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just-some-random-blogger · 6 months

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Losing Dogs

Neither you or Aegon wanted to get married. Neither you or Aegon wanted to marry each other. But at some point, you figured you should make the most of what you had, and so you offer your husband a deal he cannot refuse.

Aegon Targaryen x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, arranged marriage/loveless marriage, smut (piv, virginity loss, rough/loveless sex) DD:DNE, alcoholism, violence, suicide/suicidal thoughts & ideation, mentions of domestic/child abuse, death, pregnancy/miscarriage, aegon's mommy issues, insecurities, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ... i had something to say about this fic but i forgot... maybe ill remember later???? edit: i did not remember. i thought of mitski while entitling this so go play i bet on losing dogs ig?

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @azperja @sloanexx @risefallrise

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

Aegon only truly understood what this meant the day he was married and he was forbidden to drink a drop of alcohol.

As if it wasn't painful enough that he was going to be married to a complete stranger from some house he's never fucking heard of, he was erratic and uneasy the whole day because of the withdrawal. He loathes the preparation, the ceremony, the fucking pageantry of it all.

He thinks it was worse that you seemed to be so chipper the entire time. You smiled with a halo, skin shining with the light. You also seemingly did no wrong, judging by the praises you received from his mother and grandfather. But, who was he kidding, of course they fucking loved you, they chose you to be his prison keeper.

You did not press him once, not when you were preparing for the ceremony, not when you were at the feast, not even after the Queen encouraged you to dance.

Anyone with eyes could see from how he slumped on his chair during dinner that Aegon would rather die than circle around the room to this grating noise echoing in the chamber.

The band begins to play another song and another round of dancing ensues.

He stares at the food on the table. Oh, to be a suckling pig.

The relief that coursed through him when he could finally leave was enough to knock him out. Except, he really wanted, no, needed a drink.

He crashes on his bed, belly down, and reaches for the cabinet door on his bedside table. He feels for his bottle, hand knocking into the corners of the compartment, but he sits up when he finds nothing.

He growls in frustration upon realizing this was definitely his mother's doing. Thief!

"I managed a cup."

Aegon struggles to look over his shoulder from his position. He rolls on his back as you walk to the side of the bed.

He stares at you. You offer a glass holding burgundy liquid. Your voice is soft and kind as you explain, "your mother would suspect me if I took a whole bottle."

Aegon pushes himself up and sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. He gulps at the wine you were offering.

Sure, he may not be the brightest, but anyone could tell this scene was the epitome of ulterior motives. Aegon leans on his thighs, "why are you doing this?"

You stare a moment. You clutch the cup in both hands and examine it. Again, your voice is gentle, "you are clearly in torment. It hurts my heart."

His eye twitches.

I see. It seems you were a fucking saint.

Aegon rips the glass out of your hands, some of the wine spills over. He downs the contents in one go, then chucks the glass across the room once he finished.

He looks back at you, glaring with watery eyes. He was exhausted, he was angry, and he wanted you to know it. But you don't flinch at the sound of the glass breaking. You didn't flinch at all when he showed aggression. Why didn't you flinch?

You press your lips and sigh. You step towards him and reach out.

He nervously straightens up and tilts his head back as you approach. His breath hitches when your warm hand touches his cheek. He blinks rapidly.

"It's been a long day. Would you like me to help you change?"

Again, his eye twitches.

And then he realizes what you mean.

Ah. So, this is what you wanted?

He releases a breath, eyes lowering. Your face falls into a slight frown.

He thinks about it for a moment. I mean, sex was sex and he was game. It didn't matter how he performed, his completion was all that mattered, really. And you were pretty enough, albeit irritatingly good.

When you stroke his hair, Aegon pulls at your skirts, causing you to squeak and topple, hands flying to his shoulders for support. Your faces are inches apart. He pulls you down until you have no other choice than to sit on his lap.

You can smell the remnants of the wine he just drank on his breath. Aegon brings his face closer to yours, and you let out a soft 'hmp'. You mutter, "I gather you don't want to change, but want to get out of your clothes."

He narrows his eyes as you shift on his lap and undo the buttons by his chest. He mutters dumbly, "this is what you wanted."

With knit brows, you retort, "I've not yet told you what I wanted." You shift on his lap again as you peel his top off. Amidst it, he asks, "what do you want?"

You grunt after ridding him of his top. You fold it in your arms then set it aside on the bed. You turn back to him. Aegon's breath hitches when you fondle with strings of his undershirt. He watches your lips as you mumble, "I want you to give me a ride on your dragon."

He furrows his brows. But that's what he just said.

You stand, only to lift your skirt and take your place back on his lap. This time, you straddle him.

Aegon gulps, hands coming to your hips like a magnet. He feels you grind on him; shaky breaths leave his lips in response. His hands scratch up your back and a moan escapes him when your nails trace his collarbones.

"Allow me one trip on Sunfyre, and in return, I'll be your magic lamp," you whisper, taking one of his hands, bringing it to the side of your ribs, "you may rub me where you like-"

His heart skips when you kiss his cheek.

"-and I will grant you all your wishes."

Aegon ticks.

The next moment, he pushes you down on the bed. He doesn't bother getting either of you naked, nor does he prepare you at all in fact. Thankfully, you were already wet.

You don't have the opportunity to ask him to be gentle, to explain you were a bride after all, and it was your wedding night.

Aegon grips your skirts as he fucks you like he means to prove a point. He snaps his hips roughly into you to assert dominance, to exemplify control. Sure, you offered yourself to him, but he was the one doing the work, and you were the one beneath him.

In truth, the pace he set gave you more pain rather than pleasure. And with how pent up he was, the rough tempo he set burnt him out way too quickly before it could make any of you feel good. And when he begins to lag, you start to feel good.

You notice this change and rub your nose against his. He recoils, unused to affection when fucking. It snaps him back into an aggressive trance.

You yelp. Aegon convinced himself it was a sound of bliss.

You kiss his jaw and work your way to his ear, hoping to calm him down. He tenses at the feel of your tongue on his lobe. It stokes flames in his belly and makes him involuntarily roll his hips slower to focus on the attention you're giving. In return, his pace is just enough for him to hit that spot that makes you throw your head back.

Aegon is startled by the scratchy groan that leaves your throat. He finds himself lifting his head to spectate, but you pull him into you by the nape and groan, "like that. Please- gods - that feels good."

His brows tense and he rolls his hips again, finding the same reaction.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, uncaring of how hot and sweaty you were getting. In the heat of the moment, you reach for his lips, needing them, needing something to wrap your own on.

Aegon kisses you. He kisses you with a strange twinge in his chest. He kisses you until he has to pull away and reposition himself to catch his building climax.

In a second, he's back to his fuck-loving self, only self-serving and lustful. As he gazes upon your writhing body, catching the beads of sweat on your skin, the concentration on your face, and the way you chant his name as you part your legs for him, he's overcome by another spirit. To watch you break, to watch you coil and collapse around him felt just as urgent as his need to come.

And so Aegon rubs your clit and forces you to peak first; you do it so well he curses loudly and comes after.

He lays on top of you for a moment, the overwhelming need to be held ripples through his body. He recalls how his whores shoo him away after he's done fucking them though. Before you can cradle him in your arms, he rolls off you.

You close your legs and and watch him strip himself and sequentially change. You watch him get back in bed and bring himself underneath the covers. He goes to sleep.

He fucking goes to sleep.

You feel hollow after this, but tell yourself it's nothing personal. You repeat this as you, yourself, get up and change, sequentially sleeping too. Or at least you try. You have fight the urge to cry for hours before you do.

The next morning, you bring up dragon riding to Aegon, and disappointed as you are, you are unsurprised to find that he was unwilling to give you such a thing.

It was a plain thing you were asking for, you explain. And it's exactly why he doesn't want to do it. It's clearly some trick, something to trap him, something he's going to regret. It was probably some ploy orchestrated by his mother.

Oh gods, he thinks, it's worse. It's a bonding experience so you can make him into your puppet. Fuck. No.

So, he does what he does best, and makes an excuse, "I don't feel like riding today. I'm still exhausted from the festivities."

You purse your lips and nod, "that's understandable. Would you like for me to get you something?"

Wait. You weren't going to argue about him not keeping his end of the deal?

You seem to catch this, considering your response and the way you take his hand. You place his palm on your chest. He can feel your pulse quicken as you mutter, "I am your magic lamp, husband. I wish to please you. I will prove this until you trust me enough to grant me a ride on dragonback."

He narrows his eyes, "you would grant me wishes, all in return for a ride on Sunfyre?"

You smile softly at him, "in return for respite, yes."

He doesn't trust your smile.

"I want to visit the Grey Cliffs. I have for a years now. I went there once as a child and long to go again."

"Why?" he knits his brows at your explanation, "what's there?"

You lower his hand and rub his skin, "respite, my prince."

Aegon pulls his hand away.

Very well. If that is what you want, then he will wear your wishes dry until you find it no longer worth the trouble.

Aegon wishes on his lamp everyday, and his wife sequentially plays entertainer, jester, servant, and slave.

He makes you bring a bottle of wine with you everywhere, and pour him a cup when he wishes. He loathes how you seem unbothered by it. He loathes how you don't even correct a visiting Lord who mistakes you for a cupbearer and simply serve him some wine. The Lord is mortified when he realizes you are his wife, a fucking princess. Aegon hates how you tell the man you were unbothered because you spent your whole life being a cupbearer to your father anyway.

He makes you do trivial tasks as well, sometimes tasks meant for more than one person at a time, and yet you still manage to do them, annoyingly better than the maids. When he demanded you cook him a full course meal, you did so all by yourself, and had the servants looking at you like you were some goddess.

He ripped a hole in his clothes then made you mend it. You covered the hole so seamlessly that he poked a bigger one right in front of you. And even then you don't give him the satisfaction of getting angry. You tell him you will embroider something on top of the hole and he storms off. He overhears you telling the servants, who applaud your level-headedness, that you were used to angry men, because your father was just the same.

You use each of these moments to somehow tell him you were the perfect wife and he had to oblige your stupid request at some point.

But then he found your flaw.

Aegon asked you to play the harpsichord for him, and you told him you did not know how. The woman who knew all did not know something? He would then proceed to hang this over your head. When he asked you for food, he'd tell you how much better it'd taste if he had entertainment. If he asked you to do something physically taxing for him, he's say that he wouldn't have asked you to do it, had you known how to play his 'favorite' instrument. He would use this as the reason why he could never bring you to Grey Cliffs.

It was all fun and games, but then you had to snitch, hadn't you?

"What are you doing to that poor girl!" Queen Alicent barked, making his ears ring.

Aegon groans from where he lies in bed. His mother rips the blankets off him, making him wake in a sour mood.

"She is your wife!" Alicent yells, "not your slave! Fine, you wish her to do tasks for you, tasks for your betterment. But to insult her standing by treating her like a maid is beneath a prince, Aegon!"

Aegon feels his throat tighten at the sight of his angry mother's face, "she is my wife," he growls, "I do with her as I please."

She strikes his cheek.

Aegon's head whips to the side. He doesn't have the energy to look back at her.

"You will no longer parade her as a cupbearer. I will have it decreed you are not ever served a drop of wine if you don't."

Alicent leaves after this. Aegon's anger explodes when the door closes.

He screams and rips at his hair. He kicks furniture around and eventually drops to the floor, exhausted, furious, and hurt. This was all your fault.

He screams again and claws the tears on his face. He slowly exhales through tight lips. His cheek is hot with saltwater. Who was he joking, this was all him.

This was all Aegon's doing.

His breathing is impeded by snot. He walks over to his window and stares at the ground below. If he jumps head first, not even the best maester in Westeros could fix him.

Before he can lean on the ledge, he is paralyzed in his spot by the sound of the door opening.

"I did not know she would be angry with you," you say.

Aegon looks back.

You see his red eyes and wet skin. He is a mirror to your younger self. You feel sick to your stomach. You try to explain, "I only asked if she could find a harpsichord teacher. I did not realize she would take offense in wanting to learn to play for you."

Aegon's heart aches at your naïve response. You were a stupid, perfect wife, and he, a stupid, petulant husband.

"I'm better off dead," he mumbles, looking back out the window. The call of the fall felt inviting, "want to push me, wife?"

You don't respond.

Aegon looks back at you, and suddenly you're only inches away. He tries to evade you, but you manage to catch his hand.

"We could jump together."

"What?"

Your face is blank. You part your lips, and for a moment, your eyes seem desperate, but then it's gone. You sigh, "dying is quite lonely," looking down, "I could keep you company."

Aegon stares at you. Tears stream down his face. "You're mad," he sniffles, yanking his hand away.

He walks over to his bed and collapses on it. He wraps himself in a blanket and feels sorry for himself, and angry at you for suggesting such a thing. Even now you want to be perfect by dying with him?

"I am," you mutter.

Aegon watches as you walk over to him. You sit on the floor beside his bed and look at your hands as you rub them.

"I cannot play the harpsichord, because my father does not like noise," you explain, "I was not allowed to make a sound or else I would be punished."

Aegon covers his head with a blanket but keeps his face visible, "he beat you, didn't he?"

You look at him, eyes melancholy, but still, he is the only one crying, "he beat everyone."

Aegon does not respond.

"I can sing though."

His brow raises, "how can you sing?"

"I would practice whenever he was gone, and sing for my mother in secret. It made her happy... happy enough."

He knew there was more to this confession, but he was too tired to ask about it, too tired to shed more tears.

"Would you like me to sing for you?"

"No."

"..."

"Would you like me to hold you?"

"..."

You stand from where you sat and get on the edge of the bed. Aegon watches as you slowly lie beside him. You bring an arm over him and pull him close. Aegon closes his eyes as you bring him into your chest.

You hold him until he falls asleep. Later that night, he asks you to hold him again. He also asks you to sing to him.

Aegon nestles his face in the crook of your neck. He wraps his arms around your torso, digging his fingers between your flesh and the bed. Your hushed voice reverberates in the bedroom, the song you sing is haunting and soothing. The vibrations from your chest lull him to sleep. You feel wetness pool by your clavicle but you make no note of it.

Aegon asks you to hold him the next morning after breaking fast. He asks you to stay with him in bed and to sing to him some more. When you have to leave his side, he asks to join you and waits until he can have you in his arms again.

Aegon becomes your shadow, and follows you around, under the promise of getting to share in your embrace. As you read and review letters or ledgers, your seat becomes Aegon's lap. He sleeps against you while you work without a fuss, cheek pressed against your back, arms fastened around your waist.

Sometimes, he notices the line that forms between your brows while you read and at some point, asks about it. You explain what causes it, and he is unmoved, as he is uninterested in politics that stress you. But when you read out to him, he finds comfort in your voice and asks you to read some. He falls asleep to your calm droning of circumstances he could not care less about. He groans and groggily awakens when you stop. He mumbles against your skin that you continue, pleadingly so.

When you had to leave the Keep for business, Aegon insisted that he joined you. When you brushed his cheek and explained to him why he could not go and that you would not be long, Aegon pushed you away and stormed off. You left without him anyway, and the treachery he felt was so great, he realized then how he could no longer go day to day without you. What was there to do, if you were not there?

And so Aegon desperately rubs his magic lamp and wishes upon you.

He wishes that you never leave without him again once you return.

He wishes that you promise to no longer make plans without him.

He traps you beneath him on your shared bed and wishes to be inside you. He kisses you and wishes to see you completely bared to him.

Aegon's mind is dizzy as he gazes upon the glory of your skin. He kisses your thighs, your hips, your breast, your lips.

Aegon wishes to surrender to you. He wishes that you undress him. He wishes to pull you on his body like a blanket. He wishes to see you take control. He wishes to see you cast your eyes upon him and lay your weight on his body.

He wishes to see you use him, to take what you need from him, to pleasure yourself, and to make him yours. He squeezes your thighs desperately when you moan out his name. This was much more maddening that what he imagined it would be.

He wishes to feel you come undone around him. He wishes he could forever feel the pleasure he did when he comes right after you do.

He wishes to hold you after. And when he holds you, when you lay on his chest and kiss him there, he wishes to never leave this moment ever again. He wishes to sing to you like you've sung to him.

"What are your plans tomorrow," Aegon asks as he draws nothings on your back.

You lift your head from his chest. He looks at you. You smile, "whatever you wish them to be."

He rubs your back and smiles, "I wish to take you to the Grey Cliffs."

Your expression drops, "what?"

He raises a brow at your reaction. You shift on your place. You straddle him again.

He looks up at you, noticing the line between your brows. He rubs your thighs, "you've granted me all my wishes. It's time I grant you yours." He shifts on his elbows and sits himself up, "it's time you meet my mount and-"

"We don't have to," you cut him off, placing your hands on his shoulders.

Aegon examines your expression. He listens to you sigh.

"I'd like to keep you-- wish to keep you..." you correct yourself, pushing him back down.

He looks up at you, feeling your hands rake up his body.

"...just like this," you finish, eyes solemn, lips curving into a soft smile, "I've not felt a thing like this in my entire life."

Aegon takes one of your hands and places it on his cheek. He whispers it like a secret, "neither have I."

You lean down to kiss him, "I wish to keep like this."

He kisses you back.

He is blindsided by how his wishes came to bite him in the arse. It's all crashing down on him. Suddenly, he wishes he didn't actually do any of those things with you.

He most of all wishes he heard you wrong. He wishes you didn't repeat yourself when he stupidly said, "what?"

"I'm with child," you speak slower, less excited yet excited still.

Aegon wishes you didn't look so excited. He wishes he fucking pulled out, but gods, you felt so good-- you feel so good around him, he felt so good inside you.

He realized the next moment, it couldn't be helped. You were going to have to bear his spawn at one point or another. He wishes you didn't have to. He wishes his seed wouldn't take completely. He wishes you don't take it to term. He wishes he won't have to be a father. Fuck.

He realizes he's been too quiet and you were waiting for a response from him. Your face began to twist. Your smile fades.

"Congratulations," Aegon musters. He feels like he swallowed a metal ball. His eyes wander to your belly. He mumbles mindlessly, "I suppose."

Your face falls.

Aegon looks back at you. Your face is devoid of any semblance of the glow it normally holds. You look sick. You feel sick.

"I see," you say, unintentionally allowing him to hear your voice break. Aegon's brows furrow at it.

He shakes his head, "you will be a great mother," he chuckles dryly, "you mother me so well."

You offer him a smile, but Aegon can see how disconnected it was from your eyes. You say, "thank you."

When you leave him after this, he wishes he hadn't said a word. He wishes he just left it at congratulations. He wishes he just pretended like the idea of having a child didn't mortify him and make him sick to his stomach. He wishes he wasn't so ill-suited to be a father.

Ageon no longer wishes for anything after this.

He no longer wishes to hold you, though he so badly wanted to. He no longer wishes to hear you sing, nor does he wish to hear you read to him. He no longer wishes to be around you, though his body urged him to follow you around like the lost soul he was.

He wishes he didn't wonder what you were doing at every moment of the day. He so desperately wishes to rid you from his mind completely that he drowns himself in his first and only true love, alcohol.

Fuck. He wishes he hadn't taken this route to his room. He wishes you hadn't taken this route to wherever it was you were going. He wishes he just turned around and fled like the coward he was, because then, you wouldn't have spoken to him.

"Husband," you curtsey.

Aegon stiffens and uncomfortably avoids your eyes.

You catch it, feeling your chest tighten painfully. You clear your throat and take a deep breath to steel yourself, "I thought you should know that I will be travelling."

Aegon looks at you.

"I have a ship ready and I'll be visiting the Grey Cliffs. Do not wait up for me."

His face falls. He opens his mouth, but doesn't have an opportunity to speak.

"I thought you should also know that I am no longer carrying."

His eyes widen.

"It's not an uncommon occurrence the first few months," you say simply, "I suppose the gods do not wish me to be a mother."

Aegon feels like a murderer. He wants to say something, to apologize, to comfort you, but he can't. He's too taken aback to do a single thing.

He turns into stone when you take his hand. You step forward and place his palm on your chest. Your heart is slow as you speak, "you won't have to worry about anything anymore, Aegon. Today is the end of our shared torment."

Aegon's stomach drops when you kiss him.

His eyes are glassy. You pull away before he can kiss you back. He wants to hold you, but the sadness in your eyes reminds him he is undeserving. You kiss his wrist, "goodbye, my love. I love you."

His heart thumps as you walk away.

Aegon is manic. He basks in the mess he's made and feels crushed by it all.

He finally acts after wasting so much time feeling sorry for himself. You were long out of his sight by the time he started running. This is why he headed to the dragonpit and got on Sunfyre.

"WAIT!" he screams, just as your boat leaves the dock.

Aegon watches as you run to the edge of the boat. He lands Sunfyre and runs as far to the edge of the docks as he could.

"Aegon-"

"Take me with you!" he pleads, "let me be the one to take you to where you must go!"

You look back. The ship stops. The crew brings down a boat and on it, you are rowed back to the dock.

He crushes you in his arms once he reaches you.

"Aegon," you mutter.

"Forgive me," he shudders, "I... I wish you let me do this for you."

"Aegon," your voice croaks. You push him away, "go home."

His heart drops. He breaks away to look at you. Your words feel like a stab at his thorax. It was presumptuous of him to assume you'd want him back, but it doesn't kill him inside any less.

"I've come to realize this is a trip I must go on myself," you mutter.

He shakes his head, "no. Please." He motions an arm out to his mount, "one wish. That I grant you one wish before you throw me away forever is... is--"

Your throat constricts at his words. Tears rush down your eyes, "I'm not throwing you away--"

"Please," he squeezes both your hands in his, "please, let me do this for you."

The flight to the Grey Cliffs is quiet, save for the whoosh of winds and the roars of the golden dragon you both rode. You always imagined it would be freeing, but only now did you know how it freeing it truly felt to fly. You knew now you'd forever chase the euphoric crush of air against your skin.

Aegon, who sat behind you, looks at your form as you outstretch your arms and close your eyes. Your body presses against him, and in this moment, he is unable to hold back from wrapping an arm around you and sparing a kiss on your shoulder. You are snapped out of your trance because of this.

The Grey Cliffs are dark and gloomy when you get there. Aegon realizes when you land that it got its name from the weather conditions.

He helps you down and surveys the area, trying to make out which part of this drear land was so special to you that you wished to go here.

You catch his expression and squeeze his hand.

Aegon turns to you.

You give a solemn look, "the view is better on the edge."

Aegon strokes Sunfyre's cheek, commanding him to stay before you lead him by the hand to the edge of the cliff. Once you get there, he feels queasy looking down at the crashing waves far beneath him. In contrast, you seem comforted by the view. His brows furrow at the deep breath you give out.

When you look at him, his stomach feels it, the comfort you felt upon witnessing the violent waves. Whatever it was that compelled you to this place was the same force that compelled him to kiss you.

He reaches out for your cheek, his other hand coming to you back. He pulls you close. His heart twinges when you stop him from kissing you.

"Aegon-"

"Forgive me," he cuts, "I beg."

You gawk at him. He brushes your hair which was wildly flinging with the breeze.

"You must know by now that I am craven. I lack the spine and the wit to be of any use to you."

Your eyes water. Your lips quiver.

"I would be a hopeless father, worse than my own, no doubt."

"Aegon," you babble as sobs overtake you.

Aegon, himself, succumbs to tears. He wipes the ones streaming down your face before taking a breath, "but you made me feel a love I do not deserve."

You swallow a heavy lump in your throat.

"I love you," he confesses.

"No," you pierce his heart. You shake your head in disagreement, "Aegon, this is a mistake. Bringing you here was a mistake."

"No!" he blurts louder than needed, "this was a choice," he looks down, "I choose to rip my insides out for you to devour. I am miserable, much more in the heat of your hate, but most of all without you."

His downturned eyes land on your face when you grab his wrists. You croak, "I do not hate you."

Aegon is not relieved by the admission, but he chooses to believe you mean it. He smiles softly, "good."

"But I do hate this life I live."

He clenches his jaw. Of course you do.

"You saved me," you press a hand on his cheek, taking your turn to wipe his tears, "even if for a moment."

"I made you miserable."

You chuckle. The sound makes his heart skip.

"You filled my life with purpose," you smile softly, "even when you did not mean to."

Aegon knits his brows deeply and takes your hands. He brings them to his lips and kisses them.

"But accidents happen. You must remember that accidents happen all the time."

Aegon shakes his head, "this is not an accident. Believe me when I say I chose to do this, I- ... I choose to love you."

You sob and turn to your feet.

"Please... believe me."

You sniffle and nod, slowly looking up at him, "I believe you."

You lunge into his arms and seal him into a tight hug. He hugs you back like it's his only way of surviving.

A crack of thunder startles Sunfyre. He becomes restless and steals away Aegon's attention, panicked that he might flee and leave them here.

He pulls away and takes a step towards her. He holds your hand, urging you to follow, "we should go before it rains."

You hug him from behind and press your face into his back, "thank you for taking me on Sunfyre."

"It was a long time coming."

"I've always wondered what it would be like to fly. And now that I know how peaceful it is, I'm ready to fly one last time."

He turns to you as you slowly come to his side. You hold his hand. He looks at you as you turn to Sunfyre. He promises, "I will take you on dragonback as many times as you wish."

You smile, but your eyes are fixed on his dragon. You release his hand and wrap your arms around yourself, "he is beautiful. You must never tire looking at him."

Aegon gazes upon Sunfyre. He takes in his golden scales and has newfound appreciation.

You take a step back.

"He is. To be honest, it's been long since I, myself, took him out of the pit. He must enjoy this day as much as you do."

"Aegon, you must understand that what I have to say has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me."

Aegon turns to you. He watches you tighten your arms around yourself. You must be cold. He rubs your shoulders.

You shake your head and turn him back to his dragon, "look at Sunfyre."

He knits his brows, "I'm looking."

"For so long," you release him, "I've wanted to fly free, to find my peace here in the cliffs. This was before I even met you." You point at the golden dragon, "I choose to love you too, but accidents happen, like if Sunfyre were to fly away, and you were to be left here alone."

Aegon stares at his ride for a moment as you lower your hand. He tries to makes sense of your words, but he cannot for the life of him understand.

He sighs, "what accident? Why do you keep-"

Aegon is flooded by confusion when he turns and finds you nowhere behind him. A split second later, he lets a horrified scream and the fear that claws into him makes his knees buckle. He crumbles to the ground and crawls to the edge of the cliff. He screams so loud that Sunfyre roars back and comes towards him.

Aegon watches as the red seafoam bubbles at the foot of the cliff. He watches as the crimson waves slowly slosh back into its original tint.

Rain begins to pour, and his tears taste no longer salty.

Was this the flying you ached for? Was this the relief you sought?

When he returns to King's Landing, dripping wet, he breaks down in front of his mother, weeping as he clutched his skirts.

Queen Alicent is obviously disturbed. She instructs her servants to get his son a change of clothes and some towels. She looks down at him, "what's happened? What's wrong, Aegon?"

"An accident-" he barely manages to say, "there's been an accident."

"An accident?!"

Aegon's mind goes blank. A bitter taste

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

#aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon smut #aegon angst #aegon targaryen angst #house of the dragon angst #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii fanfic

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reidmotif · 25 days

Text

Relax, I've Got You

Summary: Reader isn't the best at handling stress, and her roommate Spencer, notices. Luckily, he has quite a few salacious ideas on how he could make her feel better.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: friends-with-benefits situation, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), mentions of anxiety/symptoms of anxiety.

Word Count: 2.7 k

Masterlist

You were never good at handling stress.

You were well aware of this facet of your psyche– the way tensity would often wind around your limbs, snaking into the very depths of your bones until you were entirely drained and devoid of peace, a shell of the person you were accustomed to being.

You had dealt with this complication on your own for the most part. You’d come home after a long day, and attempt to find yourself again through chamomile tea, lavender mists, and a warm blanket.

Of course, there were days where even these measures could not suffice in curing your weariness.

That’s where Spencer Reid came in.

He’d only been your roommate at first. With the economy going as it was, it was simply more practical to find one, rather than renting alone. He’d responded to an ad you’d put up, and you accepted. The process was easy, honestly. You had no qualms about sharing your living space with another person, and even found the arrangement enjoyable at times. Spencer was well-mannered, never missed rent, and wasn’t even at home most of the time. When he was, he was quiet. Sweet.

Through time, you found yourself becoming friends with the man. The conversation was light and easy, and in a rare turn of events, you started to open up to him. Even more surprisingly, he returned the favor, adding to the understanding that was fast growing between the two of you. It seemed only natural, since both of you were made naturally vulnerable by the circumstances of your situation. You’d come to your apartment, drop the mask of the day, and see that Spencer was already there, becoming an extension of the solace you found at home. Soon enough, the comfort of your couch was simply synonymous to him as well.

It didn’t take long for Spencer to notice the anxieties that would plague you when a deadline came about, or when you simply fixated on an issue for too long. The way your bedroom light wouldn’t shut until 4 AM, or how you’d pace in the kitchen, so wired that your body denied you the rest you so desperately needed. He noticed the dark circles, the occasional irritability (followed by an apology, of course), the headaches, everything. Which is why he thought nothing of it to suggest some remedies for your troubles over breakfast one day.

“Caffeine can actually increase stress, if you weren’t aware.” He says, eyeing your second cup of coffee that morning. “There’s actually a large amount of data that indicates you should limit caffeine intake, especially if you’re already anxious.”

You narrow your eyes, furrowing your brows slightly. “Says who?” You retort, not quite ready to give up your chosen beverage.

“The NIH, Penn State, the AMA-”

“Okay, okay. Sorry. I got it.” You interrupt, knowing you’d started a losing battle the moment you’d questioned him. “I’ll try to cut down on it.”

He grins, satisfied with how the interaction had played out. You, on the other hand, started to drift farther away from your current setting. You swallow, putting down your coffee cup before rubbing your eyes, a soft sigh escaping you.

“Something wrong?” Spencer asks, cautiously, his voice soft.

You tsk, shaking your head and shrugging a bit at your own dilemma. “It's just.. I’m already so tired. I’m exhausted and the day’s barely begun.” You pause, unable to articulate just how fatigued you were. “It’s like I can already feel the mid-afternoon headache I’m going to get later, and it hasn’t even started yet.” You hate the way you sound, longing for the day you could fully relax for even a fraction of a second.

“You’d probably be a lot less tired if you slept a little more.” Spencer suggests, and you shoot him a death glare.

“Don’t you think I know that?” You snap. “I’m trying. It’s not that easy. It’s just-” You groan, stopping yourself as the quick realization dawns on you that you’ve misdirected your frustrations. There’s a wave of shame rising up almost immediately, heating your cheeks up in regret.

“I’m sorry, Spencer. Sorry. That’s unfair of me. I know you’re just looking out for me.” You murmur, taking a deep breath to calm your senses.

“Hey, don’t worry.” He says, his voice low and compassionate. “I get it. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”

You nod, closing your eyes as you continue to breathe. He continues to speak, his voice remaining warmhearted.

“There are actually quite a few ways to alleviate stress. Some experts recommend meditation, exercise and yoga. I wouldn’t mind doing those with you, if you were interested.” He offers, as he continues to ramble, lost in his own explanation in the hopes of being of service to you. “Some experts even name sex as a useful stress reliever, due to the endorphins and oxytocin released after completion.”

You give a fruitless laugh. “Jesus, I wish. I don’t have the time to try and find someone willing to do that for me.”

Spencer goes quiet, and you finally open your eyes. You’re met with his stare, trained on your form, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“What?” You ask, upon returning his gaze.

He clears his throat, shaking his head, as if he was ridding himself of a passing thought. “Nothing. Sorry. I’m sorry. I hope you do find something that works for you though. I hate seeing you like this.”

You soften at his concern. “Thanks, Spencer.” You say, the affection in your voice unmistakable. “Maybe I’ll end up taking on.. Yoga? That seems doable, right?”

He smiles. “Yoga. Right.”

The days pass on, until you find yourself in a similar scenario you’ve been in one too many times. You’re pacing the kitchen, a small clock reading that it was currently 2 AM. You couldn’t even really decipher the source of tonight’s anxiety– all you know is you feel it, and you feel it deeply.

That’s when a voice breaks through the darkness, halting your movements altogether.

“Hey, are you alright?” Spencer’s soft, slightly deeper voice.

“Oh, yeah.” You call out, despite the growing tightness in your chest. “I’m fine. You can go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.”

He shakes his head, scratching his head as he makes his way towards you. “It’s nothing.” He reassures. “I needed to pee anyway. What’s going on with you?” He inquires, gently.

You rub at your chest, biting your lip. “The usual.”

“Work?” He asks, softly.

You purse your lips. “I’m not even sure at this point. Just really anxious.”

His expression softens. A beat of silence passes between the two of you.

“I’m- um. I’m willing to help.” He stammers out, suddenly seeming much more nervous than he was a moment ago.

You give a dejected smile. “That’s sweet, Spencer, but I dunno. I think I have to deal with this on my own.”

“No, I mean. I can help. I’m willing to help. To do that for you. I’m your friend. I want to help.” He restates, his voice a little urgent.

“Willing to do what?” You ask, wholly confused with where he was going with this.

He takes a breath. “Sex. Or, an orgasm, at least. You said no one you knew would be willing to help you like that. I am. If you want.” He blurts out.

You stand there, momentarily shocked into silence. You’re suddenly able to recall the conversation you’d had, just a few days prior, and realize what he was trying to say. Here you were, in your kitchen, with your friend- your roommate, and he was selflessly offering himself to you. For sex. For de-stressing sex. He sounded so earnest, despite the obvious lewdness of his offer, and the juxtaposition made your head spin.

“I..” You start, your voice caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to feel compelled to say yes. I’m just offering. I want to help you.” He interjects, his voice still carrying that unselfishness you’d known from the very beginning.

“I.. no. I mean, yes. I want to say yes.” You find yourself admitting after a moment. “But.. are you sure? It’s.. I mean, it’s sex, Spencer.” You whisper.

“I’m aware.” He says, matching your softer tone. “I’m okay with that. Are you?”

You take a breath. Looking up at him, you take in his slightly tousled hair illuminated by the soft moonlight that drifted in through your apartment windows. His white sleep shirt was crumpled, and even in the darkness that enveloped you, you could decipher the kindness in his eyes, his mere presence bringing a shade of ease into you as you spoke to him.

“Yes.” You murmur out, the words flowing out with no hesitation. “I’m okay with that.”

“Can I kiss you?” He says, gently, and your nod of affirmation is almost immediate.

He steps closer and cups your cheek, before pressing his lips against yours gently. It’s a sweeter kiss, something that, despite never saying out loud, you would have expected from him. His mouth moves languidly against yours, before pulling away, slightly out of breath.

“Kissing actually helps to reduce cortisol.” He murmurs. “It indirectly lowers stress as a result. Is it working?”

And true to his words, you realized that the tightness in your chest had faded somewhat, no longer blaring with the intensity you had just felt a few minutes prior. An entirely new feeling settled within you- an ache, a need for this man and what he brought to you.

“Yeah. It’s working.” You mumble out.

As if he could read your mind, Spencer gently takes your hand. “Let’s move to the couch, yeah?” He murmurs, already leading you to his spot of preference.

He gently guides you to sit on the couch, quickly finding your lips once again to exchange some soft kisses along the way. His hands drift up and down your back, fingertips light and tender. His every touch speaks to something more, to an unspoken dedication that you’d never felt before until this moment.

To something that maybe extended beyond the original purpose of your rendezvous. “Is this alright?” He asks, his tone hushed and reverent.

You nod, almost in a trance. He was so gentle, so reassuring. He was exactly what you needed.

His lips find yours again and you respond eagerly, letting your hands tangle into the mess of brown hair that sat atop his head. He let out a small groan as your fingers slightly tugged on the strands, sending a thrill through you.

He starts to trail the kisses down your neck, seeking out more sensitive spots that could bring you into a further state of rest and repose. Everything about you spurred him on, it seemed. He paid attention to every noise, every movement– his ultimate goal seeming to hinge on your pleasure throughout this.

Of course, you respond accordingly to the dedication, a soft gasp or whimper escaping you when he would mouth at the perfect spot, which would only cause him to increase his actions tenfold, leading to even more response on your end.

The perfect feedback loop driving you to pliancy and ecstasy all at once.

His lips begin to drift down, and you realize he’s settling in between your legs now, hands on the waistband of your sleep clothes, urging you to lie down completely, which you do.

“Gonna take these off now.” He whispers, looking up at you between your legs.

“Please.” You respond, waiting with bated breath.

He manages to pull down the last barrier between you two, before being met with the mess he’d created. His lips parted as his fingers trailed lightly over your wet slit, your arousal evident on his finger as he marveled on the effect he could have on you.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” He whispers, as if his eyes are set upon something precious, something worthy of worship. And in a way, isn’t that exactly what he’d set out to do the moment he’d placed his face between your thighs?

He loops his arms around your thighs, before slowly allowing his tongue to dart out, delicately, tracing the wetness of your pussy. A moan slips out of you, low and needy, and that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s diving in, devouring your cunt like a man starved.

“Spencer.” You gasp out. You say his name like prayer, like he is god-given, because in this moment, he is.

His tongue traces your clit in circles, before directly placing his lips over the swollen bud, applying some light suction. The tenderness in the action, the way his eyes flit upto yours, watching your gaze for the utmost reassurance that he was doing right by you, only hurdle you closer and closer to your pleasurable end.

It’s almost as if you’re floating, your back arching as his face stubbornly stays buried in your cunt, lapping at your wetness insistently. He wants your release just as bad as you do, and it’s clear he’ll do anything for the sweetness that comes with you falling apart in his arms.

“Oh god.” You moan out- how is it possible to feel so airy, and yet so present all at once? To feel every movement of Spencer’s warm, wet tongue lavishing your clit, and still be somewhere else entirely- a new height of pleasure you had sorely needed all along.

One of his hands leaves the iron-grip it had your thighs in, letting his fingers drift towards your entrance. He slips the digits in, slowly pumping into you, only adding to the overwhelming rapture you found yourself in. Your eyes shoot open, and you find yourself writhing against him.

“Spencer- oh god. Please, please.” You babble out, legs starting to tense with the beginnings of your orgasm.

He only pulls away enough to murmur softly. “That’s it.” His fingers continue their steady pace into you, his grip on your thigh keeping you planted to the mattress. “I got you, love. Come for me.”

With nothing else to say, he resumes eating you out, and the combination of his fingers and mouth finally barrels you towards your orgasm, shuddering as it rips through you, as your every sense is clouded- with this, with him.

It’s only until you’ve ridden out the entirety of your orgasm that he pulls away. Sitting upright, he leans forward to caress your jaw, taking in the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the flushed appearance your face had taken on in the throes of gratification.

“Feeling better?” He asks, softly.

“Entirely.” You whisper back, almost in awe. Not only at how well it worked, but how adoringly he stared at you, it being enough to stop your heart in your chest. Did he always look like this? How did you never notice?

“Can I return the favor?” You implore, already beginning to get up, but Spencer pushes you back down lightly, shaking his head.

“You’re tired.” He says, as if his word was fact, despite these being your feelings that were being spoken about. “Right now, the oxytocin coursing through your body is priming you perfectly for sleep, and God knows you need it.” He chuckles out.

You realize that he’s right, and for the first time, you feel the fatigue that comes naturally with sleep, as opposed to the restless nights you’d been dealing with. You still feel disappointed though, feeling a sting of rejection as you’re unable to touch him back. Still, your tiredness is undeniable, and so you nod.

He gets up, finding a blanket to lay on top of you, before kneeling beside your face. He looks at you with subtle veneration, before letting his lips brush against your forehead.

“I’ll take you up on your offer tomorrow, though, if that’s alright.” He murmurs. “When you’re rested.”

Your smile is immediate. “Deal.” You whisper out.

He looks at you for another beat, before letting his knuckles brush against your cheek, slowly retreating to his bedroom, as to let you get the rest you so desperately needed.

You close your eyes, amazed by the tranquility that came with Spencer. How simple intimacy came with him, as if that’s how it should’ve been all along.

You know you’ll ponder on this fact in greater detail later on, but for now, you relished in serenity of the afterglow.

“Spencer Reid.” You think. “What divine comfort you are.”

HOOOLY SHIT. how long has it been since i uploaded? a long time? i think. hahahaha. in between traveling, [redacted life updates], and even more, i just wasn't very inspired to write. i hope this speaks to some of you, and i hope it was enjoyable to read. as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs are so so so deeply appreciated. feedback as well! thank you so so so much for reading regardless, i am eternally grateful for any and all support <3 (oh also haha. this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins friends with benefits challenge! check it out.)

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luveline · 22 days

Note

I’d love to see hotch finding out that Spencer and his sister have told Each other they love each other, like he realizes holy shit this is serious, yk?

”No, I’m okay.”

Aaron wonders who’s to blame for the way you talk, your shared father or himself. You aren’t quite as expressionless as Aaron’s told he is, and you’re nothing like your father, a tense, angry man, but it's possible you learned to be as calm as possible. Nothing unnecessary can be read from your tone. No snark, no attitude.

So you sound like you’re just making polite conversation on the phone at first, and when your voice softens, Aaron’s too nosy to walk away.

“Yeah? That’s an interesting one. You’ve been learning fun facts for me. No, all your facts are fun. I wasn’t lying,” —you laugh, giggly and caught— “I like when you tell me stuff. You know everything there is to know about everything.”

You’re sitting on the porch swing with your legs crossed, posture terribly bent, phone held to your ear. Aaron and Jack had been tending to the flower beds around the side of the house, but Jack spotted a paper kite butterfly and wandered off to find it while Aaron finished watering.

He knows you’re telling the truth. Aaron’s watched you and Spencer together many times now, and he knows you truly enjoy one another’s company. It’s why you’ve made a good couple. It’s why Spencer comes to work each day with a sense of settlement, and why you’ve calmed down some. There’s security in things. Still, Aaron knows how fickle younger relationships can be—

“I love you.” He stands straight. He frowns. You make a humming sound. “I love you,” you say again, like Spencer’s heard you wrong. “Yeah. Yeah, I love you more… I miss you today. I’m fine, just–” You stand up, the porch swing creaking. “Maybe I can come over? After dinner, it’ll be late, I just want to see you. Is that– Okay, good.”

You walk to the end of the wrap around porch, just a foot from Aaron where he’s hiding in the shadow of the side of the house. He can hear Spencer’s voice now, too.

“I don’t know why you’re asking me like I won’t say yes! Please come over, I begged you to come over yesterday!”

“Don’t make me feel guilty,” you say, a loving murmur.

“I’m not trying to do that! Just, you tell me you love me and then we don’t see each other for two days, which is fine, it’s not that you can’t be busy, but try and see it from my point of view.”

“What’s gotten into you?” you ask.

“Y/N, I love you. And you love me, and I was hoping you’d let me earn it by taking you out or something. You just ran away.”

Aaron breathes out, alerting you to his presence accidentally. You turn on the porch with an incredible embarrassment in your screwed lips, glaring at him, and almost dropping the phone in your hurry to see the screen.

“Spencer, I gotta go. Aaron’s being a creep.”

“What?”

“I’ll call you back.”

“Uh, okay? Is everything–”

You click the phone off and squeeze it in your hand. “Eavesdrop much?”

“I’m very sorry. But in my defence, I’m watering the flowers.”

“You’re so embarrassing.”

“I’m embarrassing? What did I do?”

“That was a private conversation.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

You know he’s lying in the same way he knows you’re not as angry as you wish you were. You are embarrassed, though.

“I had no idea you and Spencer were that serious,” he says mildly.

You drape your arms over the porch railings. “Well, it is, I think. It’s serious for me. Does he– d’you think he’s serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

You bite your cheek. He can see you doing it, see the concern in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know, but he’s been so nice about it.”

“Nice isn’t the right word.” You talk about love like you’ve confessed to something awful. It’s love. “You should let him take you to dinner. Then you should tell me where you went and I’ll work out if he deserves you or not.”

“That’s not funny.”

Aaron smiles as you turn away, seemingly to call Spencer again and make arrangements. It was funny, and you’ll think so too once you forget he was being a busybody.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.”

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.”

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic.

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade.

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision.

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him.

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction.

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.”

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman.

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first.

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?”

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now….

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his.

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together.

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.”

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly.

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk.

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member.

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip.

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!”

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense.

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race.

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss.

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside.

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently.

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing.

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body.

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever.

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

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brokenmenswhore · 1 month

Note

not enough jace requests you say? 🧐 how about Jace ends up marrying aegons twin sister as a way to prevent war but the whole time he compares her to baela and is upset since baela was who he was supposed to marry. Reader then overhears what he says about her and realizes it will never be a marriage of love, only duty- so she starts being cold to him and he realizes he messed up

this is formatted as a drabble :)

could have | jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

warnings: just a lil angst

────── ☾ ──────

You were always second-best. You were Aegon’s twin sister, and your family revolved around Aegon. Aegon the eldest, Aegon the rightful heir to the throne, Aegon the pinnacle of the Greens.

You were not simply you, but the better half of him. You were always Aegon’s sister, the other one who shared his birth date. Your side of the family always prioritized Aegon, your mother especially. The closer Rhaenyra got to the throne, the more she wanted Aegon on it.

You did not want your brother on the throne. Being that your minds were connected, you knew him better than anyone, and therefore, you knew better than anyone that he should not be left in charge of ruling an entire realm.

That is why your betrothal to Jacaerys was a positive for you: it prevented a war that would occur if your mother pushed Aegon on the throne. It also allowed for you to reside with the other side of your family, a side that knew Rhaenyra deserved the throne, and a side that could hopefully see you as something other than second-best to Aegon.

You quickly felt like second-best to someone else upon your arrival to Dragonstone.

You felt guilty when your betrothal to Jacaerys was announced. You knew he was already betrothed to Baela Targaryen, and you hoped that another match for Baela would be announced shortly to absolve you of that guilt.

When you first arrived in Dragonstone, you met Baela, and immediately apologized for ruining her betrothal. Regardless of you or Jacaerys’s feelings about the matter, this was not up to you, so you had no choice. Baela understood, and she held no resentment toward you. She cared for Jacaerys, but not marrying him did not mean changing that, so she was alright with it.

Jacaerys, however, was very professional with you at all times. Despite your predicament, there was always a wall up with him. Up until your wedding day, you barely spoke, and when you did, he was Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, never just Jace. Not the way he was with Baela.

You desperately wanted to know the man you were to marry. If you were to spend the rest of your life with him, proving him with heirs, and taking care of his every need as a husband, you wished to get along. You craved a connection that was rarely found, but you were determined.

You would try to catch him reading in the library, alone in his chambers, or getting ready in the morning, but when he wasn’t alone, he was with Baela. You could tell they had a strong connection, and you still felt bad for breaking their betrothal, but part of you was also annoyed. Jacaerys was now your betrothed, and that should be you occupying his time.

You could sense that Jacaerys was upset with your arrangement. He did not avoid you, but did not seek you out.

In his mind, he was subconsciously comparing you to Baela. He was finding any reason to continue being upset about your arrangement. There was nothing practically wrong with you, but he wanted what he had expected his entire life. He wanted what could have been. He would listen to you speak during council, which Rhaenyra insisted you attend due to the influx of information about the Greens you could provide, and he would consider if Baela would say the same. He would try to picture you as his wife, and it would not make his heart swell the way it did when he pictured the same of Baela.

Still, you held out hope that your marriage could be more than a political alliance. You were going to spend the rest of your life with him, and you craved some sort of romantic or lustful connection. He was handsome, that much was agreed upon by most, and you loved his passion and confidence.

He barely spoke to you on the day of your wedding.

He spoke his vows as if he were giving a political speech. You only saw him smile when commonfolk approached the table to congratulate you two, and you could tell it was disingenuous.

When it came time for the bedding ceremony, you refused to undress. Jacaerys sat on the bed, confusion evident on his face. Even though he said it was important to consummate the marriage, you said you did not wish to force him, and you would simply tell everyone you did your duty. You left the room before either of you began to undress.

Despite your new marital state, things did not change. You tried to reach out to Jacaerys, but he pulled back.

You felt your heart sink when you walked past his chambers and overheard him speaking to someone about you.

“I just cannot help but wonder what could have been if things did not have to change. I will continue to do my duty as a husband, but that is all I have in me.”

You swallowed back tears. You always held out hope that things would shift, even if only a little, but it was hopeless. Your marriage would never be one of love, it would only be one of duty.

Hearing his words confirm it as such was enough for you to decide to pull back. If he had no intention of trying, there was no point in your doing so.

You began to be cold to Jacaerys, giving him the same attention he gave you, which was practically none.

He would greet during the beginning of council meetings, and you would ignore him.

He would pull out your chair for you, like a dutiful husband does, and you would say a simple “thank you” and sit.

You no longer made the effort to ask him how his food was at supper. You no longer made the effort to help him with his clothing pins in the morning.

When you were getting ready to sleep one night, Jacaerys actually spoke to you.

“What troubles you as of late?” he asked.

You acted nonchalant, continuing to brush out your hair. “What do you mean?”

“You seem off.”

“I am simply doing my duty, and nothing more.” You somewhat spat the words out, your tone laced with venom.

Jacaerys was taken aback by your candor. “If that is how you wish for this marriage to be, then so be it.”

You turned in your chair to face him. “I am not the one who wishes for a strictly dutiful marriage, Jacaerys.”

“Meaning?” he responded, “I do not wish to live out the rest of my days in a constant state of nothingness.”

“That is not what you have been saying.”

“To what are you referring?”

You sighed. “Jacaerys, I know you wish you had the opportunity to marry Baela. I am sure she knows it too. However, I do think it disrespectful to so openly complain about our courtship.”

Jacaerys knew what you were referring to. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath while you continued to brush your hair in the silence.

“I did not intend for you to hear it,” he spoke.

“Evidently.”

“I know I’ve ruined things.”

You stopped your actions. You put your brush down, standing and walking over to him. “I only wish to please you, as your wife. I apologize that I am not the woman you intended yourself for.”

You touched his hand, holding it in your own briefly before taking residence on the bed.

Jacaerys watched you, unsure of what to do.

“You may join me, if you’d like,” you stated.

Jacaerys sat on the edge of the bed and turned toward you, giving you a small smile.

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon one shot #jacaerys velaryon drabble #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #jacaerys velaryon imagines #jacaerys velaryon x reader #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon angst #asks

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cameronsprincess · 4 months

Text

— summary: kook princess. kook prince. perfect match, right? wrong. you hated rafe cameron and everything he stood for. and he hated you. so when your fathers spring it on the two of you that they’d arranged for the two of you to be married, both of your worlds are flipped upside down.

— CW: 18+ only! strong language, slightly aggressive!rafe, heated kissing, fingering, rafe is honestly super sweet n cute in this.

— note: it’s getting sexy in here😏

prev parts: one, two, three

series masterlist ⤑ taglist form

Y/N

I wake the next morning, my head throbbing and the smell of coffee filtering in through my bedroom door. I yawn, going to stretch my limbs but the feel of a strong set of arms draped across my waist has me stilling, my mind racing a hundred miles a minute.

What the fuck….?

I glance to the right of my bed, the sound of slow and steady breathing I hadn’t heard at first now hitting my ears. Oh fuck. Rafe. What is he doing in my bed? What the hell happened last night?

The last thing I remembered was him kissing me after our parents announced the engagement, and then he lead me into the kitchen where we both indulged in the copious amounts of alcohol my parents had provided for the night. I remembered the two us of finding his friends, Topper and Kelce, talking to them for a while before we had wandered off somewhere else within the house.

We’d gotten along fairly well last night. We weren’t fighting, or acting like we’d hated each other, but that didn’t mean anything… Right? Nothing happened between Rafe and I. It couldn’t have..

I softly lift his arm up and off my waist, letting it fall onto the bed before I lifted the covers, taking an inventory of my clothes. I still had my dress on, my underwear and bra hadn’t been removed… I felt fine. So why is Rafe in my bed? From what I’ve been told, — and just from what I’ve seen — Rafe didn’t sleep in bed with a girl unless he was fucking her.. But then again, he also never publicly showed affection towards any female, and last night he’d kissed me in front of a large crowd.

Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, I plant my feet on the ground, slowly and quietly trying to slip out the bed. I make it out of the bed, tiptoeing to my bathroom, but when my hand hits the knob, Rafe’s voice has my body tensing up.

“Trying to sneak out on me, huh?”

Fuck, he sounds sexy in the morning. His voice is low and raspy and thick with sleep. I release the door knob, slowly turning to face him. He’s laid on his side, his right elbow propped up on the bed with his right hand holding his face as he stares back at me. I rub my thighs together, trying to shake away the throb that’d formed between my legs from just looking at him.

I clear my throat, “Uh, no. I just.. I just need to brush.. Just need to brush my teeth.”

Fuck, I sound like a fucking idiot. Stumbling over my words like a fucking high school girl with a crush… Why is he making me feel things like this? I’ve always hated him, but now… Now I’m seeing him in a slightly different light, and I can’t shake the feelings that are digging their way up.

He smirks at me, breathing out a small laugh before he turns and lets his head fall back into my pillows. I watch as he makes himself comfortable in my bed, my eyebrows shooting up to my hairline in confusion and shock. Rafe Cameron in my bed? If you would have told me this would be happening just a week ago, I’d laugh in your fucking face and say “Only in his dreams.”

Rafe turns his head to the side, bright blue eyes scanning the length of my body before he says, “Go brush your teeth and change into something more comfortable, then come back in here. We should talk.”

I open my mouth to respond, tell him that he can’t tell me what to do. But nothing comes out. I just clamp my mouth shut and turn, opening the bathroom door and quickly shutting myself inside.

My back hits the door, sliding down until my ass hits the cool tiled floors. I run my hands through my hair, something scraping against my scalp when as I do. I pull my left hand down, holding it out in front of my face. My eyes go wide when I notice the large diamond that sat on my finger. Holy shit? This wasn’t here last night… Is this? Of course it is, how could I not think that there’d be a ring? We’re getting married for Christ’s sake.

I begin sucking in large gasps of air, trying to mentally calm myself. It’s happening. He’s not so bad, is he? When the fuck did he put this ring on my finger? Why the fuck is this my life? What does he want to talk about? All the annoying, but valid thoughts run rampant in my mind. I shake my head, trying to shove all the incessant thoughts away as I will my shaky legs to stand again.

Quickly brushing my teeth and taking three ibuprofen, I push open my bathroom door and make my way back into my bedroom. Rafe still lays on my bed, but he’s on his phone now. He slowly turns his head, his icy blue gaze slowly moving from my feet and up to my face.

My face heats up under his intense stare. “What?” I ask, my voice slightly shaking. Damnit.

He locks his phone, placing it on the nightstand and sitting himself up in my bed, his back rested up against the headboard.

“You gonna change? That dress cannot be comfortable.”

I glance down at the tight fitted white dress my mom had chosen for me to wear last night. “Uh.. Yeah.”

I slowly make my way to my dresser, opening it and pulling out a pair of pink silk shorts and a white tank top. I slowly inch toward the bathroom again, but Rafe clears his throat, stopping me in my tracks.

“You don’t have to be shy around me. I’m gonna be your husband after all.”

My brows pinch together in confusion. “What do you want from me? You went from hating me to… not hating me… so fast. So what’s the catch?”

Rafe chuckles. “Who said I didn’t still hate you? You’re stuck up. You have this ‘I’m better than you’ complex. You don’t like fun,” He pauses, his blue eyes searching my face. “Honestly, you’re not my first choice for a wife. To be honest, I’m not sure I ever wanted to be married. But here we are. I guess you can say I’ve just accepted the situation we’ve found ourselves in.”

My entire body heats up. Of course he still hates me, I didn’t expect a week to change anything. But what does he want from me? “You don’t have to be shy around me.” What the fuck does that even mean? Does he think that just because we’re supposed to be married in three weeks that I’ll just throw all my morals away and let him have his way with me? Fuck that, he’ll have to work for me, even if all I want to do is bare myself to him and let him touch me.

I nod my head once. “Understood. So tell me then, Rafe. What is it you want from me? You want me to strip for you? You want me to just give myself to you because you’re set to be my husband? I’ve gone twenty-one years without letting a man see me or touch me, and believe me when I say, I can go another twenty-one. I won’t give into you so easily, I’m not one of your many girls that will just drop to her knees when you ask. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to change, and I’d like it if you’re gone by the time I come back out.”

I turn and grasp the doorknob, pushing open the bathroom door but Rafe’s hand gripping the back of my neck has my clothes falling to the floor, a sharp gasp pulled from my chest.

He spins me around, keeping a firm hold on my neck as his cold, blue eyes stare down at me.

“Princess, you will give into me. You will drop to your knees when I ask. And you will love every second of it, because I can promise you one thing, of all the men that could be your first, you’re lucky it’ll be me.”

I yank myself free from his grasp. My right hand lands a sharp slap across his cheek before I can process what I was doing. Oh shit. Did I just do that? Fuck fuck fuck. He’s definitely going to make me pay for that, and although I’m not necessarily afraid of Rafe Cameron, I can’t help but fear what he might do to me for such a stupid mistake.

His wild blue eyes stare down at me. I can’t quite read the expression on his face, but I can see the fire blazing behind those cool blue eyes, and it’s frightening. I open my mouth to apologize, but Rafe’s right hand grips the back of my neck tightly again, his lips crushing mine in a searing kiss.

I try and fight him off of me, but to no avail. He’s much stronger than me, and his grip on the back of my neck is bruising this time. He kisses me with so much force and passion it has my knees going weak and my heart thrumming wildly in my chest.

Rafe’s tongue flicks my upper lip, and I absentmindedly part my lips for him, allowing him to shove the pink muscle into my mouth. His left hand runs up my side, squeezing at my hip tightly before it continues its way up and around to the zipper on the back of my dress.

He breaks the kiss, his darkened over eyes staring down into mine. Slowly, he tugs the zipper down, the straps of my dress falling loosely down my shoulders as he does. He never takes his eyes off mine as he pushes the dress down my body, leaving me in nothing but the silky white bra and panties I’d chose to wear last night.

Releasing the grip on my neck, he steps back, planting both hands on my hips as his eyes take in my body. My heart picks up in my chest, beating wildly now, I don’t think I breathe as he continues staring down at me.

“Rafe… What’re you-”

He dips his head down, claiming my lips with his again as his hands run down my hips and to my ass. He grips the flesh in his hands, a small gasp escaping me at the unknown feeling. The spot between my legs is throbbing, my thighs rubbing together to try and ease the ache I felt.

Rafe breaks the kiss once more. “You’re very beautiful. Why do you hide? Why have you never let a man touch you?”

My cheeks burn from his question. It’s not that I’ve never wanted to be touched, and it’s not like I haven’t had the opportunity, I just didn’t like any of the men who threw themselves at me. I didn’t want to be just another notch in someone’s belt, and that’s exactly what I would’ve been to any man on this island.

“Y/N? You okay?”

Rafe’s soft but firm voice pulls me out of my own head, and I raise my eyes to meet his. Deep blue pools stare down at me, and something in my heart swells. I don’t know when I’d started feeling for Rafe within the last week, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about it…

“I- I’m fine..”

His brow pinches together, a look of confusion etched into his beautiful face. He thankfully didn’t push the subject though.

His hands roam the expanse of my body, a trail of goosebumps left in the wake of his fingers. He digs his fingertips into the waistband of my panties, his eyes meeting mine once more. “Can I?”

My hands shake, and a large knot has formed in my throat. I knew I shouldn’t give in, I told myself not to give in, but something inside me had my head nodding a silent ‘yes’ to him.

His fingers dip down and into the silky material before the pushed down, letting the soft material fall around my ankles. My hands fell, instinctively covering myself from his eyes, but his large hands come down and slowly grip my wrists, pulling them away.

“Rafe..”

“Shhh, just let me make you feel good, alright?”

I slowly nodded my head, averting my eyes to the ground. He takes my right hand in his, pulling us toward my bed. He sits down first, still clad in his dress slacks but no shirt, pulling me down next and situating me between his thighs.

His left hand pushes my legs further apart, and every muscle in my body tenses. My nerves were on high alert, was I really about to let Rafe Cameron touch me? Yes. Was I nervous about what this meant after? Yes and no. He was going to be my husband after all, may as well get used to him now, right?

His fingers slowly run down my thigh, sending a shiver down my spine at the soft touch. He slowly inches down, down, down until his fingers reach the most sensitive part of my body. I gasp as his index finger lightly brushes against my clit, the sensitive bud throbbing with need.

Rafe’s lips kiss softly on my shoulder and up to my neck, the heat of his breath on my skin making my body tingle. “‘M gonna insert a finger now, okay? Tell me if it’s too much.”

My eyes squeeze shut, my lower lip trapped between my teeth as I nod my head once more. He slowly pushes his index finger inside me, groaning once he’s knuckle deep. “Shit, you’re so wet, princess.”

Slow and steady pushes of his finger has my breath catching in my throat, this felt unreal, like nothing I’d ever been able to do for myself. His lips left soft, wet kisses on the skin of my neck and shoulder as he continued to push his thick finger in and out of my arousal slick core, our uneven breaths mixing together in the air.

“Gonna add another, okay?” Rafe warned before his ring finger slowly pushed its way inside as well.

The feeling, the stretch, it felt amazing. Tears welled in the back of my eyes as he slowly thrusted his fingers inside of me, his thumb pressing firmly against my clit, slow torturous circles being rubbed against it.

A tight feeling brewed in my lower belly as his fingers picked up pace, his thumb still slowly rubbing against my sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Rafe… Oh, God.. I-”

My brain was fuzzy, this unfamiliar feeling growing inside me, white hot pleasure threatening to rush through me.

“You’re close,” Rafe whispered against my neck, “I can feel you clenching around my fingers. You can let go, baby. Make a mess on my hand.”

Strangled “mmphs” and “ahhh’s” fell from my lips, the pressure building up more and more until it exploded. Pure euphoria rushed through my entire body from my head to the tips of my toes, my body shaking and small, quiet whimpers escaping me.

Rafe didn’t let up, he continued to finger me through my high, his teeth nipping at my shoulder, earlobe and neck as he did. My body fell limp in his arms, his fingers finally slowing in pace before he removed them completely. I turned my head to face him, his eyes on mine as he shoved the two arousal soaked fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean.

“I… Thank you..” I said softly, trying to ignore the slight awkward tension that now crowded my room.

Rafe smiled, a real, genuine smile for once. “You’re welcome. I just believe we should get used to being around one another, I mean.. We’re getting married right? And I’ve always found you beautiful, I was just too stuck in my ways of hating you that I would never admit that shit out loud.”

His hard dick pressed into my ass, serving as a reminder that he’d just taken care of me, and I should probably return the favor.

“Do you… Uh.. Do you want me to, help you…” I asked awkwardly, my eyes darting from his face down to his lower region.

He chuckled. “Nah. Another day, sweet girl. We have a lot to do today.”

Oh shit. That’s right, today was food and cake tasting for the wedding, Rafe and I had to pick what entrées, appetizers, cake, et cetera we wanted to have for the wedding. I quickly jumped off my bed, grabbing my phone and checking the time. Shit. It’s ten-thirty. I had an hour and a half to shower and get ready to go.

“I’m uh.. I’m gonna shower.. You gonna be here when I get out?”

“Nah, I’m gonna head home and get ready myself, but I’ll be back here in an hour to pick you up. Please be ready?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah yeah, I’ll be ready. Um.. Thanks, again.”

He nods his head once, grabbing his shirt off my floor and tossing it on. I watch as he makes his way out of my room before I kick it into high gear and begin getting ready. I tried to shake the feelings I felt from my mind, but nothing worked. As much as I hated to admit it, I was falling for Rafe and his charm. The next hour, hell even the weeks to come, my mind was plagued with thoughts of the one person I never in a million years thought I could tolerate. Rafe Cameron.

RAFE TAGLIST: @drewstarkeyslut @princessslutt @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rafesthroatbaby @sturnioloshacker @starkeysprincess @rafescurtainbangz @atorturedpoetx @redhead1180 @jjsmarijuana @romaescapes @kisses4angel @lovelysturnioloos @maybankslover @bellbottombaby @simars3 @rafesgiirl @urbimom @heartsforrafecameron @antagonize-me-motherfucker @araminsstufff @chaneydoll @bi-zowee @uraesthete @rafemotherfuckingcameron @gibbsgirl7 @queenvane @anobsessedwoman @sunny1616 @princesssuki21

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hyunniesgirl · 9 months

Text

Trophy Husband

Just a little something I wrote for Changbin

This content is +18 only, minors do NOT interact

You never found it particularly interesting to be a housewife, there's nothing wrong with being one, it's just that that is not your cup of tea.

That's why you spent years of your life hearing your family nagging you about a husband and children but you just brushed it off until you reached your goal: being successful.

When it finally happened, after years of you working your ass off it was natural for you to want to take the next step. So it's time to arrange the family you've been putting on hold for so many years.

You have wasted your time on more than ten dates, every man you met wanted the same thing: a pretty wife to be a stay at home mom. Even though they all told you they had no problem with you keeping your job, you have a lot of problems with working outside and then having to come back home to work in the house too.

So you changed your matches. Other than successful men, you started focusing on young men that didn't have long-term plans for their career, landing on the perfect partner: Seo Changbin.

He's a model, that's good, he doesn't have a fixed work schedule. He's handsome, so your children will be good looking too. He's funny and sexy, just the way you like it.

You propose to him by your second month of dating, taking him by surprise and promising you'll take care of him forever. He just has to be pretty and work hard to make your happy little family happen, you want at least two kids, after all.

You didn't actually have to ask him to work hard on that, as it is his pleasure to bend you over your desk in the middle of the day while you work from home. Changbin thrusts into you so deeply you can feel the head of his cock poking your cervix. He's making sure his seed is going to make its way safely to where you need it.

He fucks you when you wake up, lazily dragging his cock to your entrance, moving his hips slowly at a pace that would kill your impatient self if you weren't so dizzy from the slumber you just got out of. He fucks you in between meetings, making sure you are well motivated for the next few hours. He fucks you on the kitchen after the dinner is served, putting you on the table and eating you out before fucking you again. He fucks you before sleep too, pulling you by your ankles and positioning himself in between your legs, filling you up with his cock, thrusting so hard you think he could break your hips.

He'll make you stay still, legs up, for at least ten minutes before landing a kiss on the top of your head, saying you did a good job and that you should sleep now.

It doesn't take much of this routine for you to get pregnant. You go to the events at the company you work for, showing off your husband in a tight suit and the bump in your belly growing slowly. You're the happiest right now with your little family. You have the perfect husband by your side and soon you'll have your child in your arms too.

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months

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Hiiii. I hope you are well. I would like to request Cregan Stark x female!reader where reader is sleeping in her chambers and has a nightmare and walks the halls late at night going to Cregan’s chambers for comfort but is also hesitant because the two haven’t really spent time together since they were put into an arranged marriage. She stands in front of his bedroom door while trying to decide if she should knock or not but before she could Cregan opens the door after hearing movement. He spends the night trying to make her feel safe. Thank you 😊

I’m rusty and out of practice after not writing for hotd for so long but I hope this makes up for it 🦦🐿️

You couldn’t go back to sleep, the nightmare had awoken you so suddenly and violently that the idea of falling back to sleep disturbed you greatly, so instead you took to walking the foreign halls of your new home in Winterfell.

In truth it took some time for you to get accustomed to the change in climate, that and the change from your old rather relaxed and light attire to thick furs and multiple layers to keep warm, but you were reassured by your parents that you’d sooner or later come to love the endless landscapes of snow with your arrange marriage to Lord Cregan Stark.

Now Cregan Stark had been nothing but considerate and generous towards you, a honourable man amongst immature little boys as your father would put it, and his words have never been more true as house Stark was well known for their loyalty and their dedication to their duty. However it was due to Cregan’s commitment to his duty that left you with little to no time to get to know the man who had already garnered quite the reputation for himself. You did not blame the man for doing so, it was admirable to see a man do whatever it took to protect his home compared to those who dared called themselves men back home; the very same ‘men’ who’d abandon their wives and children for a silver of something…younger and more beautiful.

And yet you found yourself coming out of a self induced daze and stood outside of Cregan’s own personal chambers, almost as if your body had stopped it’s ceaseless wandering and brought you to the one person who could bring you comfort on its own accord, but yet you failed to find the strength to even lift a hand to knock on the heavy door as new thoughts of whether you’d be interrupting or annoying him with your presence; This was the only time where you wished you spent more time getting to know Cregan as you didn’t know the type of man he’d be when you needed him for moments such as these, moments where you’d be frightened and out of your mind with increasing worry, even over the smallest of things.

Would you be a burden to him? Too much for him? Would your actions tonight alone would bring about the end of the arrangement? All these answers so much more ran rampant within your head as you began to second guess whether or not this was your smartest of decisions, going and seeking comfort from a man you knew far too little about on a personal level over something as simple as a nightmare, you’ve contemplated this for quite a while to the point you felt stupid and childish that you didn’t notice the noise you had made already brought Cregan out of his slumber.

‘Are you alright m’lady?’ Cregan asks upon noticing how conflicted you looked as you shifted your weight on your feet and fiddling with your hands.

‘My lord,’ you gasped, ‘what’s you doing up at such time as this?’

Cregan tilted his head. ‘Well I heard shuffling outside my door and I came to see what it was, only to find you in deep thought.’ He then reached out to grasp your hand in his securely as his eyes softened. ‘Is there something the matter? Something wrong?’ He then asks in a whisper. ‘Anything I can do to help my betrothed rest easier?’

You tried to smile as authentically as you could in hopes of dissuading Cregan from going out of his way for you and let out a laugh. ‘There’s no need, I just…needed some air and familiarise my new home.’ You told him but it was obvious that he wasn’t buying it as Cregan looked down the hallway before pulling you into his chambers and closing the door behind him. ‘Now that there is no possibility for anyone to intrude, would you like to tell me what’s bothering you m’lady?’

‘I-‘ you tried to speak but found yourself falling short of an easily believable answer, especially not when his eyes seemingly read you like an open book.

‘There is no need to keep up appearances, not with me,’ Cregan says as he gently guides you to a nearby chair, still holding your hand, as though deep down he knew that you needed to be in some form of constant contact with him to bring yourself back to reality. ‘Now tell me what’s gotten you so distraught?’ He knew something was wrong but didn’t know how to handle the situation without you telling him what it was that was disturbing you. Now Cregan understood that you might not be on that level of comfortability with him just yet to open up about your innermost thoughts and feelings, he can just hope that him being here with you was proof enough to show that he deeply cared for your well-being, and that with time you’ll come to him freely and without fear that he’d cast you and your heart aside.

You didn’t say anything at first, still having your concerns on how he’d react once you tell him, but the other side of your mind was telling you to take this an an opportunity to make up for the lack of time to get to know each other, so you opened your mouth and the words that you’ve been trying to put a stop poured out seamlessly. ‘I had a nightmare and I thought that a walk would help but it seems as though at the thought of you, my feet brought me to your chambers on their own accord.’

Cregan smiled softly as he squeezed your hand, running his thumb across it. ‘Is that so m’ lady? You thought of me in your moment of need?’

‘Of course,’ you tell him, finally squeezing his hand back, feeling yourself growing more confident and secure within his presence, ‘It was as though deep down I knew you’d never scoff at my worries, and instead bring me comfort as though it were instinct, but my mind tried to trick me into believing that you wouldn’t and I would’ve believed them had you not answer the door when you did.’ You admitted and felt a weight come off of your shoulders, allowing you to fully relax within Cregan’s presence that felt akin to the comforting weight of furs being draped over your shoulders, comforting, warm and grounding.

‘And I never would scoff at your worries because your worries are my worries m’lady.’ Cregan tells you as he knelt before you, resting his free hand against your cheek, watching as you melted into his touch, sighing in content. ‘Now tell me how I can be of help to you be rid of this pain?’ He then asks softly as though speaking any louder would somehow offend you.

‘Pardon me if this seems too forward my lord but,’ you paused to take in Cregan’s handsome features before looking down at your intertwined hands, this was the union that your parents wanted for you and now that you were here with him, you didn’t want to leave for your lonely chambers, ‘would you allow for me to stay here for the night, held in your arms until the nightmare is a memory long forgotten.’ You finished, looking into his eyes as they gleamed with happiness and love.

‘Only if you are comfortable with that m’lady.’ Cregan said and you couldn’t help but chuckle as his thoughtfulness towards you, the same thoughtfulness that suggested sleeping in separate rooms until you felt comfortable enough to share a room with him.

‘Of course I do,’ you tell him with a real genuine smile, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his as you squeezed his hand, ‘I wouldn’t have suggest it if I didn’t.’ You added and without hesitation Cregan brought you into his strong arms as he carried you off towards his bed, laying you down gently as he join you before pull in you back into his arms again, softly guiding your head into resting against his chest.

Cregan turned out to be a lot warmer than you had originally expected but you couldn’t help but snuggle further against him, making him smile and press a featherlight kiss to your head as he tightened his hold on you. ‘I promise to keep your nightmares at bay as you deserve only the sweetest and kindest of dreams to greet you at the end of every day.’ He promises to you as he pressed another kiss to your head, making you smile widely as you couldn’t help but feel as though you were already living within a dream with how impossibly perfect Cregan was.

‘I feel as though I am in one already my lord.’ You tell him sleepily.

‘Then I shall try my best to make you keep thinking that m’lady.’ Cregan replied as you soon feel asleep against the man who had quickly claimed your heart.

#cregan stark x female reader #house of the dragon x female reader #hotd x reader #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #cregan stark imagines #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x you #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon imagines #house of the dragon x you #cregan stark fanfic

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bitchimasnake-sss · 3 months

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YOUR YUJI FIC WAS SO YUMMY 😳 I would love a part 2 if you’re ever up for writing it! 🥹

GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM THE FUCKING DEAD. ME. ME. I AM BACK AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH (im sorry i just missed writing). well, anyways, with me comes the power of horny <3

ps: this took me fucking four days to write and i don't even think it's good 😭😭 writers block is a bitch

🧸learning some lessons ft. yuuji itadori!

continuation of my previous fic "teaching some lessons", so, i suggest read that first to ensure you're fully immersed into the horny storyline. set-up: yuuji itadori. the quarterback, the guy you're giving "sex ed" lessons, and ofcourse, the brother of your childhood best friend sukuna. what could ever go wrong with this combination? nothing, i hope? warnings: contains nsfw concepts such as yuuji's first time, overstimulation, penetration, a bit of porn logic. and as always, sukuna, nobara and megumi are fucking menaces. stay blessed y'all, and minors DO NOT INTERACT I WILL FIND YOU AND HUNT YOUR ASSES. [ALSO A LITTLE BIT OF TOJI AND GOJO SLANDER IM SORRY] wc: 6.4k porn with A LOT of plot [like 70% plot im sorry]

"dude." megumi's usual nonchalant demeanor had faded in a matter of seconds. now, each of his drawled out words had a certain twinge of dread, "this is actually fucking insane."

"hm?" the pink-haired quarterback didn't even bother to dignify his best friend's statement with a proper answer. he was too busy rapidly pressing the controls, trying to get the shots right.

but megumi's hand had gone slack, the controller barely held limply in his palm. he turned to stare down the forementioned pink-headed idiot. he repeated himself, "yuuji."

"gumi—" yuuji hissed back, "we're losing, fucking focus."

"you just told me that you're fucking sukuna's best friend. her." megumi deadpanned, "the only thing i need to focus on is arranging your funeral."

yuuji hissed through his teeth as his player got shot right in the head and a definitive 'GAME OVER' flashed all across the tv screen. he sunk backwards into the comfortable couch at the fushiguro household. megumi shifted backwards too, slumping next to his best friend with a resigned sigh.

the house was eerily quiet, save for the sounds of the background score of the game playing in the background. yuuji knew tsumiki was out shopping with her friends, and gojo was out annoying the hell out of someone or the other (possibly, coach nanamin). who else was to be considered in the fushiguro household? toji fushiguro? he was an enigma. he came when he felt like and left just as soon. a model poster boy for giving people daddy issues, yuuji presumed.

"have i told you your couch is super nice?" yuuji asked as he stared at the overhead lighting before sweeping his gaze over the modern living room.

"multiple times."

the quarterback snorted, "you remember the time i got drunk—"

"—and tried to take the couch home. yes, i do. i also remember the time sukuna chased you with a knife cause you took his last pack of cheetos. imagine what he would do when you take his best friend."

yuuji pouted, giving megumi a side-eye he couldn't miss, "you're no fun."

"be for fucking real." the raved head sat up, turning towards yuuji at lightning speed. his eyes squinted in scrutiny, "you're the one making idle chit-chat as if sukuna isn't gonna kill you the moment he finds out what you and her have been up to."

"yeah but—" yuuji sighed, rubbing his palms against his face slowly, "is it really that big of a deal? i mean, it's just a few lessons here and there. it's not like she likes me or something—"

"—yeah, she probably won't. ever. considering she called you her little brother."

"oh, fuck off, gumi. that was when we were five."

"just pointing down the obvious."

"i knew i should have told nobara about the situation. she would have given much better advice."

"kugisaki would have laughed at you so hard, she would have cried." megumi got up, probably to get some more chips. as he left, he quipped over his shoulder, "you're catching feelings for someone who doesn't have that kind of interest in you, itadori. you will end up looking like an idiot at the end. and possibly dead."

well, maybe megumi fushiguro had a point. but that point was so goddamn hard to see with your thighs pressed on either sides of his face.

🧸lesson 04: maybe making girls cry is okay sometimes

"mhm- ngh oh my god. yuu." yuuji placed his tongue flat against your pulsating clit. you bucked into his face, pressing his mouth messily to your hot core as you showered him in breathless praises.

nobody was home. kuna was probably gonna be home later at night and so, you both had decided his room as the venue for your next 'lesson'.

you weren't even sure which numbered orgasm it was at this point. and you weren't sure if you even existed anymore outside of yuuji and his face and his tongue and yuuji.

red, hot need ran it's course through your body as the jock manhandled you. his calloused palms pulled your jerking hips downwards to steady them and then, pulled you hastily towards himself. yur jaw fell open, going slack at the torturous stimulation yuuji had the audacity to hum in approval when you momentarily went slack under him.

"yuuji, yuuji. yuu. pl-please please- stop. st-" tears pricked at your eyes as you called out his name in a futile attempt to get him to stop. your hands bunched at his sweaty locks, pushing and pulling to get his wicked tongue on your sensitive cunt to ease up.

but the jock was unforgiving.

his tongue dipped within you, your muscles contracting and spasming against his pretty face as his nose dug deeper against your clit. his tongue was fast, delving in and out of you methodically as you bucked and keened under his touches. the salty tears fell down your cheeks.

"yuu—" you mumbled in a weak voice and he finally looked up so as to assess the damage.

"hm?" his mouth finally parted from yours, messy and sticky.

and when yuuji looked up at you, he was sure this is the last sight he would see before he was condemned to hell for the rest of eternity. your eyes were watery, lips swollen and quivering. you could barely keep your vision straight before you clenched your eyes shut and tried to pry him off of yourself.

so fucking pretty that it made him ache. and that only pushed him to kiss inner thigh and lick a soft stripe up your gushing cunt, getting back to what he was previously doing.

"fuck fuck fuc— yuu, no. no more. p-plea— fuck." you stomach was full of something hot and molten, something jittery and unstable. something that sounded and tasted a lot like yuuji itadori.

the quarterback stayed on his knees, bringing his forefinger and thumb to pinch and rub your wet clit as your thighs shook, your eyes rolled backwards and your back arched. he grinned — a feral sight — as you finally came undone on his tongue again.

he finally pulled himself upwards, using his discarded tshirt to clean off his face. as he stood before you, all he could do was watch you awestruck.

you were heavenly.

your spent figure was slumped on his bed; t-shirt pushed up to expose your bruised tits and your legs pressed together as you tried to come back on mother earth. your eyes were still closed, cheeks wet from tears and yuuji had to stop himself from begging you to let him fuck you tonight.

but he abstained. of course not. that was insane. you would never let him go that far, would you? so, instead he chose to lie down next to you and pull you into his chest.

you nudged your cheek against his pecs, finding refuge in his warmth and he gladly let you, allowing a small smile on his face. his fingers came up to push back strands of hair from your sweaty forehead and then wipe away the salty tears that had made home against the plane of you cheeks. once he was sure you had caught your breath, he pressed a sweet kiss to your skin. finally, he mumbled, "sorry, did i go too far?"

you shook your head no, curling further into him with ease. and he let you. he shifted his position so as to allow your skin on his, so as to press his nose to your hair and smell that strawberry shampoo, so as to almost pretend for a second that you were his.

but you didn't let the show run for long. a few minutes later, as you felt the energy returning to your body, you attempted to get up.

the jock's eyebrows furrowed, he sat up with you, "something wrong? do you want something? water or—"

"—no, no." you turned to give him a weak smile, "i think i'm just gonna go shower before kuna is home and he finds me like this."

oh. ofcourse. how could he forget the ever-looming threat that was sukuna?

"can you walk?" he asked earnestly, offering you his tshirt so you could put it on, "i can walk you to the shower, if you want."

"i'll be okay, yuu." you poked your head through his shirt, trying to stand up. but your legs immediately wobbled and you lost balance, "—fuck. okay. i guess not."

yuuji offered you a smile, picking you up bridal style as you squealed at his action. a blush crept up your neck and face, "what are you doing?!"

"what? i think i should be responsible for the mess i create, shouldn't i?" he gave you a cheeky smile, the kind where the cut under his eye came alive and he grinned ear to ear. a boyish grin, perhaps. and you were fortunate enough to be on the recipient end of it.

you weren't sure what it was that you felt for yuuji, or what you didn't. all you knew that right now — as he carried you out of his room clad in a t-shirt that smelt like him — it was as if he was aware of the sudden jump your heart and wanted nothing more than to be the cause of your untimely death.

"you don't have to do this." you mumbled.

what did 'this' refer to, exactly? you weren't quite sure. was it the fact that he had entertained your drunken idea for such a long amount of time? or was if the fact that in the moments even when you weren't offering him something physical, he still looked at you as if you hung up stars in the night sky for him? maybe it was as simple as the fact that he was carrying you to run you a bath.

he stayed quiet and you repeated yourself louder, "really, yuuji, you don't have to."

"i want to." and that was all he said.

you felt his biceps tense under you as he shifted your weight on one arm and attempted to open the door with the other. he gave you a reassuring smile, and you nudged your face against his chest to hide your embarrassment at his simple answer.

once he finally was through, he walked into the lliving room, attempting to make his way to the bathroom down the hallway whe—

"YUUJI?!" a voice boomed from the door and both of you whipped your head to look at the man that stood there.

ever heard of divine intervention? yeah, this was whatever the fuck is the opposite to that. satanic intervention. cursed intervention, perhaps.

"ON—ONICHAN?!"

"CHOSO?!" you scrambled off of yuuji, hitting the ground with a muffled thud.

choso immediately looked away from his half-naked brother and the girl in his brother's t-shirt*.

(*yeah, okay, just try to understand the family dynamics for a second. choso [24] is the oldest and he has graduated uni and has a job now. sukuna and (yn) [21] are in their third year, and yuuji [20] is in his second. choso knows who (yn) is since you and kuna are childhood besties or whatever. so... yeah okay, back to the shitshow 👍🏻)

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" choso asked loudly, his eyes still averted from you both so as to not accidentally see your exposed form.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" yuuji retorted as you hid behind his broad figure instinctively, trying to recover whatever ounce of modesty you had.

"I OBVIOUSLY HAD THE KEY TO MY OWN HOME?!"

"WELL, DON'T WALK IN UNANNOUNCED? DO YOU HAVE NO MANNERS?"

"yuuji."

"IM SORRY 'NICHAN!!"

and that is how choso found out about your little arrangement. and that is how you both decided to never have another rendezvous session at the itadori's.

🧸lesson 05: you got this, itadori!

"what the fuck?" megumi asked slowly, eyeing yuuji as the jock shoved some french fries down his mouth.

"YEAH, WHAT THE FUCK?!" nobara repeated, louder. to which, megumi gave her a side-eye, "we're in public, kugisaki."

yuuji took his time, sipping his coke before shrugging, "yeah, so, 'nichan found out."

nobara shook her head, "no. no. turn around 360—"

"—180. 360 makes a circle."

"die, megs. anyways, turn around and tell me that part of the story where you started—" the red-head shuddered, "—doing stuff with senpai. why?! how?! why?! how??"

yuuji took a bite from his burger before saying, "well, she offered."

"fuck that all. it's old news."

"for you. cause, apparently, i was left out of the loop—"

"—much sad. anyways, is choso okay with you and her? or is he gonna snitch you out to sukuna?"

"i mean, no. i don't think so, no." yuuji tried to steal a fry off of nobara's plate and she smacked his hand off, "ow kugisaki! whatever. he gave me a long lecture about how i should actually pursue her and officially ask her out if we wanna keep doing this. after that, for whatever unrelated reason, he cried about how quickly we grew up."

"virgin behavior." nobara stuck out a tongue, quickly reeling out of her disbelief over the fact that yuuji was getting some, "i mean, that's old-fashioned. you don't have to date her, you know?"

"but your brother's not wrong, is he?" megumi offered. "don't keep doing this just cause you want a way to get your dick wet."

"megs, it's not 1920. they are consensual adults and they can just fool around if they're on the same page."

"yeah but about that—" yuuji tried to sneak in a fry from megumi's plate now, "—i think i'm in love with her. and i am pretty sure the feelings are one-sided."

"huH?!"

"what?" the jock looked at the two dumbfounded, "i like her. she's pretty and smart and i think— i like her."

he didn't think he liked you. he knew that he was whole-heartedly, as stupidly as humanly possible, in love with you.

but he didn't bother mentioning the fact.

he didn't bother mentioning a plethora of things, in fact. first, that his heart had been offered to you at the ripe age of four when he first realized that sunlight got caught against your hair strands somewhat magically, and when you smiled, he smiled; and that when he cried, you kissed his imaginary wounds better even when sukuna made fun of him.

he didn't bother mentioning that when he asked you to marry him, there was only such a small part of him that was 'joking', the larger chunk of him would have exchanged his soul for some sort of forbidden alchemy to be with you.

he didn't bother mentioning that when he was thirteen, a slew of girls had asked to be his girlfriend, and he had turned down each one of them to sneak in his first kiss with you.

but all those years of pining just turned into a small ball of anxiety, ever-growing in his stomach. he knew you didn't feel the same. so, he didn't bother saying any of that. because, well, frankly, his situation seems just a tiny-teensy bit pathetic.

"i guess i just like her... just a bit." he repeated, more to himself than others.

"we heard the first time. and the second."

"DUDE" nobara's eyes widened, "she's sukuna's best friend."

"hey, what happened to the fact that we are consensual adults fooling around?"

"oh no, fuck that. i was humoring you." nobara shook her head, "sukuna's gonna murder you."

"yeah, i know." yuuji sighed, his playfulness replaced by something more mature, "i am not gonna ask her out. i think i'm gonna call this— whatever this is— off. i don't want her to lose her friendship with 'kuna, and she... well, she probably doesn't like me anyways."

megumi and nobara exchanged a sorry expression among themselves before looking back to yuuji. but the jock put on a smile, "ah it's fine, it was fun while it lasted." he leaned back in his seat, "wanna catch a movie after this? human earthworm is out."

so the quarterback had gone back home that day with a certain resolve. he would call this off.

he put on his lucky red sweatshirt, put on the cologne you had complimented once when he had gone for one of his lessons, and he put on his best fake smile. as he passed by sukuna in the living room, he guiltily looked away from him and walked out of the door as soon as possible.

"where ya going?" the tatted man asked, not looking up from his phone.

"nowhe—" he sighed, running a hand through his hair before he bent downwards to put on his shoes, "with gumi and nobara. we're going to the arcade."

"you've been hanging out with the fushiguro kid quite a lot nowadays. a lot of sleepovers."

yuuji's fingers halted, slowly fidgeting with the shoelaces before he threw sukuna a casual look, "he's my friend. and his dad is out of town so i go over. got an issue?"

"nah, do whatever." kuna met his eyes but then went back to his phone without saying much. a beat later, he continued, "well, let me know if you'd be home in time for dinner."

yuuji stood up, dusting off his clothes, "you're cooking today?"

"yeah, thought i'd invite her over. she likes that pasta i make."

at the mention of you, yuuji looked over sukuna once. a sharp sting suddenly erupted in his chest like someone had hit him. hard. and, so, without saying anything more, the younger itadori immediately left through the main door.

things must end.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

his fingers skimmed over the ringing bell in front of your apartment as his feet nervously shuffled around at the door. he knew you were on the other side, waiting for him. as the door swung open, he was face to face with your housemate.

"hey?" maki raised an eyebrow, a smug smile on her lips. she was dressed as if she was leaving to go somewhere, "she's in her room."

yuuji simply pursed his lips, nodded and moved past his senior. before walking into your room, he stalled in front of the door, threw his head back to catch maki about to leave, "kugisaki says hi, by the way."

and if yuuji didn't know any better, he would have assumed the glare maki gave was one well-intended to kill him.

he wasn't sure if the room was chilly or if the reason for goosebumps was something else, but nonetheless, he shut the door behind him and stepped into the room. as he came in view with the bed, he found you casually on your back, scrolling your phone.

"yuuji!" you smiled as you sat up, a familiar warmth spreading over your face at his presence. but he merely nodded, his lips drawn into a thin line.

"um," you fidgeted, standing up hastily and laughing to ease the awkwardness, "so, uh— did maki let you in?"

"yeah, she did."

"oh, well, she's going out, so we don't need to worry about her." you paused for a second before your expression fell and you tried again, "hey?"

but a same monotone expression fell across his face, "hey."

"um... is something wrong? in a bad mood or something?"

"not quite." yuuji rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the cold, wooden floors, "i wanted to talk. to you, i mean."

you nodded, although he didn't look up at you to register your expression. he continued softly, "we should stop this."

"what?"

"i—" he looked up at you, quickly sneaking in a steadying breath, "i wanted to thank you for the 'lessons'. it's been fun and i learnt so much, really. but you don't have to do it anymo—"

"why?" you interrupted, "did someone find out?"

"what? no."

"then?" you stepped towards him, your unyielding gaze trained on his face, "do you not... want to do it with me anymore?"

"no, ofcourse not." his eyes widened and he stepped forward in a desperate attempt to comfort you. his palms found purchase against your cheek, "no. that's not what i meant."

"what do you mean then?" you looked up at him, confused.

"i-" he looked at you softly, "i really can't ruin your friendship with sukuna anymore. we need to stop. it has gone for... for way too long, now, hasn't it?"

"—it's just been a few months."

"come on. we both know we need to stop." he confessed, and as his words left you hollow, so did his touch. he pulled away from you and stepped back a teensy bit to allow you some space. "it will be for the best."

you looked at him for a beat. and then one more. finally, "kiss me."

and the jock obliged without any hesitation. his lips were familiar against yours, his hands on your cheek, and his body weight pressing onto you and pushing you backwards into the bed.

the back of your knees hit the wooden frame and you stumbled backwards, falling onto the bed with a muffled thud. but yuuji didn't bother following you and caging you underneath him. instead, he stood at the edge, waiting.

"yuu?" you asked softly.

"are you sure about this?"

and you weren't sure if he was asking that question to you or himself. you weren't sure if his fingers were shaking from the betrayal or the need to hold you against him. but you nodded your head anyways, "yeah. if this is it. if this is the last time then indulge in my stupid ideas one last time." you paused, "please?"

he nodded before swiftly throwing off his hoodie off of his torso an onto the floor. bruises from a few days before laid tattered across his tan skin and his biceps flexed and moved as he slowly caged you under him.

"fuck," he breathed in slowly, taking in your low-lidded gaze, "you're so fuckin' pretty."

your fingers found solace in his pinkish locks and you pulled him closer — till your skin smelt like his perfume and his stuttered breath hit your lips, "yuuji."

"hm?" his eyes ran over your face, and the adoration in his eyes made you feel like he would set the world aflame if you so as even asked him to.

"fuck me."

his pupils widened, cheeks flushed and a breathless gasp got stuck in his throat. at his reaction, you pulled him downwards, kissing him softly before the tendrils of passing seemed to nip down on both of you. soon after, you were nothing more than messy kisses, clashing teeth and wrong decisions.

"fuuck— ha-harder." he moaned as your fingernails sunk into his scalp, pulling him harder against yourself.

your hands travelled downwards to his chest and you pushed him away only to turn him around and straddle his hips. your pelvis rolled over his, the delicious friction driving you delirious as you peered down at the man under you — kiss-bitten lips, tousled hair, flushed cheeks.

yuuji itadori looked at you as if you were his god.

and you played along. rolling your hips, tracing a finger from his jaw down to his pecs as your lips traced the path with soft kisses soon after.

his hips stuttered, trying to meet your shallow teases before he mumbled out a soft, "take off your clothes."

you smiled, putting on a show for him as you slipped out of your tshirt. leaving yourself exposed to his preying eyes, you slowly took off the bra.

"shit, look at you." he raised himself on his elbows, coming upwards to softly kiss your warm skin before slowly licking over your nipple as another hand fondled the other. your head was thrown back at the feeling of his warm mouth on you while his fingers softly tugged at the other.

soon after that, you found yourself rocking yourself on his long fingers as he sunk his teeth in your neck, getting off on the pretty sounds you made as you rut against him almost as desperately as he was. when he caught you sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to stay quiet, he pulled your face towards his and kissed you senseless. when he pulled away, his hot breath fanned over your lips, "don't. let me hear, please."

and so senseless moans tumbled down your lips as you you came, still rutting against his hand.

when your breath stilled and you finally met his gaze, all you could was breath out an airy, "fuck me, please."

flushed face, hazy eyes, your mouth parted so prettily at the end of the sentence. who was itadori yuuji to deny you of anything?

"say that again."

🧸lesson 06: fuck it up, itadori!

"n-no protection? are you... sure?"

god, he was adorable.

you held back a laugh as you re-assured him a millionth time, "i'm on birth control, so, no. trust me."

"hm. hm." his breath was caught in his throat as if it were a jagged rock. your hands on his torso felt warm — too warm — as if they would char him and you blinked up at him so prettily as you laid atop those pillows.

"i- one second. i-" his voice was thick, hands slightly shaking as he tried to guide his erection into your slick cunt.

"yuu," you cooed and he looked at you in part hope, part confusion. a laugh escaped you at his expression, "you look like a kicked puppy."

"so-sorry, imjustnervous—" he mumbled, his eyes avoiding yours.

"yuu," you repeated, "this is your first time, right?"

he nodded so softly that it was entirely too easy to miss it. you held back an amused grin, "let me help, okay?"

shockwaves ran through his body as your soft hand slowly took ahold of his dick and ran the tip over your clit, gathering your wetness on the mushroom tip. you both held back a choked sigh as your hand continued the same up and down, up and down, up and down motion till you felt as if yuuji was going to cry just from the teasing.

"h-hey—"

"sorry, sorry. no more teasin', i promise." you replied cheekily, fingers finally guiding him to your sloppy hole. and as the tip finally pushed past the first ring of feeble resistance, a shuddering gasp left the man above you.

pushing in inch by inch, you gasped at the sinful stretch of him filling you. your walls spasmed slightly against him, hugging him so sinfully tight that he wondered if he would pass out just right now. but he couldn't. so he commanded himself to keep moving forward till he was all but buried within you.

"s-shit." his breath was heavy against the dip of your neck and you ran a soft hand through his hair, "you okay, yuu?"

"ye-yeah." he shook his head slowly, descending down on you to sink his teeth into your skin again as he started moving slowly.

"jus like that— yeah."

at first his thrusts were slow and shallow, as if he was just testing the waters. but as you found you keening into his touches and moaning as his tip rubbed against a certain spot, he grew sure of his actions.

his thrusts were now harder, a bit more precise and his tempo increased as you dug your heels on his back and tugged on his hair to keep him going.

"jesus" you gasped, back arching off slowly as his lower abs caught friction against your clit and his dick started ramming into your with a periodic rhythm. "fu-fuck is it your fuckin first time? for fucks sake, yuuji ngh—"

his breath was laboured, a thin layer of sweat adorning his forehead and nose, "im a quick learner, fuck— you're shi-shit, you're so fucking perfect."

lifting himself up slightly, his hand snaked in between your bodies and he found himself thumbing at your clit with ease.

"yuuji—" your voice pitched up as his circles grew in pressure. already overstimulated from his administrations on your poor cunt, you felt the pressure building inch by inch till it grabbed ahold of your body and shook you to your very core.

under him, you grabbed hastily at the sheets, at the pillow, at his hair, at anything to keep yourself on this plane of consciousness as he kept drawing messy figures on your clit and fucked into your cervix with reckless abandon.

and that unsteady, familiar feeling grew and grew and grew till it turned your body to jello and burst inwards, "f-fuck shit, ohmygod im cummin im cummin im cumm— FUCK YUUJI—"

his fingers pressed hastily against your lips but the cockiness in his voice practically dripped off of him and onto you, "shh, someone might hear, pretty."

his thrusts grew erratic, nudging him more and more towards a certain, familiar kind of high. his face found solace against your shuddering body as he cursed and spilled inside you.

"fuck." he cursed one last time as he breathed you in, just laying atop you having spent himself.

he slowly pulled himself upwards, pressing a chaste kiss to your nose, and you gave him a spent smile, the kind that had quickly became his favorite. he slowly pulled himself out, and caught the milky white gushing out of your cunt.

and with that, itadori yuuji lost all sanity.

next you knew, your face was being pressed into the mattress, your cunt being ravaged by his unforgiving dick ramming in and out easily.

"fuc-fuck, sogood so fuckin' good—"

his chest was against your back, his weight pressing down on your so deliciously and trapping you under him. you pressed your face harder into the mattress, screaming out muffled renditions of his name as he softly pinched your clit.

"i'm sorry, baby, im so fuckin' sorry" but he sounded anything but sorry as he whispered hotly in your ear, both his fingers and his dick doing everything in their power to turn you into nothing more than a woman maddened with his touch.

your fingers sunk into the sheets underneath, your death-grip growing even more deadlier as he fucked into you as a man depraved.

"this 'sthe last time," his words slurred as he left sloppy kisses down your neck, "promise, i promise."

but those promises were nothing more than candied words on his pretty lips, because now he had you on top of him, your back against his chest, his heels digging into your mattress dangerously as he fucked up into you.

"yuu— yuuJI pleaseplease ple— fucking fuc—" your voice grew in pitch, unresolved tears falling down your face as his hands fondled your tits, tugging and tweaking the nipples to his liking, and your own familiar fingers toyed with your clit.

how could he go on for so fucking long? jesus fucking christ.

"i play varsi- fuck varsity," he answered softly, "this is nothin' for me."

he pressed a soft kiss to your neck as his cock split you apart for the nth time and you fell apart on top of the man who claimed to love you more than he loved life and reason itself.

"don't." his voice grew desperate, a hand coming to hold yours over your overstimulated, abused clit, "i didn- say you could stop, did i? keep going. please. one more. fuck. please."

"yuuji stop—"

"—give me one more, please."

"pleasepleaseplease—" you sobbed, your body arching off of him as he brought you to another one orgasm. you eyes rolled back into your skull, a bit of drool dangerously on your bottom lip, and your body went slack so as to let him do as he pleased.

your cunt gushed on his dick, spraying you both in your juices he thrusted into one last time, spilling into your overfilled pussy all over again with a breathless string of pants and moans.

the quarterback collapsed backwards onto your bed with you on top of him. he reluctantly pushed the weight of your sweaty body off of him, and instinctively pressed another kiss to your head.

his hand came up to push back the sweaty hair strands that stuck to you like second skin, and to thumb at the furious blush on your cheeks. your eyes fluttered upwards at him, you barely managing a smile, "thankyou."

"for what?" he turned to his side, taking every feature of you in with a small smile. a beat passed him by in the serene room before he found his heart weighing heavily and lodging itself between his lungs.

"you're so pretty" he found himself mumbling, "i wish i- i wish i could..." but he caught himself before he could make a fool of himself and confess to a passed out girl. he bit the inside of his cheek. maybe it was better if he just left wordlessly. "nothing."

you were asleep. he knew that. but then why did you snuggle closer and whispered a soft, "i love you."

"—huH?!" any and all sanity left the jock at this point. his eyes as wide as saucers as he stared down your softly snoring form, "what did you just say?"

but you said nothing, still softly snoring in your goddamn sleep and yuuji felt like he was going insane. did you say it??? did he imagine it??? is this a punishment from the devil (sukuna) itself??? what was real anymore? was he real???

and hey what does a panicked twenty year old does when faced with the possible conundrum of his crush of fifteen years having feelings for him?? he runs.

yuuji itadori never had put on his clothes faster than he did right this moment. hastily putting one leg into the sweats and then another, he dashed to make his way to the door. before stepping out, he looked back at you one last time.

fuck itadori, are you dumb?! she doesn't love you like that. it's the post-sex hormones. his consciousness begged in the voice of megumi fushiguro, which was a bit concerning cause was the voice of reason in his head megumi fushiguro?!

but that was not the issue at hand right now. his voice of reason could be questioned another time. right now? running. yes, that was the plan.

the lock softly clicked and he stepped out into the living room before closing the door ever so slowly behind him.

"done fucking?"

and yuuji's blood ran cold.

he whipped around to peer at a certain, tatted delinquent who was sat on the couch in the living room, "brother?"

"brother? huh?" sukuna laughed, the sound so chilling that yuuji felt his blood freeze ad turn into cement, "bringing out the formalities?"

yuuji's tongue got stuck in his throat and sukuna stood up slowly, holding up his hands in mock surrender, "she wouldn't pick up my calls, and i had a spare key. sorry if i'm fuckin imposing."

"'kuna," yuuji's voice was quiet, "it's not what he looks like."

"hm, it is not?" he flashed the younger itadori an amused smile, "ofcourse it is not. what do you think i think you both did?"

"fu-fucked?" the jock swallowed hard.

"bingo."

"i didn't." yuuji didn't know if he was begging for forgiveness, and if yes, then what for? for betraying sukuna's trust or for feeling satisfied that his brother knew of his conquests?

"you didn't? from what i heard, she seemed a little too happy in there." and now sukuna stood mere inches apart, his hand balled into a neat fist.

"kun—" but yuuji's right cheek bore the fate of getting punched by sukuna.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? MY BEST FUCKING FRIEND, YUUJI?"

the jock nursed his cheek, still reeling from the attack. but a certain flame came alive. he wasn't a fucking child. "YEAH, YOUR FUCKING BEST FRIEND."

sukuna looked at him in disbelief, "how fucking could you? she meaNS SHIT TO ME, YOU FUCKFACE."

"—SO DOES SHE TO ME."

the man stepped insanely closer, grabbing ahold of yuuji's hoodie's collar, "THEN WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU RUNNING AWAY FROM HER RIGHT NOW? HUH?"

the two boys heaved heavily, anger boiling hot through their veins. finally yuuji spat up, "she told me she loved me."

sukuna's grasp loosened, "what?"

"she fucking told me she loved me."

"and you're running?" sukuna looked at his brother with a strange look. disappointment, perhaps?

"i- it's a mistake. she doesn't." yuuji looked downwards, trying not to show his pain in his soft words, "and... i didn't want to fucking hurt you, asshole."

"so you're a coward?" the tatted man scoffed.

and yuuji pushed his brother back, "fuck you."

"no." sukuna's gaze hardened, "you fuck off, you stupid fucking dipshit. she told you she loves you, and you ran?"

"for fucks sake, sukuna" yuuji breathed in slowly, "i thought you'd be elated she probably doesn't."

"you fucked around with her for god knows how long, pretending i didn't know." sukuna stepped back, his words quieter.

"you knew?"

"i'm not dumb, of course i fucking knew." he paused, "and 'nichan told me."

"jesus fucking christ, 'nichan." yuuji looked down at the floors, "what now?"

"grow a pair, and actually ask her out."

"what?" the jock looked up, confused, "you- wait, you are saying i should ask her out?"

sukuna shrugged, "you've compromised her. you must follow through with the consequences."

"did you watch too much bridgerton? what the fuck is compromised??"

"i did, 'nichan made me watch it. pleasantly surprising, actually." and yuuji was immediately mentally slapped with the image of sukuna enjoying bridgerton.

"huh?" yuuji softly shook his head, "so... what? i like have your blessing or whatever to ask her out?"

the delinquent made a face of disgust, "i'm not a priest, what the fuck do you mean by blessing? yeah, just fucking ask her out."

"and what if she says no?"

"then i will remind you of your failure everyday in life."

yuuji looked at his brother awestruck, "thanks, kuna."

"don't. when you come back home, im gonna beat you to a pulp for fucking my best friend."

"i deserve it."

"fuck yeah, you do." the older itadori made his way to the main entrance, "go fix shit."

and as sukuna left through the door, itadori yuuji slipped back into your room, crawled back into bed with you, and held you close to his chest. softly, as a giddy smile overtook his features, he mumbled, "i love you too."

next morning you woke up next to a fully-clothed yuuji with a swollen right cheek.

"yuu?! why are you dressed?! and what the fuck happened to your cheek?!"

"i fell off your bed."

"what the actual fuck?!"

a/n: IM GENUINELY SO SORRY IF THIS SUCKS ASS, I GOT TOO MUCH INTO CHARACTER WRITING HELPPP!! i really hope it was atleast a fun read, and as i said it took me 4 days just to make it a bit coherent since i'm writing after so long. please forgive me and enjoy the meal. [sorry for any typos and such babes] tagging: @9rvm @jellibean2018 @peekawoocc @kingofthe-egirls @hugmevz [thankyou sm for sending in the request, i was already writing it here so i tagged you <3] misc.: divider by @plutism and header format by @si-eunnis plagiarism not authorized bitch.

#yuuji smut #yuuji itadori #yuuji x reader #yuji smut #itadori smut #jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk yuuji #itadori yuuji #itadori yuji smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #teaching a lesson series

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 13 days

Text

Jamil Viper: A Web, Tangled

Aaand here we go with the Relaxing in Room line of birthday cards :v d ehebkwjw It’s so funny that they chuck pillows to attack??? (By the way, congrats to this Jamil card overloading and crashing the JP server 😂)

For this series of birthday ficlets, I’ll focus on writing each birthday boy preparing to walk to school with the reader (since the duo partner barely appears in the vignettes). Can be read platonically or romantically, whatever you prefer~

Rise and Shine!

You lingered by the doorway, your eyes glued on Jamil.

He was preoccupied with glimpsing himself in a mirror set on a table. Before him were various accessories from a jeweled box. (Judging from the gaudiness of the massive rubies on it, it must have been a gift from Kalim.)

Loose tresses the color of dark chocolate tumbled down his back. When Jamil ran a brush through them, the sun caught and his hair tempered, turning lustrous.

You’d seen him massage his scalp with oil-slicked hands before—and again, he diid it, followed by some sort of a cream. The routine left his head moisturized smelling faintly of jasmine. Jamil never compromised when it came to hair care.

You often had to remind yourself that he was not a princess, entrancing as he was. The sway of his hair, the snap of his steps. Each movement, close to a part in a mysterious dance.

Jamil produced his magical pen. The magestone laid in it was as clear as a cloudless day, and the color of blood that had been left out for a little too long.

Now came the spectacle, the very highlight of your entire morning.

Jamil raised the pen as if he was a conductor waving his baton. A hush fell over an imaginary audience, a collective of breaths held in anticipation. This is it, this is it.

He flicked his wrist, and the magic flowed.

A trail of scarlet light emanated whenever Jamil drew his wand. The accessories laid out on his desk floated up, compelled, in a neat line. A band with a feather dangling from it, narrow golden bangles, flat beads that clinked like coins.

His dark locks lifted, dividing themselves into even sections, then into even smaller ones. They carefully twisted over and under each other, weaving into tight braids. Accessories slid on, effortlessly fitting themselves at his direction.

His intricate hairstyle assembled quickly, as if arranging the pieces of a familiar puzzle.

The red sparkles faded into a fine shimmer and then into nothing at all. As the last traces of magic settled, you bursted into applause.

“Bravo, bravo! Great show as always,” you said appreciatively.

“… That wasn’t a performance,” Jamil corrected as he set his magical pen down.

“It might as well be! It takes some serious skill to pull that off every morning.” You gestured to him. “And so fast!“

“Anyone could accomplish it with enough time and practice.” His words choice was humble, but there was a hint of a smirk in his tone.

A rare moment of triumph for him.

“Not just anyone. I think you’ve got a natural talent for this kind of thing,” you grinned broadly, “like a spider!”

Jamil’s neutral expression splintered, leaving jagged edges exposed. His left eyes twitched, pupils pinpricks.

“Excuse me? In what way do I remind you of a vile bug?”

“Hey, don’t knock spiders! You guys have similar skills. The braids, the webs. You make’m well, all nice and strong. No strands out of place.”

“That doesn’t reassure me,” he groused, a hand on his hip. “I’d prefer if you didn’t compare me to them. It feels wrong.”

Jamil shivered. Not from the cold, but with repulsion.

You gave a laugh—soft against the rising morning sun. “Really? But you’re so alike in other ways too.”

His eyes narrowed into suspicious slivers. Mildly offended, perhaps.

“Elaborate,” he commanded.

“They’re hard working and important but under-appreciated,” you pointed out. “Without spiders, there would actually be a lot more bugs around. We should be more grateful to have spiders’ webs.”

There was a pause, deliberate. Then a gentle prompt.

“… Remind you of anyone?”

Jamil scoffed. It was as loud as a thunderclap in his suddenly cavernous bedroom.

“Maybe.”

Two syllables, clipped. An acknowledgment.

“Jamil-senpai…?”

He hurriedly looked away, staring at the wall for likely longer than what was deemed appropriate. Any more, whether in length or in intensity, and he might have burned a hole in it. His face, hotter than the Scalding Sands.

Your brows shot up. “… Ah. Could it be that you’re feeling embarrassed?”

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous. Something like this couldn’t possibly ruffle me.”

You craned your body, attempting to meet his gaze. But he wrenched away, denying that to you. “Then why aren’t you looking at me when you say that?”

“I need to get ready for class,” he replied dismissively. “So close the door and wait outside while I change out of my pajamas.”

“Now you’re just changing the subject!”

“Well, we’ll both be running late if we continue to dawdle,” Jamil warned—a tactful evasive maneuver.

His hands found their way onto your arms, steering you into the hallway. You turned back, mouth opening to protest, but Jamil had already sealed himself off.

Banging and calling out to him was no good. Kicking resulted in you gripping onto your poor foot and whimpering. You were left in a sorry state, back to the door as you rested on the floor.

On the other side, Jamil was surely having a little laugh. Cheeks still burning from the praise showered upon him, basking in the afterglow of it.

You sighed.

A spider makes its web to deceive flies into getting stuck in it. Jamil-senpai can be just as tricky.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Jamil Viper #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Jamil Viper x Reader #disney twst #something no one asked for #jp spoilers #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #Jamil birthday takeover #Reader #self insert

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captainmalewriter · 1 month

Text

A God's Tongue

“Alright, you ready?” Ahmed asked as he got on his knees. His roommate Kyle helped himself onto his bed and stripped down.

“More than ready! Thanks again man, seriously, you’re the best!”

Kyle stroked his flaccid cock until it began hardening up to full mast. Once it was sufficiently hard enough, Ahmed brushed off Kyle’s hand and took a hold of his cock himself. He looked at the long, pink member with hungry eyes. He smacked his lips with his tongue. Ahmed was ready to go down on his roommate right then and there, but then a slight hesitation in his mind stopped him.

“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked.

“I don’t know if we should be doing this tonight. Aren’t you worried I’m transforming you too much? This’ll be the third time this month! What if something happens to you?”

Ahmed backed away from the bed. Suddenly, the idea of his magic tongue horrified him. He doesn't know how he developed such a strange ability, but Ahmed had the power to temporarily transform anything (or anyone) he wanted by licking it. Ahmed hated his tongue. It made eating unnecessarily difficult and hook ups practically impossible. He swore to keep his magic tongue a secret until the day he died. However, after a night out drinking, Ahmed accidentally hooked up with Kyle and turned him into an adonis. He hoped it would just be a one time thing, but Kyled begged him to transform him again. Although he initially refused, Ahmed eventually warmed up to the idea when he realized it was his chance to finally hook up without someone finding out about his powers. They formed a mutually beneficial arrangement: Kyle got to be a Greek god, while Ahmed got the sex he craved but couldn't have because of his tongue.

It was originally supposed to be a once-a-month thing. Ahmed's tongue could only do temporary transformations. But everytime Ahmed used his power on Kyle, he noticed there was something inexplicably off about his roommate. Sure, Kyle's body returned back to normal after a few days, but his personality started changing too. He became angry, anxious, and even aggressive at times. Ahmed wasn't sure what exactly was going on inside his roommate's mind and he was worried his tongue had something to do with it.

“Nahh I'll be fine!!" Kyle chuckled. "You worry too much, Ahmed! Nothing bad has ever happened in all the times we've done this, right?"

"Well, no, I guess not."

"Exactly! It'll be fine. If anything, we'll just do it one more time and then we'll take a long break... Sound good?"

Ahmed looked up and saw Kyle smiling at him. His reassurance helped calm his nerves. But despite Kyle's affirmation, doubt still lingered in his mind. Ahmed hesitated, but after Kyle made his erect cock twitch at him, he ultimately decided one more transformation couldn't hurt. He wrapped a hand around Kyle's boner, stood up, and kissed him firmly on the lips.

The two men exchanged rough kisses as they pressed their bodies against each other, grunting and groaning as they did so. Kyle then opened his mouth, granting Ahmed the opportunity to slip his tongue inside.

Ahmed's tongue was magical in more ways than one. He knew how to use his tongue well. Ahmed had no problem dominating Kyle's tongue as he took the leading role in their makeout sess. Kyle groaned with delight as Ahmed licked and sucked away at his tongue. As he did so, Ahmed's magic tongue activated and Kyle began to transform. His jawline became wider and sharper as it morphed into a more squared off jaw with some slight stubble to complete his more overtly masculine look. His nose grew thicker and wider until a hooked nose replaced his small, button nose. His cheekbones filled in and grew more pronounced, giving him a ruggedly handsome face. All the while his face began getting darker in skin tone too. His blond, wavy hair darkened until they were jet black and with curls. Darker features were something Ahmed's tongue had never done before, but they were both too caught up in the heat of the moment to even notice.

Ahmed pulled his lips away from Kyle's lips and moved down to his neck. He planted his lips against the left side of his body. He then began licking, sucking, and biting playfully at his neck until hickies began to form, then switched over to the right side.

"Nrgghh fuckk..." Kyle whispered. The heat coming from Ahmed's wet mouth felt good against his neck. His hands gripped the bed sheets as he felt his neck grow thicker and darker with every lick Ahmed gave him. Ahmed ran his tongue from the top of his shoulder blades to the edge of his jawline, causing his shoulder muscles to tighten and thicken. Within seconds, Kyle's back transformed into that of a linebacker thanks to Ahmed's magic tongue. Ahmed moved over into Kyle's armpits next. He stuck his nose into his pit and sniffed his musk. He then licked the crevice if his pits, causing thick black hair to sprout in until Kyle had rank jungles in his underarms. From there, Ahmed slid over to his arms and bit him. He bit and licked all over until Kyle's biceps grew into firm, melon-sized cannons with thick forearms to boot. He licked and licked until veins all throughout Kyle's arms throbbed with strength.

Ahmed continued making his way down Kyle's torso. He stopped at his chest. He licked his nipples until they grew pointy, then proceeded to slip his pec into his mouth and sucked away at his nipple. Kyle's toes curled and his pupils rolled back as Ahmed suckled away at his growing chest. The pleasurable sensations were making him break a sweat. Ahmed didn't mind it though. He was having the time of his life too. The sweat added a slightly salty taste to Kyle's tits. He could feel Kyle's pectoral muscles grow heavier in his mouth as he sucked too, giving his hands something to grab and squeeze as he focused his mouth on his nips. Once he felt Kyle had a suitable set of hefty pecs, Ahmed moved down further to his abdominal region. Ahmed then proceeded to trace the outline of his abs with his tongue. Kyle's flabby stomach region swelled with muscle mass until his abs began popping out one by one like freshly popped popcorn.

In no time flat, Kyle's body had undergone two major transformations. His muscles swelled and grew while also growing darker in color until Kyle had become a muscular Arab god. Every lick Ahmed gave Kyle was pushing him further and further away from his original identity.

Unfortunately, both Ahmed and Kyle were too busy enjoying themselves notice Ahmed was inadvertently changing his roommate's race into his own. Ahmed got back down on his knees with Kyle's cock in hand. He slipped his pink head into his mouth and began licking away at it. He started slowly at first, then gradually made his way down Kyle's lengthy rod inch by inch. All the while Ahmed made sure to use his tongue generously.

"Mmm yeah just like that... Keep sucking that big dick!" Kyle purred, Ahmed moaned in response. He sunk back against the bed as Ahmed's wet mouth wrapped tightly around his hard cock. The sensual feeling of Ahmed's thick, bushy beard pressing against the cleanly shaved base of his cock drove him mad with pleasure. Kyle ran his fingers through his roommate's hair as Ahmed alternated between swirling and licking the sensitive tip of his dick like a melting popsicle, sending rippling sensations throughout his groin every time he did so.

"Ohhh fuckk..! It's happening..!!" Kyle said with bated breath. He threw his head back as he felt a new surge of blood rush into his already erect cock, causing it to grow thicker and heavier by the second.

"Mmmph!!" Ahmed gagged against the expanding cock in his mouth. Suddenly, Kyle's dick was long enough to press against the back of his throat but he refused to give up. He took in a breath through his nose and continued deepthroating Kyle's member until his nose touched his pubis. With his length already pushing 8 inches, Ahmed's magic began affecting Kyle's balls too. They grew and grew until they hung low, heavy with cum.

"Ahhh..! Ahhh..! FUCK!! Ohhh....!!!"

Kyle squirmed from the building pressure in his junk. His body was becoming more muscular and Arab by the second! His balls were practically twitching, begging him for release! Kyle knew how uncomfortable transformation could be, but it was never this powerful before. He knew something was wrong. Amidst waves of pleasure, he opened his eyes and was shocked at what he saw. He had become the muscular adonis again just like he wanted, but his body had unexpectedly become brown too!

"What the fuck..? Noooo...!!"

The darker skin tone was slowly but surely spreading up the length of his pink dick. Kyle tried patting Ahmed in a desperate attempt to stop him, but he took it a sign to not stop sucking him off. Kyle tried to fight it, but between the bomb head and the transformation pains, his body seized up. All he could do was brace himself as his cock twitched and rumbled until he finally shot loads of cum down Ahmed's throat. The moment he pumped out the first load, the growing melanin surged throughout the rest of his body. His legs spasmed as his feet grew bigger and wider until he had smelly, size 14 feet. He had been completely transformed from head to toe.

"Ahhh man! That was good!!" Ahmed swallowed Kyle's load then got up from his knees. "That was more intense than last time! How do you- what the fuck!? Who are you!!"

Ahmed jumped back when he saw the new Arab Kyle laying out in front of him. Kyle held a hand against his temples.

"What are you yelling for... It's me!"

"Kyle!?"

"Who else?"

"But... No! That can't be! You were just supposed to become muscular! Now you look like one of my cousins!!"

"I don't know what to tell you man... Your tongue transformed me, so now I'm gonna look like this for the next couple of days."

The two men shared looks. Kyle held a serious expression while Ahmed looked like he was ready to pass out.

"Well... I guess you're just gonna look like this for a while. Are you gonna be okay?" Ahmed asked.

"Yeah man! I'll be fine!" Kyle flashed Ahmed a smile, but it still took him a while to actually calm down. But once he did, he left the room anxious while a sinister smirk began to form on 'Kyle's' face.

"That fucking idiot..." 'Kyle' said in perfect Arabic. "It took me a long time to squeeze out enough magic out of that fool, but I'm finally fully adjusted to this body!!"

Zahid flashed a grin to himself as he flexed his new body. He was more than happy with the results of his hard work. As he did so, an idea struck him.

"The God's tongue is wasted on someone foolish and cowardly like him... Looks like I'm gonna need one more favor from you, Brother."

The same smirk from before returned to Zahid's face as he looked at himself proudly in the mirror. One that Ahmed had no idea he was responsible for creating with his magic tongue.

#male transformation #male tf #male shapeshift #magic tf #muscle tf #mental change #racial change

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foxy-eva · 7 months

Text

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Summary: Spencer was the right person at the wrong time, no doubt about it. When you’re finally back in town, you’re ready for a fresh start.

Request: Exes with Feelings, Having an Argument, Finding Comfort in Each Other's Arms

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Category: Fluff, Comfort

Content Warnings: mentions past break-up and fighting, a little misunderstanding, heavy kissing

Word count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins New Beginnings Writing Challenge

Masterlist

Endless hours of late-night phone calls. More time spent on planes than inside each other’s arms. Weekends that were never quite long enough.

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Spencer said.

He was nothing but supportive of your decision to take an internship on the other side of the country. There was no doubt that the two of you could make this work, you were soulmates after all.

“So fond it sometimes starts hurting,” you added.

Neither of you expected that what should have been a temporary arrangement could turn into something more permanent. But when you got offered a full-time position for your dream job, you had to make the most difficult decision of your life.

“You could come with me, you know,” you told him after letting him in on your decision to take the job offer. He only shook his head.

“Why is your job more important than mine?” You hissed, angry that he wasn’t even considering that option. When he didn’t answer, you added, “Why is your job more important than me?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Neither of you wanted to end this relationship but after that argument you knew it was inevitable. Spencer’s stubbornness stood in the way of him begging you to stay, even though you wished for nothing more than one of those cheesy airport scenes from the romcom movies you liked to watch together.

He never showed up, though.

It was hard to believe that all of that happened almost a year ago. The heartache never fully went away and it got worse now that you were back, walking the streets of a city you once called home. Your job made you happy for a while but after months of trying and failing to make new friends, you had to admit to yourself that you missed your old life.

And more than anything, you missed Spencer.

The city still felt familiar as you stepped closer to the apartment building you spent so many days and nights in. It was almost like no time had passed when you walked up the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. The hallway still carried the same scent of old wood and the steps still creaked underneath your feet. Before you had reached his door another memory flooded your mind.

Turning your head, you looked down the hallway and remembered how Spencer spun you around right there in a little impromptu dance when you came home from one of Rossi’s infamous dinner parties. You were happy then - some might even call you naive - and so convinced that you’d spend the rest of your life with the man of your dreams.

The more you got lost in reminiscing about times long gone, the more you could almost feel the warmth Spencer always radiated. Your skin started tingling where he used to press his palms against you, holding your close as if nothing could ever come between the two of you.

You sighed as you let those memories go. There were so many uncertainties as you stepped closer to his door. You weren’t sure if he still lived here and you didn’t know if he had found someone else to keep close since you left. The rational part of your brain knew that you should have called him before showing up, that he might not even want to see you.

But those past months you recognized that you were nothing but a fool when it came to love and romance. He didn’t show up at the airport for you but a part of you still believed he would take you back just like the people in those romcoms always did.

Relief washed over you when you found his name still written on the door of apartment 23.

Three knocks. No answer.

You lingered for a few moments to listen for any movement behind his door but there was none. Spencer wasn’t home and your life really wasn’t some corny movie.

As you walked away from his door you contemplated your options. Maybe you should send him a text or even write him a letter to let him know you’re back in town.

Or maybe you should just let it go.

Just when you reached the last step, a tall curly-haired man entered the building. You recognized him instantly, many moments before he even realized that you were there. He greeted the doorman before turning his head towards the staircase and spotting you.

Spencer’s face was impossible to read and looked nothing like you imagined whenever you dreamed about running into him again. Where you hoped to find a bright smile, only a thin line was visible. He looked as if he wasn’t sure you were real, as if he couldn’t trust his own eyes.

“Hi Spencer,” you broke the silence.

“H..Hi,” he stammered as he stepped closer. “What are you doing here?”

I’m trying to win you back. I came to tell you how much I miss you. I want to start over. I’m still in love with you.

There were many things you could have answered but none of the obvious explanations made it past your lips. Instead you said, “I have a job interview.”

Spencer was confused and raised his eyebrows. “In my building?”

“No, not here of course,” you awkwardly laughed. “I have a job interview here in DC tomorrow. And I thought I’d come by to say hi.”

Spencer just stood there like a doe caught in the headlights. It still seemed like he had a hard time processing what was happening.

Right when he wanted to open his mouth, a raven-haired woman entered the building behind him. She was almost as tall as him and absolutely gorgeous.

“Hey, are you ready to leave?” She asked when Spencer turned around to look at her.

“I’ll be there in a second,” he answered before finding your eyes again. “I’m sorry but now is not a good time. Can I call you later?”

Of course he had found someone else.

You were too late.

“Don't worry about it!” You said and quickly walked away from the most awkward situation you had ever been in.

When you were almost around the corner, you heard Spencer call out your name, followed by, “Please wait!”

Turning around, you found him running towards you. He slowed down the closer he got, coming to a halt about an arm-length away from you. He looked back and you followed his sight, spotting the woman getting into a car. She didn't drive away, instead it seemed like she was waiting for him.

It was as if you were struck by lightning when you suddenly felt Spencer's arms wrapping around you. A hug was the last thing you had expected in that moment. It took you a moment to reciprocate the gesture, your arms closing around his body as if no time had passed since you last got a chance to do that.

Never before had an embrace felt so healing. Like two lost puzzle pieces finally finding their way back to each other. You instantly felt the warmth he radiated entering your body and flooding through you.

For a few seconds it was nice to pretend that no time had passed but once you remembered her, reality came crashing down on you. You wanted him to be happy more than anything but you couldn't deny that you still wished it could be you who he’d find happiness with.

You were the first to let go, slowly stepping back to find his eyes. “I’m glad you found someone. She seems lovely,” you said while attempting to smile.

“What..? Oh you mean Tara?” He turned his head to look back at her car for a second. “She’s my new coworker. I’m actually on the job right now, it’s a local case. I was just stopping by the apartment to grab some books I needed.”

Oh.

“I really gotta get back to Quantico now. Where are you staying?”

You mentioned the name of the friend you were staying with and told him, “I’m sorry I came by unannounced. You usually have Sundays off so I thought I’d give it a try.”

Spencer smiled at you and said, “No, I’m glad you did. It might be late when I get back tonight but I would really like to talk more.”

“I’m still a night owl,” you snickered. “Just call me when you're on your way home.”

Several hours passed until your phone finally rang. The call was short, just a simple agreement you’d meet him at his place in about thirty minutes.

When you stood in front of his door this time, you almost didn't have the courage to knock. After taking a deep breath, you did it anyway.

As if he had been waiting right at the other side of the door, he opened immediately and let you step inside.

“I like the way you wear your hair now. It looks great,” he complimented you.

You noticed that he looked different, too. His hair was longer but his curls still seemed unruly. Just like they used to when you still had the chance to let your fingers brush through them.

You smiled at him. “You look good, too.”

It seemed like time had stood still inside his apartment. A few more books were scattered around and it looked a little more messy than what you were used to, but all in all it was still very familiar. Muscle memory led you to the same spot on his couch you always liked to sit in.

Spencer followed you, taking his seat beside you. It was hard to find the right words when you looked into his eyes. The color of his irises reminded you of wild honey, so warm and alluring you couldn't get enough of looking at them.

Before you got too lost, Spencer decided to start the conversation.

“So, you have a job interview tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I do,” you confirmed. “I want to move back here. I miss DC.”

I miss you, was what you really wanted to say.

“What about your job in Seattle?”

You just shrugged and mumbled, “I’m ready for something new, I guess. Seattle never felt like home.” After a moment of uncomfortable silence you added, “I never should have left.”

Spencer shook his head. “Eventually, you would have regretted not taking that chance. And you probably would have resented me for that.”

“I never thought I would be someone who chose career over love,” you confessed.

“It’s not that simple,” he disagreed. “I was just too stubborn and hurt to see it back then. It took several months until I could understand that I was trying to hold you back from starting a promising career. That wasn’t fair. I could have easily transferred to the Seattle field office or maybe start teaching at a university there. At the time you didn't have the same opportunities here in DC.”

His words surprised you. It was an admission you never thought you’d hear from him.

“You wanted to choose love and career by asking me to come with you,” he continued, his tone laced with pain. “I was the one who chose his career over love. And I really regret that.”

“Spencer,” you whispered as you moved closer to him. “I missed you so much.”

He reached out his hand to touch yours. “I missed you, too.”

His touch let something snap inside you, suddenly you were not able to hold back any longer. Without a warning your lips found his, feverishly kissing him as if you could somehow make up for lost time.

He didn't seem surprised about your display of affection. Instead he reciprocated the kiss with a similar amount of enthusiasm. It was not enough though, there was still too much space between you.

It was obvious that Spencer felt the same way, his hands pressing against your body until you had found your way into his lap. Between heavy breaths and lips brushing against one another, you started to forget your surroundings.

Your chest was pushed flush against his, your racing heart sensing its counterpart inside his ribcage and skipping several beats.

“Please, Spencer,” you whimpered against his lips, unable to let everything in your mind spill from your mouth.

I’m sorry for leaving you. Please give me another chance. I love you.

There was no need for those words to be spoken. Spencer understood anyway.

“I’m yours,” he cooed between more kisses. “I have always been yours.”

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