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ghostie-dude · 5 months

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A Royal Quarrel -

In which ; Princess Anya is on a mission. Prince Damian was forced to be here. They clearly do not get along. royal au!damianya! they are both aged up in this.

word count ; 1.6 k

notes; one of my first one shots. inspired by this post by @anishake! i hope i did this au justice </3 reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated!

As the maids add the last touches to her hair, braiding her pink locks, she glances at her father, standing to the side; his crown glistening in the sunlight filtering through the windows of the grand bedroom.

“Is it going to be common for you to need me to help you during your missions, papa? You usually never let me interfere,” She teases, grinning. His highness shakes his head, smiling back at his daughter.

“Don’t count on it, princess. You’re still much too young for this,” He walks forward, patting his daughter’s hair with affection.

“Hah?!” She exclaimed, her expression souring within minutes. If any words could be used to describe the young princess, all the castle staff would agree; reckless, dramatic, lively. She sunk her head, making contact with her dresser, acting dejected beyond comparison. “Papa never fails to hurt my feelings.”

The maids who are helping her get ready giggle, patting her hair as they had so many times throughout her life. They had, afterall, watched her grow up here; amongst these castle walls, causing trouble ever since she was born.

“Come on, Princess Anya. We need to get ready for the prince, don’t we?” She says with a humorous tone. Anya sticks her tongue out at this. “As if! I’m just helping papa here. Nothing more, so don’t spread gossip!”

The king looks at his daughter’s antics affectionately, watching her bicker with her maids as if they were family. Momentarily, his anxiety regarding the evening settles; he breathes, calming down in the familiar presence of the young princess.

~ - ~

The prince stands in front of a mirror, the gloom in his face matching that of the darkened room; his hands outstretched, he watches his reflection with unmoving eyes as a servant fixes his suit, adding touches here and there. It was unnecessary; the prince was good looking enough to make anything work, everyone knew, and yet his father made sure hours were put into his son's appearance before any lowly event he forced him to attend in his place.

“Lord Damian, if you’d please move a bit to the right. . .” The servant asks in a meek tone, his head bowed.

Wordlessly, the prince grimaces, shifting a bit and sighing. He’d been here for ages already. He begins to resent his highness, his father, and the fact that the only reason he was being sent to this event was because the king couldn’t bother to attend.

“Save face, make name,” He mutters to himself, his expression changing; he looks forward, just as the king enters the room, two guards flanking him. Everyone in the room bows as he approaches, stopping before his son. The prince lowers his head.

“Your highness,” The prince says, not daring to look up.

“Damian. I trust you understand your role in the evening?”

The king trains his sharp gaze on his son, and the prince doesn’t fail to pick up the malice that laces his tone.

“I do, your highness,”

“Don’t get too immersed in the evening. Do your job,” The king narrows his eyes, leaning towards his son’s lowered head. In his ears, he mutters softly. “They’re nothing but lowly rulers from a nameless kingdom. A peasant king from a peasant kingdom. I expect you to maintain an image.”

The king stands up straight, causing the tension in the room to reach a peak. Prince Damian shivers under his fathers gaze.

The castle staff watch as the king leaves the room.

The prince’s gaze never left the floor.

~ - ~

The evening is as boring as Princess Anya had expected it to be. She swirls her drink in her glass, her expression clearly displaying all her boredom; she never was good at hiding how she felt. Her highness, the queen, sits next to her daughter, giggling at her clear distaste. The Forger Monarchs were known for their tight bond, and it was clear how much the princess’ parents cared for her, even through these small actions. The king shakes his head at his daughter’s antics, as they sit at the front of the hall, each in their respective throne. He clears his throat, nudging his slouching daughter and mouthing at her to sit up straight, to which the princess pouts, causing the queen to smile and share a glance with her husband.

The room was lively, the event an obvious success, and it was finally time for the evening’s festivities. The king stands up, clearing his throat once again, louder in order to catch the attention of his guests. The king’s presence is overwhelming; immediately, the large hall quiets down, a light atmosphere around the evening; it is a comfortable event, one meant to celebrate.

“I thank all of you who graciously attended. We offer our utmost respect and gratitude to each and every one of you, standing in this hall before us today.”

Queen Yor and the princess stand beside the king, and all three curtsey in unison, sparking applause amongst the guests.

“And now, without further ado; My dear wife and I-” He affectionately embraces the queen, who laughs. “- will start the evening’s dance off.”

The two face each other, hand in hand, and bow. Then, they make their way into the crowd, who move away to clear space for the pair; they begin the traditional dance, always sparked by the rulers of the kingdom.

“And now, we’d invite all guests to graciously join the king and queen,” One of the castle’s staff announces after a few minutes, clapping; the lights in the grand hall dim, allowing the moonlight from the floor to ceiling windows illuminate the hall, giving it a magical tint.

This is the signal the princess has been waiting for. She makes her way through the crowd, her eyes never leaving her target - Prince Damian, the second born of the Desmond Monarchs. She was, after all, on a mission.

She reaches him, stopping a few feet away. His dark hair shines in the moonlight, she notices, his eyes trained on her parents as he gracefully handles his glass. Most of the guests have joined in the dance, yet he was alone, standing to the side.

She glances at her parents, who give her a masked glance back. It was all planned out, to the very second; the Forger Monarchs had this evening dotted to the T.

The clears her throat, leaning towards the prince with a friendly expression on her face.

“What’s a prince like you doing here all alone, Mr. Desmond?” She teases. “Care to dance?”

He glances at her. His first thought, immediately, is pride; ‘Fallen for me already, has she? Well, I can’t blame her, I am truly the most handsome prince to grace these halls.’

He is so easy to read that Anya has to move her head to hide the scoff that graces her features.

“Why, I guess I could spare a dance for a desperate princess like you,” He teases back, his face contorted into a smirk. “No shocker you have no partner for yourself, huh?”

At that moment, the princess forgets all about the plan. Her mind is blank. All she understood was that she had just been insulted by the prince, who was here all alone, that too.

She smiles sickeningly at the prince, turning around. She moves towards the gates to the garden connecting to the hall; she knows she can’t get upset at his behaviour, or she risks ruining the plan.

Her parents notice her leaving, and look at the prince, who was gazing at her retreating back with a dumbstruck expression on his face.

‘Did she just . . . smile at me? Did she just smile and leave?’ His exasperation knows no bounds. Does she even know who he is? Does she know what a big deal it is that he agreed to dance with her?

Out of pure exasperation, he follows her swiftly, exiting the hall and entering the garden behind her.

“Do you think we should follow them?” The queen mutters, her face on her husband’s shoulder.

The king stays quiet, thinking over the situation. He evaluates quickly, reaching a conclusion within seconds.

“She’ll be okay. She knows what to do.”

The prince calls out, causing the princess to stop in her tracks. She hadn’t expected him to follow her out.

“Do you even understand who I am?” He continues, reaching her. He stood inches behind her, facing her back. The princess thinks, trying to figure out what to do next.

“I’m talking to you! You should be grateful I even agreed to dance with you, a lowly princess like you should cower before the likes of me. You’re forgetting your place,” Once again, the princess pauses, her mind going blank.

“Do you not hear me?” He grabs her shoulder, turning her around to face him. “Answer m-”

Within the next 2 seconds, the princess twists his arm, throwing him over her shoulder and pinning him to the ground. His hands are pinned over his head, and her other hand holds his face up towards her’s, as her legs straddle his hip, holding him down. She leans in, her face centimetres away from his. He's too shocked to move.

“Some lowly princess I am, huh?” She scoffs, causing his eyes to widen and his cheeks to redden at the sheer closeness between them. “Don’t worry, Desmond,” she spits. “I know my place. Maybe I should remind you of yours.”

She stands up, brushing the grass and dirt off her gown and fixing her crown.

“I don’t want to see your face near me ever again.” She sneers, forgetting her mission. She enters the hall, her scowl never leaving her face.

Meanwhile, the prince lays frozen in place, his face red and hot.

“Shit,” He mutters to the sky, clutching his chest as his heart races.

#spy x family #spy family #loid forger #yor forger #anya #anya forger #damian desmond #desmond #forger #damianya #damian x anya #anya x damian #my writing #royal au #royal damianya

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rulerofstars · 2 years

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bad lips (18+)

drabble: you find yourself in a sultry— unforeseen— situation upon crossing paths with one of your fellow spies after years with no communication

pairing: loid forger / twilight x female reader

genre: smut; dirty talking, teasing, unprotected sex, choking

“Oh, you fuck me so good!”

Sweat, steam, and cries. The four corners of the room is now filled with both the heat from the intense fucking you are currently receiving, and just like how you’d always do before, you arched your back against the warm mattress and wrapped your legs around Twilight— Loid’s waist. His tie is now roughly hugging the skin of your neck, mimicking the way his large hands have held you there as you both try to match each other’s rhythm.

“You haven’t changed, hm?” he lightly chuckled, pressing a soft kiss against the sensitive part of the back of your ear, marking what was his and doing what he loved to do before, “You are still a bad girl,” back when you were still each other’s escape from the cruel world into the sea of pleasure and lust.

Your pussy clenched against his hard shaft, wetness escaping and staining the sheets even more than when he made you cum through his mouth. Flashbacks of earlier scenarios kept on rewinding into your mind, of how you met again inside a dirty fucking bar, how you felt the same fire rekindling in your stomach when you remembered how you two used to fuck and claim each other’s bodies.

Twilight was a fuck buddy— your fuck buddy who made you feel more than just that.

“And you, sir,” you moaned, feeling him hit the spot inside, “are still so mean, aren’t you?”

His movements became more rough for a while, as if it was a pleasurable punishment for your teasing. Soft deep grunts matched your little moans as if they were rhythm and blues, and God, how it made your walls clench so hard, he almost came.

“Fuck! Don’t do that…” he whispered, banging you harder than faster, trying to fill you to the brim with him inside, balls deep. But you could not really control your spasms at all, not when he’s doing you so well.

A warm, rough, calloused palm wrapped around your neck like a metal choker. Your eyes rolled up to meet his blue orbs, only to see how dark his face had become. With heavy breaths and aching muscles, you cannot help but to feel all hot and nostalgic at the same time— especially now that he’s fucking you like how he used to before.

“How does it feel, hm?” you teased, pulling his hips into you even more using your legs, he let out a grunt, looking at you intently with burning lust in his irises. “You like your cock buried in me?”

You heard him mutter a curse and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours while he slammed into you from behind. His left hand traveled all the way down your pussy, giving it a light slap then slipping in one of his fingers between the fold, playing with your clit.

“F-fuck… me…” you cried even more as you felt his other hand fondle your breast, giving it a tight squeeze.

His mouth met the skin of your neck, giving hot kisses while he thrusts into you, marking you all over as if you were his.

“Still a bad fucking girl,” he teases, pulling his cock out and rubbing its swollen, pink head against your opening, making you a moaning mess once again.

“Fuck you!”

A small smirk formed on his lips as he grabbed your legs and turned you over, placing your feet against his shoulders while positioning his tip against your hole once again, coating it with your wetness and carefully pushing it in.

“Still the same bad lips, I see,” he slammed, making you curse him once again, especially when his calloused palm gave your thighs a hard slap, its sounded like a thunder across the room. His dark eyes look down to you as he grabbed a handful of your hair.

“Let’s see where those will take you.”