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sparrowwithaquill · 2 days ago

Note

Pls do Saja Boys x Popstar!Reader. The popstar could be a Sabrina Carpenter type! Thank you!

You got it my friend 😘 I’ve been simping HARD for the Saja boys ever since the trailers and movie came out.

Saja Boys x F!Reader; otherwise called reader is nervous at all the attention from a group of hot guys.

I tried to make it as ambiguous as possible as to what the reader looks like, the only thing that’s set is that the reader has at least hair on their head 😅

Summary: Coming back from your world tour, you expect to rest for a bit before going back to performing. What you didn't expect was gaining the attention of five super attractive men that just can't seem to leave you alone.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I might make a continuation of this with some nsfw bits for each member, let me know if that’s something y’all would be interested in

Tags: @floredaqueen

Getting back to your home from your tours has always been a highlight that you treasure, especially from how exhausting performing is. Still, there is nothing that you would change about your life. Currently, you just got home and cleaned yourself up and decided that going for a walk would be nice. The city is beautiful and getting some fresh air would do you some good.

That's how you now find yourself roaming the street in the market section of the city as you people watch. Occasionally, watching some of the birds as they're flying. One bird grabs your attention from the others though in the way it seems to be watching with... purpose, eventually landing on a sign that is nearby where you were standing.

Normally it wouldn't really be something that you pay attention to, despite you liking birds, but something about this particular bird just gets your attention.

The bird must have thought the same as it stays on the sign despite you getting closer.

"Well, you have some interesting patterns, don't you little guy?" You say to yourself as the bird just watched you, something flickers in your peripheral, but before you can turn to see it, the bird lets out a chirp bringing your attention back to it.

“Hm? Guess you don’t like being ignored, understandable, you’re a very handsome bird,” you smile at the bird before turning to leave, slightly waving to it as you continue to walk around, oblivious to the eyes that follow your form as you leave.

Some time passes before you decide to go back to your home, using the time to listen to some of the songs on your next album to feel out if they're up to your standards.

Days pass with you enjoying your short break and taking the time to slowly get back into your routine of dancing and singing practice. You had just finished your latest practice session when you decide to go back to town to get some groceries, maybe try out that new recipe you've been meaning to indulge in. You’re walking in the direction of the store you most frequent when you see the same bird, a smile coming across your face as you slightly wave to it again.

“Hello my little friend! Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you smile until a cough sounds from behind you.

You quickly turn face going red at being caught talking to a bird of all things, before it lands on an incredibly handsome stranger who has a small smile on his face. One that also shows he definitely saw you talking to a bird.

“You always talk to birds, or did I just get lucky to see it?” He says with a small smirk on his face.

“I- uh, no not,” you clear your throat trying to will the heat from your face to die down, “I try not to make it a habit,” you stammer out eventually calming down enough to meet his gaze.

His very handsome gaze that is, the heat slowly returns to your face while your eyes dart around.

You eventually get your bearings, clearing out your throat as you look at him eyes quickly flicking across him, really getting a look at him before finally retorting.

“Do you always watch girls when you’re out or did I just get lucky?” A small smile unintentionally making its way to your face before you quickly choke it down with an eyebrow raise, seeing a near drop dead gorgeous man definitely isn’t something you’ll complain about, but still a man is a man no matter how hot.

The stranger just lets out a low chuckle before stepping a little closer to you, eyeing the bird before it flies off to seemingly nowhere.

“Not really, only the pretty ones,” he says, hands in his pockets of his jeans while he looks you up and down. Before you get the chance to stammer out a reply, four other equally just as gorgeous men come around to him before one of them, the one with a shirt that is clearly hanging on for dear life, claps him on the shoulder.

“Yo, Jinu, we’re waiting for you man- woah,” the man who you would definitely say could call you any time looks at you with a look of recognition, one that you try to shake your head as fast as you can without looking insane.

“So you have a name! Love that for you, sorry for being weird- you guys have fun with whatever you were doing!” You quickly make your way out of there with a hand covering your face to shield it from their eyes as you could practically feel steam coming off it.

The one who recognized you still has wide eyes as he realizes that yeah you are that one definitely famous singer and oh my gosh he can't believe that you ran into them. He quickly clues in the other men who are just confused at both of your reactions, the news making Jinu smile as he starts to think maybe he was right to send his little bird to watch you.

“Oh my gosh I looked like an idiot, a complete moron in front of five hot guys. Ugh girl you need to get your shit together,” you mutter to yourself as you continue walking towards a clearing where some people are talking about a boy group performing there.

You pull your sunglasses on and pull up your jacket a bit to avoid being recognized as you stand in front of a gathering crowd as some music starts. To your shock and horror, the same men that you’d bumped into are performing and singing.

“Oh my gosh I’m so dead, I have to die of embarrassment now, no I need to leave the country,” your muttering is interrupted as you make eye contact with who you now know as Jinu as he winks at you, your face erupting into heat as you pull the strings of your jacket to cover your face. Meanwhile the women and men behind you scream as they think it’s for them.

The action causes the Saja Boys to smile wider as they notice you hiding your face. They continue with their song, you still listening and your shoulders unintentionally bouncing up and down to the music. They notice with glee, their song ending as they send out finger hearts to the crowd watching your reaction as you try to look anywhere but their faces.

They finish their song, officially making their debut as they seemingly disappear into thin air. This gives you the chance to finally go to the store and get all the things you need for your dinner. You're heading back to your home when you hear someone call out to you, you are turning with fear that it's a crazy fan. Instead, you hesitantly turn around to see that it is instead the five hot guys with handsome smiles on their faces. Maybe the fan would have been better, you think as your grip tightens on the groceries in your hands.

The one with long pink hair in the shape of a heart is the first one to greet you as he waves with a large grin on his face.

"You saw our show, right? Did you enjoy it? My name is Romance,” He smiles at you, the action has you lowering your shoulders a bit at his smile. He's pretty friendly, still devastatingly attractive though.

"Uh, yeah I did! It was really good, you were really good!"

You smile back a bit shy, eyes darting between the five men as their eyes zero in on you. The action causing you to get a bit bashful at the cropped shirt that leaves your stomach and cleavage slightly exposed. The men barely try their best to avoid being obvious at their shameless staring, but let their eyes wander a bit.

Jinu is the next one to speak, offering a hand as he speaks.

"Did you now? You need any help with those groceries; we'd be more than happy to help you~" He purrs out, a wolfish grin taking over his face as your face heats up at the look he gives you. Curse you for your dry spell, just looking at these guys is enough to bring some heat to you.

"No! No I'm- I'm fine really and I don't want to stop you guys from whatever you're up to," you let out as the one with mint hair has no shame in smirking at your bashfulness as you make eye contact with him. Who you later learn is Mystery, silently makes his way around you as you slightly back away from the hungry looks they give you. Your back hits his chest as you look up, you making a surprised sound to see him. He has a slight smile on his face at the look of shock on your own.

"We're not too busy, especially not when we could help a gorgeous woman out~" The one with the ill-fitting shirt says tilting himself down a bit to stare directly into your eyes, as he smirks at your nervous expression.

"No really! I wouldn't want to impose," you let out with a small laugh making your way into the direction of your house. They let you back away looking at you with a gaze that screams they would eat you up if given the chance.

A week passes by from the interaction you had, the memory playing in your head like a broken record. The memory is still playing during your practice in your dance studio as you hear voices passing by. You're in the middle of a break as your backup dancers are casually speaking to each other while you leave the room to grab more water and a sports drink. You're at the vending machine when you can physically feel eyes on you, you turn your head a bit to see the most muscular member of their group behind you.

He looks you up and down before letting a coy smile make its way to his face as he leans against the wall across the vending machine. You whip your head around, face getting heated up as you can feel it creeping to your ears.

"So, how's practice going for you?" You hear his deep voice close to you as you turn around a bit and see him now down to your ear, you let out a sound that could be comparable to unholy as you realize just how close he was. Immediately, you start stammering as you try to put some distance between you.

"It's- um, you're so close, it's going," you clear your throat as he just smirks at you, "It's um good; it's going good we were just going on our break for the next hour, rest a bit y'know? Hehe how's uh how's your practice going? What's your name by the way, never uh never got it..."

God, you have been out of the game for so long, can you speak to even one person normally?

He raises his eyebrows, not really expecting you to give a response, but gives a small smile, "names Abby, guess we never really introduced ourselves, huh?"

Your shoulders lower themselves at his response, a small smile gracing your features as you finally make eye contact.

"No, you really didn't, so new group, right? Your performance was really good, really catchy too!"

You smile at him before reaching to grab your drink from the machine, having forgotten about it, but Abby beats you to it, reaching down and grabbing the drink before holding it out to you. You grab it, but he holds it a bit tighter before letting go, his hand brushing yours.

"Well, if you get bored during your break feel free to come watch us practice in room four, I'm sure the guys would love to see you," Abby waves at you as he leaves.

You're left at the vending machine, heart thundering at the brief contact as you watch his back leave before he turns the corner to go back to their dance studio. You are so about to make a mistake going to see them, is all that you think as you're returning to your own room.

After getting back to your room, your dancers and you disperse to do your own thing for the next hour. With some thinking, you decide fuck it and head down to where Abby said they were practicing. You can hear music playing as you look through the door and see them taking a break and make eye contact with Abby who smiles before going to the door to let you in.

"So, you decided to join us?” Abby leans on the door covering your body form view as the other guys in the room wonder who he’s talking to.

“Yeah, figured why not not everyday you can watch a hot new group in their element,” you chirp out before realizing what you said.

“Sorry not hot! I mean you are hot, but I didn’t mean that hot I meant hot as in really popular!” You wince at Abby holding in his laugh as he leads you into the room.

As you enter the room, all their eyes fall on you and your hit with the feeling that you’ve walked into the lions den.

“Welcome princess, didn’t realize we’d have a guest or else I’d have cleaned up,” Jinu says as he looks your form up and down. He’s wearing a loose shirt and grey sweatpants that does nothing to hide his physique.

The other guys in the room all have looks of hunger at your outfit, still breathing heavily from their practice. The one with lilac hair covering his eyes is the second to approach you as he offers you some water.

“Figure you’d want water, I’m Mystery,” he quietly says before going to sit on the floor one leg propped out as he continues to catch his breath.

You’re holding the water to your chest when Abby leads you to where the speaker is, now turned off since they’re taking a momentary break. They sneak glances at you while you sit a little awkwardly just listening to them chat.

Eventually, Jinu calls them back to practice. They start with Soda Pop, as they dance your shoulders bop along to the music while they pour their attention to you making your face flush from the looks they give you.

"Cause I need you to need me," Jinu points at you and smirks, you look away before turning your attention back.

"I'm empty, you feed me," Romance licks him lips while looking you up and down.

"So refreshing," Abby winks at you while pulling his shirt a bit to expose his chest.

"My little Soda Pop," Baby turns towards you and gives you a sultry look before continuing with the dance.

They dance through the chorus while their attention remains on your form, you feel slightly exposed and flush a bit at all their gazes. They finish their dance, and you clap for them, "nice! You guys are good!"

Abby is the first one to approach you, leaning down breathing heavily as he cages you between his arms.

"Any notes you could give us, any suggestions," He asks lowly, voice slightly raspy. You swallow the spit in your mouth as you hold eye contact with him, stammering a bit.

Romance is the next to approach you going to your right side and leaning down a bit to your ear.

"Any pointers you could give us? Any moves you could show us?" He breathes in your ear, his hair tickling the side of your face. You start to breathe a bit heavier at the attention they give you, you lick your lips as they feel impossibly dry.

The action only grabs Abby's attention. He leans in closer so close he was only a hair away from your mouth and lets out a breath as he smirks.

"You nervous?"

You silently nod, leaning back the slightest bit as your back hits the mirrored wall of the studio leaving you trapped between the two men.

"Use your words, princess," Romance chides you from your right as your eyes dart to him. Breath leaving you at his words and your face heats before you stutter out a yes.

Abby takes some mercy on you and eases up on the barely there space and backs away leaving you to Romance as he gets a drink.

These boys are going to kill you.

Romance soon leaves the teasing as he goes off to get his own drink and talk with the other guys, you finally are able to grab a full breath, and your face finally calms down.

You bid goodbye to the boys as you go back to your own studio, mind reeling at the attention and proximity of the boys. These men are much too attractive to be doing this to you.

God help you, your heart can hardly take this.

#kpop demon hunters #saja boys x reader #saja boys #jinu #jinu x reader #huntr/x #huntrix #x reader #kdh baby x reader #kdh abby x reader #kdh jinu x reader #kdh romance x reader #kdh mystery x reader

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street-smarts00 · 3 days ago

Text

(i only came to this) party 4 u

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: For the first few months you worked with the avengers, they barely knew you. Beyond what you were like during a mission, you were a mystery to them. It was truly marvelous how well you worked with the team and yet there was so little they knew about you.

You barely went to team bonding and you NEVER went to Tony Stark's parties. Well, not until last night. And you’re never going again.

Because of James Bucky Barnes.

WC: 11.4k

Tags/warnings: shy reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, intoxication/drinking, emotionally constipated reader

A/N: this is the longest thing I’ve written, WHOOPS. I couldn’t stop with this one so hope some of y’all enjoy it! Ps: no I don’t know what card game Steve and Bucky are playing, make believe (shrugs) beta read by my friend @whats-yesterday00

It’s official. You’re never leaving your room again.

Not after what happened last night.

From this moment forward you are not leaving your room. No matter the reason. No matter how much they beg.

Actually that’s a lie, you would have to leave your room at some point.

But you’re going to camp out in your room for as long as possible.

There’s a chance that if you do leave your room, and risk running into him, you’ll melt into a pile of goo on the floor. Or maybe you’d implode from the mortification.

Either way, you shouldn’t risk it.

You should just revert to the old version of you. The girl that didn’t ever leave her room. Was too intimidated by the other avengers to spend time with them. The girl who — even though you had been given a warm welcome — didn’t feel like part of the team yet.

For the first few months you worked with the avengers, they barely knew you. Beyond what you were like during a mission, you were a mystery to them. It was truly marvelous how well you worked with the team and yet there was so little they knew about you.

Steve would occasionally organize team bonding events. After you joined, Steve planned them more frequently. A subtle way to get you to open up to them.

Sometimes you would attend. Key word, sometimes.

Usually, it would take some convincing from a few of them. Like when Sam would crack some jokes about how this week you HAD to be there because they were doing XYZ and so on. At some point you’d feel guilty for missing it and show up only to sit there quietly the whole time. You’d speak when spoken to, but never intentionally join a conversation.

A majority of the time, you wouldn’t feel up for socializing and gave some excuse as to why you’re not feeling well. Steve never pushed you to show, but his eyes grew soft with concern whenever you told him you couldn’t attend.

But, at some point, the Avengers noticed a change in you. You stopped turning down bonding events and started actually participating. They would find you hanging out in the lounge more often or sticking around to watch movies.

After a long and brutal game of Uno during game night, they were all left surprised by how excited and competitive you were. The game ended with a stare down between you and Clint.

You were still a relatively shy person, just more willing to open up and be yourself around them. None of them knew what caused this sudden change, but few of them had their theories.

The first time you were tempted to leave your room was about two months after you started living in the compound.

You were standing on the only chair available in your room which happened to be the swivel desk chair. Was it the safest way to hang up your room decor? Probably not. But you wanted to decorate your walls and this was the only way to do it.

Your arms were starting to grow tired. One hand was holding up the poster, desperately trying to keep it straight, while the other was trying to rip off a piece of tape.

Somehow the chair moved just the right way and you lost your balance. You stumbled to the floor and took the chair with you.

“Shit!” You loudly groaned after landing on your side with a thump.

As you carefully stood back up, you heard a voice from the other side of your door.

“You okay in there?”

Your stomach dropped at the realization someone heard you fall. The urge to ignore the voice was strong, but you also knew they were just trying to check on you.

With a slight limp, you approached the door and opened it. Behind it was a concerned Bucky Barnes. Up until now, you’d never gotten this close of a look at him before. You never noticed how blue his eyes actually were. It was almost hypnotizing the way you were so easily lost in them as he stared back at you.

“Are you alright? I heard a crash.”

You blinked back to reality. “Yeah I’m fine. I fell trying to put up a poster,” you gestured towards it- now discarded (and thankfully not ripped) on the ground.

He peeked inside to see the fallen chair and poster. “Want some help?”

His kind gesture shouldn’t have surprised you. There was no indication Bucky Barnes was a bad guy. He was a great partner to work with in the field and his friends spoke very highly of him. But it did surprise you because outside of that, you never really had the chance to actually interact with him.

You also heard a notorious amount of grumpy old man jokes from Sam that you didn’t exactly know how to interpret.

“Yeah sure,” you nodded.

He followed behind and entered your room. He examined the decorations you managed to put up in the time you’ve been living there.

There were various music and movie posters of pop culture he mostly didn’t recognize. There were fake plants littered all around the room, scattered on different surfaces. The shelves were also covered with books. Rows and rows of books, that would’ve taken him years to get through. Close to the ceiling were strings of lights that gave the room a soft warm glow.

While he stood in the quiet of your room he noticed the faint music playing in the background. His face grew with curiosity as he looked around for where the sound was coming from.

“What song is that?”

You walked to your desk and grabbed the chair off the floor. “I’m not sure. It’s a playlist of old music I found online. Sometimes I like to put on old music from the 30s and 40s to have as background noise.”

You pointed to a YouTube video playing on your computer.

“You like old music?” He inquired, looking slightly surprised.

“Yeah, but I don’t know much about it,” you shrugged. “I don’t know what was popular back then or have any favorites.”

He glanced at the video playing on your computer, “I could give you some recommendations if you want.”

“Really?” you asked with growing enthusiasm.

The corners of his mouth threatened to perk up. “Yeah why not? If you wanna get into that type of music. Who better to learn it from?”

“That sounds great,” you said with a shy smile.

The realization dawned on you that now you were both just standing in the quiet of your room. You grabbed the poster and cleared your throat to grab his attention.

“Oh right,” he mumbled, looking a bit flustered and ran a hand through his short hair. “Where did you want to hang it?”

“Up here,” You pointed to the empty space on the wall next to your desk.

He took the poster from you and carefully stepped on the chair as you held it still. He placed it against the wall, following your directions for where to hang it. You handed him a few pieces of tape and he slowly flattened out the poster before sticking it to the wall. When he was finished, he stepped off the chair and took a step back with you to get a proper look at it. The picture hung high above your desk. A starry sky with a collection of different constellations.

“It looks nice. I like what you’ve done with your room,” he complimented.

“Thanks. And thank you for helping.”

“It was no problem. Wouldn’t want you breaking a bone from falling off a chair,” he lightly teased.

You started to blush at the embarrassing reminder. “Please don’t tell anyone about that.”

Bucky pressed his pointer finger and thumb to his lips and ran them across his mouth, showing you his lips are sealed.

After he left, you admired the poster on the wall, listening to the music still playing in the background. The image of him still fresh in your mind.

Bucky was nicer than you expected. Not that you expected him to be an asshole. But he was one of the few Avengers you hesitated to talk to because they were a bit intimidating outside of work. Bucky had a consistent glare or grumpy look on his face that kept you at arm's length.

The day after the poster situation when you made yourself coffee in the morning, someone stopped near you and waited for their turn to use the coffee machine.

“Hey, I made that song list I was telling you about.”

You looked to see Bucky standing next to you and digging something out of his back pocket. He handed you a folded piece of notebook paper.

“Most of them are from the 30s and early 40s, songs I used to listen to. But I also included some late 40s and 50s songs I was introduced to after the war and … everything.”

When you took the paper from him your stomach swirled with something you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Thanks,” you replied sweetly, “I’ll give them a listen later.”

He offered you a small smile before filling his mug with coffee.

That was probably the first time you started to see through his tough exterior and he let his real self shine through the cracks.

_____

After that day you started to pay more attention to Bucky. In the field, in the compound. Just in general.

While you still didn’t spend much time with the team, in the brief moments that you did, your attention would drift towards him. You were more aware of his presence when he was near.

And you did in fact give the songs he recommended a listen. You listened to them quite often actually.

You were still listening to those songs weeks later.

You were in the kitchen listening to your new “oldies” playlist. It was late in the night and you needed to focus on something that wasn’t the chaos swarming in your brain. So, you decided to break out the baking supplies and royal icing you bought weeks ago.

As you flattened out the dough with a rolling pin a figure appeared from the dimly lit hallway.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked once he noticed your presence. His voice was laced with sleep.

“Making cookies,” you answered, grabbing the cookie cutters.

He walked closer to the kitchen island and leaned his forearms on the counter. “Why are you making cookies at one in the morning?”

“Stress baking.”

There was a pause as he watched you cut flower shapes out of the dough.

“Can’t sleep?”

You shrugged without looking up, “something like that.” You didn’t feel like elaborating.

This guy you barely know definitely does not want to be hearing about how you can’t sleep from anxiety. He didn’t need to hear that after the last mission you went on with the team your brain was constantly screaming at you all the things you did wrong and could’ve done better.

“Do you do this a lot?” he gestured towards your work. "Bake in the middle of the night?”

“I have once or twice. It also helps that no one is coming and going so I get some peace and quiet.”

Bucky visibly tensed at your explanation, “sorry I ruined it.”

Your head perked up immediately to prove him wrong. “It’s alright, you didn’t.”

He looked relieved to hear that.

“What are you making?”

“Sugar cookies, but I’m gonna put icing on when they’re done.” You placed the cut out dough on the baking sheet.

Your stomach coiled with nerves before speaking again. “I could save you some. If you want,” you said in a quieter voice.

His eyes softened and he smiled at you. “That’d be great.”

As you continued placing cookie dough on the sheet, he walked over the fridge to fetch what he came down to the kitchen for.

Now that the room was quiet, he could fully process the music that was playing in the background. For a moment, he stared at the inside of the fridge as he listened to the beginning notes of the next song.

He finally grabbed the bottle of water and closed the fridge door before eyeing you with a quirked brow.

“Billie Holiday?”

You looked up from the cookies in confusion. You momentarily registered the song playing in the background was “What a Little Moonlight Can Do” by Billie Holiday. One of the songs from the list he gave you.

“Oh yeah I finally made my own playlist. Most of the songs are the ones you gave me,” you grabbed the baking sheet and carefully placed it in the oven.

“You liked the songs?” His voice sounded like it had a hint of surprise.

You nodded as the corners of your mouth perked into a grin. “I do yeah. They’re really good. It’s different from the normal stuff I listen to but it’s really growing on me.”

Joy inched its way onto his face as he listened to you. “That’s great. I’m glad.”

You leaned back against the counter and took off the apron you were wearing. “You have good taste in music.”

The ends of his ears turned red, “Thanks.”

Silence returned to the kitchen. you both stood there not knowing what to say next. The air between you was thick, like you wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.

The song continued playing in the background, almost taunting you.

You’re in love

You’re hearts a flutter

And all day long,

You only stutter

How dare Billie Holiday tease you right now with him in the same room. Who gave her the permission to take a peek into your heart and put it on display in front of him.

The music was disrupted by Bucky clearing his throat, “well, I should go back to my room.”

You shoved your hands in your pockets, “hope you get some sleep.”

He nodded before making his way out of the kitchen and walking down the hall.

A few seconds after you were sure he left, you took a long deep breath. You stood there grappling with the fact that you definitely were starting to feel something for him.

Something strong.

Something you couldn’t get rid of.

The next morning you stood on the other side of Bucky’s door with a small plastic container in your hands.

This was starting to feel silly. You’ve stared down countless criminals and kicked the crap out of them. But this was making you nervous.

With a shaky hand you finally knocked, and hoped that he was actually in his room.

It took only a brief moment for Bucky to answer. He must have just showered. His hair was a bit messy, slightly damp and he smelled nice. He was wearing one of those black compression shirts that hugged his muscles all the right ways.

It should be illegal for him to look that good.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asked, surprised to see you.

His question paused your ogling and brought your attention back to why you were there in the first place.

“I saved some cookies for you,” you offered him the tupperware.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he glanced between you and the dessert. He took the container from you and opened the lid, looking down with a smile at the flower cookies with purple, yellow and pink frosting.

“Thanks, they look amazing,” he complimented. “Hope you didn’t stay up all night making them.”

You shrugged, “It’s fine, I ended up getting some sleep. It helped me clear my mind.”

Only because something else obsessively invaded your thoughts. Someone that cleared away the anxiety from your job.

_____

As the weeks rolled by, you started to leave the sanctity of your bedroom and brave the common areas.

Was it because of Bucky? Maybe.

You found yourself intrigued by the man. And it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes.

That’s why you slowly but surely started to hang out with them more. You needed an excuse to be around him.

It was almost embarrassing how much your crush on Bucky was affecting you. You were so worried about talking to the other teammates, yet desperately wanted to talk to him. Even if it was for a fleeting moment.

The team took notice of your increased presence around the compound. Some were quiet about it, others weren’t, and loved to tease you.

In a weird way, the teasing made you feel more welcomed. Like you were really part of the team.

“Well well well,” Sam started with a smirk as he walked into the gym. “Look who’s training while the sun’s still out.”

You froze in the middle of wrapping your hands to look up at him, Bucky, and Steve about to start their workout.

”I’m not nocturnal Sam,” you joked back.

Usually, you would visit the gym at night before you went to sleep while no one else was there. As of lately, you had a slight change in routine.

“Could’ve fooled me. I heard that you bake in the middle of the night.”

Your eyebrows raised at his comment, “How’d you know that?”

“Little birdie told me.” his grin couldn’t get any wider.

You looked to the only possible suspect. Bucky’s eyes quickly averted from you as his ears turned pink.

Steve shook his head with a smile at his two friends. He tapped Sam’s shoulder before making his way to the bench, “c’mon quit bothering her.”

Sam playfully rolled his eyes at Steve before pointing in your direction, “I better see you at game night later.”

You shrugged, “Maybe I could stop by.”

“You better stop by. We’re breaking out Uno,” he beamed before following behind Steve.

You smiled to yourself as he left and finished wrapping your hands. Before you could hit the punching bag, you realized Bucky didn’t leave to join Sam and Steve.

“You want some help?” he offered while pointing towards the bag.

You nodded as nerves turned your stomach. “Yeah sure.”

He walked closer to the punching bag, held it, and prepared for you to strike.

You exhaled and prepped your stance while staring at the bag in front of you. Your punches started off weak and hesitant — mostly because of his presence — before you slowly relaxed and drew more of your strength.

Besides Sam and Steve, another Avenger that always tried to rope you into social functions was Tony. Occasionally he would throw some party for a holiday or even for no special reason, simply because he wanted to.

The only party of his that you attended was the first one he threw after you joined. Only because he didn’t give you much of a choice. After that, you never attended another Stark party.

Well, until last night.

“I’m going all out for this one. Thor’s coming back to earth and man does that guy like to party,” Tony boasted about his plans for the weekend in the lounge. Or what would soon become last night's party.

You silently sat in the corner of the couch “reading” a book. Well, you were reading but now you were nosy and listening to the people around you. As part of your attempt to be more social with the team, you bravely chose the lounge instead of your room.

You heard earlier that Thor was returning after being away from earth for a few weeks doing some Asgardian space duties you didn’t know the details of.

“Don’t set anything on fire this time,” Wanda teased before taking a sip from her mug.

Tony spun on his heel to point at her. “That was not me!”

A few chuckles could be heard throughout the room, even a quiet one from you. You’d heard the same story from three different people about how Tony swears it wasn’t his fault that his drink spilled and caused a small electrical fire.

“Regardless, it’s going to be amazing and I better see you all there on Friday,” he then pointed at Bucky playing cards with Steve. “And that means you Barnes. Don’t think I forgot you missed out last time.”

”Looks like I lucked out considering you almost burned the place down,” Bucky quipped back without looking up from his cards.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t me,” he mumbled under his breath.

Steve nudged his best friend before placing another card down on the coffee table. “Come on Buck, it’ll be fun.”

Bucky gave a long stare to Steve. You noticed he tended to do that a lot. Turn a normal glare into a staring contest with Sam or Steve. A few seconds passed before he placed his next card down with a sigh. “Fine.”

Having sensed that your eyes were on him, Bucky glanced up at you from across the room. Your gaze darted away and back to your book in an instant.

Tony noticed this and walked closer to the couch, studying you trying to read. He could clearly tell you were listening in and watching. “What about you, wallflower?”

Your head perked up in confusion.

You knew he was addressing you because of the nickname. At first Steve was worried about Tony calling you that, but you actually secretly liked it. It was like the teasing, made you feel more included.

“You wanna step out of your comfort zone? Ready to mingle?”

You let the question hang in the air for a moment, contemplating your response. After hearing Bucky’s answer, the idea of attending Tony’s party was sounding more and more appealing.

“I might.”

You tried to ignore how a few sets of eyes landed on you. Including his.

“Seriously?” Tony asked, not expecting you to actually accept his invitation.

”Yes seriously, I’m considering it,” you answered with more confidence.

Tony excitedly snapped and pointed at you. “That’s a yes! You can’t take that back.”

You awkwardly smiled in return.

“Finally! I knew this day would come,” Tony cheered as he left the lounge.

You attempted to actually read your book now but felt Bucky’s gaze lingering on you. When you met his eyes, they returned to the pile of cards on the coffee table. You then finally went back to your reading.

_____

You don’t know what feels worse. The pounding headache from last night's drinks, or the anxiety pulling you apart from the inside out.

While you laid in bed, the lights were kept dim to not aggravate your headache further. You were admiring the poster Bucky helped you hang up. For so long you’d look at it and your thoughts would drift to the man who helped you hang it. Your mood would lift or your heart would flutter making you feel giddy.

Now, you wanted to rip it off your wall.

It stared back at you as a reminder of what you did last night. You couldn’t stop thinking about how it only took a little liquid courage and one single brave moment to embarrass yourself. You most likely ruined your chances of becoming real friends with him, or even something more.

There’s no way Bucky actually wants to be with you. There’s no way Bucky felt the same way, held the same admiration for you that you did for him. He’d probably be nice about it and let you down easily.

Well, he tried to let you down easily, but your fear interrupted him before he could inevitably ask you to forget about what happened. You couldn’t listen to it. You didn’t want to hear the heartbreaking reality that he didn’t want you beyond a spur of the moment fling.

You’d rather just let the whole thing blow over. Let Bucky take your silence as a signal to let this pass. Let everyone forget about it and go about their business like normal. Because words always travel fast here. And by now everyone probably fucking knew about you and Bucky.

As the hours rolled by and the sun was setting, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you ran out of the water and food stashed in your room.

You have to leave. As much as you don’t want to, you have to.

It kind of felt weird, spending all day in your room. You’d just started getting used to being around everyone, that now it felt kind of normal. You almost looked forward to the social interactions. Even if you didn’t speak a lot or join in some conversations. Just being around them felt … nice.

You rolled over in bed and reached for your phone left on the nightstand. After turning off do not disturb, the screen was flooded with notifications. Part of you was surprised that they were checking in on you considering it used to be normal for you to live like a hermit.

Natasha: Morning sleepyhead, you hungover? Feeling alright?

Clint: I got doughnuts, you better get down here before Thor wakes up and eats them all

Steve: Hey, you doing okay?

Let me know if you need anything

And 1 missed call followed by 2 texts from Bucky:

I know you’re hiding in your room

Can we talk?

You really didn’t want to talk. Because you knew he wanted to talk about last night. You weren’t ready to have that conversation yet. You weren’t ready when Bucky tried knocking on your door hours ago and you still weren’t ready now.

Maybe later tonight. Depending on your bravery.

You didn’t answer any of their messages. Just got out of bed and shoved your phone in your pocket.

You hoped there wasn’t a large crowd or any crowd period in the kitchen. But unfortunately, you weren’t so lucky. As you approached the kitchen you heard voices that only got louder as you got closer.

You stayed behind the doorway while you listened. Not exactly intentional eavesdropping. More like you froze at the realization they were talking about you.

“What the hell did I do now?” Tony complained, he sounded offended.

“You told everyone about me and Y/N,” Bucky scolded Tony, his tone sounding bitter and angry.

“Correction, I told two people last night,” Tony countered. “It’s not my fault that the gossip was so juicy it spread like wildfire.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Bucky grumbled.

“What’s unbelievable is you and your girl not making out sooner.”

You heard Bucky sigh and after a pause he quietly mumble, but it was loud enough for you to hear. “She’s not my girl.”

Those words echoed in your ears as if you heard it up close. She’s not my girl.

A suffocating ache wound itself around your chest. Your fists clenched so tight, your fingernails made an imprint on your palm.

His girl. You could only dream of being his girl.

You almost went back to your room. Almost. But you were already here, and the kitchen wouldn’t be empty for hours.

During the pause in their conversation, you passed the threshold. The room fell silent. The sound of a pin drop could bounce off the walls. You felt the tension in your bones with every single step you took.

You didn’t look any of them in the eyes. You couldn’t. Just kept your focus trained on the floor as you moved the counter.

From the cabinet, you found a large refillable water bottle to stock up and keep in your room. You waited at the fridge for it to fill.

All their eyes on you made your whole body tense. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. Their looks weighed like a heavy blanket and they practically saw right through you.

Steve was the first to break the silence. “How’ve you been? Are you feeling alright?”

You cleared your throat before speaking. You don’t know the last time you said something, your voice was probably hoarse. “I’m fine. Was a bit hungover this morning, didn’t feel well.”

The second the water bottle was filled, you tightened the lid and turned back to the counter where you found the box of doughnuts that Clint texted you about. With a nervous hand, you grabbed the last chocolate frosted doughnut.

You belined for the hallway, eager to leave when Bucky called your name. His voice reached through your chest cavity and squeezed your heart. You didn’t stop walking. You couldn’t speak to him. Not yet.

____________________________

“And that means you Barnes. Don’t think I forgot you missed out last time.”

Instead of actually acknowledging that he was absent during Stark’s last party, Bucky opted for poking fun at the man. He didn’t even have to look up from their card game to know that Stark was rolling his eyes or pinching his brow in frustration.

Bucky felt Steve’s elbow nudge his side before he placed another card on the coffee table. “Come on Buck, it’ll be fun,” Steve tried to encourage.

Bucky stared back at his best friend, trying to silently tell Steve that he would rather Stark actually burn down the building.

Bucky hates parties.

Actually that's a lie.

Bucky Barnes used to love parties. Before HYDRA, he used to be the life of the party. He’d be cracking jokes with his pals or going out dancing with dames. The music was loud and the excitement ran through the room and into your bloodstream, carrying you across the dance floor.

After everything that happened, he didn’t have much party left in him. It left him more reserved, more introverted. His blood ran cold now.

He always went to those team bonding things Steve organized because, well it was Steve, but they were also smaller, more intimate. He even found himself having fun. Some of the movies the team chose were weird, but some he really liked. During game nights he was more engaged then he expected he would be.

But the large parties he wished he could avoid. Now, the loud music irritated his ears. The modern music that played wasn’t to his taste and hard to dance to. The very few festivities he did attend, Steve managed to convince Tony to play one or two old songs from the 40s or at least the 50s, but that was it.

Steve stared back at him with an expression he was all too familiar with. It was the same look that Bucky would give scrawny little Stevie back in the day when he tried to convince him to join.

Bucky sighed and placed a card on the table. “Fine,” he grumbled.

In his peripheral vision, he sensed someone looking in his direction. When he turned away from their card game, he was met with your eyes. But only for a second, before they retreated back into your book.

Steve's mouth curled into a smile as he put down another card. “Who knows you might like it. And maybe your girl will go,” he whispered.

“She’s not my girl,” Bucky muttered back. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He didn’t want a reminder that he didn’t have the luxury of calling you his girl.

From the moment you met, he knew he needed you in his life. Not just because you were pretty. And God damn it you were so pretty. But because you were enchanting.

It was like you had some magnetic pull on him he couldn’t avoid.

He’d worked with you on multiple missions because of course Steve immediately caught whiff of Bucky’s interest in you and paired you guys up. He saw first hand the power you wielded during a fight. The mysterious way you hid in the shadows and snuck up on people rivaled only him and Natasha. He almost got knocked out once because he stood there watching you attack a guard that towered over you like it was nothing.

Steve wouldn’t shut up about that for a whole week.

But when you weren’t beating up criminals or sitting in silence during mission briefings, he barely saw you. You almost never showed face at team functions and (more importantly) you never spoke to him.

He was worried you didn’t like him, or even worse you hated him. Steve and Sam tried to convince him that wasn’t true but it still never left his mind. It was still in his mind when he passed by your room and heard that crash. Bucky remained cautious, scared that you would ignore him or act coldly, but he still felt compelled to make sure you were okay.

And when he did finally get the small chances to talk to you, to see the parts of you that you often hid, he felt a thousand times lighter. Bucky saw the light in you grow brighter as you became more comfortable with the team.

In the moments you let your walls down, you shined like a diamond.

But he never saw you shine like that at Stark’s parties.

Bucky shook his head as he placed a new card, “besides, she never shows, you know that.”

Bucky noticed Stark approaching you to test the waters with an invitation for you to attend. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but then again, it isn’t exactly a private conversation. And he had enhanced hearing anyway.

“You wanna step out of your comfort zone? Ready to mingle?”

“I might.”

His head immediately snapped in your direction. He couldn’t hear what Stark asked you, he was too focused on your response.

“Yes seriously, I'm considering it.”

As of lately, you had a habit of saying you might go instead of actually saying yes. He noticed this because every single time you said ‘maybe,’ you showed up. It seemed like a way to give yourself an escape. A safety net to land in the roaring sea of anxiety.

But if you were considering it, that definitely meant you were going.

He tried to not linger on the fact that his heart rate increased the more he thought about it.

Stark seemed quite excited at your answer. “That's a yes! You can’t take that back”

You gave a bright smile in response. Bucky loved your smile. He’d go to hell and back to see you smile.

He didn’t realize he was still staring until you looked up from your book. He quickly returned his attention back to the cards in his hand.

Bucky cleared his throat, “is it my turn?”

“Nope,” Steve tried to hide the humor in his voice as he placed a winning card.

Bucky sighed while tossing his remaining cards on the table. He wasn’t too bummed about losing the game though. He was still thinking about seeing you Friday night.

_____

Steve Rogers is a traitor.

Well, at this very second he is a traitor. Because he is on the dance floor, dancing with you.

Slow dancing with you.

Bucky was watching from afar. Wait, that sounds creepy when he thinks about it like that. He was observing the party, and naturally his gaze landed on you. How could it not? In every room he entered, he looked for you.

The party had started by the time you showed up. He was in the middle of conversation with Sam when he saw you walk in by yourself, fashionably late.

He could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat at the sight of you. The burgundy dress you wore made his head dizzy.

Bucky had a plan. He originally was going to catch you on the dance floor with a song that was easier to dance to, aka an older song. But you were already dancing with Steve and Wanda when one of those newer Sinatra songs came on. Well, new to him. A while back Natasha gave him a crash course in 20th century music after the war.

Should he be bitter and maybe just a tad jealous? No, he shouldn’t. He had all night to ask you to dance and yet he stood off to the side. Then Steve swooped in and ruined his plans.

And now the little punk was dancing with you.

Of course you wanted to dance with Steve. You were closer with him then you were with Bucky. Steve was the first person you started opening up to. And why shouldn’t you? Steve’s amazing. He’s sweet, courageous, a gentleman, someone to look up to. Hell, Bucky looked up to him. Even when Steve was that scrawny kid in Brooklyn, Bucky admired his bravery and good heart.

Steve was a good man. Bucky was a broken one.

“Oh no, who’s victim to your impenetrable stare now?” Natasha asked as she approached him.

“I’m not staring,” he mumbled, pushing off from where he was leaning on the bar and turned his back to the dance floor.

“Sure, and Tony isn’t drunk.”

“Got the fire extinguisher on deck?” He downed the rest of his drink and left the glass on the bar.

She chuckled, “yup.” Natasha walked around behind the counter and grabbed herself a fresh wine glass. “You know, if you ask her to dance, she’ll say yes.”

Bucky hated it when she saw right through him. For a woman with no enhanced abilities, Natasha sure had a way of reading people.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been watching her all night, Barnes.”

He cringed, “It sounds creepy when you put it like that.”

Natasha shook her head and smiled as she continued to pour herself a glass of red wine. “Then don’t put so much distance between yourselves. Maybe actually talk to her, ask her to dance.”

“She’s already dancing with Steve,” he answered, looking down at the counter.

She raised an eyebrow at him in fake confusion. “That’s not jealousy I hear, is it?”

“I’m not jealous,” Bucky quickly rebutted. He paused while his jaw clenched. “I just don’t wanna bother her.”

Natasha sighed as she put the bottle away. “You don’t bother her. Believe me.”

He crossed his arms, “how would you know that?”

She carefully swirled the red liquid in her glass. “The same way I know that you’ve wanted to dance with her all night.”

Bucky stared at her with annoyance and disbelief written all over his face. Natasha stared back at him with a slight smirk knowing she was right.

Their staring contest was abruptly interrupted by Thor stumbling towards the bar.

“Romanoff! Barnes! How are you enjoying the festivities?” Thor beamed. Bucky couldn’t tell if Thor was just that excited or if he was bordering on intoxicated.

”I’ve been having a wonderful night but“ —Natasha gestured towards Bucky— “I don’t think he’s in a partying mood.”

Thor looked at him with a slight pout. Yeah he was probably a bit intoxicated, Bucky thought.

”That sounds terrible. We need to fix that right away.” Thor rushed to the cabinet to grab a fancy looking bottle and two clean short glasses. He set the bottle on the counter across from Bucky and waved a hand behind it to show it off.

“I brought this back from my most recent trip to Asgard. It has aged for a thousand years. It’s too strong for mortal men, but you my friend” —he patted Bucky on the shoulder— “are well suited for it.”

Thor poured some of the drink into each glass and pushed one closer to Bucky. “This should help raise your spirits.”

He stared at the honey colored liquid hesitantly before picking it up. “Thanks pal.” He offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Thor raised his drink to the man across from him. Bucky took another look before raising his drink and clinking it with Thors. He took a sip and found it to be sweeter than he expected.

It was also much stronger than he expected.

Thanks to the discount super serum he received, he couldn’t get drunk. Bucky hasn’t been drunk since 1945, the last time he went out to a bar with the howling commandos.

After two and a half of whatever that Norse drink was, he was starting to get that dizzying buz he hasn’t felt in decades. He wasn’t as drunk as Thor or Tony were, but he was feeling more confident than he had been earlier in the night.

He wouldn’t bother to hide the glances he threw your way. At some point he got rid of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. If someone asked if he did that because he was warm or because he wanted to show off to you, he wouldn’t have answered. But it was pretty clear when he noticed you looking at him and he would stand up straighter or flex his arms.

Then of course when you caught his eyes he winked at you and then smiled when he saw how bashful you looked.

Bucky was definitely having a better night than before. And it just kept getting better the more he interacted with you.

His favorite —but also least favorite— part of the night was when he accidentally ran into you.

He was leaving the bathroom at the same time you were. As he turned the corner he stumbled into your side, not expecting you to be there. As Bucky collided with you, you yelped and almost fell down yourself.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he apologized as he tried to regain his balance.

You grabbed onto his arm and helped him stand straight. “It’s fine, no worries.”

His chest ached at the feeling of your hands on his bicep.

A look of confusion crossed your face before you asked, “are you drunk?”

”No.”

You raised an eyebrow at him; your expression screaming that you don’t believe him.

“Maybe,” he mumbled.

You scoffed and let go of his arm, cautiously as you made sure he wasn’t going to fall over. “I thought guys like you and Steve couldn’t get drunk.”

“We can’t. But Thor gave me this funky Asgardian beer.” Bucky's words slurred together as he explained.

“I think it’s mead.”

He looked baffled, “what’s mead?”

You shook your head amused, “not beer.”

He scoffed and pointed an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t talk like I can't smell the tequila on your breath,” he joked.

You playfully swatted at his arm away using very little force. “Shut up, it’s the first time I’ve let loose in a long time.”

He loved seeing you riled up. You looked so adorable.

”You should do it more often.”

”Drink?

“No, come to these stupid parties,” he gestured down the hall to where music was coming from.

“I will if you’ll be there,” you replied in a sweet tone. You sounded more forward than he was used to. He was a bit surprised but decided to lean into it.

“Is that a promise?”

“Maybe.”

“Good,” Bucky smiled as he remembered what it meant when you said maybe to plans.

He hoped you would keep showing up. He’d go to every single one of those dumb parties if he knew he’d see you there.

“I like seeing you like this. More social, having fun. No more hiding in your room.”

“I didn’t hide,” you protested, even though you knew he was right.

“You avoided us like the plague,” he countered. “For a while I thought you didn’t like me,”

Your jaw dropped at his confession. “You thought I didn’t like you?” Your voice sounded both a bit worried and surprised.

“You never spoke to me!”

“I gave you cookies!”

“But that was like-“ he paused to do the mental math, “three months after we met. Before that I wasn’t sure.”

You relaxed as you settled with the information. “Okay, but it wasn’t just you. I didn’t talk to anybody,” you answered with a shrug.

“And look at you now.” He gestured to you with a small smile of admiration. “Going to parties, spending time with us. You looked like you were really having fun.”

Your eyes lit up with a look of realization as you leaned back against the wall. “Wow, you were watching me?” You teased him.

Bucky should’ve known that would come and bite him in the ass, again.

“I wouldn’t say watching.”

You squinted at him, that glimmer still present in your eyes, “hmm sounds like you were.

“I can’t help it, not when you look like that,” he said in a sultry voice.

You tilted your head, “like what?”

Bucky licked his lips as he fully took you in. Even as your makeup took the toll of the night, you still looked perfect to him. Your eyeliner was a bit smudged and your lips still shimmered from the left over gloss. He gazed down at your dress, it had a flowy skirt that hid some of your curves but a slit down the side that gave him a view of your leg.

“Like the most beautiful woman at this party.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Come on,” you playfully dismissed his compliment.

Bucky took a step closer to you. “I’m serious, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he continued as his voice got lower.

Your cheeks turned pink and your voice raised in pitch, “you’re such a flirt, Barnes.”

“Maybe,” he returned with a smirk. “Doesn’t change the fact that you are breathtaking.”

Now your face was crimson. You tried to bite back a giddy smile but he could see right through you.

“Stop being so sweet, it’s making me want to kiss you.”

Bucky's heart pounded in his ears and he felt his face start to heat up. He desperately hoped you weren’t kidding.

He quickly glanced at your lips and leaned closer. “Oh yeah? What’s stopping you?”

Your eyes slightly widened at his question, like you weren’t expecting him to take you so seriously. He watched the contemplation in your features as you stared back at him.

Hidden behind his confident exterior, Bucky’s stomach was churning as he awaited your response. Even with the alcohol swimming through his bloodstream, he still had a lingering cloud of anxiety telling him you really didn’t want to kiss him. Telling him that you didn’t want him.

“Right now?” You whispered. You looked up at him with those doe eyes that made him weak in the knees.

Your gaze darted between his and lingered on his lips. “Nothing,” you breathed before capturing his lips in yours.

Bucky was taken by surprise at your forwardness, his lips froze for a split second before moving in rhythm with yours. You reached up, placing your hands on his neck and face. He sighed against your mouth as you pulled him down closer to you, desperate to taste him.

Bucky’s hands traveled up and down your hips, starved for more of your touch. His metal hand settled at your waist while his right hand slipped past the slit in your dress and grabbed at your thigh. You leaned into him, your back arching off the wall you were pressed up against and your leg wrapped around his, pulling him closer. He continued to paw at your thigh, his hand sneaking higher and higher, finding its place on your ass. A soft moan escaped you, trapped against Bucky’s lips. The sound tasted like heaven to him.

Asgardian alcohol was nothing compared to the intoxicating drink that was you. Bucky was lost in the touch, the smell, the feel of you. He breathed you in like it was his first breath of fresh air in years.

It was like the earth stopped spinning just for you two. Time was put on pause and there in that secluded hallway, you and Bucky were the only people in the world.

Of course, you were in fact not the only people in the world, let alone that party. While your lips were still interlocked and hands grabbing at each other, footsteps inched closer.

Immediately you pulled away from each other at the startled gasp of, “holy shit!”

Bucky and you froze in horror at the man across the hall.

Neither of you noticed Tony approaching around the corner. He stared at you with shock written all over his face, which then transformed into a cheeky grin.

“Wow, and to think you two almost didn’t show up.” He pointed at both of you, “If you guys get married, I better get credit in your vows.”

��Stark,” Bucky warned in a sharp tone, staring daggers at the man in question.

Tony raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t mind me. Please, go back to eating each other's faces.” He chuckled before retreating down the hall back to the party.

Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Even after he cut it he couldn’t shake the habit.

He couldn’t look you in the eyes yet, still too flustered. “He’s such an ass,” he joked, shaking his head.

You fixed your hair and offered a nervous smile. “Yeah, I know,” you mumbled.

The air in the room wasn’t the same after Tony walked in. The realization of what you were doing had caught up to both of you. Bucky had wanted to kiss you long before now, he just never expected it to be a spur of the moment first kiss.

That doesn’t mean he regretted it. Not one bit.

“We should probably return to the party.” Bucky cleared his throat, “listen I know it might be a bit awkward when we get back but, I wanted to ask if-“

”I’m sorry, I um,” you interrupted with a slight panic in your voice.

“I’m gonna go. Have a good rest of your night Bucky,” you excused yourself with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Bucky watched you shuffle away and down the hall, in the opposite direction of the party. His posture deflated as his stare lingered from where you left. He tried to ignore the slight ache in his chest but it stayed, infecting his heart like a poison.

Finally when he had the chance and nerve to ask you to dance, you ran away.

_____

From when he returned to the party to the next morning when he woke up, that ache didn’t fully go away. It became quieter, more tolerable to deal with. But still present.

He tried to dilute it with reasonable answers. You might have still been flustered from being caught in the hallway. You might have been more drunk than he thought and didn’t feel well.

But his train of thought always returned to anxiety and doubt. The voice in the back of his head that told him you didn’t want to be seen with him. You were embarrassed to be seen kissing him. The voice that screamed he wasn’t good enough and you would never have feelings for him.

For now he would shove down those left over doubts. Try to ignore them the best he could.

Unfortunately that wasn’t an option when he was hounded at breakfast.

When he walked in the kitchen, he felt the tone change. It was subtle, but as Sam, Clint, and Yelena’s conversation died down, he sensed multiple pairs of eyes landing on him.

“So Bucky, how was your night?” Sam asked before sipping his coffee.

Bucky walked to the coffee machine and grabbed his own mug from the cabinet. “It was good,” he muttered.

Yelena spun in her chair to face him, “you had fun?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. “You guess?”

“Why do you care so much?” Bucky groaned as he poured a fresh cup of coffee for himself.

“No reason, just wanted to see what you thought of the party.”

Bucky shrugged, turning back around to face the group. “It was like every other party.”

“You don’t get drunk at every other party,” Sam countered in a snarky tone.

“I was not that drunk,” Bucky protested.

“Drunk enough to get freaky in the hallway?”

Sam’s question had Bucky gripping his mug so hard he almost shattered it. Anger seeped into his bloodstream that made his veins hot.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head. “Stark, that son of a bitch,” he grumbled under his breath.

Yelena's interest was piqued at Bucky's reaction, confirming her suspicions. “So it’s true? You and Y/N kissed?”

“Oh they did more than kiss,” Sam added.

“Sam,” Bucky warned with a sharp tone.

“Did you see him peacocking? He kept flexing his arm muscles at her and at one point I think I saw him wink. I guess all that paid off.” Clint finally added his thoughts, amusement creeping its way onto his face.

Yelena sat with a smile, still processing the information. “Wow, I didn’t think you two would get together for another month or more.”

“We’re not together,” Bucky corrected. The words tasted like a nasty poison on his tongue.

“You will be soon,” Clint insisted.

“Don’t bet on it.”

“What are you talking about? Sam asked. “You like this girl. You’ve been crushing on her for months!”

Bucky’s jaw clenched before. His stomach boiled over with the feelings he tried to push down.

He shook his head and waved them off. “Never mind.”

Yelena leaned forward, eager to understand. ”No wait, Bucky what happened?” She asked calmly, voice filled with concern.

He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His lips sealed shut while he stared at the floor, contemplating how honest he should be with them.

“It’s nothing. After Stark walked in on us she didn’t exactly tell me how she felt about the kiss.” Bucky nervously ran a hand through his short hair. “I tried to ask her to dance. She left before I could spit it out.”

“She’s a shy girl. She was probably overwhelmed and embarrassed.” Clint offered.

Not embarrassed because of you, Bucky tried to remind himself.

Sam stepped closer to Bucky, his tone of voice much more serious than before. “Just talk to her about it. I’m sure she feels the same way.”

Bucky looked down in his mug, the hot black coffee staring back at him. “Have any of you seen or talked to her yet? It’s still early. I don't know if she’s awake.”

”No, she hasn’t been down here yet,” Yelena answered.

Clint grabbed out his phone, “I’ll text her-“

”No, Clint,” Bucky cringed.

Clint held up a hand to him, still typing away on his screen. “Calm down, I’m telling her about the doughnuts I bought.”

Bucky’s tense shoulders relaxed at the explanation.

“Let me know if you find out she’s awake. I’d hate to wake her up just to pester her about this.” He grabbed his coffee and a doughnut for himself from the box on the counter.

“Leave a chocolate frosted,” he instructed as he walked to the lounge. “She only likes those.”

____

It’s been three days.

In the last three days, he’s seen you once. When you tip-toed into the kitchen, barely looking him in the eyes.

He already thought about you every day. He’d leave his room with anticipation, eager for the chance to see you.

Now that same anticipation had a sour taste. Bucky would go to the gym, lounge, or kitchen with hope that he would see you there. And every time he was crushed at the sight of a room without your presence.

You had gotten pretty successful at staying hidden. After that brief awkward encounter on Saturday, you made yourself completely undetectable. He should’ve known it would be an easy feat for you considering you were a spy before joining the Avengers. The only indication that you were even still in the compound were the clean dishes on the drying rack and the missing food from the fridge.

Not only was Bucky missing and craving your presence, but he had to sit with the unknown meaning behind your kiss. He had no idea how you felt about him, and it drove him mad.

The lustful look In your eyes and the desperate touch of your hands on him told him that you might feel the same way. But the way you recoiled and shut yourself out said something else.

One thing he did know was that all this overthinking was going to be his downfall.

It was past midnight and instead of staying in bed, struggling to fall asleep, he decided to go to the gym and let out some stress.

Little did he know he wasn’t the only one with that same idea.

He wasn’t that surprised to see some of the lights on as he approached the gym. Every so often someone was working out late at night. Who he didn’t expect to see was you, laser focused as you striked at the punching bag.

Bucky stood still for a moment, watching you, debating whether or not he should leave you be or talk to you.

His legs seemed to be moving on their own as he approached you.

“Want some help?”

You jumped, startled out of your focus. “You scared the shit out of me!” You placed a hand over your heart, probably felt it pounding.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You didn’t answer my question though.”

You looked at him with puzzled, furrowed brows.

“Do you want some help?” He repeated, gesturing towards the punching bag.

You paused before answering in a calm tone. “No thanks.”

You shifted your weight and prepped your stance, attention returned to the bag.

“I thought you didn’t work out this late anymore,” Bucky commented with fake innocence.

You shrugged before you started punching again. “Guess old habits die hard.”

“Like hiding in your room?”

You hesitated. He watched your jaw clench before you punched again.

“I am not hiding.”

“I haven’t seen you in three days.”

Your punches got stronger while your voice stayed calm. “Didn’t feel well. Needed rest.”

“I texted you.”

“Sorry,” another punch. “Didn’t see it.”

Bucky exhaled, “Why are you lying?”

“I’m not-“

“Yes you are,” he interrupted, a bit of frustration leaking through his firm voice.

“We’ve barely seen you. And this isn’t like when you first got here, because I still saw you back then. You’re ignoring us.”

You’re ignoring me, he wanted to say.

Your attention broke from the punching bag. Your hand landed limp against it as you turned to him.

“Why do you care?” You asked with more curiosity than you showed on your face.

“Because I’m worried about you. And I know something’s wrong.”

You didn’t reply. Just stared at the floor and picked at the wraps on your hands.

Bucky didn’t want to pester you about it, but he had to stop you from isolating and keeping everything bottled up. He knew better than anyone what that felt like. The desire to hide away and run.

He could see the walls you built up slowly starting to crack, but you held on so tight to that security. Desperate to not let it fall down.

He was going to get you to open up, whether it hurt him or not.

“Is this about the kiss?”

Your eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched. “Bucky, I really don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“Well when do you feel like talking about it?” He interrogated, folding his arms. “Tomorrow? A week from now?”

“Fine!” You snapped back at him. “We got drunk, flirted a little and kissed. Can we just put this behind us and forget about it?”

Forget about it? You really want him to forget about the kiss? The best kiss of his life. The kiss that brought warmth back into his cold veins. Forget the kiss that made all the decades worth of tension fall off his bones and disappear for a few minutes.

He scoffed, “I’m sorry but I can’t just forget about it.”

Your cheeks that were previously pink from your work out turned red.

Bucky kept his gaze trained on you. He watched your eyes repeatedly dart away from him, still trying to hide while you stood right in front of him.

“Why did you leave after we kissed?” He asked, keeping his voice steady even while his insides were twisting.

“Bucky,” you groaned, pleading with the man in front of you.

“I gotta know.”

You looked down at your hands and resumed picking at the wrappings.

“Did you mean it?” You inquired, deflecting from his question. “What you said that night.”

He pursed his lips, trying to mentally sort through all the things he said. “Which part?”

You paused your fidgeting, hands tense as you spoke. “All those nice things you said about me. When you said I was the most beautiful woman at that party.” You finally looked at Bucky, eyes swimming with uncertainty.

“Did you mean it, or were you just flirting?”

You were trying to hide behind a guarded expression, but Bucky could see the vulnerability in your eyes and hear it in your voice.

You felt the same way about him.

But just like him, you didn’t believe your feelings were reciprocated because of the overwhelming fear. Your vision was clouded by fear and doubt.

He took a few steps closer. You took a half step back.

His eyes stayed on you. He never wavered.

”I meant all of it,” he answered softly. “Every single word.”

Your eyes widened and lips parted.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

You gave him a nervous grin and shook your head as you tried removing the wrapping from your hands. ”That’s overselling it a bit,” you lightly joked. You fought the hand wrap with a shaky hand, struggling to take it off.

Bucky inched closer. Before you could register what he was doing, he reached forward and gently grabbed your hands. He separated them and continued undoing the wrapping for you. His touch was soft as he handled you with the utmost care.

“I’m being serious,” he started, eyes trained on your hand. “Whether you believe me or not.”

He finished working on your left hand and moved to your right. You didn’t protest. You didn’t stop him.

“If you really want to forget about the kiss. Go ahead.” But now he knew you didn’t want to forget about it. He swallowed, preparing to place his own heart in the palm of your hand. “I don’t think I could ever forget it. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Friday.”

He chuckled as a blush crept its way on his face. “Actually, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time we met.”

He felt your hand freeze against his. “Bucky, that was over 6 months ago,” you reminded him breathlessly.

He finished unwrapping your hand, looked up at you, and nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered.

Bucky still held your hand, neither one of you moved away from the other.

You took a deep breath, the expression on your face looked like you were mentally wrestling with yourself.

“What were you going to ask me before I left?” You asked cautiously.

“If you wanted to dance with me.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile as his cheeks turned pink. He softly caressed the back of your hand, “I’d been trying to ask you all night but never got the chance. Or the nerve.”

Bucky searched your eyes and found wide pupils in a sea of emotion. He wasn’t sure if they shined from the lighting or if they were glossy.

You licked your lips, “I would’ve said yes by the way. If you asked.”

He smirked back, stomach fluttering with butterflies. “You mean if you let me ask?” he asked, tone laced with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, “yeah. I was just being an asshole.“

“You’re not an asshole,” he countered, genuinely.

You squinted and tilted your head. “I was a little bit.”

He chuckled in defeat, his thumb still tracing your skin.

You peered down at your hand intertwined with his, swallowing down the nerves caught in your throat. “I uh- I was scared and catastrophizing. I thought of the worst case scenario and let it control me. I shouldn’t have run away, I’m sorry.” You sounded small, defeated.

With his free metal hand, Bucky gently pulled your chin up to look at him. “You’re not the only one who gets stuck in their own head,” he comforted. Your breath shuttered as his touch traveled to the side of your face before brushing your hair behind your ear. “Just don’t shut the world out okay?”

You nodded, with a bashful smile. “Okay.”

Bucky’s mouth curled up in a way that matched yours. “I love your smile,” he complimented, his voice dripping with admiration.

You bit your lip as a blush danced across your face. “Don’t say sweet things about me. It’ll make me want to kiss you,” you warned with a teasing hint in your tone.

Bucky's smile turned to a wicked grin. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over yours as he caressed your cheek. “What’s so wrong with that?” He whispered with desire.

He felt your breath against him as you whispered back.

“Nothing.”

Bucky wasted no time and captured your lips with his. He instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, flush against him.

This kiss was different from the first one. You still tasted the same on his tongue, your lips left the same imprint on his. But the rhythm was different. No rush of passion. No hunger that needed to be resolved.

It was slower, more delicate. Like the two of you were absorbing the others' existence into your bloodstream.

When you separated from him Bucky chased after your lips. You giggled as he pecked all over your lips and cheeks. Your laugh only spurred him on more as he grabbed on to your face to keep you still and smiled against your skin.

You made him feel lovesick. He felt like he used to, back in the 40s, before everything went wrong. He felt like Bucky Barnes.

Bucky chuckled as he finally retreated from his kissing attack on your face. He stared at you lovingly, his hands traveling back down to your hips.

“So, hypothetically, if I were to ask if you wanted to go dancing, like we find somewhere in the city we can go to dance one night, what would you say?”

You looked up at him with a sweet smile. “Is this a hypothetical or are you asking me out?” You pondered with a mischievous tone.

Bucky loved it when you teased him like that. You were going to drive him insane.

“I’m asking you out.”

You stood up straighter, your eyes pierced him with confidence. “Then do it.”

Warmth stirred in his chest as he finally asked what he’s been meaning to for so long.

“Would you like to go dancing with me?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a soft, quick kiss against his lips. “I’d love to.”

_____

The lounge was quiet. Yelena sat on the couch with Wanda as a movie played in the distance. Steve sat on one of the chairs ignoring the movie, his nose deep in a small notebook he liked to sketch in. Natasha sat on the other chair, her back and legs against the arm rests as she focused on a book.

The elevator dinged when it reached the floor. As it opened, Bucky walked out and passed through the lounge with you in his arms bridal style and barefoot, holding your heels in your hands.

All of their eyes slowly peered away from what they were doing and towards you and Bucky.

Natasha was the first to comment on the display, “uh, Barnes, why are you carrying your date?”

“I complained my feet hurt on the way home and now he won’t put me down,” you announced back to her.

Bucky abruptly stopped in his tracks. “Do you want to walk back to your room?” He asked, voice deep with a teasing tone.

You sunk further into his chest as a blush crept onto your face. “No,” you mumbled quietly.

He chuckled and continued walking. “That’s what I thought.”

“Awe, what a gentleman,” Yelena remarked.

“Anything for my girl,” Bucky yelled back as he walked away with you in his arms.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for them to get together for weeks!” Yelena joked as she turned back to the group.

“Try months. I knew that when she started leaving her room it was because of him,” Natasha added.

Steve looked up from his notebook, a small glint of amusement in his eyes. “Why do you think I pushed for him to go to that party? I had a feeling she would go if she knew he would be there.”

“Seems like everyone knew but them,” Yelena remarked.

“I’ve known the whole time.” Wanda chuckled, “For two quiet people, their thoughts are awfully loud.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes hurt/comfort

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venusbyline · 3 days ago

Text

Hard to please — Cregan Stark.

— summary: Although the Faith of the Seven had never been a problem for him until then, your devout ways were irritating him. He respected the differences between the two of you, the main problem was your point of view on the meaning of sex. People all over Westeros talked about how Targaryen women were uninhibited, fiery and hungry for sexual fun. You did not fit that type.

— pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen!reader

— type: smut, dark

— word count: 6.5k

— tags/warnings: wife!reader, dark!Cregan, dubcon, breeding kink, corruption kink, rough vaginal sex, doggy style position, forced female masturbation, oral sex (male receiving & female receiving), handjob, blowjob, cunnilingus, rimming/anilingus, fingering, creampie, degradation, size kink, implied breastfeeding kink, gaslighting, possessive behaviour, jealously, sexual inexperience, light subspace, light sadism, reader is Alicent and Viserys' second daughter, hopeful ending, canon divergence (No The Dance of the Dragons). no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes: For a long time I've been wanting to write some dark!Cregan fic but I wasn't having any ideas, until I received that amazing ask 💕💕 tysmm sweetie, I loved writing this!!!

— tagging list: @targaryenprincess1 @sylasthegrim

❥ Cregan masterlist • HOTD masterlist

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • main masterlist

"She must be hard to please."

Lord Cregan Stark was with some friends at the Great Hall. Wine goblets filled to the brim in the hands of all those men who were sharing random stories to amuse themselves and to stay away from political matters for a few hours.

He was sitting in the largest chair, his back supported in a slouched position due to the effects of the alcohol.

"Who?" Cregan asked the older man, more focused on continuing to drink. He had already lost count of how many goblets he already had, the servants around them seeming a little surprised by his unusual behavior.

Cregan's men shared a unison laugh, gesturing to the corridor where you had passed a few hours before, using your typical good manners to greet them. "Your Lady Wife."

Absorbing those words, Cregan choked slightly on his wine, straightening in his chair and placing the goblet back on the table. His fist slammed into the chest twice, not too hard, to get rid of the choking sensation in his throat.

Had he heard that right?

"What was that supposed to mean?" Cregan asked, his voice turning kind of tense. He did not like talking about you with his friends, nor did he like you interacting with men who were not servants or guards of Winterfell.

Not because he felt embarrassed about the marriage, but because he felt... irritated.

Irritated by the possibility of other men thinking about you, regardless of the types of thoughts.

"You know what I mean. They say that southerners women are incredible in bed, especially those of House Targaryen."

The Great Hall filled with laughters again, his men giving unnecessary opinions and asking a lot of indecent questions, curious about such details involving the sexual routine between the Warden of the North and his sweet wife.

To be honest, Cregan was not having as good a married life as he imagined when he first laid eyes on you. That long silver hair, violet eyes, green silk dress... You looked delightful. Although his visit to King's Landing had been only to discuss political matters with Queen Rhaenyra, he was immediately attracted to you.

The third daughter of the late King Viserys, half-sister of the Queen and only four years younger than him. You were still untouchable, according to what Rhaenyra told him after noticing the northerner's sudden interest. Your mother, the Dowager Queen, was looking for a promising betrothal for you. Her eldest children, Aegon and Helaena, had been married for years. Aemond, the second son, was betrothed to one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters. Daeron was still single, as were you, though Alicent had considered betrothing her youngest child to some Lady Lannister.

Worst case scenario, if things did not work out so well, she would marry you with your younger brother.

Cregan spoke to Rhaenyra about the proposed betrothal to her half-sister. During the following morning, she had already informed Alicent. Obviously, the Dowager Queen did not take long to accept Cregan's idea, knowing very well how a marriage with the Lord of Winterfell was a unique and excellent opportunity. She did not even notice Cregan's urgency to take you to Winterfell as soon as possible, not wanting to postpone the inevitable for too long, claiming his need to have a first child.

However, a month had passed since the wedding ceremony and your womb remained empty, which frustrated him a little.

Cregan was not blaming you, of course. He was blaming your damn faith.

Although the Faith of the Seven had never been a problem for him until then, your devout ways were irritating him. He respected the differences between the two of you, the main problem was your point of view on the meaning of sex. People all over Westeros talked about how Targaryen women were uninhibited, fiery and hungry for sexual fun. You did not fit that type.

As much as he had not decided to marry you because of that possibility — after all, he was too jealous to like the idea of you wanting another man before him —, Cregan was stressed out by witnessing you treat your nights together as a mere duty to produce heirs.

Fucking you should not be treated as just a way to try to have children. He wanted to fuck you into oblivion, he wanted to teach you every possible position, fuck you in every corner of the castle. Fuck… He could even build a small Sept inside Winterfell if he could fuck you while you prayed to the Seven.

He just wanted you to want to be fucked.

“Did you request my presence here, husband?”

Cregan was sitting in an armchair in the corner of his private chambers, the back of the hand under his chin and pondering something. You were not usually called to that room this late at night, because the duties as a couple were always done earlier so like that both of you had enough time to sleep and prepare yourselves for the next day.

When your maid told you about Lord Stark's request, you thought something serious might have happened — which seemed to be the case, considering his stoic expression upon seeing you.

"Come in and close the door, wife."

Shoulders tensed at Cregan's command. He was not usually rude, at least not to you. Despite his cold exterior, Cregan was an excellent husband, better than you could have imagined. When you were informed by your mother and your half-sister about the sudden betrothal with the Lord of Winterfell, your first reaction was shock and concern was the second one. The northmen did not usually like southerners, especially Targaryens. In that entire century, there had never been any love union between a Stark and a Targaryen, and the thought of being the first in an entire family to experience something like that made you tense.

However, Cregan proved he could be a very kind husband, who respected you and seemed to like you in his own way. He was not romantic like girls read in fictional books, no roses or loving declarations. He showed his affection with subtle acts, like letting you help him with some political matters, walking with you, listening to you tell stories about your childhood.

You did not know if he loved you yet, but you knew he appreciated your existence at least. And that was already much more than most women received from their arranged alliances.

In all the time together, you had never seen him so harsh with you until now.

"Come closer." Cregan gave a second order after you closed the door and then gestured to where he was sitting. As you approached with slow steps, Cregan looked you up and down, observing the clothes you were wearing. In addition to the long-sleeved white woolen nightgown, there was a dark gray fur coat. That was not exactly a cold night for the North's standards, your body was still accustomed to the warmer temperatures of King's Landing. "Were you already asleep, wife?"

You shook the head. "Not yet. I was concentrating myself on the reading of a book."

"A book?" Cregan raised an eyebrow, not quite believing that explanation. "Your maid told me you were busy praying before bed."

Shifting uncomfortably in front of him, you bit the lower lip and took a deep breath. "Well, I did it... I stopped reading so I could pray, as I always do most nights."

Despite not liking that the fact his own woman dared to lie to him, no matter how harmless the lie might be, Cregan chose to focus on the main issue, the reason that made him demand your presence there. "I assume you know why I called you here."

You nodded, not hesitating in the slightest, knowing those responsibilities to him. "To fulfill our marital duties."

A frustrated grimace appeared on Cregan's face, hating how you insisted on treating the situation like this. Why the hells did you act like being married to him felt like a sacrifice?

"To fuck." The correction caught you off guard, wide eyes and cheeks flushed like a virgin little girl. Cregan took that reaction as a good sign, a part of him feeling amused at being able to corrupt a bit of your typical innocence. "You have not given me an heir yet."

Your heart skipped a beat. The pressure to provide an heir was high for any lady... But for a wife of a lord like Cregan Stark? The pressure on you was ten times higher.

You felt quite useless, since Cregan never pressured you about that until then. The shock over his crude words eventually subsided, now focused on asking for forgiveness. "I-I am sorry, husband. I do not know why this is taking so long, I know how much we need an heir and I apologize for disappointing you."

Cregan's heart sank, hearing your sadness and self-deprecation. It was obvious how much you blamed yourself for all of this, and he was not really proud of himself about taking advantage of that, acting as if he was angry with you for not getting pregnant yet — the birth of a male heir was something that could not take long to happen. However, Cregan was more excited about the process of making the heir. The two of you should be trying often... And if he had to lie about being angry so he could have you in bed with the wished intensity, mayhaps this would be worth it.

"Is this how you want to make your husband proud, make the North proud? Is this how you show respect to my people?" He stood up, towering over you and acting as if he were facing a scared lamb. “You are bringing shame upon me and yourself. To your House."

You did not want to act like a whiny, pathetic little girl, you knew how weak it would make you look. Any brave reaction was impossible to fake now, though. Your hands shook and your lower lip too. Was he so frustrated and disappointed that he could look so aggressive?

"I just..."

"You spend all your time praying to the Gods, praying to the Mother. Do you really think they would grace you with fertility if you do not even sleep with your own husband?"

"I sleep with you."

He snorted at the predictable defense. Yes, you slept with him... As a duty, not as a Lady Wife should do. Not as someone who felt true lust for him should do.

He moved a little closer to you, rising higher and higher until he was looking down at you with a jaw clenched. "You are sleeping with me, wife. And you do not fuck with me, you do not act like a woman should with her wife."

That word again. Fuck. Why the hells did he want to fuck you? Why the hells was he acting like you were a mere whore from the Street of Silk, a mere woman whose only concerns were their sexual performances?

You were a wife... You were supposed to bear children for him, just as your mother Alicent had done for your father Viserys, just as Helaena had done for Aegon. That was what your mother had taught you about marriage. What happened in bed was supposed to benefit the men. To give them what they wished the most: many heirs.

"My duty is–"

"Yes, I know that your duty is to be a perfect wife and to bear me children. And yet, that duty should also be repeated more often than we are doing it. This should be... Intense, enjoyed by both of us. Pleasurable."

That was not something you heard so much in your upbringing. There was no connection between duty and pleasure, as far as you knew. Alicent never talked about enjoying what she had to do with your father, they had sex only when more children were needed — Daeron was an exception, since his birth had not been planned—. Helaena had slept with Aegon very few times throughout their marriage, and neither of them were very enthusiastic about it.

Rhaenyra, your half-sister and the Queen, was one of the few exceptions. Her sexual experiences were a controversial topic for the entire Kingdom.

In any case, sex was not seen as something pleasurable and carnal in the Faith of the Seven.

"I do not know if I like this, Cregan."

His name slipped out before you could control your tongue, and the man immediately narrowed his eyes, incredulous at that sudden lack of manners. "Cregan?"

If this were a normal day, he would not mind hearing you say his first name so intimately — especially if you were moaning it —. Hearing you call him by name during a scolding was a different thing. It was almost an affront, a way of showing that you did not agree with what he was saying.

"Cregan?" He repeated, continuing to tower over you, continuing to act as if he was about to hunt you down like a big wolf.

Your heart skipped a beat and the body froze, not knowing what to say, understanding that there were not many good explanations to excuse what you had just done. "I just... the Faith of the Seven says–"

"I do not care what your Faith says, wife." His large hand closed around your neck with such absurd speed, not giving you the slightest chance to react in advance. The gasp you let out brought him a dark satisfaction that was unusual, never felt until now. "Do you want to kneel before the Gods and beg them to grant you a decent fertility? Great... Then kneel before your husband and suck my cock first. Show the Seven how willing you are to receive my seed inside your cunt."

Cregan took his hand from your throat and brought it to the back of your neck, pulling you to the ground right in front of him. His eyes darkened, seeing you so scared, just like a small animal about to be captured and devoured, your face so pale it looked like you wanted to cry and run away.

And you really wanted to be able to do that... Cry in panic, get up and run far away from your own husband, far away from whatever impure thing he was about to do.

"H-Husband..."

"No, no... Do not give me that sad puppy look. You were so insulting saying you did not agree with what I said before, calling me Cregan..." He mocked, patting his wife's head. "Come on, princess. You are already on your knees, just undo the ties of my pants. You can do that, cannot you?"

This was not right, you thought. This was not what you were taught, this was not what your mother told you about what the life of a worthy wife should be. This was something that happened in the brothels, the dirty and depraved places where your older brother spent most of his time drinking and having fun.

It seemed so wrong.

And yet, what else could you do? One of a woman's duties was to obey her husband, no matter the circumstances. There was no alternative of this situation. The husband gave the orders and the wife was expected to obey without hesitation or complaint.

With trembling arms, you broke the eye contact with Cregan and began to fiddle the ties — the ones that were a little bit harder to undo when you were so nervous.

Cregan watched you with a slight smirk on his face, enjoying the sight of his sweet, innocent woman about to see his cock. You had seen it during the times you had sex, of course, but nothing this intimate. Most of the time, you immediately turned the face away as soon as he pulled down his pants, being too embarrassed to admire how big he was down there.

But now, you were finally going to see it up close to your face, feel it inside your throat...

"That's it, very good..." He whispered the mocking compliment as you pulled down his clothes, coming face to face with his thick member. It looked even more intimidating than the other times you had seen it. "Use your hands right now. Wrap them around it."

Taking a deep breath, your heart racing so fast it made you feel nauseous. Nodding hesitantly, you placed a hand there, staring at Cregan with wide eyes when he throbbed. He was not all hard, just enough to worry you and make you want to beg the Seven for mercy.

Your other palm also closed around Cregan's cock, listening to the instruction he gave right after about making slow movements.

It was not exactly the most arousing thing he had felt in the entire life, so he sighed a little frustrated; ever since he had heard those stupid words from his friends, questioning what you were like in bed... That had made his blood boil.

The lack of patience was clear in Cregan's expression and he cleared his throat, giving you a light push to keep you away from him — at least it should have been a light push, which did not work very well due to Cregan's natural strength.

He stared at you with guilt when he saw your eyes fill with tears as your ass hit the floor, the humiliation saddening you more than the sharp pain. "Get up. And take off those clothes to lie on my bed while I undress too." He struggled to keep the severity of his voice.

Nodding and pouting, you got up from the ground and did not turn around, already understanding that he did not want you to hide anymore. You took off the fur coat, exposing the white nightgown that highlighted your form, not too tight and not too loose — just the right amount of perfect.

Taking a quick glance at your husband, you immediately caught your breath. He was already naked, his broad, strong shoulders catching your attention... You were always too shy to admit even to yourself that you felt aroused when Cregan was on top of you, when his large body covered yours during his thrusts...

"Do you need help?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, not even hiding the sideways smirk, noticing how hypnotized you were.

"W-What? Oh, yes..." You stumbled over the words, flushed cheeks and heart racing. "I mean... I would love that, please"

Letting out a soft chuckle, Cregan shook his head and gestured to the bed. "The rule is clear, princess. Take off all your clothes on your own and lie down there then."

You had to control the urge to whimper, undoing the tie of your nightgown and feeling the woolen fabric fall to your feet. The windows were closed and the flames in the fireplace were still burning high... And somehow your nipples perked, a chill running down your spine and sending goosebumps up your arms.

Before you could lay your head back on the pillow, Cregan stopped you with one more order. "Stand closer to the edge of the bed and spread your legs."

"H-Husband..." Your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest, the tear ducts of your eyes starting to get wet.

Cregan did not change his mind, staring at you with such an explicit severity until you forced yourself to nod reluctantly. Your spread legs revealed the most precious treasure to him, a pretty and cute cunt, all plump, waiting to be truly appreciated, to be worshipped...

There were not many signs of arousal other than a few glistening drops on the golden pubic hairs. Either way, it made Cregan's mouth water. Fuck, he wanted to kneel on the floor and start devouring you like a starving man.

That desire would have to wait a few days, though. First he would make you crave it... Beg for a good fuck.

"Take a hand to your little bud." He chose not to tell you to spit first, knowing he would enjoy watching you feel a little uncomfortable at first. "Hmm, that's it, wife..." The praise warmed your cheeks as you moved the palm closer to your own core, close to the spot right where you would find the expected pleasure. “Now rub two fingers on it, slowly for a while.”

With gentle movements, you brushed your index and middle fingers right on that spot, frowning at the familiar sensation. The memory of Cregan doing the same thing on you during the consummations remained fresh in your mind... He always rubbed that bud to make your entrance wetter and easier to thrust there.

Doing that to yourself was not so good, though. The sensation was dry, as if you were rubbing yourself on some thing that would cause you discomfort in a few minutes if you kept doing it.

But Cregan did not minimize your suffering. You had been so devoted to the Faith, and so devoted to the Gods that you did not even know how to fingering. No knowledge about your own body. That was an absurd to him, it was an absurd to realize that his sweet wife was so naive to that point. "Harder, wife. Rub your fingers harder and faster."

"It hurts..."

"Do not you want to please your husband? Do not you want to be blessed with our future baby?" His tone was so serious that your movements speeded up out of reflex to prevent his frustration from increasing. "This will help your womb prepare itself even more to be filled with my seed."

Whether that was true or not, you did not ask anymore, closing eyelids at the feeling of your dry fingers against the bundle of nerves. It was kind of uncomfortable and embarrassing. It made your lower abdomen twist in a strange, different way...

"O-Oh!" Your moan echoed through the chambers, the mix of new sensations and confused thoughts making you take the hand away from between your legs. That was different, it was not as good as when Cregan did it, but it was something else, something interesting. "H-Husband..."

"You can do better than that." Cregan sat back in the armchair, pleasuring himself. He massaged his balls before closing a hand around his shaft, which was getting harder and harder by the second as your cunt started to get all wet. The soft noises of your arousal could be heard by both of you, and you went back to the rubbing just like you should, harder and faster.

You tried to remember what it was like when he did that to you, trying to remember the pace he used. The focus of those thoughts lost all meaning a few seconds later, your mind focused on how Cregan always looked so gorgeous while he took you. Even though you tried hard not to revel in those memories, it was almost impossible. All you could remember was about his lips on yours, his tongue circling your nipples, his cock inside you...

All you could think about and desire was Cregan.

"S-Seven hells..." You arched your head back, barely noticing how your body writhed and the moisture dripped down your inner thighs.

Cregan had to hold back an amused scoff at the silly curse that escaped your lips — even at the haze of pleasure, those good manners remained intact. Which was not a bad thing for him, the idea of corrupting you little by little set him on fire.

He stopped following your pace as the pleasure consumed you and you began to lose yourself in that haze. Slowing his fist until he stopped jerking off, Cregan hummed hoarsely, "Enough."

No. No, no, no... This could not be true.

Your eyes widened in panic, lifting your head to look at him, searching for some justification for that unexpected command. The moment you started to feel good about what you were doing, he forced you to stop, without further ado. The discomfort in your stomach had diminished, so had the pleasure that was building there. All your efforts to adapt to that situation had been in vain...

With a stern face, Cregan gestured to the floor, right in front of the armchair where he was resting. The meaning behind that gesture was no longer difficult to understand. You stood up, legs trembling and sticky thighs touching each other.

There were several brown hairs on Cregan's chest that matched the color of the ones he had on his groin. He did not bother to trim them, and now he assumed you would be a little bothered by the next task.

"What now, husband?" Kneeling naked in front of him and with your cheeks so flushed, you were as beautiful as a goddess.

"You are going to suck on my cock. Open wide your pretty mouth and let me fuck it until I am satisfied."

Watching you swallow hard and prepare yourself, Cregan grabbed the base of his fat cock and waited for you to part your lips wide so he could insert it inside, after whispering to you to be careful with the teeth.

Your mouth was warm, tight and velvety just the way he liked it, but so much better than the whores or naughty ladies who entertained him with a good fuck when he was still a single man. Oh, he had experienced many women over the years, and none of them made him feel so horny, so hungry to devour you whole, to breed you...

Pushing his free arm away from the chair, Lord Stark led it to your long hair. At first, he dedicated himself to just stroking the silver strands, a silent encouragement about how good you were being. When you choked the first time and your throat tightened around him, his self-control dissipated. The sound of gagging, the tears wetting your cheeks, the vibration it caused in his shaft...

Without thinking twice, he grabbed your scalp, keeping your head in that position and began to fuck your mouth, as if he were fucking the most luscious cunt. Low groans and the jaw clenching with each deep thrust.

You felt like a low-value whore, as dirty as those Aegon frequently visited on the streets. In addition to the thick cock inside your mouth, your senses were confused by the mix of other stimuli together: the grip on your hair, the sounds of contained pleasure your husband made, the tears blurring your vision, drool dripping down to the floor...

"F-Fuck... This is much better than praying to your Gods, is not it? Using your brain and your pretty mouth for something actually useful, making your husband feel so fucking good..." He said between loud sighs, hips tilting forward until he reached the bottom of your throat, withdrawing just enough to give you a chance to breathe. "This is what you were made for, princess. This is why you became my wife. To feel pleasure with me. Also to be my little whore, not just to be the mother of my children."

Increasing the roughness of his grip, Cregan held your head still, making you swallow every inch of that shaft, its veins vibrating on your tongue before he pulled it out, not willing to waste a single drop until he was deep inside your cunt.

"So fucking good..." He did not care about giving you a second of rest or let you catch the breath. Cregan got up from the chair and grabbed you under both of his arms, catching you off guard and lifting you up, holding your back from behind while you wrapped the legs around his waist, your body acting on pure instinct.

Grabbing your waist with one hand and the other still on your back, Cregan walked to the bed, placing you on the mattress and climbing on top of you. His mouth soon found its way to your neck, licking and nibbling the soft skin, leaving marks that would need to be hidden by fur coats the next day, to avoid the curious and amused gazes of the servants.

Your whines were soft, but trembling. Each time Cregan sank his teeth into random parts of your neck, he also ran his tongue over the sore spot, hands running over the bare curves of your figure, going up to your breasts and then going down to your folds. "Do you feel that? Do you feel how wet that pretty little cunt is? Dripping for me..."

"I do... I do." You gripped his shoulders, burying your head in the crook of his neck, feeling his fingertips tease the outer lips of your core.

Stopping biting your skin, Cregan grabbed your chin, focusing on caressing you with his other palm. "Do you want this? Tell me, wife. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need."

You wanted to be obedient, you wanted to do your duty, to be a good wife. Wanted to make your family proud, to honor your mother's religious teachings, to be a good Lady of Winterfell...

No. That was not what you wanted anymore — at least not only those things.

You needed more. You needed to feel. You longed to feel all that and more.

That was exactly what you had needed all that long time, that was what Cregan had waited for... You wanting. You desiring.

No longer out of duty, it was not out of blind obedience... It was out of desire. Out of lust. You wanted to feel Cregan's cock stretching you. You wanted him to teach you everything. You wanted to see stars when he finally spilled the cum that would breed you very soon.

You desired Cregan fucking you so good, like Viserys never fucked Alicent and like Aegon never fucked Helaena.

"I need your cock, Cregan..." You whispered with wide eyes, begging like a puppy, pupils dilated and eyelashes fluttering. "I want you to fuck me. I need this."

A small, dark smile appeared on Cregan's face, his cock throbbing at hearing those words spoken with such submission and intensity at the same time. He did not wait a second longer, pulling your chin closer to his, crashing his lips against yours.

The taste of your spit was still strong during the kiss, tongues wet and tangling with each other without any exact coordination, as sloppy as your blowjob had been — not that Cregan really minded that...

"Mmm, Gods..." You pulled away from his mouth so you could whimper in pain mixed with pleasure when Cregan shoved two fingers inside you at once. Luckily, your folds were wet enough to make the stretching less painful than it might have been if you had not been well prepared.

“Did you like that?” Cregan whispered softly, arching his fingers upward to hit the right spot inside your walls, those thick fingers pressing and prodding it with their tips. “So soft inside… And all mine."

You just bit your lower lip and nodded, the typical innocent face now looking so naughty. It was quite a sight, the way you were melting for him made him feel even more hot.

The sound of your startled little cry when he suddenly turned you around was like music to his ears. You had been caught off guard, heart skipping a beat as he placed a hand under your stomach to try to put you in a position that could be similar to that of some four-legged animal. "Get on all fours."

In terms of real practices, that was new to you. During all the nights of sex the two of you had together, Cregan was the one who got on top while you faced him, legs open to accommodate him there without either of you having to put any more effort than necessary.

In theoretical terms, though, that was not unknown. The countless tapestries of the Red Keep sometimes contained inappropriate embroidery, showing intense acts between men and women. In some of those tapestries, you had already seen some different sexual positions, which at the time did not cause you interesting reactions other than a simple frown.

However, at this point, you were more than willing to experience whatever was coming your way, lust already speaking louder than your shame and prudishness.

Straightening up into the position, you held a breath as Cregan positioned himself behind your back, both large palms cupping your ass cheeks to spread them and expose both of your holes.

Your cunt clenched around nothing, all wet and dripping onto the bedsheets. He focused on licking it first, sticking his tongue out and running it from your clit to your entrance. The sweet juices wet his entire face while he grabbed the ass cheeks wide open, caressing and bouncing them, delighting listening to your loud moans.

The feeling of his tongue was perfect, licks so sloppy and delicious, teasing your swollen clit and then bringing his face closer to your puckered hole, spitting on it and licking it with great delicacy and concentration.

As you were already becoming a whiny mess and your arousal began to drip down your thighs, Cregan lifted his upper body, getting on his knees on the mattress and rubbing his own cock. You did not need more stimulations, already finding yourself wet enough, although Cregan did not mind spitting on your ass, the saliva running from there until it reached your clit and getting your skin sticky.

Sighing in anticipation and gripping the bedsheets tightly while Cregan lined himself up at your entrance. His fat cock brushed there a few times, teasing it before pushing inside and hitting you hard.

"C-Cregan!" The violent intrusion hurt more than expected, your knuckles now white from gripping the fabric of the sheets.

Meanwhile, Cregan rolled his eyes back in his head, growling lowly and gripping your hips. Your tight cunt tightening around him felt so overwhelming, turning his brain almost into a mess. It was so warm, so tight, so wonderful...

His grip on your waist tightened as he began the thrusts. They were deep and rough, hitting the bottom non stop. "Fuck... That little cunt feels so good. You take me so well, princess."

The guilty conscience you carried every time you even caught yourself thinking about your husband was completely gone. Gone for good in the moment Cregan's movements intensified, hard and slow just the way he liked it. Just the way he knew you would like it too and that would make you feel like you were in the Heavens.

If you wanted so badly to beg for the mercy of the Seven, to beg them to grant you the gift of pregnancy... Then he would prove to you that there was nothing better than spending most of the free time fucking with him, letting him fill your womb with his seed until you got pregnant — and even when you were already carrying his heir.

"Gods, Cregan..." You pressed your face into the pillow and moaned loudly, your cries matching Cregan's groans and the sounds of his balls slapping against your thighs. "It is s-so g-good..."

Cregan's grip loosened for a moment so he could give you a hard slap to your ass followed by more two, a small smirk on his lips as you cried out louder, your ass bouncing with the impacts. Your cunt tighten and clenching, practically sucking on his cock and driving him crazy, consumed by lust and possessive thoughts.

Those damn friends of his would soon know that you were pregnant with his child, they would see your hips get wider and your tits get heavier. Damn, imagining them bigger and full of breast milk was such a temptation... He could not wait to see you riding on his lap, your breasts right next to his mouth. He could suck their milk and squeeze them, drops splashing on his face...

And your belly swelling, living proof that you had received a great amount of his cum very well.

"You will be fucked by me every night. I will cum inside that pretty cunt until my cum is dripping down your legs and dirtying the castle corridors." Cregan leaned his own body down until your back was against his chest, the intense pace of his thrusts not wavering for a second. "Is that what you want, princess? To be fucked by me all the time? To be your husband's little whore?"

Although the question was rhetorical and he did not expect a concrete answer, you moaned desperately, your core starting to spasm when Cregan pulled your hair and slapped your ass again. "Yeah! Please, Cregan!"

Reaching down to the swollen bud and rubbing his rough fingers against it, Cregan pushed you over the edge, your loud, shaky moan echoing through the room and startling the servants who were passing by in that hallway.

Tears streamed down your face and your mind turned empty of any real thoughts, already in disarray and focused only on cumming on him.

It did not take so long for Cregan to reach his climax as well, keeping stroking your clit and moaning, his hips stuttering until he finally filled you with thick loads of the white liquid. "Fuck..." He sighed, giving three final thrusts and only stopping after the overstimulation.

Pulling out of your hole, Cregan lifted himself up enough to see your ass sticking up in the air. He spread both of its cheeks, just like he had done earlier, licking his lips at your cunt, all swollen and sticky with his cum. Using two fingers and thrusting them inside you, he pushed his own seed deeper, wanting to make sure none of it went to waste.

Your whimper caught him off guard, a pang of guilt aching in his heart at seeing you all trembling and weak. You looked a beautiful little thing, but he also knew that you were not used to such intensity.

"Hey... it's alright, princess." Cregan assured, laying down next to you and carefully turning you over. As soon as he snuggled you against his large chest, he left a kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the natural scent mixed with the smell of sweat and the one of the after sex. "You were so good, sweet wife. So good for me..."

You nodded, not knowing what else to say. Your body was too trembling to even try to ask your husband any questions. Despite the fact that you saw yourself very dirty and unworthy in the eyes of the Seven right now, all you wanted to do was get some rest, cuddling in Cregan's strong arms and wondering how your mother would feel if she knew about the depravities that had happened during that night.

Anyway, anything about that was a concern for the next morning. At that moment, you just wanted to sleep and pray in silence for the Gods to postpone the future pregnancy a little bit longer, a part of you wishing to fuck like that with Cregan over and over again before you were bred.

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lazysoulwriter · 2 days ago

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stay close - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: explicit smut, established relationship, sleepy summer sex, lace lingerie, soft dom!pedro, needy and affectionate, praise, gentle asking, cockwarming turning into slow love-making, intense emotional connection

The fan hums softly, spinning uselessly above your bed.

It’s summer in LA. The kind of heat that lingers in your bones. You’re half-asleep on the cool sheets, barely covered, chest rising slow and soft. Pedro’s behind you, wide awake and suffering.

Not because of the heat. Because of you.

You’re wearing that new set you tried on earlier — black lace, barely-there, the kind that wasn’t really made for sleeping but you insisted anyway. “It’s too hot for anything else,” you mumbled, already climbing into bed.

Now here you are. Back pressed against him, your ass snug against his thighs. One strap slipped off your shoulder. Your hips shifting every so often in your sleep, dragging that sweet curve over the very obvious problem in his boxers.

Pedro groans quietly into the pillow.

He wants you.

No—he needs you. Just to feel close. Just to have you wrapped around him, even if it’s slow. Even if it’s quiet. Even if all he gets is a little of you, half-asleep and pressed up against his chest, breathing softly while he stays buried inside you.

He leans in and kisses your shoulder. Soft. Careful.

You stir just a little, humming.

“Baby,” he whispers, voice like gravel. “You awake?”

“Mmm… kinda.”

His hand drags slowly over your waist. He presses a kiss behind your ear, lips warm and needy.

“Can I… stay inside you?” he asks, barely above a breath. “Not fuck. Not yet. Just—be close.”

You blink, still half-lost in sleep, but the way he says it makes your body ache. He sounds so tender. So full of want.

“Yeah,” you whisper, reaching back to touch his hip. “Yeah, baby. Come here.”

He pushes his boxers down, carefully tugs your panties to the side. Takes his time. Just the tip of him sliding between your folds has him exhaling like it’s relief.

And then he’s inside. Slowly. Deeply. Filling you with a low moan that makes your whole body shiver.

You gasp softly. “Pedro…”

“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing the nape of your neck. “Just like this. You feel so fucking good. So warm. Let me stay.”

His hands grip your hips, not to thrust — just to hold. To anchor himself in the sweetness of you.

But the longer he stays buried in your heat, the harder it gets to hold back. You’re clenching gently, body responding even in your daze, and he can’t help the way his hips start to roll. Slow. Deep. Intimate.

You moan.

“Wanna make love to you,” he whispers, breath shaky. “Let me. Please.”

And you nod, already melting for him.

What follows isn’t fast or rough. It’s needy. Soft kisses. Slow strokes. His hand slipping under your lace bra to thumb over your nipple. His mouth on your shoulder, your jaw, your cheek.

“So beautiful,” he pants. “So fucking perfect for me.”

You come with a whimper, pressed into the mattress, body trembling around him as he follows seconds later — groaning your name like it’s the only thing that ever mattered.

After, he holds you even tighter. Still buried inside. Still connected. Still needing to be as close as possible.

You whisper, half asleep, “I love you.”

And he kisses your shoulder again, whispering, “I’ll never get enough of you.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

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rafasbride · 3 days ago

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愛 ⋮ your nipples are sensitive and lactating .ᐟ

being pregnant had it's pros and cons.

cons are: absolute back pain 24/7, can't reach down, and constantly having weird cravings.

but the pros from rafayel's eyes? it's definitely your tits. before they were already beautiful, but after your first 5 months, they have seemed to grow into something more gorgeous.

he doesn't even deny it when you point out how he ogles your breast with no shame. "stop staring." you'd narrow your eyes at him, but he'd just hum and nod—eyes glued to how your tits fit your dress. "sure, honey."

and he's definitely not shy when he's rock hard from simply watching you change. "damn..." under whispered breath, you didn't catch what he said. turning around, you might as well give him a whiplash from how sinfully attractive he found you and your breast. "huh? you said something?"

"are you... already producing...?" he questions blankly, standing up from the bed as he stalks near your form, hands at the ready.

"what? my—oh!" you're surprised to say the least when your beloved husband cups both tits on his large hands. "rafa! you know how they get..." red blossoms your cheeks, suddenly embarrassed from the attention and the constant squeezing he gives.

by the 5th knead, a single drop of white landed on his hand. a small gasp leaves his throat as he looks at you, a little disheveled. "cutie, please?"

oh you just know what he's asking. his obsession with your chest somehow grew and for the past few weeks he's been requesting, begging to suck on them. rafayel knew they were more sensitive now that you're pregnant and because he's massaging them; so he'd like to have some taste, or two.

"please consider, i'll make you feel good." he look so... dazed, like he's in a trance by simply looking at you. after a few seconds, you just gave him a quiet okay before his mouth is almost devouring your nipples. "aw, fuck! babyyy, c-calm down!"

suckkkkk.

shit, wow. he screamed in his mind.

the first few drops of milk came to take a rest on his tastebuds and he's an absolute goner.

he doesn't know if it's even possible to come by just this, by just sucking your nipples so hard milk comes out—but he just did, and he isn't bashful about it.

"ah fuck... just came, s-so good..." he moans from your spit covered nipple as he moves to the other side. one of his hands grabbed your curled one, guiding you to touch where his dick had leaked his cum. "y-you're such—ah... a pervert..." you whisper to him, but the cocky bastard just gave you a dizzy smile, a few trickle of milk flowing down the side of his mouth.

"keep touching me cutie, i'll give you a proper thank you later..." he moans, feeling your hand give slow strokes to his cock through his sweatpants.

"i-is it good?" stroking his cock and his fluffy hair at the same time probably gave him euphoria, so you heard. his other hand circles your waist as he guides you back to the bed, laying you down.

"more than you think."

Ი︵𐑼 % dividers from @/cafekitsune

#lads #lads rafayel #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader #qi yu #qi yu lads #qi yu love and deepspace #qi yu smut #qi yu x reader #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x you #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel #rafayel smut

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suksatoru · 1 day ago

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the king of curses was afraid of one thing and one thing only. there's a little pink-haired menace that runs around his home, and this demon incarnate (his daughter) knew very well of sukuna's greatest fear and made sure to use it against him with unshakable determination.

"mwah!"

sukuna rubs at his cheek furiously in an attempt to rub off the little girl's obnoxiously wet kiss as she giggles, chubby hands reaching to grab his face once again as sukuna scowls.

"you disgusting little worm—"

smack!

another adorably fat kiss is planted right onto his cheek, and sukuna can only grumble under his breath and surrender to the flurry of attacks aimed his way. the little girl takes her chance, peppering sukuna's face with as many kisses as she possibly can as he closes his eyes. she's only two—but she has the strongest sorcerer to ever exist bending at her will with remarkable ease.

"i hate babies. so much. just wait till your mother gets home, you brat. i'll make sure she leaves you in that crib of yours for—"

there's a surprisingly gentle kiss planted on sukuna's forehead. soft and sweet, and he recognizes your scent a moment later as his eyes fly open—followed by a chorus of your daughter's happy chirps of mama! alerting him that you had finally returned home.

"you're not very good at handling her alone, are you ryo?" you grin, cooing at your daughter and running a hand through her pink tufts as sukuna huffs, sinking into the couch as you snuggle up beside him, tossing your purse to the side and smiling at the baby on his chest.

"she is insufferable." he grunts, watching the little baby try and stand up on his chest—she wobbles a bit, and sukuna wordlessly places a hand on the small of her back to steady her before turning towards you.

"don't leave me with it again. it's so much easier to take care of when you're here." sukuna says with a heavy sigh, squinting his eyes as you laugh into the crook of his shoulder.

"it? that's no way to refer to my angel. plus, is she the baby here or you?" you question, humor twinkling in your eyes as sukuna's gaze narrows stubbornly.

"she's your angel and my demon," he concludes, and you hum with a satisfied nod. demon wasn't exactly that far off the mark—not as you watch your daughter's eyes gleam with mischief once she notices sukuna's too busy looking at you to notice her approaching lips.

sukuna makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat when he feels her sudden kiss right on the edge of his jaw. but, he surprisingly makes no move to wipe it off this time. he just (quite aggressively) ruffles the little girl's hair with an angry huff.

"demon is the correct name for her. she's lucky i tolerate her."

"is this your way of telling me you love her?"

"... i said no such thing."

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lymtw · 14 hours ago

Note

hi!! i love your fics theyre highkey my fav rereads🤭idk if youre taking requests but if you were, could you possibly do a hurt/comfort fic with toji and shy reader where shes mad/upset with him? hope youre having a great day btw!

A/N: Five years later... 🫩👍 I'm sorry this took so long. I really, really appreciate your support 🫶 I hope this turned out at least okay, it's been a minute since i've finished any writing 🥲 Anyway, I hope you're having an amazing day :))

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

It's been a week since you and Toji have spoken, not for lack of effort or opportunities, but because the one sided attempts are not corresponded. It's hard to think about him, it's hard to read his words through your screen and see his name flash briefly, before your phone does its job of sending him to voicemail.

'Maybe we shouldn't be together, Toji. If me simply trying to talk to you is such a burden... I don't know if I should keep trying.'

You said this to him a week ago. You clicked the door shut and he sped off in his car, bleary-eyed, brimming with rage and regret the whole way home. He couldn't get the sound of your voice out of his head—the cracks, the occasional sharp inhales that came with your suppressed emotions. Even in the moment, he knew it was so, so wrong for you to be looking the way you did.

The instant he got home, all hell broke loose. His fists were clenched as he treaded towards his bedroom, and as if possessed by the force of a natural disaster, he tore apart his room—demolished it—throwing things blindly, uncaring if they broke beyond repair. The picture he keeps on his nightstand of the two of you was not safe. The encased memory was thrown with all the strength he has, at the wall, the frame instantly falling apart and the glass shattering to pieces.

He couldn't stop, it all hurt so much. His chest burned, his head was pounding, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and once there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to break, he finally broke down—wholly. Harsh, uncontrollable sobs racked his entire body as he sat there in the debris—the aftermath of losing his mind over you. Barely any sound came of it, his voice was shot, courtesy of the tormented screams that accompanied his meltdown.

This all happened a week ago. You won't talk to him and these days have been hell without your company. You won't respond to his good morning messages, and if he asks to meet up, you always have something to do. He calls you whenever he can, but you don't pick up. You're avoiding him like it's your job.

Everything feels pointless without you around, his little sunshine, the reason he wakes up motivated every morning, the light of his life. His routine has been altered in the worst way. It's work, home, work, home, and he absolutely detests it because if it weren't for that damned day, he would be with you, smothering you with the borderline overwhelming love he holds for you, making you laugh and watching you get flustered over the words he whispers in your ear. He wants it back—all of it. He can't let you go, it would break him entirely.

You don't want to let go of this love you have for Toji, either. You miss being in the warmth of his embrace, and you miss the sound of his voice, and the way he calls you 'sweetheart' when you're not focusing on him. You see every single one of the messages he sends you and the phone calls.

Good morning, baby.

Morning, sweetheart. Make sure to eat breakfast and lunch. One meal isn't enough.

Saw those fields of flowers you point at all the time on my way home. I miss you.

Baby, will you talk to me, please?

[Missed Call]

And you cry, because all you want to do is respond to every one of those messages and hear his voice again, but something always stops you. The memory of when he snapped at you. The sound of his voice—cutting and utterly spirit crushing. The furrow of his eyebrows that made you feel like everything you did was wrong. It hurts to think about the whole situation, and all these notifications only serve as reminders. Reminders of the way you immediately wilted when the door shut, chest heaving as you cried your way to bed and then to sleep, wondering what you did to deserve being lashed out at.

You're lying in bed, scrolling through your phone when he calls again. The instant you see his contact picture, your heart plummets to your stomach, but an irrepressible giggle escapes you. The picture on your screen... it's kind of blurry because he was chasing you and you were laughing so hard that you couldn't hold the phone steady, but you love it. You love the man in the picture, you love that he can make you smile through memories, even during tough times.

"Baby?" You hear through the speakers of your phone. A lump immediately forms in your throat and you painfully swallow. "Baby, can you hear me?" He tries again.

"Yeah, I'm here," you respond, quietly.

"Holy fuck, doll. Can I... Are you busy? Are you doing anything right now?"

"No, i'm home," you mumble.

"Can I come see you?"

"Toji..." you start, your tone conveying what you haven't even said yet. Your uncertainty.

"Baby, we have to talk. It's been a week and-- This can't be it. Please, just... just five minutes. Five minutes and i'll go."

You know it won't be five minutes. You can't force a solution out in five minutes—not a sincere one at least. Some part of you is soothed by the sound of his voice, regardless of how frantic and desperate he sounds. That's your love right there, and no matter how much hurt lingers from this whole dilemma, there's nothing you can do about your heart's response to him. So you open a door for him.

"Okay, Toji. I'll be here waiting for you."

"Thank you, pretty girl. I'll be there in a few. Love you."

There's a heavy, tense pause. Neither of you has hung up the phone, because something hasn't been done yet and he knows you know what he wants to hear. It would be enough for him to believe that you haven't forfeited. It would make him feel even the slightest bit of relief if you said those words he's been aching for.

"I love you, too, Toji," you utter, hanging up a couple seconds after.

Toji would be bouncing off the walls if he wasn't in such a hurry to get to you. He's been deprived of any form of love from you for a week and he was starting to go crazy, but hearing you say those words was all he needed for now.

Twenty something minutes later, you get a text from him, letting you know that he's outside. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach keeps flipping, and yet you use all the strength you have to get out of bed to meet him. Though you decide to take your time to get to your front door, you find that you're still there too soon, no time left to mentally prepare yourself for what is about to happen. With a final deep breath, you turn the lock, twist the doorknob, and open the door.

There Toji stands, hand suspended in the air with your spare key pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He steps back instinctively when you step aside from behind the door.

"I uh... I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with me using it, but you were taking a bit, so I thought maybe you'd want me to come in and we can talk inside or... I don't know."

He's rambling, there's a light stubble on his face, he's smiling at you like he always does—like you're his everything. Him being there doesn't actually process in your mind until he speaks up again.

"Hi, baby," he says, softly, observing you like you're some majestic painting hung up in a museum. Your eyes well up and it feels like there's a red-hot metal sphere lodged in your throat. "You're a saint for letting me come here and see you, you know that?"

Out of habit, you nod and mumble out a small, "yeah."

"I'm sorry, doll," he says, reaching for your hands to hold them. He barely manages to grab them, get a feel for your soft skin after so long, before you're pulling them away from him. "No, come on," he pleads, grasping your hands again. "Please? Please, look at me."

"You can't talk to me like that, Toji," you utter, voice unsteady because you're not used to having to stand up for yourself against the one who loves you like it's his life source.

"I know. I know that, baby, and I'm so fucking sorry," he says, nearly tripping over his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of the shit I said. I was having a bad day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I don't know what the hell got into me, but please..." he mumbles, bringing your hands up to his lips, pressing weightless kisses on your fingers and knuckles. "Please, I love you, you have to believe me."

"You said..." you inhale sharply, doing all you can to get through this without choking on your emotions. "...you said you didn't have time to listen to me talk about nonsense, and that you wanted peace and quiet for once. Isn't... Isn't that all you get from me?"

"No tears," he says, warm palms moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the crystals that glide down them. "No tears," he repeats, softer this time. "This is gonna get worked out, my sweet girl. I swear."

"I don't know how you want me to be," you admit, your voice wavering. "And I don't have the ability to read minds. You acted like everything was fine when you texted me, and then when you got here..." You let out a shaky breath, your hold on your emotions slipping. "I don't want to be upset with you, anymore, but i-i'm trying... It's not right."

It's as if someone is jabbing at his chest over and over again, relentlessly, even when his skin starts to bruise and little pinpricks of blood begin to appear. He hates seeing you this way, especially when he knows he's the reason for why you're hurt this bad. He wants it to stop and for this enormous raincloud above both of you to just dissipate.

"Come here," he says, low, almost inaudible. His hands lower, arms making contact with your sides. It's been too long since he's held you, yet, pulling you in feels as natural as breathing.

Your hands come up to rest on his abdomen, keeping him at a distance. It feels unnatural, because you're so used to letting him handle you like you're a stuffed animal, pulling you around when you're adventuring together and picking you up just because he feels like it. Your mind immediately clouds with guilt at your denial of his embrace, you can't even meet his eyes, opting to look down at where your hands are.

"Please don't," he says, his voice so soft that it makes your chest feel tight again. He grabs ahold of your wrists, just to have some sort of contact with you. His grip is almost entirely loose and you're in control, he won't move until you pull your hands away. "I'm not gonna hurt you like that again."

You love him and you know he needs this—holding you in his arms, your confirmation that it's all going to be okay. You've said it before and the words have become one of his greatest comforts. What could be so bad when you tell him that it'll all turn out just fine?

"We've been apart for too long. A week shouldn't have gone by like this... and, fuck, I know it's my fault. I don't blame you for not wanting to see me, but... please, baby." His thumbs brush the insides of your wrists, eyes never leaving the sadness of your face, regardless of whether you look at him or not. He'll take this over not getting to see you at all, any day.

"Sweetheart."

You sniff, unmoving for a few more seconds. Your heartbeat is thrumming wildly in your ears, almost suffocating you with its relentlessness. It's all you hear, words lost in a spiral of ongoing silence. You still don't look at him when you finally pull your hands away, but you can feel his heavy, unwavering attention on you.

You're glad he doesn't wait for you to give him the green light to pull you in, because you have nothing to say at the moment, and it would be another test of patience. Instead, the second your hands are balled up at your sides, he moves at the speed of a lightning strike, your body colliding with his in an almost aggressive manner—there's an audible thump. His body heat mingles with the cologne on his shirt, the smell coiling around you and rushing through your nose with every breath you take. The feeling is familiar—love, safety, comfort—a second home, all wrapped up in your favorite person.

His hands scrunch up the back of your shirt like he's afraid you'll push him away again. "Baby," he mumbles, his voice almost inaudible. "Don't disappear like that again." A soft breath is expelled from his chest, riddled with the genuine fear he felt that he would never get to see you again.

"I know it's unfair of me to say this. I was an asshole and you were hurt, but, doll... I thought you were leaving me." There's a pause. Toji stares at the ground behind you, his hands deepening the creases he made on your shirt due to his unfaltering grip. "I don't want that."

"I'm not," you respond, heart shaking. "That day... it felt like you didn't even want to see me and you only came over because I asked not because you wanted to." The familiar ache in your chest stirs slightly, but you give it your all to get everything out in a steady and clear manner. "You can tell me you're tired, Toji. That you want to rest in the comfort of your own home, and I'll understand. I don't want to be another cause of stress for you."

It pains him to hear that because you're the one who keeps him sane, the one he thinks about when he settles into bed but can't get to sleep, the first person to know that he's still alive in morning, the one who has made him feel so safe, that he feels no shame when he occasionally calls to confirm that he's still loved by you.

"You're not," he simply murmurs. "It's not true."

"You don't have to worry about protecting my feelings."

His arms loosen around you, the back of your shirt wrinkled but freed from his clutches. Your heart is beating too fast, attempting to leave your chest. Now you're standing up straight, doing your best to not avert your gaze from the man before you.

"You're not a burden to me. Okay?" He says, and you want to believe him because of the way he's looking at you, like he's searching your eyes for even the smallest bit of confidence from you about the fact. "Say it."

The words are stuck, it's visible. Your lips twitch, but your voice doesn't progress. You just look at him, feeling the sadness seep into every part of you.

"You're not a burden to me. I need you to get that through your pretty head, right now," he says, only to feel his own heart skip a beat at your reaction.

"Sorry," you mumble, unable to instantly straighten out the curl of your lips.

In this moment, Toji knows that everything is going to be okay. He hasn't heard you laugh in a week, and though it was only a small, congested giggle, he savors it along with your inability to regain your bearing, like it's his last sip of water while he's stranded in the desert.

"Gets you every time, huh?" He says, his own faint smile emerging.

'Right now', a habitual phrase of his that is meant to comfort you. You've told him before that not everything can be fixed or healed in an instant—things don't work that way—but he never backs down. You've translated it into something akin to a bandage—the words are meant to cover you while you take the time to fully and properly heal. The joy you find in hearing them is a small beginning.

"It's funny," you respond, taking in his amused little grin. God, you missed his handsome face and the way he looks at you like everything about you makes perfect sense to him.

"My impatience is funny to you?" He teases, loving the way you press your lips together before proceeding to nod. He can't even be playfully offended, too entranced by the way you're actually smiling at him. He sighs through his nose and just watches you—admires you for a couple seconds, and when you start nervously shifting on your feet, he pulls you closer to him, his hands on your lower back as your body presses against his once more.

"Can you just say it, please? For me?" He murmurs, recognizing every one of the stars in your eyes. Though he thinks it's a tragedy to have gone a week without this view, he'll make up for lost time by creating new constellations.

"I don't know," you say, softly—filler words, your brain short circuits whenever he looks at you like that.

"For me, baby," he pleads once more. "Just wanna hear you say it."

You hum, unsure of whether you can say something you don't entirely believe. You want to make him happy, you want things to be better, you want to believe what he said—what he wants you to repeat to him, but it's hard. Damage is easy to inflict and hard to heal. It won't go away immediately, no matter how much you love the person who is trying to fix their mistake.

"I don't know-"

"Please?" he blurts.

"Toji, I don't-"

"Pretty please?" he cuts again, seeing the way your seriousness falters like before. Your laugh finds his ears once more, a sound he just wants to keep hearing. The sound embraces him. "With a cherry on top?" he adds, a sly little grin on his lips.

It's getting harder and harder to turn him down. He's precious, he's trying, and you cherish his effort. It's not going to kill you to just say it.

You sigh, "I'm not a burden."

"To who?" He questions, seeking elaboration from you.

"To you."

"Damn right," he says, proud. "We'll get you there. I'm not gonna leave you like this, alright?"

"Okay," you confirm, nodding slightly.

"Can I get a kiss?"

Again, you nod, expecting a quick peck—maybe a few quick pecks, but no, he goes on to kiss you like its been months since he last saw you, not a week. He's desperately chasing after your lips, seeking more and more of what he's been deprived of for too long. In his mind, he says 'never again, never again, never again', because he can't imagine going so long without your sweetness again. Without the softness of your lips against his, without those pretty smiles and laughs being thrown at him. It sounds like hell 2.0. when he thinks about losing it all over again.

"Fuck, I missed this," he murmurs, still just a breath away from your lips.

"Yeah," you respond, eyeing the short little pins of hair that sprinkle over his jaw and upper lip area. It makes you smile, you don't always get to see his face when it's not clean shaven.

"I was in a rush," he explains, unnecessarily, following the way your eyes trace his face.

"Mm," you hum, smiling. "Can I shave your face?"

"You wanna clean me up?" he asks, almost as if he's surprised.

"Only if you want me to. It was just an idea," you say, smiling sheepishly.

To that, he chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach flip and your cheeks feel warmer.

"Oh, I want you to," he says, leaning forward to peck your lips, luring quiet giggles from you when he doesn't want to pull away.

Now, you sit on the counter of your bathroom sink, with Toji standing between your legs. There's a slight tremble in your hand, spurred on by his hands resting on your hips and the way he watches you with so much focus, trusting you enough to let you do this without a word from him. You drag the razor carefully along his cheek, making sure not to move too fast or use too much pressure.

Toji waits until you're cleaning off the blade to make his move of leaning in to press kisses to your face. Small peaks of foam are left behind on your skin, wiped away by gentle strokes of his thumb.

"I'm about to start again," you say through a laugh, leaning away to avoid ridding his face of all the protective spume on it. The razor remains beside you until he finally behaves himself. He huffs like you've been rejecting his affection the whole time, but nonetheless stands up straight and as still as a statue.

After some time, longer than it would have taken him alone—longer than it would have taken you if he didn't smother you every time you paused to clean the razor—you got it done. You brought back the smoothness of his skin.

"Am I pretty again?" he jests, drying his face with one of your towels.

"Stunning," you quip in response, shifting on the counter to signal that you're going to hop off.

"You're stunning," he says, low, unmoving from where he stands between your legs. "My gorgeous, gorgeous girl," he adds, seeking more of that feeling the flustered smile on your face gives him. "Missed you lots, you know that?" You just laugh and shake your head, like you're silently calling him crazy. "What? I'm serious," he says in response, a soft grin on his face. "Did you miss me? Even a little bit?"

A single second passes by. You can't lie to him and say you didn't. You missed him every single day, through the hurt. Your chest ached and your heart dropped every time you remembered the incident, but your love for him never wavered. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and with how often he tried to reach you, it was nearly impossible not to have him on your mind.

"Of course I did. I took the time I needed, but that doesn't mean I wanted it."

"I know, baby. And I would never hold it against you. I'm just... glad I can see you again, is all."

You smile. The gleam and sincerity in his eyes is a wonder to witness and well worth the butterflies that overly crowd your stomach.

"I really did miss you," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "'Lots.'"

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, then he leans in close for nth time, peppering kisses across your cheek until he reaches your lips. He can feel you smiling into the kisses, a sensation he yearned for with every fiber of his being for the past week. One of his hands rests on your thigh, caressing the inner part of it, while the other slides up your shirt and settles on your waist. The lip-lock steals your breath away, but even then, you challenge your lungs for your lover's sake, only pulling away when you're a panting mess and Toji's breathing is more audible.

The tension is palpable, the silence loud as you look at one another like you're still taking in the fact that you can be loving towards each other again, in a manner that doesn't derive from guilt for the time that you didn't get to demonstrate how much you truly love each other. Enough to not be able to leave a fresh wound alone, enough to forgive while outwardly expressing that you have not healed but are patient enough to work towards regaining that strength.

"I don't wanna go home," he murmurs, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips before focusing on solely your eyes.

"You don't have to," you respond. "Stay as long as you'd like."

"And if I said I wanted to spend a week here with you? Would you hate it?"

You shake your head. "No, but I think you'd get tired of seeing me all the time."

"You're wrong, pretty girl. Is this your subtle way of saying you're tired of looking at my mug, already?" He asks, lips curling with amusement at your giggle.

"No, I want you to stay," you say, honest.

"Promise?"

You nod, followed by an affirmative hum.

"Say it again," he requests, heart thudding just a little faster when you smile.

"I want you to stay, Toji," you repeat, his name on your tongue causing your cheeks to warm up.

"Again." His hands mold around your hips—squeezing, loving.

"Stay," you say, softer.

He sighs, heavy, an enamored look in his eyes that you have never been able to comprehend. Those dark, viridescent eyes, have a brilliance to them as he looks at you like you're the last good thing he'll ever be able to call his. You're good for him, you're good to him, and there is nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you because you gave him your heart.

"Yeah... you're stuck with me here for a week and you're come with me to pick some stuff up from my place, tomorrow. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, with a laugh.

"Now, we get you off this counter," he says, lifting you like you're a teddy bear that he carries around for protection. He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the suddenness. "Hold me tight, baby," he says, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before moving anywhere. A kiss is planted on your shoulder as he turns around to exit the bathroom.

"And now you let me show you some love," he says, low, carrying you to your bedroom.

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prettyliittleviolets · 3 days ago

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I would love to know your headcanons on how Remmick would act when he gets jealous. Like when someone’s eyes linger on you for a little bit too long or they’re leaning a little bit too close. How would he act in public vs when he gets you home 👀

ooh this is so good! personally i LOVE a jealous man and i honestly feel like remmick would be just that.

remmick is absolutely the type to get jealous over the tiniest things. honestly, any time someone so much as looks at you with more than a passing glance — whether you're aware of it or not — he's already got a pit of rage boiling up in his stomach. this man is possessive to his core, and he'll be damned if he lets himself just sit and watch someone dote on you.

when you're in public together, he's more pouty, and maybe a little mean, than anything. he’ll sneer at anyone whose eyes linger a little too long or who calls out crude things on the street. he is distraught at the idea of anyone giving you the wrong sort of attention, and he has no issue with showing you how much it bothers him. he’ll turn himself away like a dejected puppy, mouth curled into a displeased pout and letting out the occasional dramatic sigh.

and if you begin to entertain it? he's beyond saving.

he starts to cling to you, his touch consuming you in any way possible. maybe he comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your midsection, resting his chin in the crook of your neck. but, as sweet as he is to you, he has nothing but hatred for whoever is occupying you. he will shamelessly glare at them, regardless of any conversation or interaction you may be having, and eagerly try to coax you away — “really, dear, ‘t’s gettin’ quite late. we oughta get goin’ soon, don’t’cha think?”

he’ll pout the whole way home, too, tiring himself with countless exasperated outbursts of “who did that guy think he was? talkin’ like that to you with me right behind ya?” and the like.

however, once you’re home, it's an entirely different story. it's like a switch has flipped inside of him, and you can barely make it inside the door before he's up on you — lips crashing sloppily against yours, backing you into the nearest wall or piece of furniture with vigor. his hands dart about you like he can't decide where to touch: tangling his hands in your hair, running them up your sides, caressing your soft face. he is desperate and messy and beyond eager to show you just why you shouldn't bother with that terrible man from earlier.

you can just barely coax him to slow down, to not take you right up against the door frame, and you guide him to your bedroom. he follows intently, upset to be torn away from you so suddenly but eager to continue. by the time you reach the room, he is flushed red and breathless, desperate for your touch. he stands in the doorway, head hung low, his chest sinking up and down in deep, heaving breaths. beneath the burning need radiating off of him, you can still feel his jealousy from earlier, white-hot and sharp.

you saunter over to him, a wild grin on your face, battling internally between prolonging your teasing and finally getting your hands on him. your hands trail up his chest, voice soft, "not still upset about earlier, are ya, hun?"

his eyes flicker up to yours, wild and animalistic, a deep hunger flickering from within. "not upset at you, darlin'." he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. "just want ev'ryone to know that you're mine."

"then make me yours."

#˗ˏˋ prettylittleviolets ˚. ⋆#˗ˏˋ violet writes ˚. ⋆#remmick #jack o'connell #remmick fanfic #remmick smut #remmick x reader #remmick x y/n #remmick sinners

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kuidore · 1 day ago

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More random ZoeYstery HCs ✧ KPOP demon hunters ✧ Zoey x Mystery

✧ They’re a little codependent but the sprinkles of toxicity are mutual so it cancels out

✧ Mystery never wants to go anywhere if Zoe isn’t going. He goes to social stuff because she goes and he wants to spend time with her.

✧ Zoey will still go to things on her own sometimes, leaving Mystery to hangout at home, but she spends a lot of time on her phone texting him and always leaves earlier than she would have if Mystery was with her

✧ This is entirely her choice, not once has he ever asked her to come home or complained about her going out. She just misses him extra hard sometimes and finds herself getting bored way faster when he isn’t around

✧ If it was up to either of them, they’d be together literally all of the time.

✧ They can’t actually do that, so he just follows her everywhere like a puppy on an invisible leash as much as he can

✧ He can see perfectly fine through his bangs (demon logic) but he still has a habit of running into things as if he couldn’t. Poles, signs, corners, fire hydrants. He’s surprisingly clumsy

✧ that’s because he doesn’t look where he’s going. he stares at Zoey instead

✧ totally worth it to him, especially the times when Zoey would start fawning over the possibility of him being hurt

✧ ‘a girlfriend wants a boyfriend who she can turn her brain off around’ except Mystery is the girlfriend

✧ He’s sorta an airhead, he’s ignorant to a lot of things that humans would think of as common knowledge

✧ Mystery thinks Zoey is the smartest person in the entire world and he says it a lot

✧ he eventually gets comfortable enough to ask her questions not just about herself, and she answers him with lots of details and excited hand gestures

✧ She’s happy he’s curious about humans in general and happier that he was asking her.

✧ In reality he’s still just curious about her and not all humans. No other ones, really. Maybe the rest of Huntrix, barely. he could handle her friends because they were extensions of Zoey.

✧ he was asking about topics he remembered her mention before in conversation.

✧ Zoey forgets what stories she’s told and what conversations she’s had with what people, so it doesn’t really click together that she just happens to know at least a little bit about pretty much about everything he asks

✧ he’s not doing it with manipulative intentions. Dude just genuinely could not care less about anything if he can’t play ‘seven degrees of Zoey Huntrix’ with it

✧ He compliments her multiple times a day, usually just blurting out something he was thinking as opposed to any sort of setup or cute delivery. In his eyes he’s just saying things that are true, but Zoey always giggles and thanks him anyways

✧ His deadpan tone and complete lack of awareness, in Zoey’s eyes, is a cute delivery

✧ Zoey is a crazy good baker. Mystery will hangout in the kitchen with her, sitting down and staying the hell out of her way as she zooms between cupboards

✧ Every so often she stops in front of him, a piece of chocolate or pastry or whatever else she was messing around with pinched between her fingers, and pops it in his mouth for a taste test

✧ He’s never any help when she’s trying to figure something out, but Zoey already knows that. She’s not expecting critique, she just gets all giddy seeing him smile and say it’s yummy when he tastes it

✧ where Jinu never lets Rumi see his demonic eyes, Mystery is exactly the opposite with Zoey

✧ When they’re at home, even after he’s started pinning up his bangs, he only ever has bright amber eyes with cat-like pupils

✧ Mystery has nothing but his demon form in his past, and as much as he didn’t care, sometimes he wondered what Zoey thought. If she ever remembered he was a demon when she was alone and recoiled at the thought of his ‘real’ form

✧ it’s the first question he’s afraid to ask her, so he doesn’t

✧ One day when she’s laying on top of him on their couch and his eyes are closed, she presses her lips to his eyelid, telling him not to open them as she did the same on the other side

✧ He opened them back up and just raises an eyebrow, and she shrugs back at him and tells him he has pretty eyes

✧ she gets a new thing for her ‘what makes Mystery blush?’ list

#kpop demon hunters spoilers #mystery kpdh #zoey x mystery #zoey kpop demon hunters #zoeystery #kpop dh #kpdh headcanons #kpop demon hunters #kpdh

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alinathinkstoomuch · 2 days ago

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EX-FACTOR

pairing: aaron hotchner x ex!reader summary: hotch swears he's listening to rossi, except he can’t focus on a single word when you’re at the bar with another guy, based on this request. warnings: hotch is turning greeeeen from jealousy!! pining, hotch just wants his baby back word count: 0.6k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

Aaron was trying to listen to Rossi—really, he was. Something about a plot of land and investment potential and tax benefits or… God, he’d lost the thread ages ago. He nodded here and there, tossed out a half-hearted “yeah?” or “makes sense,” but his focus wasn’t anywhere near the conversation. Neither were his eyes.

They were glued to the crowd, more specifically to the gap in it. The spot where you used to be.

You’d disappeared ten minutes ago, and so had the guy who’d been flirting with you. Some twenty-something whose fingers grazed the side of your waist like he had any right to be even within six feet of you.

“And what exactly is your plan for tonight?” Rossi asked, swirling the last bit of his bourbon.

“What?”

“The staring? Gripping your glass like it can breathe?” Rossi lifted his brows. “What’s next? You going to challenge him to a duel?”

“I’m just watching,” Aaron muttered.

“Mmm,” Rossi said, which was Italian for you’re full of shit but I’m going to let you dig this hole a little deeper.

Aaron didn’t respond, his eyes doing their seventh sweep of the minute. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for the most, that you’d look back and catch him, or that the guy would spontaneously combust under the weight of his scowl. But for any of that to happen, he had to see where you were.

And he knew that he had no right. That it wasn’t his business anymore, that the only real authority he had over you these days was inside a briefing room with a suspect on the board. Because this? A bar, a night off, your clothes, your smile, a stranger’s hand on your waist? This wasn’t his jurisdiction. This was your playing field now. And Aaron was a benched sub who’d already had his shot and fumbled the pass, reduced to a spectator at best. A ghost, more likely.

“She’s allowed to dance, you know,” Rossi continued, not unkindly. “Even allowed to enjoy it.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“Good,” Rossi said, far too breezily. “Maybe she even left with him. Can’t see her anywhere.”

Aaron’s head whipped towards the exit so fast, it stirred a breeze around him. For a moment his stomach dropped in that cold, involuntary way it did when something went wrong on a case as he considered the possibility that, maybe you did go home with him.

“I’m kidding,” Rossi chuckled. “Relax. She’s by the bar.”

And there you were. Using a stack of napkins to fan yourself, the golden lights catching on your exposed skin, the small specks of glitter scattered across your bare shoulders gracefully. He could still remember the caramel-like scent that came with it, relying on memory alone now, because he no longer had the right to be close enough to smell it again.

The lights shifted, dimming, then bleeding into a soft pink, the kind that made everything—you—look dreamlike. You gasped excitedly, grabbing Penelope’s arm where she stood beside you. She lit up just like you did, and Aaron didn’t even realise he was smiling until you were already pulling her towards the dance floor, placing a hand on the guy’s chest and yelling, “I’ll be back. This is our song!”

He hoped you wouldn’t be back, not to him, anyway. Not really. He hoped you’d stay somewhere close instead, just within reach, orbiting near enough for his eyes to find you and no one else’s.

He was grateful no one around had mind-reading abilities, because if you knew how often he thought about you, you’d probably never speak to him again. Or maybe you would. That was the thing about the two of you, the friendship had held, maybe too well. And maybe that was the problem.

Neither of you could move on.

“You’re torturing yourself,” Rossi said plainly.

Aaron didn’t look away. “I know.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @wowitsafemale @cinnamoncunt @keiminds @iyskgd @mystic-rox @insured-by-the-mafia @mggslover @star-crossed-sephie @tearykth @2dloveshp @lovelystrawberry @imissaaronhotchner @justyourusualash @alexxavicry @storiesofsvu @ehedrick012110 @khxna

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typhea · 2 days ago

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⌗ ⋮ 🌸、 JJK BOYS + ‘LOVE ME HARDER’

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 featuring : fushiguro megumi, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen, geto suguru ♡

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 infos : nsfw content under the cut // mdni ,, maso!reader x sado!char, p in v, degradation, impact play, slapping, shoe humping, choking, deepthroat/throatfucking, bondage, anal, squirting, reader passes out, overstimulation ♡

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 summary : asking them to be rougher ♡

──﹐ FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

megumi always carefully listen to you. this guy needs you to be as precise as possible, so he can please you real good. he needed you to show him a video as example of what he could reproduce. “i think i can do that.. it’s gonna hurt princess, you know that right?” , he didn’t really trust himself , you two made a safeword to get him to actually do it devotedly. and he did not disappoint. you’re sweating, crying, drooling on the pillow you were biting, and your cunt dripping wet. your back arched, shaking because of the pleasure. your body is covered in purple and red marks, bites and hickeys, marking you like he never ever did. he has one hand tangled in your hair, with a hard grasp. the other pinning your wrist behind you on your lower back, making you feel each aggressive waves of his thrusts. his hips pounding onto yours like thunder struck your whole body. “arch more.” he commands coldly. your heart is pounding, it feels like he’s mad at you but you fucking love it. he doesn’t blink, megumi is focused on the movement of your butt, hypnotised by the jiggle he caused by his fast pace and rough manners. his breath is heavy and loud, he’s liking it. he didn’t stop despite your cries and tears, he’s gonna pound that pussy until you say the safeword. he spanks your already red butt from previous impacts, “i didn’t know my princess liked such things..” he breathes out with a light chuckle. “turn around and spread your legs.”

──﹐ NANAMI KENTO

kento didn’t think twice. you ask for rough, you get rough. “you like it better when i’m angry at you, honey?” he asks as he stands tall over you, stroking your red cheek with his thumb. you nod shamelessly, making him slap your cheek again. you’re fully naked on your knees on the cold floor, your body shivering with cold and need. you’re looking up at him, your lip quivering. his pretty tie is painfully binding your wrists behind your back. your wet pussy is desperately rubbing against his shoe like he asked you to. your weak hips greedily humps his black hard shoe, trying your best to make him happy and maybe get something in return. “you look so pretty like this, when you’re being a good girl.” he slaps your other cheek, “i didn’t said you could stop moving. you don’t wanna cum, do you?” he speaks harshly, quickly getting apologies out of you. “be good.” he slowly undoes his pants, wrapping his belt tight around your neck. he leans in to kiss your cheek, he then rubs his thumb against your lower lip. “open.” , you blink and see his pink tip waiting for you. you’re fast to listen as your mouth warmly greets his cock. he grabs your head forcefully, making your heart race in fear, “deep breath—” he then pushes you down, his cock reaching your deepest spots. your nose is crushed against his pelvis, you cough and gag but you’re helpless as your hands are tied. he gently stroke your hair keeping you there “shh, you’re doing amazing honey..”

──﹐ SUKUNA RYOMEN

ryomen laughs at you. “is that another way to tell me you wanna die?” he grabs your throat, his grip is tight as his nails dig into the back of your neck. “such a greedy slut. you want to get hurt, hm?” he doesn’t wipe off the smirk off his face. hours later, laid on your back, your whole body is tied up, you can’t move anything but your toes and fingers. your arms are tied behind your back, your legs held open as the vibrator glued to your clit brought you to your 6th teary-eyed orgasm. you could shake all you want, the hard ropes wouldn’t allow you to close your legs. your head hangs off the edge of the bed, upside down, “shut the fuck up, you’re too damn loud.” he speaks coldly before ravaging your throat again. he stands over your weakened body, his hips thrusting into your mouth like he would with any other hole you have. his right hand squeezes your throat feeling the shape of his thick cock plunged deep in you. his left hand was slapping and groping your breasts. he roughly pinches, pull and twistes your hard sensitive nipples. “isn’t that what you asked for, slut? why are you crying then huh?” it feels never ending, your body can’t take that much force and you feel yourself slowly passing out. ryomen notices and pulls out. “ugh, you’re no fun. such a fragile doll.”

──﹐ GETO SUGURU

suguru smiles at you, he’s surprised by your request but doesn’t show it. “is my baby getting bored in bed?” he teases, knowing perfectly that no matter how he did, he knew how to please you. “strip.” he commands, sat on the bed with his legs spread. you’re standing between his long legs, naked and powerless. he stares deep into your eyes, analysing your body biting his lip “you look ethereal, damn.. turn around.” you do as he says. you turn around and feel his eyes on you. suddenly, a hard slap hits your butt causing it to jiggle, and you to whimper. “what a slutty sound.. i’ve never heard that.” he chuckles, slapping your ass again, multiple times. he then stands up, grabbing your hips to turn you around. “you’re gonna need the wall behind you, baby.” he speaks with a smirk, undoing his pants. you then hold yourself up on the wall, your body shaking with need. “leg up.” you immediately hold one leg up, he grabs it giving himself access to your intimacy. you’re dripping and impatient. he thrusts into you in one hard go, burying himself deep inside. the rooms is filled with your loud screams, the sloppy sound of your skin slapping against his and his deep groans. he pounds into you hard, pulling out completely then forcefully slamming back in. as he was pulling out, he penetrated your asshole roughly. “fuckk.. oops i guess..” he laughs at your cries. he pounds into your butthole just like he did with your other hole. it was much tighter, he liked it better but he knew it hurt you. he notices the leg that held you up shaking and ready to give you up any moment. he smirks and grabs it, holding both of your legs now, his hips never stopping their assault. “you’re enjoying it aren’t you? ain’t that a bitchy behaviour hm..” your orgasm hits you hard like a whip, you squirt over his contracted abs. he slaps your pussy, “what a dirty girl.” he chuckles.

thanks for reading darlin! don’t forget to like and leave a comment :)

jjk m.list | request here!

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tiktaalic · 1 day ago

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Wait I wanna explain this one. as op. This IS about supernatural this IS about destiel. bug = dean because cas is this incomprehensible thing that blinds people if they see him and communicates in a way that is only parseable to a minuscule portion of the population. For everyone else glass starts shattering lights start blipping out and your ears start bleeding.

^ what would you do if you fell in love with a bug and he fell to the ground ears bleeding when he said hello. This is what’s happening here cas is going hi Dean I’m the one who saved you and Dean is suffering hearing loss.

Baby trap him.

This is going to sound more complicated than it is but basically cas gets adopted by an unborn baby and dean hates that he’s been adopted by an unborn baby he thinks the unborn baby is Evil and Tricking Cas (baby is the son of the devil and already has powers). Cas dies trying to save this baby while it’s born.Dean freaks out but has to tag along with this stupid ass baby who turned himself into a 20 year old. He hates this baby. To be clear. He blames this baby for cas dying while he was born. This baby doesn’t really rock with hanging around with dean who keeps saying he’s going to kill him and uses his #powers to bring cas back. Dean does IMMEDIATE about face as soon as cas is back actually the kid isn’t evil we should all live together and go on cases together and watch movies together me and cas and the baby. This continues for two ish seasons. Cas says point blank jack (the baby) made us a family I didn’t want to lose that. Dean also like from season one serving born to be gruff father forced to murder things for a living. This comes up a lot in like. Dean voice I can never have this this life isn’t possible for me my biggest fantasy etc etc. direct quote about Jack: a kid I mean I never thought I’d have that. He has been VERY clear about his broad desire for a Family. And like. Cas Is jacks father. Dean got roped into parenting him because of cas but cas IS jacks father. No My father is castiel - quote from Jack in his first episode while cas is dead. Ergo. Baby trap him

Like literally what would you do if you fell in love with a bug and he fell to the ground ears bleeding when you said hello.

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nottsangel · 4 hours ago

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Theo making his strokes deliberately so the headboard bangs against Ron's wall to make sure he knows what’s going on 👀

tw voyeurism.

thud. thud. thud. theo’s bed slams into the wall with each harsh thrust, your knees pinned to your chest under the weight of his body. he supports himself on one forearm right beside you, while other hand cradles the top of your head, protecting it from banging against the headboard.

“teddy—” you gasp when the tip brushes against your sensitive g-spot, not even registering the loud thumps against the wall over your own moans. but theo does— in fact, he knows exactly who’s listening on the other side on the wall. and not just listening.

ron has a clammy hand wrapped around his leaking cock, the other fisting the sheets in desperation, as he softly whines your name. his brain turns to mush as all kinds of vivid, filthy scenarios rush through his mind— you riding him, sucking him off, stroking his cock with those pretty hands… he doesn’t even know what to focus on. the steady rhythm of the headboard combined with your lewd moans make his head spin and his mouth run dry.

theo, on the other hand, is focused on only one thing— making as much noise as possible. because what he’s doing to you here in his bed? ron can only dream of it. it makes him feel proud, cocky, self satisfied. it strokes his ego in ways he wouldn’t want to admit. and he doesn’t need to, because his fucked out girlfriend hasn’t got a clue.

he leans in, soft lips brushing against your ear as he pushes your legs even higher, practically folding you in half, before whispering just a single word, “louder.” his thrusts grow frantic yet calculated, hitting all the right spots at a brutal pace. not even a second later, loud, pornographic cries spill from your lips, and he smirks in pride and satisfaction.

god, you’re always such a good girl for him. that’s right— just for him. and ron? poor guy only has his right hand, because he’ll never get to experience you the way theodore can.

ੈ♡˳

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lazysoulwriter · 3 days ago

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hot stuff (literally) - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluff, hurt/comfort, protective Pedro, established relationship, domestic chaos, light teasing

---

You yelp.

Loudly.

And Pedro is there in two seconds flat — halfway through folding laundry, now sprinting into the kitchen like a man on a mission.

“What happened?! What—baby?!”

You’re hunched over the stove, clutching your hand, eyes a little wide.

“I just—I touched the pan,” you say quickly. “I’m fine. It was just—hot. I didn’t think it was still hot—”

“Where?” he’s already crowding you gently, pulling your hand toward him. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing, Pedro, I’m okay—”

“Let me see.”

You sigh and hold up your hand. There’s a red patch on the side of your palm, already starting to sting.

Pedro winces like he’s the one who got burned. “Jesus, baby.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I don’t care.”

He’s already walking you to the sink, turning on cool water, guiding your hand underneath.

You stand there in silence for a moment, and then: “Are you mad at me?”

Pedro blinks. “What? No. I’m mad at the pan. And maybe the stove. And possibly you, for acting like this is fine when you burned your pretty little hand.”

You snort. “My pretty little hand?”

He glares. “Don’t distract me with flirty bullshit.”

“You literally just called my hand pretty.”

“I’m allowed. You’re mine.”

You smile, despite the sting. “Aww.”

He wraps a paper towel gently around your hand and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Now,” he says, like a man laying down the law, “go sit on the couch and don’t even think about coming back in here.”

“But—”

“Nope. You’re done. You’re banned. Effective immediately.”

“I’m literally making your favorite—”

“Not anymore you’re not,” he says, already turning off the stove. “I’m taking over.”

You pout. “So bossy.”

“And yet, you love it.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is so full you can barely stand it.

He follows you to the living room, tucks a blanket around your legs like you’re 85, hands you the remote and kisses your cheek. “Text me from the couch if you need anything. Don’t walk.”

You laugh. “I burned my hand, not my feet.”

“Still. No chances.”

You grin, watching him head back to the kitchen in socks and a soft tee, muttering about pans and protective gear like he’s about to enter a war zone.

Yeah. You’re definitely letting him cook more often.

(…Even if it’s just to see him scowl at oven mitts like they personally offended you.)

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom @m4yb3-k3tlyn3 @umadirectioner

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mourning-sapphire · 3 days ago

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sundress | aemond targaryen

Summary: the annual targaryen summer party, a sundress, and almost getting caught.

Pairing: modern!aemond targaryen x fiancé!reader

Fic warnings: smut (MDNI), rich boy!aemond, semi-public sex, no panties and the heat has aemond acting dizzy, quickie in the sun/shenanigans in the garden, sundress kink, oral (f), fingering (f), being taken from behind, Aemond get's a little nasty and doesnt care that you're sweaty, almost getting caught, realising that you do infact like fucking when there's high stakes.

Word count: 11.2k

authors note: summers here and so am i with some smut, no beta just vibes and the will to live (ill catch and mistakes later and rage about it to myself)

masterlist

The Red Keep Estate

Aemond wasn’t sure if it was the relentless glare of the sun that was causing the dull, pulsing ache behind his eye, or the more likely culprit—the oppressive weight of yet another year spent sitting stiffly at this table in his mother’s garden, surrounded by family members who he’d rather lose another eye than see again.

It was a common tradition, something that had been going on much longer than he had even drawn breath, that everyone would gather at the estate during the summer for a week and pretend that they didn’t hate each other for a few moments. Every summer without fail, he’d drive out here from his place in the city, sit there and pretend he didn’t loathe his half-sister and the entitled brood she’d brought with her, nor his uncle's side of the family with the cousins that hated him. Truth be told, even his own siblings tested the last of his patience, Aegon and Daeron were too similar to mesh with his personality, and Helaena was too drawn in to be decent company.

It was something that he truly dreaded, that was until you came into his life.

While, no, he still didn’t ever want to come home for the summer and sit with his family, the idea of being there was made at least a little sweeter on his tongue by the inclusion of you in his life. Despite dating for 3 years, and now engaged, he hesitated at first to even bring him with you on these trips, he feared what proximity to his family might undo what the two of you had so carefully built together—feared that the venom and rot that clung to his bloodline might somehow seep into you too. That a single weekend at the estate might unravel everything, reduce the rare calm he’d found in you into ashes.

But surprisingly you took to the challenge easily.

You often softened his edges, dulling the sharpness he carried into every interaction he was forced to have, and gave him something to focus on that wasn’t raw frustration or contempt for his family. Aemond was truly and desperately thankful for you in his life, not just in this regard, but in every way possible.

While he usually didn’t want to attend most years, this year was especially filled with reluctance, but for good reason. At the beginning of summer, he had proposed to you, and he was set on making this summer about just the two of you. Wanting to celebrate your life together, relaxing, and getting things in place to eventually start planning a wedding. Being both busy people, all he wanted was to jet away to some sun-struck island in Essos and pretend that he couldn’t hear his phone ringing for 3-4 glorious weeks.

But things hadn’t gone to plan, and he was still kicking himself for it.

Just days before your departure, the two of you in your bedroom—your suitcases open and half-filled on the bed as you moved quickly between drawers, deciding what to bring, picking out his clothes because he thought you dressed him best. All while he sat in the bay window, silent as the night with arms resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on you while you fluttered around like his little butterfly.

“What about this one, baby?” You had mused while holding up a soft blue dress, the fabric thin for the weather and silk, floor length and low backed, “Is it too much?”

Aemond could have melted at the way you turned from the closet; eyebrows pulled in that way he loved as you looked to him for an opinion. You never realized how beautiful you were in the quiet moments. How he could fall in love with you all over again just watching you stand in your shared space, caring about the little things.

“No, my love…” He sighed softly, standing up from the bay window to approach you, his hands meeting your waist instantly as he pressed himself to your back, “However, it would look a lot better if we were on the beach, or by the sea, not at my mother’s house.”

You only smiled softly at him, lowering the dress as you looked back at him, a gentle twitch to your lips that had him relaxing instantly, “It won’t be that bad…”

“You know I hate it.” He sighed softly, head dipping down to press a kiss to your nape, “I can see my mother whenever during the year, the rest of them… I can live without…”

You didn’t answer straight away.

Instead, you hung the dress back into your closet before turning in his arms, a sweet sigh passing your lips your own wrapped around his neck. You tilted your head slightly, face soft and fingers sinking into the back of his long hair. Trying to calm his frustration in any way you could, fingers brushing the back of his scalp in a soothing rhythm.

His eye had closed at your touch.

“I know,” you whispered, and that was all it took—no rebuttal, no platitudes. Just quiet understanding. That was always the difference with you. “We only have to stay for a week, max, then what about we go on a smaller vacation, before you have to go back to work, hm?”

If he had the strength, he would have cancelled the whole bloody trip, and taken you to that island for the whole time instead. Somewhere warm and blue and so far away from his family that he might have forgotten their names eventually. Somewhere your skin would taste of salt and sunlight, and he could pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

He imagined you in that blue dress you just showed, walking barefoot through the pale sand of Volantis, the wind playing with your hair, your laughter carrying in the breeze. He imagined the two of you tangled in white sheets of your bed beneath an open window, your moans getting lost to the sea, the ocean murmuring back just beyond the glass.

He imagined no phones, no work, just long days, warm nights, and the chance to breathe with you.

But instead, he’d nodded, leaning down as he kissed your forehead and said, “Alright.”

And just like that, the island faded into a dream.

Now here the two of you were, stuck at his mother’s estate for about a week and a half, surrounded by everyone he hated.

As expected from his mother, the garden was in full bloom, the air heavy with the sickly-sweet scent of everything that grew on the ground. But none of it could disguise his barely concealed disdain for the situation still. Aemond still dreamed to be on a beach, but instead, he was here, jaw tight, hands folded, playing his part beneath the merciless summer sun.

He sat stiffly beneath the shade of the veranda, the collar of linen his shirt already sticking to his neck. At your instance this morning, his hair was up to try and cool him and he nursed some sweating cold drink his mother thrust into his hand.

He had little interest in talking to his family who were sparse around the grounds, his brothers off somewhere on the other side of the estate most likely getting high. His mother tucked down by the firepit, sharing conversation with his half-sister and their new baby. While his uncle was chatting mindlessly to the welp of his nephew, the familiar bunch of brown curls made Aemond want to launch the crystal glass he held at them.

So instead, his eye settled on you, chatting to his sister with the same thought he’s had for weeks; he wasn’t supposed to be here. That it was supposed to be just you and him alone. Not surrounded by his brother’s booming laughter echoing through the estate like a war drum, or rolling his eye at his uncle’s passive-aggressive barbs wrapped towards his side of the family, or his mother’s carefully worded guilt.

From his seat, he could see you clearly across the garden, standing with his Helaena near one of the tables of food laid out for everyone. Your posture open, your expression kind, as always. You laughed softly at something Helaena said, showing her the ring on your finger while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you listened to her fawning.

Aemond watched the way the sunlight caught you, how natural you looked even here, even surrounded by people who barely tried to hide their judgement towards each other.

He envied your patience sometimes, your grace.

And then, there was that dress.

The blue one you’d held up for him in your shared bedroom, voice playful, eyes bright. He hadn’t forgotten. He never would. And now, seeing it on you, draped so deliciously over your form, catching the summer breeze, it stirred something low and possessive in him, curling in the pit of his stomach.

You were truly radiant to look at even from here, all light limbs and grace. He never got the chance to ever just look from a distance, be he ate it up, the way one moment you leaned down to look at something your sister-in-law pointed out in the flower beds, and the next you twirled gently, fingers dancing across a cluster of blooms. His lips twitching as your laughter rang loud.

Aemond couldn’t look away, he didn’t care who else was watching, you were his fiancé and he’d look at you as much as he pleased.

The soft blue silk hugged your body in all the right places, loose enough to seem delicate but not so loose that it hid anything from a trained eye—his eye. The low back dipped scandalously, your skin glistening faintly under the sun, which he knew was a salty mix of sweat and the vanilla oil you put on this morning. The way the fabric shifted with every step made something inside him still.

He knew he was looking particularly hard, but it was something to do while he ignored everyone else, then he saw it. It was a single moment, a trick of movement. A subtle shift of the fabric as you stepped sideways. There was no lining of your usual panties, no outline beneath the waist, nothing beneath.

Nothing.

His breath hitched, his jaw tightening with restraint and the glass in his hand suddenly felt too fragile, too full. You weren’t wearing anything under the dress. He swallowed hard, gaze darkening, his eye dragging down your silhouette with a different kind of focus now. Everything else around him blurred—no more idle chatter, no clinking glasses or rustling leaves.

Just you. The curve of your hip as the silk slid over it. The gentle press of your breasts beneath the fabric, untethered and entirely his to imagine. The faintest imprint of your body when you turned toward the sun, arms stretched as you lifted your hair to cool your neck.

Did you do it on purpose?

He wouldn’t put it past you, you were clever like that and quietly bold. While you were never one for unnecessary attention, you did know how to drive him mad without a single word.

His hand flexed involuntarily around the glass, and he had to force his breathing to slow.

The idea of you wandering around his mother’s garden like that, unapologetically free, a secret beneath silk, set every nerve alight. It was torture, beautiful, exquisite torture.

It was like you could feel him looking from across the way as you turned your head to him, your eyes locking with his for a single, knowing second.

And in that second, Aemond knew you knew.

You smiled.

Just the softest curve of your lips, but to Aemond, it was a detonation powerful enough to knock the air from his lungs. You knew that he’d seen, that he was looking, that he couldn’t not look.

The way your head tilted slightly as you turned back to Helaena, the way your fingers played idly with the fabric of your dress as you listened—it was all intentional now.

Not for the others, not for the garden, not for the family sipping wine and gossiping between each other. This was just for him, a private performance only he could appreciate from across the perfectly manicured lawn.

Aemond felt something dark stir in his chest—want, frustration, and a deep, aching need to be anywhere else with you. Somewhere far from all of this pretence. Somewhere he could peel that dress from your body with the care of a collector unwrapping silk, not in haste, but in worship. Somewhere your laughter wouldn’t echo politely in a curated garden, but loud and breathless in a room where he could pin you to the edge of a sunlit window and finally, finally, take what you so clearly wanted him to.

The dress moved again as you stepped away from the two of you stepped away from something Helaena was showing you. He could see more now, the way the dress clung to your waist, the curve of your hips, and lower, the long line of your thighs pressed close together beneath the whisper-thin material.

And gods, there was nothing between you and the silk, not even a scrap of lace hugging the outline of you.

He wasted no time as he placed his glass down on a table, jaw flexing softly as he crossed the garden with quiet precision, his stride purposeful yet unhurried.

The afternoon sun beat down around him, but he felt cool, focused, locked in on you and nothing else. You were still standing with his sister, back partially turned, posture relaxed but too perfect to be unintentional. Helaena was still mid-thought, likely describing some dream or curious insect she’d found near the hedge.

You were nodding, listening with that soft expression that made people feel like the only one in the room. But Aemond knew better. That wasn’t real focus—not when you were glancing toward him every few moments from the corner of your eye, barely tilting your chin, barely shifting your weight, just waiting.

He didn’t stop when he reached you. Didn’t offer a polite smile. Just brushed one hand lightly along the small of your back and leaned in close, low enough that only you could hear.

“I know what you’re doing,” he murmured, his voice rough, breath warm against the shell of your ear.

You froze for the smallest fraction of a second.

Anyone else might’ve missed it—but he didn’t, the slight pause, the way your breath caught just barely. The way your fingers flexed by your sides. Then, just as quickly, you recovered—offering Helaena a small, practised smile, nodding gently to whatever she’d just said, even as Aemond’s presence curved around you like a second skin.

He let the silence stretch between the three of you a moment longer before speaking again, this time to his sister.

“Helaena,” he said smoothly, stepping just a little closer, “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

Helaena blinked up at him, always dreamlike, never quite anchored to the present. “Of course,” she said without question, her attention already drifting elsewhere, perhaps to the butterflies gathering near the stone fountain or a shadow falling across a petal in the wrong direction.

She wandered off without further comment.

You didn’t move.

Now it was just the two of them.

You turned to face him, finally, and your expression was soft. No smile, not at first—just calm, steady, like you’d been waiting. There was no defiance in your eyes. No games. Only warmth. Maybe a little shyness. Maybe a little more.

His gaze moved over you, the way the neckline of your dress skimmed the tops of your breasts, the way the silk followed the line of your body with every breath. The way the light passed through it in places towards the end of the skirt.

“I should be angry,” he said quietly, his voice lower now, more serious. “Or at least annoyed.”

You looked up at him, still calm. “Are you?”

He hesitated. Then, after a pause, allowed himself the truth.

“No.” Your lips curved, just slightly, it wasn’t a smirk, nor was it teasing. Just soft, a delicate move of your lips.

As if you knew he was trying very hard to keep himself still.

“I wasn’t trying to start anything,” you said. “It’s just too hot out here, and it's more comfortable this way.”

“I know,” He sighed, that was the maddening part.

There was nothing calculated in your choice. Not a trap. Not a test. Just instinct. And yet it left him feeling like a match held too close to a flame.

He watched you for a moment longer, taking in the way your skin glowed faintly with the heat of the sun, and the breeze fluttered your dress just enough to remind him why he was here.

He reached for your hand, his touch gentle but firm, fingers curling around yours with a soft tug to come with him. You let him like always take it without hesitation, your body falling into step beside him as if the two of you had done this a thousand times before. But this time felt different, this time, he didn’t bother with subtlety.

He didn’t speak as you moved through the garden together.

The afternoon was warm and close, the sunlight broken into patterns by the dense latticework of vines and trellises the further went down his mother’s garden. Petals falling from overgrown blooms to gather along the gravel like quiet confetti.

You passed the manicured hedges that had thousands spent on them, passed by the ornate dragon head fountain his grandfather had insisted on decades ago, and finally, further still, down to where the air grew quieter and the garden became more unruly.

At the far end of the estate, where the formal landscaping gave way to something looser, greener, lived the greenhouse—an enormous, stone structure that was left untouched, half-shrouded by climbing ivy. His mother adored the look of it as it was, and he knew spent her mornings there, thinking and pretending the rest of the house didn’t exist.

The air here smelled of earth and green things, of the memory of rain, even though it hadn’t stormed in days. Aemond led you to the back of the greenhouse, surrounded by hedges and completely covered, where there lay old stone tables that probably once got used for gatherings, but now left untouched in favour of everything towards the front of the garden.

And he couldn’t help but find himself instantly pressing you against the nearest stone table.

The stone tables behind his mother’s greenhouse were warmed by the sun, nestled deep in the lush bushes and florals she kept here, and completely detached from the rest of the garden party. The sun was just as merciless out here, at the bottom of the garden, as it was near all the tables, the familiar bite on your shoulders and the sweat beading in your hair reminding you exactly what time of year it was.

The sun, however, showed no such restraint.

It was just as merciless down here—if not more so.

The bottom of the garden trapped the heat like a basin, and you could feel pressing in on you the longer you stayed where you were. The familiar bite of the sun nipped at the tops of your shoulders, even through the silk of your sundress, all while sweat began to bead along your hairline, dampening the fine strands at the nape of your neck. The air was thick, steeped in the scent of grass, flowers, and just sheer heat.

While Aemond dragged you down here, you couldn't help but look over your shoulder, just subtle enough to confirm no one was watching, no one had followed.

But even if they had, it would have been difficult to spot anything beyond the foliage of colour and growth. His mother had planted this place like a secret, and now you were tucked in it like one.

And you were glad for it because Aemond had turned into a man possessed.

His usual control had evaporated the moment you’d slipped away with him, holding himself off just until he got out of sight of everyone else.

Now his hands gripped your waist with a quiet urgency, fingers flexing on you like he was trying to memorise the shape of you with each pull. He really wasted no time as he pressed you into the edge of the table, his mind taken over with the kind of surety that made your breath catch, his lips finding the soft spot just beneath your ear, his touch trailing like fire over your dress and down to your thighs.

His hands weren’t still, they couldn’t be.

They skimmed your sides in slow, desperate passes, fingers brushing the fabric of your dress, then slipping lower to the backs of your thighs. Digits sinking into the silk of your dress and flesh, you felt the strength coiled beneath his skin as he gripped you, the subtle shift of his body as he gathered you into his arms. With a smooth pull, he lifted you effortlessly onto the stone table, your back arching slightly at the sudden contrast between your heated skin and the rough stone beneath.

You clung to his shoulders, half for balance and half because you couldn’t bear to let him go, your fingers curling desperately into the linen fabric of his shirt. Your legs parted instinctively as he pushed between them. Your world was narrowed to just him, his breath against your neck, the heat of his palms as they roamed your body with reverence and hunger in equal measure.

“Aemond—” You giggled softly, head tilting back as his lips feasted on your skin with wet kisses, “Baby, people are going to realise we’re missing…”

It was a soft familiar grunt he gave as his lips left your neck and instead silenced you with a kiss—breathless, tasting the drink he had earlier and just pure want.

“Don’t fucking care.” He grunted again between kisses, his hand tugging at the material of your sundress, pulling it up to your thighs. “You’re the one that decided to go fucking commando for a family get-together.”

His lips moved over yours hungrily, one hand threading into your hair to tug at the warm strand, the other pressing firm against your lower back to keep you close. A shiver rolling down your spine as his fingers brushed the skin exposed by your dress.

Every part of him was alive with tension, his jaw tight, breath shallow, touch urgent as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or devour you right on the table. You could feel the hammer of his heart where your bodies pressed together, wild beneath layers of linen.

His hand fisted in the hem of your sundress, dragging it higher with rough impatience, the delicate fabric bunching at your hips as he pressed forward with each kiss. The backs of your thighs met the warm stone again, but it was short-lived as your legs came up around his hips to keep him from tipping you back onto the table completely.

You gasped into his mouth when his fingers sunk into your thighs pulling them higher on his hips; fingers firm, exploratory, like he needed to map every inch of you again, despite knowing it by heart. He pulled back from the kiss just enough to look at you, and gods—his eye was dark, blown wide with desire, the faintest flush colouring his pale cheeks from you and the sun. His hair, silvery and soft, had fallen into his face from his bun, strands catching in the corners of his lips before you reached up and brushed them back with trembling fingers.

“Gods, you test my fucking patience sometimes…” He murmured, hand skimming up your thigh to tug you as close as possible, your arms coming up around his neck. “No panties, really?” He asked again.

“I told you, it’s too hot…” You smiled faintly, your lips meeting the corner of his mouth as his head angled to you, his face furrowed with lust and annoyance. “Plus, you wouldn’t have even noticed if you weren’t staring at me so hard.”

“Can you blame me?” He hummed faintly, fingers skimming up the inside of your thigh, gripping onto the softness there, “You’re the only thing interesting to look at here, walking around in your pretty dress.”

His lips finally met your neck—slow, unhurried. His mouth moved lower, to your shoulder, brushing against the thin strap of your dress, biting ever so softly at the skin there. His hand at your waist slipped beneath the fabric, fingers finding the bare skin of your lower back. His thumb dragged across it, slowly, like he was relearning it all by touch.

His slow descent down was like a man going to pray, fingers gripping skin, lips knocking loose straps, breath meeting the tops of your breasts. It was sheer worship from Aemond the lower and lower he sunk into the ground beneath him, your body sat like his personal goddess on the stone table as he did.

You felt like something sacred in his arms.

You exhaled softly the lower he got, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as your head tilted back just enough to let him continue.

While the sun had warmed your skin, his mouth made it feel hotter.

Everything else around you, the garden, the house, the soft rustle of trees. It blurred out behind the closeness of his breath. You ate it up, leaning into it without resistance, your palms moving and bracing behind you, chin tilted down to watch him. He looked at you like you had no idea how divine you looked there and it nearly undid him.

Aemond’s fingers dug into your thighs with a bruising grip as he eventually dropped to his knees in front of you, it was like he physically couldn’t bear another second without having you. He didn’t care that gravel bit into him—sharp against his knees, probably tearing at the fabric of his linen trousers.

But he didn’t seem to feel it, and if he did he didn’t care.

He reached for your knees first, thumbs stroking the inside of them slowly before he slid his hands up your legs, insistent on pushing your dress higher. His eyes feasted on the exposed skin as the silk bunched in the cradle of your hips, exposing more of your thighs to the warm air, Aemond’s attention never wavering.

And gods, the sight of him—there, between your legs, silver hair falling loose around his face, his hands gripping your thighs—stole the breath from your lungs.

He didn’t speak.

All that mattered at that moment to him was you, your body laid out before him on the table, flushed and breathless in the shadow of the greenhouse.

Your eyes widened as the motion hit you all at once, his urgency, his hunger, and your breath caught somewhere between your ribs as you leaned further back instinctively. Your palms flatten more against the warm stone table to steady yourself, your bottom half tilting to meet him without thought.

The sun beat down through the branches above, casting a shadow on the two of you, but it was the heat between your legs that had you reeling. The warm air licked against your exposed skin, brushing over your inner thighs, and your core—which was already damp with anticipation, already aching for him.

The small breeze there felt absolutely obscene in how intimate it was, catching the slickness gathered there, making you painfully aware of just how ready you were.

It was no secret that Aemond loved sinking between your thighs, feeling your legs bent around his broad shoulders, thighs parting as he pulled you closer, anchoring you to him with a desperation that made your core flutter.

The stone bit into your skin; but it was forgotten the moment his hands shoved the rest of your dress up—hands rough, impatient—bunching the fabric around your hips in one swift motion.

Aemond didn’t pause, didn’t breathe.

His mouth was on you almost instantly, lips dragging along the inside of your thigh in frantic, open-mouthed kisses, warming up the already hot skin there even further. It was circling desperate the way his breathing came in sharp bursts out his nose, like he was barely holding himself together while also breathing you in.

He wasted no time as his arms hooked around your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders with ease, locking you in place as he pressed closer. So close you could feel the need in him, the hunger, the desperation to taste you, to lose himself in your cunt.

He was starving.

“Baby,” One of your hands flew down to his head, fingers sinking into his soft hair to try and stop him, “I’m all sweaty, are you sure you don’t want to wait—”

“I really…,” He glanced up at you as he pulled your legs tighter around his shoulders, lips following keenly and shifting your hips to the edge of the table, closer and closer to the wetness gathering on your inner thighs, “…do not give a shit”

“Aemond…” You giggled softly, your face heating up as you tried to nudge his head away from your cunt, “Are you sure…”

He only tutted before he dove in properly, his eye closing slightly as his tongue slid out to lick a strip up your core, fingers digging further into your thighs. As always, it was instant the way he drew sounds from you, your lips parting with an airy moan, and fingers twitching in his hair as he started to lick you up. Aemond was always fond of going down on you, it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake up for work slightly earlier than needed and sink under your shared covers to bury his head in between your thighs, and it seemed like being hidden at the bottom of his family’s estate was no different.

His tongue glided between your folds with the eagerness of someone who was destined to spend the rest of his life drinking you up, fingers grasping at your thigh as his tongue circled and sucked at your clit. His mouth opened wider to accommodate his tongue travelling down to tease at your entrance. Aemond knew how to love you in many ways, but his favourite was with his mouth, wasting no time as he dipped into your entrance and started to thrust his silver tongue in and out of you, curling the appendage with each push in.

Your breathing stuttered in your chest as you shifted on the rough stone under you, hips pushing forward towards his mouth and tongue, small hiccups of pleasure spilling out as your fingers tightened in his hair. You couldn’t help but roll and shift your hips with him, chasing every single flick and movement of his head.

His tongue slipped in and out with ease into your gummy walls, nose nudging your clit while he tasted you. Your throat begged to let any of the noises building in your chest out, your teeth sinking into your lip to muffle each pant, each whine, each moan. Aemond had your toes curling in your sandals at the feeling, your heels digging into his back to draw him even closer, the burning spreading up your abdomen, forcing soft pants out of you.

“Oh gods…” You managed to moan out softly, the sound meshing with the distant call of birds and the breeze as you bloomed under his touch. “Fuck, baby, we’re going to get caught…”

"Mmm," Aemond hummed against you, ignoring your protests and worries as his eye lazily looked up at you. Watching you unfold under his touch with a greedy look in his eye. He was as into this as you, his pupil blown out and his nose glinting with the wetness of being buried in your cunt, ready to drown in you if you’d let him.

Between the heat of the outside and burning in your core, you were a mess on the table, drowning from the inside out as you felt the sweat start to gather more and more. It beaded on your neck and ran down your spine, gathered behind your knees, but you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away. You were as needy as him, as greedy as him, and it was too good to give up, even if you risked getting caught.

It was filthy, but the idea of that alone has your core fluttering even more around his tongue.

Aemond had found that rhythm that had you writhing, shifting, begging, and wishing you could moan freely into the air. Everything sparked the muscles in your legs to twitch in Aemond’s hold, thighs squeezing his head slightly as you were pushed closer and closer to your peak. It was equal measures of utterly delicious as it was sheer depravity.

The pressure in your stomach was building in a steady upsurge, budding and blooming like the flowers around you and curling up your abdomen like roots taking hold. It was getting harder and harder to keep every single noise in, and that feeling only grew as one of his hands slipped down from your hips, fingers creeping along your thigh with purpose. You knew what he was doing, but it still had you whining between your teeth all the same.

As his tongue slipped out your walls, he hummed like was eating his favourite meal, that look in his eye getting stronger as he decided to swipe back up to your clit, sucking and nipping in a way that had your hand flying finally to your mouth. While one of your hands tugged at his strands urgently, the other flew to cover your lips, teeth sinking into the skin there to finally moan out into your palm.

You knew it was coming before you could even say anything, and he had no shame as he teased your entrance with the tip of a finger. His touch was light and teasing, as he prodded at the puffy folds with gentle pressure.

“Do you want one, or two, my love?" he murmured against you, his bottom lip slightly pulled back on your clit as he asked.

Your eyes briefly looked up to the sky at that, like you were begging for the gods to grant you mercy from the demon buried face first in your cunt, but all you could do what take whatever he was giving you on the chin. A small whine bubbling in your throat as you looked back down at him. Your palm left your lips briefly to give him a response.

“Two…” You couldn’t help yourself, between his lips kissing softly at your clit and his fingers brushing softly at your core, you just couldn’t help yourself.

He chuckled slightly at you, amused by your insistence despite the situation. The sound vibrated against you, a shiver rolling up your slick spine at the feeling.

"Greedy girl," He murmured with a nip to your bud, his tone low and filled with promise.

With that, his fingers began to slowly push into you, gently but persistently, as he sunk each bump in, his movements slow like he wanted you to feel every single ridge. You could he wanted to make you feel every touch and sensation fully. "Is that what you needed, love?"

Your lips parted with a choked breath; brows furrowed with pleasure as he scissored his deft fingers in your sweet cunt, this mouth working in tandem to tug you closer and closer to that sweet abyss waiting at the end.

The hand that had been covering your mouth was forgotten, grasping onto your knee instead. Your nails sank into the sun-reddened skin as you mewled and whined softly under his caress. The hand that was tangled in his strands moved back behind you, bracing you again, to help shift your hips to the very edge of the table; uncaring that your lower spine was screaming.

You were tight around his fingers, walls clenching and relaxing the closer and closer you got to your end, it was sweet blissful torture rolled into one. Aemond didn’t stop, he didn’t hesitate, the sound of your mewls egging him on and on, curling his fingers to brush that spot inside of you as he lapped and lapped like a man completely parched of water.

The two of you were out in the open but you felt like you were in a pressure chamber the way your skin slicked and you shook on the table. Your lungs desperate for air and your body begging for release. The blooming heat from before had transformed into a blistering sun in your stomach, one that was fraying your nerves and burning at your core with a power that only Aemond could give.

The world seemed to narrow down to the sensation of him—his hands, his weight, the way his breath mingled with yours. Each movement, each press of his fingers, stoked the fire deeper, a slow and relentless burning that threatened to unravel you entirely.

It was sudden the way you broke.

You came with a broken, desperate whine, your head thrown back in helpless surrender for him. Every muscle tightening and trembling as waves of it crashed through you. Your breath hitched, ragged and shallow, as the world tilted and blurred for a few seconds.

The moment stretched into silence as his mouth started to slow down, and you clung to that feeling of lingering warmth, shivering with exhaustion and the drawn-out heat, your heartbeat pounding in your ears like a quiet, steady drum.

Aemond pulled away from your core with a look in his eye, the lower half of his face soaked with your slick as he looked up at you. He often looked at you like you were magic, some kind of personal goodness for him to worship, but now he looked at you like he was ready to give his soul to see you. You were practically a puddle on the table, face flushed beyond measure, hair curling at your temples from the sweat, nipples pebbled and pressing against the silk of your sundress. He had undone you in every way possible, and the worst part of all?

He wasn’t done.

“Baby…” You panted softly watching as your legs slipped off his shoulders, his body rising with a hum as his free hand moved to wipe some of your wetness that was coating his face, sucking his fingers off like it was no issue.

“Look at you,” he said softly, more thought than a compliment like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d made of you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but all you could manage was a shaky exhale, fingers gripping the edge of the table as you tried to sit fully up again. Your eyes tired as you found yourself looking him over, you could see just how much the experience had affected him as well. If the bump in the front of his linen pants was anything to go back. His arousal clear against the dark fabric, his length most likely aching.

He leaned in with a twinge of his lips, close enough that your noses brushed, his lips barely touching yours. “You can’t even sit up straight.”

You tried to glare at him, you really did, but your eyes fluttered shut instead. “I hate you sometimes.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—his version of a smile. But it didn’t last, the heat in his expression was still there, you knew that look well and you knew exactly what it meant.

He pulled back slightly, hand dropping to your arm.

“Up,” he said quietly. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate, you never did, as you reached for his shoulders and let him help you stand, legs wobbling slightly under you. Your hands gripped him more for balance than anything else. The stone table scraped softly against your skin as your hips shifted up and off it.

The silk of your dress dropped back down as you stood, back to brushing your ankles as his hands met the small of your back, fingers brushing the skin.

“Turn around,” Aemond murmured against your temple, voice low and firm, his hand trailing down your back to start tugging you. “And lean over.”

There was no room for teasing in his tone, no joking smirk. Just that same intensity that came with him, he wasn’t asking because he wanted to for fun, he was asking because he needed to.

Like putty in his hands, you turned without a word, still catching your breath from your orgasm, your hair sticking to the nape of your neck. And like he requested you bent forward just slightly, placing your hands on the table, feeling the roughness of the old stone against your fingertips again.

The breeze shifted around you with a noise from the bushes, cooling the skin of your back, fluttering the hem of your dress slightly like a kiss from the earth. Aemond stepped in behind you again, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body, even without the press of his chest.

But you could hear the breath leave him when he looked down.

One hand smoothed over your hip, fingers curling as he pulled the fabric of your dress further up until it gathered at your waist completely again. His other hand settled on your stomach, thumb pressing into the soft flesh there, holding you still as he leaned in, mouth near your ear.

“Still too hot for panties?” He murmured, voice quieter now, edged with the faintest bit of a smirk in his voice. Still turning over this whole thing in his mind.

You managed the barest smile. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

That earned another quiet sound from him—something between a breath and a huff, not angry. Just hungry, and patient.

His grip on your stomach tightened slightly, grounding you in place, and his other hand drifted down between your thighs again, arms catching the fabric of your dress so it didn’t slip. His touch was deliberate, slow, like he had no intention of rushing now that he had you exactly where he wanted you.

You inhaled sharply at the contact, your hands bracing against the table as your head dipped forward, jaw going slack as he stroked at your sensitive folds again. Making sure you were still ready for him.

Aemond’s lips grazed the curve of your neck, then your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

“Gods,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to you. “You’re still shaking.”

You were, you could feel it in the way your legs trembled, in the way your body leaned into the table, pressing your hips against the stone to ground you. It was clear in the way your breaths came in short, shallow bursts, no matter how hard you tried to steady them. He wasn’t wasting time as his hand slid a little lower down between your thighs. Cupping you properly now, and all you could do was bite your lip as your hips jerked forward, instinctive and helpless under his touch.

“Still feeling greedy,” he asked after a beat, he was toying with you now.

You wanted to answer, gods you tried to, but all that came out was a sound; something soft and broken, caught between a breath and a whimper. Aemond hummed faintly behind you, clearly pleased that he’d gotten you back for the lack of underwear and riled you up to this extent. His fingers slid slowly through your slick again teasingly before retreating; drawing a quiet noise from your throat at the loss.

Then his hand on your stomach moved, dragging it slowly over your torso, up your waist, slipping beneath the bunched fabric of your dress to find your bare chest. Palm warm over the curve of your breast. He didn’t care that your skin was clammy and covered in sweat, only that your nipples were pebbled against the fabric, budding in the soft blue silk from the arousal. His hand squeezing softly at your breast while his lips met the nape of your neck, kissing the red skin, sucking softly to leave behind he was even there.

His fingers closed around the weight of your breast, thumb brushing slowly over the hardened nipples beneath the silk before he gave a soft, deliberate squeeze—just enough to make you arch slightly into his touch, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp. Being behind you wasn’t always his favourite way to take you, but being out in the open, with his warmth behind while were forced to look out, and the fear of getting caught. It was erotic, it was sinful, it was something you never knew you needed.

You could feel his fraying restraint, his hand still kneading softly at your chest, his mouth dragging wet heat across your shoulder, the weight of him behind you, cock still pressed against your rear unmoving.

Holding himself there, letting you feel everything before he ever gave you more.

You felt the shift before you heard it—the slight change in the way his body moved behind you, Aemond’s hand left your waist only briefly, and then you heard it—soft, deliberate—the quiet clink of his belt buckle coming undone and his zip being pulled.

Your breath caught at that; he wasn’t teasing anymore.

The tension between you had changed in an instant, it felt thicker now, every action now weighted with more intention. He wasn’t just begging to eat you out on a table outside, you felt him behind you, the heat of him pressed along your back, his hand efficient but unhurried as he unfastened his trousers.

You didn’t dare look back and you didn’t have to, the air shifted with him and it was like foliage around you knew that, the breeze dipping for a moment. His presence was heavier the closer he pressed. One of his hands returned to your hip, moving from your breast and holding you in place with steady pressure, the other returning brushing down the curve of your lower back, then pausing at your rear.

You could hear his breath now, low and deep.

But barely.

You stayed where you were, bent over the table, hands flat against the warm stone, dress bunched high around your hips. Your chest rose and fell steadily, despite the flutter in your ribs, despite the way your knees threatened to give at the feel of his length barely brushing you.

Aemond’s palm slid across your rear squeezing softly, silently reassuring you. And you let out a soft breath as you felt him lean in, his chest pressed to your back, his breath skating along the nape of your neck.

“Still with me?” He murmured.

You nodded, just once, voice trapped in your throat.

“Good,” he said, barely a whisper now, lips ghosting the shell of your ear, a silent kiss.

Time felt endless his hand curled back around your hip, his other adjusting himself behind you, and you felt it—his cock brushing against the inside of your thigh, hot and heavy, leaking against your skin. The tip soft and damp with pre-come, the movement smearing it against your leg.

A quiet gasp left your lips, but you silenced yourself instantly as you bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to brace for what you knew was coming. But even then, the anticipation was unbearable.

He was barely touching you, you felt his hand shift to guide himself, the tip brushing your folds in a slow, careful line, not pushing in, just feeling, poking around your puffy core with intent—teasing you just a bit more before he caved and sunk himself in.

The move made your spine curl in a reflex you couldn’t control, and your teeth sunk deeper into your cheek at the sound that threatened to spill out. Begging to be released as he passed over your clit with just enough pressure to make your knees weaken.

You tried to shift back further, hips moving on instinct, but his hand tightened on your hip in warning.

“Ah ah…” he tutted in your ear, soft but commanding, “Patience.”

You exhaled sharply at that, biting back a frustrated whine that bubbled in your throat again. Your hands gripping the stone table harder, nails scraping the stone, palms damp and unsteady against the rough surface, your arms trembling just slightly from holding still. But still, you stayed right where you were, breathing shallow, and he finally began to press into you.

Every inch of him dragged a sound from your throat you couldn’t hold back, your head dipping forward as your body adjusted around the stretch with a whine. The first inch stretched you slow and steady, heat flaring sharply between your hips as your breath caught, throat clenching around the soft, broken noise that escaped you.

Your fiancé was thick, that much you always knew, but from behind the angle was deeper—impossibly so. You felt every ridge, every shift of muscle, the slow give of your body as it opened around him. The pressure built and built with every inch he sank in, a slow, insistent push that filled you to the brim, making your legs shake, your belly coil tight with heat that was different from before.

You whined softly at the intensity of it all, head dropping forward, strands of your hair clinging to your damp skin. Aemond wasn’t going to stop until he was buried in you completely.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound barely more than a grumble, quiet and hoarse, and finally his hips met your backside with a final, grounding press. You could feel him there, rooted deep, his cock pulsing faintly in your walls as they clenched around him.

He didn’t pull back instantly; he didn’t even move, he just held you, flush against him.

“Fuck,” He whispered, voice rough and thick with restraint as his head lingered beside yours, breath warm as he huffed out.

And gods, you couldn’t even speak.

Your jaw hung open with parted lips, but all that came out were shallow, panting breaths.

Your lungs struggling to pull enough air in to keep you sane. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, your skin prickling as your gaze dropped to the table beneath you. The stone was warm and rough under your hands, scraped faintly beneath your fingertips, grounding you with its texture as you tried to stay present in the moment.

Your vision was hazy at the edges, but you forced yourself to cast your gaze up and look. Trying to focus on the garden surrounding you. You focused on the details: the ivy creeping up the edge of the greenhouse wall in the distance, the leaves stirring slightly in the breeze, the birds that would occasionally caw from the trees, and the heat of summer pressing in around you.

This part of the garden was hidden—tucked far behind the hedges and down a sloping path few people bothered to follow. You knew that. Aemond knew that. And still, the awareness of being exposed in the open air, with your dress bunched around your waist, your fiancé buried in your guts and sweat slipping slowly down your spine, made the entire thing feel sharper.

More dangerous, more real, and fuck it was a turn-on.

You could feel him still catching his breath behind you, his chest expanding with every inhale, the tension radiating off his body as he held still. So still it made you ache, for movement, for release.

“Baby, please.” You gasped softly, hips undulating, wiggling in an attempt to get him to move. You rolled back against him just slightly, enough for friction.

The effect was immediate.

His grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips digging in harder around your plush hips, the hold coming with an edge of warning that sent another shiver down your spine. He drew in a sharp breath through his nose.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low and strained. The word rasped against your skin, right beside your ear, a whisper pressed with heat.

You whimpered, the sound soft and aching, you were trembling again, legs unsteady, body thrumming with need.

Aemond stayed there for another breath.

Then, finally, he shifted, it wasn’t a full thrust, not yet.

But it was enough to make you gasp as he pulled back a fraction of an inch, just enough for you to feel the drag, the ridges of his length, before sliding back in just as slowly, hips pressing flush to yours once more.

This time, you did moan, quiet and shaky and pathetically undone.

“Gods,” Aemond muttered behind you, almost to himself. “You feel—fuck, you feel good.”

Then he did it again, fingers clenching on your hips at another slow pull, hips drawing back but he gave torturously measured push, and that was the rhythm he set. For being out in the open he was unhurried, deep, and devastatingly intentional.

And you could do nothing but take it, mouth panting, desperate.

His pace remained devastatingly slow, like he had all the time in the world to pull you apart piece by piece, fuck you like you were in the privacy of your own home.

Each stroke was deep and measured, dragging along every quivering inch inside you, igniting fresh heat with every push. The slap of his hips meeting yours echoed faintly in the still air, a notion that felt entirely forbidden to begin with.

Your knuckles tightened against the edge of the stone table as your hands sought something to hold, something to keep you grounded while he moved. It was pathetic but you couldn’t even look down anymore; your vision was too glassy, heavy-lidded, barely able to focus on anything beyond the overwhelming feel of him. It left your eyes fluttering and unfocused on the distant. Focused only on the way your body received him so greedily, so helplessly, your breath catching with each press of his hips, every grunt he made behind you.

His mouth dragged open along the curve of your shoulder, tongue tasting the sheen of sweat there before he found the bead that had begun to slide down from your hairline to the slope of your spine. He caught it with his lips, licking it away before it could even fall. That’s where his teeth followed, nipping just beneath it, leaving a sign he was even there.

You whimpered at that, sharp and helpless, and your head tipped forward again, your mouth falling open as your legs trembled beneath you. Aemond grunted against your skin, one hand releasing your hip just long enough to press flat against your stomach, drawing you back into him, flush and locked.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasped dragging his nose up your neck to speak against your ear, voice harsh, broken, possessed. “So sweet like this, for me…”

But you could feel everything in technicolour.

In the way his cock throbbed inside you with every pulse of your walls, in the trembling of his breath, in the way his hand shook slightly against your belly from the sheer force of keeping himself together. Focused on not finishing too soon, on giving you more.

He fucked you like he needed it to survive—like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, his salvation and his sin wrapped into one soft, trembling body bent over stone beneath the sun. His little beauty, ripe for the taking, as fresh as the flowers around them.

And then, just as he shifted slightly, looking changing his angle enough to make your body jolt with pleasure, enough to pull a low, broken moan from deep in your throat—you heard it.

Footsteps.

Voices.

Just faint, somewhere nearby, the sound softened by grass.

The world seemed to still.

Aemond froze mid-thrust, his hands going rigid on your body as the sounds grew clearer—muffled conversation, slow and aimless, the kind of idle garden stroll that meant nothing except the risk of everything.

Your heart froze, panic slicing through the haze of pleasure like a lightning strike.

Your body stiffened instinctively, suddenly hyper-aware of your position—of you bent over the table, your dress bunched obscenely around your waist, Aemond still buried inside you, cock pulsing and warm and unmistakable.

You didn’t move, couldn’t, you felt like an animal in headlights.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the voices came closer—one male, one female.

Familiar in cadence, it was two of Aemond’s family members; Jace and Baela. Baela was laughing lightly, a casual remark about the estate, something utterly mundane. But you barely processed the words, your heartbeat swimming in your ears, trying to focus on the direction they were coming from.

It was hard to tell but it seemed like it was just beyond the hedgerow, on the other path that led down to the lake, the one that was no more than ten or twelve steps from where you stood.

Aemond didn’t speak, he didn’t even breathe, from what you could feel of him.

His entire body was taut behind you, jaw tight, arm still curled protectively around your waist, hand still pressed to your stomach. His chest was pressed flat to your back now, shielding you as best he could, and you could feel his head lower near your shoulder, his breath brushing hot and fast against your skin.

They passed slowly, too slowly for your poor heart, their footsteps crunching faintly over gravel, voices still low but close enough to reach through the thick green of the hedge like a warning. You couldn’t see them, not fully, but you could hear everything; from the rustle of their clothing, to the occasional murmur of pleasantries, and then…

“Did you hear something?” Jace asked.

A pause that had you nearly stop breathing.

“I doubt it,” Baela replied casually. “Probably just birds again, it’s far too hot for anyone to be out here this long.”

At that, they kept walking, the voices growing softer and the crunch of their steps began to fade.

You didn’t move a single inch, not until the last of the sound slipped back into silence.

Only then did Aemond draw in a breath behind you.

It shuddered through his chest like a dam finally breaking, and you could feel the tension leave him in the way his grip shifted, fingers loosening on your skin. His forehead dropped briefly, pressed to your shoulder, his body still draped over yours like a shield, still pressed deep inside you.

You exhaled a laugh that was barely audible, thin and slightly hysterical with leftover adrenaline as you panted from fear and pleasure.

“Gods, we could’ve been caught,” you whispered, barely able to speak.

Aemond didn’t answer right away, his breath still uneven, and then kissed the slope of your neck, slowly, his lips dragging gently over sweat-damp skin.

“They wouldn’t have gotten far,” He murmured darkly, a quiet edge to his voice that sent a new shiver down your spine. “I wouldn’t let them see you like this.”

Your body clenched around him involuntarily at the sound of that, and he groaned softly, hips rocking once out of reflex. He wasted no time as he pulled back slightly, just enough to move again, and this time there was something new in the way he moved, less restraint, more need.

A lingering tension from what had almost been lost.

He didn’t even blink before he thrust into you again, it was deeper now, more purposeful. Your knees twitched slightly, a gasp tearing from your throat as you shifted forward with the movement, hips pressing back to the edge of the table.

“Still want me to stop?” he whispered, voice ragged and close to your ear.

You shook your head silently, unable to speak, the only sound from you a whimper as he began to build that rhythm again—unforgiving, but careful.

A man who knew your body and exactly what it could take.

Hearing Aemond’s grunts in your ear only pushed you further, the arousal, the feeling warming your guy with each movement. Much like the summer sun, you felt him everywhere, from his breath that hit the side of your neck to the slamming of his hips against your plump flesh as he drove his cock into you relentlessly.

His hips met yours with a force that bordered on desperation, the slap of skin a steady rhythm echoing through the thick quiet of the secluded space. Every motion sent shockwaves through your body; jolting you against the table, his body pressing into your spine, into your lungs where the air caught and stuttered.

You were coming undone.

Not just from the friction of his length, or the depth, or the heat of the afternoon pressing down on both of you—but from him. From the way he moved like he needed you, like this something carved out of devotion and frustration and longing.

Your moans had softened into breathless, broken gasps, caught between whimpers and whispered fragments of his name.

And he drank it in, all of it.

The sounds, the shuddering in your legs, the way your warm cunt welcomed him again and again without hesitation, your sweet walls fluttering around his cock, squeezing him in the way that only you could.

Aemond lips brushed the shell of your ear again, his voice low and fraying at the edges. “You take me so well.… always so good for me.”

Your fingers clutched the stone again, grounding yourself against the swell of pleasure building, your head dropping forward as your body trembled around him, helpless under the rhythm he set—deep, steady, ruinous.

Aemond’s hips rolled with increasing urgency, the slow burn of time passed without touch, without space to breathe, and now that he had you here—hidden and pressed close, surrounded by sun-warmed stone and heady blooms.

The garden blurred around you the closer you got to that edge.

The sound of your own breath, ragged and uneven in your throat. The weight of his body against yours. The way your limbs trembled, your muscles tightening with every thrust, coiling you closer and closer to that breaking point.

Aemond’s hand at your stomach flexed again, his grip no longer as controlled as before, his composure slipping just beneath the surface.

You knew he felt it too, that pull to the end.

Your back arched slightly, your hips rising to meet his thrusts even more, the tension rising through you like a tidal wave threatening to crest. And behind you, Aemond groaned, quiet and hoarse and wrecked. His mouth finding your shoulder again, his breath hot where it brushed across your damp skin.

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, more breath than sound. “Just let go for me, sweetheart.”

The words hit you harder than the motion of his thrusts—more than the rhythm of them or the friction. You let them carry you, sinking into your hazy mind until your body began to unravel, your breath caught in your throat and your fingers curled against the stone tight.

It could have been seconds or years, it made no difference to you, as you came quietly.

There were no sharp cries into the space, no frantic desperation clawing at your throat, just a trembling surrender to the pleasure. A slow-flooding warmth through your limbs, one that tightened your insides, and had your head dropping forward as your body shook under his hands.

You felt yourself tighten around him, pulling him deeper, and it was all it took to get him there too.

Aemond buried himself one last time and held.

“Fuck.” He grunted as he pressed in deep, the sound he made low and quiet, rough against your shoulder, his grip tightening as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, he went completely still, breath catching, chest rising sharply against your back—then slowly, slowly, he began to relax, his forehead pressing gently to the space between your shoulder blades.

You stayed like that for a while.

Neither of you speaking. Neither of you moving.

Just two silhouettes in a patch of garden no one ever visited, birds humming nearby, and the sharp scent of grass warmed by the sun. The stone beneath your palms was rough, and grounding, and his skin against yours was warm, familiar.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to ease the weight off you, his cock sliding out of you with a gentle whine out your lips, and a breath at the feeling of his seed slipping down your thigh. He caught it with his fingers, pressing them into you briefly to try and clean you up without anything on hand, but you knew you’d be waddling back to the main house with shame covering your face and your skin.

His hands were careful, steadying, as he moved to smooth out your dress. Letting the silk drop down gently like a whisper on your skin. He pressed a soft kiss to the base of your neck, then to your shoulder, and finally leaned his cheek there for a brief moment, letting his breathing even out.

“You alright?” he asked softly, his voice hoarse but warm.

You nodded without looking back, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… better than alright.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, small and genuine, and he helped you turn around slowly. Holding your waist while you found your footing again, your legs wobbled slightly, but he steadied you. Pull you close to him. When you met his gaze, his expression had softened: no longer clouded by lust or frustration, but something else.

Something quieter. Fonder.

You reached up your hand, and smoothed his hair away from his damp forehead, brushing your fingers through the strands that had fallen loose from his bun that was barely hanging on.

“Still think no panties is a bad idea?” you murmured, smiling faintly.

Aemond leaned in, brushing his nose along your cheek in a fleeting gesture of affection.

“Probably,” he replied with a slight smirk against your skin. “But I’d be more than happy to do that again if you decided to go commando the rest of the trip.”

You stood there for a moment longer, foreheads nearly touching, the scent of summer between you and the distant chatter of family still lingering faintly somewhere from the top of the garden.

“Is that a promise?” You grinned with a slight chuckle, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Always.” He huffed, shaking his head as he dipped down to kiss you.

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