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sapphire-writes · 4 months

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Pretty Little Thing

summary: After finding yourself at a holiday party you hadn't wanted to attend in the first place, Aemond Targaryen makes it worth while.

pairing: modern!Aemond x Reader

warnings: 18+/NSFW/MDNI - smut, oral fem receiving, fingering, spanking, praise, slight dirty talk, overstim, kissing, love bites, hand over mouth, titty play, allusions to Aegon being a creeper, alcohol, smoking, langauge

word count: 7.2k

note: im back! grad school didn't kill me! hope you enjoy!

link to other stories from me!

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—

Be there soon.

Alysanne had texted you nearly an hour ago, and with each passing minute you became more doubtful she’d be making an appearance at all.

You hadn’t even wanted to come. It’d been her idea and now she was blowing you off.

“We’re just exchanging the last of our things,” she’d promised on the phone several hours earlier, “You go on without me and I’ll meet you there.”

Yeah. Because it takes three hours to give your ex-boyfriend his stuff back. Totally.

Alysanne and Cregan Stark had been on and off again since you’d known her; this time was no exception. You knew from her first running later than I thought text that the night wasn’t going to go as you’d hoped.

You decide to like her most recent message instead of replying, unable to stop the wave of annoyance cresting inside of you.

You hadn’t even wanted to come.

An end-of-semester holiday party. Thrown by the elder Lannister siblings; twins Jason and Tyland. The kings of Casterly Rock are well known for their extravagant get-togethers and the unimaginable generational wealth that funds all their exploits.

They’d long graduated from King’s Landing University, but you and Alysanne scored an invite courtesy of Cerelle Lannister, their younger sister, whom you’d been trying to avoid since you arrived. If Cerelle didn’t see you, perhaps you could escape the party unscathed.

That hope proves too good to be true as your name is called from across the room. You slide your phone back into your pocket as Cerelle approaches you. Her blonde hair hangs in effortless curls down her back, the emerald green top she wears accentuating its golden hues, along with her bright green eyes.

You’re not exactly close with Cerelle, though she appears to enjoy your friendship, at least on a surface level. She’s part of the weekly book club you attend. Her grin widens as she reaches you, eyes drinking you in.

“Darling!” she muses, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

“You wore it!” she says, fingers ghosting across the cashmere cardigan you’d chosen to wear that evening. Cerelle had bought it for you a few weeks ago, though you’d begged her not to; the price was more than you made in a paycheck.

Alysanne once referred to you as Cerelle’s Polly Pocket.

“She pulls you out of her pocket and plays dress up. It’s fucking weird,” she’d said.

Cerelle’s lips curve upwards in a Cheshire cat grin as she slings an arm around your shoulder, bringing her glossed lips next to your ear.

“Stop moping in the corner like some dreary wallflower,” she purrs, brushing some hair behind your ear, “Have some fun! It’s winter break!”

Goosebumps break out on your skin at her affections. You laugh breathlessly shrugging away from her touch causing her to frown.

“You haven’t had enough to drink,” she insists, reaching for another glass, “You’re much too antsy.”

“Alysanne was supposed to be here,” you tell her and she nods understanding, looping her arm through yours and giving your forearm a comforting pat.

“Fashionably late as always, I suppose,” Cerelle drolls, pointing across the room, “There are lots of fascinating characters here who’ll distract you. Shall I spin a bottle to decide?”

“Hilarious,” you tell her, shaking your head.

“I never joke about a good shag,” Cerelle argues, gaze flickering about the room, “From the looks of it you could use it.” She turns back to you, matching your pout. “Don’t frown, you look too lovely.” She places her hands on your cheeks, thumbs tugging the corner of your lips upwards.

“Much better,” she praises as you hold the smile she’s decorated your face with, “Come on let's find you someone…don’t look at me like that! Someone to flirt with, that’s all. A bit of harmless fun.”

You roll your eyes earning a pitch on the arm and you swat Cerelle’s hand away.

“There’s no one here I want to flirt with,” you insist, following her gaze around the room, “Let alone shag.”

“You’re too picky,” she muses, tapping a manicured nail against her chin as she scans the room, “What about Greyjoy?”

A shiver rolls through you, “No thank you.”

“Heard he’s good in the sack.”

You’d heard a lot of things about Dalton Greyjoy. None of which made you want to spend an extended period of alone time with him. You glance at Cerelle giving her a firm look. She sighs, returning to her mission.

“You need someone,” Cerelle insists after you shoot down several more options, “You haven’t been with anyone since—what was it again?”

His face flashes through your mind before you can help it.

“Unimportant,” you quip, “Cerelle, I just want to—” Your words die as two new guests bound up the stairs into the main hallway.

Suddenly, it’s as if all the air has been sucked from the room, your heartbeat echoing in your ears the only sound you can hear. You tug Cerelle closer, eyes wide.

“You invited them?” you hiss, as Cerelle frowns, following your gaze.

“Not me. Jason must have,” she answers, “It’s not a party without Aegon. Jay swears he has the best coke on this side of the Keep.”

Aegon Targaryen is relatively harmless as long as you keep your drink close. You’re more concerned with the tall figure who lurks closely behind him. Though the younger, Aemond Targaryen towers over his brother; his presence makes the room feel smaller, colder than it was moments ago. He’s dressed in all black, as he usually is, the silver chain around his neck the only other color. His long snow-white hair is braided down his back, an eyepatch securely covering his left eye.

He never takes it off.

Aegon pushes by his brother making a beeline for the kitchen where most of the chaos is localized. You can tell a new drinking game has begun by the sound of cheers and the echo of glasses clinking together. Aegon’s eyes lit up as he disappeared down the hall, eager to join the miscellaneous fun.

Aegon loves a good party.

Aemond watches his brother but lingers behind in the living room leaning against a wall. He extends a long arm to the bookshelf retrieving one with his long fingers. He flicks open a few pages, lips pursing. He glances up, violet eye meeting yours for the briefest moment.

Your lips part and you look away, warmth flooding your cheeks. You had shared a couple of classes with Aemond, nothing more nothing less. He was quite mysterious.

“Anyway,” Cerelle says, her attention wavering with each passing second, “Back to you drinking. I’ll get you another glass. Loosen up, pet.”

—

You try to, you really do. No matter what her intentions are, Cerelle has been nothing but nice to you, so you allow her antics. An hour has ticked by and Alysanne has yet to respond to your latest text message. Squeezed between Cerelle and Sabitha Frey during another round of quarters you decide to plan your escape.

“I’m going to get some air,” you tell her, rising from the couch. Cerelle rolls her eyes, “I’m not leaving, I swear!”

“You better not!” she says, perfectly sculpted eyebrows knitting together, “I’ll come to fetch you if you’re gone too long—you know I will.”

She’s telling the truth.

“Five minutes,” you insist, forcing a smile.

Cerelle’s nose twitches but she lets it go and nods, returning her attention to the game.

Weaving through the sea of people you make your way outside letting the door shut behind you as you walk down a few steps of the front stoop. It’s colder than you expected, you can see your breath in front of you.

You stand shivering, trying to decide what to do next. Reaching into your pocket, you check your phone for the time. You could leave, make your escape down the steps, and catch the last bus back to Maegor’s Holdfast.

If you stay any longer, you’ll be forced to spend the night or dip into your savings to splurge on an Uber. It’s always crazy expensive on this side of town as if the drivers know the neighborhood is full of rich kids.

The door opens and noise from the party fills the cool night until it slams shut once more. You roll your eyes expecting Cerelle as you turn your head.

Only it isn’t her.

Aemond Targaryen lingers on the top step, reaching into his jacket pocket and placing a cigarette between his teeth. He finds a lighter a moment later, a nice expensive one, flicking it open with a sharp click. Fire blooms in the palm of his hand and you can just make out the three-headed dragon branded on the side of the silver lighter before it disappears into his pocket again.

He releases a cloud of smoke into the air, mimicking the one your breath makes. You turn away as he walks down a few steps, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“You were in my class,” he says suddenly, his head tilting to the side, “History of The First Men, right?”

You force your lips together. “Mhmm,” you answer, surprised he recognized you.

Aemond Targaryen didn’t seem the type to remember a random girl in his class. Smart as hells, he focused solely on his grades, paying little attention to the rest of the student body. He seemed to be the antithesis of his elder brother. Though incredibly different, supposedly they had similar lustful appetites.

One for pleasures of the flesh, the other for academic validation.

Aegon Targaryen was a known party boy and ran in multiple social circles. He didn’t care about class or popularity; if there was sex, liquor, and drugs around, Aegon Targaryen would be there.

However, there were stories about Aemond too that made their way around campus.

“You alright?” he pressed, the silence laying heavy between you.

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now,” you breathe, chuckling slightly as you rub your arms as the frigid air bites into your exposed flesh.

Aemond quirks a brow at that, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Why’s that?”

“You’re sort of a banned topic at book club,” you admit, causing his lips to curl into a small smirk.

“Am I?”

“Mhmm.”

Another moment of silence goes by before his curiosity gets the better of him. “Because?”

“Maris runs it,” you tell him, and he clicks his tongue, nodding to himself before taking another drag of his cigarette.

Maris Baratheon, the elder of a pair of Irish twins. Floris Baratheon, once the object of Aemond’s affection for about a half second, was royally screwed over when he left her for none other than Alys Rivers. Adjunct Professor. It was quite the scandal at the time.

You’re not exactly friends with Floris; closer to Maris if you had to choose. But it's the principle of things—girl code.

“Floris and I were never exclusive,” Aemond comments.

“Yikes.”

So maybe Aemond Targaryen is just like every other guy. Though, you’re mostly sure he’s telling the truth. The story you’d heard was that he ghosted her.

“She shouldn’t have assumed,” he continues, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

You roll your eyes, blood boiling at his statement as annoyance begins to quicken in your belly. Aemond Targaryen seems more like his elder with every word that leaves his curved lips.

“Right, of course not, how dare she,” is your sarcastic reply.

Aemond tilts his head toward the sky, speaking around the cigarette.

“You seem rather upset,” he accuses, “Funny, Floris never mentioned you.”

You turn to face him fully and he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. Folding your arms across your chest you jut your hip out. “We’re not friends. It’s the principle of it all. I don’t like assholes.”

His perfect lips curl slightly. “I’m an asshole?”

“Mhmm. At least Aegon owns up to his behavior, he doesn’t pretend he’s some suave guy doing nothing wrong.”

You swear a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he plucks the cigarette from between them.

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Sure seems like it.”

Aemond takes a step closer then. You have to tilt your head to look him in the eye. Something about being this close to him is almost unnerving, your stomach drops slightly as you focus on his prominent cheekbones.

“It’s not my problem if a girl gets her hopes up after getting fucked properly,” he counters.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you back up, slightly slipping against the icy railing. Aemond reaches out, his hand curling around your bicep to steady you. It’s warm, almost hot; the heat seeps through your thin sweater in the shape of his fingers.

There’s a tension between you as he holds your arm for a second too long, before the door opens and several partygoers stumble down the steps, forcing you to break apart. Aemond takes another drag of his cigarette from across the stairs as they laugh tumbling into the street. You’re grateful for the distraction, taking a moment to slow the frantic beating of your heart, and the slight flutter in your stomach.

“So,” you begin, trying to break the awkward silence the partygoers left behind with their departure, “How do you know Cerelle?”

Aemond looks at you quizzically.

“How do I know Cerelle?”

You jerk your chin up in a hasty nod. Aemond chuckles, shaking his head and taking another drag.

“Family friend,” he answers, “Old money likes to stick together.”

You nod again, unsure of how to answer as he observes you.

“Surely you’ve heard of the Westerosi Seven?” he asks.

You haven’t.

“The what?”

“The seven families,” Aemond says, his tone indicating that this is somewhat common knowledge, “Generational wealth that can be traced back to medieval times. The higher lords and ladies. Near royalty.” He takes another drag.

“And you’re one of them?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“My family, yes,” he answers, “And Cerelle’s. The Baratheon girls. Stark. They’re all quite close.”

“Interesting,” you tell him, glancing down the street again, “You sound like the mafia.”

Aemond holds your gaze, not denying your allegation. You release a breathless laugh, but unease settles in your gut.

The door opens as if on cue, and Cerelle pops her head out.

“Darling! Come back inside you’ll catch your death,” she calls, waving you forward. She spots Aemond out of the corner of her eye, and you don’t miss the look of interest that gathers in her green eyes as they flicker between the pair of you, “Targaryen.”

“CeCe,” he politely greets, choosing to use the nickname Cerelle often kept reserved for her family only. She doesn’t comment on Aemond’s choice.

“Hope you’re being nice to my girl,” she says, the words clipped.

“Of course,” Aemond comments and you can’t help but feel like you aren’t there.

Cerelle glances back at you, a smile decorating her face once more.

“Come on, pet! In the kitchen.”

Her blonde hair disappears in the door. Aemond walks down the remainder of the steps tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it beneath his heel.

“Best run along,” he muses, not turning to face you, “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Annoyance prickles under your skin.

“She’s my friend—”

“You have got a very generous friend,” Aemond comments, turning to face you. He motions at your sweater. “Myrish, isn’t it?”

You cross your hands over your chest.

“Mhmm,” Aemond hums glancing up at you from the bottom step, “I’d just be careful if I were you. Accepting gifts from rich strangers is a lot like Persephone eating the pomegranate seeds.”

You scoff at the implication before turning away and heading back into the townhouse. Aemond does not follow; you don’t hear the door open as you hurry back up the stairs.

The party has since moved completely to the kitchen, sans a couple making out on the living room couch. You enter the crowded space and crane your neck to see what everyone is cheering at.

It’s something happening on the marble island, but you don’t see what—that is until Cerelle sits up, her blonde curls cascading around her face, a lime between her pearly white teeth like a cat with a mouse.

She smiles curling her finger, beckoning Aegon Targaryen forward. He leans against her, bringing his mouth to hers and stealing the lime. The juice flows down his chin before he lets it fall, pressing a sloppy kiss to Cerelle’s lips, earning several cheers.

As she breaks away she notices you, eyes lighting up as she slips off the counter.

“Good, you didn’t leave!” she says giggling, “It’s your turn.”

“My turn?” you ask, heart dropping into your stomach.

“Mhmm,” she says, dragging you forward, “Up now!”

“Cerelle, I don’t—”

“Hush! Qyle Martell is doing it,” she says biting her lip suggestively, “Let the sexy Dornishman take a shot off you, alright?”

Your cheeks darken as he appears before you, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you onto the counter like a lamb for slaughter. The crowd cheers and your eyes widen as you meet Qyle’s warm brown eyes.

“Your sweater,” he says, motioning to it with his hand that clutches a bottle of tequila.

You glance at Cerelle and she nods encouragingly. Over her head and in the doorway you spot Aemond. He didn’t leave after all. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, observing the chaos with a curled lip, as if the entire thing is beneath him.

Qyle whistles, drawing your attention back to him. He motions to your sweater yet again.

“Oh,” you tell him, moving to unbutton it.

Thank goodness you wore a tank top underneath. Your fingers slip with nerves as you struggle to unbutton it. You’re the center of attention, peers cheering and chanting around you as you struggle with the bottoms.

Quite the sacrificial lamb you are.

“Here, can I help?” Qyle asks, reaching toward you, his fingers bumping against your own. The bottle of tequila sloshes.

“No—no I’ve got it—oh!”

You’d moved wrong, done something wrong—or perhaps someone pushed him you’re not sure. Your head is buzzing with the noise of the room and suddenly the front of your sweater is doused in tequila. Qyle’s eyes are wide as Cerelle pushes him to the side as the smell of alcohol fills your nose.

The room quiets momentarily until Cerelle’s bell-like laugh pierces through the silence.

“Qyle you idiot,” Cerelle sneers, nose wrinkling with playful distaste, “You’re supposed to wait till she’s laying down—”

“It was an accident!”

“—and her sweater!” Cerelle growls in annoyance, “Go upstairs, pet, my room. Pick anything you like.”

You slide off of the counter, hurrying from the room, leaving the sound of music and chanting behind as you move deeper into the labyrinth of the Lannister home.

—

Cerelle’s room lacks color and warmth.

You’d spent the night once here before, crawling into the white feather bed after too much mulled wine. Cerelle had stroked your hair until you’d fallen asleep, only to awake the next morning with a severe headache and a churning belly.

Popping the rest of the buttons, you peel the soaked sweater from your body and throw it in the hamper. You then walk over to Cerelle’s closet—double doors—and open it. Expensive. Perfumed. You’ve already ruined one pretty thing. Though Cerelle could hardly care about the expense, you do. You sigh, gently pushing through the soft fabric.

“Playing dress up?” a voice calls, and you turn to Aemond at the door.

You close the closet door. You’ll just have to survive in your thin top. Aemond holds a glass of whiskey between his long fingers.

“Well, I suppose that was a given,” you answer him, sitting down on the bed.

Aemond watches you from the doorway, his arm raised above his head, fingers tapping nonsensically against the frame.

“D’you want to see how you’re supposed to do it?” he suddenly asks.

“Do what?” you question, tilting your head to the side.

“What Qyle was going to do,” he answers, and you understand his meaning.

Aemond walks over to you, the ice rattling against the glass he lazily grips between his fingers, coming to stand in front of your legs. You’re not sure why he’s asking, what interest he has in you. But something in your belly tightens the closer he gets.

“Alright,” you give him a quiet answer, the word barely slipping past your lips.

Aemond purses his lips, glancing down at your legs.

“Spread them,” he says softly, motioning with the cup. Warmth creeps up the back of your neck and blooms on the apples of your cheeks. You lock eyes with him, focusing on the ring of violet that surrounds his pupil. You do as you’re told, knees parting; his gaze hypnotizing. “Wider.”

Your skirt tightens against your thighs as you do so, but you spread your legs wide enough for him to stand between them. He takes a step forward and you’re forced to look up at him.

“Lean back,” he instructs. You’re beginning to notice how easily he slips into the domineering role. Again you follow his instructions, cheeks burning as you lean back, propping yourself on your elbows.

You’re much more exposed without your sweater, the tops of your breasts visible in the thin top you wear. Aemond steps closer, looming over you, heat radiating from his tall form.

He reaches out, fingers caressing your cheek. You hope he can’t feel how warm they’ve become, feel your pulse fluttering against his fingers as they trail underneath your jaw and down your neck until they reach your collarbone.

“You’re to put salt here,” he murmurs, pressing against the dip of your collarbone for emphasis, “That’s first.” He leans down then, fingers trailing over your shoulder and down your arm leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Though we’re without.”

You swallow as his fingers continue to trace your collarbone. His violet eye watches you carefully before he pulls his hand away. He brings them lower, ghosting down your ribs until they reach your waist.

“May I?” he asks, fingers at the hem of your shirt. You give him a wordless nod, not able to trust your voice. Aemond pushes the fabric up slightly, revealing your navel. He holds the glass above your stomach; a drop of condensation falls causing you to flinch at the cool sensation.

Aemond flicks a brow at the constriction of your abdomen, “You’re quite sensitive.”

“It’s cold.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees, turning the glass so more condensation falls; little raindrops begin to adorn your skin, “The liquor goes here.” His fingers ruin the pattern he’s created, rough fingertips swirling the dew drops around your navel, “Tequila.”

“We haven’t got any,” you breathlessly tell him, his touch leaving a scorched trail across your belly.

Aemond brings his glass closer, pressing the edge against the beginning of your belly button, letting some whiskey pool there. Your hands clenched into fists as the cold liquid fills you up; you watch as it shakes slightly, overflowing. Aemond leans forward, catching the spill with his mouth causing a gasp that sounds more like a moan to leave your mouth. His mouth covers your navel and you can feel his tongue swirl around, collecting the liquid he poured there with hot, calculated strokes.

His violet eye peers up at you from behind silver lashes, half-lidded as he hollows his cheeks sucking harshly. He reaches toward the side table, mouth never leaving you, to place his glass on the edge freeing his hand. You can feel his tongue circling your navel, gently probing the sensitive skin. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you at the ticklish sensation. Aemond presses his hands against your obliques before releasing you with a pop, his chin and lips shining.

“That’s how it's supposed to be,” he murmurs, not moving from the spot between your legs. Some of his silver hair has fallen across his brow, and on instinct you reach forward, brushing it from his eyes.

“There’s one more part,” you tell him, fingers grazing the beginning of the scar that mares his left brow before disappearing behind the patch.

“What’s that?” he asks, his gaze revealing he knows the answer.

He just wants to hear you say it, you realize.

Your lips part, fingers still somewhat tangled in his hair; the strands soft as silk between your fingers.

“There was a lime,” you tell him, “The person….holds it in their mouth.”

Aemond pushes up then, his hands sliding up your sides until they’re pressed into the bed on either side of you, his face inches from your own.

“Have you got a lime on you?” he asks, his breath warm on your face, the scent of whiskey strong between you.

“No,” you murmur, not knowing where to look. He’s so close you can see the flecks of blue and gold in the lilac iris of his eye, count his silver lashes, and notice the small indentation on the tip of his prominent nose.

He hums again, his eye dropping to your lips.

“Pity,” he says, lips down turning into a pout.

Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest with the way it's pounding incessantly against your ribcage. He’s so close your chests are practically touching; your nipples straining against the fabric of your top. His chain peeks out from under the collar of his shirt and your resolve crumbles. Your eyes flicker to his lips, tongue darting out to wet your own and he leans forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

Your hands wrap around his neck as he kisses you; his lips so soft and firm against your own, skilled tongue parting them with ease to deepen the kiss. A moan doesn’t make it out of your throat as his hand cradles your jaw, the sound of soft kisses is the only thing you can hear besides the muffled hum of the music playing downstairs.

Aemond pulls away then, the look is his eye ravenous as he lowers himself between your legs once more. For a minute you think he may grab his glass and do the party trick all over again, the kiss just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Instead, he pushes your skirt up, fingers digging into the flesh of your inner thighs. You realize a moment too late what he’s doing.

Riiiip!

“Aemond!” you squeak, as he rips the seam of your tights, “These were a new pair!”

“I can buy you another,” he says, pressing a kiss against the smooth newly exposed flesh, “Or perhaps CeCe can. You’re her favorite plaything, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn at the statement, your mouth pressing together in a tight line. Aemond grins, nimble fingers undoing the zipper of your skirt and wiggling it down your legs along with your ruined tights.

“Oh she doesn’t like that,” he says, clicking his tongue, “But it’s true, isn’t it?” His hands are roaming higher now, grazing against your clothed center. You’re certain he feels the evidence of your arousal but he stays quiet about it. “That’s what you are, aren’t you? A pretty little plaything.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, humiliation seeping into your veins, though it does little to quell the desire pooling in your belly.

“No shame in that,” he says, shaking his head, “I understand Cerelle, entirely.” His fingers tug your panties down your bare legs, exposing your wet center. Aemond’s eye locks on it, lips quirking upward. “I like pretty things as well.”

“So I’ve heard,” you quip as Aemond’s second-hand joins the first. He swirls a finger low against your entrance and you clench as he drags it upwards.

“Have you?” he muses, circling your clit with minimal pressure, “And what have you heard?”

“That you’re as insatiable as your brother,” you manage to choke out as his thumb continues to tease your clit, “You just hide it better.”

Aemond cocks his head to the side in silent agreement before pressing his face against you. A sharp cry leaves your lips as his tongue explores from your entrance up to your clit, the tip circling the sensitive button.

Eyes rolling back in your head, Aemond nuzzles his face against you, tongue slipping down and pressing into your clenching hole. He hums in approval as you make another desperate noise as his tongue curves upwards inside of you.

Seven hells, how is anyone’s tongue long enough to do what Aemond’s is doing? Your toes curl as his tongue hooks upwards against the front of your pelvic bone, thrusting against the sensitive patch of nerves that resides there.

“Oh gods—fuck—fuck!” you cry as he continues the repetitive movement of his tongue, waves of pleasure lapping up your spine, sending shivers through your whole body. “Hells Aemond…”

His nose presses against your slippery clit, rubbing against it in a way that stokes the pleasurable fire burning in your belly. His hands hold your thighs open and you throw your head back against the bed as the pressure inside you builds and builds and builds. Your back arches and your thighs tremble in his bruising grasp.

You lean up on your forearms to watch him, his violet eye intently watching your face, studying your reaction. You can tell he’s smug at the effect he’s having on you. He would often get that same look in his eye in class after he proved someone wrong or made a more intelligent point. How you must look to him now; all spread out before him, flushed and slack-jawed, dewy-eyed and pretty.

You’re a pretty toy to play with. Just want he wanted.

His tongue leaves your fluttering pussy and you whine at the loss of contact. He mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like needy before two fingers sink inside your warmth to replace what he took away.

Aemond’s tongue returns to its place around your clit as his fingers curve upwards replaying the motion from before. The stimulation now is much harsher, the pads of his fingers dragging effortlessly against your spongy walls, curling with brutal intention; relentlessly pressing against the swelling spot inside of you.

His warm, wet tongue against your clit only hastens the tightly winding ball of pleasure in your gut and you feel your walls swelling around his fingers as your release knocks the wind out of you.

You come with a strangled cry, hands gripping the bed sheets as your abdominal muscles contract to the point of pain, all your muscles going taut as warm waves of euphoria rush through you.

Aemond releases a choked chuckle of appreciation as he feels you tighten around his fingers. He fucks you through it, stretching out the wave of your orgasm until your legs are trembling and the overstimulation causes you to hiss at him.

“Stop, stop, please.”

“Alright…shhh,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your mound and gently pulling his fingers from your fluttering walls, “There you go, that’s a good girl. You did so well for me.”

You can’t help but warm at his praise, the ringing in your ears fading as your chest swells. Aemond is on you once more, lips pressed to yours the mingled taste of whiskey and you hot on his tongue.

“Are you going to let me fuck you?” he murmurs between sticky kisses, “Hmm?”

“Aemond…” you breathe into his mouth, hoping that is enough for him.

You can feel him smirk against your lips and know instantly it's not. He tuts disapprovingly, pushing you back against the mattress, his face dipping into the crook of your neck.

“What would Floris say?” he teases, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers digging into his scalp. His braid is all but ruined. “I thought you said something earlier,” he continues, nipping and sucking at different spots on your neck, humming with pleasure when he locates a spot that has your back arching.

“I don’t—”

“Loyalty, I recall,” he purrs, his hand snaking down your side, gripping the meat of your thigh and hoisting it around his waist, “Something like that.”

“Aemond,” you whimper helplessly as he grinds against you, the feeling of his hard cock concealed by his trousers driving you close to madness, “Aemond please.”

“You’re going to have to say it,” he insists, kissing your cheek, “Come on, say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you tell him, “Please Aemond—gods.”

“They can’t hear you,” he taunts, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, “You’re all mine.”

You frantically nod, nose bumping against his as his lips curl into a greedy smile. He removes his shirt with one hand before he rolls off of you and onto his back, motioning to you with his hands.

“Go on then,” he says, “Take what you want.”

With shaky hands, you undo his belt above the sizable tent in his pants before dragging the zipper down and releasing his cock. He’s bigger than you expected, both in length and girth, the reddened tip already weeping in anticipation. You stroke his velvety shaft once before he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward him.

His hands pull your shirt from your body as you straddle him, his cock nudging at your folds. Aemond’s hands slide up your back, undoing your bra and freeing your breasts.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, hands cupping the sizable mounds, “Gods, you’re so lovely.”

Your face burns at his praise as you raise your hips before gripping him in your hand and guiding him inside of you; gently letting yourself slide down his length, inner walls fluttering around him at the new sensation. Shuddering on top of him you whine at the stretch. “Gods—”

“You can take it,” he murmurs, squeezing you softly in encouragement, “Come on baby, that’s it, just like that.”

Slowly you let him bottom out in your warmth, happily seated on his cock feeling incredibly full. You brace your hands on his chest as he pinches both of your nipples, your jaw slacking in response. Aemond lifts his hips slightly, gauging your reaction as your eyes screw shut.

“That feel good?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper.

“Yes,” you breathe, slowly starting to ride him, hips lifting and returning to his with a soft smack.

“There she goes,” he murmurs, hands dropping to your hips, squeezing, “Take what you need, gevie.”

A breathless moan escapes you as you ride him, his hands guiding you through the movements. The hum from the music downstairs matches the ringing in your ears.

Aemond drops his hand from your waist bringing it to the apex of your thighs. His lips part as he watches you rise and fall on his cock, his length coated with your arousal.

“That’s it,” he coos, his tone bordering on one of condensation, “Just like that—there’s a good girl.” His thumb brushes against your clit as he says it, a broken moan leaving your lips as pleasure ignites your veins.

His movements are soft, tantalizing, and brutally calculated as he circles the sensitive button; his other hand clings to your waist, hard enough to bruise. Surely they’ll be memories of his touch when you wake; dark purple petals blossoming on your soft flesh at first light. He guides your movements as they become sloppier the closer you get to your release.

It sends tingles up your spine, your chest and neck growing warmth as you edge closer to the precipice of pleasure.

No other man has made you finish before.

“Are you close?” Aemond murmurs, never stopping his attention to your clit, the subtle movement of his hips thrusting up into you, “I know you are—can feel you clenching around me.”

Your head falls back, mind foggy as you desperately grind against him, trying to ignore the burn in your hamstrings. Aemond’s hand leaves your hip crashing down against your ass with a loud smack. You yelp in surprise, head jerking forward, nails clawing into the hardened muscles of his chest. Aemond’s hand remains where he’d spanked you, fingers curling into the meat of your ass as he releases a breathless laugh; his eye flickers to where your nails dig against his pale flesh, leaving a trail of red behind as they scrape down his chest.

“Answer me,” he demands, and you quickly nod earning another stinging slap, “With your words gevie. Use those pretty lips.”

“Yes,” you practically gasp, “Yes, Aemond I’m close—”

“And you want to cum, don’t you?” he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk, “Do you want me to make you cum?”

“Yes, Aemond please—” the sentence dies with a moan as he plants both feet on the mattress, bucking his hips up against yours at an inhumane pace. Your eyes screw shut, mouth hanging open in ecstasy as all the muscles in your body tense followed by a sudden burst of euphoria pulsing through you.

Aemond hums in satisfaction as you ride your high, blood rushing in your ears as you shake on top of him, clenching around his thick length. He’s careful to pull his thumb away from your sensitive clit as your eyes flutter open, eyebrows scrunched together at the overstimulation. But his compassion is short-lived as he hooks his arm around your waist, flipping you onto your back and slotting his body on top of yours.

His cock is removed for merely a moment at the switch of positions before it’s stretching into your once more earning a sharp gasp. Aemond’s hand covers your mouth in an instant, his face buried in the crook of your neck once more.

“Shhh,” he coos, placing a kiss under your ear, “Hear that?” he asks, thrusting gently into your warmth causing your eyes to roll back in your head. “Listen.”

His hips continue their gentle roll against yours, slowly stoking the pleasurable fire that is reigniting in your belly. Limbs still tingling from your previous orgasm, you blink rapidly trying to focus on what he’s asking.

The music downstairs has died.

“Everyone’s going home,” he murmurs, through another kiss, “We’d best be quick. Would hate for lovely Cerelle to find her pet in such a position.”

Embarrassment burns your cheeks and he chuckles, keeping his hand over your mouth as he slings your leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle of his thrusts. The head of his cock bullies against your sweet spot almost lovingly as he drags his cock in and out.

“Keep quiet,” he murmurs, the sound of silence deafening with the lack of music, “Can you do that?” He’s rather cruel with his question, delivering a particularly harsh thrust as he asks, then clicking his tongue in disapproval at your muffled moan. “Thought not.”

So his hand remains as he plows into you, the sounds of your pleasure muffled but still desperate as you claw at his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “Cum for me again, just like that.” His pelvis grazes against your clit, the friction only aiding in his efforts of making you reach your release once more. His violet eye scans your face before he dips to your collarbone, nipping the sensitive flesh with his teeth and you cum with a desperate cry against his hand.

“There you go,” he coos, the words breathy and broken his hips faltering as your walls clamp down around him, “Squeezing me so fucking tight—fuck.” He regains his pace with renewed enthusiasm as your walls continue to flutter around him. Aemond removes his hand from your mouth pressing it into the mattress beside your head.

Nerves raw from the continued stimulation a tear rolls down your cheek as he chases his own release. Aemond leans forward, hot tongue darting out to catch the salty stream as he hums in satisfaction.

“We’ll have more time next time,” he whispers the promise against your cheek, “I want to explore what other pretty noises you make.” His lips capture yours then, swallowing the whimper you release.

“I’m very curious,” he murmurs against your lips, slinging your other leg over his shoulder, pushing your knees back beside your ears. “And I’m very thorough.” A silent scream leaves you as he slams back into you, toes curling as you cum again, vision going white with the force of it.

Aemond’s hips meet yours a few more times and then you feel his cock pulsate inside of you before the warmth of his release fills you to the brim. You’ll need to make a trip to the pharmacy, but you’ll think about that later. He stays like that for a moment, buried to the hilt inside of you as you both try to regulate your breathing.

Aemond lowers your legs gently from around his shoulders and brushes some sweat-soaked hair from your forehead.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you nod as he kisses you sweetly.

“Just fucked out,” you assure him, a pleasurable ache radiating down your thighs. Aemond hums, carefully pulling his softening cock from your warmth.

The emptiness takes your breath away as he stands. “Wait here,” he orders, walking towards Cerelle’s bathroom. He returns a moment later, washcloth in hand. You push yourself onto shaky forearms as he carefully cleans the mess between your thighs.

“Thank you,” you tell him, face burning from his attention.

“No need for thanks,” he insists, “It’s the bare minimum.”

“For you maybe.”

Aemond flicks a brow toward his hairline, his violet eye meeting yours. His expression is curious, but you sense he’s not going to push you to elaborate. You hold his gaze.

Not tonight.

“Are you staying here?” he asks, standing when he’s done, handing you pieces of your clothes.

“I think I have to,” you answer, putting your skirt back on and glancing at the clock, “The last bus is long gone.”

Aemond frowns, reaching for his phone.

“I’ll have my driver take you,” he says, unlocking his screen.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s no trouble,” he insists, placing the phone against his ear, “Cole. Ten minutes. Thank you.” He hangs up quickly leaving no time to argue.

“Thanks,” you mutter awkwardly while finishing dressing. You walk to Cerelle’s large mirror and attempt to fix your sex hair. Your eyes widen in horror as you tilt your head to the side, leaning closer to get a better look.

“Aemond,” you hiss, fingers pressing against the three red marks sure to bruise, “I look like I’ve been mauled by a bear.”

Aemond walks up behind you dragging his fingers down the curve of your neck and over your collarbone. Goosebumps appear in their wake. Three more red marks lead a path down to the top of your right breast. Several sizable mouth-shaped love bites.

Aemond rests his chin on your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“Think of them as a gift,” he tells you, the curve of his lips pressed against the skin of your neck.

His hand curves around your waist, the other slinking up to turn your face towards him. He hums appreciatively, kissing your lips, then your cheek. Down your neck to your shoulder. You glance in the mirror once more, catching his eye.

There’s something new there. Almost possessive.

His grip on your waist tightens and he presses his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

Outside, snow begins to fall.

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ravenromanova · 5 months

Text

Just one night

Pairings: Natasha x Ex girlfriend reader

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT!!!!!!! Mommy kink, fingering, oral, thigh riding, squirting, clit play, nipple play. DO NOT READ IF YOURE UNDER 18+!!!!!!!!!!! (Fluff, Smut, Happy ending)

Masterlist - Send me requests!!!

From the moment you walked into the room her emerald eyes were on you. She drank in the way you looked in the black dress that clung to your body in all the right ways. You were obviously oblivious to her staring as you sauntered your way across the event. Luckily for her you both were forced to come to this event tonight since it was for the avengers.

Stark held a fundraiser for the team once a year so the team can get funding and make nice with the government officials. So fortunately for the redheaded assassin you were forced to be in close proximity to her for the evening. She watched as you walked to the bar chatting up one of the senators of new york. You smiled brightly at the older woman who was talking your ear off about god knows what.

Natasha waited a few minutes for the senator to leave before she walked up next you. “A vodka martini please” She said to the bartender causing you to turn your head in her direction.

”Hi darling“ Her smooth voice echoes through your ears. You could tell by the look on her face she had some kind of mischievous plan for the night.

“Hi tasha” You said as you took a sip from your cocktail and raised your brow to her. The sound of your voice instantly brought a smile to her face.

“Did you come here with someone?” She asked a little hesitantly as she sipped her drink.

“Do you really think id subject someone else to this craziness?” You motion to around the room that’s filled with your drunk teammates.

Natasha laughed a little at your statement. “Well i guess that’s true” She shrugged. “But at least we ran into each other”

“I have a very strong feeling that you planned to run into me” You responded with a smirk causing her to let out a breathy chuckle.

“Well i guess thats somewhat true. Maybe i just wanted to see my girl” Nat said taking a long sip from her drink.

“Last time i checked we broke up” Your words made her frown slightly. She recalled the day you two broke up and it made her heart break even more.

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t mine.” The words sent a chill down your spine and you softly smiled at her.

“Ever the charmer tasha. But im assuming you have something up your sleeve?” You asked and the redhead just smiled her devilish smile.

“More so a proposition” She started as she tapped her finger against the bar. “It’s been a while since i’ve uh been with someone. And i know from my many sources that you haven’t either. So my proposal is that for just tonight me and you forget about the reasons we broke up and just be together again.” Her words make you feel a a little dizzy as she speaks.

You take a few moments to process her words before you finally make a decision. “Just one night?” You asked raising your eyebrow at her before sipping your drink and then ordering another one.

“Just one night” She said sticking out her pinky so you know she’s serious. You smiled at her before you wrapped your pinky around hers.

That’s how you ended up here. Splayed out on her mattress in her room at the compound. Your clothes are partially removed as Natasha is leaving red marks on your neck and chest.

“God i’ve missed you” She admits kissing below your ear making you moan a little.

“Ive missed you too” You confess breathlessly as she moves to unclasp your bra. When her eyes land on your exposed chest her mouth instantly waters. Her lips them circle around your nipple and she starts to suck harshly loving the way you moan for her.

Natasha spends an ungodly amount of time playing with your nipples like she’s never played with them before… granted it’s been six months but it felt like a lifetime to her. So she spent extra time tweaking, pinching and sucking on them like she’s done many times before.

“Please mommy… i-i need you” You beg clawing at her smooth pale skin. Natasha chuckles at your lack of patience before she kisses down your stomach and stops and the hem of your panties.

“Oh kotenok how i’ve missed your begging” She says kissing along the hem of your panties before she slides them down your legs. Once she removes them she takes a moment to appreciate your dripping pussy thats on display for her.

“Fuck i’ve missed you” She continues her words of affirmation as she kisses you inner thighs lightly before diving into your core. Her tongue darts out passed her lips and she licks a stripe along your pussy causing you to mewl in response.

Natasha laps at you like woman starved and gets lost in the way you taste. Your hands fly to her hair and you hold onto her with a strong grip feeling the coil in your stomach build.

“Oh fuck yes mommy” You moan out feeling yourself get closer by the second. Natasha takes your moans as her sign to stick two of her thick and long fingers into you.

“OH FUCK!” You scream out as you feel her fingers fill you up. She smirks she sets a medium pace being careful not to hurt you. Her fingers graze the sweet spot inside and you end up on her fingers and tongue.

“God i love the way you taste baby” She praises bringing her fingers to her mouth and licking off your juices with a delighted moan. Natasha wasnt done with you yet though after she licked her fingers she went back to eat your pussy again.

Your back arched off the bed when she wrapped her lips around your clit and started sucking again. “OH MY GOD” You moaned gripping the sheets for support. Natasha just hummed in response getting lost in your sounds and taste. As she was eating you all you could think about was how much you missed her and never wanted this to end.

You two broke up amicably for multiple reasons the main one being the fact that there just wasnt enough communication. And with you two being Avengers the non communication turned into sloppy missions and arguments which led to the end. But in the end you both missed each other more than either of you wanted to admit.

“Cum for me detka” She said harshly sucking on your clit bringing you out of your thoughts. Her words along with a particularly harsh suck you ended up squirting all over the bed.

“O-Oh my god” You whisper breathlessly as you move the hair from your face. Natasha made her way back up to your face and gently cupped your cheek.

“Ive missed you so much” She whispers pulling you in for a passionate kiss. “I lied… I dont want this to be just for one night”

“Me neither” You confessed moving your hands to her waist and positioning her on your thigh. She raised an eyebrow at you before she got the hint and removed her clothes and sat back down in your thigh.

Your hands gripped her hips and you locked eyes with her and pushed her dripping core onto your thigh. She let out a breathy moan at the contact of your cool thigh against her warm core. Her hands went straight to your chest so she could have something to hold onto as she slowly lost her composure.

Natasha could feel her orgasm creep up on her as she grinded against your thigh. And when you tensed up your thigh under her she let go all over your thigh making you smile.

“Ive missed that” You say chuckling a little making her smile. She slowly got off your thigh and you marveled at the sight of her juices on your thigh. Once she laid down on the bed you laid on her chest as you tried to catch your breath.

“I want us to try again” She whispered in your ear as she kissed your head.

“We were already back together from the second you made your proposition” You confessed. Natasha smiled and kissed you again before she grabbed a towel to clean the both of you off. When she returned she cleaned you and then herself off before laying back down next to you.

“Sleep now my love” She whispered in your ear as well as wrapping her arms around you and bringing you closer to her as much as possible.

Soon you booth drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Yes there was still a lot to talk about but as for now you were going to relish in the bliss that is Natasha Romanoff.

~The end~

A/n i know this was kinda rushed but i really wanted to post something for yall so i hope you liked it :)

651 notes · View notes

periwinklemoonlight · 5 months

Text

little sunshine ⋆ boatem knights au

my second short story set in bee @applestruda 's boatem knights au and canon to the plot written by zera @hopepetal !! also make sure to check out bee's bkau gem and etho designs <3 !

cw: decapitation, murder, blood

if you prefer, you can read it on ao3!

⋆⋆⋆

“-And you’re sure this is the man responsible?” The room was spacious, more than big enough for hundreds to fit in, yet the tension in the air filled it with an undeniably claustrophobic atmosphere. Precious artefacts lined the walls and occupied the floors, meticulously positioned in a perfect pattern to suit the path of a would-be museum goer. Now, however, one was missing. And only the most ancient and irreplaceable of the lot, of course.

“Completely.” An odd chill ran up the spine of the curator as she spoke. It shouldn’t have been possible, she thought, she had barely taken her eyes off of that corner of the room for a second before the amulet had vanished into thin air. All she had caught a glimpse of in the aftermath, she was sure of, was a man with stark white hair and a mask darker than the deepest night sky, fleeing the scene with a swiftness she could only ascribe to a seasoned thief.

She had only ever seen that man once before, yet something in her gut was absolutely sure it was him. A few years back, she had stayed at an inn just out of town on a business trip. Her stay had been all-around pleasant, the owner undoubtedly a delight to talk to, full of cheerful stories and helpful advice for travel. The same couldn't've been said for their companion, however.

He had brooded in the corner of the inn, shooting her occasional unreadable glances as she conversed with the owner, any emotion beyond ice cold eyes concealed by a mask of blackest night. His back to the wall, practically blending in with the shadows around him, she had nearly cancelled her stay the minute she spotted him.

The only thing that had convinced her to stay despite her better judgement was the owner’s utmost insistence that that man was nothing to fear, that she’d be completely and utterly safe at the inn. Something in their tone had been so, so earnest, she couldn’t help but be inclined to believe them. They were right, she had been entirely safe after all, yet she never could quite shake the cold chill that permeated her body every time the man passed her by.

“Then it seems we’ve got a bounty on our hands.” The guard concluded with a severe nod.

“Bounty, you say?” A cheery voice asked from across the room. The curator whipped her head around to watch as polished hooves clicked onto the museum flooring.

“How did you-?” The curator asked, before cutting herself off to fully take in the person before her. There stood Gemini Tay, adorned in finely crafted emerald silks and lightweight armour, wild red hair expertly contained in a sweeping braid, and absolutely armed to the teeth in various weapons hanging lazily across her waist. It wasn’t a bad look for the most notorious bounty hunter in the land, all things considered.

“Word gets around,” Gem replied with a grin, absentmindedly twirling an intricately carved knife in her hand as she approached. “And I’m always down to lend a helping hand!”

She paused, then eyed the curator’s own ostentatious outfit. “...For a fair price, of course.”

“Of course,” The curator repeated, a keen smile worming its way to her face.

⋆⋆⋆

If there was one thing she relished in being known for, it was that once she had her target in her sights, Gem wasted no time.

It wasn’t hard to spot him, after all. The description the curator had given her was one of the most interesting she’d gotten in a while. A man known only as “Etho”, with a harsh red scar blinding him in one eye and never once seen without a dark mask obscuring half his face. During her journey, Gem had learned that nobody in the area could quite recall when he’d started working at the inn, or even if he actually worked there at all. In fact, it was a popular local rumour that the man was simply a vagrant that the kind innkeeper had taken pity on during one particularly frigid winter and never thought to kick out afterwards.

Regardless of whatever his backstory might have been, Gem couldn’t really care less. All she really cared to know about him was that he was the only thing standing between her and a ludicrously lavish payout.

It was only a lucky coincidence that the innkeeper wasn’t in when she arrived. There was her target, standing far too nonchalantly behind the counter and looking as if he was preparing to greet her. She wasn’t about to give him the chance. Instantly she swung at him, hard and fast, looking to get a clean kill. To her astonishment, however, he suddenly disappeared within a blink of an eye, reappearing once more just as fast and now on top of the counter. Gem watched as a dark, smoky substance wafted off him as he jumped down and dissipated as quickly as it appeared.

When she looked at Etho now, it was as if he were slightly transparent, blurred at the edges. She blinked, and he was whole again, no trace of anything amiss. She growled and swung again with impossible force, heaving as her sword broke the floorboards where it landed. Again, she could have sworn that some dark substance was following him, aiding him in his escape.

“Hey, hey! I don’t know what I did but, uh, I’m sure we can settle this some other way?” Etho offered as he slid backwards on the wooden floors like they were an ice rink, smoke trailing off him and weaving through the air.

“No can do sir!” Gem replied as she swung once more, again missing him by a fraction of a centimetre. “You got a hefty bounty on your head, and I intend to take it!”

The fight escalated with Gem’s frustration. She spun herself around and leaped at Etho, sword high in the air and aiming to plunge it deep into his skull. Instead, she hit the inn’s counter, splitting the wood and knocking several small objects astray. Her hooves skidded against the floor as she reeled backwards, and wasted no time forcefully wrenching her sword free.

Wood chippings now scattered across the floor, Gem paid them no mind in her pursuit. The action seemed to distract Etho somewhat, discontent flashing across his heterochromatic eyes, and she took the opportunity to strike.

Finally, with a lucky stab, she managed to pin him down against the inn’s wall, plunging her sword into his shoulder with a devastating crack and watching as what must have been blood seeped out from it. He gasped, eyes darting to the wound. A wild grin found its way to Gem’s face.

“You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?” She asked, using the moment to catch her breath before unsheathing a second, smaller sword from around her waist. The sharp blade glinted in the deep, warm light of the inn. The reflection didn’t make it to Etho’s eyes. “Shame I’m gonna have to take you out like all the rest of ‘em. I’ll make it quick, though. You’ve earned it.”

It was odd, she thought briefly. Despite the sword driven straight through him, he didn’t appear to actually really care about it all that much. His breathing was as steady as ever, and he barely moved at all beside a futile effort to scoot away from her intense gaze. His eyes were calm, watching her every move in something almost akin to silent fascination rather than the fear she had grown accustomed to. No matter, though, Gem decided as she made clean work of him, lopping off his head in a single swing.

It fell to the ground with a solid thunk, rolling slightly before making its stop like any old head should. A tenseness she didn’t know she was holding finally released, and she breathed again. Blood was splattered all over the inn’s floors, and she grit her teeth as she imagined the cut from her paycheck she’d have to give the keeper to get it cleaned. All this for some measly priceless artefact? Still, it was over.

She picked up his head by the hair, and stepped back in shock as she felt just how cold it was. Instantly, it called to mind the way it felt to grab a fistful of snow with no gloves for the first time, fingertips fully immersed in the unadulterated icy chill. For a brief moment, it reminded her of… home. Gem had never considered herself the squeamish type, especially not with an occupation such as hers, but the realization gripping hold of her in that split second was enough to make her gag.

Her grip on his hair loosened for a second, but she caught herself before the head could drop. On a second examination, she noticed what looked like snowflakes scattered in his white hair and decorating his long eyelashes. It was then she finally heard the faint crackling sound that had been slowly spreading around her. The blood that had been flowing freely from Etho’s body was freezing up, and fast.

Gem could do nothing but watch in horror as the blood on the walls and floor turned to thick ice, cracking and shattering into pieces around her as soon as it solidified. Within no time it had spread to his severed head, and she gasped as the blood that still dripped from his neck froze midair and fell to the floor, fragmenting into dozens of tiny pieces.

She broke her gaze from the head in her hands just long enough to witness a mountain of ice emerge from what remained of his body’s neck, accompanied by a low hissing noise that made her stomach churn. Gem realized then the shape that it was forming. Fractals of ice packed in and around each other, working in tandem to sculpt out a new head identical to the one in her hands. The only difference being, there was nothing to cover the lower half of his face. If she could even call that half a face.

Once the hissing had stopped, that same dark substance she had seen swirl around him in their fight began to seep out from the wound, covering the newly formed head in a thin black layer and obscuring his features. Her heart dropped as she watched the shadowy liquid be absorbed into the ice, revealing a brand new head on Etho’s shoulders, indistinguishable from the first and complete with a new mask. His eyes fluttered open.

“That wasn’t very nice of you, now was it?” Etho asked as he turned his head to look over at her, an amused smile painting his voice. Gem screamed.

⋆⋆⋆

Gem had never fainted before. With the amount of blood and guts she spilled with a smile on a daily basis, she hadn’t thought it was even possible for someone like her. Evidently, though, everyone had their limits.

More confusingly, though, was that she had awoken tucked nice and neatly in a warm bed, with at least a dozen pillows cushioning her head and antlers. With a slight turn of her head, she could see a still-warm cup of cocoa resting on the table next to her and causing a sweet scent to waft through the little room she now found herself in.

She groaned, sitting herself up in the bed and trailing her hand up her forehead, where she could feel a piece of gauze sticking out. Another glance around her surroundings revealed that her weapons were nowhere to be seen. Gem cursed under her breath.

Her eyes darted around the room. It was quaint, with wooden walls and flooring and a decorative carpet in the center. Faint light streamed in through a window, accompanied by the warm glow of a candle. Must be early morning, she thought.

Oddly though, the corner across from her seemed to be completely wrapped in shadow, defying the soft sunlight that should have illuminated it. Gem found herself unable to tear her trembling eyes away as the shadowy corner suddenly warped in her vision, the dark matter collecting and solidifying together as a familiar figure materialized before her.

Etho drifted nonchalantly towards her, stopping by the table to eye the mug, something almost disappointed flashing in his expression as he noticed it hadn’t been touched. Gem faintly spotted a stitch in the shoulder of his tunic. He turned his attention to her.

“How’re ya’ holding up?" He asked, his tone both concerned and casual at once. “You took a pretty nasty fall back there! Never seen anything like it, it was crazy.” A small laugh punctuated his last sentence.

She blinked, then blinked again, but found herself unable to erase the image of what she had just seen from behind her eyes. It was the kick she needed to jog her memory though, and she leaped backwards away from him, nearly hitting her head on the wall behind her.

“You… What in void’s name are you!?” She squawked. Etho furrowed his frosted eyebrows quizzically.

“Well, I was hoping maybe you’d be a little bit more appreciative of the setup you’ve got going on here. I even made you a hot cocoa! Iskall told me you guys love that stuff!” There was something genuine in his voice that made Gem calm somewhat, even if his words only added to her bewilderment. She turned back to look at the mug, and slowly reached a hand out to grab it.

Pulling it close to her chest, she spoke, “You made this? For me? Why? I tried to kill you! I did kill you! At least, I think? I’m… still not entirely sure what happened back there.” She stared down into the mug, feeling a weird sense of shame bubble through her. Having the man she’d killed standing right there in front of her, it felt like talking to a ghost. The bounty hunter wasn’t used to having to think about the aftermath of her career beyond what minor property damage could ensue from a struggle, nevermind like this. Her grip on the handle tightened.

“What, this old thing?” Etho asked with another laugh, pulling up his own severed head from the ground next to Gem’s bed. “I left it here for you, since you seemed to really be after it. Figured it could make a nice souvenir from your stay here, you know?” Etho seemed to pick up from Gem’s appalled expression that she did not, in fact, know.

“Okay, okay, uh, well, you can take it with you when you leave if you want.” A pause. “This… is what you’re after, right?” Gem could make out tiny frozen droplets still connected to the head’s neck, suspended in time and ice. Momentarily, she considered being alarmed at the notion that she’d been sleeping soundly next to a severed head, or grilling him on why exactly he thought putting said head in her room was a normal thing to do in the slightest. The thumping pain rattling around in her skull made the decision for her.

“Partially,” she replied curtly, evidently still attempting to win her staring contest with the mug. Finally, she broke the one-sided tension, and dared to take a small sip.

It tasted… cold? No, that wasn't right. The liquid was sweet, if a little watery, and at a comfortably warm temperature. It was more as if the ethos of the mug itself refused to be hot. Like it had reluctantly taken to the liquid, yet refused to be any more than a temporary vessel for its warmth. Or, perhaps even more strangely, as if the liquid itself wasn't quite sure it knew how to be warm.

Despite Gem’s own lukewarm reaction, Etho lit up.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his normally chill and steady voice brightening with excitement. An amused look found its way to Gem’s face at the sudden change.

“It’s nice,” she replied simply. She took another sip, then paused to close her eyes. She swore she could hear a triumphant noise from beside her as she tried to calm her searing nerves. Having the head as proof was good, sure, but the curator had expected — and promised payment for — much more. Gem needed that artefact back. She turned back to face him.

“To be honest, Etho,” She began, “Your head’s not all I’m here for. You don’t just get a bounty on your head for nothing, you know. I’m also here to retrieve that artefact you stole.”

Etho blinked. “The what?”

Now it was Gem’s turn to furrow her brow.

“You know. The amulet of the ancient Sun people? The last surviving of its kind? You took it from a museum just a few days ago.” She tilted her head, not even trying to hide her bafflement. Etho squinted at her. He tapped his fingers on the nightstand beside him thoughtfully.

“Ancient amulet… ancient amulet…” He mused. “Oh! Is that what that shiny gold necklace was? It was just lying around on a shelf at that ‘museum’ place Iskall took me to! I don’t know why nobody else thought to take it, to be honest. Here, check it out!” He tugged at something unseen underneath his mask for a minute, before producing the very artefact Gem had been seeking. He handed it to her casually as her shaky hands returned the mug to its nightstand.

“You’ve been wearing it this whole time!?” She exclaimed, yelping when the item made contact with her skin and reeling backwards at the sudden burst of heat running through her fingertips.

“Ah, yeah.” He didn’t appear too upset at its departure, though Gem couldn't help but notice his lively attitude had faded somewhat. She brushed her thumb over the deep amber pendant, briefly fascinated by the perpetual heat emanating off of it.

“It’s neat, right? I’ve never seen a necklace like it. I wasn’t planning on taking it, at first, but I really wanted to figure out why it made my fingers melt like that.”

“You really are something,” Gem muttered. “But, I’m afraid I’ll have to take this back. A job’s a job.”

He gave her a nod. “Yep, yep, fine by me. Is that all you need?”

“Oh, I have one more thing, actually,” Gem replied, tucking the amulet away safely.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want my weapons back.”

⋆⋆⋆

The curator grinned and clasped her hands together as she spotted Gem, a full-looking satchel and small brown bag now decorating her waist alongside her clanking swords and knives. The bounty hunter approached her desk with a matching smile, untying the smaller bag and placing it before the curator.

“I see you’ve returned! Remarkably fast as well. This is?”

“The amulet, back safe and sound without a scratch. Very pretty, might I add. Anyone would be able to see why it’s the prized jewel of your exhibit. And why a rotten thief would want to take it.” Gem placed the satchel next to it.

“And this…?”

“That deplorable thief’s head, just as you asked. I can assure you, he won’t be any more trouble for you now.”

“Excellent. Then, I believe you are deserving of your reward.”

“Yes,” Gem repeated. “Excellent.”

#my writing #boatem knights au #bkau #geminitay #ethoslab #cw murder #cw decapitation #cw blood

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whorediaries-09 · 5 months

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Hey!! Could you do one where Sirius and reader were dating during hogwarts but they broke up after harry was born but they were already his godparents. After James and Lily die, Sirius doesn’t go to Azkaban so they have to reunite to take care and raise Harry.

hi love, thank you for sending in the request. it's a great idea, and could have been longer than what i have written to be honest, but i was running short on time. i still hope you like it <3

maroon;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, drinking, alludes to sexual assault. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- i wanted to write a fic using this song for so long. anon i love you cause i have the perfect opportunity to do that now 👯‍♂️

the slut club

and I wake with your memory over me that's a real fucking legacy to leave,

you're sure you can still hear his ringing distinctive laughter through the photograph. the photograph you hold has faded away its brightest hue, along with the smile of james potter and his heartbeat. you cradle his almost doppelgänger on your knee if it wasn't for his bright emerald eyes. he sucks on his thumb, while brandishing a twig in thin air. (after you had successfully convinced him it was a wand)

'honey, look, it's your papa,' you say, flashing his father's picture on his eyeline. you wonder if he recalls his features as his grubby fingers grab at the photograph. you wonder if you'd had to introduce his father to him if he weren't dead.

the doorknob clicks. the footsteps knocking on the floor are similar but it still sends a wave of coldness through your veins. your jaw tightens.

'i'm so sorry i'm late,' he says running his fingers through his hair. he picks up harry, and places a chaste kiss on his chubby cheek. you get up from the sofa.

'it's okay sirius, he's my godson too,' you say, loosening your tightened jaw. you crack your knuckles.

'buddy where'd you get this...twig?' you hear sirius ask harry. he flashes him a half toothed grin, shoving the twig in his ear.

'hey, hey no,' sirius scrunches his face in pain. you suppress a smile, throwing your coat over your shoulders.

'i convinced him it's a wand. he saw me using it to turn down the blinds and yeah, you know he's just like his father, stubborn,'

'you seen moony?' you ask. remus was the only person you could confide in at that moment. somethings seemed to be overwhelming. swallowing it up would seem like a great idea, but it wasn't. not in the long run. the run hadn't even started and you felt like your joints were rusted, lungs exhausted and heart beating too slowly. perhaps it was the after effects of a lorn tragedy. your breathing palpitated with the way sirius' gray eyes ran over your body.

'he's sulking as usual,' he replied, his mood suddenly in the halt of a shift.

'home?' you ask, your feet jittery.

'hm,'

you're not sure whether it's a tone of disapproval or jealousy. the latter seems dimensionally impossible, so you disapparate, to lupin's house.

*******

your eyes are torn of sleep, the half moon shining stark against the dark sky. the stillness of the night enveloped you, an uncomfortable warmth surrounding you. the night seemed stuffy, a prison of your thoughts. it was as if a weight of restlessness settled upon your bones, your mind and body battling to fall into a slumber. the darkness thundered a dance of troubled thoughts, which instead of providing solace was a battle against the dreams that awaited you on the other spectrum of sleep.

it's thud against your door. is it the wind? you search for your wand, and slowly whisper,

'lumos,'

the tip of your light enlightens into a beautiful solemn blue. you curl your toes, walking down the hallway. your voice is sore, dry and cracked when you speak, pressing your ear against the wood of the door.

'wh-who is it?'

'it's me, sirius.'

your hand wraps itself around the doorknob as your turn it, around, unlocking the door. it's not the first time he showed up at your house in the middle of the night. last time, when he came in he was drunk and red-eyed, searching for a bestowed comfort. while it wouldn't have mattered if it was someone else, it felt so wrong back then. he'd hugged you tight, your ribs almost breaking from the pressure. it made you reminisce of the days when he'd hug you, whispering i love you's in your ear. it made you reminisce of the days when he'd tickle you and you'd laugh till your ribs hurt. you remembered how he'd reeked of alcohol and tobacco, so unlike yet like him.

he stands there before you, his nose dripping blood, tears staining his cheeks. you stare at him hollow-eyed, your heart bleeding with an urge to hold him. but it seems like you're stuck, as if your blood is frozen, your senses too numb. he stammers, walking towards you. he smells like a flowery scent infused with the stench of beer. his words are broken when he speaks into your hair, his arms dropping on your body.

your lips are dry as your arms close around his shaking body.

'who did this to you?' you whisper. you feel his heartbeat beating against yours. his slows it's pace and yours picks up the pace as he lets the cruel words out of his mouth, offering you a broken story.

'this-this girl, she groped me when i was dancing with her. i thought it was by mistake a-at first, but-'

he breaks down, his sobs shattering every shard of your broken heart.

'it's fine, we'll get you a warm bath,' you whisper, slowly running your fingers down his spine. it's as if by instinct, or maybe old habit, you kiss his shoulder.

'i-i miss you.' he says.

'i'm right here,'

'no, i miss us.'

'sirius?'

he looks at you with an utmost expression of genuine love and it scares you. his gray eyes almost absorb your soul. it's as if your heart beats maniacally against your ribcage, while he captivates you. he feels like the perfect muse for your poems. he feels like the last bite of your cornetto. he feels like home.

he feels like he's yours.

you're scared. maybe the incarnations were roses after all.

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rosedom · 2 months

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LOL ROSEY, ROSEY — IMAGINE GOOD BOYS WEARING LIPSTICK AND SMUDGING IT ON YO SCHLONG WHILE THEY SUCK YOU OFF??? GOD 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

(I'm so sorry...... It's not a request I'm just sharing with you my thoughts;)))))))

—🪷

OH MY GOD 🪷 !! yes yes yes pls (⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠) never ever apologize for making my cock this hard.

like holyyyyy hell. just ,, imagine putting the lipstick on him yourself, too; having your good boy sit on the countertop all nice n' pretty, eyes closed and his eyelashes fluttering on top of his cheeks . . . having to reapply the lipstick several times before he even drops to his knees 'cos you're so quick to pepper him in kisses, smear that titillating pigment at the corners of his mouth, make him softly gasp into you.

and, god—one moment just to imagine the color they'd be wearing. cyno, for one: alluring purple, deep and stark and oh-so tantalizing against his dark skin. then maybe kaveh: a pretty ruby red. it'd be simple, but it would be perfect, accentuating his already red and kiss-bitten lips. baizhu—now, i almost want to say emerald, but imagine him with a simple yet sleek nude, a rose-tinted taupe.

there's ayato, who is either nude like baizhu or a mulberry shade. he's refined, but sharp. kaeya, too, but he'd pucker his lips for you to sweetly apply a shade of burnt orange to him. and i can't forget my babe, aether: rich cherry, a pretty contrast against his honey skin that serves to make him look all the more alluring.

there are just so many colors to imagine painted on their lips !! they'd truly be so pretty, your perfect, good boy <3

and as for the blowjob itself—jesus. finally letting your good boy hop from the counter—as he's assuredly already hard in his own knickers, jumping with doe-legs after just a lil' bit (a lot) of kissing—, except he sinks to his knees and looks up at you with those damning eyes. he's such a puppydog, pawing at your cock through your pants as he pleas, so soft n' sweet, "can I suck you off?" except then he'd lean forward and start kissing at the bulge of your cock, leaving smears of pigment across the inseam.

christ. then getting your cock out, unrestrained but straining with blood, with your arousal, and watching awestruck as he leaves sloppy kisses to the head of it. one particular kiss'll make you weak, and i'm already weak thinking about threading your hands into his hair, softly guiding him to finally swallow your cock.

the way the pigment of his lipstick will wear off against you as he blows you, a ring of color that seems to move more and more down your cock as he takes more of you with each bob of his head. he wouldn't leave your cockhead forgotten either, though; he'd stop and kiss and lick at the head of it.

imagining how your good boy would moan and whine around you, smears of color making their way to the edges of his mouth similar to your now-decorated cock. cumming down his throat, watching it bob, wishing you yourself had put on lipstick so you could pepper his skin in it . . .

nghh a good boy with lipstick is all i need ლ⁠(⁠´⁠ ⁠❥⁠ ⁠`⁠ლ⁠)

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】#【 🪷 】#genshin smut #sub genshin #these types of things in my inbox are so fun ;;#but they're so ironic to me 'cos i can't actually “imagine” . . .#i have aphantasia 😕😕 err !#genshin thirsts #genshin x reader #dom reader #top reader #amab reader #lipstick on pretty boys . . . !!

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todaysbird · 1 year

Text

the red-billed streamertail is a species of hummingbird named for the males’ two distinct ‘streamer’ tail feathers. they are exclusively found in jamaica, where they are the national bird. as their name implies, they also have a bright red bill. females are duller in color than the stark black and emerald green males, and they lack the distinct tail plumage. like other hummingbirds, they feed primarily on various nectars, but also on small insects. they are prolific breeders and can raise up to three clutches within a breeding season; both parents work together to raise the young.

#red billed streamertail #streamertail #hummingbird #bird #birblr

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moonchildstyles · 7 months

Text

retrouvailles

élan part six: y/n goes on a date, harry finds out a secret, and something shifts.

wordcount: 15.5k+

—————

"Y'think I did alright?"

(Y/N) swore her cheeks were going to ache for the rest of the day with the way her wide smile stretched over her lips.

"I think you did really well," she told him, her voice laced with warm amusement though she was far from teasing.

She was being honest, really. Hearing Harry speak in the small amount of conversational French he knew to her new nail tech as well as the receptionist of the salon she'd found today, was one of the sweetest things she'd ever seen. While his accent was improving, she cherished the flourish he still gave to his e's and the care he gave to his consonants.

"'M getting better, huh," he pressed, sounding a little too proud.

"Your accent definitely is," she mused, spotting the entrance to their building not too far ahead from where they were strolling down the pedestrian walk.

"Good," Harry responded simply, the edge of a dimple pressed into his cheek, "I've been practicing."

Somehow it was possible, but (Y/N)'s smile widened. "I've heard."

He wasn't exactly the most quiet as he recited simple words she'd taught to him after he thought she fell asleep. He preferred to sneak out onto the balcony, and practice with the light of the Tower shimmering in the distance. She liked hearing his voice like that, just a hair muffled through the door and his improper French.

It didn't take long before Harry was holding open the door for her to head inside their apartment building. No one other than the doorman was occupying the small space. (Y/N) offered a fleeting smile in his direction, her attention captured by the grandiose display on the desk counter.

In a crystalline vase, cut expertly to allow waves of rainbow light to glimmer over the warm eggshell walls, was an oversized bouquet of roses. The petals were deep spirals of velveteen red, deep dark in the center before going crimson on the edges. They had unfurled perfectly, not a single speck of discoloration or wilting. The stems were a healthy forest green, strong with clipped thorns as they held the large blooms in place. Interspersed between the roses were glossy leaves of emerald greenery and stark white puffs of baby's breath. It was full and large, stuffed and heavy with more immaculate roses than (Y/N) thought could exist in the world. How the vase wasn't toppling over from the sheer size, she wasn't sure.

They were gorgeous—pristine. (Y/N) even slowed her steps some to caress her eyes over the blooms for a moment longer.

Nonetheless, their synced steps eventually landed her at the doors of the lift. Harry, at her side with his own attention pressing forward, entered the code for the lift to take them upwards.

Just as she took her eyes away from the bouquet, the doorman suddenly shouted through the lobby in accented English, "Wait!"

(Y/N)'s steps faltered, the elevator doors having parted open. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling his shout being directed to her though she couldn't imagine why.

The doorman looked at her with wide eyes, his brows raised. "Mademoiselle?"

"Oui? Comment puis-je t'aider?" she trilled, watching as he stepped closer with her to catch up.

From the corner of her eye, Harry's security instincts kicked in, stepping closer to her as a form of barricade.

Eyeing Harry, the doorman slowed feet away, keeping that space between as (Y/N) peered around the broad of Harry's shoulder.

"Les roses," he started, gesturing towards the towering bouquet, "Elles sont pour vous, mademoiselle."

"Pour moi?" she pressed, her brows pinching.

"Pour toi. Ils vous ont été déposés il y a une heure."

"Oh," she sounded, allowing her gaze to wander back to the glamorous roses behind him, "Merci."

Taking it upon himself, Harry took the flowers from the counter, keeping himself between (Y/N) and the doorman as he moved. Offering nothing more than a quiet thank you, (Y/N) helped him into the waiting elevator, Harry having held the doors open in case he had to usher her through.

Once alone in the lift, (Y/N) couldn't help but to run a finger over the blooms. Harry watched intently, observing and cataloguing as if he had something to be suspicious over. Truthfully, she couldn't completely blame him. She couldn't think of anyone who would send flowers to this address for her, especially something this grandiose.

In the back of her mind, a niggling panic arose. This wouldn't be that admirer of hers, right?

Silence followed them into their apartment, (Y/N) speaking up as she held the door open for him to slip through with the tottering vase. "Is there a card or anything you can see?"

"Yes." Harry's voice was clipped as he answered. Nothing more was offered.

She waited for him to set the bouquet down before she searched through the stems, finding the small card amongst the greenery. The slip was heavy, made from embossed cardstock—definitely more than what a regular florist would offer.

Flicking it open, the writing inside was a shimmering black, inky and definite. The writing was elegant, scrolling and scripting, handwritten with a lilting hand.

Even before meeting you in person, I know these roses pale in comparison to your beauty. See you soon. x

Elliot

Every beautiful thing about the note was cancelled out when she read that name.

That was the man who was tasked to take her out for dinner in a few days, her father's friend.

"Oh," she sounded.

Harry was silent at her side. He must have been able to spot the details when she couldn't.

"They're so pretty," she said, folding the card away, almost pouting at the roses, "I'm sad he had to be the one to send them."

A beat passed before Harry spoke again, "I don't trust them."

Canting her head, she tried to see what he saw in the flowers. "What do you mean? They're gorgeous."

His arms coming cross around his chest, Harry stayed firm in his stance. "I don't like it. He shouldn't know your address before he's even met you. Taking the time to find a florist in Paris, finding something this extravagant, I don't know. I don't trust them."

"I mean," she started, tipping her head in the other direction, "I'm sure they're fine though, right?"

"I don't know," he answered shortly, "I'm going to have to think about it. We might have to get rid of them."

Peeking from the corner of her eye, she saw the pinched expression marring his features. He almost seemed offended to be looking at the roses.

Her features dropped some at the idea of throwing out the bouquet. "Oh. I like roses, though."

Harry's face pinched further at her words.

—————

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, (Y/N) forced herself out of her room, letting a shiver run up her spine at the cold floor under her feet. Through her bleary gaze, the first thing she saw was the streak of red that was the bouquet of roses sitting on the kitchen counter.

It took a couple of blinks before she realized that the flowers on the counter were very much not the same as the bouquet she received yesterday.

This bundle was significantly smaller, only a dozen compared to the fifty or so blooms from the day before, only small clusters of baby's breath added in. The same vase was being utilized for this bouquet, the white ribbon that tied the stems together still included and now dipped in the water filling the vase. The red was brighter, a couple of the flowers not quite as open as the ones she'd seen before, the greens on the lighter side.

Propped against the vase was a slip of pink paper taken from a notepad (Y/N) usually wrote their grocery list on.

She didn't lift her eyes from the bouquet as she approached, the morning light seemingly making the blooms glow. Reaching for the note, her features softened, rounding and curving into a quiet smile.

Good morning. I know these roses aren't as nice as the others, but I hope you think they're just as pretty.

Harry

His letters were blocky and absolute, none of the flourish the other man had left on the note. She definitely liked these much more than the flowers she received before.

Brushing her fingers over the soft petals, she attempted to bite back the wide grin that threatened to take over her face. With the note in hand, she spun on her toes, searching for Harry as if she missed him in the space.

Spotting him through the windows of the balcony doors, she didn't waste any time before she was crossing the living room to join him in the morning air.

Knocking on the glass, she stepped onto the balcony as Harry looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Morning," he murmured, eyes glancing towards the note clutched in her hand.

"Good morning," she chirped, shifting her weight on her feet with that fluttering feeling lingering in her tummy.

"Y'alright?" he asked, noticing the way she couldn't seem to stay still.

Looking at Harry now, all she saw was the man that picked out those flowers waiting for her inside. He picked her a bouquet that was worlds better than the grandiose arrangement she saw the day before, if only because it came from him. She liked his note much better, too.

"I am," she said through her beaming smile, "Thank you for the flowers."

Harry minutely perked up though his features stayed straight-laced. The grip on his mug tightened, his eyes brightening that much. "Yeah? Y'like them?"

"I love them."

For the first time since she'd met him, (Y/N) watched as a small smile landed on Harry's lips. The glances of dimples she gained and the ghostly smiles that disappeared before she had a chance to truly take them in were all blown away with the way he allowed that small grin to mold his features. He gazed up at her with that smile on his lips for a moment before he cast his eyes out towards the Parisian cityscape. He brought his free hand up to knuckle at the tip of his nose, his smile partially hidden behind his hand.

"Good."

—————

(Y/N) read, and reread, and reread her father's coaching text at least five times before the message began to sink in.

The first couple of messages were the usual host of guidelines, imploring her to not drink, to stay on her best behavior, to act lady-like (code for: don't try to sleep with him, because she was a whore, of course), ect. She rolled her eyes at first, reading those rules like they were supposed to be pasted to the fridge for a kindergartener to follow. It wasn't until the final message came through that her attention shifted to something serious.

Dad

And, Harry is to stay back tonight. He's already a distraction to the media, and shouldn't be there when you're meant to be on a date with someone who is able to handle you just fine.

The plan all week had been for Harry to accompany her, be right at her side through the whole night no matter what. Not only because he didn't particularly trust her father's circle of friends after the 132 Gala, but also at (Y/N)'s request. That plan had been the only reason she hadn't fought tooth and nail to get out of this stupid date—the whole reason she hadn't done something equally as idiotic to get her father to cancel the plans in favor of punishing her.

Just thirty minutes ago, sitting in front of her vanity to get ready to go out with another man, Harry had been on her mind. She wondered if he would like the red lipstick she slicked over her mouth, or if he would think it was too much. She wondered if he would like the bounce of her hair or if he would think it was too big. She wondered if he would think of those roses he bought for her when he saw the red of her dress.

Now, none of that even mattered—if it had mattered at all in the first place, anyway.

Harry was going to drop her off, and leave her to her date.

The idea had (Y/N) deflating where she sat on her bed, her shoulders holding a defeated slope.

She didn't want to get up, she didn't want to face this night. Tempted, she half-typed out a text feigning food poisoning to her father, a quick fix to get out of this whole thing.

But, she knew better. Delaying this would only cause her more grief. Her father might even follow through and fly out to Paris himself to keep an eye on her.

Falling back against her mattress, bouncing against the springs without a care for her hair, she heaved a sigh. She was going to have to leave her room and paint her face with a famous smile, but afterwards, she could forget it all happened. It would be over and she could return to her Parisian bubble that consisted of pilates, nail appointments, the farmer's market, and Harry.

She just needed to get through tonight.

Steeling her resolve, (Y/N) reacted to her father's text with a thumbs up and shook him out of her head. With her heels strapped to her feet and phone thrown into the bag hanging off of her wrist, she pushed the double doors to her room open and stepped out into the living room.

Sitting on the couch, waiting with phone in hand, was Harry. He glanced at her over the top of his screen only for his scrolling to pause, eyes widening through the frame of his lashes. (Y/N) saw the trail his gaze made over her form, skipping through the curves she fit into her rose-red dress, the minute slit on the side that allowed the fabric to flare around her thighs. Her accessories came in complementing hues, pearls in her ears with glimmering gold shining against the red.

A beat passed before he seemed to become aware of himself once more, clearing his throat as he made a move to put his phone away.

"Y'look... really good," he started, his voice strained as he stood to the full of his height, his gaze dropping down to his feet, "Are y'ready to go?"

"Thank you," she answered, decidedly less chipper than she would have expected after hearing his compliment. Her father's text was taking up too much space in her head for anything sweet to slip inside. "My father texted me while I was getting ready."

"Yeah?" he asked, beginning to inch towards the door though (Y/N) lagged behind. "What'd he say?"

Following him in minute steps, (Y/N) swallowed. "Has he talked to you today?"

"No," he answered shortly, pressing open the door for her to meet him at the threshold, his gaze heavy on her as she obviously stalled. "Why?"

"He—Harry—" she struggled to find the words, hoping it didn't come out as pathetically defeated as she felt, "He said you're not allowed to come with me tonight."

Harry stopped. His steps halted, his expression going blank as he looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"He thinks you're a distraction for the media. If you were in any more pictures with me, especially when I'm supposed to be on a date with someone else, that would only cause more drama."

Slowly, Harry closed the door to her apartment, sealing them inside for a moment longer. His hand flexed around the doorknob.

"He thinks that?" Harry pressed after a beat, his tone sharp.

(Y/N) silently nodded her head for confirmation.

It only took a moment longer of that silence before Harry was undoing the work of shutting the door. Determined as ever, he pulled it open, beckoning her to follow after him as he stepped into the hall.

"I don't care. 'M going with you." His words were absolute like cement, unwavering and unmoving. "'M not leaving you with some man who you've never met before, and couldn't even bother to call y'before tonight—yet, he got your address to send 'flowers'."

"Harry," she called, following him out into the hall, "I—We can't."

He didn't budge, standing beside the elevator, the down arrow lit up showing the lift had already been requested. "I don't care, (Y/N). 'M not leaving you alone—your dad can get fucked."

Her steps stuttered as she moved to catch up with him. Never had she heard him be so explicitly mad at her father—or explicit, at all really. No one ever really became angry at her father the way she did, let alone express it so bluntly. No one had ever seen the things that she had when it came to him.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) still couldn't let him sabotage himself.

It was just like he said earlier in the week. Her father's wrath wasn't worth wriggling out of a few hours of discomfort—for she or Harry.

"Harry, no," she tried again, staying where she was when he tried to herd her into the requested lift. The sparkling panelling in the back of the elevator acted as a mirror, showcasing her and Harry in its reflection. "I can't let you do that. You'd lose your job, then you really would have to l-leave me here."

She hadn't expected the way her tongue tripped over the word leave. She hoped Harry hadn't noticed.

Harry's jaw squeezed, a hand coming up to knuckle at the tip of his nose as his gaze fell to the floor. "'S not fair," he murmured, "I can't leave y'there."

"I can't let you do anything else, though," she reasoned with him, dropping her voice to match the volume of his own, "My father would be so angry with us. He wouldn't let you stay here with me."

While that explanation was the truth, she had a feeling Harry would never be the one that was in proper trouble with her father. It would somehow make its way around to be her fault; that she had poisoned Harry's mind. That could be the only reasoning as to why he would comply with (Y/N)'s wishes over her father's. But, he didn't need to know all of that. He just needed to stay put, that was all she asked.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flicking up in a glance at her. "(Y/N)," he murmured, the syllables of her name cradled in his voice.

"I know, but I promise I'll be fine. And, if I'm not, I'll call you right away. After this is all over, you can take me home, and we can try to watch a Julia Child episode again." A careful smile touched at the corners of her mouth then, hoping that lighthearted act would rub off on him. "I'll try not to fall asleep this time, either."

While his mood didn't seem to be particularly lifted at her plan, it was enough to get the hinges in his jaw moving again and the stark set of his shoulders loosening. Only after a lingering pause did she hear the grumble of his voice once more.

"Okay." Picking up his chin, he matched her eye contact head-on. "You promise me you'll tell me if you're uncomfortable?"

She knew what he was asking her, the night of the Gala flashing through her head, too.

"I promise."

With a single nod of his head, he flattened his hand between her shoulder blades and herded her into the lift.

—————

Harry maneuvered the car through the now familiar streets of Paris, taking her to the expensive location her date had requested.

Elliot, she thought with an internal cringe. She was going to have to actually call him by his name, instead of referring to him as some guy.

With the Eiffel Tower glimmering only a few miles away, (Y/N) wasn't surprised to see the restaurant that had been chosen for the night. (It was a terrible tourist trap, nothing particularly special that could justify the price other than the view of the Tower from the patio). It was just the kind of expensive nonsense her father loved to partake in when he visited, the same seemed to go for his friend.

The car was still running as Harry did nothing more than step on the breaks as a means for parking. All he needed was to hear her word and they could be out of there in a split second.

"I'll be back at nine to get you. No later," he cemented, his lips a thin line as he laid his sharp gaze on the eatery.

"Yes, no later," she parroted, pitching her voice into something lighter in hopes of tricking him into a better mood the same way she'd done for herself. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay."

With her hand on the door, (Y/N) hesitated. She didn't want to leave him now, especially not when he was so obviously on edge. She didn't know how to ease him other than promising again and again that she would get into contact if she needed him.

She just wanted him to know that she was far away from this date, too. That if it were up to her, this wouldn't be going at all, that she was miles away in their apartment.

Without overthinking it, she pushed the door open with the most prominent thought in her head slipping through her lips: "I wish I was doing this with you, tonight."

(Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her as she climbed out of the car, leaving before he had much of a chance to offer any response.

—————

This man—Elliot—is her father.

He is almost an exact replica of her father inside and out, this man just has a better hairline and faker teeth.

The similarities started the second it appeared he didn't know how to stop talking, going on and on about himself. He didn't know how to pair wine, despite boasting about the vineyard he supposedly owned here in the French countryside. ((Y/N) had to keep herself from wincing when he suggested starting the night off with foie gras and a deep red wine). He loved France, and wine, and charity, he'd said.

So, he was a liar, too. Just like her father.

No wonder he thought this would work out—that she would like him. Her father loved himself so much he couldn't imagine this date not being perfect with the similarities he shared with Elliot.

(Y/N) hid her frown behind her wine glass, listening as he made a fool of himself and the foundations he ran. (Supposedly, of course. With the way he spoke of them, they sounded more like cash grabs than anything real, a set of others running the operation while he was nothing more than the figurehead and beneficiary). He didn't even notice just how disconnected she was from this conversation, though she couldn't be surprised. To notice anything at all would require him to stop thinking about himself for longer than a breath.

"See! I knew you'd like that wine," Elliot boasted, looking pleased with himself as he ran a hand through his graying hair, "Your father said you were a drinker, so I had a feeling you'd enjoy this."

A part of her bubbled close to overflowing, wanting to spit at him that she actually hated the wine—it was too prickly and bitter, and overall just shit—but she tamped it down. It was enough to get her father red in the face if he found she was drinking against his rules, she didn't need to add on the fact that she blew up in this man's face over it. Nothing quite like a drunken rage to get her on the front page of a tabloid tomorrow.

Instead, she offered a sickly sweet smile after taking in a large gulp of the horrendous wine. "Yep," she falsely beamed, "That's me!"

He didn't even blink at the bitter tone to her voice, the scathing sticky sweetness that laid underneath her words.

Her savior came in the form of a scattered waiter approaching the table, his footsteps echoing a bit too loud in the otherwise empty restaurant. (Another small flex on Elliot's part—he'd bought out the entire eatery for the night, leaving them alone with nothing but the limited waitstaff and kitchen workers in the back).

Their waiter—whose name she wished she caught before Elliot had rudely cut him off in favor of ordering terrible wine—offered a painted smile, a bit too perfect to be authentic as he all but tripped over himself for a flawless service. In accented English, as her date didn't know any kind of real French, he asked, "Are you ready to order your mains this evening?"

Before (Y/N) could do anything but smile, Elliot was chomping at the bit, speaking in broken French as if to impress her.

He boasted that he would be ordering for the both of him, that he knew what she wanted. The waiter looked on with wide eyes, taking down the order in his little notepad. (Y/N) looked on unimpressed, listening as Elliot ordered himself a steak, commanding it to be cooked way too much, with a sauce that was much too rich for the white wine he was supposedly planning on pairing it with. She dreaded to hear what he thought she would like, especially with the way he flitted his dark eyes to her with bouncing brows, as if she could be anything other than enticed through this interaction.

In another move that was so terribly like her father, Elliot ordered her a chopped salad. Dressing on the side, as well.

(Y/N) had to rein herself in, keeping a bubbling peal of laughter from leaking out. If not for the fact this was really happening to her in this moment, she would have loved to hear a story like this in a comedy routine.

"That will be right up, sir. Thank you," the waiter praised, giving a small bow of his head before he turned to scurry away once more. (Y/N) envied him for his ability to eke out of the room.

Though, before he could make it too far away, (Y/N) stopped him with a gentle hand on his forearm. She extended backwards in her seat, catching his attention.

"Miss?" he murmured, "Did I miss something?"

"Oui désolé. Il n'a pas commandé correctement pour moi," she answered, noting the way his eyes widened at hearing the fluent French slip from her mouth.

Pulling out his leather notepad, he nodded his head, "Oh, mes excuses. Que puis-je mettre à la place?"

"Pas de soucis, merci," (Y/N) smiled, hoping to ease some of his nerves and make it abundantly clear that she knew she was too good for the man sitting across from her, "J'aurai le penne au salmon à la crème Parmesan, s'il te plaît."

The waiter nodded, looking a touch more comfortable as he spoke to only her, writing down the new order after putting a definitive strike through the previous. With a promise to return to check on them shortly, he disappeared into the reprieve that was the kitchen, leaving (Y/N) to suffer on her own.

"I didn't know you knew French," Elliot said from across the table, forcing her attention back to him. There was a pinch to his brow, tightening his already Botoxed features. "What did you say to him?"

"Hm? Oh," (Y/N) sounded, feigning confusion as if she had no idea what she'd just done, "I ordered for myself. I think he thought the side salad you got was for me."

Clueless to the fact that she was amusing herself at his expense, his furrow deepened. "It was for you."

"No, thank you," she said, sticky sweet and unbearably kind, "I actually really love the pasta from here. A salad isn't enough for me."

Elliot tripped his eyes down her form, glazing over the red dress she picked with Harry in mind. "You couldn't listen to me for tonight?"

"Oh," she canted her head, blinking her eyes owlishly, "I didn't know the salad meant something to you. Just a misunderstanding then, I guess."

It was eerie the way he looked exactly like her father as he took in a deep sigh, as if he had reason to be disappointed in her. Freud would be too happy seeing as how her father set her up with a man just like himself.

"It's alright, sweetie. Keep that in mind for next time, though. I've got you now—you don't need to worry about reading the menu and ordering for yourself anymore."

In an attempt to keep herself rooted to her spot and not stomping outside the door, (Y/N) tightened her grip on her wine glass. She wouldn't have been surprised if the stem broke under her palm.

"I definitely will," she laughed, feeling a hair away from delirious at this point.

Pleased with himself, Elliot sat back. "I feel like I've been talking about myself all night," he laughed, shaking his head as if his arrogance was a silly oversight, "I've been meaning to ask about something I read."

(Y/N) had to keep her eye from twitching. "Really? What was it?"

"That boy you've been pictured with," he started, his voice much too loud for the quiet space. (Y/N) had to consciously make an effort to keep her jaw from clenching as he referred to Harry as a boy. "Your dad said he was your security, but I wanted to ask about him myself."

Buying herself some time with a calculated sip of her wine, she swallowed down the acrid taste before asking, "What do you want to know?"

"Is he your boyfriend? Or whatever you kids call it now," Elliot bluntly pressed, "I read you cheated on Mr. Moore's son with him. Is there any truth to that?"

"No," was her immediate answer, "He's just my security guard."

In the back of her mind she knew those words didn't fit correctly in her mouth.

Elliot raised a challenging brow. "That's the truth?"

Forcing herself to do nothing more than grow stoic at his idiotic pressing, (Y/N) met his eyes directly without wavering. "I know the stories can be convincing, but this is what I'm telling you. It's the truth."

This was her version of biting back, dropping that tabloid bunny facade with placating smiles and the willingness to accommodate to be whatever person the one in front of her wanted. She couldn't outright slap him, so she'd have to settle for not being the naive butterfly he wanted.

Giving a slow nod, (Y/N) watched as her date ran through what she'd told him. He didn't seem to even understand that she was pushing back on him, his ego too large to see much else. "Okay," he settled, "Well, if this continues between us, I want to make it clear that I would prefer him to leave Paris."

(Y/N) sat dumbfounded for a beat.

Elliot continued on, "He's not needed if I'm here with you. I also believe he's taking advantage of his position in getting to touch and 'protect' you. You don't need him around."

Through gritted teeth, (Y/N) asked, "You think so?"

"Mhm," Elliot hummed, a bit too proud, "He's taking advantage of you as far as I can see. He takes from you since you can't overpower him—it's a hard thing to notice when you're the woman being taken, but it's obvious to others."

Swallowing, (Y/N) forced her jaw to unclench and a deep breath down her lungs.

She was livid. Truthfully, she couldn't care less what this man thought of her in any way—another way he was similar to his father—or if he chose to demean her for the rest of the night. But, when it came to Harry, the only innocent person in this whole stupid mess who'd done nothing but protect her to the best of his ability, that was where she was going to draw the line.

This night was over.

"Right," she answered stiffly, forcing her features into something kind and unwitting, "Do you mind if I run to the ladies room really quickly?"

Already pushing out her chair before he had a chance to say a word, (Y/N) only half listened when he told her to hurry back, he didn't mind waiting for her.

With her bag on her wrist and phone in hand, she typed out a message in quick strokes.

please come get me

Firing it off to Harry took all but a second, long enough for her to reach the kitchen,

While it felt impossibly rude to step inside, she had to put her plan into place before Elliot realized she hadn't headed towards the bathroom at all.

A member of the kitchen staff stopped in their tracks when they saw her, a bright streak of red in the middle of the otherwise stainless steel and clean white of the kitchen.

"Mademoiselle? Vous cherchez les toilettes?"

"Non, j'avais en fait une demande, s'il vous plaît." she started, keeping herself on the fringes of the space as to not touch something she wasn't meant to.

The staff member cast his gaze around for a moment, the rest of the kitchen slowing to a standstill when they noticed her. Only the sizzling of a pair of pans remained, the space hot from the running ovens and foaming butter.

"Comment puis-je t'aider?" he asked after a moment, no one objecting to the idea of her newly timed request.

"Y a-t-il un moyen pour que tu emmènes mes pâtes avec moi ? En plus d'ajouter pavé de saumon à la plancha pour que je le prenne également ? Je sais que c'est la dernière minute, mais j'ai changé de plan."

"To-go?" he answered in accented English.

"Oui," she cemented, time ticking the longer she had to explain herself, "Je dois aller aux toilettes, mais je peux les récupérer en sortant par l'arrière, si ça te va."

It was then that—what she assumed was—the kitchen manager spoke up, her hair tied up under a pristine white hat. "Oui. Nous pouvons préparer cela pour vous en dix minutes, mademoiselle."

"Merci," (Y/N) chirped, backing out of the kitchen before she could become any more of a distraction.

Next order of business came in the form of tracking down her waiter, who was tucked in an alcove around the bar, the single ticket for their table hanging from the processing computer. After the shock of spotting her in the backroom wore off, (Y/N) settled the tab—including the fish entree she just added—with a swipe of her father's credit card. A hefty tip was left for the staff, in hopes of making up for the absolute waste of time everyone involved had gone through for the night.

Checking the time on her phone as she scurried to the staff restroom (with permission from the waiter), (Y/N) didn't doubt that Elliot was either too absorbed in himself to notice she was still missing or he was beginning to realize she was taking too long for this to be an innocent trip to the ladies room. Nonetheless, she only had a handful of minutes left before her order would be ready, and Harry had to be on his way by now.

As if he was living inside her head, the second she closed the door behind her, a call came through her phone with Harry's contact written boldly up top.

"Hello?"

"Are you okay?" he fired off, ignoring her greeting, "Did something happen?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she eased, leaning against the bathroom door, "I'm a little annoyed and was almost bored to death, but I'm okay. I knew this was going to be a bad night, H, but it's been terrible, honestly."

"I'm outside, okay? I parked out back, but you'll see me," he rushed off, his voice a low rumble through the speaker.

(Y/N) reared back. "You're already here?"

"Yes."

A beat passed in the quiet of the bathroom. "Did you come from the apartment?"

"No." She could hear a sigh come from the other line. "I didn't go back—I stayed here."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, having no right to feel a small smile bloom on her features at his admission. "I'll be out in a second. I need to grab something really quick."

"Okay. I'll see you in a minute."

Hanging up first, (Y/N) doubted he would unwind until she was sitting in that car with him, away from the annoying bug that was Elliot.

Scurrying through the restaurant in hopes of staying unnoticed by her date, she thanked the kitchen staff once more for the impromptu request she made before grabbing her orders and pushing through the back entrance.

The night was dark, only bits of warm light coming from the Eiffel Tower in the distance, tourists roaming the streets with roses in the wind. Searching for Harry's car, it only took (Y/N) a couple of steps around the building to spot the black sedan with its lights on bright.

Her steps quickened, heels clacking over the concrete as she eagerly met him. The doors were unlocked and ready for her to climb in.

"Look what I got for us!" she bubbled, fitting herself in the passenger seat with the boxed meals in her lap.

With his features only lit up by the dash lights and whatever was able to seep through the tinted windows, a furrow darkened Harry's brow. His gaze lingered on her face before dropping to her lap as she buckled up.

"Is... Is that your dinner?"

"It's our dinner!" she chirped, "I got you something while I was there." Finally cataloguing what exactly she had run out with, her grin only widened. "I think they gave me his too, actually."

At that, a huff of laughter left Harry's lips, the tension in the car melting as he shifted into drive. (Y/N) watched as his features softened in the low light, dimples present and eyes softening.

"He doesn't know you left, does he?"

"Nope," she trilled, "He'll figure it out soon though, I'm sure."

Harry only laughed again, eyes trained on the road though she didn't miss the way he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"That bad?"

"Oh, yeah," (Y/N) heaved, shaking her head. "My father is going to be so mad, but I don't even care anymore."

(Y/N) could feel her muscles unwinding the farther they made it from the restaurant, dropping her head back to lean on the stiff rest. She genuinely didn't care if her father woke her up with degrading messages or a promise to visit her penthouse. She wasn’t going to sit by while Elliot degraded Harry for the sake of looking like an alpha.

The familiar route back to the apartment whizzed outside the windows until a bright idea blinked in (Y/N)'s head.

"Wait," she chattered, sitting up straight in her spot, "Turn around. I have an idea."

—————

The Eiffel Tower shimmered in front of them, warm dinner in their laps with a sturdy bench under.

The lights of the attraction were reflected back on Harry's wondrous eyes, his food left to cool in his lap as he was too distracted with the sight in front of him. (Y/N) was the same though her gaze was on him.

"Worth it, right?"

Harry didn't hesitate to pull his eyes from the Tower, casting his gaze to her with a lingering trace over her features. He paused on her lips for a heartbeat before he matched her eyes once more, the familiar beginnings of a lopsided smile touching the corner of his mouth.

"Definitely."

—————

(Y/N) barely bat an eyelash when she saw the heavy envelope as the only piece of mail in her box. She politely thanked the doorman before taking it back up to her apartment, already dismissing its contents despite the curiosity bubbling in her fingertips. She wondered what kind of photos would be inside.

The media apparently hadn't caught a hold of any kind of story about her date. It'd been three days and there was nothing being posted online other than a random blog post claiming to have seen her dressed in red climbing into a black car. Nothing mentioned a romantic candlelit night, or a scorned billionaire cursing her name for embarrassing him. The only reason she knew her father was aware any of what transpired that night was because of a text he'd shuttled off to Harry, cementing that (Y/N) wasn't to go anywhere without him. (Quite the punishment, she'd joked).

Otherwise, there was nothing out there about the incident, nowhere for this person to collect photos and scratch out a narrative. She also would have remembered seeing someone with a heavy camera in the empty restaurant, but she couldn’t recall a single moment a lens had been pointed in her direction, including the meal she and Harry indulged in by the Tower.

Safely inside her apartment, the water running as Harry took his morning shower, (Y/N) took a risk and opened the flap to quell her curiosity. Inside glossy photos awaited.

While she never particularly enjoyed seeing photos of herself in this context, usually fluctuating between fear and indifference, she'd never been so unnerved as this moment. Given, she didn't typically open the letters sent to her, so she didn't have much to compare it to, but she had a feeling this was the worst that had even been sent her way.

Shining in the morning light, were photos of her from the moment she stepped out of her apartment to the time Harry took her home. She was a gleaming scarlet streak in every photo, some shots having been zoomed in on her body, on her legs, on her lips. This person caught her entering the restaurant, Harry conveniently cut out before the view shifted. Through the window, she had been caught with her glass of wine, blankly looking ahead at Elliot as he spoke of himself. This person had even caught her devising and executing her plan, the camera having craned and peered around every corner and every fixture to get even a small sliver of her form. This person followed her to the spot Harry picked her up, to where they sat at the Eiffel Tower with their dinner. Those shots were decidedly blurrier, taken from a larger distance, but it was still clearly the pair of them gazing at each other before gazing towards the Tower.

Harry's face had been scribbled on in one shot, the same way Marc's had been in the package previous.

She didn't dare to look at the words written on the back, already collecting what kind of narrative this person would force this time around. They seemingly were turning on Harry now, instead of just ignoring him.

Leaving that single photo where it laid, with both she and Harry gazing skyward towards the point of the Tower, (Y/N) didn't have it in her to leaf through the rest of the stack.

Suddenly, having missed the sound of the water cutting and the silence that followed, she heard Harry's bedroom door open, the swoosh of the air as he entered the common space. She scrambled to pack the photos back into the envelope, trying her best to not sprint towards her bedroom. Her hands shook as she gathered everything to her chest, the photos a messy pile she hid with her back facing the hallway Harry was emerging from.

"Morning," he greeted her, his voice that low grumble it always was in the morning.

"Good morning," she chirped out, her steps hastening that much more as she slipped inside her bedroom, the door open just a crack.

"Did y'still want to go to the farmer's market today?" Harry called, his voice carrying as she lingered in the living room.

"Sure!" she trilled, wrenching open her vanity drawer, "Or—um—I was thinking we could finally visit the Lourve today, or whatever. I'm fine with anything!"

Harry didn't respond then, (Y/N) only hearing her bubbling heartbeat pounding against her chest. Why did she think it would be easy to hide the letters under a pile of palettes?

It took a handful more seconds before she had everything safely tucked away, the drawer being pushed shut before she sat back on her heels and breathed. That was a little too close, she decided.

No more opening the letters if she could help it—especially while Harry lived with her.

Peeking out of her bedroom decidedly more relaxed than when she went in, she swept a hand through her hair. "Did you have anywhere you wanted to go, though?"

Harry stood with his back to her, his shoulders tensed and head bowed as he looked towards his feet. He didn't lift his head as she spoke, keeping her behind him.

A beat passed, still no acknowledgement.

"Harry?" she called, stepping out from her bedroom entirely.

Harry turned slowly then, revealing he was looking at a slip of paper in his hand, his brows in a furrow and lips set thin.

Sunlight coming through the windows glinted off of the glossy coating of the page in his hand. Her heart dropped.

"What is this?"

Swallowing around her tongue, she tried her best to slip into a role she hoped would fool him. "What do you mean?" she asked, voice light despite the heavy pit in her stomach.

Chancing a look at her for the first time since she left her room, Harry's eyes were sharp, a warning expression she hadn't seen since he pulled her from the pilates studio in New York.

He held the photo up for her to see, showcasing a shot of her escaping through the back of the restaurant with a giddy smile and stolen dinner.

"Who took this?"

Her facade crumbled that much, sinking and sinking like her heart in her chest.

"Um—I—I don't..."

"(Y/N)," he warned, his voice low and lethal. He wasn't Harry at the moment, this was the man tasked with her safety who'd just found a secret that changed everything.

"I don't know," she rushed out, deflating as she kept her eyes low so as to not match his own, "I don't know who took it."

"Then, why do you have it?"

"Someone sent it to me."

A tick hugged the hinge of Harry's jaw, his grip on the page tightening. "What do you mean?"

(Y/N) floundered then. Her mouth gaped with words she knew she wasn't going to say, the air sucked out of her lungs. Nothing wanted to roll off of her tongue—nothing would.

"(Y/N)," Harry sternly interrupted her swimming thoughts. His sharp tone matched his eyes.

A shallow breath prickled in her lungs.

She'd never had to speak on this before. There was only one other time she had gained the courage to confront the fact that someone was stalking her, sending photos and letters and expressing devout affection and depraved ideals about her. There was only once she had voiced these fears before, and it had been shot down immediately by her father. She was told to let it go and be grateful; she was meant to be happy that she had a fan, someone to admire her.

She didn't want to be called crazy again.

Because she wasn't, right? This was something anyone would be scared over, right?

Taking her shaky hands into a bundle at her middle, (Y/N) tried to find the words.

"I don't know who sent it to me, but it came with a letter and other pictures."

Harry stowed over her words for a lingering moment, (Y/N)'s shuttered gaze keeping her from gauging his reaction. For the first time ever, she didn't want to know what he was thinking.

"Someone sent you pictures of you we don't remember being taken, and a letter," he reiterated, his voice a deadpan rumble as the story came together.

She'd never heard these events spaced in someone else's voice.

"Yes." When he didn't immediately say anything (Y/N) felt her blood pressure spike. "Harry," she tried, his name heavy on her tongue, "I-I wanted to tell you, I promise. I was going to, but my father—he... I thought you wouldn't..."

Harry paced the room silently. He took his time before settling heavily on the middle cushion of the couch, the discreet photo of her being clutched in his grip.

"Tell me now, then," he commanded, gaze fixed on the photograph, "I don't care what your dad said or what you thought before, this is something I need to know about."

Her fingers were a fiddling mess as she stood still in the middle of the room. "I don't know where to start," she whispered.

Fracturing his line of sight from the picture, Harry cast his gaze out the windows, taking in the skyline they'd called home for the better part of two months. His free hand landed heavily in his hair, nails grazing his scalp.

"Start wherever—anywhere. I don't care, I jus' need to know."

(Y/N) sucked in a shaky breath. She'd never felt so lost before.

How was she supposed to wrap up years worth of ominous letters and unwanted photographs? How was she supposed to put it all in a story that didn't require them sitting here for hours and for (Y/N) to dissolve into tears more than a handful of times?

"Is this the first one you've gotten?" Harry pressed, taking her silence for the need of guidance.

"No."

A heavy sigh lifted his shoulders. He finally craned his neck back to the living room with her, though he picked only a spot in the room to focus on. He didn't dare catch her eye, yet.

"When did they start?"

Prattling around the timeline, (Y/N) tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "A couple of years ago, I think?"

Though his features stayed completely stoic, she knew there was something in her answer that had his shoulders tensing and nose flaring.

"This person has been taking photos of you and sending them for two years?"

"Kind of," (Y/N) reasoned, deigning herself to sink into one of the arm chairs beside the couch, her back stiff despite the inviting cushions, "I think sometimes they take pictures they find online since a lot of them match up, but sometimes it's like this one. I used to think they were selling stories and pictures to publications and posting them, but some of the stuff they sent started getting really weird a year ago." She took in a breath, thinking about the one piece of information that she hadn't the courage to read since the first time. "They send letters, too. About me."

"Do you have them? The letters."

"Only the couple that have been sent here."

Harry's voice was low, seething, as he spoke, "Let me see them."

Hesitating where she sat, (Y/N) stayed stiff in her position. She didn't want to grab the letters, honestly. She didn't want anyone to see them if she didn't even have the courage to fold them open.

A niggling thought in the back of her head had her staying put: What if she was overreacting? What if Harry read these letters and saw what her father saw? That she was nothing but a paranoid, ungrateful girl. She wasn't sure if she could survive something like that.

"(Y/N)," Harry started, his voice bringing her back to the surface of her swimming thoughts, "I'm asking as someone who's supposed to keep you safe. Please let me see these things."

Her voice was quiet as she agreed with an okay. Her footsteps were the only thing that could be heard as she padded over the floor, going to her bedroom with the burning drawer being her destination. Rifling through the pile of palettes and trio envelopes hiding underneath. She collected them as if they were burning, her fingers gingerly grasping them.

She blindly handed over the envelopes, sinking back into her seat as she felt her heart in her throat. As much as she didn't want to watch, she couldn't tear her eyes off of Harry as he paged through the photos. She barely registered the slideshow of photos as he leafed through them, already having seen the blurry shots and odd angles, the lengths this person went to just to capture a sliver of her body.

"Have you read the letters before?" Harry asked, his voice low and calculating.

"I did once," she explained, "But, after that, I never did again."

Harry didn't waste a moment before he pulled out the letters, the blurry photographs now nothing more than a kaleidoscope of her face across the coffee table. She made a point to shift her eyes to him then, unwilling to really see the breadth of this person's admiration for her.

(Y/N) looked on as he reached for the most recent letter first, his gaze quickly scanning over the page before he forced himself to grab for this next. The whole time, she watched as Harry reacted to whatever was typed on the page, the way his muscles bunched and his features flattened into something severe and angular. The way he pinched the paper became more aggressive, something tight flexing into his fingers.

She chewed on her bottom lip, her curiosity peaking. "Wh-What do they say?"

It took a moment before he tore his glazed eyes from the page, flicking to meet hers through the fan of his lashes. "Do you really want to know?"

Weighing her options, (Y/N) wasn't sure, really. "Maybe?"

Harry shook his head, folding up the page before dropping it atop the others. "They... pay attention to you a lot. There's a version of you they like, and really care about. It's all they talk about."

"What do you mean?" She worried her fingers in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull.

Swallowing, Harry tried to keep a straight face as he looked over the evidence sitting in front of him.

"They really like you, and have decided they know who you are because of that," he tipped his head, taking in a sigh with his hands clenching and unclenching. "They're... This person isn’t right, (Y/N)."

Her heart sunk at his words. The rising sun outside lighting the city while she felt the darkest she had in a long time.

"It's that bad?"

He didn't offer an answer, the pages in front of him now feeling like poison permeating through the room.

The silence that sat between them felt like a third roommate, heavy and unforgiving.

"Harry?" (Y/N) murmured, quiet compared to the silence, "What do we do?"

A heavy hand was passed through Harry's curls, nails catching his scalp with his fingers messing the swirls. "I don't—," he breathed, shaking his head, "Fuck—I don't know."

(Y/N) finally saw something cracking in him—that stoic facade that veiled whatever was bubbling on the inside beginning to slip. The uncomfortable feeling of having no definite way to get out of this situation rained down on him. She saw the way he peered out the windows of the apartment as if he would catch someone right then. She wouldn't put it past him to scour the whole place, hoping to ferret out anyone who could have slipped under their noses for so long.

"Fuck," Harry murmured under his breath, the curse heavy on his tongue. His knee began to bounce where he sat.

Swallowing around her dry throat, she didn't know what to say, what to tell him. While there was a part of her that felt vindicated knowing that he wouldn't react like this over nothing. This threat was real and not just something she made up in her head and used as a reason to be dramatic.

The other part of her felt guilt over keeping this secret from him. He wouldn't have been blindsided if she had just followed her gut and told him from day one everything that was going on behind closed doors. Maybe he wouldn't have taken the job then (the idea stabbed at the soft parts of (Y/N)'s heart), but he wouldn't have been struggling as he was now.

"Harry, I—I didn't mean to, I'm sorry," she tried, unsure of what she was saying or feeling but wanting to give him something.

He waved her off, shaking his head with his unfocused gaze on the floor. "Why didn’t your dad want me to know?"

"He said it was a waste of your time to worry about it," she explained, feeling embarrassed despite the fact she had nothing to do with her father's decisions, "W-When I told him about it, he said I needed to be grateful, that I needed to be happy that someone admired me enough to follow me and everything. He told me I needed fans like that since I wasn't very popular anyway."

(Y/N) couldn't look away as Harry curled in on himself the longer she spoke. The knuckles of his clenched hands were a burning white, his shoulders heavy and broad.

"I fucking hate your dad," he mumbled after a beat, his voice a seething breath, "So much."

She looked at him with wide eyes for a moment. Then, she couldn't help the huff of laughter that pushed between her lips.

She'd never heard anyone say that before—at least anyone that wasn't herself. It was relieving in a delirious kind of way.

Because she fucking hated him, too.

Harry looked up at her, something quizzical in his gaze.

"Sorry, sorry," she got out in-between giggles, "I've just never heard anyone say that before about him—usually I'm the only one that sees him this way. It's—I don't know why I'm laughing, but."

There was no room to continue with the way laughter began to pour out of her, eyes tearing at the feeling in her chest. The feeling that there was more than just herself on her side.

A lopsided smile worked its way onto his lips as he watched her. "I've seen enough to know I hate him, don't worry." He shook his head, dimples thumbed into his cheeks. "I only keep this job for you."

Despite the delirium fueled amusement coating the room, (Y/N) almost melted at the genuine way he spoke to her—spoke about her. He meant what he was telling her, without a doubt.

"I really didn't mean to keep this from you," she told him once she settled down, a deep breathing inflating her lungs, "Before everything, I thought you were on his side, so I didn't want to waste our time. I don't think my father even wanted you to really be my security guard at first, so."

"That's why y'said what y'said the first time I went to your place," Harry pieced together, gaze warm on her skin. When she only nodded her head, his gaze dropped down the column of her throat. "At first, I can't lie, I believed the things he told me and what I'd read about you," he acted ashamed to admit as much, "But, that was because I didn't know you. It didn't take very long to realize that you are very different from what everyone said.

"I hope you know that. If more people took the time to know you and used more than a fraction of their brain" he continued, conviction running under his words, "no one would believe those stories. The people who do know you, know that you're worth more than any of it."

Maybe now wasn't the time, with a coffee table full of deranged letters and creepy photos of herself, but (Y/N) couldn't help the flutter of her heart in her chest. Harry, even if he was giving her a hard truth, was never anything less than genuine. He believed every word he was saying to her, and that made her want to believe it, too.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, the curl of her lips small and shy.

Harry allowed his gaze to linger on her for a few moments more before he must have remembered the gravity of the situation as she did. He forced his eyes to land back on the matter at hand: the letters and photos dedicated to her.

"'M going to take care of this, okay?" he murmured, all amusement draining from his tone, "'M going to do everything I can to figure this out and make this person stop, (Y/N). 'M going to keep y'safe."

"I know you will," she answered in a heartbeat. There was no question in her mind about his ambition.

(Y/N) allowed her gaze to wash over him as he focused on the photographs. She doubted Harry knew, but he was becoming her safe place. She trusted him more than she trusted almost anyone—more than Francesca even. A pressure in her chest developed the longer she sat with the realization.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

Suddenly her posture was stiff once more, bottom lip chewed swollen between her teeth. "Could—Or, I guess, would you mind—Can I hug you?"

The mossy green of Harry's eyes, flecks of sunflower yellow, blinked up at her. She saw every minute expression on his features before they softened and curved into a gentle smile.

"C'mere," he told her, leaning back against the cushion with his arms open.

It was on instinct the way she moved, bundling herself into his arms with her legs curled up underneath herself. She was a ball against Harry's chest, his arms a forgiving loop around her body. His palms spanned the planes of her back, one between her shoulder blade and the other lower as he warmed her skin through the sleep shirt she was still wearing. With her head tucked into his neck, she felt him relax around her with his nose grazing the top of her head.

She felt safe in his arms—forgiven, and trusted. He believed her more than anyone she'd ever known before.

"I've got you, okay?"

(Y/N) squeezed herself tighter to him.

—————

Taking her hand out of the UV lamp, (Y/N) settled a gentle palm on Harry's arm.

"It's okay, H," she murmured, "You can relax."

He was startled at her touch, his mechanical scanning of the nail parlour ceasing for a moment.

"Sorry?" he muttered in response.

He'd been like this every time they stepped out of the house since he was clued in on the letters and photos. At the farmer's market, he was suddenly suspicious of anyone who dared to bump into her, any vendor who haggled with her for a moment too long, anyone who so much as looked at her with interest in their gaze. He had mistaken small black bags for high quality cameras, his eye constantly peering out for a lens pointed in her direction. Her pilates class was just a level below that intensity given that she wouldn't allow him to follow her into the studio, forcing him to wait outside with bated breath for her return.

(When she had joked that she would keep an eye out for someone with a movie camera and a shirt with a photo on her face, he hadn't exactly laughed, but she thought it was funny).

It seemed the nail parlour was no different. The familiar techs and other staff who had begun greeting her after her second regular visit were now suspects in Harry's mind. No one was to grow too close to her, only her given tech when it was time for her appointment. Everyone else had to pass the wall that was her bodyguard before they had any hopes of even breathing in her direction.

"I was just saying that I'm okay, you can relax," she reiterated, squeezing his arm with her fresh set of nails glimmering in the light.

"I know," he deadpanned, going back to surveilling the scene, "'M jus' doing my job."

She tried to be gentle as she spoke to him, remembering the way she felt the first time she saw those envelopes of her photos. She had grown paranoid as well, double checking every street, every blurry face, every lingering interaction. She was nowhere near as comfortable with the information as she was now, and that paranoia was where Harry was currently living.

"If you hadn't noticed them before," she reasoned, voice forgiving as her nail tech made the final touches on the set of cherries painted on her fingertip, "I don't think that's going to change now, and that's okay."

Harry shook his head, a stray curl grazing his forehead. "I wasn't looking before. I am now." His words were definitive, the same way he spoke to her at her apartment with the photos strewn across the coffee table. "'M not going to let this keep happening, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) didn't know what to say.

It was still an odd feeling to have someone worry over her—someone who cared to the degree Harry was declaring. She didn't know what to do, how to act, under these conditions. It had always been her and her alone that carried these kinds of burdens.

Reaching under the table, Harry settled his hand on her knee, the warm skin of his palm felt through the rips in her jeans. He gave a squeeze. "Let me take care of this. I've got it."

Her nail tech tapped her hand too soon to inspect the paint before going under the light, forcing her gaze to stray from Harry's and the way his eyes glimmered over her features. Just before she looked away, she swore she saw his pupils dilate, honing in on the shape of her lips.

—————

It took close to two weeks for the photos of her on her date with Elliot to surface, the angles and shots already familiar to her eyes. They were exact matches to that of the ones that were now carefully stowed in Harry's room.

(Y/N) didn't exactly care about this specific leak, having expected it two weeks prior, anyway. Her father had to have known about all of the details of the ditch anyway, and if he hadn't said something already, he wasn't going to. She had nothing to worry about when it came to this story making its way to the press.

Except for the string of international paparazzi that now seemed to make it their mission to follow her everywhere she went.

She couldn't blame them, really. There was nothing that made ad revenue or sold magazines more than a tumultuous love life, so the hope of catching her on a date—a high profile one at that—was too enticing for many photographers to let go of. Whatever paid the bills, she guessed.

That was why she wasn't particularly surprised to look over her shoulder and see a string of loitering paparazzi waiting outside the restaurant she had Harry had escaped to for dinner. She even recognized one from back home.

She didn't try to cover her tracks too often while in Paris, just for the fact she was more unknown here than in New York, but that didn't always mean she went unnoticed. The idea of working through the small string brought her back to her drunken stumbling from the club. She hoped it wouldn't be anything like that.

(Y/N) hadn't realized how long she'd been distracted by the peering cameras until she felt Harry's hand land on her own. Whipping her head around she found he had abandoned his crostini topped with melty brie to focus his attention on her. His eye contact was unwavering.

"'S gonna okay, alright?" he soothed her, "'S only a few. Nothing we can't handle."

"I know," she answered, curling her hand under his, "I just... Now that I've actually looked at some of the pictures being sent to me, I don't like seeing so many cameras on me like this. I don't like that they're taking pictures of you, either."

Harry sat patiently listening to her, only pulling his hand away from hers to prop his chin up on a white-knuckled fist. Something always ignited in him when she mentioned the gifts from her admirer. His gaze skittered outside the eatery, silently taking in the faces of those smoking and loitering on the sidewalk.

"You think it could be any of them?"

The thought hadn't really crossed her mind. She figured it would be a good disguise, to blend in with people who would of course be carrying around cameras and would be looking for her on nights like these, but that didn't explain why she'd never seen a paparazzo-esque person trailing her when no one else was.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, a small shrug lifting her shoulders, "The picture quality is always pretty good, so I guess it could be someone like that, but I guess I always kind of figured it's easier to follow me unnoticed if they were using their phone camera."

Humming his acknowledgment, Harry didn't pull his eyes from her awaiting fans. While she didn't know everything about what his expressions meant or what was going on in his head, she recognized this moment. The gears were turning the longer he stayed quiet, a plan being laced together.

"Do y'want to see if we can go out the back?"

Considering the option for a moment, she ultimately turned it down with a shake of her head. "We'd still have to pop through the front to get to the car, anyway."

"I can go alone and bring the car around for you?" Harry offered, trying to meander a way around the inevitable.

"They know your face now, you know," she looked at him sullenly across the table. That was something she felt the most guilty over, taking away his privacy and splashing his face across the internet and whatever magazines chose to print him. While he wasn't always the target of the shots, he was a person of interest now.

A beat passed, Harry returning his eyes to her with something softening behind the moss. "You really want to go through them?"

"I don't think we have much of a choice," she laughed, the sound lacking humor.

Harry looked at her with his features melting and curving into something soft—understanding. "We'll make it out jus' fine, alright?"

The smile that tugged the corners of her lips was genuine. She didn't doubt him for a heartbeat. "I know."

—————

After settling the tab with discarded plates full of the crumbs of brie-heavy crostinis, their dinner of appetizers being left behind, (Y/N) braced herself for the trek outside.

"Ready?" Harry asked, looking to her intently as she cinched her jacket around her waist.

"I think so," she nodded. It was now or never, no point in hiding out and sipping wine until they became bored around midnight.

"I'll be with you," he murmured, just as he attached himself to her side, the waitstaff eyeing them.

(Y/N) offered a quiet smile of thanks, feeling a bit exposed knowing they were watching so intently. She couldn't blame them—they had garnered quite a bit of attention tonight, it was practically a given.

Approaching the door together, she didn't think twice before she fisted her hand in Harry's coat, ensuring he stayed close to her as she dropped her chin to face the ground. Harry took that as his cue to wrap an arm around her waist, protectively leashing her to him.

Pushing open the door with a stiff hand, Harry led them to the handful of waiting photographers. It was when she saw the pulsing lights bleaching the corners of her vision did she begin to regret her choice of putting her head down. This position could easily be spun into one of annoyance, and rudeness. That she thought she was too good to even look at these people.

"(Y/N), (Y/N)!" a pair of the photographers began to shout as they followed she and Harry toward their car.

(Y/N) kept her head down, ignoring the calls to her attention. She didn't need to give them anything, all she needed to do was follow Harry's guiding steps to get her out as safely as possible.

"Okay?" Harry murmured, bending down to press his lips to her ear, drowning out the noise of her name and shuttering of cameras. The flashes went on faster at his intimate touch though he didn't let it stop him from soothing.

Nodding her head, she could feel a small smile touch Harry's lips against her skin.

"Almost there," he informed in a gentle tone, "Jus' gotta go slow so they don't try to chase us or get too close."

"Thank you," she mumbled, fist in his coat unfurling until she pressed her palm against the line of his waist.

"I've got you," was his simple answer back.

She didn't have a moment to find comfort in Harry's words before an accented voice was shouting once more, unsatisfied with her ignorance.

"(Y/N), are you a cheater?! Does your boyfriend know you went on a date with that old man?!" the photographer provoked, spewing out any word he could think of that might draw a reaction from her.

(Truly, the one reaction he may garner is one of (Y/N) bursting into laughter after the declaration of Elliot being that old man. She couldn't have said it better herself).

While she detested the running rumor of the summer that she was a cheating, wicked woman, she wasn't going to let it get under her skin. She'd proven time and time again that Harry was her security official and nothing more, and there was no way this person would accept another dismissal of the theory. It was better to keep quiet and allow them to print about her deafening silence over the accusations.

"(Y/N), we want to know the truth! Did you have another affair?!" The photographer pushed after only silence was offered, his camera now being shoved into her space as he gravitated a little too close.

The rest of the string—including the familiar New York paparazzo—had seemingly taken a step back, photographing the new show that was emerging with their aggressive colleague.

Harry pressed forward, quickening their pace in hopes of breaking away from them faster. He was stopped only when the man jostled (Y/N) at his side, his camera being shoved under her face as if he could catch a shot despite her evasiveness. That had her stumbling backwards, Harry steadying her as best he could before he was stepping up.

"Give her some space, man. Back up," he sternly commanded, his arm a tightrope around her waist. Flashbulbs were going crazy over the interaction, catching (Y/N)'s blunder and the standoff that was appearing between the two men.

Seemingly disregarding Harry's warning, the paparazzo tried again, sidestepping the wall that was Harry's blocking form. Maybe, he didn't understand, (Y/N) reasoned. English wasn't always the easiest language to understand even if you could speak it, especially given Harry's accent.

"S'il vous plaît, laissez-moi un peu d'espace," she piped up, hoping the translation would blot out the grey area. Sometimes these people needed to be told before they remembered basic personal space standards and manners.

This time, when he pushed through, once again asking (Y/N) if it was true that she's slept with all of her father's friends, that it was clear there was no language barrier pushing him to be disrespectful.

They were this close to the car, just steps away from allowing (Y/N) into safety and speeding away. Of course it could never be that easy.

Harry let go of her only for him to step in front of her completely, blocking the photographer from achieving any kind of shot.

"Step back," he ordered, his voice a deep grumble as he enunciated every syllable, "Give her some space."

The way the paparazzo reacted seemed less about getting pictures of (Y/N) and more about standing up to Harry. He scrambled around, reaching his camera over the breadth of Harry's shoulders as if to prove he could get what he wanted despite any kind of intervention.

Inching slowly towards their car, Harry did his best to pave the way for (Y/N) to follow and slip away. Nothing seemed to deter the other man, however.

"Step back," Harry ordered again, placing the palm of his hand flat against the other man's chest.

While it wasn't necessarily a push, the force Harry gave behind his palm was enough to get the other man stumbling back. French profanities left the paparazzo's mouth as he tripped over his own feet.

This was Harry's opportunity as he reached around and grabbed (Y/N). She was quickly steered towards the unlocked car, Harry pushing her inside the second the door was opened wide enough to head in.

Everything moved quickly then, the other paparazzi seemingly focusing on Harry and the way he conducted himself against the other man. He rounded the front of the vehicle and threw himself inside, the flash of cameras and a distant angry voice following his moves.

Harry didn't waste a second before he peeled away from the curb, setting them away from the chaos. (Y/N) barely had the capacity to buckle herself in with shaky hands.

That was worse than she expected, honestly. Never had the Parisian photographers been so blatantly disrespectful, shoving cameras in her face and asking ridiculous questions.

This was the most physical Harry's ever been forced to be in front of her, most people heeding his size and station in favor of actually challenging him.

"Are you okay?" she asked, the world whizzing past them with Harry's foot pressed deeply against the gas pedal.

His knuckles were white around the steering wheel.

"He wasn't listening."

(Y/N) swallowed, spying the cutting angle of his jaw and the blaze in his dark eyes. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer of bringing the car around for her. She could have avoided this whole thing if she wasn't so stubborn.

"I wasn't sure if he could understand you at first," she shakily recounted, "but I told him to back off in French, too. I don't know why he didn't listen. He didn't hurt you or anything, right?"

"'M alright," he answered, shaking his head with his lips rolling between his teeth, "I jus'... I don't like how people talk to you, (Y/N)."

He flexed his hands around the wheel, the leather squeezing under his grip. She didn't know how to soothe him, what advice she could give. "You just can't listen," she told him, sharing the only thing she'd learned on her own through the years.

A beat passed, nothing more than the feel of the tires grazing over the asphalt sounding through the cab. Harry twisted and turned, moving like an expert through the streets.

"I don't know how you do it," he told her, voice quiet and losing that edge he'd had gained outside the restaurant, "'S like there's a new lie every day—it makes me so angry. These people don't even know you and all they do is call y'names and think the worst of y'every chance they have. Why don't y'say anything?"

It wasn't accusatory the way he asked her, even if he was frustrated. He was just one of those people who couldn't imagine what it was like to allow abuse from others without biting back. She wished she could be like that.

"I guess I'm used to it," (Y/N) shrugged, feeling the backs of her eyes beginning to burn, "People have been taking pictures of me and saying things since I was in high school, so I don't think it bothers me like it's supposed to. I've learned it's a lot easier to let people think what they want because no matter what kind of apology or correction I make, it's never going to be seen or believed as much as whatever was said about me in the first place. I just have to be okay with it, and let what people say go."

By the time she finished, she felt those tears well up in her eyes, stinging and hot. Every blink she gave trying to hold them back only jostled the pool, blurring her vision.

"I don't like that you're used to this, (Y/N)," Harry answered, his voice feeling a level of mourning she understood.

A joyless smile molded her lips into something uneven. She shrugged. "Me neither, but what can you do, right?"

Tonight would spur something new in the media, photos no doubt being caught of Harry's altercation with the paparazzo and (Y/N) fully expected someone to have been able to secure a photo of her with these tears in her eyes. She could already imagine the kinds of narratives that would be built around these moments, the kind of things people would believe about them both now.

But, what could she do, right?

Silently, Harry unhooked a hand from around the steering wheel and gently laid his palm on her knee. The split in her long skirt allowed his skin to press against her own, fingers curling around the cuff of her knee in a comforting squeeze. He didn't have to say anything to let her know that he was there, he was here for her and he trusted and believed her more than anyone she'd ever met before.

He didn't have to say it for (Y/N) to know that he really did care for her, even outside of what his job called for.

Wiggling her fingers under his palm, (Y/N) hugged her hand to his. Her fingers filled in the gaps between his own, painted fingernails glinting in the city lights.

Harry held her hand the whole drive home.

—————

As expected, two days after the altercation in front of the restaurant, a fat envelope full of photos and a letter she wouldn't read, arrived at the Paris penthouse.

The media had already spread their own photos about, including shots of her tearing up on the car ride home, leaving her curious as to what the admirer was going to show her that she hadn't already seen.

It was an odd feeling to not immediately go and ferret away the letter, to hide any evidence of the fact that his life wasn't completely normal.

But, Harry needed to see this. If he was so willing to give her such trust and believe her without question, she was going to have to give him something back.

"Is that another letter?" Harry asked from where he had emerged from his bedroom, the entrance to the hallway now full of his broad shoulders and scowling face.

"Yeah," (Y/N) sighed, chest heavy.

Moving towards her, Harry asked her carefully, "Can I see it?"

She wordlessly handed it over. She didn't want to see the content anyway, especially seeing as the other was beginning to turn on Harry. She didn't want to see what kind of marking they left on the photos of him.

It was a quiet ordeal, watching Harry pluck apart the envelope and peer inside. He scanned the photographs, seemingly the most upset when he reached shots of her crying in the car beside him. It was when he reached the letter that something shifted in his demeanor.

He was always calm and collected, calculating each step and each reaction. But, she saw cracks then as he read the contents of the folded page. His cheeks were red, bottom lip cuffed between his teeth with nose flaring. He looked moments away from shredding the page apart himself.

She was sure he would have if he hadn't instead indelicately folded it before slamming it on the kitchen counter.

"We're not doing this anymore," he cemented, voice sharp and unforgiving, "You are not doing this anymore—putting up with this shit anymore."

Leaning over the pile in front of him, he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers creating angry trails in his hair.

"Harry," she started, her voice cushioning the sharp blow of his own tone, "I know it's hard, but I don't know if there's anything we can do about this. We don't know anything about who's doing this."

"I don't know what to do," he grumbled, his hands tightening against his scalp, "But, I'm not letting this person take advantage of you and say these awful things about you any more. 'S not okay."

She didn't know how to tell him that there wasn't anything that could be done to help her, honestly. That there was no way she could conceivably stop this person until they messed up and gave her some kind of information to get a restraining order filed. Until then, there wasn't anything that could stop them.

"I know it's a lot," she tried, downplaying the same thing that used to give her nightmares when it first began, "But nothing really serious has happened, yet, at least. It's just another person taking photos of me, really."

"I don't like it!" Harry suddenly burst, whipping his head up to match her eyes with his own fiery gaze, "You shouldn't have to go through this! I don't understand why everyone thinks it's okay to degrade you, and mock you, and invade your privacy all because your shitty dad lets them! I don't fucking like it, (Y/N)!"

In a final standoff with the rage bubbling inside, Harry swept his hand heavily over the counter, collecting every piece of evidence and splaying it across the floor. She was sure he wanted to do more, do anything to let off the steam billowing inside him, but there wasn't anything he could do without leaving damage on their home.

Everything stilled then, the mess on the floor and Harry's breathing heavy in his chest. (Y/N) stood in the stark calm of the kitchen, watching with wide eyes and her hands a fumbling nest. She watched as he looked down at the mess of photographs and the despicable letter that set him off.

"I don't know how to fix it." His voice was gentle like a whisper, matching the breeze that filtered through the city outside the window.

Carefully creeping over the floor, bare feet padding over the tiled kitchen, she met Harry around the cooked counter. He didn't look up at her, even when she collected him into her arms and nestled him into a hug.

"You don't have to fix it, H," she told him, mumbling against his skin as he slowly unfroze around her, "I don't know if this is something that can be fixed. It's just a part of my life at this point, and I don't want you to be upset over it."

"I want you to be safe," he told her, voice thin when he succumbed to her hold and buried his nose into her hair and wrapped his arms around her just as fiercely.

She could feel the hard planes of his chest pressed against her own soft curves, Harry fitting himself around her. Every breath he took was matched by her, his nose skimming the top of her head in a soothing pattern as if the motion were for himself only. He was furled like a tight rose, keeping a bumblebee safe from whatever was lurking outside the petals.

"With you, I am."

That had Harry pulling away from her then, his eyes matching hers with dilated pulls and a slack jaw.

"You feel safe with me?" he asked, keeping his hold on her tight so as to not let her stray too far away.

"Of course, I do," she smiled at him, her hands pressing into his back, "You're the only person that's ever actually been there for me. Like, you actually care."

While her tone was lighthearted, encouraging, Harry was erring on the serious side. He didn't match her smile, his features left in softened curves and slacked muscles.

Every detail, every expression, every fine point of her was catalogued with his eyes. (Y/N) wasn't even sure if he was really breathing as he did this, the world having stood still the longer he gazed at her.

When he finally met her eyes once more, the slightly pinch marred his brow, his eyes down turning into something gentle.

"I do care about you." He swallowed, raspberry lips wet by his tongue. "I don't know when, but I don't think anything I've been doing has been because of my job for a while now."

Heart hammering in her chest, she felt breathless looking up at him. She still saw that same beauty she spotted in her father's office all that time ago; the mole by his mouth, the sandy stubble on his cheeks, the spotting of freckles on his nose, the cut set of his jaw, the whirlwind of green in his eyes. There was something softer lingering now, something she never could have imagined landing on the face of her security guard.

She found similarities in this moment to the way he had gazed so wondrously at the Eiffel Tower glimmering at night. He looked at her like she was one of the greatest creations in the world, deserving of romance and praise and commemoration.

"Really?" she breathed.

The way he nodded at her started out small, his gaze dipping to her lips before something frantic kicked in. "Really," he asserted, his hand on her back traveling up her spine and over the base of her neck, "Can I—Can I kiss you?"

(Y/N)'s answer came in the form of her nose bumping his, mouth placed just off center, hands clutching at the soft fabric of his top. Harry seemed taken aback for a moment, stunned into stillness before he came to life under her kiss.

The hand that had been traced up her back to the base of her neck turned into a steadying hold, allowing him to support her as he towered above. She tipped her head back as he slotted his lips between her own, kissing her top lip delicately despite the ravenous way he held her. The soft sound of sighs, lips parting and meeting again, filled the room. The very tip of Harry's nose grazed the apple of her cheek as he tipped his head, deepening their kiss with a taste of his tongue over hers. If not for the fact her eyes were already closed, she could imagine the kind of blissed expression she would show off for him.

Pressing her back towards the kitchen counter, (Y/N) followed Harry's guidance, never pulling her lips away from his own. It wasn't rough the way he grabbed her, placing her on the ledge, only eager excitement flooding his movement. (Y/N) understood completely, immediately reaching for him once more after she was steadied and safe on the counter.

Her thighs parted to let him stand between, his hands pressing against the round of her hips as he took advantage of his spot. It was (Y/N)'s turn then to clasp her hands around the back of his neck, feeling the baby hairs and heat of his skin. She sighed into his kiss.

She hadn't kissed anyone sober in so long, let alone someone she deeply cared about and who she knew cared about her as well. This put everything she'd experienced to shame.

Harry put everyone else to shame.

Happiness flooded her system.

(Y/N) smiled against his lips, her hands going rogue in his hair as she slipped her fingers between the curls. Harry matched her with a clinging hold on her hips, a grin blooming on his features. He pulled away only when their mouths couldn't actually press together through the breadth of their smiles.

"Happy?" he asked her, grinning lips just a breath away from her own with his nose nudging delicate against hers.

"Uh-huh," she sighed, chancing her eyes open just a sliver, just enough to see what he looked like when he'd just been kissed by her. Her hands in his hair roamed until they settled a warm hug around his neck. "You make me so happy."

Harry drew away from her before she was enveloped in his hug once more. His face was in her neck, his arms a cushioned cage around her middle. She swore she could feel his heart beating in time with her own, both racing.

The kind of silence that only fit when you'd just been kissed in the middle of Paris descended over the flat. This silence full of mushy feelings, lip prints, and synced breathing.

"Even if I can't fix everything, 'm going to take care of you." His words melted across the column of her neck, the brush of his lips feeling more intimate than when he had helped her undress after the Gala. "I want to make you happy, sweet girl."

Her eyes fluttered closed as he tucked her chin against her shoulder, cheeks stretched wide from her grin. "I know you will."

Harry hugged her tighter.

—————

retrouvailles is an untranslatable French word that describes the feeling of re-meeting someone, the joy of seeing someone you missed even if you didn't know you missed them before

eeeeek!!!!! thank you all so much for reading this part was def fun! sorry for any mistakes and please let me know if you have anything fun to share about the story!

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hisui-dreamer · 3 months

Text

trial romance

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

Synopsis: since you were going to be put in an arranged marriage anyways, you decided to let yourself experience a normal teenage romance first!

Tags: fluff, slow burn, rent-a-boyfriend mallesu, mutual pining nrc and sra are mixed schools, reader has an elder brother, reader is royalty

Word count: 2.7k+

Notes: woooh sorry for neglecting you mal mal :( i hope this fic makes up for it hehe

Masterlist

You've never really known love.

Born as the second child of a small, but affluent kingdom, you're not sure you have the right to complain. Each day dawns with the assurance of never experiencing hunger, attended to by countless devoted maids catering to your every whim. It's a life of opulence, one that stands in stark contrast to the struggles endured by those grappling with meager wages just to survive.

Still, there remains an ache within you, a yearning for a love that exists in the enchanting tales of old. A love so untainted that it remains steadfast in any circumstance, a love capable of cleansing away all your sorrows, becoming your very reason of existence.

But such a love seems as distant as the stars. After all, you're bound by the responsibilities as the second princess. Unlike your elder brother who inherits the throne, you are a mere pawn in the intricate game of politics, destined for an arranged marriage rather than a fufiling romance.

In a rare display of benevolence, your father granted you a fleeting taste of freedom, sending you off to live under a false identity at the renowned Royal Sword Academy on Sage Island. Three precious years, promising a respite from the constraints of duty, and you promised to seize each moment and savour the life of a normal person who yearned for love.

Which brings you back to the present moment.

"Jellyfish are such fascinating creatures, don't you think so dear?"

The man stands tall beside you, his golden locks catching the ambient blue glow within the aquarium, lending him an almost ethereal air. His emerald eyes fix upon you, awaiting your response.

You return his gaze, captivated by the way the light dances in his eyes. A soft smile graces your lips as you consider his question.

"They are indeed fascinating," you reply, your voice carrying a hint of admiration. "They move with such grace and fluidity, it's like they're dancing through the water."

He hums at your response, fix focus shifting back onto the creatures drifting in the display.

He's a peculiar man, no doubt. It's puzzling to fathom the sort of individual who would boldly advertise their boyfriend rental services on Magicam. Especially someone as strikingly handsome as he appears to be; you would have assumed he'd have no shortage of admirers or suitors.

But you suppose you're not really any better, the person who hired said rentable boyfriend.

Though you're a bit ashamed to admit, you harbor a certain discomfort when it comes to meeting new people. And with your identity as a merchant's daughter, you've had few interactions with your schoolmates, leaving you with a shortage of friends, let alone a romantic relationship.

It was in then that you stumbled upon his listing.

And now, here you are, on your first ever date, exploring an aquarium together.

"Do you mind telling me what dates you're free?" you ask casually as you stroll towards the tropical section, bathed in the vivid hues of exotic marine life.

He trails alongside you, his presence exuding an air of calmness. "Dates...?" he muses, his tone tinged with intrigue. "Ah, you wish to see me another time, I presume?"

You cast your gaze downwards, a hint of bashfulness coloring your cheeks. "Yes... I would like that."

He contemplates for a moment, a hint of concern crossing his features. "Hmm... My fees are quite high you see. Your finances may suffer if you spend too much time with me."

"Hmph. You don't have to be concerned. This money has nowhere else to go anyways," you scoff.

His gaze lingers on you with a hint of curiosity, before a gentle warmth softens his features as he nods. "Very well," he murmurs, his hand reaching out to envelop yours in a tender clasp. With a delicate gesture, he presses a fleeting kiss upon the back of your hand, his voice resonating with anticipation, "I look forward to seeing you more often, my dear."

Aquarium Date ✅

First Date ✅

"You seem quite troubled by this book. Is something the matter?" Mal asked, peering over the edge of his book, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

He sat across from you, textbooks and notebooks scattered between you, each page turned with a quiet reverence. The library was bathed in a soft glow, the gentle hum of whispers filling the air like a comforting melody.

You glanced up from your own notes, running a hand through your hair in a gesture of resignation. "I have a test coming up for Magic Analysis, but I always get so overwhelmed with information I forget the details."

"Magic Analysis... Perhaps you're approaching it from the wrong angle," Mal suggested, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "What if we break it down into smaller, more manageable chunks? We could create a study plan together."

The idea sparked a glimmer of hope within you, the prospect of tackling the daunting material with a structured approach feeling suddenly within reach. "That... actually sounds like a good idea," you admitted, a tentative smile forming on your lips.

"Alright," Mal began, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. "Shall I give you a demonstration?"

There's something to his smile that worries you slightly.

Study Date ✅

The quaint café bustled with life, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweet scent of pastries.

Mal's eyes sparkled curiously as he scanned the menu, his fingers tracing the various options with keen interest. "This place is quite charming," he remarked.

You smiled, a flutter of warmth blooming in your chest at his appreciation. "I'm glad you like it. I heard it's one of the best spots in town. Have you decided what to order?"

His brows furrow lightly. "I'm not sure... They all look quite enticing..."

"How about a parfait then? You can choose different flavours of ice cream too," you suggested, gesturing to the other page.

Malleus's gaze followed your gesture, his eyes alight with anticipation. "Ice cream, you say? That sounds delightful," he replied, a spark of childlike excitement dancing in his expression.

You couldn't help but mirror that smile.

Cute Cafe Date ✅

The night stretched out before you like an endless canvas, painted with a myriad of twinkling stars scattered across the indigo sky. Cradled in the comforting embrace of a soft blanket spread out on the grass, you lay your head gently upon Mal's shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath as you gaze upwards.

"It's breathtaking..." you murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the tranquil stillness of the night.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining in a silent gesture of affection. "The sight never fails to captivate me," he responds, his voice tinged with awe. "I'm often reminded of how quickly time passes when I stargaze."

Lifting your head slightly, you steal a glimpse of his face, illuminated by the ethereal glow of the night sky. "Ah... Fae are known for their longevity, aren't they?" you remark, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of his blonde hair behind his pointed ears. "Is that part of the reason why you became a rentable boyfriend?"

He smiles ruefully. "Partly so," he admits. "My mentor suggested it as a means of broadening my perspective and gaining new experiences.

A giggle escapes your lips. What's with that? To think you're doing this for educational purposes..." you tease, though the chill of reality briefly brushes against your thoughts. "I hope you've at least had fun?"

"Absolutely." He envelops both of your hands in his own, his gaze unwaveringly earnest as it locks onto yours. "My dear, I've thoroughly enjoyed every second spent with you,"

A blush tinges your cheeks at his sincerity, and you respond softly, "It's the same for me. I had so much fun when I was with you,"

You find yourself ensnared by the ethereal presence of the man before you, his proximity stirring a flurry of emotions within you. His face, mere inches from your own, is illuminated by the soft glow of the twinkling stars, their light mirrored in the depths of his serene emerald eyes. Your heart quickens its pace, thumping so loudly in your chest that it threatens to drown out his next words.

"...Can I kiss you?"

You feel yourself nod slightly.

He tentatively closes the distance between you, his movements deliberate yet achingly tender. His hand, warm and reassuring, cups your cheek, his touch sending shivers of electricity dancing across your skin. The scent of night blossoms and distant pine trees fills your senses, mingling with the heady anticipation swirling in the air.

The kiss is tender at first, a tentative exploration of each other, as if testing the waters of this newfound intimacy. But soon, a surge of desire courses through you, fueling the passion that blooms between you. You lose yourself in the moment, surrendering to the intoxicating whirlwind of emotions that sweeps you away, leaving you breathless and utterly consumed by him.

The sequence of events that followed remains a hazy blur in your memory, the details shrouded in a fog of uncertainty. All you recall with clarity is Mal's familiar presence beside you as he walked you back to the imposing gates of your school hand-in-hand, just as he'd always done.

Just like clockwork, you retrieved a thick envelope from the depths of your bag, its contents weighing heavily on your mind. "Hold this," you instructed quietly.

He stared curiously at your actions. With a practiced fluidity, you extracted a handful of bills from your wallet.. With unwavering composure, you extended the money towards him, your tone devoid of sentimentality. "This is the bonus for kissing," pressing the bills into his palm.

Leaning forward on tiptoes, you planted a chaste farewell kiss upon his cheek, the gesture a stark contrast to the emotionless exchange that had just transpired. "See you next time," you murmured, before turning away.

Each clack of your heels against the pavement resonated within him like a mournful toll, echoing the hollowness that had taken root in his chest. He watched, transfixed, as the last sliver of your silhouette dissolved into the far distance, the bittersweet echoes of your footsteps fading into the twilight.

Dark, menacing clouds stretched ominously across the vast expanse of the sky, casting an eerie pall over the landscape below. Before you realised it, raindrops cascaded from the heavens in a frensied blur.

Stargazing Date✅

First Kiss ✅

The evening air was cool as he led you through the labyrinthine streets of the old city, the cobblestones whispering tales of centuries past beneath your feet. Towering above you, ancient buildings adorned with weathered stone facades loomed like silent sentinels guarding the secrets of bygone eras.

"This way," he beckoned, his voice tinged with excitement as he pulled you along into a narrow alleyway veiled in shadows.

With eager steps, you followed his lead, anticipation coursing through your veins as you delved deeper into the heart of the historic district.

"You know," you mused, breaking the silence as you walked, "when I said you could choose our next date, I never imagined it would involve a trip to the City of Flowers. Have you been here before?"

"I have," he answered. "I was invited here once. There was a magnificent festival here, but I was more interested in the gargoyles."

"The... gargoyles?" you echoed, casting an intrigued glance at the statues that adorned the buildings around you. "There do seem to be quite a few of them."

"They've watched over these buildings for centuries, warding off evil spirits and protecting those within."

"Really? That sounds fascinating," you murmured. "Would you mind telling me more?"

A smile graced his lips, his eyes gleaming with a unbridled glee. "Gladly," he agreed, his voice reverent. "Each one has a story to tell, waiting to be heard by those who seek to listen."

You listened intently as he recounted the legends surrounding these ancient sentinels, his words weaving a captivating narrative that transported you through time. As you continued your exploration of the historic buildings, he regaled you with tales of the city's storied past, his words painting vivid pictures of times long gone.

Somewhere along the line, night had descended like a comforting shroud, cloaking the city in a blanket of darkness. Now, you found yourselves strolling along the tranquil riverbank, the rhythmic lapping of the waves providing a soothing cadence to your thoughts.

Your three years of time is almost up.

Soon, you'd be back in the confines of your childhood room, the familiar walls suffocating with the promise of the same, predictable routine. Then, like a ship launched by an unforgiving wind, you'd be whisked away to wed the spouse your father had chosen, leaving behind your fleeting moments of freedom and the memories far away in your teenage years.

Mal glances sideways at you, noting the unusual quiet that had settled upon you like a shadow. "Is everything alright, my dear?" he inquires, his voice laced with concern.

You pause, grappling with the weight of your impending confession, searching for the right words to convey your thoughts. Finally, you draw in a deep breath, steeling yourself for the revelation to come.

"No... It's not," you confess, your voice faltering slightly as you let go of his hand. "Mal, this... this will be the last time I'm hiring you."

Confusion furrows his brow as he searches your eyes for clarity. "But... why?" he responds, a note of sadness creeping into his tone.

"Because..." you begin, your gaze drifting towards the glistening surface of the river, unable to withstand his earnest gaze. "Because I'm leaving Sage Island. I'll be graduating and returning home, and... and I won't require your services anymore."

"I... see."

A heavy silence descends between you, the weight of your confession hanging in the air like a tangible presence. And as you continued your stroll along the riverbank, the knowledge that this would be your final night together lingered like a bittersweet farewell to the memories you had shared.

His Choice Date ✅

Breakup ✅

You've never liked riding in carriages.

With each clop of the horses' hooves, the entire contraption lurched, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It was a waltz of unease, the sway and groan of leather and wood a discordant melody against the cobblestone streets.

The confines of the cramped cabin also felt suffocating, a gilded cage that further severed your connection to your freedom. But the carriage rolled on, carrying you not just through the mountainous terrain, but towards a future you desperately wished to outrun.

Malleus Draconia was your spouse-to-be.

Throughout your school days, whispers of the famed fae prince from Night Raven College echoed in the halls. Tales spun of his unmatched prowess in Spelldrive, where he emerged victorious alone against all teams, his formidable magical abilities casting a long shadow of fear over his opponents. His towering and menacing presence, coupled with the dark horns that crowned his head, only added to the mystique that surrounded him. You could only hope that beneath this formidable exterior lay a heart capable of kindness, granting you the chance for a peaceful existence.

Though, you wouldn't say you could forgive him for having such a similar name to Mal.

As the carriage comes to a halt, the sound of hooves and wheels ceases, accompanied by a palpable sense of anticipation. With the opening of the carriage door, your guards stand at attention, their expressions solemn yet resolute. "Your Highness, we have arrived," one of them announces, his voice carrying the weight of the moment.

With a deep breath, you gather your resolve, steeling yourself for the encounter that awaits beyond the carriage doors.

Just as your foot grazes the carriage step, a gloved hand extends towards you, reaching out towards you with a graceful assurance.. You glance up to meet the gaze of your betrothed, and for a moment, time seems to stand still.

His eyes are a familiar shade of emerald green. A shade that's grown to be your favourite, in fact.

"M-Mal?" you stammer, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

"It's lovely to see you again, my dear," he smiles, as radiant as the sun.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#lilia definitely saw what teens were doing and asked malleus to become a rentable bf #“good learning experiences” he just wanted mal to meet more ppl and hopefully fall in love #and fell he did :)#he helps mal to disguise hiss identity by making his hair blond and his horns temporarily invisible #but his eyes remain the same #since eyes are the windows to your soul hehe #if ppl like this fic i might write a short bonus where it's lilia lecturing mal how to act like a good boyfriend hahaha #twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twst malleus #twst malleus x reader

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beskarandblasters · 9 months

Text

What Happens on Coruscant, Stays on Coruscant

Din Djarin x Cassian Andor x Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Din Djarin Masterlist | Cassian Andor Masterlist

Summary: Three men stroll into a brothel on Coruscant one night looking for their own individual services. But when you’re the only worker available that night you decide you want to take on all of them at the same time.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, Poe, Cassian and the reader do not know Din’s name, sex work, reader has an alias she uses at the brothel (Nova), foursome/group sex, blowjob, handjob (but not to completion), nipple play, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, voyeurism, no use of y/n

“No one can know about this,” Mando says.

“I’m not gonna say shit,” Cassian responds.

“What are you so worried about?” Poe says, leading the other two men down the dimly lit street, “That your little cult is gonna find out and shun you?”

“It’s not a cult,” Mando sighs.

“Whatever you say,” Poe chuckles.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Cassian asks.

“I do, actually. We’re almost there. Just gotta hang a left at this next corner,” Poe says, matter of factly.

He turns left at the next corner, narrowly missing a giant puddle, and then stops at a neon sign reading “The Big Bang”.

“I thought you said this was a nice place,” Cassian says, raising an eyebrow at the flickering lights of the sign and the abysmal exterior.

“It is a nice place! Speaking from experience.”

“You would have experience,” Mando says under his breath.

“Gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Poe says, walking towards the door.

The door slides open and the three men step inside. The lobby is actually rather elegant, a stark contrast compared to the exterior and the street it was located on. Dimly lit with sleek black tiles on the floor and a tall counter at the back of the room. A slender woman with emerald robes and neatly manicured fingernails stands behind it, tapping her fingers on the counter mindlessly. Her face lights up when she sees Poe walk through the door.

“Mr. Dameron! Welcome back. I see you’ve brought some friends.”

She tilts her head in Mando’s direction.

“A Mandalorian? Been a while since we’ve had one of those,” she adds with a wink.

He’s thankful for the helmet, for everyone would be able to see how embarrassed he looks if he were without it.

Poe rests his arms on the counter and leans forward, shooting her a boyish grin.

“Got any openings for each of us tonight?”

She looks down on her holo-pad and her brow furrows.

“I’m afraid only one of our girls is available for the rest of tonight.”

“You’re killin’ me, Salva,” Poe teases.

“Let me go talk to her and see what she wants to do,” she says, turning and disappearing behind a curtain. She walks down the hallway a few feet and turns left, stopping at none other than your room.

“Dear?” Salva asks, giving your door a light knock.

You open the door and greet her with a smile.

“Yes?”

“I have three clients in the lobby right now. One of them is a regular, Mr. Dameron. I’m not sure if you’ve serviced him before.”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Oh he’s the best. Very good tipper. But none of the other girls are available tonight.”

“Hmm let me take a look at them first.”

“Of course.”

She steps aside and you follow her down the hallway, stopping at the curtain at the entrance to the lobby. You peek into the lobby and the three men don’t notice you as they talk amongst themselves. Two of the men have darker hair but one clean shaven and the other has full facial hair. But the one that sticks out the most is the Mandalorian in silver beskar, standing with his hands on his belt and rigid as a board. He seems the most nervous out of all of them.

You put the curtain back and turn to Salva.

“So what do you wanna do?”

“All of them at once.”

Her eyebrows raise, “Oh really?”

“Mhm. See if they’re okay with that and if they are, send them to my room,” you say, turning and walking back down the hallway.

Salva shakes her head and chuckles to herself before stepping back out into the lobby. The three men stop their conversation in her presence and fall silent, eager to hear what she has to say.

“Well boys you’re in for a real treat tonight,” she says with a smirk on her face.

“And that is?” Cassian asks.

“She has requested all three of you at the same time.”

“Uh I’m not sure-” Mando starts but Poe cuts him off.

“Fine with us!”

But before Mando could protest, Salva claps her hands together and says, “Great! They’ll be twelve hundred credits!”

Poe pulls the credits out of the pocket inside his jacket. The other two sigh and do the same. Salva collects the credits and slips them into a drawer behind the counter.

“Right this way!” she says, pulling back the curtain for them.

The three men follow her down the hallway. Cassian and Din look all around them at the interior whereas Poe stays focused on following Salva. She stops at your door and says, “Well, here she is, boys! You can call her Nova. Enjoy yourselves!”

And with that she walks down the hallway and returns to the lobby. Poe knocks on your door and awaits a response.

“Come in!” you call sweetly.

Poe opens the door slowly and steps in. Din and Cassian follow him and close the door behind them. You’re standing in front of the bed that’s in the middle of the room. The bed is adorned with silky red sheets and four posts at each corner with beams connecting across with black curtains hanging. You’re dressed in black lingerie with a matching silky robe that stops at your mid thigh.

“Well aren’t you a sweet thing, Nova,” Poe says, stepping closer and eyeing you up and down.

“Why thank you, Mr. Dameron,” you say, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“You can call me Poe, sweetheart. And this here is Cassian.”

Before he could finish you step closer to the Mandalorian and ask, “And what should I call you?” batting your eyelashes a tad. You’ve never had a Mandalorian client before and he’s certainly got your attention.

“Mando’s fine,” he says stiffly.

He seems nervous. You can’t wait to get under his skin.

“So how do you want to start?” Cassian asks.

“You tell me. I’m all yours tonight,” you say with a smirk.

You slip off your robe and watch Cassian and Poe’s mouths fall open. The visor of Mando’s helmet trails up and down your scantily clad form. You hang the robe up on a coat rack across the room before walking back over to the bed and sitting at the edge. Poe walks over and sits besides you, pressing kisses along your neck and sliding a hand up your thigh. Cassian followed suit, placing himself on your other side and fiddling with the strap of your bra.

“Take it off, Cassian,” Poe mutters against your skin.

Cassian obliges reaching a hand behind you and unclasping your bra. You slip it off and toss it on the floor, letting both men palm your breasts.

“Aren’t you gonna join, Mando?” you ask sweetly.

“Yeah c’mon, Mando,” Poe says, removing his mouth from your breast and looking over at him, “I know you can’t take the helmet off but you at least gotta take the gloves off and feel her tits.”

Poe moves to a different spot of the bed to let Mando take his place. He strokes himself at the sight of your naked top half while Din sighs and takes off his gloves, tossing them on the floor as well. He sits beside you and brings a hand to the curve of your breast, trailing his fingers to your nipple and pinching it lightly.

“Don’t be scared,” you say softly.

And with that he pinches a little harder, emitting a small gasp from you. One of your hands moves to the bulge growing in Cassian’s pants. His breath hitches at your touch as you mess with the zipper. He stands up briefly to take off his pants, letting you gain complete access to his cock. You stroke it as he curses under his breath. Din migrates his hand to your other breast, worrying your nipple into a stiff peak between his fingertips. Poe sits beside you watching you grow hornier under Din’s touch and strokes himself. Eventually Din’s hand moves down your midsection and to your groin, pulling at the fabric and grazing the entrance of your cunt.

“Wow, look at you go, Mando,” you tease just as he slips a finger into your already wet cunt, pulling a sharp gasp from you. You watch the visor of his helmet move from your chest to your cunt and he picks up the pace, curling his finger upwards against your walls. He slips another finger in and your walls expand around the thickness of his digits. In no time, he pulls your first orgasm from you, your cunt clenching around his fingers as you ride out your high. After your orgasm is finished washing over you, you turn to look at Poe and say, “Enough for me. Let me pleasure you.”

The men at your side move as you lay back onto the bed. Poe stands up at the edge of the bed, removing his clothes and bringing his cock right next to your face.

“You gonna suck my cock for me, Nova?” Poe asks, gazing down at your topless form.

“Of course, baby,” you say, opening your mouth for him.

He brings his cock by your mouth and you take as much of his hard length as you can. Your hand fits around the base as you lick up and down his shaft, tongue swirling at the tip, causing him to throw his head back in pleasure and curse.

Cassian slips off your lacy underwear and spreads your legs, marveling at your dripping cunt.

“He got you nice and wet for me,” Cassian says, his voice dropping a few octaves at his arousal.

He pulls off his shirt over his head and spreads your thighs apart, aching to be buried between them already. He gathers your wetness on his hand and slicks his cock before entering you slowly, closing his eyes at the warm and inviting feeling. He buries his cock inside you to the hilt and curses under his breath. His hands grip your hips as he thrusts in and out of you, expanding your walls even more with each motion.

Din stands on the other side of the bed, watching you suck Poe’s cock and getting fucked by Cassian, your back arched and nipples perked up. His hand finds his cock and he’s stroking himself at the sight of you being pleasured but also pleasuring.

Your hands move to Poe’s balls as you continue to suck him, feeling them tighten up in your hand. With one last swirl of your tongue around the tip, followed by your mouth enveloping his length again, he’s coming. His warm mouth fills the back of your mouth and you swallow all of it, continuing to suck as he comes down from his orgasm. His hand grips your hair and he pulls your head closer into him, bringing the tip of cock to your throat. Tears spring in your eyes and just when you think you can’t take it anymore he pulls out.

“Good girl,” he praises.

But before you can respond you moan in pleasure as Cassian fucks you relentlessly, hands gripping your hips for dear life as he pulls you into him. Your back arches in pleasure and you close your eyes, seeing stars in the back of your mind as the euphoria builds up. Each slam of his hips brings your orgasm closer and closer. You open your eyes and get a look at him, his long hair swaying with each thrust and his chest glistening with a layer of sweat. And damn he looks good as he’s railing you. He brings his thumb to your clit and you’re already coming around his cock, fluttering and convulsing in rhythmic waves. He fucks you through your release, prolonging it even more before pulling out. You reach between your legs and stroke his cock, pulling his own orgasm from him. He paints your stomach in thick ropes of cum and sighs, leaning back on his heels on the bed. You catch your breath from the intense orgasm as well and look over at Mando.

“What about you Mando?” you ask sweetly, “Let me take care of you.”

Cassian moves to the side of the bed, leaning against the bedpost as you flip onto your hands and knees, arching your back and sticking up your ass for him. He walks to the edge of the bed and hooks onto your hips, pulling you closer to him. You gasp but before you have the time to make a snide comment at his sudden confidence his hard length pushes into you. And for someone as quiet as Mando he fucks you rough. The cool beskar of his thigh armor collides with your skin with each of his thrust. You hear him curse under his breath in what you can assume is Mando’a while he continues to drive his cock deeper and deeper into you. The room fills with the most obscene sounds between your moans and the sound of skin slapping against the beskar. His grip on your hips tighten, surely tight enough to leave a mark but you’re too blissed out to care. You open your eyes for a moment to see Poe and Cassian stroking themselves at the sight of you getting dicked down by Mando. With one last thrust he pulls your final orgasm from you leaving your thighs shaking, barely able to keep you up. He pulls out and cums on your ass and you collapse onto the bed, completely exhausted from the evening’s activities. You hear the other men getting dressed so you flip over and sit upright. Mando’s replacing his gloves and the other two men are sitting on the bed.

“Thanks for a good time, Nova,” Poe says, “I’ll definitely be back for you.”

“Oh yeah? Bring your friends next time, too,” you say glancing over at Mando and Cassian.

“Sounds like a plan, sweetheart. Have a good nest of your night,” Poe says. And with that he rises from the bed and walks to the door. Cassian grabs your hand and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Goodbye, gorgeous. See you next time,” he says, softly before following Poe.

And as for Mando he gives you an awkward wave of his hand wordlessly before leaving with the other men. As soon as the door closes you collapse back onto the bed, completely exhausted.

The men walk back into the lobby and stop at Salva’s desk. “Well, did you enjoy yourselves?” she asks cheekily.

They let out a collective “yes” and she chuckles.

“Good. Would anyone like to leave a tip?”

Each of them pulls out various amounts of credits from their pockets and hands them to Salva.

“Thanks, boys. Have a good night!” she says, waving goodbye as they leave.

“What did I say, guys? I knew you were gonna love it,” Poe says smugly as they step out onto the street.

“Yeah that was something alright,” Mando says, “But no one can-”

“I get it. No one can know. What happens on Coruscant stays on Coruscant,” Poe says, clapping Din on the shoulder.

Din sighs and the three men walk back to the docking yard, already thinking about when their next trip to The Big Bang will be.

End note: That was my first time writing any kind of group sex so lmk what you think!!! 🖤

Part two: Is That a Blaster in Your Pocket or Are You Happy to See Me?

If you'd like to be notified when I post a new fic follow @beskarandblastersfics and turn on post notifications!

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itsvelyria · 2 months

Text

"f1 drivers as happy taylor swift songs"

happy testing week everybody!!

Charles Leclerc

yeah, you know i did one thing right🩷

he watches as you mutter conspiratorially with his mother, whispers in each other's ears and shooting glares to whoever dares eavesdrop. sitting on his childhood sofa, he reflects on the past and his life, pondering in the moment of silence. and there is this voice in his head that talks to him, reminding him of every regret, every single person he's loved and lost. he tries to shut the voice out, knowing full well the negativity never does any good. but as arthur had put it at dinner earlier, it seems as though he's been more relaxed of late. he brushes it off, but as his eyes train on the one he loved getting along swimmingly with the woman who loved him first, he thinks to chalk it up to the tiny nagging voice in his head that had appeared a few days ago out of the blue. the voice was a stark contrast to its predecessor, this one a ball of golden light, saying that maybe he's fucked up a lot, but at least he's got you.

Carlos Sainz

i know heaven's a thing, I go there when you touch me, honey💕

there is this undeniable tingle in his spine when your soft skin presses against his. even in the blistering Spanish heat, he welcomes any skin contact from you. he glances down at where the floppy sunhat blocks most of your face from the sun, and your eyes from his. wondering how much trouble you would give him if he flings the dreadful hat into the ocean, he misses the request you direct up at him. repeating the question, he nods, taking the suncream from your outstretched hands. he takes his time with the lotion, savouring every second his hands are on your back. you thank him with a quick press of your lips to his cheek and he rests a hand on your thigh, bending down to steal another from your lips. his love language was definitely physical touch, especially if it was yours.

Danny Ricciardo

i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried💚

the sunshine is warm on your skin but the shoulder that brushes against yours is warmer. danny’s contagious laughter is carried by the gentle breeze that passes through the park. at age 9, danny had charmed your mom enough to let him bring her 7-year-old out on an adventure. your peripheral vision shows a teenage couple giggling over clasped hands, and when you’re young, you don’t think of the consequences, so the words slip out. “i bet you won't kiss me right here, right now”. and danny leans in, always ready for any challenge. and just as your lips are about to meet, you burst into laughter, darting away. you can still remember delightfully screaming through the public park as danny gives chase. it’s the same park he proposed in, after all.

George Russell

you wish it was me, don't you?💜

immersed in the classy ambiance of an art exhibition, george navigates the gallery adorned with bright splashes of paint marked contemporary. despite being engaged in interesting chatter, an inexplicable force compels you to lift your gaze, and it locks onto the familiar curls across the room. amid the elegant hum of hushed whispers, the air shifts, his lingering eyes meeting yours, giving rise to a thump in your chest. as his blue orbs drink in your form. once. twice. the rising tension manifests in the prickle of your bare shoulders and the unspoken question echoes amidst the artistic expressions. you yearn to step closer, to be the one on his arm. but long strands of brown silk and emerald green are in your place. and though his eyes long to meet yours again, there is nothing but empty space in your stead.

Lando Norris

so baby, can we dance through an avalanche?🖤

you drop the heavy box on the floor, the fatigue in your bones too wearisome to hold you up any longer. coupled with the emptiness of your apartment and the lack of a certain laughter in the stagnant air, you crumple onto the unmade bed. lying there for what seems like eternity, the thoughts of your future and whatnot plaguing your mind. the weight of unemployment burns heavily, so much so that you miss the sound of the door letting someone through. another body sags beside you, the familiar cologne staining your nostrils. your head turns, finding purchase in the shoulder beside. the stupid orange shirt reminds you of your limited time with him and something clicks. the home system is called upon as a DJ, playing soundtracks of celebration as you pull your boyfriend around the room in a made-up waltz, laughing at his put-out expression and then over the absolute misery that is life. despite the chaos, your heart still finds comfort in its other half’s presence.

Lewis Hamilton

romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours💙

as you clean the apartment you share with lewis, your gaze falls onto the cream card hidden just between your books. Persuasion and Porchia, you note. the seal on it a light purple, the shape of a heart in the hardened wax, and you can picture your boyfriend sliding it onto your bookshelf before he had left for another race this morning, a smirk on his face as he imagines you finding it, and you already know what it is. tracing the edges of the envelope lightly, you break the seal and slide the pages out, unfolding it to reveal the handwriting you had come to reverent. in swooping sloping cursive letters, he proclaims his love again, like he does in every single one of these. and as cheesy as it is, you treasure every single one of them, tucking them away in a little box at the corner of your wardrobe. someday when you have kids, maybe you'll take it out to show them just how deeply their father loves.

Max Verstappen

i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you🩶

he knew this. he knew full well his career would take him across the world for three quarters out of the year and yet, the one thing he failed to realize was that nothing would feel like home. and then he found you, the absolute enigma that chose to do the same thing he did, realising early on that your home wasn’t in a place. and the streets of Kyoto were just lifeless alleyways till you pointed out the cosy glow of the warm streetlights with your brown streaked hair that shined gold under them and the dark nightscape with the way you shined in his eyes. you did the same for the beaches in Miami and balconies of Spain, easing the loneliness in his memories. slowly but surely, the words you had spoken to him were coming true and his home was taking the shape of you.

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barbieaemond · 5 months

Text

Intrusion (part I)

moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: (modern) Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!reader

WARNINGS: angst, Aemond has no filter, drug use (very brief), mentions of overdose, suggestive themes, sexual tension (sadly nothing more but part II will be a helluva ride)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sothoryos is a large continent in Martin’s universe. It is located below Essos.

WORD COUNT: 7k

Song for this fic:

taglist: @zae5 @chompchompluke @multyfangirl

“What’s up with the green light?”

Jason's voice came distantly, even though he was sitting right next to her. She looked up through her long eyelashes, scanning the mighty, green-lit Hightower from top to bottom, an emerald glow kissed her face.

“How dumb are you? It was a beacon once.” She said mindlessly, dragging her eyes away from the car window to watch her brother crouched on a little mirror with three lines of white powder on it.

“D’you want some?”

“I’m done with that shit.”

“I should hope so.” He chuckled, rolling a banknote between his fingers with the expertise of a magician ready to do his trick. “Dad is still paying the hospital to keep their mouth shut. Not to mention the papers…”

She heard him snort the substance, humming with delight as it reached his brain. She looked at him for a moment, green just like the glowing light on her face. It was so easy for Jason to surrender to the void. She struggled to do even that.

“Speaking of which” he said wiping his nose “he could’ve bothered to come.”

“And watch Otto Hightower gloat in his face? Dad would rather throw checks to the homeless.”

“Why are we here then?” he asked as the car stopped in front of the huge, tall building, the tallest in all the continent.

“Because he wants to remind everyone we are still the wealthiest in this wretched world.” She said she grabbed her little purse and got out of the fancy car as soon as the driver opened her door.

Blinding lights fell on her as photographers took note that the Lannister family had sent its scions to attend the annual Gala held by the Hightowers. A party that had always been held in the capital in the previous years, at least until what the newspapers had called the divorce of the century.

“I would not be so sure about that.” Jason said, squinting his eyes in front of the ruthless flashes. “Papers say Viserys is going to pay a fortune, for alimony and all that shit.”

“Miss Lannister! Here, please! On your right!”

She built a broad smile for the photographers, maneuvering her hair to let it slide down her shoulder, placing a hand on her hip. A well-thought-out act, repeated incessantly for as long as she could remember. A beautiful machine doll bathed in gold and diamonds.

“Do you still read papers?” she asked, not breaking her plastic smile.

“How else should I find out if I've done something illegal?”

“They’re a reliable source on that, less on others. They claim I had a thing with Cregan Stark when even walls know he’s gay.”

They claimed many other things. But she never confirmed or denied the rumors, because it was all part of the plan.

Any rumor of an alleged flirt or talk of an engagement with a scion from one of the old power families of the country only increased the height of the pedestal on which her father and mother had placed her. So that when rumors died, the vultures would come even more savage, raising the stakes to win the most coveted prize in their circle of starched shirts and centuries-old privileges that no longer had any value except in the small, greedy world inside their small, greedy heads.

She moved, swiftly but graciously, and stepped inside the building, followed by her brother and his giggles, and the photographers screaming at the top of their lungs, begging for another picture—just one more. The begging had started already.

The Hall of the Hightower Palace was a sight to behold. Adorned with green and dark tones, crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and yellow cocktail music pushing all the fine-dressed people to chat and laugh more loudly as if they unconsciously tried to imitate the lively ups and downs of the notes.

The Lannisters lingered on the entrance, immediately catching many pairs of eyes, greedy and green as the decorations around them.

“Are they waiting for us to go greet them?” Jason asked, watching the Hightowers at the center of the Hall. “Gods, why do they always act as if they were royals and us merely subjects?”

"Apparently, it has been proven they have hints of blue in their blood.”

“Who’s the blondie?” he asked, taking his sister’s arm as they walked towards the hosts.

“Helaena Targaryen.”

“Oh! The freak?”

“She’s not a freak. She’s a renowned entomologist.”

“And my point stands.”

Miss Lannister knew all the four Hightowers waiting to be greeted. After all, who didn't?

Otto Hightower was the most influential man in the country, although he liked to hide and pull his strings behind the curtains. They said that family and strangers made no difference to him. His daughter Alicent would agree with a stiff lip.

She wore the most lavish dress of all, but that was not what caught the eye, but rather the determination in her gaze and the way she stood. A woman free from the chains of a marriage she had never wanted.

“It is a pleasure to have both of you here.” She said smiling at the two Lannisters. Her father Otto was towering just behind her, a curious look on his face as his eyes rapidly scanned Miss Lannister.

In fact, he stepped in, saying “Indeed, Alicent. Especially Miss Lannister. I’m relieved to see you well.”

After what happened in Pyke, was the part he deliberately omitted.

The young woman looked at him, unfazed, building another one of her plastic smiles and then directed her attention to the youngest son of Alicent and Viserys Targaryen. Daeron.

The boy was no more than twenty, but he had a way of standing and carrying himself, which gave him at least five more years. That was the price of being doomed to inherit a heavy family name and all within it. The young Lannister girl understood it all too well.

As for Helaena, she seemed the most out-of-place creature, like watching a dolphin swim along sharks. The Lannister girl didn’t know her that much; truthfully no one did. Helaena was always far away from the country for her studies, traveling to the edge of the world to discover wild and rare creatures. She had a way of avoiding eye contact, Miss Lannister noticed, if not for brief and furtive glances, as if she was afraid that if she looked too much, she would see too much.

“And you don’t call that a freak?” Jason asked once they moved away from the Hightowers.

“You are just sour because she barely looked at you.” his sister answered, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Hey. I’m nice to look at!” he said gesturing to his figure.

“You tell yourself that.” she sipped her bubbly like water, barely tasting it, as her eyes roamed around the lavish hall, watching the same old play unfold, with the same old puppets. And she was one of them, perhaps the main star, ready to follow the script and never stray from it. It was her purpose in life. A well-trained parrot with a melodic laugh and the stillness of a porcelain doll.

She looked around and saw the eagerness, the anticipation as they bided their time before flocking to her, begging for flesh and money and power, each one of them so eager to sell one piece of themselves to be on a golden plate, the very same on which everything was always freely given to her. Things, places, people. The Golden Girl, they called her. She was born in it, she reflected it. She never had to ask, she never had to beg for anything. While everyone around her seemed to be able to do nothing else.

"Miss Lannister, we would love to have you as our guest in High Garden. Please, consider our invitation."

"Miss Lannister, did your father receive the gift I sent him last week? Please, have him contact me as soon as possible, I have another proposal for a collaboration."

"Miss Lannister, please, convince your father not to cut off the funds, I wouldn't know what to do without the invaluable support of your bank.”

“Miss Lannister, please—"

Please. Please. Please. Please.

They all came muffled, the beggars and their begging, as if speaking from the surface while she was deep down underwater, floating. Then the puppet would take over, moving haughtily and mischievously, promising lies with empty smiles and stolen words. The same old power play, to tell the world the Lannisters were far above it.

But amid the muffled chatter and greedy eyes, there was one in particular, stripped of all reverence, blue and cold as the eye of the scientist dissecting something under a microscope.

He had placed her under the lens out of pure boredom.

He never attended these kinds of gatherings, at least not after Sothoryos, not after Floris. He was there only because his mother had insisted, almost pleaded with him. This was the first public event after the divorce. It was essential to appear close, united.

The word tasted rotten in Aemond's mouth.

He had made sure Aegon would not attend, and had come in through the back, creeping into the hall like a spectre.

Alicent had seen him at once, her eyes widening with surprise as if she were certain he would not come. And they had barely talked.

She had kissed him on the cheeks with that look in her eyes, the one that rose tenderness and contempt at once inside him, twin flames mirroring and dancing around each other. His mother's lips opened and closed repeatedly, like a record needle cutting the same groove on and on without making a sound. And he had no desire to fix that.

Once, maybe. He had nurtured so many unspoken words that they had ended up souring and festering the more he held them back, locked in a dark corner where no light filtered. So, his mouth stayed sealed and silent, like a tomb.

He had withdrawn to a corner of the hall, watching as the people lingered with their gazes on his dead eye, half curious, half scared. Something he was all too used to. He found himself cursing under his breath for wasting time in such a vapid and useless way. He could have been at home, studying, or working in the basement.

But then he had spotted her.

It was hard not to.

The moment she had entered the hall with her brother, it seemed she had drawn all attention to herself, absorbing all the light from the chandeliers. It seemed that her golden dress was truly made of gold.

Aemond had seen her once or twice in the past and each time, two distinct thoughts had rapidly crossed his mind.

First: that she was a pretty doll with more money in her pocket than cells in her brain.

Second: that he wouldn't mind taking her doll's clothes off.

No man with sense would have denied her beauty, but the more he looked at her, the more he saw how dry she was, how cold, like a sculpture doomed to live the same moment forever.

It was all scene, all pose. And Aemond understood it at once since he himself had enacted the same play in the years past. He knew what it meant to be an inanimate thing waiting to be moved by others, for duty or loyalty. Things that had lost all meaning to him once he’d found out that the more he latched on these things, the more hollow he felt.

He watched the Lannister girl build fake smiles at each turn and he found himself grimacing, feeling pity for her, almost contempt. Perhaps she was just a tool, an extension of his former self for him to loathe, like spitting into a mirror.

But he just couldn’t stop watching.

She had a way of making the place where she stood like some kind of holy shrine and everyone around her kept scrambling to fall at her feet. She had a way of moving, slowly, like a creature living underwater. She would lean forward as she listened to people, only to retreat when it was her turn to speak, and she did it quietly, making the privileged speaker unconsciously lean towards her.

A tactic—a working tactic, though. Because Aemond had found himself craning his neck forward more than he would’ve liked to admit, and he wasn't even close to her.

“Choosing your next victim?”

He turned on his blind side as Helaena stopped beside him, handing a flute of champagne.

“Hāedar.” he said, taking the glass “Don’t say that. With all the shit they say about me, tomorrow they might title I’m a serial killer.”

“Well, you do have a dank basement in your place. And with the way you keep looking at the Lannister girl, it would be hard to beat the allegations.”

He looked down at the sizzling bubbles and curled his lips. Helaena did the same as her blue eyes scanned his face. Of all her brothers, she had always had the closest bond with Aemond. Born only one year apart, they had grown up as close as twins. Helaena did not look down when she talked to Aemond; she did not stutter or struggle to voice her thoughts as she did with anyone else. And his lips, which struggled so much to voice his emotions, always curled up in the most spontaneous way when they spent time together.

“You won’t get away with a smile, though.” She pointed out after a sip of bubbly “You barely talked to me earlier.”

“I was afraid our mother would stir up a hornet’s nest seeing me here.”

“She was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“I shouldn’t have. This place smells of coffin.”

She watched him for a moment, trying to guess his mood and, therefore, whether it was a good time to speak. “Did you get my message last week?”

His eye remained fixed on the elated crowd, but Helaena didn’t miss the slight twitch in his lips. “I did.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“What was there to say?”

“Aemond, I know you have your grudges, but... he’s our father and he’s severely ill. He wants to see us, all of us, at Summerhall, next month. I want to believe he’s changing and—”

“Must I remind you what happened the last time we had a family heart to heart?”

She did nothing but cast a single, saddened glance to his dead eye and all her willingness to talk and try to make things better withered like a leaf in a frosted land.

“He’s changing because he already has one foot in the grave. Quit the fancy words, Hel, he’s not changing. He’s just trying to relieve his conscience. A bit late for that, no?” and he downed his champagne in one gulp.

“Aem—”

“I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t care.” He said, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket and placing one cigarette between his lips. He glanced one last time at his sister and with the coldest distance he said “But do let me know when he dies. I'll toast to that.”

She had had three flutes of champagne while talking to a countless number of faceless beggars when she started to feel nauseated. She didn’t even know by what, whether it was the champagne, the people, or herself. Perhaps all of them.

The cold night air embraced her as she went out on the terrace, making the hairs on her arms stand and her half-covered spine shiver. She had not brought her coat with her, but she did not mind. The cold awoke her from her torpor, made her stop being a relic on a mantelpiece.

She slipped a cigarette between her lips and looked into her purse for the lighter. "No, no, no—" she said to no one, frantically feeling every nook and cranny of the purse. "Fuck!"

"Here."

She jumped, turning her head just in time to see a lighter flying towards her. She caught it, staring at the dark corner on her left. There was a man sitting there, wrapped by the shadows, except for a thin white hand laying on the table, long fingers, and half a cigarette resting between index and middle.

She squinted, trying to get a better look. “I can’t see you.”

“I do.”

It was just a simple statement, but his tone was strange, riddled with an edge of shrewdness.

She stared at the dark figure for a moment longer, then lit her cigarette and walked a few steps closer.

"I would like to know who I'm speaking to, stranger." She said, handing over the lighter.

A moment later the shadow stood up, and she had to lift her chin as she watched the glow of the lamps unraveling his face, sharp like a knife. The air hitched in her throat, her gaze inevitably caught by the blue of his eye, as well as the dead blue of the prosthetic. "Oh."

His arched mouth bent upwards. "Define your oh."

“It’s just a oh, you’re not a stranger after all.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, curiously tilting his head with a ghosting grin “What do you think you know about me? Aside from what you read on gossip papers.”

“I don’t read gossip papers.”

“Yes, you do. All the girls like you do that.”

“All the girls like me?”

“Dolls with a trust fund to squander before forty.”

She raised her eyebrows, quickly scanning the young man before her. He was clad in black, with a black turtleneck and a leather jacket, accentuating his sharp features and pale face framed by short hair, a bit curly but neatly styled. “You’re the one to talk, Mr. I have blue blood in my veins.”

“I don’t work for my family.” He said matter-of-factly “They don’t pay my rent and they don’t cover up my shit.”

“Mine neither.”

His eyebrow raising was enough to dismantle her lie right away. “Papers say otherwise.”

“Do you trust papers and their cheap rumors?”

“Hmm. Trust is a strong word. But true or false, rumors are often more revealing than facts.” he took a long drag on his cigarette, narrowing his eyes and she watched as the dead one remained unnaturally still. It was not disturbing, she thought. It gave him a sinister allure, catching her off guard.

“Then I should believe all the rumors about you and your...charming mystery.”

“They say I’m charming now?” he asked with a smirk.

“I believe they called you a sphinx” she deadpanned “before claiming you hit a journalist, a woman.”

“And which one do you think is more likely?”

She looked at him uncertainly. Well, he was charming. But he was a lot more mysterious. More than a sphinx, Aemond Targaryen was a living riddle.

Even before the accident in Sothoryos, from where he returned with an eye missing, the second-born son of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower was a foggy figure, often in the shadows, more than often in the shadows of someone else, his half-sister Rhaenyra, his older brother Aegon. And after Sothoryos, he seemed to have grown his own shadows, distancing himself from his family and dropping his academic career to do Gods-know-what in a small flat in the oldest quarter of Oldtown.

“Both?” she dared.

He clicked his tongue, looking away with disappointment, and flicked the cigarette. “Too easy. And now you’re boring me.”

“I shall take my leave, then.” she chirped with a tight smile.

“Don’t expect me to follow you. I am not one of those wankers inside who come in their pants as you bat your fake eyelashes.”

The smile left her face instantly, and she glared at him, throwing her half-cigarette on the ground. “It is true, then. Royals do act like the rudest jerks.”

Instead of looking offended, her words seemed to do nothing but tickle his pride—some kind of gratification that poured like poison from the angles of his mouth. “I don’t act. But if I wanted to, I'd know who to turn to.”

“Meaning?”

“And you keep boring me.” his eye went momentarily below her neck, and he tilted his chin “Are those pretty diamonds slowing blood to your brain?”

Miss Lannister looked stunned. No one, ever, dared to talk to her like that.

She was used to being praised and begged and praised. A beautiful portrait framed by gold and hung on a wall for all to see. She should have been outraged, she should have used her last name as shield and threat. But for once, she was breathing on her own, free of any strings.

“Are they real?” he asked suddenly, and she stilled as his hand ghosted on her necklace, feeling his cold fingertips hovering above her skin.

“Of course they are.”

“Hmm.” He mused, pulling his hand back as he continued to stare at the necklace and then down at her dress. “They serve their purpose I’d say.” he said dragging his eye back to her face.

“Slowing my brain?” she asked with a little vitriolic smile.

“Hiding all the fake beneath them.”

“Who are you, a fortune teller?” she spitefully asked. “Do you possess the Third Eye as well as the Fake One?”

“One eye is enough to see right through you, golden girl.”

“And why were you watching me if I am so blatantly obvious?”

He almost shrugged his shoulders. “These parties are dreadfully boring. I was in need of a distraction, and you were hard to miss.”

“I could say the same about you.” Her gaze flicked for an instant to his dead eye. “Except that I don’t hide in dark corners from my own family.”

Whether he was stung by her words or not, his composure remained utterly impassive. A sphinx through and through.

“No. You do it before them.” An amused smile, spiced up with poison, curled his lips. “At least I have the dignity to disappear instead of begging for attention like a pathetic creature.”

Her words did not sting, but his surely did. And they shouldn’t.

They had crossed paths once or twice in the years prior, but effectively, Aemond was but a stranger to her. She wasn’t even aware of him watching her inside the hall, maybe too absorbed in her puppet play, or maybe resigned to scream into a crowded room of deaf mannequins.

She swallowed heavily, not dropping her gaze, waiting for all the gold to shield her, hide her, serving its purpose once more. But Aemond had a strange look in his eye. He was staring at her, and what he saw thrilled him.

He was sure he would see harshness, contempt, but not that. Not…anguish. It was buried in her pretty eyes and yet it just lied there in full sight, the darker shade of abyss beneath the crystalline blue of the deceiving surface.

If only someone had bothered to look.

“You remind me of someone.” he said almost mindlessly.

“Do I dare asking or do you wish to offend me some more?”

He seemed to ponder for a while, looking at her as if he were measuring an opponent.

“Come with me. I’ll show you.”

He moved, leaving the terrace without waiting for her, sure enough she would follow him. And she did.

Not immediately, though. She stared at his tall figure as he went back inside and thought she should go back to the party, go back to the script. There was something uncanny, almost eerie about staying close to him, like walking on the thin thread of a cobweb while being dreadfully aware to be walking towards the spider’s bite.

But the dread made her feel alive, made her heart pounding in her throat. So, she followed him.

“I didn’t know your family had it.” She said with a tinge of amazement as they stopped before the painting gloriously exhibited along one of the lavish corridors upstairs. “I thought it got lost during some war.”

“It was.” He said, stopping beside her, eye roaming on the canvas.

“Did I remind you of a lost anonymous painting?”

“You reminded me of the Maiden.” And his eye flicked to the left of the painting. Then he dragged his gaze on her, turning his head, and watched her. “Do you know the story?”

“The myth?”

“You don’t believe it to be true?”

“I don’t believe in Gods. Or myths.”

“That is strange, coming from a girl who spent so much time building her own.”

She turned her head and looked at him. He was smiling subtly, but it was different this time. There was no poison dripping from the angles of his mouth, but the clearest intrigue.

It stopped her heart for a moment. A sudden cut in the canvas, a crack in the porcelain. And she felt that this stranger was peeking inside, or perhaps she was.

Aemond looked back at the painting and laced his arms behind his back, making the leather of his jacket creak. “They said once there was a land inhabited only by Gods and Monsters. The Maiden was the most beautiful Goddess in the Holy Garden. She grew flowers from her hands, trailing behind her as she walked. But she was unhappy. The Gods only sought her for her gift, used her as a piece of ornament. She was beautiful on the outside, but inside—”

“Lonely and hollow.” she filled in.

“Just like the Stranger.” he said, and they turned at the same time, locking their eyes.

Aemond glanced back at the ominous figure in the painting and said “He was not allowed to enter the Gods world. He lived underground, blowing his mortal winds to call the souls into his realm of death. But then he saw her. He dried her tears through his wind until one day—”

“He took her.” she filled in once more. “He used the wind to tie her hands with the flowery branches she grew and kidnapped her from the Holy Garden.”

“Are you sure kidnapped is the right word?”

“According to the myth? Yes. You might have been a great scholar, but I’m not a goat.”

He chuckled quietly, and the sound made her turn again to watch him.

He held her gaze as amusement left his marbled features, and without taking his eye off her, he tilted his chin towards the painting “Look at her. Look at her face and tell me what you see."

She did so, observing the anguish, the dark trepidation on the Maiden’s face.

“She is frightened.”

“Is she?” he asked, and suddenly he was almost behind her. His breath tickled her ear like the wind on a hot summer day, and her breath hitched once more. “Look into her eyes.” he whispered on her nape “Is it fear to be taken…or desire?”

She swallowed, keeping her eyes fixed on the painting, and dug her nails into the expensive fabric of her little purse. “Art is not math.” she said with confidence “There is not one undisputable interpretation.” And she turned to face him “So unless you painted that, and I have some doubts, you say she’s keen on being taken. I say she’s frightened.”

Aemond stared at her for a moment with a strange new look on his face, as if someone had just issued a challenge to him. His blue eye was wide, and the little smirk was peeking through his lips. “Do you ever choose a position, golden girl?”

“I think I just did.”

“Allow me to rephrase, then. A less boring position.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he was faster. “Let me show you something a little less ambiguous.”

"Wow, these are beautiful," she said as they climbed the stairs to the floor above the one where the glorious anonymous painting stood. On the angled wall, a series of photographs were exhibited—portraits, precisely—all in black and white.

"Are we complimenting each other now?" he asked, halting on a step.

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment before slightly widening her eyes. "What, these are yours?"

He gave her a simple nod, and she looked back at the portraits.

"My mother put them here. Her way to prove she cares, I guess." He said absent-mindedly, as if conversing about the weather.

The Lannister girl watched him closely, in search of something that would betray such a cold statement, but there were no cracks, no cuts.

"The great mystery unraveled.” She said forcing a dramatic tone “Aemond Targaryen is a photographer."

"I am not. I don’t do it for a living.”

“Yes, because you don’t need a job to get by.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She glared at him, trying with poor success to stifle a smile.

“It's just an interest." He stated.

"A passion." she dared to suggest.

"I wouldn't call it that. Passion preludes emotion, ardor. Photography is nothing like."

She watched him fold his arms behind his back in a peculiar way, grabbing his forearms with his hands. He had done the same thing earlier, in front of the painting. The gesture caught her attention then, as it did now.

"What is it then?" she asked, trailing her eyes back to his face.

He stared at her for an impossible long time before answering. “Revelation.”

She looked back at the portraits and observed them thoroughly. There were some men caught behind the camera, but the majority were all women. Young and beautiful women.

The portraits were majestic, she considered. He had found a way to toy with light which made these people look like glimpses from an otherworldly dimension, flashes of dreams.

No, not dreams, she thought.

The light was cruel, exposing, cutting. And all the subjects seemed to have been caught in a moment of great distress, flowing almost into a grotesque despair.

Flashes of nightmares.

The sight made her lips part, her skin shiver with eeriness and something else, something she could not name. The same basic instinct that had pushed her to follow him. These people, made eternal by black and white, were dressed, but their souls utterly naked before the eye.

“I wouldn’t call it revelation…”

“And what would you call it?” he asked, stepping beside her to watch the portrait, not missing her little startle when his elbow brushed against hers.

She took a deep, silent breath and turned her head to look at him. "Intrusion.”

“Hmm.” He mused, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket “Intrusion of which kind?”

He placed the cigarette between his lips only to see her hand snatching it away, but slowly, just like she was used to move, so much that her fingertip brushed his upper lip. “Any kind.” she answered and his eye fell on her rosy lips closing around the filter.

His mouth twitched, as if her light brushing had lit his skin aflame, and he moved unconsciously, bringing the lighter close but pausing, his thumb lingering on the little wheel, and he looked at her, just as she looked at him.

When he pushed his finger to light the flame, the short metallic sound came through with a strange finality, a curtain dropping after the first act.

She lit the cigarette and took a long drag, glancing at the portraits and then back at him. “Did you fuck these women?”

“No.” was all he said, hiding a little smirk as he slipped another smoke between his lips. He saw her raising her eyebrows with clear disbelief, so he clarified. “Not all of them.”

“I bet they revealed themselves thoroughly.”

“They were more than keen to do it.”

“And did you?” she countered, tilting her head, lowering her voice so that once again, he found himself leaning towards her, like a moth to a flame. “Did you reveal yourself as well? Did you let them intrude?”

“Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.”

She clicked her tongue and laughed—the very first genuine laugh she could conjure up in the span of hours, or even days. “Now you’re just trying to impress me.”

“Yes. And unfortunately for you, it is working.”

She gave him a bemused look at his brazen statement, but she felt strangely exposed under his unblinking stare, a hand ending her ceaseless floating to anchor her against the seabed.

“I want you to come to my place," he said suddenly, his voice kept quiet, almost soft, to the verge of whispering. It wrapped her senses like a soothing lullaby.

“I want to take your picture.”

“Why? To end up on this wall and in your bed like dozens of girls before me?”

“Dozens?” he raised an eyebrow “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.”

“Hmm” he crooned, cocking his head to one side, a contented expression stretching on his face, much like a cat licking its whiskers. “Envy doesn’t suit a Lannister.”

“Envy?” she repeated, laughing scornfully. “You’re an arrogant brat, has anyone ever told you?”

“Many in fact. So, shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Pity, I thought you had stopped boring me.” He said pocketing his lighter “Stay here playing the doll with those old fogeys, if you like. I’m leaving.”

She had only time to blink and he was gone, leaving her on those steps with the foreign, unsettling longing to follow. Her feet moved on their own, dragging her back to the party with an urgency shaking her bones, pushing her eyes to dart in every corner of the hall, moving amongst the people as if chasing the wind.

“Oh, there you are!” Jason pulled her to him, and she stilled, as she was used to, but everything inside her kept moving. “That Lonmouth smartass came at me screaming like a chicken.” Jason said with cocaine pupils, slurring words after words “as if it’s Dad’s fault that he’s an idiot. Put him in his place, would you? I’m too high, I might stick a fork between his eyes. D’you you want to hear something funny?”

“No, Jason. I don’t.” she replied absently, looking around once more “Listen, did you see Aemond Targaryen?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She said, wriggling herself from his hold, but he was fast to pull her back “Sis, why are you looking for that creep?”

“Let me go, Jason.”

“Listen to me. First the shit show in Pyke and now Aemond One Eye? Dad would not be happy to know you are—”

“Dad would not be happy to know fucking anything that he has not concocted and told us to do. And I’m tired of it, Jason.” She hastily broke free from his grip, alerting the well-dressed people around them, but she ignored them altogether. “Just this once, you’ll have to play the puppet. I’m done for tonight.” she tugged the pocket square from his jacket and threw it at him. “And wipe your nose, for Gods’ sake. There’s coke on it.”

She wandered inside the huge hall like walking through quicksand, sinking a little more any time another man or woman stopped her to chit chat, to ask her about her father and the bank and the next slot in her father's agenda.

As if she had any clue. As if her father had not dismissed any of her natural vocations like wrong bills to be fed to the shredder only to make her study economics, only to frame her degree, and then instruct her himself to specialize in the sacred act of parading herself around like a rare stuffed creature.

“Here you are.” A hand slipped around her waist, and she found herself enveloped by two familiar hands. “I’ve looked for you anywhere.”

“Quentin.” She said, looking into the dark glinting eyes of Quentin Martell, slightly wrinkling her nose for the heavy male perfume in which he had apparently dunked his suit.

His eyes scanned her slowly, looking like he wanted to peel her dress off like an orange. “Always outshining anyone else, are you?”

She looked away, stifling an exasperated sigh, all too used to Quentin’s redundant flatteries.

“This party is dead, isn’t it? And rather self-celebratory from the Hightowers. As if they don’t owe their current position to Viserys Targaryen.”

She glanced at him and saw her father talking. It was one of his favorite refrains at breakfast, lunch or dinner. It made no difference to him. Any time was a good time to incense themselves as the best, the wealthiest, the proudest, and hundreds of more superlatives that made the food instantly go rancid in her mouth.

Distractedly, her eyes roamed around, numbing her ears while Quentin kept talking. It was then that she saw him. He had not left.

Holding a glass of some liquor, he seemed to be in deep conversation, or rather on the receiving end of a soliloquy from his grandfather, who was leaning slightly over him, almost talking to his ear.

His eye was absently buried to the floor, one long finger tapped against the glass. A couple of words she could not make from that distance slipped from his mouth, resigned as his whole demeanor.

She thought she was looking into a mirror.

“Honey, are you listening to me?” Quentin asked at some point, tightening the hold on her waist. “Who are you looking at so rapt?”

“No one.” she hurried to say. But Quentin was quicker to follow her gaze before she dropped it. “Aemond One Eye?” he said on the verge of mockery. “Baby, he is so out of your league.”

She cocked her head and plastered a tight smile on her lips. “And precisely, what do you know about my league?”

“You know what I mean. How blind can you be not to notice that your brother has been screwing your girlfriend behind your back for months? Oops, sorry, wrong metaphor.”

“Both the Baratheons and the Targaryens have denied it.”

“Sure, sure. Then why the Baratheons were not invited tonight? And why did the one eyed come? He never does. Oh wait, look at that, Aegon’s missing. Not surprising though, didn’t they say Targaryens used to fuck amongst their own in the old times?”

She lowered her gaze, lost in thought, and then turned her head, instantly widening her eyes, shoulders tensing when she saw Aemond looking straight at her, sipping his drink, straightening the cobweb’s thread on which she had been tottering until that moment.

“Baby, are you high again?” Quentin asked her, with a genuine, inquisitive tone.

“What?”

“You’re shivering. Greyjoy told me everything about that night. Said you went batshit crazy on coke. Depraved as he is, it’s actually a good thing that you OD’ed. That creep would have fucked you even that stoned.”

She immediately grabbed his arms, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Let me go.”

“Oh, come on.” He nothing but hold her more tightly. “I know you like to get a little freaky once in a while. I do, too. In fact, why don’t we take a tour upstairs? We could cheer up this drag.”

“No. Quentin, let me go.”

“Come on.” He insisted, pulling her to his chest.

She had to step on his foot to shake him off. “Let me cut straight to the point. I won’t fuck you, Quentin. Not tonight, not even if you were the last man left on this earth.”

He grimaced, spitefully twisting his mouth like any man who's been denied the chance to feel like a man for a few minutes. “I had warned Greyjoy about this. I told him you’re a spoiled cunt. You know what? You should get with that Stark fag. He may fuck your ass, so maybe you’d feel something 'cause I’m sure as hell your cunt is drier than the Red Waste.”

The insults were also part of the play.

After all, the act might not please everyone in the stalls. “Just shrug them off. They’re praises, actually, disguised bitterly for what they cannot have.” her mother said “Besided, a lion does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep.”

When she was younger, each bitter word was a giant finger pointed at her, a gavel sealing the next judgement. Her mother had tried with all her carelessness to teach her how to be exactly that. Careless, a river flowing in its direction no matter the filth that would pollute the waters.

But she was draining, ever since Pyke, perhaps long before that.

She was tired of pretending to be gold while her fingertips seemed to leave behind nothing else but ash.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like to be tagged when I post part II, leave a comment below 🫶

#intrusion #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #ewan mitchell #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #Spotify

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happilyhertale · 9 months

Text

Aemond Targaryen

Long Lost Love - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7a, Part 7b, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

Long Last Love - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sense of duty - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Sense of duty (II) - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Everlasting love - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

The battlefield of women - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Love at first sight - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Love at first sight (II) - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

The bane of my existence - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Breaking Dawn - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Voiceless - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Sinful desires – Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Aemond Targaryen

Emerald eyes - Aemond Targaryen x fem!stark-reader

12 Days of Smuff

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thedevilsoftruth · 9 months

Text

Mirror On the Ceiling ~ Loki x fem!reader

Warning: heavy sexual content. Breeding kink, dom Loki, foreplay and oral ( at start ), reader being forced to look at their reflection while being bred. Side fucking at the end. Minors dni!!

Summary: Loki is your husband and comes back home early after an excruciating night out with Thor and his friends.

Notes: So I have never posted a smutshot in my life lol. ( Ps my writing is reallllyyy easy to read ) I have like 12 other Loki smutshots I have written and I just haven't really finished any or posted them. Anyways, although this one isn’t my best I just wanted to post this one bc I really liked the concept of it and I just couldn’t keep in my cluttered drafts anymore. ENJOY!!!

2,993 words

Read Time: 15 minutes

{ •• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •• }

After a long steamy shower, you step out of the bathtub and grab your towel to dry yourself off. The fan was on and the door was creaked open so that the warm air could escape the room without fogging up the mirror. You looked at yourself in the mirror as you dried your wet body off with the towel, watching as the dripping water ran down your body only to be quickly wiped away. You hummed a random tune as you continued drying, enjoying the feeling of the cold air hitting your skin and cooling you down. Your husband, Loki, was off doing something with his older brother Thor and the guys. You found that pretty weird since Loki claimed he didn't like most the activities Thor would do, and especially didn't like being around his friends. But you hoped they were having fun.

You took your towel off of your body, exposing your naked form as you wrapped the towel in your soaking hair to dry that off as well. As you were drying your hair off, you picked up your phone to check the time. The time read, 10;34 pm but Loki wasn't supposed to be home until somewhere around midnight. how were you going to spend the rest of your night without your dear husband? Sighing, you put your phone back down and dropped your towel to the floor. You stood for a few moments and ran your fingers through your hair, deciding that you were going to spend the next few hours watching tv in your robe and in your bedroom. You picked up your towel and wrapped it around yourself once more before leaving your bathroom and heading for your bedroom closet.

Without looking, you tossed your towel into the bamboo laundry basket you kept next to your closet as you fixed your eyes on looking for your favorite robe. The silky emerald robe was nowhere to be seen, however. You furrowed your brows and begun to flip through the mound of hangers and clothes before you felt the air around you change as if someone were in the room behind you. Before you would turn to look, you felt cold hands wrap around your waist and a pair of warm lips on your sensitive neck, all making you jump and yelp. You turned around to see your beloved husband holding you flush against his body with a slightly unbuttoned black t-shirt on. He pulled away slightly and you could see the glint of mischief in his green eyes.

" I didn't even hear you coming through the door- " Your stammered words were cut off with your husbands lips meeting with yours in a passionate kiss. His hands moved to your arms and slowly ran up and down your sensitive clean skin. Your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch, sighing into the kiss. He pulled away from the kiss shortly after and rocked your body with his sideways.

" You're home early. " you said simply, touching his strong arms around your naked body. He hummed, his face buried into the crook of your neck.

" I missed you. Stark was being a big pain in my ass. " Loki stated nonchalantly, pressing small kisses to your bare shoulder as you sunk in his arms in contentment. You gazed at your husband behind your shoulder to get a glimpse of his expression.

" what did you guys do? " you asked as you gave him a kiss you his pale cheek. He shrugged his shoulders.

" Thor made us go to this fancy bar to hang out since we all haven't talked in forever. " he said, his voice muffled in your neck as he spoke in between kisses. You smiled and nodded in understanding as you rubbed circles onto his upper arm. Loki pulled away from your body and let go of you completely.

" I hope you all had fun. " you spoke as You looked back into the closet and began searching for your robe, to which you finally found.

Loki scoffed at that response, his eyes scanning your nude body as it faced away from him, taking the silk robe off the hanger. He just couldn't take his eyes off your legs that flexed as you moved, seeing you like this was certainly a surprise but he did have a other plans for the both of you tonight. A smirk grew on his face and he took your hand and turned you around to face him directly.

" you won't be needing that, dearest. " he said in a low tone as he took the robe from your hand and threw it back into the closet. His eyes didn't move off yours as you both stared at each other hungrily. His arms wrapped around your waist once more, pulling you in for another passionate kiss. His head tilted to deepen the kiss, his lips sloppily moving against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own. Your hands were pressed against his chest now, his muscles tensing under your touch. You pulled away to catch your breath, looking at him in his lustful gaze. His lips were wet and formed into a wide smile, which you returned.

Loki's hands traveled down to the back of your thighs, lifting you up in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist and giggled as he pecked your lips gently.

He walked over to your shared bed and dropped you down carefully on the mattress. He crawled on top of you and his hands pushed down into the mattress taht was covered in black silky sheets. You felt his hips settle against yours as he rested one knee atop your thigh, leaning forward to capture your mouth again. The heat radiating from his body sent shivers running through you. You tangled your fingers in his dark curls, his tongue tangling with yours as the kiss got deeper. He leaned back slightly to place soft kisses to your jaw and then to your neck. Your body was no mystery to him. He had explored you many times before this, so he knew which parts of you that were the most sensitive to you.

Loki parted his lips and abraded his teeth on your soft skin, sucking on it harsh enough to leave a mark. A few moans escaped you every now and then with his lips on your neck, your mind only focused on the pleasure of the moment. He pulled away with a loving gaze, pulling and hair out of your face so he could get a clear look at you.

" My love, you are absolutely stunning like this. " he said, his eyes wondering your nude body like he were trying to memorize every part of you. You curled your fingers around his inky curls and tugged them playfully, causing him to chuckle. His eyes darted back up to your beautiful eyes and he stared at you lovingly.

" would you like to start with a bit of foreplay, my beloved? " he breathed, his voice deep yet tender as it echoed throughout the large room. you nodded pathetically, completely out of words. His fingers went to the collar of his black buttoned down shirt, quickly unbuttoning it to reveal his beautiful torso. You stared an awe at his perfectly sculpted body, his muscular torso that flexed as he moved. His shirt slid off his shoulders and he tossed it off like it were nothing. Never once did his eyes leave yours.

Your fingers slipped out of his hair as he picked you up in his bare arms, setting you carefully in his lap with your back against his chest. He hummed in your ear, his hand moving down to your sopping cunt.

" already this wet for me, my love? " he teased you, his breath fanning across the shell of your ear as he placing kisses along your neck. His middle and ring fingers moved up and down your slick folds, feeling your hot juices dripping down on his fingers as he played with you. You arched your back and whimpered, his lip placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder as his fingers slipped inside your entrance. His thumb grazed against your clit, his other fingers pumping in and out of you for a little while and making wet sounds as they moved as far as they could in you.

" please, " you moaned helplessly, your eyes squeezing shut tight as he took his fingers out of you.

They shifted up to your clit and moved the small bud up and down. His pace was slow, occasionally becoming faster before slowing down and then going fast again.

" ah, Loki…I'm reaady-yy - ha! " you whined through needy moans and a cry of his name. His hand reached behind your neck and flipped your hair over your shoulder, revealing your exposing skin to his hot breath.

" ready for what? " his pace fastened, his voice gravely as he spoke. His fingers continued to move fast and rough, his lips exploring your shoulder and neck, leaving wet trails behind.

all you could do was simply moan and helplessly grab his arm as his fingers worked you into a frenzy. It was pitiful how just one simple touch from him could send you over the edge.

“ please, Loki— fuuck.. “ you panted, hoping your pleas would be enough for him. He growled against your ear, his fingers moving out of you and grabbing your knee to keep your leg spread nicely.

“ good girl. “ he praised, giving you a soft smile while he flipped you over so you were underneath him. His hands rest on your knees while he positioned himself nicely in between you. His head lowered down to your collarbone, giving you gentle kisses down your sternum. You could hear his ragged breathing as his wet lips moved against your sensitive skin. His lips made a series of kisses down your torso until he reached your lower abdomen. His hands shifted to the back of your thighs, spreading them wide enough for his face to go in between. His eyes darted at you through his brows, giving you a seductive stare.

“ now beg for me, bitch. “ Loki whispered huskily, his lips brushing against your sensitive nub of nerves. You moaned, your head thrown back as the pleasure of his kisses and licks caused waves of sensation to crash over your entire being. With the same two fingers from before, he twisted as much as he could fit into your tight entrance, making you moan louder and your hips jolt upward. His lips sucked on your throbbing clit, his throat humming and sending vibrations through your core in a way that made you feel intoxicated with pleasure.

“ L-loki! Please, j-just give it to me! “ you cried, arching your hips with your toes curling as he continued pumping fingers and giving your clit kitten licks. He hummed again, and you swore to yourself he was gonna be the death of you. His lips tore away from your bud and his finger painfully slowly twisted out of you. He moved the tips of his fingers up into a V while they spread your soaked flaps apart.

“ So eager for me to fuck your pathetic cunt, are you? “ Loki spoke with a smirk as he rose back up, magicking his way out of the rest of his clothes.You bit your lip, simply just wanting him to come and destroy you.

“ Don’t worry darling, I’m going to ravish you until you’re filled all the way with my seed. “Loki said, his voice barely above a whisper as he lined himself up with your opening, watching as you looked up at him through wide eyes. You lifted your hips upwards, begging him to push himself inside you. He smirked, his eyes roaming over your body as he leaned over you, planting his lips gently against yours before slamming into you roughly. You let out a loud cry of pain and pleasure, his name coming out of your mouth with heavy panting. The bed creaked a bit with his movements, his hips rocking against yours harsh like he hadn’t felt anything good like this in years.

The sounds of the two of you moaning and groaning filled the night air and bounced off the walls of your shared room. The room felt hot, your body sweating so much already and the heat of his own radiating off and onto you. You dug your fingernails into his back, your legs wrapping around his waist to deepen his thrusts.

Loki intertwined your fingers with his as he leaned down to share another kiss with you, but it was rather sloppy this time. You both exchanged moans into each others mouths and you tilted your head to deepen the kiss. His tongue danced with yours, your mouths moving together like it was the end of the world.

His hands passed from yours to the back of your thighs, lifting your legs over his shoulders.

Lokis pace increased, almost all of his long length being thrusted into your saturated core. Your moans turned into screams and cries of pleasure. The sensation of his shaft pounding into you was like being hit with an intense wave of bliss, it completely left you breathless. His hand momentarily removed from your leg and covered your mouth, muffling your screams of delight. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, getting the feeling he was moving closer to your sweet spot.

“ Darling, “ You could hear Loki’s guttural voice whispering in your ear. “ Look up. “

Your eyes fluttered open, only to be met with your own reflection through a mirror staring back at you from the ceiling.

“ Watch yourself, y/n. watch yourself as I breed you in your pitiful state. “ He said, releasing his hand from your mouth with strings of your saliva detaching from your lips to his skin.

You felt like your body was on fire. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open, your head cranking back as your body moved back and forth with his merciless thrusts. The man was driving you crazy, the smell of your heated moment filling the air around you and the wet sounds of his shaft hitting the deepest part of you echoing in the room. His hand roughly grabbed your neck, forcing your eyes to open again.

“ Take it, my love. Take every last inch of my cock and every drip of my hot seed. “ He whispered huskily, his eyes never leaving yours. He drove his hips back before making one swift move forward and slamming all of himself into you, hitting your sweet spot in the process and making you scream louder than before. Your fingers gripped onto the sheets beneath you, slowly coming undone all over the sheets and his length ( which was still buried deep into you ) Your body was quivering, your hips and legs jerking as the warm liquid seeped out of you.

“ ride it out, darling. “ he spoke sweetly, removing his hand from your neck and then your legs from his shoulders so you could have control over your own pace. Weakly, you rolled your hips forward against as your orgasm soon came to an end. You felt shocks of pleasure continuing to overtake your body as you attempted to ride out your high. Unfortunately your body felt too weak.

“ nevermind that. “ Loki said with the click of his tongue, pulling out of you and then laying on his side next to you. You whimpered, your eyes opening to see the mirror still on the ceiling. You certainly had made a mess in the sheets.

“ Come here, darling. Allow me to help you. “ he cooed, watching you crawl into his arms like a sad dog. He kissed your temple tenderly and clenched your thigh, widening your legs so he could burry himself into you once again. He needed to finish off, it had been his mission all day long. Even when he was out with his brother, all he could think about was getting between your legs and breeding you so you could bury his child. It was something he had always desired, but today he needed it bad and he certainly go it.

You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, letting his shaft to get deeper into like he had you before. Then, he started thrusting again. In and out, in and out. A little kiss here and a little kiss there every now and then. In, out. Your whimpers and cries continued, only letting out smalls moans every here and there but you ached and burned.

Loki promised himself he would be gentle with you for this part and continue to be in this same passionate position, but he was so so close. He just couldn’t control himself from rolling you on your back again and ramming into you like a hungry beast. Your chest heaved up and down as moans escaped your breathless throat, groans and small moans escaped his. Your fingers tangled in his inky curls, his length hitting your sweet spot repeatedly again—a lot more faster than you would have thought. You began screaming again and he helplessly moaned as he finally reached his peak. His hot semen shot into your stretched wet cunt, his breathing ragged as he gripped the sheets and his face buried in your neck. He gave your sweaty skin a soft peck before sitting upright and pulling out, though quickly noticing he was spilling out.

“ oops, don’t want any of this to be wasted, eh? “ Loki chuckled, holding his shaft in his palm to direct the white liquid back into your hole. You reached out your hand to touch his shift cheek.

“ I love you, Loki. “ you spoke hoarsely, still trying to catch your breath. He smiled and took your hand in his, giving your nuckles a kiss.

“ I love you too, darling. “

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

so I finished this reallly late at night and just decided to wing it, so sorry if it’s bad and there’s typos and some stuff doesn’t make sense. I don’t really feel like going back and fixing it!!!

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #mcu loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki fanfic #marvel #marvel mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mcu smut #marvel smut

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