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garfunklefield · 5 months

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i've been asking this a lot and no one do it😞😞

May you write a fic about Pirate sukuna X Mermaid reader??

PEARL

18+ viewer discretion is advised

mermaid!fem!reader/pirate!Ryomen Sukuna Warnings: pirate AU, dub-con, love at first sight, imprinting, sukunas personality is V complex here, soft sukuna, pining, kind of slow burn not really, drinking, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, slight humiliation kink, ass job, cumshot [back] backshots? mermaid sex sort of, idk man I'm making this up as we go SORRY Word count: 4936 DESC: Ryomen Sukuna never believed in mermaids, until he met you

NOW WHY WOULD NO ONE DO THIS!?!? I had so much fun writing this omg I LOVE THIS

Fair warning: this is kinda shit IM SORRY I have a HEADACHE

Sun blessed Ryomen’s features, kissing against his brow and creating a tan he could never escape from. The waves crashed against his ship and made it rock ever so slowly, back and forth, as he walked across the deck. He wasn’t sure how long he had been at sea, maybe a month or so, but he wasn’t getting any closer to his goal. The wood made a faint clicking sound under his heel as he paced, waiting for something. There was an island his crew had been in search of for months, but it was becoming a distant dream. There was no evidence it truly existed other than a map he had found in the depths of a library. The paper crinkled against his pant pocket, always reminding the captain it was there. There was never a moment where it wasn’t on his person. He didn’t trust anyone but his younger brother, Yuji, and his half-brother Choso. The two made for adequate help on board, but they weren’t serious. They enjoyed drinking into the night and regaling stories of mermaids. Psh, like those existed. Ryomen knew that tall tales existed, but he didn’t believe anyone thought they were still true.

Mermaids were the stuff of fiction. Although he had seen his fair share of weird shit, he drew the line at mermaids. Sirens too.

Yuji was leaning against the railing of the tip of the boat, staring off into the distance with squinted eyes. A small bandana wrapped around his forehead to stop more sunburns from creasing his skin, and to keep his hair clean from the sky. He was superstitious like that, always fearing too much sun could ruin his naturally pink locks. His brother was somewhat right, Ryomen’s hair was more washed out from sun exposure than Yuji’s. Choso was different, choosing to stay inside and tending to the food. His aura was melancholy and it reflected in how he walked, with a limp.

The rest of the crew were either downstairs or tending to their duties, keeping a watchful eye on their captain. Sukuna was a scary man when angered, but docile all the rest of the time. Most days he rarely spoke a word, unless it was to his brothers. His voice never raised above a mutter, unless he was angered. If he was upset, the whole ocean could hear him. And if he was intoxicated. But he didn’t drink anymore. Someone had to watch over the boat and make sure looters stayed clear of it.

Ryomen took this life very seriously, never straying from getting what he set out for. So it puzzled him as to why the island hadn’t appeared. They were in the right direction, they did everything right! So why was it so hard to find this treasure? It could buy him a new life, and his brothers a better life. That’s all he wanted. All the other men would rave about the riches and the women, but he didn’t care for that. Women never caught his eye, he instead cared for his family. Or, surprisingly, the misfortuned. His crew was made up of people who needed a second chance at life, people who wanted to start over. He never judged anyone’s past. He had no right to. He was just a lost soul floating on Earth as well.

“Ryomen,” Yuji’s voice broke through his thoughts, stopping his footsteps against the sun-washed wood. He raised his head and stared at his brother, waiting for him to continue, “Do you think we should anchor for the night?”

“Anchor?” One of his eyebrows quirked, “Now why would we do that?” It was rather odd to suggest such a thing. But the more the captain thought about it, the more it made sense. The wind wasn’t very strong today, making the ship keep at an almost standstill for the majority of the day. Anchoring could let everyone get a good night's rest for a longer journey the next day. Although Ryomen didn’t typically sleep at night. Someone had to keep watch, and he wanted his crew to be awake in the morning than at night. He didn’t mind losing out on some daylight hours if it meant keeping up productivity. The only reason he was awake now, was because it was an hour and a half until sunset, when his job began.

“Well,” his brother tilted his head to the side, pressing his lips together hesitantly. He had a stupid idea, “I was thinking we could have a bit of a party! Raise morale and make everyone a little less … depressed!”

Ryomen raised his hand and waved it in the air dismissively, “No one’s depressed. I’d know if they were, brat.”

He frowned, “They so are. Everyones been sluggish for days. Just one night of partying should reset us!” The boy perked up and waved his hands in the air, trying to convince his older brother, “C’mon! Ask Choso, I’m right.”

“Choso would only agree with you to spite me,” the man grumbled, looking away for a moment. Something caught his eye and made him stop. It was something shiny bobbing in the water, a few yards from the boat. A bright color, flowing across the sea in an almost blob-like fashion. Like… hair. Ryomen didn’t hear Yuji’s further protests, boots squeaking on the deck as he marched over to the side of the boat. He placed two of his rough hands on the railing and peered down, astonished when the blob was gone. It was weird. Just … disappeared into thin air as if it hadn’t been there just seconds before.

Yuji tapped his brother's shoulder, groaning into his ear, “C’monnnnn Ryommennnnnnnnnnn! Just one party!!” Like an incessant child who wanted a toy at the grocery store, he wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted.

He looked over at the boy with a muddled expression. Eyebrows furrowed together, he found himself searching his memories for an answer. Ryomen had seen unusual things before on the ocean, but never like that. Were his eyes playing tricks with him? Deceiving and pulling him from reality? Or were those tall tales really true? Nonsense, he shook his head, there wasn’t any reason to think that. His eyes were playing tricks on him, that had to be it. The pirate looked over at his brother once again, seeing his pleading expression, and nodded.

There would be a party.

Just because you were a mermaid didn’t mean you were a special one. You considered yourself normal, in every sense of the word. A regular mermaid with a regular life, who went to work and came home at the same time every day. Swam the same channels and hung out with her friends on the weekend. You didn’t find yourself longing for more or wishing you were special. You were content. That was until you noticed the shadow. You had heard of humans before and been told the same story. Don’t go up to the surface, they could spot you and kill you. Humans feared the unknown and mermaids were exactly that. You followed and respected the rules, so your curiosity never got the better of you, until you noticed the shadow.

It was a large shadow cast over your coral reef home, making it almost impossible to see. At first, you thought they were building a new mall overhead or perhaps a new traveling show in town. But as you swam closer to the surface, with the cooler water brushing against your fins, you realized it was human. A ship. You had heard of ships before yet you had never seen one this close to your home. Housing closer to the surface was cheaper for being more dangerous, but you didn’t think you were that close.

The boat was brown, and covered in wood panels. Something came over your brain as you swam closer and closer, taking in the bottom side. One of your hands reached out before you and touched the cold wood, brushing against the edge with your fingertips. It was foreign to you. You had never let yourself explore before. You had never let yourself be curious before. It was an addicting feeling. Your eyes glazed over as your tail propelled you further up until your head was bobbing out of the water. Long hairs, of different colors spread out across you, hiding your form in a cave of strands. You watched with interest at the top of the boat, your eyes catching on one man in particular.

He was gorgeous. Pink hair, pushed up in a spikey fashion, with the under part shaved and a dark brown color. His cheekbones were high and hollow, signaling he hadn’t had a good meal in months. But his body showed otherwise. The constant running, walking, and standing, meant he was built. Arms, covered in black ink, broke out from his sleeveless shirt and flexed in the sunlight. Ink covered his neck, lightly stopping by his jaw. It dipped into his front, and you just knew there was more. He hadn’t noticed you yet, staring at a boy who looked similar to him. They were talking about something you couldn’t hear, but from reading their lips, you deciphered his name.

Ryomen. It was an ancient name, something you hadn’t heard before. You wanted to think about it more and admire him from afar, but he turned his head and spotted you. He didn’t see you, but your hair flowed before you in the water. It made your heart drop to see his face contort. It wasn’t hatred, but a look of shock, followed by disbelief. As he walked closer to the edge of the boat, you made your decision and dove back under the water, floating backward to hide yourself in the depths of the waves.

The night rolled around faster than the pirate captain had anticipated. Stars lit up the sky and illuminated the ship, although most of the light came from the lanterns strung across columns. He didn’t drink but opted to sit on a barrel and watch as his shipmates did. They all danced around and sang as if there wasn’t a care in the world. He would’ve danced with them, or done something lively, but he couldn’t get that image out of his head. He had seen something in the water, something alive. It watched him through a veil of thick-colored hair, that bobbed in the ocean’s water. And it ran away the moment it realized he had seen it.

“Ryomen,” a voice behind the man made him jump. He looked over and saw his half-brother, with a tired look across his features, staring back at him, “You should dance.”

“I’m tired.”

“Ryomen,” he said knowingly, “stop worrying and enjoy yourself.”

“I said I’m-” but he was cut off again by a pointed look from Choso. He was hot-headed, sure, but Choso was another level if angered. Ryomen let out a breath and got up, slipping off his jacket. Yuji had brought his fiddle, playing some tune everyone had heard of. It was simple but drowned out by the voices of their laughter and singing. It was a cheery moment, filled with more screams once their captain got up and bowed dramatically.

“Captain!” A crewmate, Nobara, chided. She strolled over to him and took his hand, “Dance with me, will ya?” She was about Yuji’s age, which made her almost a younger sister in his eyes. He took her hand and put another on her shoulder. With one movement he picked the younger girl up and set her feet atop her shoes, striding around the deck with a small smile. She giggled and laughed, holding onto him so she wouldn’t fall. It even made him smile wider, which was strange considering he used to never smile until he met his crew. They all … softened him. Showed Ryomen a side of himself he hadn’t known before.

The captain didn’t notice, in fact, no one noticed they had a guest. From a gap in the railing, a small hole, you watched. You never left. Your curiosity was starting to get you into more dangerous situations, hanging off the edge of the boat all to see a man who didn’t know you existed. You watched him as his face contorted into a smile, echoing laughter radiating from his chest. It calmed you, to see this side of him. Watching him dance and have an amazing time, all without realizing someone was watching.

They danced for another hour and drank for several. But you never left. You ducked your head when the crewmates got close and peeked up to meet Ryomen’s rugged face. He didn’t notice you, no one else did. They were lost in their own world and you were more thankful than ever. His eyes had softened and his smile was radiating, so you were surprised when everyone had left that it… disappeared. The captain put his coat back on and looked around. He didn’t do much to the bottles lying across the deck, or the garbage, opting to kick it with his shoe. There was a hollow look on his face and you desperately wanted to know why. What changed him from turning so happy and charismatic into… that? You had to admit, it was hot. And you had to admit, you were beginning to feel a way about this man you had never felt about anyone before. A loud heartbeat thumped in your ears and made the world slightly fog over, in a daze.

You had imprinted on him.

It’s a bit self-explanatory, but I’ll explain it for a bit. Seeing someone, the someone in mermaids sets off a biological code. They can tell from the moment they meet that person that that’s their lover, their someone, for the rest of their lives. It was complex, seeing as you were two different species. And, seeing as he didn’t even know your existence. You couldn’t get the feeling out of your head that he was meant to be yours, in some universe or lifetime.

You didn’t realize it, from all this info dumping, but being out of the water for so long had dried up your tail, causing you to transform. A bit more lore, if you will. Mermaids, in any body of water, will form a tail around their legs as a protective barrier. Although, out of the water their legs are shown and they can use them, it’s illegal and forbidden to even go above the water and test this theory out. Many mermaids who've tried to live undercover as humans always get outed in some way or another, so after so many terrible disastrous stories, the king outlawed it. You always followed the rules, but you knew it would happen. Looking down, you gasped and stared for a moment before warmth spread across your inner legs.

Masturbating as a mermaid was always kind of a chore, finding the sensitive spot over your tail and rubbing until you got somewhere took forever. But you always heard stories from your more adventurous friends that masturbation with legs was heavenly. Your eyes glanced from your bare legs back to Ryomen who was seated on another barrel and staring at the open ocean. It was so wrong, to touch yourself in front of someone who had no idea, but you couldn’t help yourself. You grabbed onto the ledge and slid one of your hands in between your legs, spreading apart your foreign folds. It was wet and slippery, but a different kind of wetness. Not from water, but natural lubrication. Your teeth found your bottom lip, biting down to suppress a noise when your fingers brushed over a sensitive spot. Was this the clit? It felt so good, that you started to focus solely on it. Rubbing small circles over your clit and praying you wouldn’t be too loud.

It felt like you were on fire, watching the captain and imagining what he would do to you. His cock, because human cocks were much better than mermaid cocks, you’ve heard, would feel so good in your wet pussy. You could imagine him stretching you out and fucking into you with such sheer force it would hurt. It would be different from the sex you’ve had before, no more men laying eggs in you. But instead, pumping bucket loads of sperm inside your tight hole. Your fingers slipped into your cunt, three at a time. Small noises escaped from your mouth and before long you began to unravel. You could see it on the horizon, and feel the orgasm building in your stomach. It was so good, it was so hot. You tried your hardest not to moan too loud, but you did. It was a small noise that could have been passed off as a grunt or perhaps a pained noise. But he knew.

Ryomen’s head snapped in your direction and he saw your face contorted in some kind of pleasure. You pressed your lips together and widened your eyes, thinking of something to do. But in that moment, you were frozen. It was fear, but it was excitement. You had been caught and humiliated, and it felt so hot. Your fingers trailed up from your pussy and to the ledge, glistening in the light. The captain just stared at you for a moment, trying to wrap his head around what exactly to do next. He was face to face with a mermaid of some sort, who he had just heard moan. He stood up and slowly made his way over to you, boots squeaking.

“You,” he gruffed, kneeling to look you over. You stared up at him with wide eyes. He was gorgeous up close too, something out of a fairytale. You wanted to extend your hand and reach out for him, let him pull you up and into his embrace.

“Me,” you repeated sheepishly, a hazy blush forming at your temple. Ryomen reached for your hand and took it, looking over your delicate skin. You went to continue, but he pulled you up. You gasped and let go of the ledge, then found yourself being thrown backward into the water. When your frame hit the water, a shriek escaped your lips and was cut short.

“You!” You gasped, breaking the surface tension and appearing back from the waves, “What the hell was that for?!?” He raised a calculated eyebrow and nodded, standing up. The captain's body shifted from side to side as he debated a response. You could see the wheels turning in his head as he decided if he should even respond to you, or leave you to drown. Of course, you wouldn’t drown, but it was the thought behind it that left a sour taste in your mouth.

“You’re a siren. Some kind of temptress trying to infiltrate my crew,” he spoke proudly as if he had come to the right conclusion. You stared up at him with a dumbfounded expression. How could he be so far from the truth? You weren’t there to tempt him into diving in and drowning, that was an outdated stereotype. The majority of the mermaids and sirens you knew didn’t want anything to do with humans. Why would he think that? In all honesty, you just wanted to feel his skin again. When he grabbed you, you had a chance to feel his rough calloused hands against yours. He was strong and warm—a warmth you had never experienced before.

“I wasn’t gonna-” A frown pulled at your lips, swimming forward to the base of the ship. With force and a lot of groaning, you made your way back up to the ledge with arm strength alone. The man watched you without a caring look in his eye. To him you were here to ruin his mission, the quest he had taken so long for. You were … his enemy. You weren’t sure how to make him see you didn’t want any harm, but rather him. In those few hours of just watching Ryomen and seeing him operate, you had begun to fall for him, even imprinting on his being. It was a tale as old as time, a creature falling in love with a human who couldn’t want anything to do with them. You had heard it play out before, but you wanted to try. Something about him felt different, even if his initial reaction was the same.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the words flowed out of your mouth gently, taking the captain by surprise. You saw it in the way his eyebrow twitched, and the corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown, “I’ve been watching you all today. You intrigue me, Ryomen.”

“How do you know my name, wench?” He sneered back at you, a cold wall in place of the warm exterior you had seen moments prior with his crew.

“I heard it. I heard a lot.. I don’t want to hurt you,” you looked down at your hands, then to your tail that flowed in the small breeze, “I don’t want to hurt you or your crew.”

He was silent for a moment, lips pressed into a line. He stared at you with an expression that was hard to read. Thinking, calculating, and figuring out his next move. Ryomen was truly stunned. He had never expected a siren to be real and approaching him. And he had never expected one to be so … beautiful. The captain had to admit, he was captivated by your beauty from the moment he saw your orgasm face. Yeah, he knew what you were doing. He didn’t want to think about how it turned him on to be watched like that, hear your sweet moans fill the salty air.

Sukuna knew the tale, a beautiful siren would take in a captain and make him jump. He knew it all too well, so he couldn’t trust you, not even if he wanted to. A part of him did want to. He noticed the fact you grew legs, followed by a tail in their place. He could see the appeal of drying you off and fucking a baby into you, then throwing you overboard and leaving. But something was different. There was a genuine tone in your voice and there was a genuine flutter in his heart. He would never admit this, or show you his warmth as he did his crew. You were a stranger who deserved nothing but a cold exterior and a cold heart.

“Then what do you want?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow. You let a moment pass, silence falling all around you. You didn’t want to say it because the answer would make you completely and utterly vulnerable. But you had to, you had to say something.

“You.” The words rang in Ryomen’s ears for a few moments as he stared at you with incredulous eyes. You wanted him? Even after he threw you into the ocean for dead, you wanted him? You wanted this man when he showed you nothing, not kindness, not hatred, just nothing? He didn’t want to believe he had just accidentally captivated you so much that you’d fall for him, in hours no less. The captain stood and watched you, taking in your form. Your hair was covering bits of your face, and blue scales covering bits of your skin. It didn’t cover your breasts, exposing your perked nipples to the cold wind. It didn’t cover the skin of your stomach, how your rolls were accentuated in the light.

He couldn’t deny he was a little bit curious, and the curiosity was turning into a perverted lust building in his abdomen. He had a mermaid at his will, a pretty one too, willing to do anything for him. The man could tell, from how you stared at him. So in love. It was cute, it made even his heart flutter just a bit. But it was still Ryomen, as warm as he was to his crew he was still a cold-hearted man. And he was a man. A lonely man, who hadn’t seen someone look at him with such love in his whole life. It was intoxicating, how you devoted yourself without thinking. Imprinting. He had read about it but never seen it in person. Hell, he had never seen a mermaid in person before. It was all new to Ryomen. There were mixtures of love, lust, warmth, coldness, confusion, love- love? He didn’t know you! How could he love you? But… it wasn’t natural. There was a pull, different from his other thoughts. It took over his thoughts and made him forget those perversions. It made him want to kneel and take your hand, pulling you from the water and holding you close. Was this the effect of your imprinting somehow rubbing off of him? Or was it… being shown unbridled love and affection that made Ryomen crumble?

Ryomen didn’t say anything, leaning down and taking your hand. His eyes intimately met with yours, as his hand enveloped yours. You looked down at him and a small gasp escaped your lips when he lifted you, without breaking a sweat. His arm flexed in the dull light, and you collapsed against his chest. Wet, you clung to him and rested your face against his pectorals.

“You… want me?” You murmured, not bothering to look up at him.

“I don’t know. I’m drawn, I’ll say that.” his breath was warm against your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand up. He was holding you up, so your tail didn’t drag on the ground. It wasn’t long or big, so it didn’t make a loud commotion as he set you down on the deck, “You.. need to dry off, huh?”

Your head nodded, thinking that would be that. You didn’t expect him to pick you up again, laying you on your stomach. A moan-like breath escaped from your lips, “Ryomen?” You turned slightly to watch, but something stopped you in your tracks. He was drawn to you, in more ways than one. It was your imprinting, rubbing off on him, making you drunk on his scent. Yes, Sukuna had his own will, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to you. Your eyes, maybe that’s what it was? Those tales of sirens were right, except it wasn’t just lust he was feeling. Maybe he was imprinting as well? If humans ever could. Love at first sight, which caused massive arousal on his part.

The entire point I’m trying to drill home is, that the captain was (whether he liked it or not) stuck with you, and he did like it. You couldn’t control your desires for him as much as he could. You knew he was the one and that aura surrounding yourself brought him in, making him feel safe. But onto the matter at hand? His erection was out, glistening in the pale light. You bit your bottom lip as you saw it bob from his left hand slowly stroking up his shaft. He didn’t know how mermaids consummated, because your penetration hole was not behind you, so you weren’t entirely sure what he was doing.

Then you felt it, he pressed his length against your asscheeks, frotting it back and forth to create stimulation. A small whine came falling from your bite-swollen lips, feeling the foreign sensation, “I think… we’re going to have to get to know each other,” Ryomen breathed out between his thrusts in between your asscheeks.

You said your name lowly, giving a brief description of your life. It was boring, with no parents and no siblings. So you had no qualms about leaving and starting over with this hot sailor. He nodded to your story and asked questions about different aspects. For him rutting into your behind, it was oddly casual. As if the two of you had silently agreed, this was normal, and you were now committed. Then he narrated his tale, growing up an orphan with two younger brothers to take care of. How he wanted a better life for his siblings and by doing this exploration, he’d get that. At points, the two of you forgot he was even humping your ass to begin with. It was so intimate, that detail slipped your mind.

It didn’t though, when his grip on your hips tightened, sharp nails digging into your scaled skin. He gaped and groaned, throwing his head back. You felt so good, different than the women he had fucked before. You were good and quiet, letting him hump you until he was about to cum. Then Ryomen leaned back and stroked himself to completion, spilling all on your pretty little back. You gasped and shuddered at the cold sperm, dripping onto your lower back.

“Warning, next time,” you breathed out, looking back at him.

Ryomen smiled and nodded, “Of course. Are you dry yet?”

You looked down at your still very mermaid bottom half and glanced back at him, “Do I look dry?” A hearty laugh escaped his mouth and he shook his head as you continued, “Just a few more minutes. Am I officially coming home with you? I mean, I’d like to, if you’re offering.”

“I don’t think I have a choice. I just came on your…” He trailed off, “I don’t even know why I,” another laugh, “Did that. I think you imprinted- or maybe I imprinted? I just… feel something for you I’ve never felt for anyone else before.”

“You mean it?”

“Mean it.”

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lizzy06 · 2 months

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Ushijima Wakatoshi Fic Recs!!(Tumblr/AO3/Wattpad)

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real by @somethinginthethunder (oneshot, fluff) Ushijima Wakatoshi wonders if what he’s bringing to the table in this relationship is enough. At least, for you. [COMPLETED]

Hot Springs by @t0wnspersonb (oneshot, smut, fluff) You couldn’t remember the last time you and Ushijima got to spend proper time together, so when he suggests going to the hot springs for a date how could you refuse? Although, you two are doing a bit more than just enjoying the hot water. [COMPLETED]

you and wakatoshi have a fight by @pies-writes-and-more (oneshot, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort) [COMPLETED]

Sunshine by yril (arranged marriage, fluff, angst) You found a good job with a high salary, but it turns out it was high for a reason. You were about to change your mind but they offer it to be doubled. [ONGOING]

soulmate au with professor by @setter-crush-central (oneshot, soulmate au) You both have matching tattoo lines. [COMPLETED]

jealous by @pies-writes-and-more (oneshot, fluff) [COMPLETED]

rumor has it | part two by @bokutosworld (fluff) among the things you imagined happening on a Friday, being the subject of rumors wasn’t one of them. [COMPLETED]

The Eagle and The Rabbit by @t0wnspersonb (onneshot)Your directional skills weren’t the best, but it never mattered as long as Ushijima was by your side. But what happens when he’s not? [COMPLETED]

How He Shows You Affection by @jayeray-hq (fluff, oneshot) [COMPLETED]

Is Ushijima Wakatoshi a Domestic Deity or Dud? by @jayeray-hq (fluff, oneshot) [COMPLETED]

oneshot by @omisu (oneshot, fluff, strangers to lovers)your long-time coworker turned friend, Kuroo, sets you up on a date with one of his finest clienteles. [COMPLETED]

290 notes · View notes

barefoot-joker · 7 months

Text

Destined for Heaven, Stolen by the Devil~ Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys and welcome to another Lucifer story. I'm sorry I write for him a lot. I just find to him be a very relatable character and I love him so much! Anyway, this fic deals with heavy Christianity themes, so I did my best to research. If something is wrong, please tell me and I'll do my best to fix it. I was very inspired by the song 'The Plagues' from "The Prince of Egypt". As always, I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 2899

Warnings: Heavy Christianity Themes/Beliefs, Swearing, Christianity Mocking, Slight Possessive Tendencies, Reader's Aunt likes crystals, Reader Dies, Kidnapping?

I sighed as my mother pulled a light blue cardigan over my shoulders. She dusted off my dress and fixed my hair so that I looked presentable. Today was Sunday so that meant we had to go to church. I wasn’t too fond of going and I would have rather been playing in the backyard as a twelve year old does. However, my mom made it her duty to take me and make me a good Christian girl. “Why do we have to go, mom? It’s soooo boring!”

I stuck out my tongue at her. She gently pushed it back in. “You know I want our family to have a good relationship with the Lord. It’s our Christian duty. Besides, going to church is in your blood. After all-”

“Yeah, yeah. God told you that I was destined to be a wife for Adam. How can you believe that? It came to you in a dream.”

“Y/n M/n L/n! You do not question God’s ways! You know better! Now come on, we don’t want to be late.”

Dragging me by the hand, she ushered me into the family Cadillac and sped off. I sighed heavily. There were so many things I’d rather be doing than go to church. I could be with my friends, heck I could be at my cool Aunt’s house. “Hey, mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When are we going to visit Aunt Hailey? When she called you said we’d be seeing her soon.”

“I only said that to get her off my back. You know how I feel about her.”

I grunted and crossed my arms. Aunt Hailey was seen as the black sheep in the family all because she was wealthy. A lot of our relatives (my mother included) thought she sold her soul to the Devil in order to be immensely rich and refused to interact with her. I, however, thought she was so cool. When she used to come over she’d regale to me hundreds of stories about her travels around the world. She even showed me her cool crystal collection when we went over to her house a few times. “Now don’t be like that. It’s not ladylike.”

I grunted again and slid down in the tan leather seat. A few minutes later the car was parked in the church parking lot and I was being dragged inside. Sometimes I wish I had siblings so I wasn’t the only one to feel mom’s wrath. She seated us near the front and handed me the heavy white Bible from the pew. I robotically turned to the page with the Lord’s prayer and stood when Pastor Bob entered. We began reciting the Lord’s prayer and sang a hymn before we sat. I didn’t pay much attention as our Priest told us his sermon for the day but I didn’t dare to look around the room. I had to look the part after all. Fidgety, I played with my ring finger. Glancing down, I took in the birthmark that oddly looked like an apple. I remember it showing up after I stayed at Aunt Hailey’s house one day. I never told my mother about it though. I was often reminded of the tale of Eve and the apple and I don’t know what she would do if ever saw the fruit insignia. After the sermon and another hymn, it was time for communion. We all stood in line and when it was my turn I took the small Ritz cracker and ate it. I coughed lightly and then took a sip from the golden chalice. My mom and I returned to our seats and when everyone was done, we recited the Lord’s prayer one final time. Thank goodness it was over.

As we walked out, I was forced to shake hands with our elderly Pastor. “How is my favorite little disciple doing today?”

I cringed at that. Ever since my mother told the church of her insane dream I was treated like some goddess. “Good.”

“That’s great to hear. I look forward to our weekly blessing.”

“Of course, Pastor Bob,” my mom butted in, “we wouldn’t miss it.”

He smiled and bid us both ado. We walked back to the car and drove home. As we passed by houses in our neighborhood, I looked longingly at the kids playing. Besides church, Sunday was dedicated to my education of becoming a housewife so when I did die and go to Heaven I was prepared. Parking the car, we went inside. I slipped off my Mary Janes and put them by the door. The rest of the day was spent cleaning, doing embroidery work and cooking. Just as I was getting ready for bed, the phone rang. I went into the kitchen and picked up the landline. “Hello?”

“Is my dear Y/n there?”

“This is her.”

“It’s your Aunt Hailey.”

“Auntie! Hi! How are you?”

She chuckled. “I am good, my darling. And you? Surviving another day in that stuffy house?”

I giggled at her commentary. “I’ve been okay. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering when you can come over. I was talking with a friend the other day and he would like to meet you properly. I believe he saw you at my house when you were five.”

“I’d love to come over! Let me ask mom real quick.”

I walked into the living room and pressed the phone to my chest. “Hey, mom. Aunt Hailey’s on the phone. She wants to know when I can come over.”

She looked up from her book and glared at the phone. “You know my answer.”

“Come on, mom! It’ll just be for a day!”

“I don’t know.”

“Please! I promise when I get back I’ll focus on my wifely duties! Please!”

I gave her puppy dog eyes and slightly whimpered. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Alright. You can go tomorrow, but I expect you to stay true to your promise. You know how God would feel if you went back on your word.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I lifted the phone up to my ear and quickly ran into the kitchen. “She said I can come tomorrow.”

“Wonderful! I’ll see you then, my dear.”

“Bye, Auntie!”

“Goodbye for now, darling.”

I ended the call and put the phone back on the receiver. I returned to the living room where mom and I did our nightly prayer. When we finished, she gave my forehead a kiss and sent me to bed.

The next morning I dressed in a plaid dress shirt, brown capri pants and black oxfords. I bounced in the passenger seat giddily as my mother parked the car in my Aunt’s gravel driveway. “Now remember to behave. I don’t need any calls about your disobedience.”

“I’ll be good, I will.”

“That’s my girl. And you have your cross necklace?”

“Yes, mom. Can I go now?”

She kissed my forehead and I got out of the car. “Be safe! Call me if something happens and I’ll be back around dinner to pick you up!”

“Okay mom, bye!”

I waved and she drove off. I turned towards my relative’s mansion and walked up the stone steps. I grabbed the handle from the golden lion’s head and gave three loud knocks on the large oak door. The door opened to reveal Timothy, my Hailey’s middle aged butler. “Ah Miss Y/n, we were expecting you. Please come in.”

He stood to the side and allowed me inside. Closing the door, he led me across the marble floor to one of the drawing rooms near the back. I could hear muffled voices talking as we entered, Timothy clearing his throat. “Your niece is here, madam.”

“Thank you, Timothy. That will be all.”

He bowed and exited the room. My Auntie smiled and gestured for me to come over. I ran to her and gave her a big hug. Her navy silk and lace dress clung to me. “It’s so good to see you, darling! I’ve missed you so!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

I pulled away and she motioned to the gold and floral print armchair next to her. I sat and looked at her guest on the chaise lounge. He seemed quite the esteemed gentleman. He had slicked back blonde hair, pale skin and red eyes. I found them quite odd but didn’t judge. Mother said it was bad to judge based upon appearances. He wore a white suit with a red dress shirt, a black tie with black flower detailing, black leather gloves and shiny black dress shoes. He was on the shorter side as well. “Y/n, I’d like you to meet my friend Luci. He’s the one to thank for my wealth.”

The man stood and bowed to me. He took my hand and kissed my apple birthmark. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my little apple. Your Aunt has told me so much about you.”

“It’s good to meet you too, sir.”

“So polite. Your mother is raising you right.”

“Except for the amount of gospel she puts in my poor baby’s head. I swear all because of her fucking dream, she’s gone total Bible thumper.”

Luci titled his head to the side. “Oh you’ll have to tell me over tea. Speaking of which, I think Timothy has finished setting up the garden for us.”

“Splendid!”

We all stood and the blonde offered me his arm. I gladly took it and we walked outside to Hailey’s marble floored porch. A metal table sat in the middle overlooking her large flower garden, a lacy white tablecloth set on top. Luci pulled out my chair and after I sat, pushed it in. He sat next to me and began pouring tea for all of us. Today Timothy had picked out the clear glass kettle so we could see the yellow liquid inside and the pastel teacups. I thanked Auntie’s friend when he poured into my cup and marveled at the small pink flower floating. “I see we’re having chrysanthemum tea. You know it’s your Auntie’s favorite.”

I giggled and picked up my cup. Blowing a little, I took a sip and smiled at the sweet taste. “So you were talking about Y/n’s mother?”

“Ah yes. She’s always been a Christian woman, believing in the power above. Then one night she had a dream, a vision she calls it, that Y/n is to be the third wife of the first man Adam. Ever since then she’s been obsessively devoted and is dragging my poor niece with her.”

“I see.”

Luci seemed to become stiff at the mention of Heaven and God. Perhaps it was a touchy subject?

“So God came to her and said this, hm?”

“Sure as shit supposedly.”

The three of us sipped our tea in silence. “So has school been going, my dear?”

“Good, Auntie. We learned how to do cursive in English the other day so now I can write my name all fancy!”

“That’s great, darling. Anything else?”

“I’ve been feeling kind of left out lately.”

Both adults turned to me in curiosity. “How so?”

“Well none of the other kids my age are really learning wifely duties, at least not as much as me. When I want to go outside and play mom forces me to do my skills.”

“Wifely duties? Pray do tell,” Luci cocked an eyebrow.

“I learned how to clean the house from top to bottom, cook all three meals, sew, embroider, and do laundry. Basically anything my mom deems necessary to please this angelic husband of mine.”

“I can assure you it will come in handy. Especially with how much of pigish brute he is.”

“How do you know?”

“I just got that impression when I’ve read his passages in the Bible, sweetie.”

“Oh.”

“If you had a real man I can be sure you wouldn’t need those skills, darling,” Auntie piped up, sipping her tea.

“A real man? Like who?”

“Like Luci for example!”

I turned to the blonde and he smiled. His eyes glinted with what looked like adoration. He gently grabbed my hand and held it, his hands quite warm through his gloves. He brought it to his lips and kissed the back of my hand. “It’s true. If you were my wife you wouldn’t want for nothing. Every day would be spent in marital bliss.”

“Sounds gross!”

He chuckled and kissed my hand again. “When you’re older you’ll come to love it.”

‘If you say so.”

“I know so.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent listening to Luci’s tales from his travels while drinking our tea. They were quite intriguing and full of adventure. The people he met, the places he went were all so fascinating. It soon became dinner time and true to her word my mom sat in the driveway. Luci walked me to the door and gave a little bow. “It was a pleasure to chat with you, Y/n. I have a feeling we will see each other more in the future.”

“I hope so. You’re so cool, Luci!”

He smirked and patted my head. “Farewell, little lady.”

“Goodbye, Luci!”

I gave him a quick hug before running to the car.

Sure enough as I grew up I ran into the short blonde more often than not. From trips to the grocery store to when I was allowed at Aunt Hailey’s house, we would bump into each other. We’d always exchange a few words and always those red eyes sparkled bright around me.

That was eleven years ago. Now I lay in a hospital bed, feeling like I was on the brink of death. A few years after meeting Luci I had gotten terribly ill. I was feverish, pale and felt nauseous. My mother was worried and took me to the clinic. I was just diagnosed with the flu. I took my medicine and stayed in bed as best as possible but the final straw was when I fainted in the backyard while gardening. Since then, I had been in and out of hospital with different doctors viewing me like prize cattle. I was poked, prodded and dug at only to be told no one had a clue as to why I was sick. It was like it had just fallen upon me. My mother became even more obsessive in her Christian ways. I was blessed every weekend and prayed upon every day to try and heal my mysterious illness. I was forced to drink holy water at every opportunity and had to wear my cross necklace with two rosaries.

Currently, I was coughing so hard I felt like I dislocated my lungs. My mother sat next to me holding my hand, a rosary wrapping around us. As I continued to cough she pushed some hair out of my face. “You’re going to be alright, honey. Just stay strong.”

After my coughing fit, I laid back and tried to catch my breath. “I feel like I’m dying.”

Her hand tightened around mine and I could feel her body shake with sobs. “Maybe this is God’s way of letting us know Adam needs you. As much as I’d hate to see my baby go, you’d finally fulfill your purpose.”

“Mom, please. Not now.”

“I’m sorry.”

A knock at the door made us both look over. There in the entryway stood Luci, his white hat with the dark red band hanging tightly in his hands. “Come in.”

He stepped forward and gave a small smile. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Y/n! Language!”

“Sorry.”

He chuckled and came to my side, putting a hand on my shoulder. “May I have a moment alone, please?”

My mom looked at me and I gave a curt nod. She sighed and stood. “I’ll go get something to eat. I’ll be back later, honey.”

She gave my forehead a kiss and walked out, shutting the door behind her. Luci took her place in the chair next to my bed. “What can I do for you, handsome?”

“I wanted to come see you. Hailey told me how you were faring and I knew I needed to come immediately.”

“I appreciate that. Especially since I feel like this may be the last time you see me.”

“Nonsense. We will always find each other, even in death.”

He brought his hand up and caressed my cheek. I smiled and then began coughing. I turned away and hacked into my arm, only turning back when I was done. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His hand wrapped around mine and squoze tightly. “You know, I could end your suffering right now.”

“Yeah right.”

“I’m not lying to you, my dear. One small kiss and you’d go peacefully.”

“Luci-”

“And then we can be together forever. Adam, not even Heaven will keep you from me.”

“What are you talking about?” “Just kiss me.”

What could go wrong? I was already suffering so much.

“...Alright.”

He leaned forward and connected our lips. He tasted sweet like caramel apples and I just melted. My soul felt like it was being sucked out of my body and when he pulled away I couldn’t breathe. “You’re mine, little apple. Forever and always.”

He caressed my hand and my eyes closed.

The beeping of the heart monitor slowed and then faded to silence all together.

598 notes · View notes

enviedear · 11 months

Text

holy terrain ⟶ anakin skywalker

description ⌙ anakin can't deny the pull his bratty princess has over him, or rather, has always had over him.

pairing ⌙ anakin x f!princess!reader

warnings ⌙ nsfw, 18+ mdni i will block you. mean(ish)!anakin, equally mean(ish)!reader, they're toxic 'friends', an unreciprocated childhood kiss, also an unexpected kiss, mention of alcohol, brief mention of anidala (they're not tg), a flashback (it's not long dw), improper acts in a royal garden, fingering f!receiving, use of the nicknames petnames princess and jedi, no use of y/n.

word count ⌙ 4.1k

— request | masterlist

ur gonna have to pry anakin & princess!reader fics from my cold dead hands

loosely based off of mother's song.

to the untrained eye, the elaborate ball around you would seem perfect, flawless even. a truly divine display of political power and proceeds all around, but all you're able to take note of is the glaring absence of a certain jedi knight.

it's not your place to ask for his whereabouts, and the idea of anyone knowing that you're looking for him has your head throbbing.

you'd grown up with him, running around the halls of both the jedi temple and your castle respectively.

while your mother, the queen, would discuss and debate with the senior jedi and pompous planetary delegates— you were off getting the young padawan into trouble.

you've never been the most considerate to him— rather, you liked to tease and push him around. anakin was your first and only acquaintance to allow you to deter from the rigid nature of your regality.

he'd take your witticisms and throw some back at you with even more vigor, and when you'd roughhouse with him he never drew back his hits.

he was anakin, and to him, you were just you.

but since the war, and its recent end— you've seen little of him. the most, if only, of him you've seen has been on your holopad.

'hero without fear', the words most always surrounding his likeness.

you're half inclined to think that the boy you grew up with may now be too substantial for you.

you fiddle with your dress' skirt, trying to keep your eyes from drifting back to the jedi and their apprentices who are present, lined in an almost perfect row against a wall. one more glance and you fear you may be drawn into a long conversation about the force, and you'd rather brood in your corner than deal with that.

your body goes stiff at the feeling of two hands coming from behind to clutch your shoulders, "princess, don't tell me you're sulking."

the voice that hits your ears is familiar and warm, and you fight back a grin as you turn to face the young man, "no. but i will now you're here."

his lips upturn in a simper, "oh, then shall i leave you? all alone?"

you hum, in faux thought, "never! i always need a jester at my side. what could be better than your funny face?"

you take him in while he laughs off your quip. his hair is neatly out of his face, longer and more curly than you've ever seen, and his long arms have become fuller, muscles apparent even with his tunics and robe.

his black and flowing garments starkly contrast your fitted and fair-shaded gown, and you take it as a reminder of your evident differences. anakin is a warrior now, while you're left to relegate menial court duty. in a strange way, you envy him.

his path has standards and steps to prove to him and everyone else that he is growing, learning, and becoming more. in your case, you come up lacking.

most people look and speak to you as though you're an idea. a sheltered royal with little to no concept of the galaxy around her.

you like to believe their whispers weren't true, but as you look upon your jedi companion, you feel a deep sense of ineptitude. how could you compete or compare to someone who has seen more planets than you could even name?

you put a small smile on your face, trying to block out your thoughts, "how have you been? i heard a certain senator has been keeping a close eye on you."

anakin's eyes narrow, "royal gossip? may i be privy to such information, your highness?"

he's being coy and you know it, you bring your voice to a whisper, "amidala. i hear you've been seen fleeing her chambers."

he hums, hands coming to rest at his hips, "well, princess, are you asking if the whispers are true," he pauses, head dipping closer to you and whispering, "or are you confused as to what goes on behind closed doors?"

you roll your eyes, "i most certainly do not need any aid in understanding such matters. i have my fair share of suitors. i just wonder how long until such information finds itself back to your council."

he gives you a contemptuous look, "you think too highly of my affection toward her. besides, i've heard she's found someone new to engage with."

"you've heard, or you were told?" you can't help the smugness in your words. truthfully, you've known of anakin's obsession with the young senator for years, and when you learned of her shared interest in him at the beginning of the war you had a strange aggression towards the idea.

the knowledge of the endeavor finally coming to an end relieves an unidentified weight on your chest.

anakin waves you off, "the specifics aren't important, however..." he trails off, looking you up and down.

his words and look pique your interest, "yes, anakin?"

you watch as his eyes leave your form to scan the ballroom. guests are everywhere, leaving the room crowded— and the walls seem to reek of whiskey and nectar wine— usual amongst 'high status' officials.

anakin leans down to you to whisper into your ear, "follow me."

your eyebrows knit together but you do as you're instructed, slipping away from the noisy ball and out into the night air.

there are a few stragglers outside, either intoxicated, engaging in less than pure actions, or a mix of the two.

you look away from a couple touching each other hungrily to glower at anakin, "why are we out here?"

his head turns to look back at you before he continues forward, "patience, dear princess."

your face scrunches in confusion but you continue on, hands pulling your skirts off the ground as you enter into the royal gardens.

you've walked the path beneath you countless times, and one of your earliest memories of the footpaths was shared with anakin. his boyish face covered in dirt after you had convinced him to unearth a large plot of soil for a lake— in your honor of course.

he had spent hours on his assignment, promising that you'd get what you desired.

in truth, a twelve year old you desired no lake, you simply wished to see how far you could get him to go for you.

it was you who held the power then, and he was a faithful devotee— albeit to his masters' chagrin. no one was able to really understand the hold you held over him.

not even the pair of you.

the incident landed both of you in a great deal of trouble, and you were forced to spend the next morning filling said hole. little you was apt to make anakin do most of that chore himself.

not that he had complained.

after a few quiet minutes of walking, anakin stops at one of the smaller fountains in the green. one of the oldest landmarks in this garden, predating the lavish castle on its horizon. it sits surrounded by tall fruit trees, leaving the area sweetly scented and mostly hidden.

"do you remember when i pushed you into this fountain?" anakin asks, voice deviant and deep.

you ponder up at him, "yes, and i also remember how i pulled you in with me."

he hums, a light chuckle falling out of his lips, "hm, and what did i do right after?"

you think back to the day, you, fourteen, and he fifteen. your defensive action had made him so outraged at you. his teenage face had been vibrant pink and his knuckles white.

"maker, you're such a brat!" anakin's voice was riddled with annoyance as he pushed himself out of the fountain, "look at me! i'm all wet and master obi-wan is never going to let me hear the end of this."

you had simply laughed, following him out of the chilly water, "i'm not a brat, and you pushed me first! goodness anakin, you're so boring now."

he turned to glare at you, "don't say that— i am not!"

you rolled your eyes, "are too."

in one quick movement, he had your back pressed hard into one of the trees, "i'm not boring. and if you say it again i'll make you regret it, princess."

you weren't scared of him, you could never be scared of anakin, "well, skywalker, if you're not boring, why don't you prove it."

it had been a silly and childish remark, and you weren't exactly sure how you wanted him to showcase opposition to your teasing. you weren't sure if even he knew how, but his thumbs traced along the veins at your wrists. his touch had left the air around you soft and hushed.

his blue eyes met your own for a split second before he leaned down to you, flushed lips parting ever so gently. he let his hands drop from your wrists down to your hips, and you stiffened at the touch. he had never behaved in such a way before, and the contact had your heart racing.

with little time to think, you watched him erase the space between the two of you, pausing for a short instant, before closing the gap between you. your eyes had gone wide at the feeling of his lips on yours. those perfect lips, full and chapped, lamented at your own— so foreign and new to you.

there wasn't much to the exchange, very little movement on your end and your eyes had stayed open in shock the entire time. just as you thought to kiss him back— he had pulled away.

he had then wiped his lips with the back of his hand before speaking, voice higher than normal, "there. i'm not so boring." and with that, he ran away, back to the castle, and you didn't see him again until months later.

you'd never brought it up and neither had he, so his question had you reigning yourself in, eerily motionless. he had taken your first kiss and never mentioned it again, why would he bring it up now?

you can't shame him much for it, as you had replayed the memory back in your mind thousands of times. commonly going so far as to try and remember what he had tasted like, to memorize the feel of his hands on you.

your mind often wondered what your reaction would be now, you hoped you'd at least be able to kiss him back now. but anakin didn't need to know that.

with a sharp look at him, you reply, "you robbed me of my first kiss, jedi." you inflect when you mention his title, reminding him of his virtuous position.

his left hand finds a place on your waist, drawing you into him, "i've never been considered a thief before— is that really how you recall it, princess?"

you fight your fluster, refusing to cower down to whatever game he's playing at, "oh? what would you call it?"

he quirks an eyebrow, "unfinished."

your stare up at him, body turning to fully mirror his own, "excuse me?"

"incomplete, insufficient," you watch as his other hand, metal, and cool comes to a rest at your shoulder, tugging you even more so to him, "i'd hate to think that was as good as you could do, sweet princess. you couldn't even rally the courage to kiss me back."

you look at him and decide that the jedi knight before you has changed. no longer was he the boy who followed along with your every whim with silent invocation, no longer the young man who engaged in your childish games— instead, the man before you had a presence that alone could send your mind rushing into quite debauched places.

"who said i ever thought about kissing you back in the first place." your voice is barely a mutter, despite the teasing intention.

anakin gives you a smug look, head tipping to the left, "you've grown to be quite the liar, princess."

your words go pointed, "you've grown overconfident."

in truth, he hadn't. his assumptions were correct, but how could you give in to him so easily? anakin is almost entirely overpowering, but you can see the soft pink tint on his cheeks. and you know you have an equal, if not greater, effect on him.

his metal arm is stern against you, and you feel his grasp growing stronger, almost evidence of your words.

lips upturned, he speaks, "overconfidence isn't what this is, i only wish to be useful, princess. how cruel it is to have my dedication be met with apprehension."

his words inflict a firey sensation deep within you, and the atmosphere between you seems to build, fizzling around. you feel as though your sanity has become severed— evolving into an amalgamation entirely made of him.

"and how remiss would i be if i didn't let you fulfill your favor?" your voice feels shakey, but you allow your own hands to find his shoulders, digging in ever so gently and forcing him closer.

he chuckles, eyebrows darting up in surprise, "horribly remiss i'm afraid."

your lips curve, "and this favor," you pause, narrowing your eyes, "you think it should be a kiss? that seems self-seeking."

the knight looks down to your lips, mirth clouding his features, "this is purely for your benefit, princess. don't you deserve the practice?"

in the back of your mind, you could find a tactful solution to this situation. perhaps something that involves stepping farther away from the man peering down at you, but strangely, you've never wanted to be closer to him than you do now.

"as if i need it, jedi." your voice is low when you speak, and you catch anakin's adam's apple hitch up.

you feel like your body is humming as you slide your hands from his shoulders— grazing over his clavicle, up, and towards his neck. you watch his eyes widen slightly, and you can hear his little intake of breath— you got him right where you wanted.

you look up at him once more, silently looking for approval, gratitude, need— something. the blue eyes peering down at you fail to disappoint.

you let yourself stand a bit taller and pull him down to you, inching up until your lips graze his own. you feel his smile when your lips brush, and you bite your tongue before kissing him.

your kiss is deliberate and delicate, but you're fully in control.

he gives into you so easily. he waits for you to pull him closer before he follows suit, nose pressing into the side of your own. he tastes of fruit, and you let your tongue slide into his mouth, greedy for him.

he exhales at that, palming your hips and pressing himself into you ever so slightly. you let out a lewd breath at that, and anakin breaks the kiss to lean his forehead on your own.

you wait a second before looking up at him, and he stares back down at you. his lips part again, but this time you expect them to be followed by words. possibly an apology or a rejection.

he surprises you instead, by dipping down to you once more. his hands trail up from your hips, stopping just below your breasts. you groan when you feel his lips begin to leave kisses along your jaw, trailing down toward your neck.

your shared behavior is absolutely improper for both of you, but you can't seem to care while he's leaving lingering kisses upon your neck, sending goosebumps along your flesh.

your hands push upward, fingers knotting themselves in his hair. you let yourself give his locks a little tug just as he begins to suck on your skin.

you catch your breath from his raw and desperate action. your heart pounds harder, the sensation overcoming you, sending a swell of pleasure through you. he takes every signal you give him, pulling himself closer to you until you can feel the flutter of his heartbeat against your chest.

his lips graze your ear before he speaks, voice barely a whisper, "i'd say we're even now, princess."

your eyes remain closed at his words, enjoying the feeling of his breath against you, "i'm not so sure, jedi."

his hands find a home at both sides of your face, and you look up at him, "and how does my crime of stealing your first kiss continue to go unpunished?"

you're not sure of what to say for a second, shocked still by the look of conviction caught in his eyes, "i never said i wanted to punish you for it."

he moves one hand from the side of your face, tracing it back down towards your hips. he smiles at your words, and looks up at the sky before answering in a low voice," then how else should i show my appreciation?"

you take a step back, leaning against the tree for support. you can feel his gaze on you, but before he can say anything your own bravery speaks up, "appreciation?"

he lifts an eyebrow at your remark and tilts his head inquisitively in response, "yes princess, don't you want me to show you how grateful i am?"

you grin devilishly in response and answer him confidently, “i think i could come up with something."

he grins back lazily, humming a response, and moves closer, hands still firmly positioned on either side of your face. his lips meet the corner of your smile. he leaves a gentle kiss there before meeting your lips with so much passion that your body feels faint.

each trace of his lips sends electric sparks through your body as his kisses fall down your neck towards your collarbone. you shiver at the touch, as he brushes across each sensitive spot. you feel as if he's satirizing you in some way until his lips finally meet the delicate area around your shoulders— leaving soft nipping kisses that cause an uncontrollable moan to escape from you.

you feel his hands drop to your dress' skirt, bunching up the tight fabric and inching it up. when his skin makes contact with the flesh of your thighs, you let your forehead drop to his shoulder.

anakin seems to like this motion, breath hitting against your ear again, "do you want me to touch you, princess?"

you feel overwhelmed, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. you manage a slight nod before finally croaking out, "yes."

anakin's hands immediately respond, brushing up the side of your thighs until they find their way near your pulsing cunt. you feel obscene and exposed by your own need, but anakin seems to grow more confident the closer his fingers dance to you. you hear him laugh lightly as you press yourself into him, silently begging for more.

he abides by your wish, nimble fingers beginning to stroke your clothed slit. you moan at the contact, voice somewhat muffled as your head remains at his shoulder. anakin however chooses this moment to speak, tone falsely saccharine, "sweet princess, aren't you going to tell me what you want? use your words."

for a brief second, you feel impossibly hot and annoyed. you'd rather not voice your desperation for him. you'd be reckless to follow his orders so blindly.

"you're the one with your hands under my dress. what is it you're wanting, jedi?" you finally draw your head back from him, eyes catching his.

anakin lets himself grin, haphazardly letting his thumb brush your needy nub. he watches as you attempt to hide the roll of your hips, "i want you."

he doesn't continue with words, no, he slides your underwear to the side and feels your wetness against his fingers. he lets out a low groan when you grip him tighter.

your back is pressed into the tree behind you and anakin's body seems to lock you in place, not that you'd move away from him now. not when he's teasing your opening and causing your mind to go wild.

"tell me what you want," he smirks, one digit dipping ever so slightly into your heat, "and i'll obey."

you screw your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself. your voice is uneven when you respond, "touch me, please."

he doesn't neglect your demand and he lets his finger slide into you, slow. you clench around the digit, hands snaking into his hair and forehead pressing against his own.

he lets you feel him, as deep inside you as he can possibly get, before sliding out and back in again. you want to scream at the way his digit barely hits the spongey part inside of you, but instead, you let your hands grasp him harder.

he takes pleasure in your whiney noises, pushing further into you before sliding out once more. you whine at his teasing, and you catch the softest grin on his lips as he presses into you, two fingers this time.

you feel more full of him, and the notion has you reeling.

"maker, anakin." you barely hear yourself when you speak, voice so low.

he arches his fingers inside you, hitting the spot that sends your weight fully into his being, "yeah? am i doing a good job princess?"

you hum in assurance, blissful and teetering the edge. you feel drunk with how good he feels, how good he's making you feel.

"good," you moan. "so good."

you cry out his name in praise, only to be met by a lament. the rumble that answers you sounds like distant thunder colliding with sand and stone. a rolling sensation races through your body at the sound of it. your heart thuds in your chest and he watches its movements in delight.

he seems to like the way you're falling apart for him, eyes unwavering in their view of you. slowly but surely, you feel him putting pressure right where you need it until you can hardly handle it anymore. anakin thrusts his digits faster and faster, and you can't help but pull quite firmly at his curls.

his throat elicits a wanton groan at the feeling, and you feel yourself rock your hips to meet his hand. you're so close to the brink.

"do you want to come? hm, want me to make you feel good?" you can hear the strain in his voice.

"please, ani." your voice begging, warm at your own words.

his thumb finds your clit again, this time though, his touch isn't feather-light. no, instead he's cruel in the way he massages the bundle of nerves, leaving you a moaning mess beneath his body. he knows exactly how much pressure to use as he presses down on your bud repeatedly. making it impossible to form a coherent thought inside your head.

instead, all you can focus on is the thumb on your clit and the two digits in your core—driving into you relentlessly and the other pressing into you until your eyes shine white, you can feel yourself blanking.

his digits continue to pump in and out of you, humming his approval at your vulgar display— your eyes are heavy, legs unsteady, and lip slightly raw from biting it.

"i'm so close, anakin." you pant, fingers stiffening in his hair.

he whines, "yeah? let go, princess, i've got you."

and with one final plunge of his digits in and out of your warmth you feel a rather sudden wave overcoming your body, jolting everything inside and outside too. the sensation is a pure high, and you claw at anakin's shoulders until the feeling begins to subside. the night air suddenly feels so chilly, but you nuzzle closer into anakin. with you face hidden, you allow yourself a satisfied smile upon your, as well as anakin's, lips.

anakin grins down at you and kisses the top of your head in adulation before slowly removing his hands from you. you feel him trail his fingertips up your spine before speaking in a raspy tone, "how was that, princess?"

your body feels as if it could quaver at the sight of this man before you— a strong and assertive jedi warrior— so taken with you, eyes brimming down with a mixture of pride and adoration.

he pushes himself back slightly, still hovering above you, and looks down into your eyes with an unmistakable warmth in his gaze. you'e sure no one had ever looked at you like that before—like they wanted to consume every fiber of your being, of your soul.

anakin's eyes search yours for a moment before he presses his lips gently against yours in a temperate kiss.

as he moves away again, this time, drawing away enough to extend his arm above your head, fingers now clutching the tree's trunk.

you both remain still there for some time, taking comfort in each other's presence, until finally, anakin speaks softly again,"i thank the force to have met you, to know you. i've missed you, princess." his voice sounds brazen yet gentle.

his free hand lifts, raising your chin up to look into his eyes once more.

you hum, "you've grown better with apologies."

anakin huffs, lips upturned, "maybe, or perhaps solely for my benefit regarding you."

you roll your eyes, "is that what this was? some self-aggrandizing ruse?"

he smirks, eyes widening in faux horror, "never, princess. i only mean to say that i seem to behave best in your company. you wield a tight reign."

you can't help but smile at the compliment, unabashed. "i have no hold over you, jedi."

anakin's lips quirk into a fiendish grin as he reaches up to gently brush his thumb along your chin, "of course you do, princess," he murmurs softly. "of course you do."

#anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin skywalker smut #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin x reader smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker x reader fluff #anakin x you #darth vader #vader x reader

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fonteyn · 2 years

Text

something wrong with me and you

Pairing: Marquis Vincent de Gramont x afab!reader. No use of Y/N

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: smut. slightly dub/con, including spanking, teasing, making the other beg, etc. Minors do not interact. +18 rating.

Author's note: who knew me going to the movie theater to watch john wick 4 was going to bring my fic writing era back from the dead lmao, maybe I'll finish other fics I abandoned along the way

I do not consent to any of my work being reposted on other websites.

At first, it was a night like any other.

Until he showed up, deciding that on this evening you were worthy of his time.

His lips reached closer to the shell of your ear while you struggled to hold in a sigh. He’d been at it for hours, tentatively running his nose on your neck, poking for a show of weakness on your part.

And you knew you were at the precipice of failure. The relentlessness of his continuous challenges made an inevitable dent in your resolve to deprive him of his wishes.

"I can give you everything, mon amour”, his full body pressed you down onto the mattress, fingers gripping your inner thighs, “everything you could ever want and more."

At this point, this had become a bit of a habit of his. Speaking these infamous words every single time you were with him. To the point of annoyance.

Be it in the low lights during a theater performance, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, or - as you were now - in his bed, draped in nothing but luxurious jewelry and the expensive silk of his sheets. It seemed he had become fixated on tantalizing you with unreachable realities.

"Isn't that what you want, darling?", he teased with a playful smile, just before nibbling your shoulder, teeth sinking into your skin followed by the soothing of his tongue.

His pleasure in the act of mocking you was palpable, even more so when you were at a point of nearly squirming underneath him, "It is no shame to admit it", he continued, "don't you want to be all mine?".

You could no longer hold it in anymore, fighting power running out.

A shaky nearly broken moan left your lips along with a tremble through your body, and you threw your head back as his left hand found your waist. The right one lowering down smoothly - from your waist to your thigh, teasing the idea of doing something about the mess he created - before moving on, with a caress, all the way to your calf.

His hand settled, wrapped around your ankle, as he moved away from you, getting up from the four-post bed.

You were about to voice disappointment when you felt a tug on your ankles.

A surprise noise was once again dragged out of you as Vincent yanked you closer to the end of the bed, where he stood.

His once perfectly pressed shirt hung open. The slicked hair was now messy as a result of the good work from your fingers, both in the back of the limousine and on the elevator that took you both to the upper levels of his home.

Still pliant from all the effort he had put into making you putty in his hands, you lifted yourself up on your forearms, noting the harness of his length, which he had been rubbing against you ever since before you left the private dining room.

You were often fascinated by how the regality of his every move seemed impossible to rattle, even on the most heated nights.

A person could easily mistake the coldness of his stare to believe it meant indifference, after all, the Marquis de Gramont was a hard man to impress.

But you knew better.

You’d seen him beyond his title, his wealth, his ruthlessness.

And he had seen you.

His eyes almost twinkled from pent-up desire and as if he couldn’t help himself, he forcefully grabbed your chin, bringing your lips ever closer

Merely an inch separated you from the kiss that would soon follow.

Though before you could seal the deal, you became entranced by the sight of him licking his lips and the raspy whisper that followed.

"Say it to me. Say that you want to be my little marchioness. I can't give you what you want unless you say it."

You couldn't help but reach forward, your teeth sinking on his lower lip, making him hiss. Both of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you in place.

A smirk on your lips was inevitable, "Who's doing the begging now?"

That would just about do the trick on him, his body stiffening immediately and you braced for what would soon follow.

“Well, the night is not over is it?”

He admired your defiance in the face of his authority. How most times, even if you stood before him deprived of a single stitch of clothing, you were still able to look him in the eyes, as if you held all the cards. As if he couldn’t - or wouldn’t - ever harm you in any significant way.

Refusing to back down, teasing him to react first.

Admit it first.

To say just how much he wanted you.

How much he craved for you. How he woke up and thought of you. How much he wished he was inside you all day, every day.

And sometimes, even more dangerously, how he saw a particular painting and thought of you. Wondered if you would like it. Played out in his head how he was going to tell you all about it and then show it to you. The same had been happening a lot with clothes. Gowns he saw and only pictured how you’d look wearing them, and the way he would go about getting them off later.

The look you gave him during dinner while sipping on the most expensive wine from his private collection…It was enough to make him want to stop the world. Bend you over the table and fuck you until you pleaded with him to let you finish.

Tonight, however, he was tired of your games. Vincent was no longer interested in making you squirm, he wanted to make you scream.

If you refused to admit your obvious desire when he was being so nice, he was going to make you beg out loud.

He flipped you around, sturdy hands on either side of you forcing you to go on all fours for him. Aware that you hated not seeing his face while he took you.

For a moment, he basked in that power.

Of how despite all your fight, your snark, your feigned indifference when he spent weeks without seeing you and suddenly turned up at your door, you were still pliable to his will.

One of his large hands maneuvered to make sure you couldn’t switch positions, holding your neck in place. The cold metal of his ring tingling against your skin. Demanding that you stare forward, towards the headboard, stealing from you even the mere possibility of catching a glimpse at what he was about to do.

A slap came down hard on your ass, earning him a choked gasp. His hand soothed the now pained spot for a second before another slap soon followed. And then continued his motions, one after another until you lost track of how many spanks you had gotten. Being only mildly aware of the prickling of your skin, and more consumed by the wetness dripping from your core.

A whine ripped through you as he finally placed his thumb on your pussy, caressing you thoroughly.

“Fuck…”, you muttered a satisfied near-sob.

“Mmmm…not yet, mon amour”, Vincent teased, “unless you’re ready to beg for it.”

He splayed his hand on your lower back, moving you closer to his cock, and you held your breath as you felt him gripping his length behind you.

“Are you ready, darling? Are you ready to beg for me?”

“Yes!”, you mewled, nearly adding a “please” after.

You knew he was shaking his head at you, “It is truly a pity you have not spoken the correct words.”

You hissed as he grazed the head of his cock on your entrance, teasing but not making any moves towards pushing inside.

Vincent smiled, if you wanted him you’d have to say it, and he knew you were close to breaking.

“F-uck, fuck, okay”, you relented, backing yourself up further against him, “please…please…fuck me, I can’t…I-I want you, I need you so fucking bad.”

He wanted to resist you, as you had resisted him. He wished he could.

Vincent liked to think of himself as a man with enough resolve to spare, but that was always a challenge when it came to you.

When he said he would give you whatever you wanted, you thought it was a tease, a joke, a lie. You were wrong.

Not another sigh from you was needed to make him plunge his cock inside you and set a fiery pace, embracing your warmth as he moved one hand toward your nipples, pinching them so hard you started screaming.

Time lost all meaning, and sounds felt far away as he pounded inside you, setting a relentless pace.

Neither of you spoke, but both panted in pleasure.

One of your hands reached out towards his own, the one that is holding your neck, intertwining your fingers in a way that allows you to finally move your head back towards him.

Searching for his lips.

Unable to deny you any longer - and consumed by his own desire - he complied. Draping himself closer and closer, as if he wanted to consume you fully. Covering your body with his own, devouring your mouth with vigor, until neither of you can hold on.

You’ve deprived each other for too long.

He waits for you to finish, a wave of ecstasy ripping through you, as he fucks you even harder, chasing his own release with a shout.

He soon lays down on top of you, and in your lightheadedness, your fingers intertwine with each other.

Holding on for as long as you can.

Unaware of the great lengths the Marquis will go to make you, his.

#marquis vincent de gramont #vincent de gramont #marquis de gramont x reader #bill skarsgard x reader #john wick fics #fics #mine #smut #bill skarsgard smut #marquis vincent de gramont smut

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soulaires · 1 year

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I need me some Kenji kishimoto fics!!! Maybe like he's drunk and aarom calls u so u so u have to pick him up and he's being a lil suggestive and goofy and fluffy and stuff!!!

My Girl.

pairings: kenji kishimoto x f!reader

summary: kenji is drunk and absolutely have no brakes.

warnings: ooc, alcohol, drunk, suggestive themes.

« words: 1,659 ┇ao3┇reblogs are appreciated! »

authors note: I know this ask is ages ago but i just cant write something very similar to my old one so I did some twist to make it different. Enjoy! Also not proofread and I wrote this at midnight. Excuse it lmao.

Kenji had always been a tough nut to crack, but that night, the alcohol had done its magic, leaving him in a state of blissful inebriation. He, along with Aaron and Adam, had gathered for a boys' night out.

Kenji had decided it was high time for a boys' night out. He'd invited his best buddies, Warner and Adam, for a night of fun and revelry. Little did they know that Kenji had a surprise in store for them, something that would shatter their preconceived notions and send their jaws dropping. They didn't know that you and Kenji had been secretly dating for a while.

As the night progressed, Kenji became increasingly intoxicated, his inhibitions fading away like smoke in the wind. He couldn't help himself, and in his drunken state, he decided to let the cat out of the bag. With a wide, goofy grin, he began to regale his friends with stories about his amazing girlfriend (you).

"Guys, guys," he began, clearly intoxicated already, "you won't believe it, but I have the most amazing, pretty, talented, and hot girlfriend in the world!"

"I'm the luckiest guy, seriously." He slurred, leaning heavily on his friend's shoulder.

His friends exchanged bewildered glances. Adam chuckled, "Kenji, man, you've had one too many. Are you sure you're not just imagining this incredible girlfriend of yours?"

Warner and Adam exchanged incredulous glances, thinking that Kenji was simply caught up in the moment, or perhaps he was just too drunk to know what he was saying. "Come on, kishimoto," Warner chuckled, "you've had a few too many. Are you sure you're not just... imagining things?"

Kenji, however, was adamant. "No, I'm not making this up, guys. I'm serious. She's real, and she's mine!"

Adam chimed in, clearly amused, "Well, we've known you for a while, Kenji, and you've never mentioned a girlfriend before. Are you sure you're not delusional?"

Kenji shook his head vigorously, causing his unruly hair to flop around. "No, I'm not imagining. She's real, and she's mine!"

Warner, never one to care, chimed in, "Come on, kishimoto. You've been known to exaggerate when you've had a few drinks. You’re just being delusional."

"No, no, no!" Kenji insisted. "I'll prove it to you guys. I'll call her right now!"

Kenji clumsily fished his phone out of his pocket, fumbling with the buttons and nearly dropping it on the floor. He scrolled through his contacts, searching for the one name that meant the world to him. Finally, he found it— My Pretty Girl 🤍.

With unsteady hands, Kenji pressed the call button, the phone ringing in his ear. He leaned back and grinned at his friends, pride bubbling in his drunken heart. "You'll see!"

As his fingers danced across the screen, Warner and Adam watched with growing skepticism. They fully expected Kenji to dial a random number or play a prank on them. However, they couldn't have been more wrong.

Kenji, with a triumphant grin, put his phone on speaker mode as the call connected. Suddenly, a sweet and soothing voice filled the room, uttering, "Kenji? Baby? Do you need me to pick you up now?"

Warner and Adam exchanged a perplexed glance before their eyes widened in shock. The voice on the other end sounded awfully familiar, and the nickname 'Baby' was a clear giveaway.

Kenji beamed with delight, staring at his friends. "See! I told you she's real!"

Adam recovered from his shock first, shouting, “YOU ARE DATING Y/N ???”

Kenji ignored their comments and continued talking to you. "Pretty girl, I miss you."

You couldn't help but smile. "I miss you too, Kenji. Do you need a ride home?"

Kenji's eyes sparkled as he leaned closer to the phone, his voice laced with a hint of flirtation. "I need more than just a ride home, Y/N."

As the night came to a close, Kenji's friends decided it was time for him to go home. He was, after all, unable to stand on his own at this point. Kenji's intoxication levels continued to rise.

Kenji had other plans, though. He was in high spirits and wanted nothing more than to see you. "I need my baby. I can't stand being away from her" he declared, much to his friends' amusement.

When it was finally time to leave, Warner knew they couldn't leave Kenji alone in his state. He grabbed Kenji's phone and scrolled through his contacts to find the number saved under "My Pretty Girl 🤍."

The call is connected, and your voice on the other end can be heard. "Kenji? Is everything okay?"

“Hey, Y/N, it’s me. Come pick your drunk boyfriend up before he embarrasses himself.”

“Oh Warner, hey. Yeah I’ll pick him up. Please give him water to drink to sober up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, voice thick with sarcasm.

When you arrived, Kenji was in no condition to stand, let alone walk. He practically lunged at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling into your neck. "You're amazing," he slurred, his warm breath tickling your skin. "So pretty. So hot."

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a warmth in your heart. "Thank you, kenj."

As Kenji stumbled toward you, he was all smiles, his neediness and clinginess on full display. He hugged you tightly, whispered sweet compliments in your ear, and planted tender kisses along your neck.

You couldn't help but smile, your heart filled with love for this man who, even in his most inebriated state, couldn't contain his affection for you.

As you left the bar, Kenji couldn't keep his hands off you. He was floating, and every step was punctuated by laughter, stolen kisses, and playful touches.

He kept his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm.

"You're so pretty," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he placed sweet kisses on your neck. "So, so pretty."

You couldn't help but blush at his compliments, despite knowing that he was under the influence. Kenji, always the charming one, had now added a touch of playfulness to his usually affectionate nature. You decided to tease him a little. "Kenji, are you trying to sweet-talk your way into getting a ride home?"

Kenji let out a soft, tipsy chuckle, his lips grazing your earlobe. "Mhm, no. A way to make you scream my name tonight, though."

"Kenji, you're a mess," you chuckled, wrapping your arms around him as he swayed slightly.

"I'm not a mess, I'm a masterpiece!" he declared proudly, peppering your face with a series of sloppy kisses.

As you guys made your way towards the exit, Kenji kept stealing glances at you, his compliments flowing as freely as the liquor in his veins. "You're the most beautiful person in the world, you know that, right?" he slurred. His words were genuine, even if they were slightly incoherent.

The journey from the bar to the car was a wobbly one. Kenji couldn't seem to walk in a straight line, and he insisted on holding your hand with a grip that told you just how much he needed your support.

Once you guys were safely ensconced in the car, Kenji wasted no time in attempting to become one with the passenger seat. "I love this car," he mumbled as he hugged the headrest.

His antics didn't stop there. Kenji kept stealing kisses every few minutes, his lips landing anywhere they pleased – your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your neck, your hands, even your ear. It was all rather comical and sweet, in a completely ridiculous way. "You taste like strawberries and sex" he remarked with a dreamy look in his eyes.

The car finally came to a halt outside you and his shared apartment building, and Kenji's drunken demeanor was still in full swing. He insisted on being carried upstairs, which was a considerable feat considering his weight.

When you arrived home, Kenji clung to you, reluctant to let you go. He peppered your face with kisses, laughing and whispering sweet nothings.

Kenji, now sitting on the couch, looked at you with puppy dog eyes. "I need more kisses," he pouted, his bottom lip sticking out.

You couldn't help but oblige. His neediness was endearing, and even though he was drunk, you couldn't resist his affection.

As you kissed his forehead, down to his cheeks, nose and to his lips, he quickly deepened it, a groan falling from his lips as he pulled you closer to him, sitting you to his lap.

"Kenji.. we can't. You are drunk" you said as you pulled away, while your boyfriend chased your lips.

"But baby, I need you right now, please. I fucking need to feel you." He insisted.

"We can't. You are drunk, love"

"My pretty baby, my best girl, my baby doll. Let me take care of you, please. I just need you so bad.." he begged you once again and you could not help but to let out a whimper.

"I know you want to, princess."

"Not when you are clearly drunk, okay?" You reasoned out and he pouted. He fucking pouted.

So, you stood up, playing 'Dancing Queen' by Abba as you invited him to dance.

The living room turned into a make-shift dance floor as you guys swayed to the melody, his head resting on your shoulder.

He began to mimic the bizarre dance moves of a famous pop star, twirling around the room with an exaggerated flair that left you both in fits of giggles. "I should audition for 'Dance moms,' don't you think?" he teased, striking a ridiculous pose.

As the hours passed, Kenji's antics faded, and he succumbed to the heavy pull of sleep. You tucked him into bed, his face still wearing a contented smile, and you could not help but smile back.

#reader insert #shatter me #shatter me series #rie speaks 🗣#rie answers 🦦#riewrites 🫀#kenji kishimoto #kenji kishimoto x reader #kenji kishimoto x you #kenji kishimoto imagine

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ariestess · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills & Henry Mills Characters: Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: Missing Scene, Canon Compliant, Mother-Son Relationship, Family Fluff, Family Bonding, Surprises Series: Part 22 of Wednesday100 Summary:

Henry offers Regina a first glimpse at a surprise she didn't realize she's been waiting for.

#regal believer #regina & henry #once upon a time #my fic

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seattlesellie · 1 year

Text

knight!ellie x princess!reader drabble. ♡🗡️🕯️

an: since i’m thinking of writing a full fic of knight ellie x princess reader i wanted to know what you guys think ! let me know if i should turn this into something way longer. just a lil peak of the themes of a longer fic 💗

cw: mature themes, reader is a little lonely, tension.

the moon is so bright, so big, so white, luminous, it reflects in her emerald eyes and renders them almost mystical, bordering on the verge of the unreal. one couldn't help but wonder if she herself was not entirely real, a specter of dreams made flesh. do you recall those distant days of childhood? just eight years old, insisting that your imaginary friend — aurora, was right by your side? you clung to her like a lifeline. you'd shed tears as your mother, the reigning queen, denied the request for an extra place setting, an empty plate reserved for aurora alone. how you fell asleep bawling, tasting salt on your tongue, bitter and sickening, feeling as if you were drowning in your sleep, the specter of aurora growing gaunt and wretched, as though starved for existence.

how you woke up plagued by guilt, tormented by a high fever and a stubborn eye infection, crying and screaming for your imaginary best friend. and how from that day on, the castle fell empty. you wandered around, through those regal halls like a specter, floating like a brittle ghost, nodding politely when a maid curtsied in reverence, offering a feeble smile to the steward as he addressed you as his cherished princess.

you filled your duties, all your royal obligations, attended to your classes, spoke only when spoken to by your parents, ignored when another royal called you a “loony” when catching you in the midst of a conversation with several alabaster rabbits.

you formed a connection with the world around you, a bond that ran far deeper than what met the eye, and now one knew.

you rub on your eyelids with the back of your hand, and blink in dismay — oh, you’ve been mistaken, she is real, and her abdomen rises and falls with each breath, the clang of her armor a testament to her existence, to your sanity. her eyelids flutter, and her throat subtly moves as she swallows. a strand of her auburn hair sways in the wind too, but sweet aurora’s hair also danced in the breeze, so who knows.

sometimes it all is simply too blurry.

for now, you choose to believe.

the grass tickles your bare toes, you don’t laugh.

“hate being a princess” you mutter with a sigh, tilting your head to the side — her side, to see if perhaps she vanished like the rest of them, yet finding her there.

her role as a knight is dictated with silence in your presence, a mere executor of commands from your father with a duty to bow in submission, so she doesn’t respond. all she has to do is be your protector, keep you safe and guarded, make sure you won’t try and run once more.

she’s also not supposed to help you with your clandestine escapades from the castle, she’s not supposed to lay in the tall royal gardens ridiculously green grass with the princess, to allow the opulent and delicate fabric of her dress to gently brush against the barest portion of her knee. yet — she allows it.

she’s not supposed to help you pick flowers and greet you good morning, she was supposed to be unyielding as stone, almost ephemeral yet ever-present.

and now your ankle shifted to rest gently against hers, and she didn’t even nudge you.

“i despise it” you repeat. you try and voice your frustration but it comes off as too soft. ellie typically abhorred anything soft. she’d rather sleep on a hard mattress than a plush one, favored stomping over floating.

and yet you seem to be an exception.

you seem to be an exception for lots of things.

and ellie doesn’t respond. she blinks at the full moon and it blinks back at her.

“do you like being a knight?”

you think you may have heard a breathy chuckle. you’re unsure, you sigh.

“ellie?”

and she never told you her name. you figured it out by yourself.

then she begins, pink tongue folding and moistening her lower lip. “i like being your knight”, she blinks thrice, in a hurry — like she said something wrong, as though she feared she might have offended anyone else whose knight she was not. she takes a deep breath, for some reason it's shaky.

“i like, i- need, to protect the kingdom. it’s my duty. for the sake of your father, the people, you — you know that, my princess”

and usually you’d cringe when addressed with that title. you voiced it already — that title isn’t you, you don’t want it, it felt like a burdensome label imposed or cursed upon your birth, but for some reason, when she says it ; “my princess” it feels like her “my”, is the one that holds the power to cloud your mind. and that’s why you don’t argue that it isn’t your name, because she calls you as hers, and oh how bad you want to be hers.

you overheard the conversations among the other young royals, who spoke in hushed tones about "crushes." you eves dropped and furrowed your brows intently when they talked about the charming sable boy, a dark haired prince from a faraway land, an adviser. they described the feeling of having a crush as if they were “falling”, “giddy”, “thrilled”, “like riding a horse, really really fast”

and it never really happened to you, albeit you really did try. you just accepted it, you’d be crush-less forever, forced to marry a crush-less prince, forced to live a crush-less life.

then you met knight ellie.

it happened when she removed her bascinet, when she casually tossed her tousled auburn locks from side to side, when she smiled that sly smirk then immediately wiped it off and glued her gaze to the stone wall. it was in the way her eyes met yours, her all but graceful bow, and the sound of her armored knee meeting the ground, when she chuckled after winning the battle of who would be the princesses knight. how cocky she looked as her arm was raised in triumph, only to transform into humble grace when officially declared the winner.

but it wasn't a feeling akin to falling; it was more like crashing down. you also didn’t feel giddy, you felt nauseous and tight everywhere, you weren’t thrilled you were petrified, and you didn’t ride a horse really fast — it was more like being thrown off the horse and crashing onto the ground, nose-first.

so it didn’t feel like crushing, it felt like something else. and you really had to go to the washroom.

“you don’t… owe anything to the kingdom, or to my father” you murmur.

she really doesn’t. it got her family starved, killed. “i do” she lies, swallowing thickly. “also, i really don’t need protection” then you lie, rolling your eyes with a huff.

she'd call you a brat if she wasn't your knight, and if she knew for certain that you wouldn't go running to your father after being offended.

“i should run away” you muse, idly toying with the hem of your dress. ellie sees the bare flesh of your thigh and she feels like maybe she shall run away as well. then her breath hitches down her throat, and she really hates it because this isn't the first time. perhaps she's sick, a throat infection. it's getting very hard to breathe.

t'must be the armor, the decides.

then she decided it's not.

it's simply the cold night air. definitely not your naked thigh, or your hunger to be free, or the way your dress flows with the wind, or the way your eyelashes flutter and your fingertips tap tap tap on your plushy lips.

“should i fetch the horse then, my princess? which one d'ya want, charlie... or buster, maybe. he's a strong one” ellie croons then swallows a chuckle.

she’s also not supposed to joke with you. or to stare at your thigh, or to let you place your head on her armored chest.

“yes” you reply like she’s serious.

then a cloud veils the once-bright moon, and your knight clears her throat.

“i should take you to your room, freedom warrior, s’getting late”

“you shall take me to the forest to pick some blackberries, knight”

ellie chuckles and argues back. “i shall not”

“disobeying a royal?” you say with a wink.

you might actually be the death of her.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x you #knight!ellie #ellie williams fluff

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clarakiki · 6 months

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The spring revel

Thranduil x reader

Summary: Spring has come upon the Elvenking's realm and you know exactly how to celebrate it.

Genre: Fluff and Smut

Warnings: afab reader, no use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and the reader and Thranduil being drunk, explicit smut, children (? not yours just yeah, they're there)

Notes: Hello my loves <3. Coming back to you with many firsts in this fic. It is my first time writing for Thranduil (I have a Lotr phase and can't get him out of my head) and my first time writing smut. So please excuse if it's not that great, I will get better I promise. I appreciate your comments and kudos and I hope you'll enjoy <3

You dance under the trees.

The air is warm and sweet, the torches glow with golden fire and the wine is flowing freely. The lush green canopy hides the night sky above, making it feel like you are in a great hall.

The spring revel has come upon Eryn Lasgalen, and you are drunk and happy and free. Your bare feet feel the soft grass and cool rock and your short dress sticks to your body while you dance around the hill.

Other elves twirl and jump around you, they take your hands and laugh with you. Tonight the line between monarch and subject blurs. The lively music of pipes and flutes makes your head spin.

At the head of a great carved table, which bends under the weight of fruit and soft bread and carafes of deep red wine, sits your husband, The Elvenking, and for once he seems to be enjoying himself. Upon his regal brow rests a crown of flowers and leaves and his lips are curled into a smile. His wine cup is never empty.

Perhaps that is the reason he lets the group of elf children prance around him. Some are singing to the music and dance around happily, some climb on his lap and look up at him with their big bright eyes. One child has dared to touch his crown and braid his hair. For once he lets them, for tonight is a time of celebration for everyone, both a king and a child.

The round ends and you can finally go rest for a moment. Your spent legs carry you towards your own throne, one set next to your husbands. It is a beautiful thing, spun from intertwining branches and adorned with carved writing. Budding blooms decorate the headrest.

With a sigh you plop yourself, rather ungracefully, into your seat. Before your husband can get a word out, the child sitting upon his lap starts: “Please my lady, come and dance with us.” The little boy pleads and others join him.

“Did you not ask your king to dance with you?” you ask, teasing them a little, for you know the answer.

A choir of intermingling voices answers you, one over the other accusing their Elvenking of refusing them. You laugh quietly at their distress and at your husband's tired sigh. “Alright, dear children, I promise I will come and dance with you. But you have to promise me, to ask your mothers first and then to go to bed on time.”

The little faces light up and soon they are all scrambling to find their parents.

“You saved me, my love,” Thranduil laughs, a rare sight. “How was your dance? You seem already spent.” You know he is only joking and you decide to retaliate.

“Oh, it was wonderful,” you exaggerate. “It would be better, however, if a certain elf joined me for the next song?” It is meant only as a jest but he surprises you with his answer.

“Be good to me and I just might,” he voice is low and rich and it does things to you.

“Are you too deep in your cups, or are you teasing me?”

“Believe me, I know how to hold my liquor and I am totally serious,” he smirks and drinks from his cup. You want to kiss the smug look off of his face. You might just do that later tonight. No, you will.

“I shall hold you to that promise.”

“I have never doubted that, dearest, however I believe you already have a different partner for the next round.” He points towards the crowd and suddenly the elf children come running back to you.

You stand up, grab the chalice from Thranduil’s hands and take a deep swig of wine. It is rich and bitter and your face scrunches at the taste. “I will dance with you tonight,” you warn your husband and let yourself be pulled away by a throng of laughing children.

—

The night has given away into the early hours of morning when you get back to Thranduil. The crowds have thinned, the music slowed and the elf children finally went to sleep.

“My love,” Thranduil says standing up, when he sees you.

You come together like it’s second nature now. He embraces you around your middle and you hide your face in his chest. He smells sweetly of wine and flowers. You would drown in it if you could.

He cups your face in his big hands and you look up into those cold cold eyes, warm only for you. “Are you ready to fulfil your promise?” you ask, voice low.

He smiles at you like he does at no one else and your heart melts at the sight

“My king!” you exclaim drunkenly. “Let us dance around the hill one last time and after that I am ready to go to bed,” mumble the end of the sentence into his shoulder, your eyes already droopy. You feel him shake his head at your antics, but then he swoops down and kisses your forehead. You shiver at the gentle gesture.

Thranduil, with you half leaning on him, leads you by your hand among the elves. A single lonely flute plays a slow melody, you feel entranced by it. The music and your husband's icy eyes lull you into a sleepy daze.

You twirl in his arms and reach up to inhale his sweet scent, kissing his white throat. He hums above you and winds you to him even closer.

The air is warm and sweet and spring has come.

—

You are led back to your rooms by your husband, leaning on him, drowsy from both the dancing and the wine.

You let yourself be lowered on the grand bed and look up at him with droopy eyes. “I want to kiss you,” you do not know if it's the wine giving you this courage or your sleepiness.

Thranduil smiles at that, and it’s incredibly soft, and obliges you. He tastes like always, rich and full. “I love you,” you mumble into his lips.

“And I you,” he answers, when he pulls away from you, setting himself gently above your thighs.

You don’t like that he is so far away, so you grab his hips and try to pull him back to you. “Please,” you whine. “Please-.”

“Use your words darling, you know I can’t read your mind,” he tuts above you, while starting to undo the lace on the front of your dress.

“Please touch me, I need you,” the fire is burning in your belly and you feel like you might burn if he doesn’t do something. Anything.

“Let me get you out of this dress first,” he promises and smirks, pleased with himself. His hands are careful, but sure, and soon the silky fabric of the bed covers caresses your skin.

Then he stands up to undress himself. Reaching to take off his crown, he is a sight, naked, his brow adorned by flowers. Pale smooth skin and ice blue eyes. You swear he’s never been more beautiful than he is now.

“Come here, my love,” you say and he does. He lays over you and kisses you hungerly. You moan into his mouth, tangling your fingers in his silky hair, finding some of the braids the children left there.

“Let me take care of you, dearest,” Thranduil whispers in your ear and you shiver at the thought. He trails kisses down and down until he reaches your thighs and licks and bites there until you're squirming under him, his strong hands pinning you down by the hips.

“No more, just touch me,” you whine and pull at his scalp harshly.

To your horror Thranduil stops all together. He pulls himself up, your hands still in his hair. Above you he looks like a mythical being, one you should not have the honour to touch.

“You have gotten so bold since we met. Commanding you king.”

With his slight smile and a teasing tone he brings you back to earth. “But you love that about me, my king,” you smirk at him.

“That is true, yes, but if I am to comply to you, and truly touch you like you want me to, you shall, let me tease you a little. As a treat,” oh, he sounds so proud, high and mighty. Yes he shall tease you, but you shall repay it tenfold.

With a satisfied smirk on his lips he returns to his task excruciatingly slow. He works you up again, lapping at your thighs, biting the skin there and holding you to the mattress by your waist. So the moment he does, finally tastes you with his tongue, it feels like you're going to burst. Dragon fire burns under your skin, unvanquishable, everlasting. Only he, Thranduil can save you.

He is savouring your taste, as if it was sweeter than any wine he’s ever tasted. He builds you up to your peak slowly, taking his time, until tears of pleasure sting your eyes. The dam brakes, when you come from his mouth alone. It is deliciously painful.

Thranduil wipes his chin with his hand and lays next to you, circling his arms around you. You kiss him again, tasting yourself on his lips, reaching down to touch him. “Meleth nin,” he moans and you watch as his brows scrunch up and his blue eyes roll in pleasure.

You smile for yourself and kiss his neck, biting and sucking. The white skin goes dark quickly under your lips. In the end you don’t have the heart to deny him, and so you don’t tease him much. Still, he doesn't last long at all, for he was already bursting from eating you out. With a few final strokes he moans loudly and comes in your hand.

You kiss for a time after that, but you both are too sleepy to continue properly. Thranduil, ever the gentleman, offers himself to go find a towel to clean you with. You would so like to watch him, as he prances around the room in all his glory, but you can’t hold your eyes open. You feel his gentle touches and hear his loving words, but at that you are already half asleep. The last you know is your husband pulling you to his embrace, holding you head to his chest.

You slumber as the dawn breaks.

#Thranduil #Thranduil x reader #Thranduil fluff #Thranduil smut #The Hobbit #Lotr #fluff #smut

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scrapsovereign · 1 month

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“I Have Standards”: A Choose Your Own Adventure Smut Fic

Description: NSFW. Astarion rejects you after defeating the Goblin Camp, so you seek out a certain wizard to make him realize what he's missing out on...

Pairings: Astarion x F!Tav, Gale x F!Tav, Astarion x Gale x F!Tav

Trigger warnings/tags: breeding, predator/prey , breath play, noncon/dubcon elements, Jealous Astarion, Possessive Astarion

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

(You enter your tent after leaving Gale’s)

(Go Back!)

As you enter your tent you notice Astarion, lounging on your bedroll with a bottle of wine to keep him company.

He’s temptation personified. His once porcelain ivory skin now takes on a slight sun-kissed glow, his nearly naked form showing off muscles that could have been chiseled by the finest artisans of Toril. His perfect tits are out on display, the monster between his legs outlined by a swath of silken fabric. His regal ruby eyes acknowledge you with his gaze, beckon you to kneel before him on his crude throne…and oh, how you want to worship him.

You exhale with a stuttering breath, mentally preparing yourself for a long, hard night.

“Well hello, darling! Did the wizard’s wand leave you wanting? Was he tongue-tied when he tried to show you what a cunning linguist he was?” He giggles, amused by his own cleverness.

“Astarion, what are you doing in here? I thought you…”your words are robbed from you as the fabric falls away from him when he rises to his feet, the full glory of his cock filled with your blood standing proudly at attention.

Your eyes are fixed on him, unable to look away from the length that has twitched against your body every single night. He’s big for an elf- his uncommon size is long enough to massage the deep places in your channel that ache for attention. A bead of pearly fluid seeps out and you find your mouth watering in curiosity, licking your lips as you imagine how his release might taste spurting on your tongue.

“Like what you see?” He wraps his words around you sensually, similar to how you want to wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

Astarion’s eyes regard you with a half-lidded smolder as he hunts you, closing the distance between you.

“That’s…I mean, yes, but-” you rasp, your mouth suddenly feeling like it’s full of sand. “Why are you here, naked in my tent?”

Astarion draws near to you. His cool fingers feel like heaven as they brush up against your warm, flushed cheek. Your heart hammers as you notice him looking up and down the length of you, undressing you with his eyes.

“I wanted a midnight snack before I turned in for the evening, and decided to pay a visit to my favorite little treat,” he purrs, the scent of wine heavy on his breath. “Although, now that you’re here? I find myself ravenous.”

You don’t believe a word he says. “If you wanted to simply drink my blood, you could have come in like you usually do while I’m asleep.”

“But what if I want to come in you while you’re awake-“ he stops himself mid-protest, flouncing a hand to his chest, feigning a scandalized gasp. “Oh dear, did I really say ‘come in you’? I’d never assume I had permission.”

“Unless that’s what you want. For me to claim you, to fill you with my seed,” he whispers to you, as if he’d plucked the scene out of your most sordid imaginings.

He tugs up at the fabric of your skirt and pins it in place with his thumbs, thrusting two fingers against a warm spot at the crotch of your undergarments.

“Judging by how wet you are, I’d say it's a yes,” he traces the pads of his fingertips back and forth, the glide of pooled arousal sending a lightning bolt to your center. You gasp and tilt your head back, finding purchase on his arms to hold you steady.

“I…I thought you didn’t want me,” you manage to say, every rational thought you have being replaced by the need for his cock to fill you.

“I changed my mind when I saw that delicious backside of yours sway over towards the wizard,” he murmurs to in your ear, a hint of poison creeping in at the mention of Gale.

“It took every ounce of strength I had to not barge in, take you right in front of him…remind the both of you that your body is mine,” he growls, punctuating his statement with a single thrust of his hand upwards at your clothed entrance.

“Ahh!” You cry out, lurching forward with a sharp inhale as he catches you by the throat, his hand gently resting against your pretty little neck. Your heart and your needy sex flutter with his touch, your mind reeling from the whiplash of his rejection to saying you’re his.

“I don’t belong to you,” you remind him with a timid voice, though you secretly wish otherwise. “And I thought you didn’t want to have sex with me. You said that you weren’t interested. You turned me down.”

“A mistake that I can…hardly wait to correct,” Astarion chuckles at the pun he’d made, taking your hand and placing it around his cock to punctuate his statement.

You gasp at how soft his skin is, like silken velvet wrapped around a rod of steel. He twitches in your palm, as if the blood that fills him recognizes its maker. He hums with false disinterest as your growing arousal draws another pathetic noise from you.

“So, what do you say, darling? Are you ready for me to devour you in every sense of the word? Use your body to sate my appetite? Fully claim you as mine, and mine alone?”

Astarion’s elegant fingers tighten ever so slightly around your neck, his lips curled in a malicious smile that should frighten you.

Instead, your core tightens and your walls clench, your entire body aching to be at his mercy. Your clit twitches when you think of him doing this to you in the darkness of the forest, far away from camp so that no one can hear you cries of passion. You need his undead body to fuck your mortal one to its ruin, to make you suffer a million little deaths from his selfish pleasure-seeking.

Before you give your consent, you catch something out of the corner of your eye. It’s fast- a brief flicker of sadness on his beautiful features before his mask of seduction slips back into place.

Nevermind what you want…is this what he wants?

Let Astarion wreck you after hunting you as his prey: “I don’t believe you…yet. You’ve turned me down once, you’re going to have to chase me if you want me.”

In Progress - Decline Astarion’s offer because you don’t think he really wants it: “Astarion…you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

#astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #baldur's gate 3 #astarion smut #astarion x reader #Astarion x tav #oh no hunny you in trouble now #choose your own adventure #female tav

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springseasonie · 1 year

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Two worlds apart | JJH (M)

Prince Jaehyun x maid fem reader, arranged marriage trope, forbidden love trope

Part 2.

Summary: Jaehyun can't stay away from you, even on his wedding night. And his new wife knows about the fondness you both have for each other, but is willing to rip it apart. However, the last thing Jaehyun wants is to be a part from you, for better or for worse. (This is based in 19th century england, regency era fashion bc i love bridgerton and used it for inspo for this fic.)

Warnings: sexual content, angst, unprotected (it's literally the 19th century), standing sex, infidelity, historically inaccurate but idc, proofread but there may be little mistakes here and there

Word count: 7,2k

Song recs: cool with you by new jeans

A/N: this was requested but I loved the idea so much that I had to write more than needed lmao. Wasn't intending to write smut for this but sometimes shit happens. Feedback is loved and appreciated as always 🩷🩷

"Jaehyun?"

You rubbed your eyes, voice groggy from just being woken out of your sleep. The prince was in the maid's quarters. Why was he in the maid's quarters? It was the night after his wedding and was spending it on one of his family's many estates, but why was he not spending his night with his new wife and looking for you?

"My grace, what are you doing–"

He pulled the covers off you quickly, wild eyes looking between you and the other maid that was fast asleep on the other side of the room. The oil lamp was bright, shining in your eyes in the pitch black room. "Come on," he said quietly, pulling you up from your bed.

You shook your head, trying to get away from him, but his grip was too strong. Before you knew it, you were out the door of your room and being pulled down the hall of the basement. "M-my grace, you shouldn't be doing this right now," you said, trying to remain calm as your heart basically beat from your chest.

"Y/N, I tried, I really did." Jaehyun led you up the stairs, looking around for any guards or any of his wife's staff.

His hold on your hand was strong as he sped walk through the hall, wanting to avoid the lurking eyes of anyone who might ruin his plans for the night. Jaehyun was the prince of Florin, a small but wealthy country. His whole life, he was mentally beaten with the responsibility of continuing the family line, marrying a princess from another country to join Florin and make it richer and more powerful. His parents were never in love, his mother only fulfilling her responsibility as a woman and bearing a child for the king.

His whole life he thought love wasn't a real thing, that's what his father told him anyway. "Love is weak. It makes you weak, and you can't be weak in a world where weakness gets you nowhere." He believed these words for a long time, never having a reason to care about anyone, or even himself. That was true until he met you. You were his first love, and possibly his last. Jaehyun couldn't even tell you when and why he loves you so much he just did and he wanted to be with you forever, but he knew that couldn't be. Both of you did.

You couldn't say you were in love with him, but you definitely fell first. Maybe it was his handsome face, regal demeanor, the way he carried himself. You didn't know. But what you did know is that your feelings crossed the line. You remember the first time he kissed you after making you confess your feelings, the smile on his face, the way he looked down at you in his fancy clothes. At that moment you knew you couldn't get yourself out of the hell hole you were in now.

You and Jaehyun have been flirting around for years, him always pulling you away from your responsibilities. He often snatched you from your duties in the kitchen, taking you into the pantry to kiss and talk to you. The other maids saw the way he looked at you, but never said a word about it. He would watch you around the castle, eyes lingering and never looking away even when they should. His parents knew how much he liked you, but never said anything. But one day, his mother did catch the both of you. She threatened to have your head on a stick, but Jaehyun convinced her it was all him and she let you stay.

Jaehyun pulled you to the back of the estate, opening the door as he walked you through the rain.

"My grace, it's storming. We shouldn't be out here," you shouted, covering your head as much as you could. Jaehyun didn't care about the rain, he didn't care about anything. He just needed to be alone with you.

Jaehyun didn't say anything, his face remained completely stone cold as he pulled you under the cabana a ways from his home. He stood in front of you, staring at your bewildered face. Your hair was wet, moist eyes shining in the moonlight. The fabric of your clothes were clinging to your skin, the now wet gown going see through.

You hadn't even noticed, but Jaehyun did. He was right to always be a gentleman, to never let his desires cloud his eyes, but goodness. Your chest looked so good through the fabric. However, he has to remain calm and collected. Jaehyun took a deep breath, gulping before speaking.

"I want to be with you Y/N."

You truly did not know what to say. He pulled you out of your bed in the middle of the night out into the rain just to tell you this? "My grace, is this what you woke me for?"

Jaehyun took your hands looking down at you, eyes shifting between your eyes and lips. "I don't want to be married to her Y/N." His eyes shook, grip on your hands getting tight. He needed to be near you, close to you. For the past couple of months, you were his world, his only concern. But being forced into a marriage with a woman he barely knew for a week crushed him. He knew he couldn't be with you, but it hurt nonetheless.

"We should not be out here. It is your wedding night and you should be with her right now," you said sternly. Jaehyun noticed the way you looked around frantically. You were scared of being caught again, he could tell.

"Don't be scared. There is no one out here on a stormy night like this," he said softly.

"But the queen– she'll kill me if she sees me. She'll kill you if she sees me. Jaehyun we cannot continue like this," you said, brows furrowing. You didn't want to see him in a loveless marriage. You cared for him too much, but you couldn't keep putting your safety on the line. You always felt like he didn't understand you. Jaehyun had always had everything his whole life, never having to live with fear of losing anything or anyone. Of course, his responsibilities as a prince were different from yours – you were just a poor maid after all. But he seems so oblivious to your life and what you do, and this is one of the moments when he thinks life is easy for you just as it is for him.

"My mother says a lot of things. You do not need to worry about her. Her threats are empty," he said with a small smile.

"My grace… you are very naive," you sighed. "I am not safe here. I am not safe with you."

Jaehyun's happy expression slowly fades after hearing your words. You weren't safe with him? "You'll always be safe with me," he said, letting go of your hands.

"We are from 2 different worlds. I can never be safe with you. Even if you shield me with armor, I still wouldn't be safe," you said, taking his hands softly. "Please don't make that face at me."

"I'm not making a face." Jaehyun looked angry and hurt. He couldn't even lie to you even if he tried being the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. But he wasn't hurt by your words, more so the fact that everything you said was true. "I love you Y/N."

You've heard him say he loves you many times, but never like this. This time wasn't like a lovestruck puppy, he said it with conviction. Jaehyun was seriously in love with you. You didn't say anything, the storm getting worse as the big rain droplets fell onto the roof of the cabana, filling the space. "My grace–"

"Please just say my name," he sighed. "Right now it's just you and me. Just say my name, there is no need for formalities."

"Jaehyun," you started, "you can't love me. You must love your wife in the house."

The words stung his heart like needles. The reality of this unwanted situation kept coming through the light over and over again. He did not want to be with anyone that wasn't you and he knew he was in too deep. Just look at him – in the rain with you and not consummating his marriage with his now wife. He hated himself for falling so deeply for you, but was addicted to the fuzzy feeling in his heart, the butterflies in his stomach when he saw you. He wanted it all the time.

"Do you love me?"

You always pushed the thought of loving him to the back of your mind knowing it would get you nowhere, but at the moment, maybe you really did. You would never tell anyone how badly his marriage hurt you, watching him be wedded to a woman he barely knew for a week and expected to have a child with her. It was supposed to be you. In another world or another life it would've been you. But there's no point in suppressing your feelings anymore, not when his pretty brown eyes are looking at you like you're his whole world.

"Jaehyun, I cherish you alot," you answered, not wanting to confess yet. "I'll always cherish you."

"I..I want to be a good husband to her, but I don't think I can," he said. "I don't want to be like my father and have a mistress, I don't think I can live without you."

You hadn't realized you were crying until Jaehyun reached a hand up to your face, cupping your cheek and wiping away your tears with his thumb.

"Please don't cry. I hate seeing you cry," he said softly. Jaehyun pulled you closer to him gently, kissing your forehead.

"I'm tired Jaehyun," you sighed. You didn't want to talk anymore. The more you talked, the more you wanted to cry in his arms. You already had a long stressful day doing whatever task you had to do, so you would rather not create more stress for yourself. "You have a ball tomorrow, and I have to help set it up and help your– my princess."

Jaehyun gulped, reluctantly letting your hands go. Nodding, he took a step back. He did have a ball that he completely forgot about. Instead of getting rest, he was out in this stormy weather with you. "I understand. We will talk again tomorrow."

"Jaehyun–"

"We will talk again tomorrow," he repeated, tone dominant and a bit loud cutting you off.

You shook your head at his persistence. "Fine. We'll talk tomorrow. Goodnight, your grace.

"Goodnight." Jaehyun watched you run off into the rain, covering your head as much as you could to protect yourself from the rain. He wished he could just run away with you far from this place, this country, the palace. But for now all he could do was whisper the words he meant dearly as you ran.

"I love you."

"And are all the decorations ready?"

"Yes, your grace."

"And the invitations have been sent out?"

"Of course your grace."

Princess Rose stood tall as you pulled and tightened her corset, disposition remaining unphased as the garment squeezed her waist without warning. She was beautiful. Many people said she may be the most beautiful woman in the world. When you first met her, you wondered how long it would be until Jaehyun fell out of love with you. Her skin was as clear as a lake, eyes big and brown, body made of soft curves. Her smile lit up a room, but even with her image, Rose demanded respect and power anywhere she went. The perfect princess. The perfect queen.

She cleared her throat, making you glance up to look at her through the mirror. You almost stopped breathing realizing she was staring at you through the reflection, face stone cold. "Everyone out. Except you miss Y/N. You stay."

You tie the string tight in a bow, removing your hands from her body as soon as you are done. All of the other women in the room left in a hurry, not turning back to even get a glimpse of you or her.

The door shut, a loud echo making its way around the room. Rose turned around, her beauty becoming even more evident in the sunlight that peeked through the curtain. You stood there, hands folded in front of you as the both of you stood in silence. Rose looked you up and down, blonde brows scrunching as her mind raced with thoughts.

"I'm not jealous of you, you know," she said, breaking the silence.

You stared back at her confused. Jealousy? Where did that come from? "Jealous? I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean my grace," you said softly.

"I mean I'm not jealous of you," she repeated, a small smile tugging at her lips. But this wasn't a normal smile, it was condescending. "I was told that the prince and I would have some issues to work through in the early days of our marriage but I had no idea that said issue would be his very obvious relationship with his maid."

You stood there completely still. She knew. She knew about you and Jaehyun. Was it last night that she found out? Or did she see something the week she was in the country? You and Jaehyun had been so careful, or at least you tried to be. Jaehyun never cared as much as you did. "Let them find out. I don't care," he would always say.

"Calm down, you looked like you've seen a ghost," she said, laughing dryly. "It's alright that you and him have a secret relationship. I find it cute."

Your once shocked expression slowly turned hard, jaw clenching at the tone of her words. Cute? You didn't like that she called what you and Jaehyun had cute, especially not in that belittling tone. "Are you going to punish me for it?"

Rose suddenly burst into laughter hearing your question, her pretty smile making your stomach turn. "No. Why in the 7 seas would I do that," she said between giggles. "I don't care that he loves you and that you love him. In fact, I'm happy for you. It's hard for the poor to find happiness."

You winced at her statement. So this is what she was really like. Underneath the money, fame, clothes, face, body, she was just like every other royal you ever met. It wasn't surprising, but you didn't think she would shed her skin so quickly.

"I thought he would at least have some sense last night to consummate our marriage." The smile faded from her face, now being replaced with irritation. "A marriage means nothing if you can't produce an heir."

She was right, and it hurt you that she was right. Deep down you wanted all these things with him. The wedding, the wedding night, the honeymoon, the ball – just all of it. It was starting to feel like the princess was throwing all these things you couldn't have in your face. Rose took a step forward, looking at you deep into your eyes with an emotion you couldn't read.

"I know his mother must've caught the two of you at some point," she said quietly. "I'm not his mother, so there is no need to be scared of me."

You let out a small sigh of relief, but the small positive feeling was completely crushed under her feet. "But one thing about me is that I strive to be the best person possible at all times. I will be the best princess, queen, and wife. And the last part doesn't consist of you being with him within these walls."

"So what are you saying?"

Rose squinted her eyes at your sudden drop of honorifics, frown tugging on her lips. "Jaehyun is a very stubborn man, I'm sure you know this. Unless you release him from this mental anguish, he will never be happy, and I'm sure you want him to be happy don't you?"

You did want him to be happy. The only thing you ever wanted from him was to be happy. And your life has taught you that sometimes happiness takes sacrifice. "So you're saying that you want me to end things with him?"

"I knew you were smart," she said with a slight nod. "End things tonight. If you don't, just know things will be painful for the both of you from this point on. Now, do me a favor and let everyone back in."

You hurried to the door, opening it quickly. The other maids all walked back in a hurry, continuing what they were doing like they never stopped. Rose turned around, moving her hair to the front. You've never been more excited to work more than right now. All you wanted to do is delete the conversation you just had from your mind but it weighs heavy.

You have to do it tonight. You have to end things.

All you could hope is that he doesn't make it harder for you.

You stood in Jaehyun's office, the lamp softly brightening the space. It smelled of oak wood and lavender, two of his favorite smells. It was such a small space, completely closed off from the rest of the mansion. His office was his favorite place to be. It offered him lots of privacy especially in these days of high stress. He couldn't stand being pestered with all his royal duties, running away from everyone almost immediately.

You stood in the middle of the room, hands toying with the waist of your apron. You were on cooking duty for the rest of the night, so you were covered in all kinds of food and powders. Jaehyun was supposed to be outside with friends, family, acquaintances , her, but the moment he saw the note from you to come to his office he dropped everything to be there.

The music was blaring through the windows, all you could hear and see were expensive people drinking expensive wine in the most expensive clothes. It was traditional for the bride and groom to just simply be on a honeymoon by now, but because this was a special occasion of joining 2 kingdoms, there was a ball for the night.

You jumped, turning around instantly when the door opened. There stood Jaehyun in the most gorgeous suit you've ever seen. This was going to be very hard for you. Your heart pounded right out of your chest excited to see him but saddened with the thought of breaking his heart.

"I got your note," he said, walking up to you. Jaehyun looked you up and down, a smirk on his face at your messy appearance.

"Don't look at me like that," you said, face growing hot.

A deep chuckle erupted from his throat as he stepped to you, placing a hand on your waist. "I think you look very pretty tonight."

You didn't want to blush but you did, he was far too nice especially when you were covered in food, practically smelling like a bakery. "You should be saying that to your wife."

Jaehyun frowned, sighing at your response. "I did, but she didn't appreciate it as much as you did." He loved your shy, timid attitude. He loved the way you would look at the floor when you were embarrassed or nervous, like you were doing right now.

"J-jaehyun, we cannot continue this," you spoke softly. You needed him to listen to you, but you could tell he wasn't. The man was too busy staring at your lips, eyelids getting heavier the more he stared at you. "We cannot keep seeing each other like this. You are married now and-"

"Please. Can we not talk about this right now," he said softly.

"No. We have to." You removed his hand from your waist, but all he did was put both of them back. At this point, you were internally panicking. Knowing yourself, you can't become assertive with him. Every little touch, look, mention sent you into a spiral. "I want you to be happy and I'm sure you want to be happy. I don't want you to be miserable because of me."

Jaehyun pulled you closer to him gently, staring down into your eyes. "As long as you're around me, I won't be miserable." Jaehyun took your chin gently, tilting your head to look at him. You begin to feel yourself melt into his touch, resolve slowly melting away as he leans in. But you quickly regain your mind, shaking your head as you remove his hand.

"No. I will not do this. I will not be your mistress," you declared, stepping away from him.

Jaehyun stared at you without saying a word, looking at you with an unreadable expression. He knew you better than yourself at this point. When you were nervous or hiding something you would bite the inside of your cheek. Something definitely happened that he didn't know about, and he wants to find out.

"And why not," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Because you deserve to be happy. You deserve a marriage full of love and happiness and I don't intend on stopping that," you said. You could tell he wasn't listening to you since again, eyes trailing up and down your fully covered body.

"Fine."

Fine. Is that it? "Fine? Is that all you have to say?"

"Yes. I agree. I deserve to be happy."

You didn't understand, lashes fluttering in confusion. It was safe to say that you were a bit hurt, his soft stare turning intense, hands never leaving his front. But nonetheless, you nodded despite not wanting to and gathered your dress in your hands. Walking quickly to the door, you grabbed the knob when he spoke again.

"I don't want you to leave," he said.

You gulped, still turning the knob in silence.

"I said I don't want you to leave." Jaehyun's soft tone switched into a deep dark one, walking up to the door, holding it shut with force. He clearly shocked you and watched you remove your hand from the knob startled. Jaehyun had a million things going on through his mind at the moment, all of them having to do with you. "You aren't being yourself. I want you to tell me why."

"What are you talking about," you said quietly, not knowing if you were going to upset him or not.

"I'm saying that there is something you aren't telling me about and that's why you told me to come here tonight."

You couldn't tell him. Not tonight. Maybe another day or night where his reputation isn't solely based on the way he looks at his new wife. You know how he can be when angry, living and taking care of him and his family for many years now. Jaehyun is horrible at hiding facial expressions, even worse when he has to speak. His words have a bite to them, attitude on full display. You didn't want to ruin his night, be the blame for another reason he won't be happy in the future.

"I don't know what you're implying." You placed your hands behind your back, nerves now affecting your once still hands. You were shaking. This situation was a bit dire. You were only a maid, now being stuck in the middle of relationship politics you wanted nothing to do with. Jaehyun was growing ever more irritated with your persistence claiming there was nothing wrong. You looked like you saw a ghost, eyes continuously shifting between him and the window behind him.

Jaehyun likes to think he was a man of great intuition, always able to read people well. He knew right away it had something to do with Rose. "Did she say something to you?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Rose," he said, making himself more clear. "Did she say something to you? Does she know about last night?"

You didn't answer, but your silence was everything he needed. He was angry, face turning red, lips pursing into a thin line. You've seen him mad, but never this mad. He was a smart man, but very impulsive, so when you saw him reach for the doorknob, your heart stopped for what felt like a million years.

"Please don't," you choked out, looking at him with pleading eyes. "We don't need to make this harder than it already is."

"I will not allow anyone to make any threats towards you, especially not on my property," he growled angrily through gritted teeth. Jaehyun grabbed the knob about to turn it, but stopped feeling your hand on his.

"Stop. Just stop." Your voice cracked, tears on the verge of spilling over. "This is why I agreed to do this. I don't want this, Jaehyun."

"Agreed to do what? Tell me. I demand it." His voice boomed through the room. You were certain people outside the window could hear him, like always he didn't care.

"Rose talked to me today in her room," you said, wiping your tears and sniffling. "She said to end things with you."

"And you agreed?"

"Because I had to," you sobbed. "I just want you to be happy. I don't want to be the reason you can't be happy. I don't want to be your mistress, I want to be your world, but if I have to give that up, I will."

Tears spilled down your face, hot and heavy as you cried. Jaehyun was still angry, but his expression softened as he watched you cry. The man wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, trapping you in the warmth of his arms. No one has ever cried for him like this. No one has ever cried because of him like this. Jaehyun starts to feel the weight of the situation and regrets all his last actions. Nothing he has said or done has been in an effort to figure any of this out while you're left with the burden.

"It's okay Y/N. I'm sorry," he whispered, stroking your hair gently as he kissed the top of your head. "I'll never let anyone or anything come between us. I don't care what it takes."

You looked up at him, brows furrowing in worry. "But Jaehyun-"

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes. Of course I do."

"Do you love me?"

Yes, I love you. You said the words in your head, but you couldn't get them out. "I.. I.."

Jaehyun sensed your worry, moving his hands to your face, cupping you by both of your cheeks. "I need you to forget about everything that happened today. Forget about whatever she said to you. Just tell me one thing. Tell me if you love me."

"I do love you," you answered sniffling. "I love you Jaehyun."

He wished he could contain the feeling that swelled in his heart finally hearing you say those words but he couldn't, smirk plastered on his face as he wiped your tears with his thumbs softly. Even when you were crying, you were so pretty. He admired you in the silent room, the sound of people chatting and the string instruments being played outside filling the air.

You wrapped your arms around him, huffing his body tight. Jaehyun didn't mind that all the flour was getting on his clothes. He didn't care, as long as you were okay. But Jaehyun wasn't perfect even though he was a prince, he was only just a man.

As much as he hated seeing you sod and cry, there was a tiny voice in the back of his head going on and on about how pretty you were with tears down your face. Your shiny, wet eyes looking up at him wide, brows furrowed. You and Jaehyun had been close before hugging each other or kissing each other when you got the chance, but you've never been close. Jaehyun thought about it all the time, the thought of you pressed against him, hands molding your skin like dough and touching you anyway he wanted. not just telling how much he loves you but showing you.

He was so deep in thought that he never realized that you were staring up at him. "What are you thinking about," you asked softly.

"Just you. Only you." Before you could respond, he leaned down cupping your face as he kissed you deeply. You didn't expect it, stumbling against the wall a bit. Your back was pressed against the wall as Jaehyun pressed his body against yours, lips never leaving yours as he kissed you over and over again. You and Jaehyun have kissed many times, but nothing like this. When he kissed you before, it was sweet and innocent, but this time it's hot and desperate. You've never seen him act this way,

"Jaehyun wait," you painted softly, pulling away from the kiss. Your words went right through him, lips going right to your neck when you pulled away. You grasped his clothed arms being completely taken back by how fast everything was moving.

"I love you Y/N," he said against your neck. "I love you to the moon and back. Just let me show you how much I love you." Jaehyun locked lips with yours once again, almost knocking the air out of your lungs as his hands slid onto your back, undoing the tie that held your apron on your waist.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, you held him close, lips molding with his slowly as he let the fabric drop. Jaehyun's hands moved up your body slowly, cupping your chest through the top of your dress. This sensation was new to you, his touch barely there but you could still feel his fingertips pressing against your nipples. Your hands fell slowly from his shoulders onto his chest, wanting to just take off his jacket, but you were so nervous.

"Don't be nervous, okay," he whispered, taking your hands in his. You hadn't realized it yet, but you were shaking. You opened your eyes only to see him looking at you with the purest expression. "Let me take care of you."

He let go of your hands, placing them on your chest as his fingers toyed with the buttons on the front. You watch him, buttons coming undone one by one in what felt like forever. In this day and age, there are so many layers of clothing before you can see someone's skin. Jaehyun usually becomes irritated with these circumstances, but for some reason they were all the more exciting for him. You on the other hand just wanted to get it over with, anxiety taking over your mind as your thoughts jump from one thing to another.

Jaehyun pulled the sleeves off your shoulders, helping you remove your arms out of the grasp of the fabric. Your dress finally fell from your body. Jaehyun gazed at your figure, you being in nothing but a slip and corset. You were beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman he ever laid his eyes on. "You're so perfect," he sighed, a small smirk on his face.

"Please Jaehyun," you whined quietly. Your eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in, kissing you softly. Jaehyun made quick work of his coat, taking it off and throwing it in the chair next to the fireplace. Next went his waistcoat, lips now moving against yours feverishly. He pulled away for just a second to look at you, but smiled to himself as he watched you fumble with your corset.

"Do you want me to help you with that," he muttered.

You gave him a silent nod as you turned around. Jaehyun skillfully helped you, chuckling to himself. "What's so funny," you asked.

"I just love you so much. That's all," he answered. "I never thought I'd get this close to you."

You smiled to yourself, nodding at his words. "You're so sentimental, it's endearing."

A soft deep chuckle erupted from him, making you shiver. He loosens up the strings and helped you out of the constraining under garment. "I hope I'm still endearing when my cock is inside you." Jaehyun could tell how flustered he made you when he turned you around. You couldn't contain your emotions, palms clinging to your slip as you stared at your feet. "Don't get shy on me now. I want you to watch me. Can you do that?"

You looked up, watching him unbutton his shirt. You have always tried to be the best maid possible, but that never stopped you from having fantasies about him. You always thought about what he would look like under his shirt, or what he would look like on top of you. Now that it's about to happen, there are too many emotions flowing through you at once. One of them was excitement, his chiseled toned body against the dim light of his office, the way he looked at you as he let the shirt off his arms and onto the floor behind him.

"You must really want me don't you?" He took your waist, holding you tight. Jaehyun felt better than he did all day hearing pleasured sighs leave your lips, brows knitting at the feeling of his strong grasp.

"Do you know how pretty you look right now? How pretty you sound when you gasp like that?" Jaehyun began hiking your slip up, watching you gulp, the dress getting shorter and shorter below you. "I will never let anyone take you from me. You're mine, all mine."

"All yours," you whispered, nodding as his fingers trailed from your stomach to right above your soaking wet core. "Please touch me."

Jaehyun obliged, teasing you as his fingers ghosted right above your clit, softly gliding them in the sensitive bud. He watched you, eyes glossed in pleasure as your body twitches, haven't felt this feeling in a while. "So pretty," he whispered, rubbing the bud slowly. "Every part of you."

Soft sweet moans filled his ears as he touched you, gulping as you held onto his arms. Your eyes shut, taking in the pleasure he was giving you.

"Does it feel good?"

"Y-yes," you moaned quietly.

"Look at me my love." Jaehyun's cock jumped in his pants when you did as he asked. You even follow directions perfectly, it's unbelievable. He maintained eye contact with you as he began to rub you faster, evoking whines from your throat. Your nails dug into his skin, not hard enough to scratch it though.

"Jaehyun," you whimpered softly. "M-more, please."

Jaehyun nodded fast, heart growing tender at your cute pleading. He moved from your clit to your wet entrance, fingers rubbing and tracing the hole. Jaehyun slowly pushed his fingers into you, the long thick digits giving you the stretch that you needed. You threw your head back slightly, resting it on the door as you moaned.

"Oh God.." You were already squeezing around his fingers before he started moving them. But you had to hold out, this could be the first and last time you got to do this with him.

"I love you so much," he muttered against your neck as he started pumping his fingers in you slowly. The noises coming from you were astonishing, the slow sounds of your wet cunt bouncing off the walls. Your expression and moans made his cock rock hard, all he wanted to do is make you cum.

You leaned in, kissing him deeply as he moved his fingers in you. "Feels so good," you whispered against his lips. You closed your eyes, lips still ghosting above his as you pant into his mouth.

He sped up his hand, fingers digging deeper into you as he thrusted them fast. The friction of his fingers set your body on fire, hands gripping his arms hard. "You're so beautiful like this, melting into my hands. Do you know how much I've thought about this moment?"

You could barely hear him though he was right in front of you, brain not being able to concentrate due to the feeling between your legs. Your soft whines and moans filled the air, quiet cries of his name falling from your lips. Jaehyun pressed you against the door even more using his other hand to lift your leg to thrust his fingers deeper in you.

"Oh my god," you whimpered, clinging to his body.

"I know, darling. I know it feels good," he cooed in your ear. "I want you to make a mess of my fingers."

You were now grinding on his hand, clit lightly brushing against his palm driving you to your orgasm with every movement of your hips. Your whines were getting louder in pitch, but you tried to hide it, being right behind the door. Anyone could walk past and hear you, and you really didn't want that to happen, but Jaehyun didn't care anymore. He didn't care about anything but you at the moment.

"Lose yourself. It's just me and you and no one else. Cum in my hand." His deep raspy voice guided you to your first orgasm in a while, squeezing around his fingers tight as you moaned into his neck.

"J-jaehyun," you whimpered. He kept pumping his fingers in you as you came, making the leg you were balancing yourself on shake. Growing impatient, Jaehyun stopped fingering you, slowing down his fingers and pulling them out of you slowly.

"I need to be inside you, Y/N. Do you want that," he questioned, resting his forehead on yours.

"Yes. Yes, I need you," you said breathlessly. You kissed him, cupping his face as he kissed you back. The two of you quickly fell into a rhythm, tongues dancing with each other as he undid his pants, fingers skillfully undoing the buttons.

"Let's get this off of you, hm?" Jaehyun lifted your slip, motioning his head for you to put your arms up. You obliged, easing them above your head allowing him to take the undergarment off of you. You kicked off your shoes right after making him smile to himself. Jaehyun couldn't keep his eyes off your body. He dropped the fabric to the floor, hands attaching to your body like a magnet. You let out soft gasps at every touch, squeeze, pinch he gave you, his hands all over you for the first time. Your skin was so soft, every scratch or scar lighting a flame in him. Even your imperfections were beautiful.

"You feel so good in my hands," he muttered, making you smile to yourself.

"I like the way your hands feel on me," you say, kissing him softly. You let out a small sigh as he moved his hands from your ass to your chest, watching as he leans down, mouth attaching to your nipple. Licking and sucking your nipples all while squeezing the flesh in his plans, maintaining eye contact with you as he plays out the sinful actions you dreamt of.

"God I can't wait any longer," he mumbled. Jaehyun kissed up your chest to your neck and jawline, finally making it to your lips, biting your bottom lip softly. "I need you to take all of me, but you have to be quiet."

He placed one hand on the bottom of your back and used the other to lift your leg. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him deeply as he took his cock, rubbing the tip between your legs slowly.

"I can be quiet," you muttered in his mouth. "Quiet as a mouse."

"That's my girl." Jaehyun lined himself with you, slowly pushing himself in your wet entrance. A soft sigh fell through his lips, the warmth of your wrapped around him. He wanted this for so long to feel close to you, to be this close to you.

"My god," you whined, fingers running through his hair. You let out soft moans every time he thrusted in you, deep and slow. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head back against the door taking in the pleasure he was going to you. But Jaehyun kept his eyes open, staring at your pretty face, listening to your pretty moans as he rocked his body into you. His grip on his leg gets tighter the deeper he thrust into you, fingertips digging into your skin.

Jaehyun wouldn't be surprised if there were people running around looking for him right about now. He's been in this room with you for almost an hour, leaving his new wife to look for you. Not even he himself would've guessed he'd be deep inside you right now, fucking you on the door where anyone could come buy and easily tell what was happening behind it. He'd always been reckless, but at this rate he didn't care. Everyone in the world was trying to keep you away from him, and he had enough. If you had to crash and burn for loving him, you were going to take him with you whether you wanted to or not.

Jaehyun's face was now in the crook of your neck, groaning softly against your skin as he kissed it softly. "You're so beautiful," he mumbled. "So perfect, I love you so much."

"I-I love you," you whimpered softly, brows furrowing feeling him thrust harder. "Oh my god, don't stop."

And he didn't. He kept going, hand leaving your back and moving to your hip. You haven't felt this good in ages, almost completely forgetting about the kind of situation you were in, until there was a knock on the door.

"Prince Jaehyun? Are you in there," a guard called out. More voices were heard from outside the door, footsteps all over the hallway.

Jaehyun halted his movement for a second, glancing at you who was making a panicked expression. "Quiet," he mouthed. Jaehyun started thrusting in you, staring at you intensely. He was lost in the sight of you, your head falling back, jaw dropping in pleasure once again. You felt so fragile at the moment, so vulnerable under him.

"You're doing so well for me, beautiful," he whispered.

"Am I," you whispered with a small smile.

Jaehyun nodded as he kissed you. You immediately moaned into his mouth, making him go faster. At this point you were far too gone, you were going to cum all over him once again. "I'm so close, my prince," you moaned breathlessly.

My prince. Those words sounded so good coming from you. So pure, innocent, loving. He would love to be yours forever. "Me too Y/N."

He kept going, ignoring the knock on the door once again. He just wanted to make you feel good. Jaehyun swallowed hard, face back in the crook of your neck feeling you flutter around him.

"Jaehyun, I'm cumming," you whimpered, trying to keep your voice as low as possible. You came on him, orgasm so hard you saw stars as you screwed your eyes shut.

But Jaehyun kept going, his orgasm getting closer and closer. He should pull out of you. He should really pull out. But self control is not his strong suit. The both of you are so wrapped up in the amazing feeling that when Jaehyun cums inside of you, you didn't even feel it. All lines become blurry, nothing makes sense, the room is just hot and stuffy filled with the smell of sex.

That's when it hits you.

"Jaehyun, what did you just do?"

#nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct fanfic #nct smut #nct x reader #nct oneshot #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct jaehyun #jaehyun #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun smut #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 11 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 9: We’re Friends When You’re On Your Knees]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Y'all, you are not ready for this one. Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), murder, Aemond "there are other Targaryens" Targaryen having feelings again (good ones?? not good ones?? both?? who knows bestie, not me!), an unexpected family reunion, must be the season of the witch... 👀

Series title is a lyrics from: "7 Minutes In Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "Our Lawyer Made Us Change the Name of This Song So We Wouldn’t Get Sued" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.4k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

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You watch her from the shadows of the dungeons, rusted iron, phantom echoes of falling water, chilling drafts that come from nowhere and everywhere. She has not yet noticed you. She is beautiful, regal, arrogant, even as she sits gnawing on crusts of bread and the gristle of chicken bones, scraps that Lord Larys throws to her like she’s a pig nosing its way through a trough, an animal that is clever and yet condemned. And if she is livestock, then what are you? A creature of darkness, of nightfall, lethal and treacherous, a wolf or a bat or a spider. You step forward and into a ray of light that cuts across the stones like the path of a comet.

Baela gasps and drops the tibia she’d been working on, cracking it in two, sucking out the dead-blood marrow. Her wide-set, almond-shaped eyes catch on you. She is not afraid; you have never known Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter to be afraid of anything. She is fascinated.

“I’m sorry,” she says, crawling across the floor of her cell. She grips the metal bars and peers out at you, kneeling there like she’s praying. You suspect Baela has never prayed to anyone or anything. “I didn’t mean to almost burn you. I didn’t realize you were standing on the steps with him until after I’d given Moondancer the order. It all happened so quickly.”

You cannot appear to be angry. You have no reason to be angry if you are Aegon’s captive. “I take no offense. I wasn’t harmed.”

“No one had any idea the Usurper was here,” Baela says. Still her eyes are bright, entranced. “We believed Dragonstone to be vacant.”

Good. You give her a dismal smirk. “No. Not so vacant after all.”

“Are you with child yet?”

A bolt shoots down your spine like cold lightning. “What?”

“That’s what he’s trying to do, isn’t it?” Baela says. “He wants an heir from you. His wife is dead, his sons are dead. He couldn’t get his claws on me or Rhaena. But you can give him a Valyrian-blooded prince.”

Aegon has never mentioned having children with you. You don’t know if this means he doesn’t want them, or if he does not wish to place demands upon you, or if he is indifferent, or if he believes it to be impossible. “I have nothing to show for his efforts.”

“Has it been unspeakably awful?” And if Baela seeks to console, this is secondary to her personal interest; she is curious, she is absorbed. Her fingers close more tightly around the iron bars. “He’s a drunk, a degenerate. He’s vile. He’s deformed. Has he tortured you? Has he violated you in a hundred different ways? Does he tie you down, does he strike you, does he cut and bruise you?”

And this is the Blacks’ story, one they could never begin to suspect might be fiction: that you are a martyr, that Aegon is a monster. In place of an answer, you give Baela the treasures you have brought her. You pass them through the gaps between the bars: a bottle of ink, parchment, a quill with a point like a blade.

Baela takes these objects, amazed. “You can help me send a letter back to Harrenhal?”

“I don’t know if I will be able to get to the rookery. But I’ll try.”

“The Usurper allows you this much free rein?”

He trusts me. He loves me. He’s bedbound and in agony. “He’s rather distracted at the moment.”

“He’s dying, hopefully,” Baela says. She has already begun to write. And there’s a reptilian sort of coldness that is snaking deeper into you, constricting around your bones, gliding through the blood-slick chambers of your heart, too much a part of you to ever rip out. But now Baela’s face softens. She looks up dolefully. “Moondancer, she’s…she’s gone, isn’t she?”

You bow your head as if this is something tragic. “She did not survive Sunfyre’s attack.”

“Fucking beasts,” she seethes, resuming her writing. “When my father learns of this, he and Caraxes will come to rescue us. And he will burn the Usurper alive.” She finishes her letter, rolls up the parchment, and hands it back to you.

“How will Daemon know that you authored this and under no duress?”

“My signature,” Baela says, grinning. “I end all of my correspondence to him with Your ever-obedient daughter. It is a joke between us. If it was absent, he would notice. His suspicions would be aroused. That is how I would signal if I was ever forced to write to him against my will.”

There is dark satisfaction like a spell shimmering in your arteries, nerves, the void-black pupils of your eyes. You return her smile. “Perfect.”

“Don’t fear,” Baela tells you, and reaches through the rusted iron bars to clasp your hand. You fight the reflex to tear away from her, this woman who certainly maimed Aegon and might have killed him. You find yourself studying her, measuring her height and weight, calculating how much milk of the poppy it would take to end her life. “Cregan Stark is south of the Neck now. He will move heaven and earth to possess you, everyone knows that. Soon we will have Northmen marching through the Riverlands with Caraxes and Sheepstealer safeguarding them from above. And after the Riverlands they will be in the Reach, and then finally King’s Landing to stabilize the capital. The Usurper and Sunfyre cannot fight. Daeron is scarcely more than a boy. The Betrayers are avaricious, overconfident drunks. The Greens will be vanquished before winter.”

“And what about Vhagar?”

“Together, Caraxes and Sheepstealer can bring her down.” But there is doubt in Baela’s voice, yes, a vacillation that is rarely heard from her.

“I hope so,” you reply, one of countless lies.

You take Baela’s letter to the rookery, open it, examine it carefully for the subtleties of her handwriting: slopes and dots and lines. Then you get a fresh piece of parchment and painstakingly draft a very different message. Not a plea for help, but an assurance that all is well; not a summons to Dragonstone, but a confirmation that the castle was found to be unoccupied and is now held firmly by Baela and Moondancer.

And you end the letter before tying it to a leg of the raven trained to fly to Harrenhal:

Your ever-obedient daughter, Baela Targaryen

~~~~~~~~~~

“Please eat something, Your Grace. I beg you.” Lord Larys Strong’s face is creased with servile, attentive worry. On the plate before you is fresh, warm bread and a dish of salted butter. In your bowl is a crab soup thick with vegetables, the broth tomato-based and red like Autumn’s hair, like blood.

“I can’t.”

“Would you like me to bring you something else? I could have the chefs prepare roast chicken, or duck, or boar…”

“No.” You push the bowl of soup away. You and Larys are alone in the Great Hall, seated at the high table which presides over a silent, vacuous chamber. The room was built to resemble a dragon lying on its belly; the entranceway is its mouth, two massive doors edged with stone teeth. There are dragons everywhere, these talismans of Aegon’s house, these creatures that are monsters to some and saviors to others.

Larys studies you closely. His voice is tender. “Your Grace, please. Can I do anything for you?”

You consider him, an enigma that is useful and subtle and dogged in his loyalty. “What is it that binds you so faithfully to Alicent and her children, Lord Larys? House Strong was so favored by Rhaenyra. Her heirs were your blood, no matter how much she tried to deny it. You could have risen high in the Black Council. Make no mistake, I am very thankful for your service to the Greens. I am glad to count you among the greatest of our fortunes. But what inspired you to turn your coat?”

Larys smiles at you. He has eyes like rain, the wavy abundant brown hair of his spurned family. His hands rest on the handle of his cane. “Your eldest brother is an acclaimed swordsman.”

“Yes,” you agree, caught off-guard.

“And so was mine,” Larys says. “House Strong, is it any wonder what we valued most? My father loved Harwin. He was so fiercely proud of him. He was interested in him, he understood him. They would whisper to each other all through feasts, all through tourneys, conspiring, chortling, enmeshed in this synergy that left no air for anyone else to breathe.”

“And your father never understood you.” Just like Bartimos Celtigar overlooks Everett, a son gifted with books and quills instead of horses and swords. “Never even tried to.”

“It is a terrible thing to be in the midst of your family and yet feel alone.”

“It is,” you say, remembering the Blacks’ festivities in King’s Landing.

“Now Lyonel and Harwin Strong whisper to no one,” Larys says, his smile widening into a dark, victorious grin. “And I am the Master of Whisperers.”

You remember the words that Otto Hightower spoke to you as he waited for his execution in the dungeons of the Red Keep: These dark, contagious facets of life change us all. They ruins us. Time, heartache, violence. You become capable of inconceivable things. You would scheme and deceive. You would murder. “Do you ever regret it?” you ask Larys softly. Becoming a sinner, a killer, a kinslayer.

“Never,” he replies. “Dowager Queen Alicent was the first person to ever truly listen to me. To make me feel worth something. Worth anything. To advance her interests in every way possible…that cannot be an injustice. It is the cleanest kind of loyalty. And I have no doubt my sacrifices will be repaid. If the Greens triumph, that is. When this war is over, Alicent’s son must sit the Iron Throne.”

“You mean Aegon.”

“Yes, of course.” But something mournful passes over Larys’ face like a shadow; he peers down at his hands to hide this from you.

He doubts Aegon will live. He foresees Aemond or Daeron inheriting the throne instead. You stand from the table, your chair squealing shrilly against the stone floor. “We should bring the king his supper,” you tell Larys. “He needs his strength.”

Aegon does not like you to be there when the maesters prod at him, scrub his wounds, rebandage his shattered legs. You were once his healer, yes, but now he believes you to be his wife. He does not want to be your patient. He does not want you to see him as a wounded man writhing in bed, as someone helpless, pathetic, weak, doomed.

The maesters are just finishing when you arrive with a tray of buttered bread and fresh soup, steam rising from the bowl of red like entrails that litter the earth once a battle has ended. The maesters are gathering up bloody strips of linen to be burned. Aegon is sobbing; his silver hair hangs in chaotic waves, both hands cover his face.

Your voice is hushed and heartbroken. “Aegon…”

“No, I’m okay,” he says, sniffling, mopping the tears from his cheeks with his bare palms. Then he reaches out to you. “Come here, come here, come here.”

You go to him, sliding the tray onto his bedside table until it clinks against the glass bottles there: rose oil, red wine, milk of the poppy. You climb onto the bed and Aegon’s arms circle around your waist, pulling you in closer as he buries his face in the warmth of your chest, your throat, covering you in hurried, imprecise kisses. Dimly, you wonder what he tastes when he breathes you in; you wonder what colors bloom in the sunless passages of his lungs.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. You can feel the dampness of his tears on your bare skin, the roughness of his scars.

“I was only gone for a few hours.”

“Too long,” he says. “Far too long. How’s Sunfyre?”

“He’s down on the beach, Your Grace,” Larys answers from the doorway where he has materialized like stars at dusk.

“Is he eating? Ambulatory? Wading in the water?”

“He’s…” Lord Larys hesitates. “He seems to be in a great deal of discomfort.” And yes, you know this to be true: Sunfyre the Golden’s wings hang in shreds, his wounds are inflamed with infection, and there is something wrong with him inside as well, a wheezing when he inhales, blood that seeps from his nostrils and his jaws. There’s nothing anybody can do for him. No one can touch him but Aegon, and Aegon can’t leave his bed.

Aegon says to Larys, low and sinister: “I want Baela dead. I want her burned.”

“She is far more valuable to you alive, Your Grace.”

“I am the king and I wish her to die.”

“Corlys Velaryon is her grandsire,” Larys implores. “If he discovers you executed Baela, he may recommit himself to Rhaenyra’s side. He may launch his own rebellion even after Rhaenyra is defeated. If you wish to win and keep the Iron Throne, I advise you to spare her.”

Aegon sighs and glares out the window that overlooks the Narrow Sea, his arms still linked around your waist. You begin to weave his braid for him. “Aegon,” you say gently. “We’ve brought you supper. Please eat it.”

“I’m afraid I’m too nauseated by my own inadequacy. Perhaps later.”

“You want to be well again. And you will be. But you have to eat.”

“I really don’t think I can.”

“Aegon, please.”

“Well…” He glances over at the bowl of soup and then gives you a mischievous smirk. “I suppose nothing tastes better than a crab, does it? Particularly when it is served in bed.”

“Or on the floor of a library.” You smile and kiss him: his pale face, his trembling lips. You finish his tiny braid like a silver chain and tuck it behind his ear. Then you pour him a cup of milk of the poppy, just one pearl-white splash, just enough to sand the serrated edges off his anguish.

“No.” He stops you, a hand on your wrist. “I don’t want to be useless again. I don’t want to be swimming in dreams. I want to be here with you.”

You shake your head. There are tears stinging in your eyes. “But you’re in pain.”

He grins, brushing your hair back from your face. “I’ve been in pain my whole life, Angel.”

And he manages to force down half the soup and two brimming goblets of wine before he sinks beneath the sea of his consciousness, while outside waves crack open against the rocks and Sunfyre leaks viscous threads the color of crimson, roses, flames.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You sent that raven a week ago,” Baela tells you when you bring her your offering, your clandestine kindness: apple cake, black tea. “More than enough time has passed for it to be received at Harrenhal and acted upon.”

You fill a porcelain cup with tea from the kettle and give it to her through the iron bars of her cell. “Perhaps the raven went astray.”

Baela ponders this as she alternates between unladylike chomps on a wedge of apple cake and slurps from the cup. “Maybe my father has been away from the castle. Maybe he’s out on the battlefield with the Stark men.”

Or maybe he believes you and Moondancer to be perfectly well and presiding unopposed over Dragonstone, and therefore not in need of his attention. What a welcome delusion to live under. I’m sure he’d rather be fucking Nettles anyway. You take the empty cup when Baela has drained it and refill it with tea. Baela accepts the nearly overflowing cup gratefully. She has had nothing to drink since she was taken captive except muddy rainwater that pools in one corner of each cell, guided by stone gutters that run along the outside of the castle. The tea is cloudy with cream and laced with sugar; still, her nose wrinkles a bit when she swallows it down.

“Bitter,” she notes distractedly.

“It’s made from leaves grown here on Dragonstone. Formidable, but not very sweet.”

Baela cackles; it echoes through the dungeon. This is the same voice that commanded Moondancer to brutalize Sunfyre, to send Aegon plummeting to the sand. Are her eyes already losing their viperish sharpness, is her heartbeat slowing? “Just like me!” She finishes her cup of tea and eagerly holds it out to you through the bars. You pour it full of the earth-colored brew once again.

You ask her as she licks apple cake crumbs from her fingers: “Why is Cregan Stark so determined to wed me?”

“He wants you. He considers you worthy of him.”

“But he doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t really know who I am.”

Baela shrugs indifferently. “None of us love anyone because of who they are. We love them because of who they make us believe we are.” She sips her tea and blinks groggily. “In any case, he will be your honorable savior, and you will be his illustrious damsel, and when the traitor dragons are dead he will spirit you away to Winterfell to bear his wolf pups. It’s not so bad a fate, I think. Not for someone like you. You aren’t ill-suited to matrimony. You are docile enough. A caretaker, a healer. You seem like the sort of woman who would be content with just one man.”

Yes. If he was Aegon. As you watch her kneeling on the stone floor of her cell, Baela sways and almost nods off, seemingly unaware that she is doing it.

“Burning might be too swift a death for the Usurper,” Baela says, smiling dazedly. “Cregan should have some of the Boltons flay him. They can all take turns wearing his hideous scars.”

“Yes. Skins shed, skins regrown, some of us change them over and over again.”

Baela stares at you inanely. She is beyond comprehension. Then she collapses to the stone floor, the porcelain tea cup spilling from her grasp and breaking into jagged white shards.

You take the key to the cell off the hook out in the corridor and unlock the door of iron bars. You step inside, still holding the tea kettle in one hand. You set the kettle down and drag Baela until she is propped upright against a wall. Her pulse is slow, but still present; she moans feebly as you position her. But it is all for a good cause; you must ensure she drinks the rest of the tea, the witches’ brew of leaves and cream and sugar and a fatal dose of milk of the poppy. Outside you hear a deep, prehistoric rumble as Vhagar flies over Dragonstone and scouts for a landing spot large enough to host her. Aemond is back again.

You angle the spout of the tea kettle between Baela’s paling lips and ply her with a small amount, less than a mouthful, then you rub her throat in just the right place to trigger her reflex to swallow. You know this trick well; you have used it on grievously wounded soldiers. You used it on Aegon after he was burned. You repeat the steps until the kettle is empty. Then you lay Baela flat again and watch her chest rise and fall slower, slower, slower until it stops. But still, you leave nothing to chance. You nick Baela’s wrist with a paring knife from the castle kitchens, until now tucked away in a pocket of your gown, emerald green silk to match the side of this war that you are pledged to. Her blood, unpropelled by the rhythm of a heart, dribbles sluggishly rather than spurts. She’s gone; she’s with her mother and Luke and Jace and the young sickly Viserys and Rhaenys, Otto and Helaena and Jaehaerys and Maelor and Autumn’s silver-haired son that she never had the chance to name. You wonder if the struggle goes on in the afterlife. Perhaps presently Otto and Baela are scratching and yowling at each other in a castle made of clouds.

Upstairs, Aemond is already in Aegon’s bedchamber. They are speaking in whispers when you enter, and you catch only pieces of the exchange: capital, Cregan, marriage, Daemon, crown. Larys stands in the corner of the room, his hands laced atop the handle of his cane. He gives you a reverent bow in greeting. He might not be so pleased to see you once he learns what you’ve done.

Aegon stops talking abruptly when he spots you and gestures for Aemond to go quiet as well, a commanding sweep of his hand. Aemond follows his brother’s gaze to the doorway. His lone blue eye climbs up and down you like a man on the rungs of a ladder. His hair is in one thick braid from his flight; stray white-blond strands that have been ripped free hang in disarray around his stoic, unreadable face. Aemond does not bow to you and never will. He only leers, a silver-haired wolf, a hawk with unhollow bones.

“Hello, Angel,” Aegon says, beaming or at least attempting to. He is frail and pallid and too thin and dripping sweat. There are indigo rings around his eyes like bruises. His legs are swollen, grotesque mountain ranges beneath the blankets. You rush to him and sit on the edge of the bed, feeling his forehead for fever and combing your fingers fondly through his hair.

Aemond sighs irritably. “Anyway, I’d like to torture her.”

“My prince…” Larys urges.

Aegon holds up a palm. “Now now, Lord Larys, let’s hear his proposal. Exactly how much do you intend to torture Baela?”

“Quite a bit,” Aemond says.

“To death?” Aegon asks hopefully.

“I don’t see why not.”

“My prince!” Larys says again. “Please, consider the possible ramifications, she is a prisoner of substantial strategic value, if your mother was here she would caution—”

“I’m afraid that Baela can no longer be interrogated,” you confess, and they all turn to you. There is a long, laden pause.

“And why is that?” Aemond says.

“Because she is dead of poisoning.”

“What?!”

“In her cell. Her body is there now. Feed her to Vhagar or Sunfyre, throw her in the sea, do whatever you wish with her. But she has paid her debt for the harm she inflicted upon us.”

Slowly, a grin splits across Aemond’s face. Larys shakes off his shock and resigns himself to it. But Aegon is neither proud nor reconciled. “You did that?” he says softly.

“You wanted Baela dead.”

“Yes, I did. But you don’t take life,” Aegon says, remembering what you once told him in King’s Landing. His oceanic eyes are stunned and fearful; not because Baela is was murdered, but because you were the one to end her. Because until now he was still able to tell himself that you could somehow escape this war unscarred, unruined. “You preserve it.”

“I preserve yours,” you reply. And when you offer him milk of the poppy—with no fear, for you know precisely how much it takes to kill a man—Aegon refuses it again, taking his suffering pure and sharp like the glass of a mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What will happen to him?” Aemond asks you. You’re sitting on the stone staircase together under overcast midday skies, sipping wine and watching Sunfyre amble lethargically up and down the beach. You aren’t sure what’s made him so restless: his own dire injuries, Aegon in torment within the castle walls, something else entirely, some premonition that only beasts of ancient magic know. At last, Sunfyre seems to have exhausted himself and crumples onto the sand.

“I think Aegon will walk again. Eventually.”

“But he won’t be able to fight.”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses caustically, glowering out over the ocean.

You look at Aemond, needing to ask but terrified of the answer. “Can you win without him?”

“Can we win, you mean?” He smiles faintly, then sobers again. “I think so. Just before I left the Riverlands to come here, I received reports that Daemon had sent his lowborn little child bride away with Sheepstealer. He is trying to protect her from Rhaenyra’s assassins. My bitch of a half-sister has thus done us a remarkable favor. If Daemon is alone, I have no doubt that Vhagar can slay Caraxes. They say Daemon has fled Harrenhal. He’s hiding from me. I will find him, and I will burn him. I will end this war.”

“You need to be with Criston when his army faces the Northmen.”

“Of course,” Aemond says; but something in his face worries you.

There is a high-pitched shriek overhead, a glimmering flash of vivid gemstone blue. You startle and Aemond’s hand juts out, grabs you by the forearm, yanks you closer to him; then he relaxes when he recognizes who it is.

Aemond sighs loudly. “Why the fuck can’t he stay where he’s supposed to be?!” Then he stands, helps you to your feet while he’s at it, and heads down to the shoreline to meet Daeron and Tessarion.

The Blue Queen circles the beach several times, Daeron peering down as if struggling to understand something, his long white-blond hair whipping in the wind. At last Tessarion lands, her claws sinking into the wet sand, ocean froth bubbling around legs. Her long, swanlike neck stretches out towards Sunfyre, soft inquisitive squeals emanating from her jaws. Daeron leaps down from the saddle and strides to where Sunfyre is sprawled helplessly on the beach.

Alicent’s youngest child is clad in mint green—including a cape that billows out behind him in the seaside breeze—and glinting gold accents everywhere, buckles on his boots and the clasp of his cape and even a freckling of studs in his ears. He props both hands on his waist as he scrutinizes the crippled dragon. “Well, you’re not Moondancer.”

“He ripped Moondancer’s throat out,” Aemond says. “And then he ate her.”

Daeron whistles and gazes at Sunfyre admiringly. “I heard that Baela and Moondancer had taken possession of Dragonstone. I came to murder them. But now I see my services are unnecessary.”

“Baela is dead.” Then Aemond adds, nodding to you: “Here is the executioner.”

Daeron considers you, then laughs and assails you with a spirited embrace that nearly knocks you off your feet. “Welcome to the family, Lady Celtigar.”

“She’s the queen now.”

“Is she?” Daeron asks, eyebrows raised. “I was not under the impression that our brother was in any particular hurry to marry again.”

“His priorities seem to have shifted,” Aemond says.

“Can I see him?” Daeron looks around the beach and then up at the castle, shielding his eyes from the greyscale daylight. “Is he not outside with you? What is he doing in there? Not reciting prayers and composing poetry, I’d imagine.”

In Aegon’s bedchamber, Daeron cannot conceal his shock, his dismay; he gawks at the king like he is a three-legged dog, a blinded orphan. He stands thunderstruck at the end of the bed, taking in the vague yet horrifying outlines of Aegon’s shattered legs, the gauntness of his face, the fact that he is incapable of playing any meaningful role in the war for the foreseeable future. You sit on the bed beside Aegon, Aemond lurks by a window, Larys observes intently from a respectful distance, his eyes following every word as they flit through the air.

When Daeron recovers somewhat, he says: “I need to know what to do about Hammer and Ulf.”

“Why?” Aegon replies wearily. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Apparently, Mother once offered them the seats of House Costayne and House Merryweather as compensation for their efforts on behalf of the Greens, and they accepted. But now that’s suddenly not good enough. They’re asking me for the Riverlands and the Vale.”

Aegon turns to Aemond. “Is there anything left of the Riverlands these days? Should we find a new name for them? The Smolderlands, perhaps? The Everything-Is-Dead-Here-Now-Lands?”

“This is serious,” Aemond says flatly.

“I’m entirely serious.”

“Should I just tell them they can have whatever they want?” Daeron asks. “And then when the war is over and we’ve won…you know…pretend not to remember that conversation?”

“They can’t be given territory of any importance,” Aemond says. “They aren’t nobility.”

Daeron amends: “More relevantly, they are devoid of accountability and self-discipline. They drink all day and whore all night, and…oh, I mean no offense, Your Grace.”

“Fine,” Aegon says, preoccupied. There are fat beads of sweat on his bloodless face, glistening misery in his eyes. He gazes sorrowfully down at his left hand where he once wore his golden dragon ring before he lost it the same day he destroyed his legs. You pour him a cup of red wine and he drains it in seconds. You fill another.

“My point is that Hammer and Ulf are increasingly unreliable. I am only halfway convinced they could even show up for a battle before it was over. And yet we need them. Especially if Sunfyre cannot fight.”

“Agree to their requests,” Aemond says. “And if they survive the war, we will deal with them then. Rhaenyra’s faction is the greater enemy. We cannot risk the Dragonseeds racing back into her arms.”

“Lord Larys?” Aegon prompts dimly

“I could not agree more, Your Grace.”

“And on the subject of Rhaenyra,” Daeron continues. “Tessarion and I can take King’s Landing. Syrax is the only dragon in the city now, and Rhaenyra has never ridden her into combat.”

“No,” Aegon says. “We cannot risk setting the capital ablaze and turning the people against us. And Mother is there. Everett is there.”

“Everett?” Daeron looks around, baffled. “Who the fuck is Everett?”

“Angel’s brother. Not the firstborn son. The other one.” And as Aegon explains this, his chest is heaving and his eyes are glazed over. He tries to reposition himself in bed and has to bite down on his lower lip to keep from crying out, hard enough to draw blood.

“Is there anything else?” you ask Daeron and Aemond, a warning in your face. He needs rest. He needs to sleep, to heal.

“No,” Aemond says. He paces towards the door and snatches Daeron’s cape as he passes by him, hauling him out into the hallway. You follow after them.

As soon as he is out of earshot of Aegon’s room, Daeron tells Aemond: “He doesn’t look good.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Aemond, I think you should prepare to—”

“He’ll be fine!” Aemond snaps.

“You don’t think I’m losing something too?” Daeron demands furiously. “You don’t think I want him to be well again? Of course I want that. But if wishing people to live made it possible, the world would be a very different place.”

“You are needed in the Reach,” Aemond says, and that’s all.

Daeron glares up at him, incredulous, defiant. “This will be over soon. I hope you’re ready for what comes next.”

Then he storms out of the castle, soars down the long stone staircase, meets Tessarion on the windswept beach and takes flight into the southwest where the earth is green but the nights are an inescapable, dreamless black.

~~~~~~~~~~

Aegon is weeping again; you hear him from the hallway. It is after nightfall, and the castle is illuminated only by firelight. Candles flicker; the hearth crackles and pops. In the shadows, Aegon lies with his dragonfire scars and his fractured legs and his useless hereditary magic, tears streaming down his face. You have a vision of what he will look like when he’s dead; you imagine the Stranger reaching up from underneath the bed to seize him with claws like a raven’s talons and drag him out of existence.

“I need it,” Aegon sobs when he sees you, grasping for the glass bottle of milk of the poppy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to need it, but I do.”

“I’m here, Aegon. It’s alright. Let me help.” You pour him a cup of the bitter remedy, a strange gleaming white like pearl, opal, moonstone. Then you tilt the cup against his lips. Aegon gulps down the milk of the poppy and then falls back into his sea of pillows.

He murmurs, eyes closed as you graze the backs of your fingers feather-lightly over his unmarred cheek: “I wanted to start over with you.”

“You’ll still get the chance.”

“No,” he whimpers miserably. “I ruin everyone. Everyone I’m given, everyone I touch. Helaena, Jaehaerys, Maelor. We don’t even know where Jaehaera is, in Storm’s End, lost on the road, taken captive, dead. Otto, Autumn, Aemond, Mother, Sunfyre. And now I’m ruining you too.”

“You’re not,” you plead with him in a whisper. And not for the first time, you think: What do you require from me, Aegon? Wrath, compassion, healing, children? What can I do to give you hope again? Tell me and it’s yours. I’d do anything. I’d become anyone. “Aegon?” you begin, trying to ask him; but he is already unconscious. He’ll likely be out until sunrise.

You drink cup after cup of red wine and sit in the flame-lit shadows with him, in the quiet, in the liminal space between decisions, envisioned sins and prospective virtues. Then you leave the bedchamber like a ghost, a creak here and a tap there and no other trace. You wander down long, twisting corridors framed by dragons of iron and stone. And at the other end of the castle beyond a door you’ve never opened before is the lair of a very different breed of dragon: tall and lean and ambitious, his eyepatch removed and stowed away for the evening, his long silver hair hanging freely to his waist.

He is wearing cotton sleeping trousers but nothing else. He is seated at his writing desk and scrawling something onto parchment in black ink, a list or a diagram or a design for a new crown upon his ascension to the throne, you don’t know and you have no intention of asking. You have far too many things on your mind already. You feel nauseous and unsteady, you feel like you can’t possibly go through with this. You can’t imagine it. You can’t fathom what he would feel like, taste like.

Aemond steals a nonchalant glimpse of you, having no sense of your inner turmoil. “Can I assist you with something?”

“Yes,” you say simply, sipping your wine under the stone arch of the doorway.

He looks up at you again, his quill suddenly still in his hand. His two eyes are on you, one wide and river-blue, the other a soulless glittering sapphire in a tangle of ruined flesh. And now he understands. There are other Targaryens, he had said. “Take off your clothes. Sit down on the bed.”

You step inside his bedchamber and close the door behind you, setting your empty cup on the edge of his writing desk. You walk to his bed—dark green blankets, gold thread—and shed each piece of clothing you have on, a black gown and everything under it, not looking to see if Aemond is watching you, too anxious, trembling wildly. But you know his gaze is on you when you—standing naked and shivering in the firelight—begin to pull back the blankets and hear the sharp reprove in his voice.

“I did not tell you to hide yourself from me,” Aemond says. “Sit at the edge. Yes, there. Good.”

You perch on the bed and wait for him, your ankles linked, legs swinging restlessly, arms crossed over your chest. Aemond is staring at you from the opposite end of the room. You can’t look at him; you look elsewhere, at the tapestries of dragons hanging from the drafty stone walls, at the thick candles that drip white wax. And this won’t be like lying with a stranger, but it won’t be like lying with someone you want either, because you are profoundly uneasy and monstrously ashamed and perhaps even afraid.

Aemond is approaching now, firelight skating over his smooth, unsinged skin. He is undoing the tie at the waist of his trousers. He yanks them off, revealing himself to you. He is already hard, and he is massive, vast in length and width. The panic hits you like a breaking wave.

“Oh,” you gasp in alarm, unable to stop yourself. Then you explain so he won’t be offended: “I’m not going to be able to take you if I’m not ready.” You rest a hand on your bare thigh, slip it between your legs, begin to stroke yourself the way Aegon does, trying to relax, trying to think of him…

“No,” Aemond says, moving your hand aside. “Let me.”

Obediently, you rest your palms just behind you on the mattress, open your thighs for him, inhale sharpy as Aemond’s long, artful fingers touch you somewhere only one other man ever has. And you’re a traitor, the worst kind of traitor, because it’s working: you can feel yourself opening for him, hungering for him, coating his hand in slick warm wetness.

Aemond isn’t looking at your face. His eye is fixed on the place where his fingers are circling, where he is now pushing two inside of you, and while it happens abruptly and roughly enough to startle you it is not quite painful, or maybe it is, just the tiniest bit, but the pleasure eclipses the pain, the pleasure is a current you are powerless to swim against.

“You can tell me to stop,” Aemond says as he strokes you from the inside with his fingers buried to the knuckles, his breathing labored. “I don’t want you to. But if you tell me to stop, I’ll listen. Okay?”

You nod, and instead of an answer you give him a moan, stifled but unmistakable, dark treasonous forbidden ecstasy. And this snaps something in Aemond, it unleashes a part of him he’d been keeping tied up like an untrustworthy animal, one that could maul or maim or kill. He drops to his knees, hooks his arms beneath your thighs, drags you to him until his lips and tongue are on you with dizzyingly blissful pressure. You fall back onto the bed, one hand twisting into the blankets, the other in his waterfall of unruly silver hair, pushing him even harder against you as he licks ravenously. Aemond doesn’t seem to mind; with each roll of your hips and bitten-back plea his enthusiasm blooms, hums and triumphant chuckles spilling from his mouth as he swallows down the proof of your desire. It’s starting, that swift climb towards a high like nothing else on earth, something Aegon once taught you was possible. You are a betrayer, but with the very best of intentions; you are making a sacrifice, but it feels so much like a gift.

“Aemond, I’m ready,” you pant, your fingers hopelessly knotted in his hair. “You can do it now, you can…” And then you lose your words because instead of rising to his feet, Aemond stays right where he is, his tongue insatiable, his face drenched in your wetness.

He’s going to make me…I’m so close…

“Aemond, what are you waiting for…?”

His lips close around the spot where you are most sensitive and he sucks forcefully, and that feeling like a shuddering, irresistible unravelling strikes you harder and faster than it ever has before, so intense it is almost painful, sharp and commanding, not something he is doing with you but to you, and you know even in the golden haze of the climax that this is not about love but about power, pride, control, worthiness.

He doesn’t stop. He is licking you again, opening your folds with one hand, thrusting two fingers inside of you with the other. You are still feeling the pulsing, involuntary aftershocks of one high when the next begins building, building, building, and when you close your eyes all you can see are waves on the ocean in a storm, swelling to impossible heights and ungoverned by anything except the dubious mercy of nature.

“Aemond please,” you beg in a frayed whisper, bathed in sweat and guilt and frenzied lust. “I’m ready. Just do it, please…”

And then he wrenches you into another vortex and it takes everything in you not to scream, not to jolt awake the skeleton crew that tends to Dragonstone and its surreptitious guests. You are beyond complete thoughts, beyond sentences. You are boneless, your muscles have turned to mist and air, you are entirely under Aemond’s control and that’s where he has wanted you all along.

“Aemond, please, please, please…”

Unable to resist any longer, he stands—wiping the glistening, dripping sheen from his face with the back of one hand—and forces his cock inside you to the hilt. He does not slow down when he meets resistance, and you don’t tell him to. You moan in shock at the disorienting fullness, you cannot help it; it is a feeling on the knife’s edge between ripping agony and euphoric pleasure. It is something you would gratefully die of. He moves within you, deep and quick, his hands clasping your hips. Emotionally, you feel nothing but a razored, perilous, impersonal intensity; in your body, it is paradise.

Again? Again…?!

“Are you going to come for me one more time, Angel?” Aemond taunts you as he thrusts; and that’s Aegon’s name for you that he’s using, and it’s wrong, and Aemond knows that, and there is absolutely nothing you can do to break the spell he’s got you under, you can’t tell him to stop, you don’t have the will to, and if this is about power then you know who’s won out of the three of you, you know who has steel in his bones and lightning cracking in his veins.

It’s different this time, pleasure rising like the tide in your whole body, a peak that is not concentrated so clearly between your legs but everywhere: fingertips, spine, belly, heart.

“Come for me, Angel. I know you can do it.” And then for the first time Aemond leans in close to you, his pristine scarless chest pressed to yours, his lips traveling from your throat to the curve of your jaw, his tongue darting into your mouth before you can turn away, and he tastes like pure, mineral lust, and maybe that’s not just because of what he’s done to you, maybe that’s all he is all the way down, hunger that is never satisfied, a need to consume like fire burns flesh.

You whimper, a desperate vulnerable sound, a pleading for him to finish what he’s started and give you this one last high, just one more, just one, please, please, you’ll do anything.

“I’m better than him, aren’t I?” Aemond demands as he fucks you, and there’s no other word for it. This isn’t making love, this isn’t a meeting of souls, it is using someone else’s body to patch up all your hollows, all the pinprick voids you’ve been walking around with for years, losing yourself one blooddrop at a time until you pass by a mirror one day and think who the hell is that? “I know how to take care of you. I know what you want. I can do things Aegon never could. I’ll make you come again. I’ll give you a prince.”

And he coaxes it out of you like the memory of a dream, more like an ether than something you could name: a shimmering elation all over, a cry you can only muffle by biting down on Aemond’s neck as he pounds into you, and then he at last he surrenders what you came here for, but only after all the rest of it. He fills you with himself, so much of it that you can feel it pouring out onto the blankets, immense flooding wet warmth that gives you no satisfaction whatsoever.

I’m a traitor, you think, and for all the times you’ve changed your skin this is the very worst of them. I shouldn’t have done this. I wish I hadn’t done this.

Aemond lifts himself off of you and rolls onto his back, panting alongside you as you both stare up at the ceiling, drenched in each other’s salt and knowing things that were once so unthinkable. Aemond is gazing over at you. His clear blue eye is tracing your lips, your breasts, your hips, your folds that are soaked with his sweat and seed. You don’t want him watching you. You feel sick knowing he’s watching you. You get up from the bed and begin putting on your gown.

Aemond says: “We should probably try again tomorrow.”

You shake your head. “I can’t,” you reply quietly.

He sits up on the bed, his lone eye narrowed and suspicious. His hair is damp and now flows over his shoulders in disheveled silvery waves. “What?”

“I can’t do this again. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s it,” Aemond flings. “Just this once and never again. Never again in our whole goddamn lives.”

“It feels like betraying him. It is betraying him.”

“And what if he can’t father any more children?!”

“Then I’ll be barren.”

Aemond glares, petulant, affronted. “I thought you wanted to help this family.”

“You didn’t do this for your family. You did it for you.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m a fucking monster.” He tears off the bed, tugs on his trousers, ties the knot with swift furious hands.

“Aemond, I didn’t say that, I don’t think—”

“You’ve done enough,” he seethes, pawing through a chest of clothing. He finds a shirt and pulls it on, gathers up his things, rages to the bedchamber door. He whips it open and disappears into the nightscape corridor.

“Aemond!” you call after him in a fierce whisper, as loudly as you dare to. “Aemond, where are you going?!”

“To take Harrenhal,” he pitches over his shoulder. And then he’s gone, and maybe it’s your fault, and maybe it isn’t, but either way you are wholly convinced that it is.

You bathe in one of the massive tubs heated by the lava that runs deep beneath the rocky earth of the island, scouring away every trace of Aemond, lathering yourself with soap scented with pine, rinsing, lathering again. Still, you can feel the way he moved inside you with such battering, rapturous force. Still, you miss him, you miss being able to talk to him and look to him and trust that he will protect Aegon in every way he can, for no matter how much envy Aemond is built of you believe his love for his king is stronger.

You return to Aegon’s bed, always so careful now not to jostle his legs, his shattered bones that are only just beginning to mend. You are petrified that he will know somehow—that he will see it on your face, smell it sweating from your pores—but Aegon has nothing for you but seeking hands and contented, drowsy sighs.

“Where’d you go?” he mumbles, still half-asleep, drawing you in closer. “I missed you. I keep dreaming that everyone’s gone. I watch you walk through the doorway and I’m left here in bed all alone.”

“Aegon?”

“Yes, wife.”

“Do you need children with me to be happy?”

He waits a long time before he answers. When at last he does, he chooses each word carefully. “I have never felt a calling to be a father. I’ve never been any good at it. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor…they were mine, but they also weren’t, and I can’t explain it. I felt nothing for them except a vague sort of sympathy that they had the misfortune of being born to me. Now, did a lot of that have to do with my relationship with Helaena? Probably. And do I think things would be different if I had children with you? Yes, I believe they would be, to some extent at least. But I don’t need children to be happy. I just need you.”

You say with tears in your eyes and your voice splintering: “I’m so sorry, Aegon.”

He is mystified. “For what?”

“For not being a better person for you. For not being able to cure or protect you. For not being able to end the war.”

“Angel, nobody can,” Aegon says, fingers snarled in your hair, lips to your forehead. Then he smiles; you can feel the warm, playful curl of it against your skin. “Well, except Aemond, of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~

She is there to greet him when he arrives. She creeps out of the shadows like a spider, long limbs and volcanic-glass eyes, whispers like wind in brittle fall leaves and flesh that will never refuse him. She wears black, not for one night like you did but always; she has long dark hair that she never cuts or braids or ties back. Sometimes there are raven feathers in it, sometimes herbs or powders from spells, sometimes twigs and petals, sometimes blood. It all washes out in the cold cryptic currents of the Gods Eye. Once Daemon Targaryen was here, but he did not have a wound in the shape that she could fill, could walk into like a doorway and stitch herself into the velvet-gore lining of his lungs, his liver, his heart. But now Daemon is gone. And Harrenhal has a new king to reign over the city of bones and ashes.

She meets him under the starlight that trickles in through the ruins of Harrenhal, less a castle than an architectural graveyard, less a place of beginnings than of calamitous ends. Her fingernails trace his scar and she tells him it is the mark of a hero. She touches her lips to his sapphire eye and tells him it reminds her of a god. And thus the doorway opens, and Alys drifts through it, silent and resistless like smoke, like a plague.

Perpetual Resurrection, Aemond thinks. He knows they are the words of House Celtigar. He has studied the mottos of every noble house in Westeros; but none speak to him more than these.

She touches him and he sees everything he could be. He tastes her lips and drinks down the smooth intoxicating fire that burns the boy he once was away.

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