautha here. Baron Vladimir and his nephews will arrive the day after tomorrow. They will take you to Giedi Prime after the wedding“ 

Paul seems as confused as you are. You were to travel as a family to Giedi Prime so that your wedding could commence after Na Baron's Birthday celebrations. But now he and his family make the effort and spice to travel to your home. This news leaves you puzzled and unsettled. „Now go to Lady Jessica at once“ he says and with a bow of your head, you rush to her chambers. 

Lady Jessica seems calm, compared to you. But she has years of Bene Desserts training that you are yet to acquire. She holds out her hands to both of you. „Something is not right“ she admits, „but there is nothing to gain in worrying now. We have too much to do“ 

And with this, your packing begins.

_____

Metal plate touches the ground with a soft thud, revealing a row of Harkonnens soldiers, all in their full combat gear, looking out of place in the middle of the green field their vessel landed on. „Quite a show“ Paul signs to you and gets a „Behave now“ as a reaction from your mother. 

They march in unison and behind them a grotesque floating figure is revealed, followed by multiple tubes, connected to dark glass orbs. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen floats, with his drape touching the ground and collecting the morning dew on the edges of it. His face is soft and plump but also full of hardness, small eyes beading at you with a hostility you cannot understand. Glossu Rabban, a mountain of muscle, follows slightly behind him, glancing between your family and the surroundings. Light breeze reaches you, carrying the smell of the sea foam and shells and raising the banners of your House behind you even higher. You lift your chin a bit, trying to mirror it and your gaze falls on the man next to Glossu. His skin is so fair that it looks like snow on a mountaintop, unblemished and almost sparkling. His uniform is tight, with black leather at his shoulders, knees and boots, which only makes his skin more striking. You are aware of his reputation, so his calm pace doesn’t fool you. Behind this facade of tranquillity is a person who is rumored to be the most ruthless soldier in the known universe. His eyes seem to look straight at your parents when suddenly his head turns to you and his dark blue eyes meet yours. For a split second, the corner of your mouth twitches nervously and he catches that, causing a hint of a smile on his face. He doesn’t look away as if to test you, so you try to withhold his gaze with the same amount of pride. His lips form a proper smile now, with the promise of a story yet to begin.

________

to be continued ...

[pirateprincessblog]

Cry For Me 》 P. Seonghwa

I make these to help you visualise! But you are free to imagine whatever you like :)

NEW! Read the ongoing full version on Wattpad!

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔:

One

Two

Three (in progress...)

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: you promised your friend. you asked for forgiveness and gave a promise that you wouldn't even look her father's way. it isn't your fault that you suck at keeping promises. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: psh x reader x khj 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: best friend's father seonghwa, seonghwa's business partner hongjoong, smut, angst, bits of fluff 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, nsfw scenes, unprotected sex, voyeurism, dacryphilia 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: had to include both of my biases :D

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

༻♡༺

The pastry shop was flooded with people. It was Monday, which meant new specials were added to the menu. Your special Butcher of Blaviken piece of cake was long forgotten. You didn't even get a chance to taste the inviting red frosting. Oh, to be in the Witcher world now instead of being lectured by your friend. Henry Cavill would understand.

"You didn't think about it affecting us? You didn't fear about losing me as you did it?"

You're numb to the words. Her father fucked the thoughts out of you and you couldn't seem to feel any guilt in you. Yet, you didn't want to lose her. She was the only one who could keep up with your mood swings and random obsessions with movies and books that come and go. She was the only one that returned the energy you'd give her.

"Damn it, answer me! What the fuck were you thinking? How the fuck did you even manage to do it? He doesn't fuck anyone since mom left!"

People are staring, those sitting getting their chairs closer. Your friend is giving them a free show and they're willing to take it.

"I swear to God-"

"I wasn't thinking." You say, looking directly into her eyes.

"What?"

"I was not," you get closer, making sure not to break eye contact, "thinking."

"How the fuck did it happen? How did you convince him?"

The amount of the word fuck would even impress Geralt- well, you get it. I have an obsession with Henry Cavill. Little fourth wall break here. Okay, let's continue. No more, I promise.

Your calmness is angering her even more. She doesn't seem to understand how unaffected by all of this you are. You don't feel guilt simply because Mr Park agreed to all of it. In fact, you had already given up on your plan. He came to you and started it all over again.

"I was snooping around his library and he came, we hit it off and that's all you need to know."

"He came to you?" She laughs in disbelief.

"He came to the library, not me."

Frustrated, she groans and drops her head on the table. You glance at the cake, the chocolate Wolven sword on top of it as inviting as Mr Park in his unbuttoned shirt.

"Listen, I cannot undo what happened. Truthfully speaking, I wouldn't even if I could."

The girl raises her head, her angered look changing into the one of disappointment. You try putting yourself into her situation. You'd feel hurt, sure. But as long as it is a one-time thing, you're sure you'd get over it. It's not like Mr Park will declare his love to you and make you his new wife and her step mother. And that's what you tell her, causing her to calm down a bit.

"Didn't you make similar comments about Wren's dad? That you'd give him anything he'd ask for, if only he approached you?"

She seems offended that you remembered and mentioned that. Still, she remains calm. Her eyes are fixed behind you, concentrating on the moving line of people that are no longer interested in your conversation.

"It was just a one-time thing. It won't happen-"

"I miss mom."

And just like that, she breaks down. Your heart shatters when the first tear rolls down her cheek. After all, she is still her dad's little girl. And no matter what Mrs Park did, she was still her mother.

"Hey-"

"Just let me do what I need to do." She says, her voice trembling as words left her mouth. "I just need to let it out."

"You sure you want to do that here?" You ask, careful not to make her angry again.

She sits silent for a few moments. Her eyes are fixed on the traffic outside, a tear rolling down her cheeks every other moment. You've never seen her so helpless and vulnerable. She is always collected, calm, and usually the one to cheer people up. Now, when it's your turn, you don't know what to do.

"I could do it in a dressing room at Zara." She laughs, then sniffs. "Want to join me?"

And just how can you say no to her?

It is noon when you enter her house. Both of you are drowning in various bags full of clothes. She is an entirely different person than she was this morning. As if it didn't happen at all. You're watching her as she skillfully carries all her bags up the stairs and into her room. You almost trip and fall multiple times, yet you are determined to get there on your own, without any help. She laughs at you from the top of the stairs, then announces that she is going to take a shower.

You balance the bags in your hands, eyes glued to the marble stairs which shined brighter than diamonds under the expensive chandelier. Once you reach the top of the stairs, you put the items on the floor so you can correct your posture and crack your back. You hear a thump, then shuffling. With horror, you watch as two bags start rolling down the stairs. All of its contents are spilling on the way down, and all you can do is watch and hope they'll stop at some point.

But when they do, they stop in front of a pair of polished black shoes. Your eyes stay fixed on the Victoria's Secret pink bag, somehow hoping that if you're not looking at him, he will disappear. Pale slender fingers come into sight, the pointer finger hooked under the handle of the bag. Your eyes follow as he raises it to his head level.

"I think you might've dropped something." He speaks first.

You're not sure what to say. Or do. So you continue to stand like a deer on a highway, your feet refusing to move. Since you're already staring, you take a few more moments to admire the changes on him. His hair is darker than the last time, and not as fluffy. His lips have a red tint, and you notice a slight shadow at the corners of his eyes. He is wearing a black turtleneck, paired with perfectly ironed pants and a belt. He is effortlessly perfect.

He chuckles, then bends over to pick up the items laying on the white tiles. Your legs and brain finally make a signal, and you are running down to yank the items away from him. Your movements are rushed and clumsy, and all the clothes are landing outside the bag instead of inside it. From the corner of your eyes, you realise that he has stopped helping. Instead, he is standing again, his attention now on something else.

You wish the ground could swallow you. A piece of fabric lays on his delicate fingers, thumb caressing the lace as a smirk forms on his tinted lips. He is holding your newest holiday edition lingerie set. It is as red as your cheeks right now, and if you didn't look away, you're sure your head would've exploded from embarrassment.

"Good deal on the set?"

You're not sure if he is trying to lighten the obviously awkward situation, or if he is making fun of you. After all, he is standing there, dripping in designer clothes and looking classier than you. Yet you're standing there, dripping in clumsy and tacky.

"I would never buy something so ugly for a full price." You manage to mumble, then reach for the fabric.

"Ugly? I don't think it's ugly." He pulls his hand away, "It's very... Well, it screams Christmas. And only ten dollars for a full set?"

Unable to read his expression and tone, you stay frozen. You feel so small in front of him. The tone is tugging towards mockery more than towards harmless joking, and you're not feeling comfortable. Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, your lip slightly trembling. You're a mess, standing in your scattered lingerie and paper bags, in front of your friend's hot father who isn't making you feel as good as last time you saw him.

"Can I please have my things back?" You manage to ask, voice cracking at the end.

His smile drops. The man takes a few moments to examine your body language, and once he realises what he has done, he puts the items in the bags. He takes his time to pick them up one by one, not once looking up at you.

Your sniffles echo through the room, and you're trying your best not to let the tears smear this little makeup you have left on your face. You still have to look a bit decent. Park Seonghwa is now holding the bags in front of you, patiently waiting for you to take them. You carefully soak in the tears with the sleeve of your top. Your eyes avoid his as you reach out to take your belongings. The slight brush of his cold fingers against yours has your stomach going on a rollercoaster. You remember how they felt against your lips as he touched you. You manage to look into his eyes, this time not looking away immediately. You wish to repeat the guilty pleasure. The way he looks down at you makes you want to drop on your knees and give him just what he deserves.

"That look is going to get us both into trouble again, kitten." He whispers.

Still focused on trying not to cry, you don't realise that you are pouting and looking at him through wet eyelashes. He gulps, then glances behind you. He then steps towards you, until you can feel his comforting warm breath on your face.

"That smeared mascara is giving me deja vu."

You immediately remember what he is referring to.

"Will you let me smear that pretty makeup of yours?"

So he gets off to smeared makeup. Ironic, since he always looks so neat and fresh. Not only him, but every area around him too. Your breath hitches as he brings his hand to your cheek, thumb ever so lightly grazing the skin where your tear had started the journey. He wipes it, then brings it over to his mouth. He closes his lips around the thumb, and you see his tongue peeking out a bit to lick the salty liquid off the tip. You are too taken aback by his action, and now you are the one to get a deja vu.

You stood like this in front of him the last time too, only this time, his fingers aren't in your mouth, but in his.

Maybe you spoke to soon, maybe he could read minds. You didn't know. You could only watch as he brings his thumb to caress your bottom lip, as if asking permission for entrance. You grant it to him, ready to give him anything he asks for.

Your core throbs at the way he sensualy massages your tongue with the finger. You allow yourself to get confident, swirling your tongue around it. He lets out a groan, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

"Don't give me that look, kitten. We can't."

You pull away from his hand, a string of saliva connecting your body parts making both of you feel dazed.

"Then stop fingerfucking my mouth, Sir." You say as politely as you can, tone low with lust.

Before you know it, Mr Park has you slammed against the wall, hands pressed firmly on your waist. You whimper when your back collides with the cold wall, but his actions are quick to distract you. His knee parts your legs, rising a little so that it makes contact with your crotch. You let out a sigh into his mouth, ready to give yourself to him. His fingers press into your cheeks, cupping your jaw so that you can't avoid his gaze. He is looking at you so intensely that you could cum right there on his thigh and knee. The smell of sandalwood and jasmine coming from his neck and chest area is not helping at all. It is inviting, and you don't want to be rude and decline an invitation.

"As much as I'd love nothing more than to fill you up with my cock against this wall right now, until you're staining my wall with your arousal, I'm going to need you to stay away from me."

The tower of fantasies you've slowly started to build suddenly crumbled down under his words. Emotions are erupting inside of you, lust and disappointment merging into each other and creating frustration and sadness. You are sexually frustrated, and this man has done nothing but worsen the situation.

"You'll leave me like this, Mr Park?"

He looks down on your lips, eyebrows furrowed as if thinking about which wire to cut.

Red — the powerful lust growing inside of him. The desire to have you crying under his touch from immense pleasure. The urge to abuse your clit with his tongue until he has you shaking in his arms.

Blue — the fragile relationship with his daughter. He just won her back, and making a fatal mistake like this could mean losing her forever.

Green — harmless flirting and teasing. Messing around and seeing you blush is something he just might get used to.

Park Seonghwa was also very sexually frustrated. But he was also a man with a reputation and half a family. He cannot bring himself to ruin either of the two.

"I want you on your best behaviour, kitten."

You look at him through your lashes again, this time on purpose. His fingers then pull at your hair, exposing your neck to him and causing you to whimper. He looks down at you, and you see yourself in his dilated pupils, drowning in the dark pools of lust.

"I mean it." He says, lips grazing your jaw as he speaks. "Be good for me."

And with that, he steps away from you, giving you one last head to toe checkup. He then turns around and makes his way to the library, leaving you flushed and a mess against the wall. You watch his back as he walks, noticing how huge his shoulders are and how slim his waist is. The things you'd do just to bite into any of those things. If you only had the courage and confidence to seduce him. You can only watch from afar, wishing that he would drop his guard and come to you.

It feels like that evening all over again; him making you yearn for him, then leaving you and disappearing into his space. The promises you gave to your friend are pushed back, and your brain has opened the path doe the thoughts you shouldn't be having. Yet, it's not breaking a promise if he is the one to come to you, is it?

You pick up the bags, this time not letting go of them until you've reached the room. You drop on the bed, face buried into the softest blankets you've ever touched in your life. Your clit is almost pulsating and burning from being all worked up. Touching yourself won't help. It's not the same. You've gotten a taste once, you'll never be able to do it the old way. Park Seonghwa is the only one who can help.

How dare he get so close to you, get you all worked up like that, then tell you to stay away? What kind of sick teasing and torture kinks is he into? Whatever it is, you have already fallen into his trap. You crave him, your body yearns to be touched by his fingers again. Every place on your body he touched on the stairs burns with sensation. You can only let out a frustrated groan before getting up and fixing your hair.

Your eyes examine the abnormally red cheeks and smeared mascara. You looked like you were fucked senseless, not just cornered by your friend's hot father. Although you wish he did the first.

"Professor Gellert gave me this stupid project that needs to be done by tomorrow. I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to— damn. Are you okay?"

The girl comes in while drying her hair with a towel, eyebrows scrunched with worry as she looks at your reflection in the mirror. Your back is turned towards her, and you're having a hard time looking into her eyes. How can you, when in your mind you're picturing Mr Park forcing your head onto his cock as tears run down your cheeks, just how he likes it?

"Are you sick?"

"The stairs killed me." You laugh it off, pointing at the bags.

"Oh, right." She brushes it off, then throws the wet towel into the basket near the bed. "Do you have a dress for the college celebration next week?"

"I'm not going." You say, remembering how many familiar people will show up.

"Why not?"

"I'm going to have a stomachache then."

You don't even have to look up to know that she is killing you with her stare. Both of you know that you will end up going, you just choose to throw a little tantrum before giving in.

"Your dance partner is so excited for you though."

"I forgot whose name I even pulled. Mind reminding me?"

To avoid having people without a pair, all people were supposed to pull out names. You know you weren't too thrilled about it, but you still can't remember who it was.

"Avan? No, he is with Vic. Oh, Joseph!"

"The Catholic boy?" You ask, now realising why you were so unimpressed.

"No, no, the hot Catholic boy. His hair grew since last summer and his teeth are like, super straight and white. He became the hottest thing to ever walk at that college."

A sigh leaves your lips at the realisation that more money will be reduced from your bank account. You can't go looking basic nor weird. People there aren't the nicest little dandelions, and you are very fragile when it comes to real life. You will need a proper dress, proper heels and equally good makeup. Luckily, you know just the person who will help.

Hours of goofing around, working on the project, and a warning to quiet down from Mr Park due to his business video chat, both of you are asleep. You'd lie if you were to say his stern voice didn't do things to you. He was so good at giving orders, and you are willing to take all of them. Both of you were in your matching satin sleeping dresses, laying on your stomach and watching funny moments of your favorite groups, laughing your heads off and making weird noises on purpose. It was a competition, each of you making a weirder and louder noise than the other. A few screams and laughing fits later, Mr Park Seonghwa knocked on the door. He came in calmly, eyeing up both of you.

"Girls, I have an important meeting and I'm trying to win an opportunity to keep our lives the way they are and not lose everything. Yet, here you are, sounding as if I've kidnapped you and am boiling you alive."

Your smile drops, but your friend remains the same. This tells you that him coming in to intervenire happens more often than you'd think. His usually soft and sparkly eyes are now sharp and serious, his eyebrow raised and his tinted lips going slightly downwards. He is still wearing the turtleneck, only this time he has added a grey coat resting on his shoulders.

"Sorry, dad."

His eyes shift to you, and silence swallows the room. You are taken aback by the intense gaze, and your friend nudges you with her elbow.

"S-sorry, da- Mr Park." You stutter, and your face heats up as soon as you finish the sentence. You wish to crawl out the window and disappear in the bushes. Maybe even cry yourself to sleep there.

Your mission is to seduce him, yet how can you succeed when all you do is embarrass yourself in front of him? He must've lost interest. You are convinced that he is your fantasy come to life, and you simply can't let go. You don't want to let go. Not until you get at least one more taste.

To your surprise, he only hums, then exits the room. You hear his footsteps in the distance, then a door being shut louder than usual.

"He's a real dick sometimes."

In the morning, you are awoken by your friend's raspy voice asking for period cramp pills. It takes you a few moments to adjust your eyes to the morning light.

"Where are they?" You mumble, mouth full of toothpaste.

"Your favorite place in this house." She laughs.

You peek outside the little bathroom to ask why she is laughing and what does she mean by that.

"Dad's office."

You roll your eyes, then return to brushing your teeth. Once you make sure to pick on your skin a little, then put on foundation so that your friend doesn't give you a lesson about it, you head outside.

"You'll see a few drawers below his fantasy section. There's all kinds of pills, just bring me the ones we usually use in these days of suffering."

As you approach the room of your favorite memories and dirty pleasures, you hear his voice coming from inside. It sounds lower than usual, and he sounds very professional. He is saying words even you've never heard of. In conclusion, he even talks expensive and sexy.

"Hongjoong, my marketing team is suffering because they took the most important elements from them. Half of the team quit when they heard who is trying to get involved."

You don't want to interrupt, but if you don't get those pills, you're going to be the first victim of the Hormonal Queen Park. You knock lightly, then slowly open the door.

You swear that if your toes didn't hit the wooden door frame as you tried going inside, you'd let out a moan. Mr Park is sitting in his usual chair, wearing a white shirt. It is halfway unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. You see a thin gold chain decorating his sun kissed skin on his neck. His lips are reddish as usual, and his hair isn't as neat as it was yesterday. His jaw rests in his hand, while his other hand is scribbling something on the papers at the corner of his desk.

He doesn't speak. Instead, he raises an eyebrow towards you. You point towards the drawer, then try showing him that you're looking for pills with your hands. He scoffs, then returns to his conversation. Still sleepy, you forget that you are still only wearing the satin lavender dress. It is when the morning cold breeze hits your legs that you realise. You're already here, there's no point in being embarrassed anymore.

Your eyes read the signs at the top of the bookcase. Adult fiction, Criminal, Erotica, Fiction, Horror... and Fantasy! Right behind his back.

Fuck.

Having no other choice, you get down on all four, and start crawling towards the drawers. Mr Park hasn't yet noticed your little mission. He is too frustrated with his ongoing problem to notice a half naked girl crawling on his office floor. You cheer inside your head as you successfully reach the drawers. You pull at the handle, but it doesn't budge.

"You've gotta be kidding me." You sigh, trying with all your strength. The drawer stays closed, and you're already ready to go home.

The only thing left to do is ask Mr Park, but you wouldn't dare to interrupt. Instead, you crawl to his side, careful not to be seen on camera. You're sitting near his leg, looking up at him while figuring out how to ask. You opt for the quietest solution, and you'll see where it gets you. With a quiet gulp and a sigh, you finally reach out towards him. Instead of quietly calling him like you intended, you gently poke his leg under the desk.

The man looks down, eyebrows scrunched with confusion. He almost chokes on his saliva when he sees you, then redirects his attention at the screen.

"Mr Park," you whisper.

"Hongjoong, I'm gonna have to pause the video for a second."

"That's fine, I'll just go through the mails one more time."

You hear a click, then silence. Mr Park grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. You look like a treat, waiting to be picked up and consumed by him. The way your knees have a slight red tint have his mind racing with thoughts.

"Are you crazy?" His tone is calm and low. The grip on your jaw is firm, his fingers pressing into your cheeks and forcing your lips into a pout.

He can't get over how big your pupils have gotten, and how well he can see your cleavage from that position. The sight of your breasts squished together by the shiny satin fabric combined with your pouty stare from the bottom aren't helping his situation at all. How can he hold back when you're sitting there like a present, waiting to be unwrapped and enjoyed? He had countless comparisons, and hundreds of ways he could take care of you. If only he could.

"I just need some pills," you whisper, too mesmerised by his intense gaze to speak in normal voice.

"So you decide to crawl under my desk to ask for it?"

"I'm not—"

"Right, still nothing. I guess we really lost the proof."

The voice is coming from the screen again. A flash of disappointment crosses Park Seonghwa's face. Still, he leans back into his chair, hand still holding your jaw. His grip softens, and he proceeds to caress your cheek with his thumb. The simple action makes you almost purr. You don't remember the last time you got this kind of affection.

With your eyes closed, your body relaxes into his touch. Nothing exists anymore, except Mr Park, his scent and touch. You allow yourself a few moments of silence. The men's voices are becoming distant, and you swear that you could fall asleep just like this. You feel the slight roughness of his fingers, a sign that he aged like fine wine. You remember your father's hands being all rough and dark due to working hard jobs all these years. Seonghwa must've inherited family business. Or he knows how to take care of himself.

You look up at him, chin now resting on his knee. You aren't sure if you want to climb into his lap and take in all the affection he is willing to give you, or get down further under the desk and make him squirm in your hands. Deciding to test the waters, you drag your fingers up his leg, resting them just near his crotch. Mr Park wets his lips, glancing at you for a second. When you see no signs of complaining, you move over so that you're sitting comfortably between his legs. Your hands continue the journey to his belt, excitement rushing through your veins and into your heart as you feel the cold leather underneath your fingertips. You take your time to play with the buckle, just like you read in one of your favorite books.

Just like the man on the worn out pages of your book, Park Seonghwa gulps when you pull the zipper down, just enough to graze him with your nails. You're overflowing with confidence, and you're a little impatient too. But you want to take your time to take care of him. Make him yearn for you just like he did to you. As quietly as possible, you undo his pants, and are delighted when you find out he is wearing no underwear. You reach inside with your tongue, just enough to touch him and make him adjust in his chair.

"You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

Mr Park moves your hands, then pulls his cock out for you. One of his hands is holding onto your hair, gently pushing your head towards it. You don't have time to admire the size or all the little details you wanted. Your lips are pressing against his tip, the taste of precum sweet and salty at the same time.

He is impatient, and in desperate need to feel your hot mouth around him. You obey, finally taking him in and making sure to press your tongue flat against him. Unable to control it, he releases a groan.

"Hwa, you sure you're good?"

"I'm good, I just —" he pauses, looking down at you. How does he tell his business partner and best friend that his daughter's friend looks too good with her mouth stuffed like that? With her tits almost falling out and her pupils so big he just wants to slam his cock into her pussy and fuck her into oblivion?

"Just...? If you're not feeling good, we can continue later. I get this must be very hard for you, but —"

Just when you think you've won, Mr Park shakes his head. "No, no. That's fine. Remember how I told you my daughter wanted a kitten? Well, she's not letting me work in peace."

"Oh, that's adorable. Give her a few pets from me."

Park Seonghwa smirks, then looks down at you. His fingers caress your cheeks, and you melt at the touch. It is a motivation to take him in all the way, slamming the tip against the back of your throat.

"She's a very naughty kitten. I can't seem to get rid of her."

"See, no matter what they do, I'll never be a dog person. I love them so much. Just the sight of one makes me feel all fuzzy."

"Oh, just wait until you see this one."

You freeze in your spot. Seonghwa pulls your head away with a loud pop, and shoves his desk away to expose you. His thumb wipes your drool and his precum from your lips, then proceeds to pull you into his lap so that you're facing the screen. The man on the screen is as frozen as you, and as handsome and Mr Park. His gaze drops on your now exposed breasts, and you see his chest slowing down as he tries to breath normally again.

"A unique one, isn't she?" Seonghwa speaks first, holding your head in place by pulling your hair. You're forced to look at the man, and instead of feeling ashamed, you are only feeling more worked up. "I've never been a cat person, but this one is just so obedient I might actually keep her."

"Well, fuck me. That is one hell of a kitten."

"Come on, love. Why don't we show Hongjoong all the tricks I have taught you?"

You aren't sure what he means, until he lays you on his chest and spreads your legs. Your panties are so drenched, they're almost see through. The man on the screen is devouring you with his stare. Something about both of their gazes and confidence has lit a fire inside of you that cannot be put out. In the corner of the screen, you see your exposed and messy figure spread out on Mr Park's lap, and it only adds up to the atmosphere you are so enjoying.

"Actually, since Hongjoong has more experience with cats, how about he shows us how to perform a some tricks?"

You know he isn't asking, just giving you a trailer of what awaits you. A chuckle comes from the screen, and the man flashes his pearly white teeth at you through a smirk.

"First, you might want to tie her up. You don't want her running away, do you?"

Without hesitation, the man yanks his belt from his pants, and secures it around neck. You are having a hard time breathing. Not because of the belt, but because of the overwhelming feelings mixing inside of you. You've never been manhandled like this, and you are afraid that you might get too used to the feeling of Park Seonghwa doing this to you.

"You still have that wand?"

"Sure do."

Confusion takes over your features, and you can't help but wonder why Hongjoong knew that. Do they do this often? If so, are you just another toy Mr Park is going to play with and leave?

"Relax, kitten." Mr Park seems to notice your sudden discomfort. "Spread your legs for me."

And just like that night, your legs are over the armrests, the wand dangerously close to your clit.

"Having a good view, Kim?"

"A gorgeous one, Park."

Mr Kim leans back on his chair, hands working on his belt but not yet doing anything. It seems he enjoys watching more than doing anything. A sweet vibrating sensation spreads all over your folds, and you cannot help but buck your hips into the toy.

"Make your screen bigger, Seonghwa. So that she can see just how pretty she looks."

The man doesn't pull the gadget away as he changes the screen size, making Hongjoong's the one in the corner and yours taking over the screen. Now you can clearly see yourself; spread on Mr Park's lap, his chin resting on your shoulder, dark eyes looking at you through the camera. His ringed fingers are skillfully moving the toy up and down your clit, while his other hand holds onto the belt, lightly choking you.

"Doesn't moan easily, huh? Try circles."

Mr Park listens, circling the swollen bud with consistent vibrations. You feel like you're going to cum any second, and you don't want to do that so soon.

"Feel good?"

"Yes," you breathe out, holding onto the fabric of his pants as you try your best not to go over the edge.

"Then let us hear it, doll."

No matter how good it felt, it wasn't enough to draw moans from you. "You have to try better than that, then."

A scoff leaves his tinted lips. He brings them close to your neck, just enough to lick a stripe up to your jaw.

"Use your other hand, too."

Mr Kim is so skilled with giving orders. And Mr Park is so good at listening to him. His fingers, which are the prettiest ones you've ever seen in your life, move your panties aside just to slowly thrust between your walls. He explores, wiggling his two fingers inside until he curls them up. With the elbow of the hand which holds the toy, he presses into your lower stomach, making the feeling more intense than ever. He starts pumping into you slow, matching the rhythm of the vibrations.

"I've never seen such an obedient kitten. Look how good she is doing."

"Indeed, she is doing so well. Now, if she could orgasm on my fingers, she would be the best."

"Ngh—" you groan, chasing the orgasm just like he asked you to. You know you can't handle two, but you're willing to try for him. Well, them.

"Come on, pretty girl."

"S-sir—" you cry out, ready to spill over, "I can't—"

"Can't what?" He slows down, moving the wand away for a moment. You take a few seconds to catch your breath. You feel all wet and sticky, but look hotter than ever. You're still unused by him, yet you looked like he has ravished you twice today.

"If I cum now, it'll be too much." You admit, pupils big as you look at him. "I want to cum when you fuck me."

"Spoke too soon about obedience, huh?"

The wicked smirk on the screen lets you know that they won't let you off so easily. Mr Park then slams his lips onto yours, sucking and licking at the plump flesh of your bottom lip as he brings the wand back to your clit. You shake in his lap, feeling a tad bit overstimulated. His other hand holds your thighs separated, but you still try to close them. The warm muscle of his tongue massages yours, and for a moment, you forget about Mr Kim. You forget about your best friend. You wish to wake up like this every day, admired, praised and consumed by him. Your hands reach into his hair, grabbing at the fluffy strands and anything else they can reach.

"That's so fucking hot. I didn't know how sexy you make out, Hwa."

Park Seonghwa smiles into the kiss, and in that moment, you wished to experience it every day. You wished this wasn't just messing around with your friend's dad. Your feelings for him are growing, and you know them well it's forbidden. But how to tell a heart no?

"You're welcome to come over and try these days," he winks at the screen, then shifts his attention back to you. "And just what do we do with you now? Do I make you cum and stop the fun?"

His thumb caresses your flushed cheek. You have a hard time forming a sentence, and all you can do is breathe into his mouth and look at him. His tongue peeks to wet his lips, doing the same to yours in the process.

"You'd rather shamelessly drip all over my pants like this? You just want my daughter to find out?"

Come to think of it, it's weird that she didn't notice your absence. Maybe she gave up. Maybe she went back to sleep. Whatever it is, you've made it clear to her that this is nothing more than just messing around. No romance involved. Even though your heart feels tight at the last sentence, you pretend like it's nothing. All those things you've thought about while touching yourself late at night are coming to life, and you won't try to stop that in any way.

"Mr Park?"

He hums, fingers fixing your hair and eyes scanning your face with adoration. "Yes, pretty girl?"

"Please fuck me."

"When you ask so nicely, how can I say no?" He says with a chuckle, then glances at the screen.

Mr Kim is sat still, looking at everything unfolding in front of him as if he's watching a movie. Or a porn video. His attention is fixed on your breasts, and you allow yourself another moment of confidence. You cup them, rubbing your nipples and squeezing the soft flesh while throwing your head back.

Mr Kim clicks his tongue, then gets closer to the screen. He rests his elbows on the desk, and his head on his hands. "Hwa, give her a little treat from me."

The older man doesn't waste a single second before licking a stripe over your breast. He wraps his lips around your bud of nerves, then proceeds to work his tongue around it. You're squirming in his lap, accidentally stroking him while doing so. He hums into you, the vibrations making you let out the first moan.

"There it is."

You feel so close, but you're too far. Your body is limp, and he hasn't even had you the way he promised yet. As if he could hear your thoughts, Mr Park hooks his fingers under your panties. He grazes over your clit, then pulls the panties down your legs.

"Let's pull a real trick now, kitten."

The man adjusts your body on his lap with ease, and you're too mesmerised by his strength to notice that his cock is at your entrance. It is when he lightly slaps your clit and pulls the belt on your neck that you give him attention.

"Eyes on Hongjoong."

You try to protest, but he grabs your jaw and inserts a finger into your mouth. Your head is now stuck in one position, and you can't avoid Mr Kim's gaze. He has a wicked grin on his face again, and just when you're about to make a stupid remark, Park Seonghwa slowly lifts his hips to enter you. He deliciously fills you up, leaving no space at all. His hot skin is grazing your walls just right, but not yet hitting the spot you need the most.

"Fuck—" he hisses, keeping the slow motions going.

You glance at the corner of the screen, seeing Mr Kim now palming himself through his pants. "You've gotta tell me where you buy these kittens, man."

The man behind you laughs between the moans, but doesn't say anything. He enjoys it as much as you, and isn't bothered to keep any conversations or teasing going. At least you hope so.

He lifts your body up, then moves his hips upwards so that he can move faster. Watching yourself get fucked on the screen by a man your dad's age, while another one watches wasn't quite in your fantasy list. But fuck, you're so happy that it's happening. Your eyes follow Mr Park's cock as it smoothly disappears inside of you, causing you to whine and moan in his arms.

"Think you've teased her enough?"

"Just a bit more." The man whispers, head falling back on the chair and his moves getting sloppy. "Fuck, love, you're gonna make me cum so quick."

You feel like you're dripping all over the place. His cock is soaking up your juices, making wet noises in the process. That, along with his skin hitting yours as he reaches the deepest ends of you, is what will keep you fueled for months. You glance at him through the screen, and you almost cream right there on his cock. Something about fucking in clothes is a huge turn on for you, and seeing Park Seonghwa sprawled out on his chair, with his unbuttoned white shirt and pretty gold jewellery, with his head resting back and eyes rolling from pleasure, with his fingers digging into your skin and hair sticking to his forehead, makes your head spin. You wish to take a picture, and look at it every night just to admire him. His sun kissed chest is exposed more than when you entered the room, and you wish to mark him up so bad. Hopefully, next time.

His hips are going at a slow pace, but deeper than last time. He reaches to all the places inside of you, stroking them all just right. He lifts your body, just to slam it down on his cock and hit your most sensitive spot. A loud moan is halfway out your lips, but he is quick to pull the belt to keep you quiet. He repeats the movements, this time faster and harder.

"Oh, baby," he almost growls under his breath, "making daddy feel so good."

Then, as if something has snapped inside of him, he pushes the chair back and lets it fall back with a thud. His hands push your body down onto the desk, and he grabs your waist like his life depends on it. He adjusts the camera so that Mr Kim can get a clear view of your drooling and flushed face, along with Mr Park's lower body continuously slamming into you. You feel so sensitive, and you haven't orgasmed once yet. Tears form at the corners of your eyes, and you let them fall. You're not sure if you're crying from pleasure or pain, but you didn't want either to stop.

And Park Seonghwa fucking adored it. He adored your face decorated with tears as he took you from behind, forcing you to watch yourself on camera while another stranger is watching you.

"Wish you could see how well you're taking me." He groans. "So fucking good for me."

"Is she taking it like a good girl, Hwa?"

"Oh, she's doing such a good job. Aren't you, love?" He says with a smirk, knowing that you're incapable of speaking.

Your eyes roll back, and you feel like you're going to evaporate. His consistent thrusts are helping you build up the orgasm, and you just know that you're going to cum harder than ever.

"You're fucking her dumb."

"I know. Look at her." Mr Park pulls the belt so that you can lift your head from the desk. Your lips are dry, and you can barely see anymore. Everything is blurry, and you feel nothing but endless pleasure. "Loves being thrown around and used until she cries. Don't you?"

You manage to nod, but quickly go back to moaning and almost drooling all over his desk and keyboard. His hand sneaks towards your clit, toying with it in circles until he has you screaming and almost growling. He is abusing all the sensitive buds on your body he can reach, from you G spot and your clit, to both of your nipples.

"Talk to her, Hwa. Make her speak even though she obviously can't. Make her cry and beg for you."

"Hear that, pretty one? Talk to me. Tell me, who does this pussy belong to?"

You want to kill Mr Kim for giving him the idea of making you talk. All you want to do is cum already. All this teasing is doing you no good. It's becoming addictive, and you just know this won't be the last time.

"Y-you, Sir." You choke out, body still rocking into his.

"Will you take all of my seed like a good girl you are?"

"Fuck, yes, yes, yes—"

"Will you fuck yourself on my cock until you've creamed all over it?"

"Yes, oh fuck, yes—" you groan, moving your hips back so you can fuck yourself on his cock just like he asked you to.

You look at his figure through the screen. His gaze is fixed on the way your tight walls are swallowing him up, and he seems completely mesmerised by it. You use him as you'd use one of those dildos you have saved on a Web shop, milking him just right. His moans are low and the hottest thing you've ever heard in your life. With each minute that passes, his voice becomes lower and much more of a whisper.

His eyes search for yours, and once you lock your gaze with his, you don't let go. You let him fuck you into the desk, with a whole stranger watching. Tears roll down your face, pleasure too intense to take. You groan, moan and whine at each thrust, trying your best to chase your orgasm.

Seeing that you're struggling, he picks you up, only to throw you against the bookshelf. He lifts your leg up, almost resting it on his shoulder. The new angle has you reaching new notes, and he has to stick his fingers into your mouth to keep your noises muffled.

"How cute. Fucking her against the Erotica section."

The shelves shake as Park Seonghwa slams into you, each thrust abusing your G spot so good that you're drooling around his fingers.

"Come on, kitten. Cum on daddy's cock. Milk me dry."

You moan around his fingers, and he takes that as a signal that you're close. He replaces the fingers with his lips, tongue searching for yours only to caress it in the most sensual way ever.

"You close, baby?"

"Yes, yes, yes—"

"Come on, just a bit more. Almost there—"

"Fuck, oh fuck, yes—" Your head falls on his shoulder, hands holding onto them for dear life.

"I'm cumming, love, I'm gonna—" his breathing is heavy, and his moans are now getting high pitched," fuck, oh God, baby—"

You squeeze around him, riding out your orgasm as he paints your walls with his seed. You're weak in his arms as he uses you until the end, making you milk him dry just like he asked. He thrusts into you a few more times, slower and more gentle than ever.

His fingers cup your jaw, lifting your head up so that he can look at you. He wipes your tears with his thumb, then inserts it into his mouth. You can't help but laugh at his wicked kink. He isn't moving away from you. Instead, his lips mold into yours softly. He caresses your cheek as he gently sucks on your lip, occasionally grazing it with his tongue.

"Ah, the aftercare. The best part, honestly."

Park Seonghwa smiles into the kiss for the second time that day, making your heart flutter. "Liar," he mumbles.

He pulls away for a moment, eyes searching your face for any sings of discomfort. When he sees none, he rewards you with another kiss, a kiss so light and comforting that for a second, you really thought he could want something more than just fooling around. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer towards you and deepening the kiss. You're mesmerised by the way he kisses. His scent is all over your body, and his tongue is taking care of yours in ways nobody ever knew.

This time you're the one to pull away, trying to catch some air. He rests his forehead on yours, his heavy breathing comforting on your face.

"I think I'm addicted to you."

You're taken aback by his statement. You're unable to move, or say anything. All you can do is watch as his face turns from calm and content to one of worry and fear.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Only sexually?"

Now he is the one who is taken aback. He didn't quite think about it. Sure, he can't wait to see you. He always checks if you're coming in the house with his daughter. He loves seeing you in your bubble when you eat or speak about your newest fandom.

Ah, shit.

"Let's start differently."

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. The man licks his lips, then sighs. "How does dinner this Saturday sound?"

A laugh escapes your lips, and he follows right after. It takes you a moment to collect yourself, then finally speak.

"That's quite formal for someone who is still balls deep inside of me."

A moan of surprise leaves your body as he thrusts into you, more teasingly than sexually. He then proceeds to pull out, making his seed drip down your legs and onto the carpet.

"Want me to try again now?"

"Not necessary," you finally put your leg down from his shoulder, muscles sore from the new position, "I accept the invitation, Mr Park."

He hums, not bothering to correct your addressing. You were hoping you'd get to call him by his first name. Maybe it's too early. Still, it doesn't stop you from constantly thinking about it.

Seonghwa.

How pretty.

♡

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬:

@scardorosht @kitty4hwa @seokjins-condoms  @variety-is-the-joy-of-life  @rkivesofmymemories @ateezzseonghwaa @bangmechann  @dandelion-aj  @rialovesyunho  @ryleleee  @anoooon13

[mire1li]

You tried to steal my daughter so I'm stealing your mother! part 2

So I actually wasn't planning on a part 2 so soon but here it is LMAO Part 1!

Lucifer was… well, wallowing in pity, to say the least. In the hotel, of course, since he was trying guilt-trip Alastor into letting him spend time with you.

Alastor was obviously just going about his business, whilst Charlie was trying to comfort Lucifer.

It was pretty clear he was being a bit over-dramatic but he does it for one reason: to be able to spend time with you, without Alastor.

Ever since Lucifer told Al about you ‘sneaking out’, Alastor hasn’t left your side for a moment, until now, that is.

He was keeping an eye on Lucifer whilst he sent you to represent him in the Overlords meeting that day, since he was clearly unable to go.

Lucifer, sitting in a corner of the lobby, was now making sobbing noises, which only seemed to irritate Alastor (rightfully so)

“Alright, since I am obligated to… remove trash from the hotel premises, leave” Alastor turned to Lucifer and pointed at the door, to which the demon gasped in an over dramatic way.

“Trash?! Perhaps you should see yourself out then?”

Alastor glared at him, slightly pointing his microphone at him before sighing “I’m quite sure Mother would love to know about you insulting her son~”

“Now hold on, you cannot do that! You started this!”

“Yes and it matters not who began it, but who ended it”

“You’re evil!”

“Yes, thank you!” Alastor replied happily, turning back to what he was doing beforehand.

“Hey, we weren’t done talking!”

“Weren’t we?”

“NO?”

“That’s unfortunate, I just so happen to be very busy”

“You’re literally just standing there”

“Exactly! I’m being productive by not wailing like a child!”

“I’m not-! Ok so maybe I was doing that, but I wouldn’t have to if you just let me be around [Name]!”

“Not in a million years”

“Well, actually-“

“Don’t.”

And then you just so happened to return, in time to see the rest of their little argument! So fun.

At this point, Charlie had given up and left to talk with Angel and Husk at the hotel bar.

“What are you two arguing about this time?” You asked the two demons, who looked quite shocked to see you back so soon.

“Ah, Mother! Is the meeting over?”

“It is! It was quite boring, I must say. I have no idea how you do it, darling”

"Yes, can you believe I have to suffer through that each time?"

"It seems like such a hassle, you poor soul" Lucifer chimed in, naturally, rolling his eyes as he said this.

"Thank you for the compassion."

"Stop that, you two! I don't feel like getting caught in the crossfire of yet another one of your fights" you sighed, moving Alastor away from Lucifer. Sometimes you wondered how Alastor hasn't been murdered by him yet. Clearly some sort of miracle!

"Oh, but Mother! I cannot possibly allow this… scoundrel to take up much of your time!"

"Scoundrel?!" Lucifer screeched, it would be safe to assume he preferred 'Little bird' over 'scoundrel'… but it's not like Alastor cared much! He'd just go ahead and switch between the two.

"Yes, 'scoundrel'! When was the last time you were honest about something?"

"Earlier today before [Name] returned!"

"Are you referring to that insult?"

"Perhaps I am"

"You see, Mother? A true rat, right here! He admitted to insulting me!"

"You started it first though!"

You sighed again, joining Charlie, Angel and Husk at the bar. By this point, it's just the area everyone goes to when Lucifer and Alastor are arguing in the hotel.

"Don't ya deal with that on most days?" Angel asked, turning to you as you sat down on one of the stools.

"Surely it gets exhausting?" he added, surpringly pushing away a shot of some kind of alcohol that he was offered.

"Yes, however… I suppose I have Charlie to help. Although, she tends to be a bit unsuccessful…"

"I'm trying! They're like… like… ah! I don't know but they're something!"

You turned back to look at the two, the sight before you… less than pleasant: Alastor and Lucifer were fighting… kind of. They were essentially trying to push the other out the hotel… it wasn't necessarily too violent, rather childish instead.

"Absolute morons… hey, no! I'll be taking that back!" Angel shouted as Husk took the shot away from him.

"Absolutely not"

"Oh come on!"

"You shouldn't be drinking in the first place!" Charlie, of course, interrupted them, pointing a finger at Angel as he was now trying to reach over the counter.

"Then why offer it to me?!"

"To test your morale, of course" Husk poured out the contents of the shot glass and placed it somewhere off to the side.

"No! What a waste!" Angel Dust whined, now leaning on the counter in defeat, looking at the empty shot glass.

"UNLOCK THIS DOOR RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" Alastor could be heard, faintly shouting from outside the hotel. Somehow, Lucifer had managed to lock Al out. You wondered what would come of this predicament between them, though you were sure it would be nothing good.

You walked over to Lucifer "Luci-"

"Dear! Let's ignore this whole thing, yeah?" He grinned, putting his arm around your shoulder and side-hugging you, beginning to walk in the opposite direction from the front door.

"Okay wait, wait, wait!" You didn't allow him to simply walk away from the situation at hand. Him simply looking at you with the most innocent expression ever!

"I am not going to ignore that you locked my child out of the hotel!" your tone amused, as you exclaimed, turning back to face the door. Certainly, you weren't mad, it was quite a… silly situation, to say the least.

"It's fine! I'm sure he's capable enough demon to get back in"

"Yes, you would be correct about that" Alastor grinned, appearing right in between the two of you, lightly swatting Lucifer away from himself before dusting off himself (supposedly from Lucifer).

Lucifer, absolutely flabbergasted, looked at the entrance, the door being wide open and Charlie awkwardly waving, with a sheepish smile on her face.

"Charlie!"

"Yeees?"

"You let him in?!" Lucifer cried out, putting his hand on his chest. "My own child betrayed me!"

"I didn't betray you! … Kind of"

"Yeah! Kind of!"

"Sorry! Aha..ha…" she chuckled, awkwardly side-stepping back to her room.

You waved to her as she entered the hallway and disappeared from sight. Having almost forgotten about Angel and Husk, you could see Angel recovering from a laughing fit, whilst Husk sat there amused, cleaning the shot glass from earlier.

"Well then, little bird, I would say it's time for you to leave!"

"I beg to differ! I haven't been here that long yet!"

"Certainly long enough for me" Alastor shrugged, pushing Lucifer towards the exit.

"Uhh, no, I'm not leaving that easily this time!"

"Ah, so irritating" Alastor sighed, taking your hand and leading you away from him again.

"I believe I'll be sticking around until I'm too busy with my duties to do so! Out of spite, of course~"

Okay… why don't you two calm down? Oh! I know! Why don't we spend some time together painting each others nails!"

"What?"

"Mother, I refuse-"

"It wasn't a request!"

@montis-posts @sleepdeprived-barelyalive here you go!

[ohdeersthings]

Beautiful Sounds

Neteyam x Metkayina!Deaf!FReader

Summary: Neteyam finds a way

Warnings: Fluffffffff for daayyys, angst 👀 we are caught up in our feelings, not proof read

A big thank you to @iikatsukii for this idea! I hope you like it, I tried my best 😭😂

Part 2 to this little beauty:

Neteyam thought he could never love anything so much until he met you. Learning your clans ways brought new insights to how the world can be so different but still beautiful. You were an example of that.

Even though you couldn't hear, you learned how to dance with elegance from the vibrations in the sand, he saw the patience you had with children, taking the time to guide them and understand what they needed, sometimes better than their own parents.

What really took his heart was how you found the simple joys of everyday life. The look of bliss on your face when the ocean sprays you with its salty mist, the contempt in your eyes as you looked at your family and friends. The love you expressed through your hands and body when you hugged or kissed him.

He thought you deserved to hear more than anyone, which is why after two months of communicating and deliberation with Norm and Max, they finally made the first set of hearing implants for Na'vi. A beautiful aqua to match your skin tone, and water proof so you could hear underwater as well.

As Neteyam watched from the shoreline as you raced your sister on Ilus, he couldn't help but feel nervous. He's practiced so hard with you and the others with sign language and yet he still continued to mess up sometimes. You never got angry or upset, just flashed your beautiful smile and repeated what he was trying to sign so he could practice again.

He'd especially been practicing for something special to you when the time came right, of course getting past Tonowari and Ronal wouldn't be easy. Taking one last glance at your figure, he turned and headed for the Marui pod that he knew your family resided in.

~.~

Ronal hissed and threw a shell at Neteyam which he ducked out of the way of, "You dare ask me such a question! That demon device will ruin her!" Tonowari just shook his head at his mate, she was nearing the end of her pregnancy and was very cranky.

"It'll help her hear! She can finally here all of you and everything around her!" Neteyam raised his hands in the air, trying to calm the angry pregnant woman. "Ronal, maybe she should give it a chance," Tonowari reasoned, Ronal growling lowly.

"You want to change her? You asked us mere days ago to mate and now you want this!? I pray to Great Mother to have the strength to not bury you alive! Skxawng!"

"No I don't want to change her! I want her to experience things that I know she longs for," Tonowari placed his hand on Ronal's shoulders giving her a look to calm down. Ronal did so, but not happily.

Both turned towards the young man, which he took as a continuation, "I promise, I love everything about her. The way she looks at the horizon with longing, wanting to go there and explore. The way (Y/n) wants to join in on everything everyone is doing but knows she can't hear everything, you may not have seen it, but I can. I hate that she cannot experience the wonderful sounds of the world, but if I could help her make one thing...The thing I know she may long for the most happen, I would crawl through viper thorns to do so, so please, let me try this," he begged at this point, taking a knee before the leaders of the clan.

Glancing at eachother, Tonowari spoke for both, "Very well, if she wants to try it, you have our blessing," Neteyam grinned, thanking them as he ran out the Marui pod to find you.

"You know he would never hurt her, Ronal?" Tonowari smiled at his mate gently, who rolled her eyes in annoyance, "Maybe Eywa will give me strength to not bury you, Tonowari,"

~.~

You huffed air laughing as Neteyam grabbed your hand, dragging you through the trees that surrounded the island.

Tapping his hand, he turned to you so he could watch, 'Where are we going?'

'Somewhere private' he replied, your smile wide as you let him carry on guiding you.

Coming to a beach front, your eyes saw a wonderful sight of a hand weaved blanket on the beach with some delicious fruit you adored. The sun was almost the horizon, the beauitful shades of orange and pink beginning to shine on the clouds and sky.

He led you down and helped sit you on the blanket, his eyes holding nothing but love for you. You returned the gaze, hand caressing his face as he lightly pecked your lips.

"I have something, for you," he gestured, you nodding, eyes staring at his figure so you wouldn't miss anything.

Pulling out a blue box from his hip bag, he opened it to reveal two small, weird looking devices. Your eyebrow furrowed, glancing up at him confused. Was this a forest thing? Why did it look like something sky demons made?

"Oh right, um," Neteyam mumbled to himself, licking his lips as he put the box down, hands moving slowly as he thought each sign out.

"These," points to the box, "help you, hear," he tried to keep it short and to the point. Yet this only confused you more.

"I cannot hear, how can these help me?" Your hands were moving quickly, 'I don't understand-' he took your hands into his, holding them close to his chest to try and regain your attention, your eyes narrowed with unease and confusion.

He let go slowly, his hands moving the same time as his lips, "These go in here," he gestured to your ear, "and when turned on, they let you hear," you slowly nodded, Neteyam picking up the box and holding it to you, the sunset reflecting of your eyes as you nodded to him.

Closing your eyes as you felt his hand gently place the small things in your ears, the other holding your cheek in reassurance.

He pressed on something, a small high pitched noise filled your ears which made your eyes shoot open. You looked around frantically, hands covering your ears and the devices from the shock of hearing something for the first time.

Neteyam placed his hands over yours, holding your head as your eyes turned to him with fear. He breathed in and out, eyes trained on yours as you began to copy him, slowly relaxing.

You both moved your hands, your ears twitching as you heard something else. A soft roaring and crashing sound that made you look to the water, eyes filling with tears as you signed, "waves?" His face lighting up and nodding, taking your hand as he helped you up.

You stared out into the giant mass of blue, the sound of the waves flooding every sense you had. The distant calls of birds and animals soon followed, all overwhelming but yet so majestic in your eyes.

Your hands came to cover your mouth and muffle your sobs as you began to cry. The world sounded different than you had ever thought, it sounded better.

Neteyam wrapped his arm around your shoulder to comfort you. Your shoulders slowly stopped shaking as you gazed up at him.

"(Y/n)" he whispered, your face morphing into one of disbelief. He sounded as gorgeous as he looked.

You tapped his lips, a grin on your face as you turned your body to face him completely now. "You can hear me?" He asked, your smile wide as you nodded. "There's something I want to ask you. I thought I would ask like this, but I want to ask you in your own way," he gently caressed your face as you nodded, feeling a small rush of adrenaline from all the excitement.

You never thought he would go through all this trouble for you, this just showing you how much he truly cared.

He held your hands, giving them a squeeze before taking a step back to see your whole body. Also incase he had to run from rejection.

'You are so beautiful,' he started, your eyes narrowing in curiosity, wondering where he was going with this. You were very flattered though as you shyly shuffled.

'When I look at you, I think of home' he started fumbling a little bit, but you smiled at him which gave him strength to keep going. "I want to spend the rest of my life, with you,'

Your mind suddenly went blank, realizing what he was asking, 'Will you be my mate?' He finished with a shy smile, but you were only staring at him with a blank expression.

A cold shiver ran down his spine, you weren't saying or doing anything. Just starting at him.

"(Y/n)?" He asked softly, taking a step forward to grab your fingers, but you jerked back suddenly, your ears flattened as you turned and ran.

Neteyam could only stare heartbroken as you disappeared from view, the sun now down below the horizon.

~.~

'You did what!?' Tsireya signed, but you didn't see it as you were hiding your face in your hands in shame. Tsireya tapped you, your glossy eyes looking at her disbelief ones. 'You left him without an answer? I thought you loved Neteyam!' 'I do!' You began, teeth gritting together, 'why would he want me?' You sobbed, tears begging to flow passed your waterline, Tsireya looking at you in empathy. 'I cannot hear, I cannot talk well, I only babble like newborn baby,' you began to hiccup, 'He gave me these to help me hear, I wish to talk to him like he can with me, but my voice is ugly,'

Tsireya grabbed your shoulders, her look fierce as she shook her head, "No! Your voice is beautiful and unique!" She knew you didn't take the sky peoples devices out, so you could hear her.

And hear her you would.

"Neteyam begged mother and father for weeks before they agreed! He planned these hearing devices for months. He loves you, all of you!" Tsireya exclaimed, your whimpers making her hug you close. "If you wish to speak to him, we will help you," Tsireya declared, her heart breaking for her older sister.

(Y/n) spent her whole life looking after others, even with the loss of hearing. Tsireya felt a few tears slip through her own eyelashes as she's never seen you this upset before. You were always smiling for everyone, the first one out and the last one in. You never told anyone how you truly felt.

Tsireya promised to Eywa she would make it right.

~.~

You avoided Neteyam for days, diving out of sight when you caught a glimpse of the oldest Sully sibling, your heart filled with guilt. You never meant to hurt him, but how could you face him before you were ready.

The Sully siblings, aside from Neteyam, knew what you were doing and tried their best to help both sides, but they still felt bad for their oldest brother.

Your own siblings helped you morning and night in getting your words more precise and clean, the pronunciation being the hardest as you technically never had to speak Na'vi or English before.

You sat in that beach shore cove Neteyam had brought you to only days prior, your eyes clenched in frustration as you tried again.

"oil ngatee kameee," the simple phrase of 'I see you' fell from your lips as you groaned in your throat. You were never going to get it, they sounded slurred together and it was hard to understand.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and tried again, "oel ngati kameie," this time it sounded better, but you really had to think and enunciate with your lips.

Head falling into your hands, you felt a few tears slip out. Why did Neteyam choose you? There are better girls, ones who weren't at a disadvantage like you were.

Standing up, you turned to see Neteyam right behind you.

You gasped inwardly, taking a few steps back. Neteyam only stared at you with a inquiring look, but you could see the hurt in his eyes too.

'I'm sorry,' you signed, looking down so your bohemian knotless braids covered your face. You couldn't face him. 'I'll leave now,' you made to scurry past him when he grabbed your hand, your breath hitching as you were frozen in place.

He carefully walked around to face you, his face looking solem at your stiff body. 'Why?' He questioned, you feeling tears staring to build up. 'Many girls better than me,' you answered, his shocked expression taking you off guard. 'No one is better than you, I only want you, now and forever,' he signed passionately, your tears streaming down your face as you shook your head.

'I sound like a baby, I cannot talk like an adult,' you desperately tried to get him to see, but he only shook his head at you.

'I have never heard your voice, but your quiet huff bring music to my ears. My heart yearns for yours so that they may beat together. Make their own sound, together. As one," Neteyam emphasized, never seeing you look so down heartened as you did right now.

Lo'ak had finally cracked and told him that you'd been practicing your voice and speech so that you could be better. Better for him. When all Neteyam wanted was you. He was so lost these last few days, never seeing you and his thoughts running wild on why you rejected him.

'Please, I stand here with my heart for you. I only want you, (Y/n)," he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, his eyes closed in pain as he wished you could see yourself how he does.

"Neteyam," you whispered, his eyes shooting open as your lips twitched. "Yes," you said answered, his face changing rapidly between emotions.

"Y-yes? Yes you'll be my mate?!" He exclaimed, his eyes turning glossy as he realized you'd just spoken to him. You laughed and nodded, Neteyam cackling as he picked you up and spun you around.

"She said yes!" He yelled out, both of you now laughing like idiots as he fell back, both of you landing in the sand.

You rolled over, lips connecting with his with urgency as he gave it right back. Both of you in each other's embrace, fitting perfect together like a puzzle.

'I love you,(Y/n)' he signed, eyes filled with adoration cause you to smile back shyly, "I love you, Neteyam,"

Even though Neteyam had given you the blessing of being able to hear, the most beauitful sound you'd ever heard was his voice.

You couldn't wait to listen to it for the rest of your life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@eywas-heir @jimfiqs @minkyungseokie

@bealone-prm @thecrazyswamp

@he110hon @urforevermore

@iikatsukii

[marthawrites]

A Lady’s Thrill

Aemond Targaryen x wife reader

word count: 3.5k+

About: a stressed Aemond returns late and his lady wife helps him de-stress.

Includes: explicit sexual content! (m and f receiving oral, fingering, overstimulation, praise, some degradation, p in v) also some comfort fluff ♥

Note: hello lovely reader! get comfy and enjoy my longest (and perhaps filthiest?) fic to date. please, enjoy! have an idea? I’m open to requests!

-

Such was the hour that you were beginning to lose hope in seeing your husband tonight. Aemond had been gone all day, leaving early in the morning with little more than a goodbye kiss. Stress had been high as of late; everyone seemed to be under its weight. Sunset was hours ago and you'd still yet to see him. While not completely out of his character to be gone overnight -- sometimes multiples at a time -- tonight looked as if it would be just that. Your eyelids grew heavier by the moment.

Quiet minutes passed and you were beginning to drift to sleep when a crash through the door jolted you awake. The relaxing atmosphere of yours and Aemond's bedchamber immediately shifted and you might as well have ran into a wall. “W-wha?” You sat up in bed and blinked, unable to make words on your sleepy tongue.

“If he wasn't my brother I'd maul him,” Aemond seethed, jaw tense and fluttering with unspoken words. He slammed the door closed  behind him and instantly ripped his eyepatch off, carelessly throwing it somewhere. He paced long strides and his footfalls were heavier than his normal gait. “And mother just lets him.” Despite all the love he had for Alicent he still spat the words. Instead of hitting or kicking something like another man might, the young prince held his arms tightly behind his back. Posture square and straight. Cold fury colored his face and for a moment you thought he might actually spit fire.

“My love,” you said, hardly above a whisper. “Please. Sit and relax a moment, yes?” You stepped out of bed, nightgown fluttering around your ankles as you moved with precision around the room.

Inaudible high valyrian grumbled from his chest. “It's a grand joke to him. All of it. How can mother let it happen too? Why does no one stand up to him?” If the situation were any lighter he might have scoffed beneath his breath. The chair he habitually sat in was in front of the hearth, at an angle, to have a view of the bed, study table, and door. Its cushioned seat let out a breath beneath his weight while his arms instantly draped atop the thick rests.

You appeared by his good side, goblet and pitcher in hand. “Here,” you offered the goblet. “Drink. It'll help.” You filled it about halfway, knowing he didn't like to drink much this late.

“Thank you, my darling. I don't mean to come in like this, but--,”

“--do not apologize,” you cut him off. “I cannot imagine the stress you're constantly under. Not even mentioning your chronic pain. If half of what you say about Aegon is true and I were his sibling? I'd have killed him a long time ago.” You kissed the top of his head, carefully unlacing the tie that held his hair back. It fell free around your wrists.

That brought an amused chuff from his nose. “Murder is much worse than mauling.”

“And I would live with those consequences.”

He drank before kissing the top of your hand, lips leaving behind the barest trace of wine.

“You are free and safe within these walls, husband,” you said softly, sincerely. You held a brush and began to gently pull it down and through his lovely hair. It reflected the warm firelight exquisitely, shimmering and flowing in all of its Targaryen glory. You cherished tending to it when time allowed, and he always loved it when you did. He drank again and you continued to quietly brush, only the crackling hearth sounds filling the room. 

You'd filled his cup two more times, letting him unwind from the day. Slowly, like falling asleep, the tension in his shoulders eased.

“I barge in here and wake you up, yet you still wine and attend me. You are much too sweet, my dear. I appreciate you, and this, very much,” Aemond said with meaning. You'd been in a bit of a trance, and it seemed he might have been too.

“Anything for my prince,” you reply, voice low and warm like the embers in the hearth. It was then, and only then, that you put aside the brush and stepped from behind Aemond. “You smell like salt, and dragon, and smoke,” you said, eyes admiring him as you now stood in front of him. “I know there are only few things that would make you carry such a trio and I dare not ask. At least not tonight,” you offered a soft smile, the expression twinkling in your eyes. You traced a finger beneath his scarred eye, tucking a stray bit of hair behind his ear, and trailed the same digit across the span of his shoulder. “Let me assist you in taking these off.”

Whether the darkened expression in his eye was from the low light or what your words implied, you couldn't tell. Leaning forward he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you to his lap. Your knees bent into the cushion by his thighs, effortlessly straddling over him, and he bunched your nightgown high around your thighs to make sitting easier. “Be my guest, my lady.”

A thrill danced up and down your spine. You'd been married for less than a year. Yet, still, you could see yourself becoming an excited maiden in countless years down the road; such was the power Aemond had over you. The space between your mouths closed, and you tried not to be too eager in deepening the affection.

“Mm,” he hummed, satisfied, long fingers disappearing into the hair behind your ears. “My sweet wife,” he whispered against your mouth, nose tipping under yours so he could bite over your bottom lip.

You smiled, giddiness washing over you at his words. “I missed you today.” Your hands pushed up his front until you felt the top clasp of his tunic, fingers making quick work at undoing it. Pushing it open revealed the warmth of his neck and collar, fair skin glowing in the firelight. 

“Se nyke ao,” 'and I, you.' His hands traced down your arms and over your thighs, pushing back up your front to begin untying the laces of your sleepwear.

You kissed along his jaw, down the column of his throat, and over his collarbones. The second clasp of his tunic popped open beneath your touch, and soon, the third. His breath came faster as you kissed and nibbled his chest. You made no move to fully push his clothes off, instead leaving them open wide, secured to his body by his shoulders. Your mouth crashed to his again and you couldn’t help yourself as your hands squeezed between your bodies to begin fumbling with his belt. “Let me make you forget all of that. If only for tonight,” you declared as you began to slowly slide off his lap and between his legs.

A near silent hiss sounded from Aemond as you knelt before him. It was rare he let you please him in such a manner -- the young prince preferring to be the one in control of your pleasure -- it thrilled you even more that he made no move to guide you to the bed instead. Leaning back on your heels you took his boot off, tossing it and the sock somewhere to the side, repeating the same thing to his other. Heat pooled between your thighs as you leaned forward and unlaced his pants with practiced fingers.

He watched you from above, hungry eye not missing a single detail of your motions. A low sound came from him as you pulled him free -- mostly hard and quickly hardening -- hips lifting as you made to pull his trousers full off. His hands gripped against the armrest, knuckles taut beneath the skin.

“My lovely prince,” you said reverently before taking him in your hand, slowly wrapping your mouth around his tip. The sensation which filled you was unlike anything you expected. The sharp inhale of his breath sent tingles all up and down your spine, webbing out to your most sensitive places. Beneath your mouth, you began to pump along his length with slow, easy movements. You took more of him in, then, pulling back with a wet 'pop' before doing it over.

Aemond's hand extended to your face, tracing the back of it over the sweep of your cheekbone. With upturned eyes you watched as he bit over his bottom lip. As soon as you released him with a second pop he traced the outline of your lips, thumb slowly pushing into your parted mouth. “So pretty on your knees,” he said lowly, eye hooded. He opened his legs wider, giving you all the room you might need.

You smiled with fluttering lashes, licking along any part of his length your hand wasn't covering. You continued to pump those slow lazy pumps, kissing his cock with hot, open mouthed kisses. You relished the feel of his solidness, his heat, his scent, beneath you; all intensifying as you continued. You held him firmly at his base and took him into your mouth again. Tongue slid along his underside as you dipped your head further and further down, as far as you could go, sucking all around him as you pulled up, gasping.

"Good girl," he purred, shifting his hips to line up with your mouth. "Your mouth feels so good. Keep that up, darling." That same hand as before moved to rest atop your head. He made no move to force anything, simply rested it there, fingers pushing through your tresses.

You desperately wanted friction between your thighs. More so than that you wanted to hear more of those delicious praises from your husband. You engulfed him. He hit the back of your throat and you gagged. He groaned. Briefly keeping your spot there, you hollowed your cheeks around him and sucked, pulling up to push forward again. And again. And again. Lewd sounds began building and they only seemed to egg both of you on more. One of your hands cupped and gently rolled his balls, feeling a new wave of rippling tension flow through him.

"Oh fuck, my girl. There, just like that... shit, you feel so good," he rasped as you bobbed. His hand tightened in your hair, head falling back as he let you continue at your own pace.

Despite the ache growing in your jaw, you obeyed. You bobbed, and rolled, and sucked, and slurped, feeling him grow utterly rigid with your fervor. He began to pulse harder. That could only mean one thing and a new thrill danced through you.

Both his hands went to your head and immediately knotted into your strands. He guided your head up and down at his pace now. Your gagging and choking didn't stop him, and if anything it only made him want to savor every second until his release. "Gonna come soon, darling. Is that what you want? My seed all over your pretty tongue?"

He paused to let you breathe. Your eyes upturned, his down cast; fire and lightening clashing. With gasping breaths and desperate eyes, you nodded.

"Good girl. Good fucking girl," he growled, rolling his hips into you as he shoved your head down for the final time. He wasn't going to let you free again until he was spent and you knew it. Your nose pushed into the flat of his groin, your throat wholly lodged. "Swallow. I want to taste myself on your tongue."

Even if you didn't want to you had little choice in the matter. But you did. You wanted it horribly. You throbbed unbearably between your thighs, arousal no doubt pooling in your under clothes. Your hands gripped onto his thighs, fingers splayed wide as you pushed up his slim hips and lean abdomen, scratching down the same trail and ending in a firm grasp around his calves. He exploded, and the sounds that poured from your husband's mouth sent ecstasy thrilling down your spine.

Just as you were swallowing, his grip moved from your hair to your upper arms and he pulled you up, not bothering to wipe the mess that was your mouth before he crashed into it. He kissed you deeply, needing it as much as you, and tasted the salt of his body. He moaned and all the air escaped the room. "Why are you still dressed?" He asked, not letting you answer before removing your nightgown without care. "Lay on the bed. Now."

You were a trembling mess still trying to catch your breath and you did not need to be told twice. Standing on shaky legs you made your way to the bed and laid flat. You lifted your head to see him and vibrated at the sight: Aemond Targaryen stood in an otherworldly smooth motion, cock already half hard again, long hair spilling down his front as he walked to you in deliberate strides. Had you any pressure on any part of your body you'd have bowed with climax right then and there.

Immediately he pulled you to the edge of the bed, startling you. The hold on your thighs as he spread them apart was barely controlled, fingertips denting into the soft flesh. He sighed, reveling at the sight. "Look at this beautiful cunt. My darling wife, you're soaked and glistening from sucking my cock. No better, and thrice as wet, as the most eager whore."

A blush of excitement, embarrassment, and horror bloomed in your face as you looked down at him, his eye blown huge while the sapphire glinted dark as dragonglass in the low light. "Was fun," you whispered, smiling, wiggling your hips in an attempt to press closer to him.

"Don't move and don't touch yourself. I want to look at what's mine. ñuhon. 'mine' I want to savor this absolute perfection."

"Aemond...," you whine, sounding pitiful even to your own ears. "Not fair."

He spread you open gently, utterly feasting on the sight. A breath trembled from his lungs, posture shifting to that of a predator. "I don't think I've ever seen you this wet. You must have loved choking on my cock." He mocked, watching as your body reacted his words: throbbing and clenching around nothing. "Oh, you did? My filthy girl."

Your hands found his, and with trembling fingertips you held onto his wrists as he still held you open. "Please, Aemond. This is torture," you mumbled in the same tone as before; pitiful and aching for any sensation he might give you.

He loved hearing that. "My sweet wife, begging so prettily." He leaned forward and kissed you where he held you open, knowing once he started he wouldn't be able to stop. You clenched and dripped beneath his kiss, pathetically desperate for what he was beginning. You moaned and he laughed. "So fucking wet. What is it this lovely cunt wants?"

Words nearly failed you. Your blush prickled your scalp and pebbled your breasts. "Anything."

"Mayhap more kisses?" He asked as he kissed your swollen outer lips, and further out to that soft, gentle space in the very inside of your thighs. He dared kiss the top of your mound too, chin ghosting over your exposed clit.

"Yes," your word shuddered out while your hands fisted in the bedsheets. Blood roared so loud, so hotly behind your ears, you had to close your eyes to ground yourself.

"Or perhaps it's my tongue you want?" At his question he licked over all those same spots he'd kissed a moment ago, watching your face all the while. The barest pressure is all he gave, and even that was enough to make your back arch up off the bed, squirming. You squeezed into the sheets tighter.

"Oh," he started, leaning back from your saturated core. "Maybe it's not my tongue you want, then." He grinned. Mischievous. It shone more in his eye than his mouth, lips barely smirking even as those little dimples betrayed his restraint.

Gasping and looking down at him you made an inaudible sound of protest. Your legs flexed in an attempt to slide further down the bed, chasing him.

"Words. I want to hear your words." He spoke calm, patient, even as every fiber in him blazed.

Somehow you mustered up all the courage you had, practically mewling, "yes, I want your tongue! Please..."

He hummed in satisfaction. "There. Not so difficult, hm?" He rewarded you with a slow lick up your slit, ending with a torturous kiss to your swollen, throbbing bud. "You've been so good tonight. Do you think you deserve more?" Repeating the same action as before, his sweet, wet kisses built a coil of tension in your core.

"I-I think so," you manage to say, voice higher than you intended, lilting with your growing bliss.

He chuckled in his throat, low and barely audible. "I don't think you've been good enough. You've yet to give yourself to me. Yet to come undone. Laying like a good little wife, but not purring like my sweet little kitten. Will you scratch me bloody when you come?"

You half sobbed, lust overtaking everything else.

Unable to resist any longer, he leisurely licked and kissed your cunt like he would your mouth; sinking, trailing, and flicking, wholly devouring.

That's all it took for your body to curl in the most divine wave of pleasure, pulling his hair as he pushed you to, and through, orgasm.

The release of your bliss didn't hinder nor slow him and he effortlessly slipped a finger into you. He found that spot in your fluttering walls and locked to it. He ate your clit, the fullness of his month's attention there, and his own senses nearly blissed out at your quivering walls.

"Ae-Aemond... it's too much," you beg helplessly, trying to push him away with hands and thighs alike. Every part of your being was aflame, embers practically emitting from your pores. He didn’t waver. Soon, a second wave of tension built in those low muscles of your belly.

"Let go, sweet wife," he said as a second finger joined the first. Gently, so, so, gently, he sucked your bud and angled his digits just right, just there where he knew you liked it, pushing you over the edge again. Your hips and thighs shuddered beneath him, his name ringing out from your mouth, fingers once more fisting in his hair. He pulled back and watched as you rode the wave of pleasure, chin glistening. "There's my good girl," he crooned, slowly and agonizingly twirling his digits around between your walls. "You love having your cunt played with like this, don't you?"

"Mm-- Gods, Aemond it's too much... please, I need a break..," you begged yet again, body betraying you as you continued to grind against his hand.

"That's what you said before and now look at my face. Coated in your slick. You're lying and will pay for it. This one is for me. Your punishment for lying to your prince." He shoved a third finger into you and mercilessly pumped them in and out, savoring your cries as he delicately fluttered his tongue over your clit. He didn't stop until the sheets beneath your ass were soaked and you were screaming into your own arm to muffle the cries of blinding ecstasy.

He barely gave you time to catch your breath before he pounced, trapping you on the mattress between his arms. Looming above you, his white hair spilled over his shoulders to shield both of your faces, so close that you could see your reflection in his eye and sapphire. Without warning he slid into the absolute mess of your core, lean hips driving forward until your bodies meshed into a single being.

Exhausted and spinning from euphoria, your body contracted and squeezed all around him “Look at you. So heavenly beneath me. My proper wife in court, and my filthy cockdrunk whore in private. You're so lovely this wanton. Just as a wife should always be for her husband.”

Keeping your eyes open and straight was an impossibility: they crossed and shut, the wet sounds of your cunt humiliatingly obscene as he railed in, and out, repeating. Over, and over, and over. Sweat covered the entirety of your skin and your brain could only focus on where your bodies connected; your world so small, only Aemond. Only the half coherent praises he continued to give you as he fucked you to delirium. You were putty after four orgasms, fingers numb as you scratched his back; angry red welts oozing with pebbles of blood.

That pushed him over the edge, cock flexing with powerful pulses as he emptied into you, filling all of your deepest parts with his seed. Finally he slowed, finally he allowed both of you to catch your breaths. Finally, he slipped from your overstimulated quim and cupped your face between his hands. “Good girl. You did so well tonight,” he whispered, kissing your eyelids and cheeks with a thousand delectable kisses.

Once you untangled from each other he was beyond gentle. He produced a washcloth from somewhere and cleaned you up with the utmost reverence. He kissed you anywhere he could reach, featherlight and heartbreakingly soft, caressing you with the utmost admiration. “Kirimvose. Avy jorrāelan.” ‘thank you. I love you.’

You held each other into slumber and neither of you stirred until morning time.

-

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider a follow and reblog as I have plans to create and share more writings.

as said above, I am open to requests and idea shares too! and one last thing before you go: here is my masterlist if you’d like to see what else I’ve created!

[raribella]

Braid Beads. |  N.S

© raribella 2022, do not repost, modify or translate!

summary: Neteyam helps you undo your braids.

pairing: Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan x Omaticaya!reader

genre: tooth-rotting fluff.

involves: established relationship, nothing suggestive, ONE mention of nudity and envisioning mating, the reader cannot deal with her own hair to save her life.

word count: 1,2k

notes: Inspired by my lack of coordination when taking off my own braids last week, I got so frustrated and it took so long that the only thing that kept me going was picturing a scene that based this whole blurb. I really hope you liked it, I wrote it pretty fast, and apparently, I and the English language are on good terms today. notes comments and reblogs are really appreciated. Requests are open.

It was almost eclipse when Neteyam started looking for you. When he arrived home from training with Jake, he had expected to find you and just enjoy your comforting company for the rest of the day, but when his mother told him you had left to bathe a while ago at the river, a glimpse of worry formed in the back of his mind as he started to look for you. It was not dark yet when he arrived at the shore, hearing your faint grunts that seemed both pained and annoyed. Alarmed, Neteyam ducked his head forward so the tree that was blocking his vision could get out of the way, and he nearly chuckles in relief at the vision he was met with.

You were sitting cross-legged on the lakeside, loincloth and breast beads still on as your head was hanging down, your hands fidgeting in between your hair and a wooden comb, making a variety of frowns as you got annoyed with your braids, grunting whenever you got your hair pulled. Neteyam honestly felt like he could peer at that for hours, in awe of your antics and having fun at the same time. He actually only stopped when you turned your head slightly up, buffing exasperated — which made you able to get a glimpse of his face hidden behind a tree, a simple smile plastered on it. — "skxawng! for how long have you been there?!" your posture fell completely, giving up.

Neteyam chuckled again, all his problems seemed to have gone like dust in a gush of wind, "long enough! do you want any help?", to that, you only managed to huff again, mouth opening in a proud "argh!" as you looked to your side in shame, running away from his gaze. At that and the subtle purple forming in your cheeks, Neteyam couldn't help but let his own mouth form yet another simple smile as he knew what it meant. You did need help with taking off your braids — and you hated that he caught on to it so easily. —

Neteyam walked over, his own braids dancing side to side as he moved. He took a seat right behind you, his legs dangling to the side of your own, making you comfortably hugged by them as he gently grabbed the tip of one of your braids, a few of your curls shifting with his touch. He clicked his tongue, noticing they were too dry to try and undo them like this, and that your efforts turned out to form little knots along your hair. The contact of his hands on your scalp made you at ease, but your relaxed complexion went away as he exclaimed light-heartedly "you're like a baby!"

You pouted, eyebrows knitting together and face turning abruptly in his direction, your hair working like a whiplash directly on his face, which made the na'vi purse his lips together in a tight line. "come on," he rushed you calmly, hands getting on your back so you could move, the heat contrasting with the cold atmosphere of the river, "you know you are! get in so we can get your hair wet, I'll take them off for you." His caring energy made you obey within seconds, the purple hue appearing on your cheeks again as you blushed. You didn't like to think you were being a nuisance with his already hustling routine, but to have someone look out for you in a way that wasn't parenting sent a warm feeling to your chest, it was soothing, loving, and new, and you liked it.

Removing both loincloths and whatever else you needed, Neteyam guided you with his right hand on your lower back as the other found your shoulder, there was a small waterfall a few steps before you, and the water wasn't much cold now that your skin got used to its temperature. The waterfall wasn't one of much pressure in its fall down, yet the splashing of water that fell on your head made you giggle, and Neteyam mirrored the sound haphazardly, murmuring, "little skxawng…"

Before you could sit down you quickly turned around, pulling his face toward yours, a fun smile still plastered on your face as you touched foreheads first, intensely staring at each other as you brushed noses, and finally closing your eyes as you kissed slowly. Staying with foreheads touched for a while, Neteyam's eyes went wide as he opened them to be met with a darkening color in the sky, "come on, yawne! (darling) It's almost dark!" He rushed you, who promptly seated on the river, the water not reaching further than your belly button and the water pressure still generating a funny feeling on your scalp.

With the help of the running water and Neteyam’s agile fingers, you divided your hair into two halves, one was yours and the other his. While the boy was quick to have his section of your hair nearly finished, whenever you thought you were doing really good with unraveling the hairdo, it formed a knot on your slim fingers, which led you to, in looping, exclaim in annoyance, grab the comb, and try to rapidly get rid of the knot.

“You’re going to lose a lot of hair, you know? Leave it to me, yawne.” He calmly stated, the neon lights of the lake and your surroundings already glowing with the nighttime, you paused, looking up so your eyes could reach him, but not get in the way of his handy work, “I’m sorry.” Neteyam blinked, his eyebrows knitting together for a split second, glowing freckles and amber eyes looking right into you, “what are you sorry about? Y/n, you’re my amhul, I want to take care of you, you know?” You smiled as he called you “his woman” still trying to get used to the intimacy of the both of you, even in a moment like this. “It’s past eclipse, ‘teyam… They’ll miss you” He knew what you were referring to. The curfew Jake and Neytiri had agreed and established with all of their children. He wasn’t being reckless, though, he wouldn’t leave you be to behave like a child and hurt yourself while taking off your braids, and his mother knew he had left looking for you – having the soft spot for you Neytiri grew to have, she would let this pass no questions asked. — “Y/n,” his tone was serious. deep. “Nga yawne lu oer. I’ll take care of you and then stay with you whenever you need me to. Hopefully for the rest of my life.” The feeling of his hands running through your braids and meticulously undoing it all was nearly massaging, distracting you. You blushed in a mauve color as your mind wandered to the suggestion of you and Neteyam being mates when he said he wanted to be with you for the rest of your lives, and as he finished letting all of your hair loose, he tapped your head lightly twice, holding his hand out in front of you so you could get up.

At the sight of his hand held out, blue fingers hanging in front of you, you grabbed it with your smaller one, kissing the back of his palm with your eyes closed, turning to him as soon as you got up. “Nga yawne lu oer. Thank you.” You smiled fondly, looking into each other’s eyes, eyebrows shooting up as the both of you stood in awe of the other. “You look beautiful with your hair like this.”