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celandeline · 3 months

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The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader, mostly canon compliant (yes, people are still dying/getting maimed), heavy on the smut, incest (they are targaryens, obv), a little angst

9.5k words (buckle up)

You were born at the end of a long summer’s day, just as the last sliver of sun was sinking below the waves of the bay. Your sister was born on the same day, just after the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. Twin Targaryen girls, Helaena and Jaenara, the second and third of Alicent Hightower’s children.

The summer has always held a special place in your heart - not only because of your nameday, but because of the way the heat of the day lingers in the air long after the sun has set. The sound of a warm breeze as it rustles through the courtyard flowers, spreading the lovely floral scent. The feeling of the sun on your skin - the taste of fresh fruit grown outside the city. You’ve always loved the summer. You love it especially now, the only thing making this godforsaken funeral bearable.

Next to you, Aegon snags two more glasses of wine from a passing serving girl, handing one to you with a limp wrist and a sigh. He downs half his glass in one long draught. “I don’t understand why Helaena.” He grumbles, gesturing to where she sits on the ground with his glass, the wine sloshing inside. “If I must marry at all, why not you?”

You take a long sip from your own glass, leaning back against the store railing overlooking the sea. Driftmark, while much more drab than the Red Keep, has one thing going for it - the pleasant smell of salt in the air, and the sound of the waves against the shore. “Our mother thinks that if we were to be wed, I would enable you.” You say.

Aegon snorts, finishing off his drink. “As if Helaena will do anything to stop me from my hedonistic desires.” He jokes, quoting Alicent. “If it’s not to do with grasshoppers, it’s not to do with her.”

You neglect to snicker along with him, simply pressing your lips to the rim of your glass as you watch your dear sister pass a spider back and forth between her hands, muttering under her breath. She’s always been something of a dreamer, your Helaena, something the rest of your family doesn’t seem to notice. But you, always in tune to your sister from the moment you were born, know. Threads of omniscience run through her mutterings, though deciphering them sometimes is beyond you.

“Some could say the same about you, with wine and whores.” You say, glancing knowingly at Aegon. “We all have our compulsions - some worse than others.”

“I only jest.” Aegon says, defensive. You can tell he’s getting drunker, his movements becoming more loose, his words louder.

“Hm.” You finish your glass, setting the empty cup on the railing beside you. “Is it truly in jest if you are the only one laughing?”

“Perhaps it is better that I marry Helaena instead of you.” Aegon says, leaning close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath. “You do have a way of inciting my annoyance, Jaenara. No, I do not think you would make a good wife.”

You lean even closer, all too ready to play Aegon’s game. Your teeth scrape over his ear as you retort, “No, you’ve always liked the ones who won’t fight back, haven’t you?”

The tension breaks as Aegon laughs, tossing his head back as he steps away, putting a respectable amount of distance between you again. You chuckle as well, until another voice - softer, younger - cuts through your chortling. Aemond.

“What’s funny?”

Aegon, not subtle at all, rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“We were just discussing Aegon’s betrothal.” You say, shifting so that Aemond can lean against the railing beside you. You’ve never understood Aegon’s disdain for your baby brother - something your nephews seem to share. “Or rather,” You cast a joking look to Aegon. “Aegon was complaining about it.”

“‘Tis your duty.” Aemond says, ever so serious.

Aegon rolls his eyes again, gesturing widely at Helaena. “Look at her.”

“Aegon-” You start.

“I would do my duty, if only mother had betrothed us.” Aemond retorts.

Aegon flaps a hand. “The both of you.” He dismisses, eyes scanning through the thin crowd. “I’m going to get more wine.” And with that, he’s gone, sliding between chatting relatives in the wake of a serving girl, chasing after the wine she carries.

You place a hand atop Aemond’s head with a sigh, gently carding it through the silky silver hair there. “He can be such an ass, our brother.”

Aemond looks up at you with a thin smile. “Mm.”

The blood on your hands is not yours, but your brothers, smeared across your forearms from when you’d clutched his face in your hands, holding closed the gash across his eye with your thumbs as the maester stitched the wound back together. Now, he smears tears and snot across the bodice of your gown, the good side of his face pressed against the thin fabric of your nightclothes as he clutches you with shaking hands.

Your mother is screaming. Aegon is huddled against the wall of the room, no doubt already suffering a hangover from how much he drank. Helaena stands to your left, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the scene before her, gaze absent. You watch in horror as your mother wields a knife against Rhaenyra, spitting insults like venom. Ser Cole is pressed almost chest to chest with Daemon. Your little nephew, Lucerys’ face is bloodied.

You have no idea what happened. But Aemond is missing an eye. And Vhagar is now his dragon, instead of Laena’s daughters. You knew - known, now - that his lack of a dragon had always been a sore spot for Aemond, but you never would have guessed that he would go to such drastic measures to claim a beast of his own. And Vhagar, no less.

You expect him to cry, to whimper in pain, to react, but he just holds onto the gauzy fabric of your nightdress and keeps the unmarred side of his face pressed close to your chest. Hiding, almost.

You soothe a hand down his back, pressing him closer. “It’ll be alright.” You say, your voice lost amongst the carrying on. It won’t be. He’ll be scarred forever, he’ll have to re-learn how to walk, how to write, how to do anything that requires vision. It’ll take him years to recover fully.

“I know.” He says, voice soft. Level. Even.

And it’s his calm reassurance that makes you believe your own words. It will be alright, one way or another.

Hand in hand, you walk your brother through the halls of the Red Keep, towards the training yards, for his swordsmanship lessons. Servants and nobles alike avert their eyes as you pass, some out of respect, some out of disgust. It’s true - the scar across Aemond’s face is nothing delightful to look at, a motley of yellow and purple swollen skin, the scabs leaking pus. But you do not look away. He is your brother, and he receives enough torment from Aegon already.

He clutches your hand tightly, holding it like a bannister as he puts one foot in front of the other, his good eye steadfastly looking ahead. Sometimes his balance sways (especially around turns or on the steps) but he’s getting better. “You’ll be able to come and go as you please again soon.” You say, not bothering to hide the pride in your tone.

He scoffs. “I can’t stay a cripple forever.”

Aemond was never sweet. But the loss of his eye has only soured him more. You roll your eyes, teasing, “You’d do well to save your bitterness for someone who’s not capable of causing you to fall down the stairs at a moment's notice.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Apologies, sister.” He mumbles.

You sigh. “I only joke, Aemond.” Aegon has ruined him, picking at all of his insecurities without remorse until he bristles at the slightest hint of humor, thinking an insult is coming.

His good eye shifts away from the hall in front of him for a moment to cast you a sidelong glance.

“Not all of us are Aegon.” You insist, rounding the corner with him to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. Ser Cole is already waiting, whirling his sword from hand to hand idly as Aegon straps himself into his practice armor. Aemond lets go of your hand as soon as he sees Aegon, taking shaky steps onto the field proper, alone.

Aegon pays him no mind, his gaze falling on you. “Jaenara. Come help me.”

“Your lack of manners is appalling.” You say, walking over to him anyway, taking the leather straps of his breastplate from him and tightening them over his shoulders. “What would mother say?”

Aegon just grins. “Meet me tonight.” He says, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial register. He doesn’t have to say where - you’ve snuck out with him before. You know the route. “A traveling troupe has arrived in Flea Bottom, supposedly.”

“Sunset?” You ask, dropping your hands from the straps on his shoulders to the ones near his waist.

“Mm.” He watches you work, still grinning.

“Alright.” You say, stepping back.

His grin widens into a smile as he twirls his sword. “What fun we’ll have.”

The sun has begun to light the sky when you stumble back into the Red Keep with Aegon, giggling under your hoods as you sneak past the white cloaks back to your chambers. Really, it can barely be called sneaking anymore - you know they see you return, you know they saw you leave. The only reason they don’t trail you through the streets of the city is because Alicent doesn’t know, and hasn’t ordered them to, so why do the extra work?

You sway into Aegon’s shoulder as you walk, all the wine that you drank making your head spin. Taking you by the arm, he only makes it worse as he begins to waltz you down the hall, jauntily humming the same tune you’d been dancing to in a tavern earlier. Laughing like a fool, you tip your head back and let him dance you about, until he deposits you against the wall by your bedroom door, caging you in against the stone.

You know he’s going to kiss you - he always does, at the end of the night. Gently, he presses his lips to yours, and you smile into it. He doesn’t kiss you like he kisses his whores - nor do you kiss him as you do yours. It’s a chaste thing, only a moment before you’re both pulling back to look at each other.

“As sweet as wine.” He whispers.

“Mm.” You bite your lip in a grin. “Goodnight, Aegon.”

“Good morning.” He giggles, pushing away from the wall to stumble back to his own bed.

You slip into your own room, dropping your cloak and dress from your shoulders, one after the other, as soon as you are inside. Just in your shift, you turn to flop into the soft comfort of your bed, only to see a lump under the covers that wasn’t there when you left. Slowly, you peel back the sheets to reveal Aemond, face pressed into your pillow, soundly asleep.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips as you climb into bed beside him, doing your best not to disturb his slumber. He stirs anyway though, good eye cracking open with a jolt, softening when he realizes it’s you. Extending an arm, you make space for him to curl up against your chest, and he does, tucking his face under your chin.

“You were with Aegon.” It’s mildly accusatory, but mostly sleepy.

“Mm.” You don’t deny it, stroking a hand through Aemond’s hair. “And you were here. In my bed.” You press your nose to the top of his head. “What troubles you, Aemond?”

“My eye.” He says. “The pain. It’s more than just the skin, it… it stabs me through the skull, sometimes. Makes it hard to fall asleep.”

“We will see the maesters in the morning.” You say, still gently stroking. “Perhaps they will be able to come up with some tincture to soothe you.”

He lets out a sleepy little hum, and settles more against you. Your own eyes flutter shut, and your stroking hand moves to wrap around his shoulders instead. It’s quiet, for a while, and for a moment you think he’s drifted off, but then,

“Will you take me with you, once?”

“To Flea Bottom?”

“Mm.”

You pause for a moment. “If you wish. Perhaps when you’re a bit older.”

“How old?”

“At least as old as I was when Aegon first took me with him.”

“And how old was that?”

You smile into his hair. “Give it a year.”

“Mm. Alright.”

The quality of Aemond’s eye improves drastically over the course of a year, so that by the time he dons his own cloak and takes to the streets of King’s Landing with you and Aegon, it almost blends into his face. The scar is a long pale thing that trails down his cheek, and the only part of the injury that escapes the eyepatch. Under the shadow of his hood, it’s barely noticeable.

He trails a half-step after you and Aegon, clearly unsure. You don’t blame him, it’s quite a change from within the walls of the Red Keep, but an exhilarating one at that. Arm in arm, you and Aegon lead the way, moving smoothly through the crowds to one of your favorite haunts, a little brothel tucked away near the edge of the city.

You can hear the sounds of pleasure emanating from within before you even step foot in the building, and the area around the door is crowded with hangers-on, men who can’t pay their whores dues. Aegon pushes through them all easily, and you glance back to make sure Aemond isn’t lost before following him inside.

The place reeks of incense, barely covering the smells of sweat and sex, but it’s familiar to you. On instinct, your eyes scan the crowd of the main chamber, searching for your favorite whore, a beauty named Falyse with long lashes and plump lips. You can feel Aemond pull closer to you in the presence of such debauchery, and you glance down at him again, to find him already looking at you.

“This is a brothel.” He says.

“Aye.” You grin, glancing at Aegon.

Aegon smiles wide, clapping Aemond on the shoulder. “Tonight is the night that you become a man, brother! Your first taste of the best pleasure the world can offer.”

Catching sight of a familiar shock of black hair, you turn, meeting Falyse’s eyes through the throngs of men. “I must take my leave.” You say, petting Aemond’s head. “But you are in good hands with Aegon. And I won't be far.”

“Alright.” Aemond says. He’s still unsure, clearly, but there’s no time for hesitation once Aegon’s swept Aemond up in his frenzy. You slip away, weaving through the writhing bodies until you reach the other side of the room, where Falyse is pouring a glass of wine for another patron. She’s barely clothed, so you can feel the goosebumps that rise when you snake an arm around her middle and rest your chin on her shoulder.

“Princess.” She greets you with a sultry purr.

“My lady.” You return, laying your lips in the junction of her neck. “I’ve missed you so.”

She’s quick to pull you away from the main room, behind a thick curtain to an empty bed. It’s a familiar dance that you do - she makes a show of ridding you of your clothes, running her soft hands up and down your body until you’re dripping. Then she lays her mouth on you - her wonderful mouth that could pull honey from even the most stalwart of noble women. She never lets you rest with only one peak, no she delights in working as many from you as she can, until you’re pushing her away. Then it’s your turn to return the favor, licking at her until her sweet moans fill the air and you can feel her clenching around your tongue. You’ve earned her devotion in that way - on more than one occasion, she’s confessed that no man has ever thought of her pleasure, on their own.

“Well, I am no man.” You’d responded.

It’s an exhausting affair, this dance, so it often ends with you curled around her on the bed, listening to her share the latest gossip of the smallfolk whilst you twist her hair into intricate braids, the kind only Targaryens wear, a sign she’s been with royalty. You’ve just finished your handiwork, laughing along to a story about the smallest cock she’s ever seen, when the curtains part, and Aemond slips into the room, clearly close to tears.

Immediately you sit up, paying no mind to the fact that you’re completely bare. “What’s wrong?”

Holding back tears, he hesitates for a moment before climbing into your lap, pressing his face between your breasts with a shaky sigh. You clutch him to you, guilt and regret sinking into your heart. Too young. He’s always been more sensitive than you, or Aegon, you should have waited to include him in your revelry. Too young, too young.

Falyse sits up as well, raising a questioning brow. You shake your head, and run your fingers down your brother’s back. For a while, the room is silent as Aemond’s breathing calms, and then he pulls his face away, sliding out of your lap to sit next to you instead. Looking down, he hides behind long curtains of hair, but not before you catch a glimpse of his expression. Shame.

Gently, you break the silence. “Aemond, this is my friend, Falyse. Falyse, my dear brother.”

Falyse smiles warmly, peering underneath Aemond’s hair. “A pleasure to meet you, my prince.”

“You must tell him what you were telling me.” You say. “Oh, it’s hilarious, Aemond, you must listen.”

He perks up slightly, as Falyse starts her story again - and she does get him to laugh, but the hurt doesn’t leave his eyes, and the guilt begins to pool in your stomach.

The sapphire is weighty in the pocket of your gown, and bounces heavy against your leg as you rise from the dinner table, dipping your head towards your father before you take your leave, following your siblings out of the hall. Aemond’s nameday feast was a small affair, per request of the prince, and he only received books from both of your parents - leatherbound histories of Valyria that look entirely too large in his little arms as he carries them back to his bedroom.

“Aemond.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, and you pluck one of the books from his hold, tucking it under your arm. With your other hand, you pull the sapphire from your pocket, and hold your closed fist out to him. “Here.”

Looking at you curiously, he holds out a hand, and you drop the sapphire into it. “A sapphire.” He says.

“For your eye.” You explain. “I had the masons fashion it so that you can slide it into the socket. I thought it might suit you.” Jokingly, you add, “And perhaps improve your standing with the court ladies.”

He huffs out a little laugh, examining the gemstone with a careful eye. “Thank you Jaenara.”

You smile, reveling in the first laugh you’ve won from him in a very long time.

Ser Cole and Aemond behind you, you lead them through the streets of Flea Bottom in the early morning light. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, showing them all of Aegon’s usual haunts, but the situation is dire, and your brother needs to be found. Your father is dead, and it was his dying wish, your mother said, for Aegon to be king.

The brothel looks different in the daylight, drab and empty. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you bound up the steps to the door and bang the heavy knocker twice on the wood. With any luck, you can get a hold of Falyse - if Aegon was here last night, she will let you know, free of charge.

It is not Falyse that answers the door, but the brothel Madame, Sylvi. A familiar face to you, albeit one that you have not had the pleasure of knowing under more intimate circumstances. Her eyes scan over your face, and then Aemond and Cole behind you. Stooping into a short curtsy, she asks. “And what can I do for you, my lady?”

“I am looking for my brother.” You say.

“He seems to be behind you-”

“My other brother. Aegon.” You clarify. “Was he here last night?”

“I’m afraid not.” She says.

You turn back to face your companions. Cole sighs, glancing around the streets like he might spot Aegon passed out in the mud. Aemond’s eye is on the Madame, a mixture of contempt and something else stirring in his gaze.

“Where else, then?” Cole asks.

“I don’t know.” You wrack your mind, tracing through all of the taverns and brothels you frequent with your brother, all places that you’ve stopped before arriving here, all with the same result. “This was the last place I could think of.”

Cole swears under his breath.

Aemond breezes back down the steps, his mouth set in a determined line. “He must be somewhere. Come, we will try the fighting pits next.”

You murmur your thanks to the Madame before following after Aemond and Cole, worry sinking into your gut. Leave it to Aegon to get swallowed up by the city when the realm needs him most.

Meleys’ breath washes over you as you stare down the dragon’s maw, expecting to see the glow of fire any moment, signaling your end. There is no time for action - in the few seconds you would have before flame reached you, there is no way you could reach your own dragon, Vermithor, to have any hope of combatting Rhaenys. Instead, you grasp Helaena’s arm and try to ignore how your hands shake.

Aemond steps in front of the both of you, obscuring your view of Rhaenys atop her dragon with one hand on his sword. As if something as feeble as that will do anything against a dragon.

You wait, feeling your sister with whom you shared your mother’s womb tremble underneath your grasp.

You wait, watching Aemond’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath in front of you.

You wait, watching as your mother steps in front of Aegon, one hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice.

A tidal wave of relief floods through you as Rhaenys pulls at the reins, and Meleys backs off, slipping through the doors of the dragonpit just before they swing closed, casting the room into semi-darkness. Alive. You’re alive - as is Helaena, and Aemond and Aegon. All of you, alive. You watch your mother almost fall to her knees as the relief washes through her, and then you are wrapped up in Helaena’s arms as she crushes herself to your chest. You return the hug with vigor, your eyes finding Aemond’s over her shoulder.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

Something is happening. They’ve been locked in the small council chamber even since Aemond returned from Storm’s End. It’s been hours since your brother dismounted Vhagar, soaked to the bone and looking more shaken than you’ve ever seen him. You have no idea what happened, or what’s being discussed. Now, more than ever, you curse not being born a man.

Still, there is nothing to do but wait.

So you do, steeping in the burning hot waters of Aemond’s bathtub, idly flipping with damp fingers through a series of poems you’d found in your great-grandfather Jaehaerys’s saddlebag when you’d claimed his dragon. Some of them you recognize as things he’d copied from other poets, some are his own musings about his wife, Alysanne. He wasn’t half bad, in your opinion.

You snap the booklet closed as the door to the bathroom opens, and Aemond slips inside, still dressed in his soaked riding leathers. He stills when he lays eyes on you, obviously not expecting anyone to have been waiting for him. But you just smile, and set your book aside.

“I had them draw a bath.” You say. “I figured you would want a soak, after flying in the rain. Scalding, of course.”

He smiles, and starts on the buttons of his overcoats, the fabric falling to the floor with a wet slap. His trousers are next, and then his eyepatch, set on top of your book before he slides into the bath behind you with a sigh, his head falling back against the edge of the tub.

“Very thoughtful of you, sister.” He says, eye fluttering shut.

“Mm.” You turn around in the tub, collecting a rag that you’d draped over the side and dipping it into the hot water, beginning to run it over his skin that isn’t submerged. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoes of droplets falling back into the tub as you wash him, until you speak again. “What business kept you in council so long?”

A tension settles in his jaw. “Lucerys Velaryon was also at Storm’s End.”

“You failed to win their allegiance?” You ask, surprised.

“No. Lord Borros was easily won when I promised myself to one of his daughters.” You brother opens his eye. “But Lucerys is dead, at my hand.”

You set the rag aside, your mind spinning. Lucerys, dead. As if things weren’t already pointing towards all out war after your father changed his mind about the succession. “How?”

Something in his expression shifts and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Vhagar.” He says, his voice cracking slightly. “I only meant to scare him, but she knows my anger… I cannot pretend that I did not fantasize about killing him. I did not think that she would…” He swallows, collecting himself. “Our mother is less than pleased with me.”

“Our mother could never understand the bond between dragon and rider.” You say, consoling. You lay a hand gently on his face, over his scar, and run your thumb under the sapphire that sits in his eye. “You cannot be blamed for your anger at the boy who maimed you. Vhagar cannot be blamed for sharing that sentiment.” You pause. “It is a regrettable accident. And I am sorry for Rhaenyra and her children.”

He takes a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around your middle, and pressing his face into your shoulder, holding you to him as tightly as possible. Already wet from the bath, the few tears he sheds onto your skin make no difference. You say nothing, but pick up a comb from the short table beside the tub and begin to work it through his hair.

You wake up to a sharp pain in the side of your neck, like the skin has been sliced open. One hand flies to the wound, and the other slips under your mattress, pulling the long dagger you keep there free of its sheath in a smooth motion. You sit up, the knife brandished before you, only to find your bedroom empty, the only motion being that of the curtains fluttering from the breeze of your open window.

You pull your other hand away from your neck, expecting to see blood. Your palm is blank, the skin unmarred. In the reflection of your blade, you inspect your neck, only to find nothing. A phantom wound, perhaps from a dream. Anyone else would have simply gone back to sleep. But this is not the first time you and your sister have shared each other’s injuries.

You rise quickly, knife still in hand as you dart from your chambers, heading down the hall at a quick clip. It’s eerily empty - not a white cloak in sight. Something is wrong, you’re sure of it, the echo of your footsteps on the stone only serving to further put you on edge as you approach the nursery. The door stands ajar, flickering candlelight seeping out into the hall from within.

Slowly, carefully, you peer around the door. The room is empty - silent. The door creaks as you edge your way inside, turning to glance at the children’s beds. It is then that you see it - the headless body of your nephew, blood still seeping out of the stump of his neck into his bedsheets. Your blood runs ice cold, and then burning hot as rage fills you. Your gaze drops to the blood spatters on the floor, little droplets lead out into the hall.

Readjusting your grip on your dagger, you break into a sprint, following the trail.

Your bare feet slap in harsh rhythm against the stone, your eyes flicking back and forth from the floor to the hall in front of you as you follow the blood splatters. It is too late now. Jaehaerys is dead already, but you have to do something, you must. You can see candles being lit as you whip past door after door, the Keep slowly waking as the horror sets in, but you do not stop.

You do not stop even when you turn an ankle as you round a corner, because there he is, a tall man in a hooded cloak, a burlap sack tightly clutched in his hand, blood dripping through the fibers. Stumbling, you push yourself back up with your hands, and with a mighty scream, leap at the mans back, knocking him forward.

The bag tumbles to the ground, and Jaehaerys’ head rolls out, jaw slack and eyes wide.

“The fuck-” The man growls, knocking you from his back. You fall to the ground, but force yourself to your feet again, diving forward, your dagger poised to strike. Bigger and stronger than you, he grabs your wrist, bending the bone until it snaps. Tears flood your vision as the pain washes over you, but you do not stop. Gritting your teeth, you drive your dagger into the soft skin of his side, between where his ribs end and his hips begin.

He groans, releasing your wrist, and you leap at him again, clawing at his face as you sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting as hard as you can. You can feel the blows he’s raining on you, but you hold on, savoring the taste of his blood as it floods your mouth, coppery and strong. His hands wrap around your broken wrist, and you wail again, your voice muffled by his skin in your mouth.

But then there are hands around your waist, and the clank of armor fills your ears. Two white cloaks tackle the man to the ground as Aemond pulls you from his grasp, pressing your back to his chest.

“Kill him!” You shout, eyes locked on the man as the guards beat him into submission before hauling him up to his feet. “Kill him!”

“Jaenara.” Aemond’s voice is low in your ear. “The maesters…”

You try to shake him off, but your brother doesn’t relent, gently steering you away from the guards and little Jaehaerys’ head on the floor, back into the relative calm of the halls. As the adrenaline fades, pain begins to wrack your body in waves, and you find yourself leaning against Aemond as tears fill your vision.

“Helaena,” You gasp, chest heaving as sobs build up in your throat.

“With Cole, and our mother. Jaehaera, as well.” Aemond assures you.

“They,” You say, working around the lump in your throat. “Put a knife. To her throat.” You bring your fingers up to the side of your neck, where the pain had awoken you. “Here.”

“I’m sure she’s being tended to.” He says. Gently, he pulls your arm up, inspecting your wrist, bent at an odd angle and already starting to swell. “We must tend to you too.”

Too exhausted to insist that there are more important things to be dealt with, you let him steer you along.

You watch little Jaehaerys’ body bounce with the movement of the carriage in front of you, slightly obscured by the mourning veil you wear. Helaena sits beside you, pressed between you and your mother, eyes firmly pointed up at the sky. She’s empty, you can feel the echo of it in your own body, as you’re sure she can feel a hint of the festering anger you yourself are harboring.

It will only be a matter of time now, before you don your armor and mount Vermithor for battle. You pity the fool who will fly to meet you.

The wails of the smallfolk fill the city streets as you pass, petals filling the air as they toss handfuls at the carriages, shouting their grief in harmony. The news of Jaehaerys death had swept through the city like fire, just as your grandsire had suggested it would. Now, more than ever, the smallfolk hated Rhaenyra - there would be no public protest of the war that was brewing.

But you cannot help but feel angered by the whole thing as your little nephew’s body shakes with the movement of the carriage in front of you. To be reduced to a martyr, at such a young age. And knowingly, by his own kin. It is an ugly, ugly thing.

Helaena’s eyes finally drop from the sky, and your mother shifts, extending a hand to touch her arm. Helaena shrinks away instinctually, leaning further into you, and you shift, allowing her to press herself against your side, her head falling into the crook of your neck.

You do not need to speak to know what she is thinking. You rest a hand on the back of her head, and let her curl into you, feeling her heartbeat against your own.

“Cole and I will cut them off entirely.” Aemond says, laying another marker on the map, over Rook’s Rest. “And with Rhaenyra confined to Dragonstone, it should be simple enough to take Harrenhal without interruption.”

You let your gaze sweep over the map, stopping at each marker Aemond had put down. “A clever plan.” You agree. “And Aegon also approves?”

Aemond scoffs at that, leaning back in his chair, the light from the fireplace dancing over his face. “What does it matter?”

“He is the king.” You say simply, lifting your gaze to look at your brother. “It is his war that we fight.”

“He is a figurehead.” Aemond says, rising from his seat to circle around the table, coming to stand behind you. “At the hands of our mother and grandsire. His only purpose is to lend them free reign.”

“He is our brother, and liege lord.” You say, standing from your own seat and turning to face him. “You speak treason, Aemond.”

“Mm.” Aemond hums, eye drifting over your face. “I forget, sometimes, that you are partial to him.”

“He is my brother.” You repeat. “And my Helaena is his wife.”

Silence permeates the room, and for a moment, the only sound is that of the crackling fire. But Aemond’s soft voice breaks through again. “Did you ever let him fuck you?”

The question takes you aback, and you laugh. “What?”

“In all your whoring together, did you ever let him fuck you?” He asks again, unwavering.

“No.” You say. “I have no taste for his particular flavor of depravity.” Not that Aegon ever tried, either. That wasn’t - isn’t - the nature of your friendship.

“Hm.” Aemond hums, turning back to the map sprawled across the table. “Vermithor will be needed to secure the Riverlands.” He continues, like the discussion never strayed from battle in the first place. He leans over the map, tracing a long finger over the stretch of the reach.

“Of course.” You agree, confused.

It’s been too long since you last did this.

Wine flowing through your veins, you walk arm in arm with Aegon, leading the way to the old brothel, his friends and squire - the reason for the night - behind you. The crowd parts as you step through the brothel doors, a hush falling over the gathered patrons. The quiet only lasts for a moment before whispers take its place, hushed words about the king himself being a patron tonight.

Aegon, of course, pays these whispers no mind, dropping your arm in favor of grasping his squire by the shoulders, speaking grandly about the pleasures of manhood. It makes you think of a similar night many years ago, when you’d brought Aemond to this very brothel. Guilt floods you for a moment, but is quickly quelled when soft hands wind over your shoulders, and a sultry voice whispers in your ears.

“Princess.”

You turn, delighted to see Falyse - delighted enough, that with the wine already in you, you plant a wet kiss to her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “My sweet lady, my own heart.” You croon. “It has been far too long.”

She laughs, raspy and seductive, her eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. “I did not know that all three of you would be joining us tonight.” She says, winding her arms about your shoulders. “Just like when you were younger.”

“Mm.” You find yourself agreeing before her words really register. “Wait, three? Is Aemond-?”

But it’s too late, you know it is as soon as Aegon’s raucous laughter booms through the room. You turn away from Falyse, finding your brother amidst the crowd, having abandoned his squire in favor of sinking next to Aemond on a bed, a wide grin crawling over his face.

You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you can see Aemond shrinking in on himself, curling away from the Madame, who he’d been laying with. Winding Falyse’s hands away from your shoulders, you bring her knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there. “Another time, my lady.”

“Of course.” She says, understanding flashing across her gaze.

You push through the gathered patrons towards your brothers, but Aemond meets you halfway, stalking through the crowd naked as the day he was born, clearly fuming. He pauses when his eye falls on you, clearly not having expected you to be here as well, and you watch his lip tremble ever so slightly. But he does not cry.

“Aemond.” You say, unsure how to broach the subject.

“Jaenara.” He returns, icy.

A pause stretches between you, and Aemond turns to leave, but you grab his arm, stopping him. “Come back home with me.” You say.

You think he’ll spurn you, hiss some insult that’s more for Aegon than for you, but he sighs, “Fine.”

He does not speak to you until you stand at his bedroom door. You feel as though you should say something, apologize on Aegon’s behalf in some way, but you don’t get the chance before Aemond is beckoning you into his chambers with a quiet, “Come.”

You do, not realizing what he wants until the door is shut behind you and you’re pressed against it, your brother's lips pressing insistently into yours. You only hesitate for a moment before kissing him back, giving him what he wants. He melts into it, softening as he realizes that you won’t reject him, cradling you into his arms.

When he pulls back, his voice is breathy. “I’m going to kill him.”

It sends a spike of fear through you, thinking of one brother killing the other, but the look in Aemond’s eye leaves no room for doubt. “I’m sure you will.”

Apparently the correct answer, Aemond resumes kissing you with a fervor, steering you away from the door and towards his bed. “I’ll kill him,” He says, rushed between kisses. “And without an heir, I’ll take his place.” His hair tickles the side of your face as he presses his nose into your neck. “Make you my queen, as he had Helaena.” He nips at the thin skin, making you hiss in pain, pulling at his hair.

He lifts his head as he pushes you down onto his bed, crawling over you. “You’re betrothed to another.” You say as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress.

“As are you.” He responds. You bat his hands away from the laces as soon as you hear fabric rip, and begin undoing them yourself. “Both empty promises made by our grandsire for armies.”

You shimmy out of your overdress, and kick it off the edge of the bed, left in your shift. Aemond strips himself of his shirt before tugging at the hem of your slip, urging you to take it off as well. Before long, you’re both naked, and he’s hovering over you again, trailing his nose along the swell of your breast. You take the opportunity to free him of his eyepatch, enjoying the glitter of the sapphire you gave him.

His eye finds yours as he quietly asks, “Will you let me?”

As if you really even have a choice in the matter. “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needs to lift your hips with one hand and slide his cock into you with the other. You wrinkle your nose as the sting of the stretch as he works himself into you, his eye fluttering shut. With a deep groan, he begins rocking himself in and out, grinding into you slowly. It’s not the most pleasure you’ve ever felt (no, he would be hard-pressed to compete with Falyse), but it isn’t unpleasant.

You relax into the bed as he begins to fuck into you in earnest, whimpering to himself as he takes a breast in his mouth, lost in your body. You suppose you should have expected something like this, eventually. It was odd, that he’d asked if Aegon had ever fucked you, but you hadn’t thought that he himself wanted to. Now, his intentions in asking seem obvious.

He releases your breast with a pop before tucking his face against your neck, words trickling directly from his lips to your ear. “My Jaenara…” He moans. “Always so good to me. So kind, so sweet, so fierce. Hm.” He pants heavy, his hips knocking against yours frantically. “Seeing you covered in that mans blood, the chunk you ripped out of his neck with your teeth… my dragon.” He croons.

You wind a hand into his hair, wincing as your wrist twinges in pain. It’s gotten better under the maester’s care, but it still complains when you move it in certain ways. The pain vanishes quickly though, and you begin to stroke Aemond’s hair just how he likes, pressing your lips to his temple.

He whimpers again, almost like he’s in pain. “I will put us on the Iron Throne.” He swears, voice breathy. “Our dragons will burn Rhaenyra and her armies alive, and it will be our line that continues the tradition of our ancestors.” He all but growls it, snapping his hips with such force that you have to stop yourself from slamming into the headboard. “I swear it to you.”

“Aemond.” You gasp, overwhelmed with the vigor of his thrusts. The last thing you would have expected was for Aemond to get you to peak, but you can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of his rough fucking and devoted words stirring your insides.

“Tell me that you are mine.” He says, demanding and begging at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm, pleasure no doubt creeping up on him the same as it is for you.

“I’m yours.” You swear. “I’m yours, Aemond.”

He whimpers, and it’s the whining sound that sends you over the edge, your body tensing in his hold as you clench around him. With a loud gasp, you come, and Aemond’s thrusts reach breakneck speed.

“You’re mine.” He whispers in your ear. “Mine, mine-” He comes with a rough groan, pressing his hips to yours and holding them there. He sinks into you immediately, collapsing onto your chest, his breath coming in pants against your skin.

You bask in the quiet of his room as his cock softens within you, mind spinning as you take in what just happened. “Did you mean it? All that you said?” You ask softly, stroking his hair again.

“Mm.” He affirms, sleep heavy in his voice.

You say no more as he drifts off to sleep on your chest, cock still inside you. He intends to make you his queen. To kill Aegon and take his place.

You love Aegon, you do. He is your brother, and one of your closest friends. But you would be lying if you said he was a good king. Perhaps it would not be so bad, if Aemond were to take his place, especially with you at his side.

But does Aegon really deserve to die?

Aemond is insatiable now that he knows you won’t spurn his advances. You can’t say that you mind too much.

Your elbows resting on the table before you, he takes you from behind as you both pore over a map of Westeros, markers indicating where your forces lay. A letter from Ser Cole sits open on the table beside you, informing Aemond of his most recent conquest as he nears Rook’s Rest. You run your fingers against the wood of the table, moving pieces along the map like chess, the sounds of Aemond’s breathy groans and the rustle of your skirts shifting as he takes you the only sounds in the room.

“You will have to - ah - take flight on Vhagar soon then, if you are to meet Cole at Rook’s Rest.” You say.

“Hm.” Aemond’s hips smack into yours as he leans over your back, moving the piece that symbolizes Vhagar to the edge of the crownlands. “The conquest should not take more than a day. Any longer and I would send Aegon in my stead - I would be loathe to leave you.” He jokes, pressing his nose against your neck.

“Mm.” You hum, letting him stretch you further across the table and angle your hips to better receive his thrusts. Planting his hands on your hips, he pulls you back to meet each snap of his hips, the map forgotten as he pleasures himself with your body. There’s something intoxicating about his unwavering devotion, something rewarding. It feels like all the time you spent comforting him as a child is paying off; after all, he intends to put you on the throne. You wind a hand behind you to caress his cheek.

He melts into the touch, extending his body over your back, pressing himself to you completely. It’s intoxicating, the power you have over him. The simplest of touches, the softest of words, and the most fearsome dragon rider in the world bends completely to your will.

“You must tell Aegon of your plans.” You say, laying your head down on the table to peer at the man behind you.

“He will no doubt find out on his own.” Aemond says. “Either way, they don’t involve him. Rook’s Rest is nothing Cole and I cannot take on our own.”

“And if someone were to show you the same insolence if you were the king?” You retort, biting back a gasp as his thrusts increase pace.

“When.” He corrects, almost growling. “When I am the king. And I would exile them for such an insult.”

“Yet- mm, Aemond, ah - you do not fear such retribution from Aegon.” You say. You know he’s getting close, his soft pants turning into longer whines, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You clench as tightly as you can, reveling in the breathy moan you pull from him as he stills, hips still pressed against yours, spent.

You feel him make himself comfortable against your back, not bothering to pull away just yet. “Our brother is a fool, not fit for the duties of the crown. How can one be expected to respect such an undeserving monarch? No,” He says, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto any patch of your skin he can reach. “We will be much greater.”

It’s treason, even just entertaining thoughts of taking the throne from the rightful king, but the more Aemond speaks of it, the more you find yourself indulging in the fantasy. Never before did you truly consider what it would be to be queen, but after truly thinking about it, you find yourself enchanted with the idea. With anyone else, you have no doubt that you would have been subjected to the life your mother lived, but as Aemond’s queen, you would have more power than any woman before you.

“You sound so sure already.” You tease, pushing yourself up on your elbows as he slips away, tucking himself back into his trousers and pulls your skirts back down over your legs.

“That is because I am.”

Aegon presses his face into his hands, groaning. While he’s not looking, you slide the wine decanter away from him. Full when you sat down, it’s almost empty now, most of the contents having been poured down the kings throat. He’s been drinking more, in the aftermath of little Jaehaerys’ death. You can’t blame him, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t concerning.

“They plot behind my back.” He says, his face still hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Aemond. My own hand - and our mother, she…” He trails off. “They mock me. Think me an idiot. I cannot…” He reaches for the decanter, only to find it missing, and lifts his head out of his hands. “My wine.”

“Perhaps you’ve had enough.” You say, doing your best to be firm.

He looks at you blankly before gesturing for the decanter again. With a sigh, you fold, sliding the container across the table to him. Let him drink himself to death if he wishes - it would be a better end than whatever Aemond is planning.

It’s hard to look at Aegon, knowing that your other brother is plotting his demise. He doesn’t deserve to die, not after all he’s been through. Sometimes, you think you know Aegon better than yourself. You’ve seen him at his drunkest, in the streets of Flea Bottom, at his most desperate before his coronation, at his lowest, after the death of his son. He never asked for any of this. He never asked to be king. He doesn’t deserve to die because of a crown he never desired.

But one cannot simply resign from the throne.

You watch as Aegon empties the rest of the decanter into his glass, and then misses the table as he sets the pitcher down, shards shattering across the tiled floor. He stares down at the floor, eyes blank. “Ah.”

“Aegon.” You groan.

He flaps his hand. “Someone will clean it up. Someone always does.”

“Perhaps it is behavior such as this that deters Cole and Aemond from sharing their plans with you.” You say, utterly annoyed at your brother’s actions.

Aegon scoffs. “As if you weren’t also kept in the dark.” His eyes lazily slide to yours, and you don’t look away quickly enough, it seems, because he catches it in your gaze. “They told you? And not me, their king?”

“I cannot help that our brother seeks my opinion on such matters.” You say.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Aegon demands, angrily rising from his seat to level an accusatory finger at you. “You are supposed to be my closest confidant, I expect you to be on my side-!” He cuts himself off. “But no. Of course not. As soon as Aemond gets his claws into you you’re just like the rest of them.”

“Aegon,” You try, placating. “I meant no offense. In fact, I urged Aemond to tell you himself-”

“No, no, you cannot fool me again! I am not as stupid as you think me to be, I am not.” He shouts, harshly backing away from the table as you rise from your seat. There’s an anger in his eyes that you’ve never seen directed at you before, and it gives you pause, guilt and shame sinking into the pit of your stomach. What were you thinking, going behind his back like this? He is your brother, one of your closest friends, your king. Curse Aemond and all his sickly sweet words.

“Aegon-”

A loose hand thrown up in the air, he silences you with a harsh glance before stalking out of the room, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of the decanter for company.

Aegon returns to you on a litter, melted into his armor by dragonfire, barely conscious. The smell of charred flesh and dragon blood fills the hall as the kingsguard rush him to the maesters, and you press yourself as far into the wall as you can to let them pass. There is no rage in you, only shock and despair. You had not thought it would be so soon, that Aemond had his revenge.

“Jaenara.”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and he stops in front of you, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his leathers. There’s an energy about him that you haven’t seen before. Leftover adrenaline crackles over his skin, the pupil of his good eye blown wide, almost lustful.

“What have you done?” You demand, cringing at the frightened quality of your voice.

“What I planned to do.” He says, taking you by the arm. “Are you not delighted? Aegon is indisposed, he will be crippled for the rest of his life - however many short years he has left, in this state. None will stand in our way.”

“I…” You aren’t sure how you feel. Aegon isn’t dead, but he will be in incredible pain for the rest of his life. Likely, he won’t be able to walk on his own, or ever ride his dragon again. It is an awful fate for someone you love. But you cannot pretend a part of you - the same part seduced by Aemond’s ambition - isn’t elated at the downfall of the king.

“Come.” Aemond says, tugging you away from your palace pressed against the rough hewn stone of the Keep walls. You fall into pace beside him, stumbling over your own feet as you process how reality is shifting around you at this very moment. Aemond and the council will have to speak on Aegon’s behalf, puppeteering him even more so than before. You are one step closer to ascending the throne. Your brother is half-alive, melted into the armor of his namesake.

You don’t realize where you are until Aemond is pushing you down onto his bed with one hand and rucking your skirts up around your waist with the other. He does not wait for you to react before he scoops your hips up to insert himself into you, groaning in relief as he slides home. “My queen.” He gasps throatily, pillowing his face in the crook of your neck. “Have I pleased you?”

“Mm.” You hum, unable to say the words ‘yes, of course’. It proves to be enough though, for Aemond sighs again, slowly beginning to grind his hips against yours. It’s more fervent than his usual fucking, spurred on by the bloody battle he’s just come from. You can smell the smoke in his hair from where it lays across your face.

“It will not be long now,” He says, breathy and rough. “Soon, you and I will sit the throne. Have our own heirs - will you give me an heir?” He asks. “Will you give me more than one?”

“As many as you’d like.” You choke out. There isn’t another option for you now, not with Aemond so intent on having you by his side when he takes his place as king. As you’re sure he will.

“We will put Jaehaerys and Alysanne to shame.” He declares, placing his hands under the small of your back, causing you to arch against him. Holding the tops of your hips, he fucks you against him feverishly. It does not take long for him to finish, already keyed up on the high of his plans coming to fruition.

He collapses against your chest with a heavy sigh, and instinctually, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, carding your fingers through his hair.

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin.

It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, though you’ve known it for a very long time. Of course Aemond loves you.

“As I, you.” You return.

What you can’t decide, is if you feel the same.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd smut #hotd x reader

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unluckywisher · 3 months

Text

Period sex with Sylus <3

Warnings: Obvious blood kink. Graphic descriptions (no violence!). He loves seeing your blood. He licks his fingers stained with your blood but he doesn't eat you out. This is surprisingly tame tbh.

Word count: ~1.6k

You were laying on the couch in your apartment, head on the pillow, clutching your abdomen. It was the second day of your period, and thus the most painful for you; and even though you had taken an ibuprofen, it hadn't taken effect yet.

Just as you were groaning in pain, someone knocked on the door. Ugh. Who could it be now. You stood up, checking that you didn't look too bad before opening the door.

"Good morning, dearest." Sylus greeted, leaning on the doorframe.

"What." You huffed, awaiting an explanation for his uninvited presence. Normally you would have welcomed him in with a smile and a hug, but right now it felt like a sword was lodged in your pelvis, and you had no time for niceties.

"You're on the second day of your period." He stated, no harm meant.

He knew, of course he did. He had asked about your cycle so he could mark it on his calendar.

"Yes, and?"

"I couldn't come by yesterday because I had things to take care of, but I wanted to drop by as soon as I could to bring you a little something." He raised his arm, a gift bag dangling from it.

You reached to grab it, but he moved his arm up.

"Ah, ah. Let me in first properly, and then you can have it." He leaned forward, waiting.

You sighed, but a smile crept up your lips as you gave him a kiss.

"Come in." You moved aside.

"That's my girl."

You closed the door behind him as he entered, and he made his way to the couch, you following behind and sitting down next to him. You extended your hand and he handed you the gift bag, propping his ankle on his knee and resting his arm around you on top of the couch's backrest.

The bag wasn't all that heavy, but by it's weight, you could tell there were a few items in it. You picked up the first thing your fingers touched, and pulled it out. A plushie of your favorite animal.

"Oh my gosh..." You mumbled, hugging it to your face. "It's so cute!"

"I see I picked right." He chuckled.

You put the plushie on your lap and picked the second object. An assortment of your favorite candy and chocolates.

Gasping, you took one and ate it. "Mmmm..."

"May I have one?" He opened his mouth.

You picked the flavor you liked less and put the piece on his tongue, earning an equal sound as the one you made, but lower. It sent butterflies to your stomach. He smirked knowingly.

In an attempt to regain focus, you cleared your throat and picked the last item. A... pack of condoms. Okay. Straightforward. You side-eyed him, holding them up.

He didn't say anything. He just stared, amused.

"So..." You started. "These are to use... When my period's over?"

He shook his head.

"Sylus, I-"

His arm sneaked around your waist and pulled you closer sharply, the objects on your lap falling to the ground. His breath mixed with yours, noses almost touching.

"What's the problem?" He murmured. "Why can't we?"

"Well-" You started, losing resolve fast. "I'm in pain, and I feel gross..."

"You know that sex helps reduce period pain, don't fool me." He tilted his head. "And you might feel that way, but I personally can't wait to see you dripping down my dick."

He put a hand to your abdomen, his Evol flaring. There was a surge, like a rush, almost like the butterflies you felt before, but tenfold. You squirmed and gasped, clutching his shirt. It wasn't the first time he used his Evol to arouse you, but it was the first time he used it during your period.

"Please?" He purred.

Dammit. You pushed his hand away, standing up. "I'll go grab a towel."

The last time you were on your period, you two hadn't started dating, so you didn't know this about Sylus yet, but the fact was that he lived for period sex. And the prospect of having you right now had had him hard ever since he woke up. Yesterday, in fact, knowing you were already on it and he couldn't be with you, he had jacked off a couple of times thinking about it.

He stood up, stopping you. "I'll get everything ready, you go rest."

You had no complaints, so you did as you were told, and went to your bedroom to sit on the bed while he moved around your apartment. Soon, he brought two towels (just in case), a bottle of water, and the condoms. He asked you to stand up so he could arrange the bed properly with the towels.

"Are you ready?" Despite his husky voice, it was a genuine question.

"I'm gonna clean myself first with some water."

"Why? I'll help you get clean afterwards, it makes more sense."

"I mean, yeah, but I'm wearing a pad and I'm stained with blood and..."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not caring at all if you were. "I already told you I don't mind."

To be fair, you weren't uncomfortable with the bleeding, just embarrassed that he would fuck you like this.

"So, are you ready or not?" He repeated.

"Mhm." You raised your hand to his cheek to bring him in for a kiss, him already moving forward to reciprocate it.

He lifted you into his arms and onto the bed as his tongue slipped inside your mouth, hands finding the edges of your clothes and swiftly pulling off your shirt and pants, leaving you in your underwear.

You unbuttoned his vest and shirt, unbuckling his pants. He grunted when your hand finally made contact with his skin, sliding down his abdomen and pulling down his boxers. His fully erect cock twitched in anticipation.

He broke the kiss, lips red, and looked down to pull your underwear off slowly. Nervous, you swallowed.

His eyes seemed to shine a brighter red as he discarded the piece of clothing on the floor and looked at your bare cunt. His mouth went dry.

"I'll go slow, I promise." By how his eyes didn't meet yours, it sounded like he was talking to himself.

He grabbed one of the condoms and ripped it open, handing it to you to do the honors. This time, he was looking at you. You grabbed it and propped yourself up to put it on him, his hands caressing your naked body. A hiss escaped his lips as you fisted his cock to slide the condom down. You looked up at him as he stood on the edge of the bed, and leaned back.

"If it hurts, tell me." He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, before aligning himself with your entrance.

God, your blood was barely on him and he was already losing it in his mind. He sunk the tip, eyes darting back to your face to gauge your reaction, your mouth parting in a gasp - in pleasure, so he kept going until he bottomed out, both of you gasping now.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?"

"Yes..." You nodded for him to keep going.

He looked back down and pulled back, watching your blood now coating his dick and streaming down your cunt. He almost came. You felt his fingers dig into your thighs, thumbs pulling your labia apart for him to take a better look.

Thanks to the mix of arousal and blood, he sunk himself back in with ease. You moaned, making him look up, he didn't want to miss a single expression.

He made a faster thrust, and you could feel the fluids dripping down your side. Your hands flew to his neck, bringing him closer. He picked up the pace, still moving somewhat slow but consistently.

His right hand moved from your thigh to your clit, rubbing circles. He felt the blood stain his fingers, and his breath hitched.

"M-more." You moaned. "Faster."

"My pleasure." He smirked.

His thrusts got quicker and sharper, hitting that spot that had you mumbling incoherent words. You leaned your head back on the bed, fingernails digging into his back. He looked down, how you were taking him, your walls tight around him, the blood pumping out and being fucked back in.

"You look... So pretty... Like this... For me..."

You answered by whimpering.

He couldn't take this much longer. Between the wet sounds, your noises, your nails, how you squeezed his cock, and the dripping he now felt on his balls too, this was too much. But he knew you still had a bit to reach his state, so he put his left hand on your abdomen, Evol flaring, and pressed.

You choked on a moan, the overwhelming feeling rushing across your body.

"Cum for me," he muttered, equally consumed, "like the good girl I know you are."

That did it. You clenched around him, legs shaking, and scratched his back as you reflexively leaned forward. He moaned, reaching his climax as well. You felt his cock twitch inside of you.

"That's my girl... Yes..." His breathing was labored, moving a bit still to let both of you ride it out, before resting on your shoulder.

You caressed his hair as you came down, recovering your breath. He pulled back to give you a kiss and bite your bottom lip, before bringing his hand up and licking his bloodied fingers with a smirk. You blushed.

"Lovely." He chuckled. "Next time you let me taste you fully, hm?"

dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/saradika

#this is the first fic of many to come i fear #if i awakened something in you because you didn't know you had a blood kink - i am not sorry #cw blood #love and deepspace #love & deepspace #l&ds #lads #lnds #sylus #love & deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylusposting

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chosok-amo · 7 days

Text

HIS TIP?! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY TIP : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

you just got your nails done, and geto is the one who paid for it. so as your way to appreciate his gesture you decided to get your nails color with the same color of his tip, which results in gojo's relentless jealousy.

warning. established relationship! satosugu, jealous gojo, lots of make-out sessions ( not really, i guess ), dick mentioned, gojo asks you if you like his dick more than geto's.

wc. | masterlist ( art © artist )

you step into the kitchen, feeling light and relaxed after your nail appointment. the faint scent of fresh polish lingers as you admire your nails, now perfectly done. as you walk further in, you spot geto and gojo sitting at the dining table, papers spread out in front of them, completely absorbed in their work.

with a smile tugging at your lips, you approach them. “hey, boys,” you greet warmly, your voice soft but enough to pull their attention away from the pile of documents in front of them.

geto looks up first, his tired eyes softening the moment they meet yours. “hey,” he says, a small smile forming on his lips. gojo follows shortly, pushing his glasses up as his signature grin appears. “look who's back, looking all fresh,” he teases, eyeing your nails.

geto moves his chair to the side, creating space for you to sit on his lap. with a light chuckle, you take the bait and settle on his thighs, his arms encircling your waist almost instantly, pulling you closer. gojo, not one to be outdone, takes a moment to admire your nails before leaning in to press a light kiss to your hand, his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“so, what were you two up to?” you ask, your voice a soft murmur as you lean back against geto's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. gojo leans his forearms on the table, drumming his fingers against the wood. “just some reports and paperwork. nothing too exciting.”

geto hums in agreement, his fingertips gently tracing patterns on your hip. “it's just the usual stuff. but it's more interesting now that you're here.”

you let out a soft, exaggerated sigh, rolling your eyes. “boring,” you mutter, dragging out the word playfully. you lean your head back against geto's shoulder, a mischievous smile forming on your lips.

gojo chuckles at your response, his smirk widening in amusement. “oh, am i not entertaining enough for you?” geto smirks at your back talk, his grip on your hips tightening slightly as he speaks up, his tone amused but laced with a hint of possessiveness. “watch it, sweetheart. we can make things interesting real quick.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head as you glance between them. “sorry, sorry,” you say with a playful smile, resting your cheek on your palm as you lean your elbow against the table. “didn't mean to bruise your egos.”

gojo leans in, resting his chin on his hand, curiosity dancing in his eyes. “so, how was your day?” he asks, his voice light but genuinely interested. geto’s hand on your hip continues to trace slow circles, his voice soft as he adds, “yeah, anything interesting happen?”

you smile softly, leaning back against geto as you answer, “it was good. i had lunch with shoko and yuu, then went to get my nails done.” your voice is relaxed as you recall the day, feeling both of them listening intently.

gojo raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “did yuu take you home after that?” he asks, the question laced with a hint of something more, like he already knows the answer. you glance at him knowingly, chuckling lightly. “yeah, he did,” you admit, seeing the small exchange of glances between gojo and geto. “figured that was your request to him, huh?” you add, giving them a teasing look.

gojo gives you a nonchalant shrug in response, his smile widening into a cheeky grin. “might’ve mentioned it, yeah.”

geto’s grip on your hips tightens just slightly, his voice a low murmur against your ear. “we just wanted to make sure you made it home safe.” his breath tickles your skin, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “can’t have our sweetheart stranded, can we?”

you scoff softly, turning your head to glance at geto with a raised eyebrow. “stranded?” you repeat, your tone playful yet teasing before you break into a warm smile, knowing well that they just want to take care of you and make sure you are safe.

geto’s smirks, his hand on your hip squeezing you lovingly. “you know what i mean,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of possessiveness. gojo watches the two of you with a knowing smile, his gaze flickering between you and geto before he speaks up with a hint of humor. “can’t have our girl wandering off without supervision, someone might snag you from us.”

you hum softly, an amused smile tugging at your lips as you settle comfortably against geto’s chest, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. “alright, boys, thank you,” you murmur, glancing at gojo with a playful glint in your eyes.

you let out a contented sigh, a warm smile on your face as the cozy, comforting atmosphere wraps around the three of you. moments like this—where everything is light, easy, and filled with unspoken love—are the ones you treasure most.

geto’s hand rubs soothing circles on your hip, his chin resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “anytime, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice as warm as a summer breeze.

gojo’s eyes soften, his smile gentle as he watches you lean back against geto. “we’ll always be there for you,” he murmurs, his words filled with a protective determination. you sit in a comforting silence, the three of you basking in each other’s presence, safe in the knowledge that you’re taken care of and loved.

geto shifts slightly, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on your hip as he chuckles softly near your ear. “so,” he begins, his tone teasing but curious, “did you really use your own money for those nails?”

his voice holds a playful edge, but there's that subtle hint of possessiveness again, as if he wants to make sure you're being well taken care of.

you can feel the smirk on his lips against your shoulder as he waits for your answer, clearly enjoying the gentle interrogation. gojo raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued as he watches, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “or did you let someone else treat you?” he adds, his voice light but teasing, like he’s in on the joke.

you smirk, feeling their anticipation as they wait for your answer. “actually, yes,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes. “someone did treat me.”

both geto and gojo's expressions shift slightly—geto’s grip tightening ever so slightly on your hip, while gojo leans forward with mild curiosity. “his name?” you pause for effect, your smile widening. “geto suguru.” you lean closer to give the man kiss on the cheek.

you chuckle softly, tilting your head to look up at geto. “thanks for forcing me to use your card, by the way,” you tease, a playful edge to your voice.

geto’s lips curl into a smirk, his arms tightening around you just a bit more. “well, i had to make sure you got what you wanted,” he says, his tone light but with a hint of satisfaction. “someone's got to take care of you.” gojo lets out an amused snort, his grin widening as he watches the exchange. “how generous of you,” he teases, clearly enjoying the banter between you and geto.

geto chuckles, his hand on your hip squeezing gently. “anything for our princess,” he says, his voice warm but with a hint of possessiveness. he nuzzles his face against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “can't have you paying for anything when we're around.”

you smile softly at geto’s affectionate gesture, feeling his breath warm against your skin. With a playful glint in your eye, you turn slightly to face him, leaning in close. “that's actually why i have something special to tell you,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing.

geto’s eyes sparkle with curiosity as he pulls back slightly to look at you, his expression a mix of anticipation and warmth. "oh? do tell,” he replies, his tone inviting and attentive. gojo perks up, his eyebrows lifting slightly at your announcement. he leans forward on the table, resting his chin on his hand, clearly intrigued and eager to hear what you have to say.

geto’s gaze is fixed on you, his eyes softening as he focuses his full attention on you. he gently pushes his chair back, turning you to sit sideways on his lap so he can look you straight in the face, his hand never leaving your hip.

“well? don’t keep us in suspense,” he says, a light smirk playing around the corners of his lips. you look between geto and gojo, enjoying their anticipation. with a teasing grin, you ask geto, “do you remember when i asked you to send me a dick pic before my appointment?”

geto looks slightly surprised at the direction the conversation is taking, but his initial shock morphs into an amused smirk. “i do,” he replies, his thumb gently rubbing circles on your hip, his grip firm.

you smile playfully, leaning in slightly and teasing, “i actually chose this nail polish color because it matches the shade of your tip.”geto’s smirk widens, his eyes darkened slightly at your words. “is that so?” he says, his voice a low murmur. he slides his hand up your hip, fingers tracing up along the curve of your waist.

gojo’s expression shift, a scowl crossing his face as he watches the interaction. his usual grin fades slightly, replaced by a hint of jealousy. “you’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” he says, his tone is light but edged with a touch of possessiveness.

you ignore gojo's comment, focusing instead on geto's deepening gaze and the way his fingers trace up your waist. With a warm smile, you wrap your arm around geto, pulling him closer. you lean in and press a gentle peck to his lips, savoring the closeness. “just making sure you know how much i appreciate you,” you murmur softly, your tone affectionate.

gojo watches the interaction with a mix of frustration and fascination, but you maintain your attention on geto, enjoying the intimacy and warmth of the moment. geto smiles against your lips, his hand on your hip shifting to rest on the small of your back, his grip firm but gentle. his other hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

he leans in to deepen the kiss, his lips claiming yours in a soft but possessive manner, his tongue gently slipping into your mouth. he lets out a pleased sigh into the kiss, clearly enjoying the moment.

gojo scowls at the affectionate display, his eyes narrowing as he watches the two of you. he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. after a few moments of indulging in the kiss, geto reluctantly pulls back, his hand still on the small of your back. he gazes at you with an affectionate smile, his eyes shining with warmth.

“so, you really picked this nail polish to match me?’ he asks, his voice a soft murmur as he glances down at your nails. you nod with a playful smile, your eyes sparkling as you look up at geto. “uh-huh,” you reply, your voice soft and teasing. “i chose this color to match you because you paid for my nails. thought it would be a fun little touch. i like the color too, more like i like your dick,” you playfully said, voice drowning with sultry.

gojo lets out a scoff at your comment, rolling his eyes in mild annoyance. geto’s grin widens as he hears your words, a mix of amusement and heat flashing in his eyes. he pulls you closer, his hand on your back sliding down to rest on the curve of your hip.

“is that so?” he says, his voice low and filled with a subtle hint of possessiveness. his gaze drops to your nails, his eyes studying the color for a moment before returning to your face.

you meet geto’s gaze with a playful glint in your eyes and a teasing smile. “it is so,” you reply, your tone light but filled with affection. you let your fingers brush gently against his cheek, enjoying the closeness.

geto leaving a peck on your lips once again, his lips linger near yours, his breath warm and his gaze fixed on you. he murmurs affectionately, his voice slightly huskier than before, “you’re such a sweet thing, you know that?” gojo watches the affectionate display with a scowl, but there's a hint of envy in his expression. he scoffs softly again, shifting in his chair as if to draw your attention.

geto, however, is completely absorbed in you, his gaze locked on yours as he whispers against your lips. his hand on your hip gently squeezes you, his fingers tracing along the line where your shirt meets your jeans.

“the sweetest,” he repeats, his voice low and filled with tenderness. he leans in closer, his nose brushing against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “and you’re such a bad influence,” he says, his voice a low murmur, thick with affection and a hint of playful annoyance. he presses another gentle kiss to your mouth, lingering there for a moment.

you chuckle softly, your breath mingling with geto's as you kiss him back with an open-mouthed kiss, your hand gently cupping his cheek. you press your forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his skin.

“yeah?” you murmur between kisses, your voice teasing but affectionate. geto's eyes flutter open briefly, a smile playing on his lips as he gazes at you. “yeah,” he whispers back, his voice filled with warmth and tenderness. he deepens the kiss, his fingers continuing to trace the line where your shirt meets your jeans, enjoying the closeness and the playful exchange.

gojo can't help but watch the intimate moment between you and geto, his eyes narrowing slightly as a mix of envy and affection flashes across his face. he leans back in his chair, silently observing the way geto's fingers trace along your waist, the way you cup his face.

geto's hand slides around to the small of your back, pulling you closer still, his kiss becoming deeper, more possessive, his tongue slipping into your mouth. he moans against your lips, his breath coming a little faster.

gojo lets out a frustrated scoff as he watches geto's possessive display, but he can't deny the pang of jealousy that he feels. he shifts in his chair, his fingers drumming against the table, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance.

geto's mouth moves down to your neck, his lips tracing along the line of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. his breath is hot, his fingers gripping you tighter, his body pressing closer. gojo leans forward, his eyes fixated on the two of you, his frustration building. his jaw tightens slightly, his expression hardening as he watches geto's lips caressing your skin.

geto's lips pause near your ear, his voice a whisper filled with desire and possessiveness. “you're mine,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. he gently bites down on the sensitive spot where your shoulder meets your neck, his tongue soothing the spot immediately after.

gojo's eyes darkened, watching geto's mouth on your neck, the way he seemed so possessive, claiming you as his own. he shifted in his chair again, his fingers continuing to drum on the table, his jaw clenching faintly.

he scoffs softly, his jealousy and frustration palpable. “can it out already, can you?” he grunt in annoyance. geto pauses at gojo's annoyed remark, his lips reluctantly pulling away from your neck. he turns his head to glance at gojo, his gaze a mixture of annoyance and possessiveness.

“jealous much?” he responds, his voice cool and calm, but with an edge of challenge.

he looks back at you, his eyes traveling down to your neck and the spot he had just been kissing. a flicker of pride crosses his face as he notes the slight mark his teeth left on your skin. you clear your throat and let out a sheepish laugh, feeling a bit embarrassed by the situation (which is a lie). you glance over at gojo, offering a smirk, clearly you enjoy the moment with geto which make the man more upset than he already is, especially that crush cherry color on your cheeks.

“sorry, baby,” you say, your tone is light with no sincerity. “i got a bit carried away.”

gojo scowls at your words, his annoyance flaring as he hears the lack of remorse in your tone. his eyes flick between you and geto, his expression growing more and more frustrated. geto, on the other hand, smirks at your response, his hand on the small of your back rubbing circles in a self-satisfied manner. he pulls you even closer, his body pressing against yours.

“don't worry, princess,” he says, his voice is smooth and confident. “there's no need to apologize for enjoying yourself.” gojo's scowl deepens as geto's hand rubs circles on your back, the pet name adding fuel to his jealousy. he leans forward on the table, his gaze flickering between you and geto.

“yeah, don't apologize for enjoying yourself,” he mutters, his tone snarky, “not like you're neglecting anyone here.”

you chuckle softly at gojo’s snarky comment, finding his jealousy both amusing and endearing. you give geto a warm smile as you slide into the chair next to him, your body still close but giving gojo a bit of space. “don’t worry, baby,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes. “i’m just spreading the love around. no one’s being neglected here.”

uou turn your attention back to geto, giving him a teasing look. “and as for you,” you add, leaning in slightly, “thanks for the fun. i always appreciate your confidence.”

geto’s smirk widens, his hand still resting on your back, and he leans in closer to kiss your cheek, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. gojo grumbles at your words, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression one of mild annoyance and jealousy. he watches as you shift your attention back to geto, his eyes narrowing slightly.

geto, on the other hand, grins at your playful comment, his hand gripping your back a little tighter. he leans in to give your cheek a soft kiss, his lips lingering on your skin for a moment, his gaze fixed on gojo the entire time.

“always a pleasure, princess,” he says, his voice warm and filled with affection. gojo's scowl deepens as he watches you and geto, his jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. he crosses his arms over his chest, clearly displeased, even if he’s trying to hide it. you and geto both know how he can get—he’s always been the jealous type, even over the smallest things.

you can feel gojo’s gaze on you, practically burning with envy. deciding to tease him a little, you pretend to be oblivious to his jealousy, glancing at geto with a playful smile. “well, suguru did pay for my nails this time, so it only made sense to match his color.”

gojo lets out an exaggerated huff, his fingers tapping against the table impatiently. “it should’ve been me,” he mutters under his breath. “i should’ve paid for your nails. and you should’ve picked my color.”

geto chuckles, clearly amused by gojo's jealousy and possessiveness. he gives you a knowing look, his hand on your back rubbing soothing circles.

“again, jealous, satoru?” he asks, his voice smooth and playful. gojo's scowl deepens as he hears geto's question, his eyes narrowing at the other man.

“damn right i am,” he mutters under his breath. “i should be the one you're matching. not him.“ you stifle a laugh at his possessive grumbling, looking at him with mock confusion. “baby, i didn't know you wanted to pay. you never said anything.”

his eyes narrow slightly, but there's a hint of vulnerability beneath his frustration. “what do you mean i never said anything? i shouldn’t have to say anything. you know I like doing things for you first and you know i always pay for you.”

geto can't help but chuckle again at gojo's response, enjoying the exchange between you and him. he rests his chin on his hand, his eyes flickering between you and gojo.

you feign innocence, tilting your head slightly as you look at gojo. “well, honey, you should have said something. maybe i would have matched your color if you had offered,” you say, your tone soft and amused.

gojo's irritation is evident in his expression, but there's a hint of hurt in his eyes. “i shouldn't have to offer. you should have picked my color without me asking," he grumbles, his fingers tapping against the table in an impatient rhythm. “i do so much for you, princess. you should just know that i want to do this sort of thing for you.”

geto watches the exchange between you and gojo, his expression neutral but his eyes flickering with a hint of interest. his hand on your back continues to rub gentle circles, a subtle gesture of possession.

you continue to feign innocence, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “well, sweetheart,” you say, your voice soft and sweet, “maybe you should have made it more obvious that you wanted me to match you.”

gojo's scowl deepens at your response, his irritation growing. he leans forward in his chair, his eyes locking on you.

“more obvious?” he repeats, his voice filled with frustration. “how much more obvious can i get? i do so much for you. i take you on dates, i buy you gifts, i spend time with you. i feel like i’m practically screaming at you that i want to pay for you.”

geto's eyes flicker between you and gojo, silently watching the exchange, his eyes sharp and observant. he continues to rub circles on your back, his hand staying possessively in place.

you maintain your innocent facade, your small smile growing slightly wider. “maybe you should try actually screaming it then,” you suggest, your tone light and playful. gojo's jaw tightens, his patience wearing thin. he lets out an exasperated sigh, his fingers drumming against the table.

“maybe i should,” he mutters under his breath. “it’s not like i haven’t been pretty damn upfront about how i feel, princess. i’ve said i want to take care of you. i’ve told you how much you mean to me. how much more obvious can i get?”

you can’t help but chuckle at gojo’s frustrated outburst. his jealousy, while endearing, always comes with a touch of drama. standing up from your seat. “sorry, baby,” you say with playful sincerity, your voice light as you step away from the table. “i didn’t mean to make you feel that way. you know you’re important to me.”

you stretch your arms and look at both gojo and geto with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “but for now, i’m going to take a shower.” you give them a little wink before turning toward your bedroom, leaving both of them to stew in their own thoughts for a moment.

both gojo and geto watch you get up from your seat, their eyes following you as you stride towards your bedroom. gojo's irritation melts slightly as he watches you go, his gaze fixated on the sway of your hips. he lets out a deep sigh, his fingers tapping against the table again.

geto's eyes linger on your figure, his hand still rubbing circles on the empty space where you had been sitting only moments ago. his expression is calm, but his gaze is filled with a mixture of desire and possessiveness.

as you disappear into the bedroom and close the door, gojo and geto are left alone at the table. for a few moments, they sit in silence, the only sound in the room being the soft hum of the air conditioning.

gojo breaks the silence, his voice low and frustrated. “she’s driving me crazy.”

inside your bedroom, as you stand in front of the mirror, brushing your hair and removing your jewelry, you hear the soft creak of the wooden door closing. you glance at the reflection, catching sight of gojo sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed and his gaze deliberately avoiding yours. he’s still sulking, his body language making it painfully clear that he wants you to know just how upset he is.

a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you turn to face him fully. his childish pouting is endearing, and you can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head at how serious he’s trying to be.

“you're still upset, huh?” you tease softly, stepping closer to him. gojo’s stubborn silence is answer enough, his jaw set in a tight line, though you can see the faintest hint of a pout forming.

gojo can feel his irritation bubbling beneath the surface as you approach him, his arms still crossed over his chest. he refuses to look at you, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, his jaw clenched tight. he knows he's being childish, but he can't help it.

he remains silent, his shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath. he can feel your eyes on him, your soft chuckle breaking the heavy silence in the room. he grumbles under his breath, his resolve slipping.

you stand in front of gojo, watching the way his irritation bubbles beneath the surface. he's stubborn, jaw clenched and eyes glued to the floor. a small sigh escapes you as you reach out, gently stroking his arms up and down, feeling the tension in his muscles. his resistance is almost adorable, but you know exactly how to handle him when he's like this.

wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, your touch soft and coaxing. you tilt your head, trying to meet his eyes, but he only looks further away, his determination to stay upset clear in every movement.

“come on, baby,” you murmur, your voice soft and teasing. “are you really going to keep ignoring me, or what?“ you lean in a little closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, hoping to break down the last bit of his sulking.

gojo tries to resist your attempts at breaking down his sulking, but the feeling of your arms around his neck and the sound of your voice against his ear start to chip away at his resolve. he lets out a frustrated huff, his shoulders sagging slightly.

he hesitates for a few more moments, fighting the urge to give in to your coaxing. but eventually, he gives up, his arms slowly uncrossing and settling on your waist. his gaze remains fixed on the floor, still stubbornly avoiding your eyes.

you smile softly as you feel gojo's arms finally settle on your waist, his stubborn facade starting to crack. without saying a word, you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment before pulling back. your fingers trail up to brush lightly against his undercut, feeling the slight roughness beneath your fingertips.

he’s still looking away, but you can sense his resolve weakening, the frustration slowly fading. “there you are,” you whisper, your thumb gently caressing the side of his face. “i missed you already.” you tilt your head, trying to catch his gaze, your smile warm and affectionate as you wait for him to finally meet your eyes.

gojo can feel his resolve crumbling with each gentle touch and caress from you. your soft whisper and the warmth in your voice only make it harder for him to keep up his sulky act.

he lets out a quiet breath, his gaze flickering towards yours for a brief moment before quickly looking away again. his jaw is still clenched, the last remnants of his annoyance still lingering. but the longer you hold him, the more it fades away, replaced by a mix of vulnerability and affection.

“ugh, stop it,” he mutters under his breath, his voice gruff but lacking any real heat.

you chuckle softly at his gruff response, leaning in a little closer as you stroke his undercut. “i'm sorry, baby,” you say gently, your voice soft and sincere. “i didn’t realize it was such a big deal to you.” you give him a small, apologetic smile, your thumb brushing along his cheek. “i just wanted to do something nice for suguru since he paid for my nails, that’s all.“

you pause for a moment, letting your words sink in, hoping he understands. “it doesn’t mean i don’t appreciate you. you know i do, right?” you tilt your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes again, your arms still wrapped around his neck, holding him close.

his shoulders sag slightly as you apologize, his face softening as he absorbs your words. he knows he's being ridiculous, being jealous over something so small. he lets out a deep breath, his resistance crumbling further. he finally meets your gaze, his expression a mixture of annoyance and affection.

“i know,” he sighs, his fingers gripping your hips a little tighter. “i just...” he hesitates for a moment, his jaw clenching again. “i hate the idea of you matching anything with anyone other than me, princess.”

you smile softly, your hand moving from his cheek to gently run through his hair. “baby, i always match almost everything with you,” you reassure him, your tone warm and affectionate. “more than i do with suguru, trust me.”

you lean in a little closer, your forehead resting against his. “but sometimes, it's nice to do things for him too, you know? he takes care of me just like you do. you both mean so much to me.” your fingers trail gently along his undercut again, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. “you’ll always come first, though.”

gojo lets out another sigh, the last remnants of his stubborn resistance melting away at your words. he leans into your touch, his body relaxing under your gentle caresses. he knows he’s being unreasonable, but he can’t help the possessive feeling that surges within him whenever he sees you with anyone else.

“i know,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing soft circles on your hips. “i know you care about us both. and i get that you want to do nice things for him. i just... i don’t like sharing you, princess.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head as you brush a strand of hair away from gojo’s face. “isn’t it a little too late to be worrying about sharing, baby?” you tease gently, your lips curling into a playful smile.

you lean back slightly, keeping your arms around his neck. “besides, it’s not fair if i’m always doing things with you, and the moment i do something with suguru, you throw a fit.” your tone is light and teasing, but there’s an undertone of honesty in your words.

“baby, you’re not the only one who wants to take care of me. suguru does too, and i want to show him the same love and attention i show you.” you tilt your head, your eyes soft. “don’t you think that’s fair?”

gojo let out another huff, his face scrunching into a slight pout. he knows you have a point, but he’s still not entirely pleased with the situation. sharing you with geto is already a challenge for him, and now you’re giving him even more reasons to be jealous.

“i guess,” he grumbles, his fingers gripping your hips a little tighter. “i just can’t help it, princess. when i see you with him, doing things we usually do together, it makes me want to... well...” he trails off, his eyes flickering to the side.

gojo’s pout deepens as he grumbles, noticing the small gap between the two of you. with a frustrated sigh, he tugs you closer by your waist, his grip firm but affectionate.

“why are you standing so far away?” he mutters, pulling you flush against him as if that would somehow chase away the jealousy lingering in his chest. he buries his face against your chest, letting out another low grumble. “i don’t like it when you’re not close to me,” he admits, his voice muffled but laced with affection.

you chuckle as gojo pulls you closer, his arms encircling you possessively. his possessive and needy behavior is both endearing and frustrating at times, but you know it’s just his way of showing how much he cares.

as he buries his face against your chest, you instinctively reach up to run your fingers through his soft, white hair, your touch gentle and soothing. “i’m not that far away, sweetheart,” you tease lightly, your other hand rubbing circles on his back.

you gently cup his face in your hands, guiding him to look at you. “baby, suguru deserves the same attention and treatment as you do,” you say softly but firmly. “he’s important to me too, and just like you, he wants to show me how much he cares.”

you lean in a bit closer, your gaze steady and sincere. “i love both of you and want to make sure you both feel appreciated and cared for. it's not about sharing; it's about balancing and showing the same love to everyone who means so much to me.”

gojo’s eyes meet yours as you cup his face in your hands, your words sinking in. he knows deep down that you’re right, that geto deserves just as much attention and affection as he does. but it’s still hard for him to shake off that possessive and jealous feeling. he huffs again, his grip on your hips tightening slightly.

“i know,” he mutters, his voice low. “i just don’t like sharing you, princess. it feels like i’m losing something when you give bits of yourself to someone else.” you chuckle softly, shaking your head with a playful smile. “you're such a drama queen, satoru,“ you tease gently before leaning down to kiss him.

your lips meet his in an open-mouthed kiss, your hands sliding up to his neck to pull him closer. the kiss is deep and warm, your affection clear in every gentle brush of your lips and touch. you let yourself get lost in the moment, aiming to reassure him of your love and commitment, no matter how dramatic he might be feeling.

gojo grumbles as you tease him, but his grumbles quickly melt away as your lips meet his. his arms instinctively envelope your waist, pulling you in as close to him as physically possible.

the kiss is hungry and possessive, the touch of your lips and tongue igniting a fire within the both of you. he responds with equal fervor, his mouth moving against yours with a mixture of need and passion.

he forgets about the jealousy and pettiness for a moment, losing himself entirely in your touch. as the kiss deepens, gojo's hands begin to wander, his touch becoming more possessive and needy. they trail up your sides, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your top, his touch hot against your skin.

he pulls back for a moment, but only to move his attention to your jaw and neck, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of kisses and gentle nips along your sensitive flesh. with each kiss and nibble, gojo's need for you becomes more evident, his touch both tender and urgent as he holds you close against him. his lips and tongue continue their journey down your neck, his hands now roaming across your shoulders and back.

he's slowly losing himself in the moment, his jealousy and possessiveness taking a backseat to his overwhelming desire for you.

you let out a soft murmur, “satoru,” almost breathlessly. your eyes fluttering closed as you pull his silver locks gently. your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer, deepening the kiss. every touch, every nibble on your neck only intensities the connection between you, allowing you both to lose yourselves in the shared moment of intimacy and affection.

at the sound of his name, gojo groans against your skin, his lips and teeth still working their way along your neck and collarbone. his hands move lower, slipping beneath your top and caressing your bare skin.

he can feel your need, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. he responds to your silent request, his body molding against yours, his lips moving back up to claim yours in a deep, heated kiss.

as the intensity of the kiss builds, gojo starts to steer you backwards, guiding you towards the bed. his hands roam your body, exploring every inch of you as he continues to kiss you with a burning desire.

with a swift movement, he lifts you up into his arms and lays you down on the bed, his body covering you as he pins you beneath him, drawing a gasp from the back of your throat with sudden movement. his knee wedges between your legs, spreading them slightly as he presses closer against you.

gojo's actions are fluid and confident, his hands and mouth working in unison to send waves of heat cascading through your body. he pins you beneath him, his body pressing against yours, his knee nudging your legs apart.

he can feel your gasp against his lips, his fingers gripping your hips and pulling you even closer against him. he breaks away from the kiss, his lips moving to your ear, peppering it with kisses and soft nibbles. his voice is low, almost a growl.

“you drive me crazy, princess,“ he whispers, his voice deep and filled with desire.

you gently pull him away, your eyes searching his face with a hint of concern. you run your fingers through his hair, your voice soft and soothing. “are you still mad?” you ask, your tone filled with warmth and understanding. you want to make sure that his feelings are addressed before things continue, showing him that you care about his emotions as much as the passion between you.

gojo's frustration and jealousy melt away under your gentle touch and concerned gaze. he leans into your hand as you run your fingers through his hair, the simple, soothing gesture calming his restless thoughts.

he sighs, his expression softening as he looks down at you beneath him. he's still annoyed, but the intensity of his feelings seems to have simmered down. “no,” he admits, his voice a little gruff. "i'm not mad anymore. just... jealous."

you poke his cheek playfully, a teasing smile on your lips. “don't,” you say, your voice light and comforting. “we just had a hot make-out session. it doesn’t change how much i care about you.” you lean in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek, reassuring him with your warmth and affection.

gojo can't help but chuckle at your playful poke and light tone. your words and the gentle kiss on his cheek only serve to soothe his jealous feelings further. he knows deep down that his jealousy is a little irrational, but he can't help the possessive part of him that wants you all to himself.

he leans his forehead against yours, his voice softer now. “i know,” he mumbles, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your hips. “i just... i can't help it, princess. i just want you all to myself, all the time.”

you gently push him onto the bed, a playful glint in your eyes as you crawl down from the bed. you stand next to him, looking down with a teasing smile. “too bad,” you say with a light chuckle, “you're going to have to bear it for the rest of your life. neither suguru nor i are going anywhere.” you lean down to give him a reassuring kiss, emphasizing your words with affection.

as you push him onto the bed and stand over him, gojo can't help but let out a small grumble, even though he knows you're just teasing him. he props himself up on his elbows, his gaze on you, a mixture of jealousy and adoration in his eyes.

he lets out a huff as you tease him with your words, but his expression softens when you lean down to give him a kiss, the reassurance clear in your gesture. “you're lucky i love you,” he mutters under his breath, his tone jokingly annoyed.

you give his thigh a gentle pat, your smile warm and reassuring. “you should go back to work,” you say, your voice playful but with a hint of sincerity. “i’m going to take a shower, and then i’ll make you and suguru tea and dinner. your favorite, of course.”

you lean down for one last quick kiss, “sounds good, my love?”

gojo's expression softens at the combination of your warm smile and gentle touch. he sighs, sitting up on the bed and nodding slightly as you suggest he return to work. he knows you're right, that he needs to get back to his responsibilities, even though he'd rather stay in the moment with you.

he accepts your last quick kiss, his hand slipping to the back of your head, his touch possessive but affectionate.

“sounds good, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of resignation and fondness. as you’re about to walk to the bathroom, gojo's hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling you back to stand between his legs. he gazes up at you, his blue eyes holding a mix of playful jealousy and curiosity.

“you like suguru's dick, huh?“ he asks, his voice teasing yet laced with a hint of insecurity. “what about mine? do you like my dick too?” his fingers trail up your wrist, his grip light but enough to keep you close. he's seeking reassurance, the possessive part of him craving your validation.

gojo's grip on your wrist prevents you from moving too far away. his eyes lock on yours, the mixture of jealousy and curiosity evident in their depths. when he speaks, his voice is playful, yet there's an undertone of insecurity and seeking validation.

at his question, a small flush creeps onto your cheeks, your body moving slightly closer to him. you reach down, gently running your fingers through his silvery hair. “yes,” you reply softly, looking at him. “i do like your dick too, baby.”

gojo smirks in response, his grip on your wrist relaxing as he leans back slightly, his eyes still fixed on yours. he can see the flush on your cheeks, the way your body moves closer to his, and he knows he's gotten what he wanted— reassurance.

he lifts his hand, his fingers gently tracing along your hip, his touch light, almost teasing. his voice is playful, but there's also a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “enough to prefer it over suguru's?” he asks, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, seeking further confirmation.

as your finger trails from his thigh to his zipper, gojo’s smirk deepens, his breath hitching slightly at your touch. your whisper, soft and teasing, sends a shiver down his spine. you nod, leaning in slightly, your lips barely brushing his ear. “i like yours the most,” you whisper, letting your finger linger teasingly on his zipper.

“its sooo big, thick, and clean, and red, you take care of your dick so well,” you continue to whisper to his ear.

gojo's smirk turns into a small gasp as your finger lightly brushes his zipper and your whisper in his ear. his body responds instantly to your touch and words, his breath hitching and his heart rate slightly picking up.

he grunts lightly as you continue to tease him with your whispers about how well he takes care of his dick, his own voice a little huskier as he responds.

“are you really trying to flatter me right now, princess?” he mutters, his eyes closing momentarily as his own hand grips your hip a little tighter. “yeah? my dick's better, right?” he asks after, his tone bordering on cocky as he looks up at you smugly. he tightens his grip on your wrist, while his other hand moving to rest possessively on your waist.

gojo's smug expression falters for a split second when you whisper, “sooo much better,” your voice low and teasing. his grip tightens just slightly on your waist, but before he can respond, you tap his thigh and begin to walk away, leaving him sitting on the bed.

he watches you, a mix of frustration and amusement playing on his face as you head to the bathroom, his possessive nature still burning beneath the surface. “you’re really gonna leave me like that, huh?” he mutters under his breath, eyes glued to your retreating figure.

his fingers twitch in response to the sudden loss of your touch, and he lets out a quiet huff, shaking his head with a small, exasperated grin, knowing full well you’ve won this round.

gojo stares after you as you walk towards the bathroom, his expression a mixture of frustration, amusement, and possessiveness. his fingers twitch with the need to pull you back, to keep you close and satisfy his possessive nature.

he lets out a low huff, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that he's slightly disgruntled by your departure. “you can't just tease me like that and then leave,” he calls out, his voice low and slightly rough.

he leans back on one elbow, his eyes glued to the bathroom door, already plotting his revenge for your cheeky retreat.

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pathologicalreid · 3 months

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not that kind of movie | S.R.

movie night takes an interesting turn - for the better, definitely

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: the movie in question is metropolis, fingering, soft dom!spencer, i really don't know that there's anything else, kissing, they probably fucked after this, very slightly proofread, if this is incoherent let's just pretend it is. word count: 1.45k a/n: just a fun little fic i typed out tonight. also chip taylor gif spotted. i'm so tired i have nothing else to say for myself.

If you were being entirely honest with yourself, you were struggling to keep your eyes open during the movie.

As a result of a very intense rock, paper, scissors game, Spencer had been the one to choose the movie that you watched tonight. The movie he had chosen just so happened to be in a foreign language – German – that your boyfriend was attempting to learn. Your lack of German comprehension combined with the black-and-white film put you in a rough spot, you were in serious danger of falling asleep on the couch.

Spencer wouldn’t hold it against you if you did happen to drift off, but it felt rude. He never fell asleep during any of your film selections, and just because you didn’t understand the content didn’t mean you couldn’t respect the cinematography of the old-timey dystopian. “Are you falling asleep?” He whispered, adjusting the blanket that had been tossed over the two of you so that you were fully covered.

Shaking your head stubbornly, “No, ‘m watching the movie,” you insisted, prying your eyes open to focus on the screen in front of you and trying to figure out who was Freder and who was Joh.

“Good, keep watching,” Spencer said softly before pulling at your legs, leaving them draped across his lap as his fingers ghosted over the waistband of your pajama shorts. He looked over at you and in the dark of the living room, you were grateful he couldn’t see the flush of your cheeks. “Watch the movie,” he murmured, moving to trail his fingers up your thigh.

Your breathing hitched as his hand stopped, and as he started to massage the inner part of your thigh, you let your head fall to the side. “You’re distracting me,” you protested, smiling despite yourself while his fingers moved closer and closer to your core.

He hummed in response, “I thought this could help you stay awake,” he offered knowingly.

“Can’t hurt to try,” you concurred happily, extremely content with the turn of events that your movie night had taken – even if Metropolis wasn’t that kind of movie. You sighed as Spencer’s fingers deftly nudged your shorts to the side, using his hand to rub you over the flimsy fabric of your underwear.

In your periphery, you watched Spencer turn his attention back to the movie, his lips moving as his brain translated the words as they came from the speakers.

Taking a deep breath, you looked back at the television, your brain was fuzzier than ever, but at least now you were enjoying yourself, “Spence,” you whimpered, wanting more of him.

To your chagrin, his movements slowed, “Shh, watch the movie,” he told you, “You have to pay attention, or I’ll stop.”

You groaned before turning your head, watching the fuzzy black and white screen as robots started to take over and you realized you had no idea what the plot of this film was, “Please don’t stop,” you breathed, gasping when his fingers pushed your panties off to the side. You considered offering to take your shorts and underwear off, but you were too afraid of him stopping to even bring it up.

The volume of the movie was barely loud enough to cover up the soft, breathy noises that came from you as Spencer trailed his index finger up your slit before settling his hand on you, the elastic of your panties keeping his hand close as he pressed his thumb to your clit. You bit your lip to keep quiet as he started to move his thumb in slow, tantalizing circles, a small chuckle coming from him as your hips bucked up involuntarily, “Poor baby,” he said, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Feels good,” you mumbled, trying to keep from closing your eyes and just focusing on the pleasure you were receiving. “More,” you beckoned, taking a chance and flickering your eyes over to where he was sitting. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was simply enraptured with the film instead of having some sort of anti-staring contest while playing with you on the couch.

Not making any move to change what he was doing, Spencer seemingly ignored you, “You’ll get there, angel. I’ll let you come in a bit.”

With the promise of an orgasm in your near future, you decided you could toughen out the remainder of the film. This would be true if he would do anything but drag his thumb in annoyingly slow circles around your clit.

Resigning yourself to another thirty minutes of torture, you focused back on the screen, where you had definitely missed an important plot point. You had no idea when they ended up underground, “Ah!” You said, clamping your hand over your mouth as Spencer had decided to slip his index finger inside of your cunt, “Fuck, Spence,” you said, voice muffled by your own palm.

“Uncover your mouth,” Spencer told you, too far away to move your hand on his own, “I like to listen to you.”

His words sent your stomach into a flurry of somersaults, only spurred on by the calculated movements of his finger as it slipped deeper into you, knuckle by knuckle, until your warm walls wholly enclosed his finger. “Jesus,” you breathed, moaning as his hand moved, slipping his digit in and out of you with ease.

A strained breath from your boyfriend told you that he was having a hard time holding himself back, but at some point, he had dedicated himself to dragging this out. “You’re doing so well, just keep watching,” he appeased, “the movie’s almost over.”

You weren’t entirely sure you believed him until he sunk his finger back into you, using his fingertip to swirl around your inner walls, hitting a spot that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Mm,” you whined, “that’s nice.”

“Yeah?” He asked knowingly, “You like letting me touch you on the couch? All splayed out and pretty for me?”

Not that you’d ever admit this to him, but you sometimes thought he could make you come just from his words alone. Of course, that information would not be used to your benefit, “Yes,” you answered, ignoring the way your cheeks flushed, “Yeah, baby.”

Spencer hummed and your breath caught in your throat as a second finger slipped inside of you, joining the other one in its crusade to bring you to an orgasm, “That was a good answer.” His words did nothing to slow your racing heart, any thought of the movie was a distant memory as all it did was provide a slight glow around the living room.

Afraid of finishing before the conclusion, you reached down and grabbed Spencer’s wrist as his fingers continued their taunting rhythm, but it felt so good, and he was taking such good care of you, that you couldn’t stop his ministrations.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked making note of the way your hand gripped his wrist, continuing his movements when you assured him you were okay, “Oh,” he murmured, voice dripping in mock pity, “Do you wanna come?”

You nodded despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, writhing on the couch as you mumbled an affirmation and gasping when his thumb returned to its home on your clit, resuming the slow circles from before and slowly driving you toward insanity as your orgasm built in your lower belly, “Spence, ‘m gonna…” your voice trailed off as he continued to touch you, the volume of the film rising with your moans.

Not allowing his movements to falter, Spencer focused more of his energy on you, “You can come, baby. It’s alright,” he said, watching you fall apart on his fingers as he rambled on, “There you go, honey.” His fingers slowed to a stop as you caught your breath, just for it to hitch again as his fingers withdrew from your wet heat.

As the world came back into tune, you pulled yourself up to a sitting position and looked at the now black screen. Humming, you shifted over to Spencer, settling yourself in his lap, one knee on each side of him, you tilted your head to the side and smiled at him.

“Did you like the movie?” He whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before moving back.

You nodded, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth, trailing a line of kisses along his jaw line, “One of my favorites,” you murmured against the soft skin of his neck.

Spencer laughed softly at your answer, “Yeah? What was your favorite part?”

Grinning in the dark, you moved your lips up to his ear, “The end.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds oneshot #written by margot #mdni #margot after hours #softdom!spencer

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maximoff-pan · 9 months

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the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.”

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens.

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too.

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it.

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to.

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist.

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband.

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children.

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington.

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?”

“How will you get it to her?” He questions.

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it.

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered.

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her.

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation.

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way.

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in.

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you.

“I never do.” Is your instant reply.

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested.

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion.

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through.

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.”

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you.

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.”

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that.

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.”

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge.

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak.

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won.

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot.

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.”

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong.

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you.

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column.

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say.

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym.

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to.

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n).

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling.

“What am I going to do?”

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you.

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has.

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so.

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you.

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now.

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions.

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well.

We need to talk.

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that.

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her.

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you.

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too.

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.”

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm.

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor.

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing.

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all.

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

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