#fic : ‘tis your throne

[euphor1a]

‘tis your throne | jjk

↬ fandom: bts

↬ pairing: ceo!jungkook x f!reader

↬ genre: established relationship, fluff (if you squint a bit), pwp, smut

↬ summary: You thought that it’s your seat. But no, according to Jungkook, ‘tis your throne.

↬ rating: 18+ (minors dni)

↬ word count: ~4.1K

↬ warnings: profanity, explicit sexual content, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, nipple play, oral sex (f! & m! receiving — *cough* 69 *cough*), fingering, dirty talking, rough sex, pet names, unprotected sex, over stimulation, multiple orgasms (f! receiving), big dick!jungkook (yes this is a warning, it should be a warning), squirting, creampie — this is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent jungkook in any way!

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˗ˏˋ꒰ 🌺 a/n ꒱ remember the menace that was purple haired dilf vibes jungkook? yeah :') that’s all i wanna say. enjoy friends! this is a repost from my old account 👯! the summary makes no sense, right? well read the whole thing and it’ll make so much sense ;)

Jungkook steps out of the elevator, sighing in relief. He’s finally home after another hectic day, and even though he’s exhausted, his steps are fast, taking him to the door of his luxury condo. The familiar rush of happiness he gets when he arrives home makes his heart thrum in his chest. He can’t wait to see a certain special someone. He can’t wait to get lost in the feeling of his love, the light of his life.

++

“Sweetheart?” Jungkook’s searching voice snaps you back to reality. Pleasantly surprised, you step back from the mirror. He’s home already? Admiring your figure in the beautiful, lace lingerie one last time, you head towards the closet, your heels clicking  against the tiled floor. 

“Baby? Aren’t you home?” His honeyed voice wraps you up in a comforting daze.  

You hurriedly put on a dress shirt to cover yourself, finally gathering yourself and answering him, “Coming!” 

Running fingers through your messy and untamed hair, you close the bedroom door behind you. As you walk out in the spacious living space, you feel excitement bubbling up in your chest. Soon enough, you spot him on the couch, a glass of his old faithful whiskey on the table in front of him as he frowns at his MacBook screen. After hesitating for a bit, you take a seat right beside him. A soft smile curves Jungkook’s mouth upwards, his right hand automatically taking a hold of your thigh. You wrap your arms around his waist in return, resting your chin on his shoulder. Moments of comfortable silence stretches, and you enquire, your eyes fixed on him, “What is it?” 

He shakes his head in response, squeezing your thigh gently. “It’s nothing love. Don’t worry.” 

Not convinced at all, you hold his chin firmly, making his gaze shift to you instead. “Are you sure?” 

With a heavy sigh, he closes the device wearily. Knowing very well that he’s stressed, you run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp in hopes of helping him, even if just a bit. Jungkook melts under your touch, turning around to bury his face in the softness of your chest. You drop a chaste kiss on his forehead, feeling complete. 

“What would I do without you, ____?” he hums, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes fondly. 

You peck his lips endearingly, touching your foreheads together. “Probably you’d age faster with all the stress and be lonely.” The mental image of your words make you suppress a giggle, earning an eye roll from him. 

Settling you on his lap, he slaps your butt teasingly. “You had to go there, didn’t you?” You barely manage to hold your laugh, struggling to keep silent. But Jungkook seems to be far away from the conversation all of a sudden, his eyes now drinking you in slowly. “Fuck.” He curses under his breath while his fingers gently trace the border of your panties over the shirt. “Why are you wearing this today?” 

You shrug, very nonchalantly so. “I was just trying on random stuff the whole evening. After wearing this, I didn’t really feel like discarding them… so I just kept it on.” 

He nods thoughtfully, bunching up the shirt around your waist to grab you. “Good thing that you kept this on. I can’t wait until all of these will be showcased on our bedroom floor.” His voice is husky and playful, and you feel his bulge subtly growing against your core. Your teeth instinctively sink into the soft flesh of your lower lip.  

Jungkook cups your cheek, pulling you closer to capture your mouth in a slow, languid kiss. He nibbles on your lower lip, coaxing you to open up to him. You let out a gasp and his tongue finds yours, a pleasant shiver running down your spine as he caresses your sides. A moan escapes you when he starts grinding his hips with yours, a low growl vibrating in his throat. 

Out of breath, you pull away first, your pupils dilated from wild desire. He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, throwing you a devilish grin. Unsure of what he’s about to do, you lean into his touch, purring. 

“Jungkook!” you screech, suddenly turned upside down as he throws you over his shoulder swiftly, carrying you to the bedroom. A rough slap across your right ass cheek makes you whimper, and you swear that there’s a self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

Once inside, he gently places you down. Just as you’re about to go off on him, he pushes you up against the wall, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“Oh!” you mewl out, losing all your power to his ministrations. He nibbles on your earlobe, his gaze locking with yours. 

“You’ll remember only me once I’m done with you, love. Just me and how I make you feel.” The determined tone of his voice and the hunger evident in his honey brown orbs are proof of just how serious he is about his plans.

“Is that so?” You make sure to flutter your eyelashes at the end, the words rolling smoothly off your tongue. 

Jungkook is sure he has seen every shade of the very wide range of your smiles, but the smug grin painted on your lips right now is something else entirely. He looks at you transfixed, unable to act on his sinful thoughts. You are more than capable, though. 

You push him away, walking slowly towards the luxurious king-sized bed. Your hips sway to an enchanting melody only your mind knows. With a graceful twirl, you fall on the sheets, inviting Jungkook to join you with your index finger and irresistible, lustful eyes. He lazily strides up to the bed, sizing you up and down. Just a moment later, he’s towering over you, waiting for the next move.

A teasing spectacle begins to unwind — you start undressing yourself, your every motion frustratingly slow. You kick your heels off while your fingers pull your dress shirt up to peel off the tights, spreading your legs slightly with your feet pressed against Jungkook’s chest. His strong hands, ludicrously eager to touch you, move the sheer material down delicately, letting it fall on the floor. His mouth instantly glues to the bare skin of your ankle, peppering tender kisses up your leg without breaking eye contact.

Like a tulip blooming beneath the warm sunlight, you gently caress your bare thighs under his gaze, the elevation of your breaths making him smile. You can feel your skin tingling for his touch, the urge to have him almost too much to bear. He leans down to nuzzle your inner thighs, a jolt of electricity spreading goosebumps over your skin. 

You finally divest yourself of your sheer white dress shirt, noticing the newfound hunger in Jungkook’s gaze scanning your barely clothed silhouette. The smirk crossing your face matches his as you pull down the straps of your bra, letting your breasts jump out of the cups. His pants suddenly become unbearably tight. It becomes apparent that there is a certain rush required for the both of you. 

Impatient, he peels off your lace thong, the delicate material flying away somewhere in the room. He leans in to kiss you, your legs automatically curling around his waist. 

“I can’t believe that I get to see this piece of art whenever I want,” Jungkook whispers between hard, long kisses, his calloused, big hands massaging your breasts. You gasp, pulling on the purple strands of his hair as he starts to trail kisses down your jaw and neck. Wet heat gathers in your core as his mouth sucks on your collarbones.  

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous, ____.” His hot breath fans over your erect nipples. You moan wantonly, throwing back your head in pleasure when he finally wraps his lip around a sensitive bud, his tongue eagerly licking on it. His left hand occupies itself with your other breast, rolling and pinching the nipple. He groans, biting you softly when you pull a bit too hard on his hair, a strangled whimper leaving you. 

You try to buck up your hips against his, seeking friction between you two. Jungkook stops immediately, looking up to see your current state — a writhing mess. With a gentle bite on your nipple, he leaves your chest, a questioning look in his eyes. “What do you want me to do, baby?”

You whine in protest, trying to pull him down on you. But he’s much stronger – and only gives you a sly grin. Desperate for his touch, you grab his hand, guiding it between your legs, just where you want it. But he takes his hand away, demanding, “Tell me, ____. Tell me what you want.” 

With a shaky breath, you whisper, “I need you to touch my clit, please.”  As a coy smile plays on his lips, he lets his finger trail down your belly, approaching your slit. Jungkook stops right before the swollen nub, chuckling at your whine. “Please.” 

You lift your ass, hoping that his hand will slide down as a result. But he pushes your hips down, his voice low. “Behave, sweets.” Watching your puppy dog eyes, he sighs. You know his weak spots, too damn well. 

With one last look, he nestles himself between the warm cocoon of your thighs. You clutch onto the bed sheets, knowing very well what’s about to happen. “So eager for me.” The heated words puff against your core and you squirm.  

He gently thumbs the sensitive bundle of nerves, coaxing a soft whimper from you. Increasing the pressure on it sometimes, he enjoys the sounds you make in response. He gently nips your inner thigh, one of your hands flying to his long hair. Jungkook kisses your clit before starting to suck on it. “Please… That’s… ” you choke out, his adept tongue stimulating you further. 

“That’s what?” You can feel his smile against your skin. 

Inhaling sharply, you say, “That feels so good.” His teeth drag on the nub, making you scream. “Jungkook!” 

Jungkook knows he looks just as wrecked as you, his eyes fixed on your hazy ones and his hair tousled from your tugging.

In a massive surge of desire, he extracts himself from you to get rid of the problematic fabrics on his body. With his hungry gaze on you, he flings both his underwear and pants off. Your smile widens at the bold initiative and you sit up to reach for his shirt, unbuttoning it. Your eyes fall on his erection, the glorious size of it bobbing lazily. Gingerly, you let your hand skim the lines of his chiseled abs, inching closer to his cock. 

“Later,” Jungkook whispers, grabbing your wrist before it can reach him. He pushes you back down on the bed, towering over your small form. It seems like he’s back to admiring your naked body, his eyes roaming all over you. “You’re all fucking mine.” The material of his shirt slides off his shoulders with a tug, leaving both of you in the raw. 

Every time he sees you naked feels like the first time, even though he knows every inch of your body by heart – touched it, licked it, kissed it, sucked it, memorized it. Nevertheless, he can’t get enough. His jaw drops every single time he’s met with your mesmeric curves.

So he just stands there, like the fool he is for you, examining you with his wild brown eyes as if he is comparing you with a fantasy, holding his urge on a leash. You stare back at him, your eyes alight with similar fascination and tenderness – now slightly overshadowed by something more primal.

In the blink of an eye you are all over each other again, rolling around the bed with lips melting in a fervent kiss and curious fingers uncovering one another’s mysteries. The cold, rainy weather outside seems a distant world away as the heat between you magnifies with every shared breath.

Jungkook’s greedy lips quickly follow down your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along the way. The sweet distinctive trace of vanilla on your blazing skin befuddles all his senses, but he doesn’t allow that weakness to hinder his primary mission.

“Jungkook…” A sharp moan escapes your mouth at the sensation of his tongue closing around the soft spot behind your ear. His hands take care of your shaking body, his rock hard cock resting against your navel. 

The journey soon continues; his hands slowly head towards your core, driving you absolutely insane with even the tiniest movement. He’s partially stunned by how responsive you are to his touch, how your body reacts just the way he wants it to. 

He dips his index finger into your warmth, groaning as he feels your juices coating him. 

“Fuck. You’re dripping wet, baby.” He doesn’t even have to send a proper request – you open yourself willingly, spreading your legs wide. But Jungkook just smirks roguishly in response, shaking his head. “I have another idea.” He kisses you one last time and flips you two over, leaving you flabbergasted and gawking at his manhood standing tall for special attention. “Come here.” 

You do as you are told, using your elbows to straighten up before straddling him. He bites his lip in silent frustration when your soaked folds wet his member, gliding up his length. The hiss he let out disappears into your mouth when you throw yourself at him with a passionate, all-consuming kiss. His hands grab your hips possessively, forcing you to move forward.

“Closer,” he mutters, kissing your jaw.

Unaware of his intentions, you blink confusedly. But that sly smile dancing on his face quickly reminds you how good of a player Jeon Jungkook is. Always catching you off guard, but surely making it pleasant for you.

You kiss the tip of his nose and rise up, moving all the way up, until you’re settled directly above his mouth.

“Is this my seat?” Your voice is nothing but a whisper, dripping with anticipation.

“'Tis your throne, love.” 

Jungkook doesn’t offer you a chance to answer – he lowers your hips, guiding your entrance straight onto his mouth. You teeter at the contact, hands reaching blindly for the bed frame, while his firm grip on your body keeps you in place.

He gives you no chance to recover – his tongue begins teasing your clit, every flick deliberate and exhilarating, setting your body on fire. Your hips roll to the rhythm of his skillful ministrations, begging for more friction.

The bed frame serves its purpose perfectly, your knuckles turning numb from the pressure of gripping for steadiness. You bite your cheek, trying to muffle the moans escaping your mouth. But how can you stay silent when he’s sucking you so good? You’re ready to let the whole neighborhood know that you’re riding Jeon Jungkook’s face.

Jungkook doubles the effort, driving you higher and higher. As pleasure rips through you, you feel how exposed you are without his steadying arms wrapped around you. You instinctively reach for your breasts, squeezing them as hard as you can, floating through the orgasm with frenzied moans spilling out your lips.

Jungkook takes in every nuance of you – the way your body flexes on him, eyes half shut by the ecstatic feeling, your breasts aquiver, beads of sweat rolling down your skin and that sweet, sweet taste. You are spectacular and he is determined to keep you on the high wave.

Much to your surprise, Jungkook continues lashing at your clit after you fall apart. The overwhelming heat keeps on spurring you, making your knees quiver.

“Jungkook!” you yelp, not sure if it’s a cry of relish or call for help. It doesn’t stop him, though. His tongue sweeps your cunt relentlessly while his thumb rubs your oversensitive clit. But you have to get his attention. “Jungkook, wait!” He stops, utterly concerned, holding your shaky thighs. Before he manages to ask what’s wrong, you speak up again, your velvet voice faltering as you beam with satisfaction. “I have an idea.”

Jungkook loosens up the grip on you and watches with piqued interest as you spin around just to nestle on top of him, with your cute butt landing right in front of his face. You send him a sultry look over your shoulder and take his cock in your soft hands to give him a few powerful strokes.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to—”

The sentence is cut in the middle when your tongue twirls around his tip, pulling his length deep in your mouth. His hands land on your ass, seeking for something to grip tight as your excellent work sends a visceral thrill through his whole body. He can’t see you, but he can feel you struggling to take him all in. But you’re no quitter – a paralyzing warmth takes over his body a few moments later. His hips buck up slightly to meet your mouth, your head moving sluggishly up and down his throbbing cock. For a split second, you completely blow his mind.

In an instant, Jungkook gathers himself and gently brings you closer in one swift movement. His mouth dives into your pussy again, eliciting a strangled moan as you squirm on top of him.

When he slips two fingers to join his tongue, you stop dead in your tracks, falling forward, choking on his cock that hits your throat. He can feel every muscle on your body tensing at the additional friction. You moan loudly around his length, sending vibrations through him. He groans, his tongue ravishing your slit. The pace of his fingers slow down ever so slightly, in rhythm with your pulsating cunt. 

Riding out the high, you want to return the favor. Jungkook will cum with you too. Porn made it all look so easy and nonchalant, but it’s truly arduous. How are you supposed to pay all your attention to sucking his girth when you’re already so close to your second orgasm? He knows how to draw out the pleasure from you.

As your body breaks out in exhilarating shivers, you set your furious focus on his cock. Your head bobs up and down, tongue and hand working his length up tirelessly in an unsteady, yet powerful manner. Your dedication is greeted with a few muffled moans and an additional digit teasing your entrance as a reward. It’s definitely not a race, but feeling his tongue and fingers plunging deep into your core, you finally realize Jungkook obviously plans to completely demolish you. And you are slowly giving in.

The air fills with obscene slippery sounds and quiet humming on both sides – the obvious proof of immense pleasure building up. Despite your ecstasy-fueled exhaustion, you keep your pace, tongue and fingers working earnestly to push him over the edge. Your moans and whimpers get louder soon, your walls squeezing him as you feel his cock throbbing in your mouth. 

Maybe it’s a race after all. Maybe the fervor of your movements match your dedication to each other. 

You sense the release is close. You feel it deep inside your core, as Jungkook’s dynamic licking and rubbing paralyzes you with blissful shivers. Your mouth stills around his member, your whole body trembling as you cum again. In a flash, you collapse on him with absolute pleasure, unable to move for a long while, basking in the afterglow. Jungkook slows down, gently licking each drop of nectar you offered, prolonging the pleasure. 

When you finally have the power to extract your mouth from his cock and sit up, you notice that he’s still rock hard. Your saliva makes the veins glisten, and you almost feel bad for failing to make him cum. 

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?” His hand rubs your back soothingly, concern laced with his voice. You nod, slowly turning around to finally meet his gaze, his frown melting into a soft smile. One blink and you’re on your back again, his body covering yours as he peppers your face with kisses. 

“Jungkook!” you mewl, his chin slick from your essence. He grunts in response, his cock sliding along your slit. 

“I want you,” he states, his tip right on your entrance, waiting for your confirmation. 

“Fuck me, Jungkook.”  

Without any hesitation, he enters you with a hefty push, filling you up in a way you’ve never experienced before. Maybe it’s because you’re overly sensitive, or maybe because you just tried something new with him… you don’t know. You hear the hitch of his breath once he hits the hilt, a desperate moan escaping you.

You are perfectly accustomed to his size somehow. But you didn’t expect this all-consuming, almost agonizing feeling of fullness before he is even pounding into you. A series of vehement whimpers escape your mouth without your permission and your chest heaves as you struggle to control your breathing. 

Jungkook immediately notices the unconcealable shift in your demeanor. He cups your cheek, slowly pulling out of you.

“Baby, is everything all right?” he whispers, his voice full of concern. “Do you want me to stop?”

You instinctively grab his hand and lock your body on him with an inaudible cry, every word a torture. “I want you inside.”

He nods, relieved, pulling you as close as it is humanly possible. Your head lolls back, resting comfortably on the pillow so you can glance at him between the fits of passion. You two exchange a blithe smile, reflecting the dizzying sensation of each other’s presence. Jungkook’s lips brush over your forehead in a sweet kiss just as he begins moving inside of you. 

He starts off slow, pulling in and out as gently as he can, keeping you cradled in his protective arms. Your previous remark proves to be right – you are insanely tight and lubricated, your scent and unrestrained moans only adding to his arousal. He knows he won’t last long.

“Harder, please,” you whimper, your nails digging into his back, sure to leave marks that’ll be visible for the upcoming days. He willingly complies, deepening his thrusts, setting a merciless pace. The sound of slapping flesh punctuated by your heavy breathing and vocalized pleasure mixes in the most indecent way.

Everything is Jungkook – he invades all your senses, emptying your mind, leaving nothing but his name. You can feel the thunder of your heart pounding against your chest; his hands mindlessly roam over your curves as you remain trapped in his strong embrace. His fingers sneak up to your clit, rubbing you with expert precision while his cock keeps on ravishing you. You are mere seconds away from yet another orgasm, unable to communicate in any form other than shameless moaning.

His deafening groans get more desperate, thrusts slower and rigid, while his fingers rub your clit desperately.

You fall over the edge soon, screaming out his name in pure pleasure. Jungkook ruts his hips harder, getting closer to his release. But, on the other hand, something carnal starts building up in your body, your vision blacking out as suddenly you feel a flow of warm liquid running down your thighs. Jungkook curses. “Fuck baby. Fuck! Look at you squirting, a freaking goddess, my goddess.” 

You can only purr in response, your addled brain unable to register anything else. He growls out loud, the feeling of your inner walls clenching around him along with the hot liquid of your squirt on his stomach too much to handle. With a final sloppy thrust, he chokes out a groan of your name, thick ropes of his cum spilling inside you. Completely spent, he falls over your body, your bodies a tangled mess of each other. 

Once you both have recovered and cleaned up the mess; Jungkook pulls you into his arms, sighing contentedly. You draw random patterns on his chest with your finger while he strokes your hair. The comfortable, domestic silence prolongs, until Jungkook speaks up again. 

“Was I too hard on you today?” He tilts your chin, his eyes gentle. For a moment you lose yourself in the warmth of his eyes.

“Not at all, I – I enjoyed it.” You smile softly, lowering your head shyly. He touches his forehead with yours, his lips just a breath away from you.

“I love you. So fucking much.” He squeezes you in his arms, kissing you gently on the lips. You hum appreciatively, sighing. 

“I love you too, Jungkook.” You two share an endearing, personal smile that’s reserved for each other. Burying your face in his chest, you listen to his steadying heartbeat and slowly drift off to a peaceful sleep. 

˗ˏˋ꒰ 💌 end notes ꒱

thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed this filthy mess ;)

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! support your local writers and keep them motivated 🌷✨ you can also send feedback through asks ^3^

i edited this a bit in some places and changed up some stuff from the original one! as i had mentioned previously, my writing matured up a lot since i wrote this things... so i’ll probably gonna end up editing and revamping the really old works before i repost them 😩!!

#🪄; things i’ve written #jungkook #bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #kpop smut #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #bts x reader #kpop #fic: ‘tis your throne 🔖 #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #oh this one is a personal fav of mine

[gaymergal]

Instead of a sware jar, I need a wip jar 😫

Every time I open a blank document and start working on a new fic idea i owe my unfinished wips a quarter.

*puts 7.25 in a jar*

*opens new document*

This one fore sure will get finished 🥲

#my wife and I recently watched a documentary about leonard cohen #and the song Hallelujah has been stuck in my head since #loz fic #zelda watches as her kingdom falls all around her #she knows the leader of the anti monarchist movement is coming for her #She tied you to a kitchen chair She broke your throne and she cut your hair #And from your lips she drew 😏

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [12]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 11 | Fic Masterlist | Part 13

Prince Yeosang.

The fourth son born to the King and Queen of Joseon, was among the most widely recognised princes in the nation, though not for reasons one might consider positive. Unlike his numerous brothers and sisters, he adamantly resisted marriage despite reaching a suitable age.

But of course, his singledom was not the main reason for the constant chatter about him. The real cause for the heightened attention was the prominent birthmark beside his left eye.

In Joseon, beauty held immense significance, particularly for members of the royal family, who were deemed superior and held to higher standards than the commoners. Consequently, the prince's distinctive mark marked him as an anomaly within the royal lineage.

Throughout his life, Yeosang had been accustomed to the constant scrutiny that came with being perceived as a defect. From what he understood, even his own parents had reacted with alarm upon witnessing the sizable red birthmark on the side of his face when he was born. In reality, the mark didn't diminish his attractiveness, but societal taboos surrounding such markings led people to overlook his overall appeal and fixate solely on the spot.

As a result, he rejected all marriage proposals, having observed the disdainful glances directed at him by potential candidates. The thought of being wedded to someone who did not genuinely appreciate him was unappealing. Besides, he loathed the constant parade of pampered girls presented to him annually.

He would prefer to remain alone for the rest of his life than be tied down to any of those brats. Having always believed that no one could ever empathise with the pain of having such a mark on their face, he was more than astonished to discover you proudly displaying your scar. What's more, you stood in stark contrast to any of the snobbish noblewomen he had met.

It was when he was evading his many princely obligations meant to prepare him for the throne, despite being fourth in line, that he unexpectedly came across you, the beautiful stranger, while seeking a brief escape in the garden. For the first time in a long while, his heart quickened as he approached you, fearing he might lose sight of your enchanting presence.

"Allow me to express our deepest respect, Your Highness. This is Lady Park, the esteemed wife of General Park. Mistress, may I present to you Prince Yeosang." As if sensing his intentions, the servant standing beside you quickly clarified your identity.

However, if she thought this revelation would dissuade the fourth prince, she was sorely mistaken as Yeosang only smiled wider. So, you were the famous Miss Jang, currently the talk of the town. Knowing that you were here only to discuss wedding arrangements, he deduced that you and the general were not yet properly wedded.

That meant not all hope was lost for him.

Your eyes widened at Eunsook's words, the realisation sinking in that you were in the presence of a prince. Without wasting another second, you performed the formal bow you had practised countless times with the head maid before visiting the palace. Greeting the prince respectfully, you maintained the poise and grace befitting your status as the general's wife, "It is my greatest honour to be in your presence, Your Highness. Forgive this humble subject for failing to recognise you."

Up close, Yeosang's admiration for you only intensified. The genuine respect you demonstrated meant more to him than you would ever know. The prince had rarely been shown sincerity, and he knew then that he was right about your purity. Unlike any other noblewoman, you didn't eye him with even the slightest hint of disgust.

She's the one.

"Please rise, Miss Jang. It is quite alright; no harm is done. If anything, it feels very refreshing not to be recognised in an instant." He extended a hand to assist you, gently lifting you from your bow. Your eyes widened in wonder, and you offered him a grateful smile, not recalling Eunsook mentioning this part of the greeting.

Meanwhile, the head maid was in a state of panic, realising that the prince seemed interested in you. He had disregarded your title as Lady Park and had taken the opportunity to be close to you. Seonghwa would not be pleased if he found out.

"I'll be honest, I have yet to meet anyone who adores flowers as much as I do. It's almost as if fate brought us together." Yeosang said, chuckling as he took in your eyes sparkling with sincere enthusiasm. You seemed innocently happy just to make a new friend.

How precious.

"Would you care to take a stroll with me, my lady? I know of a perfect spot with a view that surpasses even this one."

Eunsook's stomach sank as you agreed to his invitation. It wasn't that she blamed you for being unfaithful to her master; she knew you were simply too clueless to see through the prince's intentions. Her concern was for the potential aftermath of the situation – what would happen if the general were to learn about Yeosang's interest in you and your willingness to spend time with him.

In another part of the palace at the War and Strategy Department building, the atmosphere was the furthest thing from peaceful as the words spoken by His Majesty weighed heavily on your husband's heart, "I'm so sorry, my boy. It seems your wedding will have to wait. Relations with the neighbouring nation, Ruhon, have not been very good lately. I fear war is inevitable this time, and... we need you."

Seonghwa sank into one of the chairs, his eyes blinking rapidly as he absorbed the weight of the words just spoken, "War...? H-how serious is the situation? And why haven't I been informed about the strained relations with Ruhon?"

San, taking a seat beside him, sighed and responded, "We've been attempting peace negotiations with them for months, but an agreement seems elusive. They've been making unreasonable demands. We didn't want to burden you with any of this at first, we wanted you to focus on your new marriage. But the situation has escalated, and it appears we're left with no choice but to prepare for the worst."

The King continued with a heavy heart, "Unfortunately, despite our efforts, we haven't been able to reach an agreement with Ruhon regarding their latest demands. They are now threatening to settle matters through force. We must start preparing and strategising immediately; their attack could come at any time."

The implications of the impending conflict raced through your husband's mind, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. The realisation that he would have to lead the army into battle overshadowed the joy of his recent marriage. Just when he thought things were finally looking up for the two of you, the looming threat of war cast a dark shadow over your lives.

He pressed a hand against his head, eyes shut tight, muttering, "I could be gone for months or even years..."

"I'm sorry, Seonghwa-yah. I know this is not what you expected, especially right after your marriage. I wish we didn't have to ruin your plans like this." The King apologised with a solemn expression.

With a shake of his head, the general replied, "No, Your Majesty, I understand the gravity of the situation. My duty lies in protecting this nation. I promise I won't let anything jeopardise its safety, even if it means altering my personal plans."

Nodding, the ruler pursed his lips appreciatively, "We thank you for your dedication, General Park. We'll need you to lead our forces and devise a strategy to repel the impending threat from Ruhon."

"I'll do everything in my power to safeguard our country, my King. You have my word." Seonghwa knew that safeguarding his nation also meant keeping his own wife safe. As much as he hated it, there was no time to dwell on the disappointment of the changed plans; he needed to get to work immediately.

Transitioning into his professional demeanour, he interlocked his hands as he met the gaze of the ruler of Joseon, "When is my deployment to the war zone scheduled?"

His Majesty sighed deeply before answering him, "You have a few days to spend with your wife; the troops are still establishing the base as we speak. You can head over when it's ready. General Officer Song has also been notified and will be there to start strategising in detail with you by then."

Following the finalisation of the main details, the meeting came to a close. As the general prepared to leave, the King stopped him once more. Before he could offer yet another apology, Seonghwa intervened, "You don't owe me any apology, Your Majesty. None of this is your fault; you've done your best to protect your people. Now it's my turn to perform my duty. I... I only have one thing to ask of you while I'm gone..."

The ruler nodded, aware of the request that would follow, "I ask that you watch over my wife for me and make sure she's well protected until my return," His Majesty agreed, a hand squeezing your husband's shoulder, "Of course, my boy. You don't even have to ask."

As your husband headed towards the cherry blossom garden to find you, the unexpected sight of you with the fourth prince caught him off guard. Suppressing a sigh, he shook his head, preventing another wave of irrational jealousy from taking over. He reminded himself that, as San had assured him, you were his. Perhaps, he reasoned, you were simply making new friends.

Moreover, he recalled Prince Yeosang's firm stance on not settling down. Seonghwa reassured himself that there should be nothing more to this than platonic bonding.

Catching sight of her master approaching, Eunsook's panic began to seize her. Mentally preparing herself for the incoming wrath, she knew he wouldn't be pleased to see you spending time with another man. Turning back to you, she hoped to catch your attention, intending to warn you of his presence. However, you were too engrossed in your conversation with the prince, discussing your favourite flowers.

"I think my favourite might be the lotus flower, but that's probably because my husband has dedicated an entire pond full of it to me." The general's heart swelled with affection at your words, confirming that his trust in you was well-placed.

That's my girl.

Before the prince could respond and tell you that he could give you so much more, Seonghwa had finally arrived behind you.

"You're here, master," The head maid greeted, but he waved her off and bowed at Yeosang, "Yes, I'm here now. Thank you for keeping my wife company while I was busy, Your Highness. If there is nothing else, we will be taking our leave now."

Brightening up at your husband's presence, you stepped over to him, and he instinctively circled an arm around your back. Despite the enjoyable time with your new friend, the instant comfort of being with Seonghwa made you feel at home again. The fourth prince's eye twitched at the interaction, but he did his best to maintain a smile on his handsome face.

The elderly woman was genuinely surprised; she blinked as she tried to comprehend her master's calm demeanour. It was unexpected, especially considering how unhappy he had been when you were around Yunho and San. But she found relief in not witnessing him explode or resort to his usual passive-aggressive self.

"Ahh yes, General Park, off to make arrangements for your upcoming wedding ceremony, I presume?" The prince's tone carried a hint of smugness, almost as if he were privy to some knowledge.

Your husband's expression dimmed at the reminder; there would be no wedding plans for some time. Mustering a cordial smile, he bowed lightly, "Something along those lines, Your Highness." He had no intention of breaking the news to you in this manner, and he certainly didn't feel obligated to provide Yeosang with any explanations, so a little fabrication wouldn't hurt.

As if on cue, a few palace servants finally caught up to the prince, out of breath, "There you are, Your Highness! Please don't make our jobs any more difficult than they already are. Will you return to the library with us? The royal tutor is still waiting for you." Yeosang sighed and reluctantly turned to bid you goodbye.

"Very well then. It was nice talking to you, Miss Jang. I hope to see you again. And you, General Park." You and Seonghwa bowed politely as he left the garden with the poor servants trailing miserably behind.

The general did his best to brush aside the prince's borderline irritating behaviour, particularly the way he insisted on addressing you as Miss Jang despite your change in marital status. In the grand scheme of things, such trivialities held no importance now. Chances were slim that you would ever meet Prince Yeosang again, given the impending war and the duties that awaited your husband.

With a deep breath, he focused on the immediate task at hand – spending precious moments with you before he had to leave for the war. Gently tucking a strand of stray hair behind your ear, he offered a warm smile, "Come, my love. Let's make our way home."

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you questioned, "We're heading home already? Aren't we supposed to meet His and Her Majesty?" The head maid shared your astonishment; she was equally puzzled.

Seonghwa let out a small sigh and nodded, "Yes, there's been a change of plans. I'll explain on our way home."

As you walked back to the waiting carriage, your husband's mind raced with thoughts of how to break the news to you. You had only just overcome a traumatising ordeal and were finally getting your happily ever after. The daunting task of telling you that he would have to leave for war for an indefinite amount of time loomed over him. He wondered about your possible reactions and couldn't shake the uncertainty of whether he would return.

Despite being the great General Park, he couldn't escape the reality that, at the end of the day, he was still human.

Settling down into the vehicle, you noticed your husband staring anxiously out the window, lost in thought. Placing a hand over his, you softly called out, "Seonghwa," When he turned to meet your concerned gaze, you inquired, "What is it? What was the emergency meeting about?" He grasped your hands, squeezing them, as he prepared himself to share the news with you.

"I... I'm so sorry, my love, but our wedding ceremony will have to be postponed... indefinitely," As disappointing as that was, you wanted to know the actual reason, so you nodded and waited for him to continue, "That's because... there is an incoming war."

He didn't need to elaborate for you to grasp the situation immediately. Naturally, it meant he would have to go and fight. As the most promising general in all of Joseon, the King's most trusted warrior, if it wasn't him going off to fight, then who else? Your heart clenched uncomfortably at the revelation, but you understood it was only part of his job, so you smiled reassuringly at him, "Oh... I-I understand, Seonghwa. Wh-when are you leaving then?"

Raising his brows in surprise, it took him a minute to react, "W-wait, are you not upset with any of this? I will be leaving you, and it could be for months or even years... and you're okay with it?"

You sighed shakily, the smile now dropping.

"Of course, I'm not okay with it... If only it were possible, I would like to keep you all to myself, but it's your job to defend the nation. You're General Park, and I'm so proud of you for that. You've won so many battles; I'm certain this will be another easy victory for you. As your wife, I will do my duty to safeguard our home until your return."

Just as he believed his love for you couldn't deepen further, your words proved him wrong. He felt incredibly fortunate to have such an understanding wife. He should have known better; he didn't know why he expected you to throw a tantrum. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and pushing your head into the crook of his neck, "You're right; I'm an idiot. I hope you know you're not making it any easier for me to leave you."

Despite the tears welling up in your eyes, you chuckled, trying to maintain a positive outlook amid the looming dread. Inside, you were trembling, and letting him go was the last thing you wanted. Yet, you had to face your reality, "You haven't answered me, Seonghwa. When are you leaving?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hold around you before whispering, "In a few days, my love. A few days."

« Preview of Part 13 »

"Your Majesty, the fourth prince requests an audience with you." The Queen arched an eyebrow, surprised that her most rebellious son would willingly seek to meet her. She had anticipated him doing everything in his power to avoid her due to her constant nagging for him to settle down.

"Hm, does he now? Allow him to enter."

With a deep bow, the eunuch complied, "Yes, Your Majesty, as you wish," before exiting the Queen's chambers to fetch her son.

"The fourth prince, Your Majesty," Yeosang made a grand entrance with a half-hearted bow and greeting, "It's been a while, Mother."

Her Majesty snorted in disbelief, but it no longer surprised her. He had always been the most disobedient among all of her children. She tried to be understanding, acknowledging that his life hadn't been as easy as his other siblings due to the birthmark on his face. This understanding explained her leniency with his attitude.

"What a surprise, Yeosang. To what do I owe the pleasure, my son? If this is regarding more funds or approval for another one of your expeditions out of the palace, you can forget it. I don't want to hear it unless you're telling me you wish to get married—"

With a smirk, the prince crossed his arms over his chest, "That's exactly what I am here for, Mother. I came to tell you I have changed my mind and would agree to get married, on one condition."

The Queen immediately straightened in her seat, wondering if she had heard him wrong, "Y-you're willing to get married?" He nodded, and she widened her eyes, "Name it; what is your condition?"

"It has to be the eldest Miss Jang promised to General Park Seonghwa. It's her or nothing, Mother."

Y'all, my new and final semester of uni starts next week. Here's a heads-up; updates are probably not going to be as frequent, but I will do my best! Also, I apologise if this part felt like a filler chapter HAHA gotta let the drama build up slowly.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

[anxiousnerdwritings]

I am going FERAL over this imagine:

So basically Bruce brings reader home to be his new daughter/the boys' new sibling but Uh Oh! They now want you carnally and reader is just like "you said you wanted me as a daughter/sibling, wtf is this" and being their platonic darling is better than being shared between them romantically so reader tries to come off as innocent and child/sibling coded by being like "yeah I've never actually kissed or dated anyone before aren't I just so innocent" and the boys are like :)))

So then Dick says you can call him your boyfriend "just to feel it out" and Tim starts blatantly stealing your panties and Jason says he can give you your 1st kiss so you can "practice" with him and Bruce offers to teach you how to touch yourself and (and him) and when you try to walk it back cause the boys are being Freaks they're in their delulu era so eventually you end up tied to the bed with the boys and Bruce drawing straws over who gets to take what 1sts (like 1st date, kiss, virginity, ect).

And Damien is just in the background absolutely SEETHING cause the the boys and Bruce's Horny Time keeps interrupting his Mommy Time with the reader

And reader using Damien as kind of a shield cause what are they going to do, feel you up in front of a CHILD? Like just, "Stay Platonic :))"

Just that kind of pseudo incest makes me Feel Things (*/∀＼*)(///∇///)

I'd love your thoughts/a fic based on this! Ty ❤️

TW: Brief mentions of pseudo incest(y) scenarios/behavior, manipulative tactics, yandere tendencies

(Okay so I’ll answer this with my thoughts for right now.)

I know I primarily write incest(y) related topics for my Game of Thrones/ASOIAF stuff but I have been tempted to/curious about branching it out into some of the other fandoms I write for 👀. (I’ve had a few ideas rolling around in my noggin for a bit if anyone is interested.) So I would be willing to give this a try. I’m down to experiment with some new stuff, within reason of course.

I imagine the Reader being older (probably 19-23), maybe even having been a runaway of sorts or not having a very stable home life, so when they’re given the ‘offer’ to become part of the family they’re looking to fulfill a familial void they’ve never experienced or have forgotten how it’s felt like. I definitely see Bruce and the rest of the boys keeping a very close eye on the Reader before they decide to finally bring them into their family, basically full on stalking them from the moment they caught their attention (you know how the Batfam works). It wouldn’t be a surprise if even before the Reader was with them physically that the boys developed a more carnal desire for them. At first, their intentions were completely platonic, but with all the lengthy observing and information gathering of their supposed-to-be-new-family-member eventually something changed in how they all saw their darling.

I really see the change in their obsession starting with either Dick or Tim first. Especially regarding some accidental or purposeful peeping Tom foolery. I feel like Bruce would be the last to fall victim to the change in direction or at the very least he’s the last one to admit to it. If Damian is younger than I see his obsession staying strictly platonic, but if he were much older than I could see him involving himself to the same depths as his family.

At first, I see things happening subtly. Knowing that at the very least a few of them are already in an obsessive-romantic headspace in regards to their darling before they even physically become part of the family the guys would try to be as welcoming as possible without revealing their true intentions. They don’t want to scare you off right away, they want you to walk into it semi-willingly at least. But the interactions with the Reader would show something else. The lingering touches, the being much closer to you than really necessary, the heated grazes over your clothes here and there that leave you wondering if that actually happened or not. I also kind of like the other members not being fully aware of each other’s change in obsession, everyone giving each other the side eye until it sets in and then all out war of who gets the darling to themself unfolds only to eventually end up with them working together and agreeing to share. That’s when Bruce’s heel-turn is revealed.

Once things get truly amped up, the interactions with the Reader really begin to escalate. The boys would walk around shirtless more often, all of them trying to get their darling to look at them, to really look at them. Eventually, it’s not just them being shitless but either them in nothing but their underwear or nothing at all. They start out as accidents but eventually it’s pretty loud and clear that the guys want you to see them, all of them, to even touch them and feel them to your hearts content. But thats not all, of course it’s not. The touching of their darling only gets all the more intense, to the point that you know damn well that they’re touching you and they want to leave you wanting for more. So much more. The Reader’s innocence and lack of experience would only spur them on even more. They absolutely thrive off of it. They all want to be your first, your first everything. There will be a lot of secret ‘lessons’ being given behind closed doors and telling of “Don’t tell Batdaddy or he’ll get real mad.” “Don’t let Jay know, or he’ll want to punish you for not doing this with him.” “Let this be our secret, (Name). Something just for you and me.” “Can’t tell anyone about this or they’ll ruin it for the both of us.” And they only get even worse from there.

I can’t see Alfred being okay with this in any situation, whatsoever. I think he especially would feel like Bruce and the other boys completely took advantage of the Reader and he would try his best to aid them in trying to keep up with the platonic intention of this entire fiasco. He would be a total cockblock, even going as far as helping Damian in his cockblocking endeavors. Alfred’s intention would be to play both sides so he knows how to help the Reader when it comes to Bruce and the others but it wouldn’t take too long for them to figure out that Alfred is working against them. Like, Alfred was all for the familial-platonic obsession but when things started getting more romantic he was ready to shut that shit down ASAP. You can’t tell me he hasn’t, at least a few times, locked Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim out of the house to give the Reader some peace and give Damian his much deserved allotted time with them.

Speaking of Damian, he is a menace (as per usual) but even more so than normal. He really doesn’t take too well to the new direction of his father’s and brothers’ obsession for the Reader. He thinks it’s pretty messed up but he sincerely likes and cares about the Reader and he wants them to stay, he wants them to continue being a part of the family forever so he’ll let some things slide. Some. He even may be willing to look the other way when it eventually comes to Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim baby-trapping the Reader if it means this whole ‘family’ thing becomes set in stone with the arrival of a new ‘sibling’. But for the most part, at least early on, Damian would be a huge pain in the ass for the other family members. He feels like he needs to step in to save his darling from the others and their ulterior motives. He’s all his parental/older sibling figure needs, at least at that point. He may even try to runaway with them to keep them safe from the others. Hell, he may even get his mother involved if he was desperate enough, especially if he saw the Reader as a parental figure. Or maybe even another Justice League member to either adopt him and the Reader so that he could have that family experience he was promised with the Reader. Or he would be completely content just living the rest of his life just him and the Reader, platonically of course.

It would either take Bruce or Dick to have a talk with Damian to get him to come to some agreement to allow them to continue with what they’re doing in regards to the Reader. I think Dick would get away with manipulating Damian much better than Bruce could. I think Damian would have some opinions about his father especially throughout this whole situation. Especially since I see Damian being very observant of how Dick, Jason and Tim are behaving towards the Reader early on and picking up on the fuckery taking place, even going as far as telling Bruce about it under the belief his father would be on his side (not ever fathoming the idea of his father also doing similar things to the Reader without him ever knowing). As far as Damian knew his father was completely platonic towards the Reader, as a ‘father’ should be. Right? So understandably Damian feels not only betrayed but also disgusted when he finds out that his father was and still is taking part in, acting in a similarly depraved fashion as the others.

Eventually, I could see them coming together and being one big ‘happy’ family. But it sure as hell comes at a price. (Usually the Reader’s freedom and sense of self outside of the obsession they’ve been dragged into, to drown in alongside their yandere(s).)

#anxious answers #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere batboys #yandere dc concept #yandere batboys concept #yandere concept

[bardic-inspo]

Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

��O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

#ascended astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #vampire ascendant #vampire lord astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #my writing #naomi tavriel

[untoldstar]

male yandere king x fem! witch reader x male yandere personal secretary Introductory fic

warnings: no yandere shenanigans here so no warnings really BUT this is an introductory fic the yandere themes will appear in later parts.

You’re roughly shoved forward by the two guards that chained you and dragged you all the way here in front of The Kings throne.

King Reid.

“This is her?” You keep your eyes averted refusing to look at him in fear you might not hold back your glare and have your eyes gouged out for that. You’ve heard bone chilling stories of how ruthless he can be and you aren’t about to test the truth behind those stories yourself “Yes sir.” A gruff voice sounds beside you “And you’re completely sure it’s her?” He asks his tone pressing “Positively.” You look up to see that he’s already staring at you intensely, his body stiff with anticipation "Hm..,very well then." The corner of his mouth lifts slightly and a glint appears in his eyes. He nods his head to your wrists and in the blink of an eyes the rope is cut off your wrists. You groan as you rub your red wrists, at least he didn't keep you tied up. He suddenly turns his head to the guards "Everyone out at once!" The guards hurry to sweep the room of everyone and following suite shutting the door after them, as the echo of the large wooden door slowly dissipates it dawns on you that you're completely alone now. At his mercy.

He doesn't say anything only rises from his chair and makes his way to a nearby table pouring a drink which you assume is wine based off the crimson color you caught a glimpse of "Care to join me?" You only shake your head when he glances at you "Suit yourself." He grins. Just what is he doing? You've been dragged here like some sack of potatoes, wrists bound, questions ignored, not an explanation spared and yet he's leisurely enjoying a glass of wine?

"I've heard much about you." He plops down on his seat with a sigh. You stay quite simply watching his movements "The infamous witch.." He swirls the liquid in his cups as he stares at you almost spacing out. You quirk a brow. Infamous? Since when? "You might not realize it but you've caused quite the stir." He hums raising the glass to his lips " I hear people have been desperately crawling to your doorstep to give them a glimpse of the future that awaits them, pleas to make them rich overnight, many people willing to pay you a fortune just so their unrequited love can be returned. What is it that you do, potions?" You internally roll your eyes, of course he'd assume that "Spells." You answer keeping your voice even "Ah of course, my apologies, that was quite the childish assumption." Your tense shoulders relax a little you see he wasn't mocking. He's actually embarrassed if his averted gaze is anything to go by "That's alright..it's a common misconception." You try to comfort "Is it really?" You nod "You'd be surprised to know some of the people who come to me also think that." He hums "Is that so? very well then." He seems pleased to see you talking more and letting your guard down even if only a little "Well anyhow, I'm sure you're wondering why you're here" He sets his glass aside and shifts in his seat "I've been..watching you and I think you could be of great help to me and my kingdom." You cross your arms "What would a king want with a witch?" He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped infront of him "I do admit it's not..usual for a king to seek out a witch but that's precisely why I'm doing this. I believe that with you're help this kingdom can flourish" His eyes gleam and you understand why. You can already think of many ways that could be accomplished but what exactly are his plans? "How exactly would that be achieved?" He seems relieved you're not immediately against the idea "Well, in so many ways of course. You would provide me a level of protection my own guards can't give me, you can help me persuade allies, keep away enemies and false allies who seek the fall of my kingdom." You're face shows no emotions as he rambles on passionately, his ideas aren't bad but you don't want to stroke a kings already inflated ego "We can do so much together.." He suddenly rises up and walks towards you "Don't you think so?" He whispers, his body so close to you, eyes pleading and you're almost in disbelief at how a king is the one persuading you and looking at you with such pleading eyes. "Yes that could all work..But why would I do this? Forgive me your majesty but..what exactly are you offering me?" He smirks, thankfully not seeming to be offended by your question. His prideful demeanor returning once again "Why, everything, my dear. You will live here with me in the castle, your room will be right by my quarters, anything you ask shall be granted, I'll personally make sure of it. It will be a completely new way of living. All will be yours as long as you say yes." You don't give an answer. Nothing is stopping you, you live alone, up till now work has been your focus and this..is work. But is he truly to be trusted?

"..I-" You flinch when he suddenly places his hands on your shoulders rubbing them, he must have sensed your tension "Why don't you take a tour of the castle and think very carefully of my offer? perhaps that could help you arrive to a judgment" Your stomach clenches when his eyes darken and his tone turns warning "You'll find that taking me up on my very generous offer will turn out to be in your favor." Something is defiantly wrong with him but perhaps it's best to be polite and go along with the tour for now at least. You slowly nod "Alright.." He beams "Excellent!" He turns around and rings a bell that's by his throne and Immediately you hear the large wooden doors behind you open. You look behind you to see a man enter, the distance between you doesn't allow you to discern his features fully or any other details except for his raven colored hair and the fact that he's close to your age if not the same if his voice and build is any indication. He bows his head "You called me, your majesty." You feel Reid place his hand on your lower back "Yes." He turns to you smiling "That's Marcus, he's my personal secretary, he'll be the one to accompany you on the tour." You knit your brows "It won't be you?" He lets out a low chuckle "No, my dear, I'm afraid I have a few pressing matter I must take care of but I'm quite flattered you were hoping to spend more time in my company." He ends in a teasing tone. Ugh, anything you say will be taken as flattery with him won't it?"

"Alright enough of that now, Marcus can take it from here. I shall see you after the tour." He nods at you, his smile a little strained now, he truly does hope you will come to the decision of staying afterwards. It would really be disappointing if you don't, your room is ready and your closet is filled with clothes designed specifically for you, he doesn't want his preparations to go to waste.

He also doesn't want to take certain measures into making you stay.

#yandere oc #yandere blog #yandere x reader #obsessive yandere #yandere #fem reader #yandere king x reader x personal secretary #yandere king x reader #yandere Reid #yandere Marcus #yandere introductory fic #fem witch reader #I low key hate this but let’s go

[tadpolesonalgae]

High Lord!Eris x reader: Servitude[***]

A/N: I’m very split on this fic since I love monsterfucking but I crave dialogue

Summary: The night Beron dies and Eris inherits the Autumn Court throne, he goes a little mad from the sudden surge of power, and needs to work his frustrations out - kind of like Calanmai - and who better than you? You practically stumble straight into his lap

Warnings: reader having a CNC/rape kink?, monsterfucking, exhibitionism, dubcon in parts, it’s not breeding kink but there’s definitely something

You’ve been fantasising for too long, and your scent has shifted.

You sigh, heavily, feeling the familiar heat of arousal lick between your thighs. This was an utterly inopportune moment, couldn’t you have waited at least until you were in the privacy of your own home? Not out in the middle of the woods, and especially not on the court-wide day of mourning—tradition for when a monarch passed.

The news had spread like wildfire through summer-crisped leaves, ravishing the city until there wasn’t a single soul that didn’t know. Now all that was left to see, would be who the power would come to, who would inherit the throne out of Beron’s sons.

Heat is still thrumming beneath your skin, but it’s less prominent. You might get away with sneaking back into the city without someone catching your scent, and cornering you. Maybe hauling you into a side alley, and pushing your clothes away, shoving you against a wall - or maybe they’d bend you over - tearing your underwear from your wet heat—

Shit.

Maybe it would be a better idea to finish yourself off out here, in the woods, where someone’s less likely to find you. Especially at this hour. Your teeth find your lower lip, tugging it with indecision.

Eventually you begin quietly moving deeper into the forest, where the trees were thicker, shrubbery taller and more dense, vines stringing from the branches like limp chains. Everything seems so…erotic. From the mushrooms lining the forest floor, to every root large enough for someone to bend you over.

You swallow, undoing the ties of your cloak, too hot to keep your clothes on, folding it over your arm. If you’re going to do this, you’ll damn well enjoy yourself. You locate a nice little clearing, spotting a tree that looks comfortable enough to perch upon. It’s massive, and you wonder for a moment how many centuries it’s seen—if it’s older than your own people.

Pushing the thoughts aside, you begin stripping off your dress, peeling away layer after layer until you’re utterly bare to the night breeze. You imagine every soft gust of wind is a gentle caress from the elements, touching your skin greedily, wrapping you up. You shiver with delight, the heightened sensitivity of your body as you wrap your cloak over your shoulders—a barrier between your naked heat and the dirt coating the large root you’ve selected.

With a shaky breath, you lean back against the trunk, parting your legs a little, then—to hell with it. You straddle the root, the thick maroon fabric the only thing between your heat and the bark. Slowly, so slowly, you begin winding your hips, eyes rolling as your clit presses into the material.

This is so wrong, and it sends frenetic zaps of energy straight between your spread thighs. Fuck, it feels good.

Your lips part as your slick begins coating your cloak, enabling your hips to glide back and forth as you slowly hump the tree, as if you’re grinding against it’s leg. Like a bitch in heat. Your eyelids flutter, nipples peaking as you cup one of your breasts, fingertips dancing over the sensitive skin as you continue winding your hips. Faster, and faster.

Your body is beginning to move on its own, following an innate rhythm your arousal taps into. Back and forth, back and forth, clit gliding smoothly over your slick cloak, the texture of the bark delicious beneath you.

A breeze lifts, carrying your scent with it, cooling your skin as heat builds in your lower belly.

A twig snaps and you freeze, back curving as you peer through the dark clearing.

There’s nothing to be seen…but you can feel it.

The starving weight of hungry eyes.

You can feel them devouring your body, fucking you senseless in the perceiver’s mind.

Isn’t this just what you wanted? To be seen? For someone to watch as you indulge in pleasure? How many times had you fantasised about that delicious weight of a lustful gaze when you’d left your curtains a little too wide, or when you’d moaned after not fully closing the windows? Now someone is watching, and you dare stop the show?

That won’t do at all.

If they had come to kill you, you’d surely be dead. So they must be here for the performance. And who are you to withhold it?

————

The power thrummed beneath his skin, thundering through his body as it ravaged his mind, ripping sense from it’s firmly seated place.

One moment, he’d been calming himself with a midnight stroll through the apple orchards, too tense to sleep, and the next, this power had come crashing down onto him, riding his rationality until it was whipped into submission, yielding to that greater sense.

He’d know what it was the moment it happened, and while he was pleased that it had been passed to him, dread had coiled in his stomach at the pure strength that was now his to control. Eris knew the transformation would be coming any second, and he couldn’t afford to be anywhere near the Court Palace when it happened. Using the limited control he had on his magic, he winnowed deep into the forests surrounding the citadel.

And then he had yielded.

His nails became hooked, growing and sharpening into deadly blades. Canines protrudes from his upper lip, lethal enough to slice with the softest brush. His skin hardened until it was ensconced in scales, rippling with the growth of corded muscle.

Eris no longer moved on his two feet, but four, triple-pronged paws. A mighty tail snicker-snacked behind him as he silently slithered through the undergrowth. Hunting.

He needs to hunt, needs to chase something. Become the predator that has taken over him entirely. Satiate its needs before he can return to his Fae form.

He knows he could become larger, could grow big enough to trample the lush forest that has served his court for years, and that is now his to control, but he manages to keep the power contained. Despite how wildly the magic thrashes and writhes to be set lose.

Almost as if the Mother is urging him on, he catches a scent in the wind. A mouth-watering, dizzyingly appetising scent. So inherently feminine as it wafts to him on the breeze. A growl he doesn’t recognise drags from his throat as he begins tracking it, needing to sink his teeth into whatever it is.

Eris keeps close to the ground as he silently bounds through the dense shrubbery, mighty paws carrying him with lethal quiet. Closer and closer, until he can practically taste that sweet, sweet scent on his rough tongue.

There you are.

The beast inside him hushes, settling into a low crouch, ready to pounce at any second.

For a moment, he’s back in control, watching. And that’s all he does. Watches as you peer around the clearing, trying connect that other presence you feel to a pair of eyes, but you can’t find him. But you know he’s there.

He doesn’t question why you’re out here, or what the hell you’re doing stripped bare in the middle of the forest in the dead of night. All that matters is you’re there, ripe for the taking.

Your hips begin winding over your thick cloak, and he nearly growls with hunger. The sweet scent is coming from you, arousal making him drool as he contemplates how he wants to take you. He doesn’t feel like drawing it out. He wants it now.

And he can tell you’re already close.

————

Bushes rustle, but you continue moving, spurred on by the sounds.

Your eyes slide shut, revelling in the pleasure, the heat that’s coiling in your belly. A little longer and you’ll be there. You’ll come undone before that strange set of unknown eyes.

A growl pulls you from your fervour, and you freeze.

An awe-full, terrifyingly great creature prowls forward, long, hooked claws glinting in the moonlight. It’s eyes are slitted, reptilian features crowned by a halo of straight, pointed tusks. The eldritch animal stalks forward slowly, moving with languid grace toward you, and you can see the muscles rippling beneath the tough, scaled skin.

No. It’s not an animal. There’s nothing remotely normal about this creature.

Arousal slams into you.

One look into it’s slash of pupil and you can sense the beastly Fae power thrumming beneath its armoured surface. He’s been transformed.

The beast prowls closer, and you keep utterly still, nipples peaking in the cool night air. A low growl rumbles through the clearing, and you can swear you see its chest vibrate. There’s a sinister gleam in its eye that has something primal in you begging you to bow. To run, or scream.

He snarls, stopping just outside of your reach, leaving you within his.

Maybe he wants you to stop. Maybe he’s the guardian of this forest and is preparing to rip you apart for performing such a sacrilegious act.

Swallowing, trembling, you shift, moving one leg over the root, so you’re practically side-saddle. You aren’t foolish enough to turn your back on the magnificent beast.

“I’m sorry…” you stammer quietly, fear tracing up your spine. His nostrils flare, and he purrs. As if he enjoys your terror. “I didn’t mean any harm…” you beg, softly, nails digging into the material of your palm.

His slitted eyes take you in, peering at your elevated position on the root. His nostrils flare again, and the delicious scent of your fear and arousal twine together, and he needs.

Your breath catches as he noses roughly at your belly, shoving between your thighs, tongue pushing out. Your eyes roll as the Fae creature begins lapping at you, the rough, slick muscle rolling over your clit, and your hips buck. Keep still. The beast seems to command with his eyes, making certain he won’t have to hunt you down now that he’s found you.

A whimper spills from your lips with the forcefulness of his licking, and you nearly topple backward. His head dips, bringing the tusks closer to you, and you grip on desperately. The beast’s head tips back up, and you’re pulled forward, so you’re toppling forward onto the column of his snout.

The Fae bucks his head, hoisting you higher, your thighs spread over the lower bridge of his nose, breasts pressing to the space between his eyes as his tongue fucks into you. A startled moan bursts from your lips as your clit glides across the scales ensconcing his powerful form. Your back curves, allowing him deeper as the hot, rough muscle drives within your sex.

The pleasure crests over you, and you cry, delighting in the delicious sensations being gifted to you. Your hips wind, desperate to ride out the orgasm, and it’s as if his tongue spasms, sending those eye-rolling vibrations to your wet heat.

Panting fills the clearing, along with that deep, beastly purr. He seems satisfied with himself. Until he tilts his head downward, and you slide off his slicked scales onto the ground. You wince with the drop, landing on your ass, before you’re peering up at him.

He prowls closer, until he’s over you, and you’re having to crane your neck to see him. But your eyes catch between his hind paws, and your breath catches. You whimper at the sight of it: he’s hard, his cock widening a little beneath his tip, a pearly bead of come nestled in his slit.

He’s big. Far too big for you.

Fear coils within you as you shift onto your hands and knees, attempting to frantically crawl out from under him, but he pursues with a deep growl. It’s a warning you realise, through whatever unearthly magic he possesses that allows him to make such a drastic transformation.

It’s a warning you don’t heed, too occupied with attempting to escape.

One large paw crushes down into your shoulder, though the pressure lessens when you whine. Instead it shifts to the base of your neck, talons hooking smoothly over your shoulders as if they were fashioned around your bones. You whimper, wriggling desperately as his tail twines around your hips, keeping your ass in the air.

“Please…” you beg, using all your fae strength to push against the creature that will surely wreck you. “Let me go…”

His grip tightens, and it’s then you notice his paws have shifted. Instead of having them end in triple-pronged talons, it’s now five fingers. They’re still much too eldritch to be fully fae, but… You crane your neck to try and get a look at the monster, but it’s difficult. All you can make out is the corded muscle of his arm—not paw.

You whine when his tip presses against your entrance, and you can practically feel that pearly bead of come mix with your own release as he slicks himself up. His tail constricts, pulling your hips back to him, and he pushes in. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan as he fills you up. Big, but not unmanageable—definitely a stretch.

A hiss rips from between your teeth when he moves to draw back, and it stings. You need longer to adjust, you can’t go as you are. He’ll tear you to pieces.

Eris senses your hesitance, the too-tightness of your cunt. He growls impatiently. He’d already prepared you, now he needs you to come to that perfect state of ripeness. He can’t set himself lose until you’re there, ready for him.

The tip of his tail rolls over your clit—it’s the most he can manage in this new body of his, how little control he has over its fine details. His tongue lolls out, and he licks along your neck, purring at the flavour, tasting your arousal.

Heat is already blooming in your lower belly when he begins moving. And when he draws his hips back, to press back in, your back arches with pleasure. This time, when you wriggle against him, you need him deeper, need him to be filling you up, and spilling into you until he’s dripping down your stomach.

It’s like he can sense your desires, as if his senses are so powerful they reveal everything to him. His hips draw back, and he slams into you. If his tail hadn’t been holding you in place, you would have surely been knocked forward. You moan, a deep, needy sound that he replies to in his chest, the noise vibrating against your back.

He picks up the pace, already beginning to pound into you, and it’s as if he wants to you scream, like he needs to hear what he’s doing to you. His hips roll, and the swell of his cock rubs against that sensitive spot inside of you, and you can’t help it.

The short scream tears from your lips, making him snarl in delight, gripping you firmer as he continues assaulting your senses. Your back curves, and you begin to match his pace, pushing back against him.

That white-hot coil tightens in your belly, and your vision blurs.

Eris’ taloned hand leaves your nape, hooking beneath your shoulders as he lifts you upward, your back flush against his warm chest. A shiver runs over you at the mind-numbing contrast: the heat of his chest to the cool whips of midnight air along your front. The rough pads of his fingers dance over your chest, and the tears spill, drip-dropping straight to the earth beneath you.

He grazes your nipples and you think you might fracture beneath the pleasure he’s subjecting you to, how his cock keeps abusing that one spot over and over and over. His tail rubbing over your clit while his fingers warm your breasts.

There’s nothing you can do to prevent it as the pleasure against crests, more powerful than last time. Your whole body trembles as your muscles seize and spasm, cunt fluttering around him wildly as you lose yourself in the frenzied washes of euphoria.

Eris feels your delight, feminine satisfaction tinting your scent as you come, and he feels himself release.

You moan sharply, suddenly, feeling as his come shoots into you, cock spilling precious pleasure inside your wet heat. You can feel it, feel the light pressure in your lower abdomen as he fills you up, so thoroughly that he’s dripping down your stomach before he’s finished.

He gives you so much.

You’re panting, breathless, feeling like you’ll never need again if you have him. So deliciously male.

Above you, he sighs heavily. The strain has lessened, and he feels himself beginning to revert back into his old self. His arm remains hooked beneath your chest, but his tail releases you, shrinking away as scales melt into skin, tusks transforming to long, silky locks of hair that cascade over your shoulders, tickling you slightly.

You gasp, indulging in the soft press of his skin, hand gripping his wrist, wanting to keep touching him. His hips draw back, and you whine from how empty you feel, but you manage to shift onto your back, taking in the male who just ravished you.

He’s beautiful. Magnificent grace radiating from him, and you know you wouldn’t be able to escape him if you wanted to.

He’s tired, eyes half lidded from the effort of keeping the sudden surge of power contained, but he’s managed. And it’s his now.

Fire blazes in his gaze as he takes his female in—you. He can feel the warmth from your skin, hand cupping your jaw, talons shrinking to elegant nails. You tip your head, and he takes you, mouth slanting over your own as he carefully pries your lips apart.

You moan, arms snaking over his shoulders, legs wrapping around his hips as you kiss him fervently. Your eyes slide shut, allowing him inside, wet heat lapping against your tongue and you grip him tightly.

You won’t let him escape either.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Eris #eris smut #autumn court #High Lord #High Lord smut #Eris x reader smut #Eris vanserra

[honeybeefae]

Coronation Day (Eris Vanserra x Reader)

Eris Week Day Two: High Lord

Summary// The day of Eris's coronation is finally here and while everyone is getting ready you realize your mate is nowhere to be found. After searching everywhere you finally find him in the gardens and you see a side of him that he rarely ever shows.

(I’m sorry that these are so short but I hope you guys are still liking them! This fic was one of my favorites to write and I think it’s just the detail and imagery that really ties it in. I also love writing about vulnerable Eris so it has definitely been fun for me! <3 Thank you guys for reading!)

(I also had pictured what the dress, crown, and shoes looked like so here are the references but of course I want you all to picture what you like! It is you, after all :))

Your Dress / Crown / Shoes / Eris's Outfit (but gold instead of silver) / Garden Gates

(Also I listened to Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift while writing!)

@erisweek2023

WARNINGS: None

You look up at the grand clock as the seamstress puts the final touches on your gown, your stomach in knots as you look over yourself in the mirror. It was Eris’s coronation day and everything had to be perfect, including you. The gown was exquisite, the exact dress you would expect from a High Lord’s mate, and your hair and makeup enhanced your entire aura into royalty.

The gown was the color of golden leaves with large sleeves and beaded foliage around the top to pay homage to your court. It swept the floor and had a grand trail, almost like a wedding dress, while the crown that was atop your head matched perfectly to Eris’s. 

“There, my lady, you are perfect.” The seamstress beamed in the mirror as she stepped back, taking in the entire outfit as you matched her smile with your own. “I have never seen a more beautiful and deserving woman to be our Lady of Autumn than you.”

“You are too kind, Cressida.” You blush, stepping off the pedestal and testing out your specially made-heels. “All this beauty is truly owed to you. I was but a blank canvas to your brilliant mind.”

“Now it is you who is being too kind, my lady.” She bows while she gathers her things and walks towards the door. “I will see you at the coronation!”

“I’ll be the one on the throne!” You laugh, waving to her before turning to your handmaidens with a nervous sigh. They all gush over your outfit, their voices intermingling into a crescendo before you shush them. “Have you heard from Eris?”

“Well…about that…” Luci begins, her mouth twisting down as she looks to the others who immediately look to the ground.

“What? What is wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong, my lady, it’s just-” Luci tries to explain before Nikolet steps forward, finally caving. 

“No one has seen him since this morning!” She confessed, her hands wringing together in front of her. “He was getting ready and when the seamstress came to check on everything he had vanished. They didn’t want to tell you since you were also in the middle of-”

“They didn’t want to tell me that my mate was missing…on his coronation day?!” You raise an eyebrow, trying to control your anger as the girls sheepishly nod. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath, shaking your head. “I will go find him, just finish getting ready.”

“But my lady-” Luci tries to interject but you hold out a hand, silencing her. 

“He is my mate. Wherever he has run off to and why he has run off is nobody’s business but our own. Now please, get ready. I will see you all there.” You urge, shooing them, before picking up your skirts and walking out the door.

The castle is bustling with activity while you try to find him. People were running around making sure everything was in its place, that the flowers were set and the food was prepared. You try to look neutral as you pass everyone, barely acknowledging their bows and awes of beauty as you search everywhere. You weaved and waded through the crowds of fellow court members, peeking through the doors of rooms and studies until you stopped at the grand entrance doors.

Where on Earth could he be?

You bite your lip, looking side to side, before you catch a glimpse of sunlight coming in from the window above. As you turn to see its path, noting how it hits the painting of the garden so beautifully, you get an idea.

The pace of your steps picks up as you hold your skirts tightly and all but run through the kitchen, apologizing to the staff as you almost run into the cake. They shout out, wondering where you are off to in such a hurry, but you ignore them as you push through the back doors and glide down the outdoor steps.

Leaves rustle above you as the autumn air greets you like a lover, wrapping around your bare shoulders in a soft caress while your heels click against the cobblestone walkway. The trees grow thicker as you make your way to the very back of the estate, to your and Eris’s small garden of Eden.

Tall stone walls and oak trees guard it from prying eyes, secluding it for everyone except the two of you as you slow your pace and walk through the iron gate. Autumn leaves cover most of the pathway leading to the small bench at the back of the garden where you spot Eris with his head in his hands, the tree above rustling and whispering things you think only he can hear.

“Eris?” You say softly, smiling softly when he raises his head to look at you. He looks beautiful in his dark red suit, golden embellishments lining the wrists and collar, with a white shirt and dark pants to match. His hair was styled neatly, as always, but what stood out to you the most was his pained, troubled eyes. “Oh, Eris.”

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” He says, watching as you walk over to him and crouch in front of him. Your dress rustles against the ground but you don’t pay any attention, all of your focus is on him. “A true Lady of Autumn.”

“What’s wrong, love?” You ask, grasping his hands in yours. “Cold feet already?”

He gives you a small smile and your heart flips. “You could say that…though it is very hard for me to get cold.” Eris chuckles though his voice falls flat at the end as he looks down, frowning. “What if I can’t do this? What if I can’t lead an entire court?”

“You can do this. If anyone can, you can, Eris.” You squeeze his hands tightly, bending down until you catch his gaze. “I have never had as much confidence in anyone leading as I do with you. This court has been through so much and you are going to bring it back to life.”

“This court has been through so much because of my father,” He scowled, standing abruptly while you sighed and stood with him. He began to pace back and forth as he continued his rant. “My father almost ruined this court and I know what the people think of him…what they probably think of me. I am my father’s son and what if, what if I become him? What if that is my destiny?”

The air stood still as he stopped in his tracks, looking at you with fear and sadness and doubt and vulnerability. You had only seen him like this once before when your mating bond had snapped. He hated to show weakness, especially when it came to his family, and your heart broke at his confession.

“What if I am no better than my father? A monster’s prodigy?”

You walk to him slowly and cup his face, caressing his cheek with your thumb as you pull him towards you and wrap your arms around his neck. Eris immediately crumbles at your touch and pulls you as close as he can, burying his face in your neck as your hands run down his back soothingly. 

Something wet falls against your shoulder but you don’t draw attention to it nor to the shuddering of his shoulders. You just hold him as tight as you can while you whisper your truth into his ear.

“Eris Vanserra, I want you to listen to me.” You begin gently. “You are more than your father’s legacy. You are the creator of your own story, the holder of the pen, and right now is the first chapter of it. You have more kindness, bravery, and leadership in your pinky finger than your father ever had.”

His shoulder slowly came to a stop as you continued, pulling back so that you could press your forehead against his and look into his eyes. “My love, I wish you could see yourself as I see you. Because do you know what I see?” You ask, placing a finger under his chin when he tries to look away. “I see a man who is brilliant. A man who is loyal to his court and saved them from war. A man who may hide behind a mask but cares more than he cares to admit.”

“I see my mate, my handsome soon-to-be High Lord.” You smile, kissing his cheek. “The mere fact that you are afraid tells me, tells everyone, just how worthy you will be for this crown. You will do amazing things for this court, for all of Pyrthian. I have never had more confidence in anything in my life.”

“Y/N…” Eris trails off, lost for words, but you shush him with a finger to his lips. 

“And if you happen to falter just remember I will be right by your side ready to set you straight.” You grin, giggling when he nods in agreement. “But seriously, you are going to be a wonderful High Lord.”

Eris takes a deep breath and whispers, “Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have been given you?”

“You could do to remind me more often…” You trail off teasingly. “Perhaps tonight after your coronation?”

He smirked and tried to give you a kiss but you cheekily turn at the last second, letting his lips land on your cheek and smiling when he let out a huff of frustration. You grab his hand and begin to walk out of the garden, turning back to him and saying, “Now, now, High Lord, we mustn’t keep everyone waiting. Come, let’s start this journey together.”

The two of you walk back into the Forest House, smiling and laughing, while everyone looks on in confusion. You arrive quickly at the doors of the grand hall where you can hear everyone talking, wondering what was taking so long. The advisors look worn out as they get in their places, just glad that Eris has been found, while you turn to look at him adoringly. 

“Ready?” You ask.

Rays of sun shone through the windows again, catching him in just the right light to give him an ethereal glow that highlighted his amber eyes and cheekbones. “As long as you are by my side.”

“Always.” You promise, kissing him tenderly before pulling away as the doors open. “Let’s go get your crown.”

As the doors open the applause nearly deafens you, everyone cheering and smiling as the two of you walk into the room and down the aisle. At the end sits two thrones of equal size, both of your crowns sitting on the cushions as you walk hand in hand towards your destiny. 

#erisweek2023 #acotar #acotar reader #eris #eris acotar #eris vanserra #eris vanserra acotar #eris x reader #eris x reader acotar #high lord eris #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x reader acotar #eris week 2023 #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #acotar imagine reader #eris fic #eris imagine #eris vanserra fic #eris fic acotar

[houseofhyde]

i. a game of westerosi whispers.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. the five rumours about you that made the rounds amongst the court and the five times your uncle taught you to use them as a weapon. read part two here!

warnings. niece!reader, targcest, canon misogyny, mentions of infertility and starvation, attempted rape (not daemon), kinda manipulative behaviour from daemon ig, angst, fluff, smut (heavy petting, fingering, dry-humping). disclaimer!! reader + rhaenyra's age may not be accurate to the time of events but i don't feel comfortable writing about daemon going after a minor, so just roll with it.

word count. 5.5k 

taglist. @nyctophilic0vitnir​

hyde's input. i wrote this on a whim with no clue what the actual plot was gonna be other than the last sentence, so enjoy whatever this clusterfuck of words is. ngl, i felt a little iffy writing targcest but hey, at least it serves as a reminder that i’m 100% not into this shit irl. also, thank you so much for the reaction towards my first (and only other) daemon fic, dressed in white, i'm completely shocked at how many people actually read it and enjoyed it. you're all cute for giving it notes :(

bearing the targaryen name was as much a burden as it was a blessing.

while on one hand it came with dragons and power, on the other it came with prying eyes and hushed gossiping. it was a fact of life: as sure as the sun would rise come the morning, a targaryen’s name would be the centre of the capital’s gossip.

so, why on earth would you ever have believe yourself exempt from this rule, solely on the grounds that you were the second born daughter and not the apple of your father’s eye?

the first rumour was always the worst.

“i heard she threatened to feed herself to her dragon after the king named her sister as his heir.”

“no doubt that’s how she claimed inheritance over dragonstone!”

it hadn’t mattered that you’d never wanted, nor asked, for dragonstone, just the same as it didn’t matter that you’d happily cheered your elder sister’s future ascent to the dreaded iron throne. the ladies and lords who filtered through your father’s name-day feast had staked their claim over the truth, all so humoured by the thought of you, screaming like a small babe and stomping your foot like a spoilt brat, threatening your father with violence against yourself, that they failed to search for the source of such gossip, blindly believing it for the sake of a laugh and fuel to strike up a conversation within the great hall.

like wildfire, the rumour did spread.

lords whispered it into the ears of their dance partners, ladies who would then make their way back to their tables to share the news amongst those sat around it, all of whom would retire to their chambers and muse upon your supposed temper tantrum with their maids and knights, who’d filter out into the streets of king’s landing and spread the word like it were a plague, till even the rats in the sewers were aware of your untrue outburst.

by the next morning, you were branded the scorned princess.

“gossip is where truth goes to die.” he’d startled you out of your own self-pitying thoughts, back pressed up against the tree in the godswoods and book laying open across your knees, not a single page turned in what had to have been well over an hour.

“uncle,” clutching at your heart, your dizzied fright had blinded you to the way the man above you burned his eyes into what little he could see of your developing bosom. with the summer heat in full-swing, you’d taken to lowering the necklines of your dresses and the prince had taken to despising that you’d once dared to hide such a delectable sight beneath layers of clothing. “’tis not wise to sneak upon a woman armed.”

a charming smirk branded his face as you tugged the hem of your dress half-way up your leg, shamelessly letting him gaze upon your supple skin and the dagger sheathed in it’s own miniature scabbard against your calf.

a gift, on the name day in which you had turned ten and seven, from the very man who casted a shadow over you now. (”you told me you wanted a piece of old valyria, little dove. so there you go, your very own valyrian steel.”)

“just the same as it ‘tis not wise to sulk in public spaces, niece.”

“i was not sulking!” the book snapped shut as you rose to a stand, defensive in the way you held it pressed to your chest. his jaw clenched, what little morals he owned swallowing down whatever undesirable comment he had for you newly covered breasts.

his attention redirected itself to your mouth, lips red from the way you'd shamelessly gnawed upon them through all your distressing thoughts, the bottom one jutting out against your own consciousness.

“my brother’s new born babe aegon pouts less than you.” daemon mused, hand reaching out to swipe his thumb over your puckered petal, teasing himself with what they’d feel like pressed against his own. “if your concern is the whispers, ignore them. the cunts in your father’s court mean only to make themselves believe you are lesser than them. they’ll tire by the morrow and move on to someone else in our house to discuss, nyke kivio ao bisa.” i promise you this.

daemon was glad you’d never read into his words too much that day, least he’d have to admit to feigning a drunken state and causing a scene in a brothel that very night just to get your name out of their mouths.

the second time you found your name floating the keep’s halls was a few years after the first.

“they say the princess scarcely bleeds. barren, that’s what the grand maester called her.”

“regardless, she lacks the shape of a proper woman. i’ve seen men with hips more apt for childbearing than her’s.”

once more, no one took notice of the times your handmaidens had stripped your bed clean of bloodied sheets, nor did they pay mind to the fact you’d rushed out your father’s wedding to alicent hightower, dress sporting a bloodied stain and eyes filled with tears of embarrassment.

the scorned princess being also the barren princess? it made for a better story than the truth: a combination of stress induced starvation and lack of sleep had lead to an irregularity with your moon’s blood.

the room around you had long ago emptied itself of guests, those who remained behind either too drunk to make it out of their seats or in too high a spirit to retire to bed.

you were one of the former, head resting against your crossed arms which had found purchase on the table. never having been fond of drinking, it had only taken a few cups of dornish wine to render you inebriated, and thus your pity party had began, lamenting your own withering reputation to whichever poor, unfortunate family member had been a great enough fool to sit themselves next to you.

“father thinks me ruined, hic,” your sentence paused to make space for your drunken hiccups, which served to cover up the little sobs your body shook out. “i heard him speaking to the hand about how he’ll never, hic, find someone to marry a, hic, princess who can not, hic, give any heirs. ziry emagon daor gīda eptan issa, hic, lo ziry iksos drēje!” he has not even asked me, hic, if it is true.

“ao gīmigon skoros ao jorrāelagon naejot gaomagon, byka dove?” you know what you need to do, little dove?

you shot up straight, no longer caring that your face was stained in tears, mind too busy wondering why daemon had been sat next to you and was not off with some whore, indulging in a victory fuck to mark the end of the celebrations for his return as king of the stepstones.

you voiced your curiosity, hand instinctively curling around his own as he reached out for you, the scraping of his chair ringing in your ears when he inched himself closer.

“can i not want to spend time with my niece?”

“yes but we, hic, already broke our fast together this morning.”

“and yet i never managed to speak with you, your father was too busy with his gloats on my return.” he spoke no word of lie, the king had been an unstoppable force of laughter and joy ever since daemon had given him his crown and the crabfeeder’s sword. a part of you had been endeared, watching how he reminisced on his and his brother’s younger days, filling daemon’s cup with wine every time it had emptied, a smile on his face like no other you’d seen since the passing of your mother. “now, you’ve yet to answer my question.”

“your, hic, question?”

“you make for an endearing drunk, little dove.” giving your hand a gentle squeeze, there was nowhere for you to hide from the fondness in his eyes as he brought your intertwined fingers up to his lips, brushing them over the expanse of your knuckles. a chill ran down your spine and a fire lit within your loins. “my question was regarding those who speak on your fertility, or supposed lack thereof. do you know how you must handle this?”

“if i did, do you believe i’d have, hic, made myself so familiar with the wine this evening?”

the prince laughed, you smiled. something sinful flowed through your veins as you took note of his posture, how his whole body was pointed towards you, how his back hunched over enough for him to lean down and level his eyes with yours, how he didn’t seem to take notice- or, if he did, didn’t seem to care- of the remaining guests stares being glued to you both, analysing each detail of your interaction.

“and here i thought you’d turned to drinking to cope with the absence of your favourite relative in these past years.”

“i accepted corlys', hic, absence years ago, kepus.”

“just for that,” he pushed his chair back, hand dropping your own as he stood and straightened out his wrinkled clothing. “i shan’t be telling you what to do about these rumours.”

before he could walk away from you, your hand shot out and grasped at his wrist, foolishly believing you carried the physical strength to hold him in place.

“no!” you were certain everyone who remained in the hall had heard your panicked exclamation, but it mattered little as the desperation to have him near, to have him guide you, to have him tell you how to make everything better took over your sanity. “please, i only, hic, jest! tell me what to do.”

for what felt like an eternity, and was only a mere few seconds, daemon stared down at you, blank in the face. his eyes narrowed in on the tear tracks down your cheeks, and an unspoken- and impossible- vow was made in that instant: he’d pay any price to ensure you’d never cry again.

“what you need to do, niece,” he leaned down, till his lips were near pressed against your ear, ghosting over it with his hot breath and the faintest brush of his moving mouth. “is make sure your future husband fucks you so full of his seed that no one dares question your capability of carrying on the targaryen lineage.”

there still remained plenty a drunken fools and dancing buffoons by the time you decided to retire for the evening, yet you payed no mind to their wandering eyes as you let daemon guide you out the hall and escort you back to your chambers.

you’d awoken the next morning to an aching head and a burning cheek, unsure of whether daemon had pressed his lips against it before bidding you goodnight or if that was but a drunken dream.

the third rumour came not shortly after.

“did you hear about the princess and ser criston? apparently she’s requested he train her in combat.”

“the only combat she wants is within his bed.”

no one cared to enquire on the truth of why a young princess would request to be trained in the arts of the sword, just the same as no one cared to address the fear you’d been left with after an attack on your life within your own chambers, when a knight, angered with his dismissal from the city watch after breaking his vows of chastity, had decided to seek revenge on the king on a personal level, a fatherly level: stripping his daughter of her purity.

your night dress was nothing but torn rags and his breeches were halfway down his legs by the time ser criston had burst into the room.

and though he may have failed at stealing your virtue, he’d succeeded in stealing your safety.

the first few nights, you found no comfort in your own bed, seeking out your elder sister and crying into her welcoming arms till your body grew tired from the sobs and your eyes had dried up. your return to your own chambers had been under certain conditions, your father unwilling to risk putting you in harm’s way again, and thus a collective of knights stood post outside your door at all hours of the day.

none of it made any difference when you fell asleep, however, your slumbering mind taking to bombarding you with nightmares of sweaty palms on your skin and the putrid smell of the knight’s breath as he forced himself atop your helpless body.

when you’d asked ser criston to educate you in manning a sword, he’d taken no interest in asking for a reason, understanding what had been ailing you without you having to relive it through verbalising it.

he was surprisingly patient with his teaching, not caring for the number of times he’d need to repeat himself, nor the plethora of time you’d struck him in the face with the wooden training sword he’d bestowed you with.

but ser criston did not go easier on you, did not lessen the blows he’d deliver your way on account of you being smaller, frailer, nor for the simple fact that you were the princess. he pushed your face into mud, he bruised your skin with his blows, he worked you till you were short of breath and drenched in sweat. all in all, you’d believed him to be a great teacher. perfect, even.

until you found yourself disarmed, a boot digging into your shoulder to keep your back pinned to the ground below and the end of a sword barely gracing the skin of your neck.

“ziry kostagon daor hīlagon nykeēdar gīda lo ziry ropatas hen hen nykeā lōgor.” he could not hit water even if he fell out of a boat.

the heel of daemon’s boot dug further into your shoulder, unknowingly grinding into a bruise you’d earned two days prior, a fair price you’d payed to at last disarm ser criston for the first time.

the man above you glared down in your direction as a series of giggles erupted from your chest, the man already irritated from hearing how you’d taken to training with the cunt in shiny armor.

“ziry kostagon’t sagon sīr quba, lo ziry pyghagon ao isse se tourney.” he can’t be so bad, if he beat you in the tourney.

“urnēbagon ziry, byka dove, ao kostagon find aōla zālagon lo ao tymagon rūsīr perzys.” watch it, little dove, you may find yourself burnt if you play with fire. as if to punctuate his threat, he pushed the edge of dark sister harder against your skin and you felt the unmistakable sting of skin prying itself apart under the sharp pressure. the faintest line of red trickled down the back of your neck, staining your skin and straining daemon’s breeches, much to your own unawareness.

“īlon’re zaldrīzoti, keepus. perzys kostagon daor ōdrikagon īlva, mērī excite īlva.” we’re dragons, uncle. fire can not harm us, only excite us.

the next few moments passed in silence, save for the occasional screech of a bird or the rustling of leaves in the wind. and all the while he was gazing down at you, eyes hooded and chest heavy with each breath. he was contemplating something and you longed to know what.

it went far beyond a longing to know, you wanted to be in his mind, wanted to split his skull in two and burrow yourself in whatever space he may have left for you, taking up as much of his mind as you physically could.

meanwhile, he thanked any god who may exist that you had no insight into his maddening thoughts, safe to imagine you laid out atop his bed and with his hand around your throat rather than the blade of his sword, every rise and fall of your chest punctuating another delicate whine for him to swallow with his own deranged grunts.

only after he’d sheathed dark sister once more did he speak.

“i will inform ser crispin of his dismissal from training you.” it was not a request but, rather, an order. the kind of thing you’d typically quarrel with your father over, yet with daemon you were too busy melting into a puddle under the warmth of his stern tone to care.

“and why,” as he interrupted your own efforts to stand, hand grasping your arm and swiftly pulling you to your feet like you weighed no more than a bird’s feather, you lost your footing, sending you barreling against his solid chest. he stood taller this way, your head having to tilt further back to hold contact with his eyes. “would you be doing that, uncle?”

“because you’ve no need for two swordsmen to train you. it’ll only lead to conflict in training methods.”

“how so?”

“ser crispin is a technical man, commanding the style in which you move and the strategies you must implore to predict his next blow.” his face inched lower, closer to yours and invaded your space in a way only he could. “my training is more... hands-on.”

the fourth rumour was the one you cared the least to disprove.

“i suppose it is only expected that she follow in her family’s tradition.”

“still, i do find it odd how she can lust after her own kin, her uncle! i guess not even the rogue prince’s niece is blind to his charm.”

perhaps the spiders around you were finally beginning to use their countless eyes, staring the truth in it’s face and choosing to spin their web of lies around it, a step forward from their usual habit of spinning straw into gold and staking barbarian claims against your honour.

if they were going to talk, least it be with some truth.

because while no, you had not begged daemon to bed you like the ladies claimed, nor had you followed him out of the castle and spied on his depraved actions in fleabottom as the lords had said, you certainly could not deny there was something going on.

from touches that lingered on the training grounds, your hands clinging onto him long after he’d pulled you back to your feet and his hands remaining on your cheek long after he’d whipped away the traces of dirt.

to public interactions deemed far too intimate for an uncle and his niece, even for the house of dragons. countless feasts passing where neither one of you were keen to take your eyes off each other, whether your bodies were pressed right up against one another in a dance or a sea of people stood between you both on opposite ends of the hall.

two tourneys, one for prince aegon’s first name-day and another for the upcoming marriage between rhaenyra and your cousin, laenor velaryon, and in each the events had played out the same: daemon would stride in on his steed, dressed in the most ridiculous armor one could find, and request your favour, boldly and unabashedly before every gossiping housewife and envious lord, only to defeat his opponents and ruffle some more feathers when declaring you as the queen of love and beauty.

which lead up to this moment in the throne room, the king looming large over both of you from the pile of swords despite his visibly worsened health, anger decorating his features as he spied the wreath of flowers upon your head, still present hours after the rogue prince had crowned you for the second time.

the first time, he’d overlooked it, laughed it off.

the second time, he’d felt his blood boil, shoved his second wife’s hands off him as she whispered in his ear of how his brother meant to ruin his daughter in the eyes of potential suitors.

if the king were half as smart as he was kind, he would have seen the truth in queen alicent’s worries.

“please, father, don’t be so ridiculous! daemon has merely been training me.” you had the nerve to smile at him after he lay the allegations of your indecent meetings at both your feet, trampling them under your pretty words as though they were far too implausible to even entertain with anger.

“i thought ser criston was aiding you with your sword skills.” your father replied, his full-fingered hand curling over the edge of his armrest and supporting his weight as he leaned forward, as though to get a closer look at you.

“there was a conflict of interest.” daemon answered in your place, to which viserys scoffed and kept his eyes on his daughter.

“how so?”

“his methods, i did not find myself... responding as well as i do to daemon’s.” it was only a half-lie, for while you would still argue that ser criston was just as skilled with a sword as daemon, there was no competition when it came to who could hold your focus. in ser criston’s lessons, you’d counted down the minutes till you were free to rest, while with daemon you would often implore him to skip whatever small council meeting required his presence and remain with you on the field. “i have grown good enough to disarm him, though my uncle denies it happening.”

“‘tis my niece who negates the truth of how the rain that soaked us both lead to my sword slipping from my grasp.” the king watched, disgruntled, as daemon spoke towards you, holding you captive in his gaze in a way that was dangerously easy, a power the monarch could recall his beloved first wife held over him. “what she showed was an act of luck, not good swordsmanship.”

when neither three of the targaryens spoke, the echoes of celebrations within the gardens began to travel through the air, as if to mock the king, reminding him that he should be out there celebrating the union of not only his daughter but the realm’s alliance with the lord of the tides becoming stronger than ever, instead of trapped within the seat that brought him nothing but gripe and before his two political headaches- his brother the original, and his daughter the most recent.

the king heaved a sigh.

“very well, you’re dimissed.” he waved what remained of his hand, the stump where fingers once lived a sickening reminder of how his body was slowly falling apart. with a nod and a curtsy, you both made to leave the king’s presence, only for his voice to ring out once more. “not you, daemon. you and i need to discuss something.”

with you bidding them both goodbye, dress trailing behind you as daemon allowed himself to glance back just once, the doors slammed shut and trapped the two bother’s within.

viserys pulled himself off the throne, hardly feeling as a blade sliced through his decaying palm. while the king grew closer, daemon grew bolder, traveling up the steps and meeting his brother midway.

perhaps an act of kindness, to spare him the trouble of exhausting himself.

more likely a show of disregard, to remind him that he wasn’t one of the puny the lords who sat within the small council, ready to be pushed and pulled in whatever direction the king sent them.

“pray tell, brother.” the younger doned a smile and clasped his hands behind his back. “what is it we need to discuss?”

“my daughter.”

“i’m fairly certain it’s rude to discuss a lady when she is not pres-”

daemon was cut short, words dying as a sense of shock took over him upon viserys’ hands clasping the collar of his doublet.

“if i so much as hear of you putting your hands on my daughter without her permission, i’ll-”

“kill me? have me sent to the wall? turn me into a eunuch?” all sounded like awful outcomes, yet the prince wondered if getting his hands on you, even if it was just once, would make it all worth it. he decided not, for he was certain he would find no antidote to the poison of tasting you other than to taste you again and again and again, till his blood ran dry and his skin melted off his bones. “and if she permits me to? what if she is the one to put her hands on me?”

“then i will see to it that you both perform your duties as servants to the crown and have your affairs in order under the eyes of the seven.” he spoke like a king, distant and unfeeling, a man who’s only job was to lead the realm.

and so daemon graced him with an answer fit for a king.

“are you saying what i believe you to be, your grace?”

“yes. i’m saying i would wed you to her.”

the fifth rumour is when you decide enough was enough, the time had come to use their own love of gossip against them.

“the king’s expected to announce her search for a suitor soon.”

“i do pray for her future husband, whoever he may be. it’s doubtful he’ll find any joy married to such an ungrateful, infertile harlequin.”

every step you took that evening was calculated.

from the seat you sat at the royal table, trading your usual post beside rhaenyra for one next to daemon, to the number of lords you entertained with a dance and a laugh, three to be exact: one of them your soon-to-be brother by law laenor velaryon, another the son of the hand, ser harwin strong, a fierce knight and the object of your sister’s desires, and, lastly, cregan stark.

the stark was by far your father’s most favoured suitor when it came to your hand, anyone with a pair of working eyes could see. where his first born’s marriage had secured the relationship between the crown and the sea, his second daughter's would secure that of the capital and the cold, unfeeling north.

only, your father had made one fatal flaw in his game of chess: he’d mistaken you for a pawn, when in truth you were a rook, unwilling to be moved so easily.

betrayal was your initial reaction to the news of your father’s meeting with the starks, an encounter he had not even the good graces to include you in.

your second reaction was defiance.

and, so, you laughed with the stark lord, you let him refill your goblet as he spoke tales of his travels south to the capital, you danced with him before the entire court and stepped on his toes enough times till he politely dismissed himself, claiming he was in need of relieving his bladder before he left you in the centre of the dancing pairs.

just in time for him to swoop in.

“ao jāhor mazverdagon nykeā sȳz ābrazȳrys, byka dove.” daemon wrapped you in both the safety of his arms and the use of your ancestral language, guiding you into the next dance. you will make a fine wife, little dove

“nyke pendagon lo issa valzȳrys jāhor agree rūsīr ao.” i wonder if my husband will agree with you.

matching the other couples, daemon commanded you to spin in his grasp, hands firm as one held onto yours and the other made repeated contact with your waist, spinning you faster and faster, till you tumbled over your own feet and had nowhere to turn to but his strong, dependable hold, hands splaying out on his chest as his own found rest upon your lower back.

even that was not enough for the man, who squeezed you closer to his own bod.

“you’re tired, niece.” the swirling pairs around you turned their heads at his voice, exaggerated in it’s volume as he at last addressed you in a way they understand.

��so very tired, uncle.”

“then i shall escort you to your chambers. the dark hallways of the keep are no place for such a defenceless lady.”

the weight of your father’s stare followed you out of the banquet halls, lungs only refilling with air when you round the corner that leads upwards, the steps to your own chambers lit with torches and manned by several guards who stood guard at your door.

the same guards who payed no mind to how you welcomed your uncle into your chambers.

the same guards who likely felt against their back the vibration of your own body slamming against the shut door.

daemon was a force to be reckoned with, hands coming down to cage you against the wooden surface and render you defenceless to the incoming attack against your mouth.

there was no patience in the way he kissed you, mimicking a man starved for weeks who’s at last been handed a morsel of bread. neither was there gentleness, lips moving with yours in a frenzy of clashing teeth and knocking noses. it was nothing like the books you’ve read, where a pretty princess at last convinces the honourable knight to kiss her, pulling back immediately to stare in bewilderment.

nor was it how rhaenyra had explained kisses to be: boring, unexciting, a waste of time.

daemon licked his tongue into your sweet mouth, chest shaking under your palms at the satisfied groan he released. you caught up with his pace, lips finally moving to the rhythm he’d set, no longer being lead but rather fighting to lead him in the dance of your mouths.

when he pulled away, the hunger in his eyes could only be levelled by that of his dragon’s as it flew into battle, thirsty to burn everything beneath it.

“ao issi tolmiot tolī gevie naejot sagon jurnegēre rȳ issa raqagon bona.” his voice lulled you out of your trance, confused, even if just for a moment, as he spoke to you in your blood’s tongue, instead of one the guards outside your door would understand. it dawned on you slowly that he spoke only for you in that instant. you are far too beautiful to be looking at me like that.

“raqagon skoros?” like what?

“raqagon nyke mazverdagon ao biare.” like i make you happy.

the prince wasted no time in stripping you bare, knowing he’d lose the ounce of little control he had left if he were to gaze upon your heaving breasts and your glistening cunt.

he settled for sneaking his hand under the layers of your skirt till he found his holy grail.

“you’re soaked, little dove.” he spoke in pure awe, as though he hadn’t lay with a thousand whores and tasted every kind of woman the realm had to offer.

daemon was no stranger to maidens nor the feeling of touching them, yet none had ever welcomed him in as much as you, no fear in your darkened gaze as you spread your legs further apart while the middle finger stroked over your velvet lips which dripped with honey and ached to suck his digit in between them.

it was as though you were made for him alone, body trained to take anything he’d offer, and he tells you so as he made contact with your aching bud, calming the buzzing nerves with slow strokes.

“is that nice, niece?” you nodded your head and were met with a disapproving look, quickly correcting yourself with a loud moan. “is kepus making your little cunt wet?”

“yes!”

he rewarded your precious reply with the breeching of your hole, his finger forcing it’s ways into your tight walls as he released his own noises of satisfaction.

the descent into madness was swift from then onwards, with daemon knowing only the feeling of your sticky walls clamping down on him as your eyes rolled back and your mouth fell slack would be enough to sedate him. one finger became two and he watched you mold yourself into the perfect little whore for him, unabashed to call out his name and beg for more.

“have you touched yourself before?” his breath was haggard, as if he was the one having his insides toyed with by you, chasing his inevitable peak with wanton groans and sporadic kisses to your throat, collarbones, chest. “or are mine the first hands to touch this precious cunt?”

when you hit your crescendo, it was with shaking limbs and desperate cries, hands having found home in the tresses of his hair, pulling on their roots as he kissed over your chest, fingers continuing their repeated assault on your entrance till your essence dripped down to his elbows and you shook your head in protest to his touch, his pretty baby too sensitive from her first peak.

he let his resolve slip moments after bringing his soaked fingers up to his mouth, the taste of you sending him to all seven hells and back for all the things he longed to do to you. arms caging around your frame, he lay his forehead to rest against yours as his hardness began to grind against your waist.

“just wait, my little dove.” even as he put on a show, he was mindful to sweet talk you with the names he called you, aware you were not ready yet for all the things he longed to call you, preferably as you lay face down in his sheets, your sweet flower on full display and ripe with honey for his taking. “wait till i paint your insides with my seed, filling your little womb up till it swells with my babe.”

much to his own preference, daemon shortly spilled within his breeches, soiling his clothing in an uncomfortable manner he'd need to clean up later.

in all his years he’s never fought as hard a battle as the one to lead you to bed, all the while you begged in your mother tongue for him to take you, for real this time, to fill you with his cock even after the sun had risen and the royal guards stormed your room demanding answers for the king.

as he finally parted ways with you, this time for sure pressing his lips to your cheek, daemon nodded curtly at your guards who refused to meet his eyes and he swallowed down his amusement, the walk back to his own chambers filled with only one topic: how long till the news reached the king's ears.

after all, the ladies of the court never were good at whispering.

#daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fluff #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen imagine

[ellieslaces]

DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED.

part I ; part II ; part III ; part IV

featuring: prince!leon x princess!reader (royalty au)

synopsis: the Crown Prince, Leon, had never desired to marry, but obviously the decision was never up to him. his mind is slowly, and ultimately changed when he meets you, his betrothed

content warnings: harsh language; mentioned violence; strangers to lovers; mutual pining; little angst; misogynistic themes; eventual smut (more detail in later chapters)

notes: royalty au; Leon is an Italian Prince; user is British/English; some old English dialect; misogynistic themes bc this is based on old views of royal women’s only purpose to bare children; Leon’s family’s palace is based on Palazzo Ducale in Venice

word count: 2.83k

chloe talks: yeah ok, I caved. a royalty au has been on my mind for a little bit and while listening to Dancing With Our Hands Tied by Taylor Swift on the way to my endocrinologist appointment today, I had to write this. this is partially inspired by a bot on c.ai by wesker420 and another royalty au fic on here by @hispg so I don’t take full credit for the idea. but anyways, enjoy

playlist

Leon had never desired to marry, he never believed a happy marriage was in the cards for him. Especially when his mother and father were the only example set for him all his life. He was content with a life of politics — council and war meetings, endless nights spent in local taverns, his bed warmed by women who didn’t mean anything to him. Until he met you.

You were a princess from the North, a born and bred English noblewoman. And you were terribly single and of marrying age. Your country and Leon’s country were in dire need of allies, so naturally you were introduced to each other as betroths.

Of course, this was far from an easy process for either one of you. Leon did not wish to marry at all, and you wished to marry for love, not convenience. This was a damning future for the both of you.

And it only became increasingly worse as your marriage date was pushed closer — a fortnight away now. Your family traveled to Leon’s castle, staying there for the next two weeks. Your family was set to leave the night of the wedding, leaving you completely alone with a man you were forced to spend the rest of your life with and his family.

This arrangement was far from ideal for you. You knew next to nothing of the Crown Prince. And he knew nothing of you either. It was an unfortunate affair — two young nobles who could have anyone or anything now tied down to each other by pressing expectations. It was truly a tragedy.

It became increasingly apparent to Leon that you were miserable in this arrangement the day you arrived a fortnight before the wedding ceremony. He and his family greeted your family in the throne room — much more lavish and beautiful than your own at home — and he could so clearly see how dismayed you were.

Hell, he couldn’t blame you. A young woman, beautiful and intelligent, brought up with the best opportunities available to her was now being sold off as a piece of property. All for peace among nations. Leon supposed he could complain, but he was a man. He wasn’t tied down by the duties of being a wife as you would be. He felt bad for you — even if some small part of him resented you for this sickening arrangement.

Soon enough, you were carted off to your chambers where you would reside until the night of the wedding ceremony. Your mother tried her best to console you, saying it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. It was futile though, you were set to be miserable. To be resentful of how your parents could sell you off to the highest bidder for a bit of political gain.

Though, the palace grounds were beautiful. High ceilings covered in extravagant artwork, glass windows, the grand canal right outside the Eastern side of the palace. There was much to explore in the two weeks you’d spend there — or the rest of your life.

You spent the first week of your stay exploring the castle. Looking at the array of artwork, the different rooms. You did this mostly alone, your mother would occasionally join when she was not required to sit through perilously long political meetings. When she was not able to join you, your handmaiden — and best companion — Maria, would walk with you.

Always a few paces behind to keep up appropriate appearances. Though, Maira more than often would end up walking beside you.

In fact, it was three days after your initial arrival that Leon saw you for the first time, alone. You had decided to take advantage of the pleasant Italian spring day and explore the West gardens. Maria was walking beside you grinning, hands folded in front of her as she informed you of the latest gossip among the grand palace’s servants.

That was also the first time Leon had ever heard you laugh. You had a gloved hand covering your mouth, the sudden sound of your lilting laughter causing him to immediately stand as you rounded a corner of the hedges.

Leon has simply come outside to study a leather bound book of political speeches his father had written, sitting on the bench to also enjoy the weather. At the sudden sight of the prince, Maria stopped in her tracks, eyes wide and bent at the waist in a bow.

Maria’s sudden prostrate position caused you to pause as well, dropping your hand and looking up at the prince — your betrothed.

You as well, curtsied, face ground-ward as your smile fell in an instant. “Your highness.”

Leon almost smiled then, at the sight of your sudden respect and change of attitude. He bowed his own head as you straightened, offering the same sign of respect. “Princess. I hope you are enjoying the grounds.”

“Yes, your highness, I am. Thank you.” You nodded, your eyes hesitant to look in his direction. It didn’t go amiss to Leon that your cheeks had been painted in a pink tint as well.

“Good,” he nodded, at a loss for what else to say. His eyes darted to Maria, your handmaiden who had righted herself and taken a few steps back. He nodded to her as well, offering a kind smile.

This was the first time you’d felt any form of warmth for the prince. His subtle kindness to your handmaiden, whom any other noble would dutifully ignore. It brought a small smile to your lips, eyes finally meeting his as he looked at you.

“What are you reading?” You questioned, eyes flicking to the leather bound book in Leon’s hands. An awkward attempt to be polite.

“Just some political notes my father wrote up for me to review. He has been pushing me to be more involved as of late, my future quickly approaching as he likes to say.” Leon’s head tilted to the side, motioning to the book.

To his surprise, your interest had seemed to pique. “Anything interesting?” You asked, voice soft yet filled with an element of excitement. A princess interested in politics was not something the prince had ever come across.

“Not particularly, just some civilian requests and meeting reviews.” He shrugged, seeming bored. However, you seemed anything but.

“I see.” You stepped forward a bit, seeming to be a bit hesitant but foraging on nonetheless. “I do hope I am not being forward, but, I wonder if you would mind informing me of anything you hear in the meetings.”

Leon frowned at this. “You are not invited to meetings?” He didn’t realize you may not have a place in the political side of royalty.

You shook your head, a small look of annoyance gracing over your gentle features. “No, my father says it isn’t a princess’ place. He believes I am far too delicate for such heavy matters.”

Leon could tell how much it annoyed you, despite the fact that you never explicitly said it did. He frowned, nodding to himself.

He looked back up at you — his lips pulled into a devastating smirk that nearly took your breath away. “Well, princess, you have my word. I will inform you of anything I hear from future meetings.”

You hadn’t expected him to actually agree. Most men would have said you were being silly and had no need to hear such trivial matters. It made that prior spark of warmth blossom into a small flame in your chest.

He was kind. Not just handsome — horribly so, which you and Maria agreed upon — but he had a good heart. No matter his seemingly rough exterior, you could see the prince meant well.

“Well, thank you, your highness. I deeply appreciate it.” You smiled, that pink tint on your cheeks ever present as the prince stepped forward to you.

“Of course, princess. If there is anything I can do to make your stay any more pleasant, please do let me know. We are going to be married, are we not?” He offered with a half smirk, bowing his head again.

“Thank you, your highness.” Your own lips pulled into a small smile as Leon gently gripped your gloved hand, pressing his lips to the back of it with a whisper of a kiss. He smiled again, dropping your hand and walking away, through the hedges of the gardens.

He was kind, you’d somewhat expected that, but you hadn’t expected him to be so romantic. At least, that’s how you would put it. You’d met your fair share of suitors, each appealing in their own way. But none had ever offered you the kindness or grace Leon had. It was dizzying.

And those dizzying thoughts plagued you always. The kindness in his eyes, his devastating smirk, his gentle voice — it all stayed in your mind. Never leaving you a moment to breathe. Maybe, he wasn’t so bad. It was entirely possible that you wouldn’t be miserable here. However, you decided to make that decision upon whether or not Leon kept his promise.

And to your surprise, he had. Two days later, you awoke in the late morning to a small stack of parchment on your nightstand. The top sheet displaying your name in what could only be Leon’s swirling handwriting.

You’d laid in bed for two hours that morning to read through the notes of every meeting for the past week that you’d been there, missing breakfast. It wasn’t in Leon’s hand script, but in a neater script. The official royal note taker, you assumed. But it was all so interesting.

Never had you been informed of any such political activity before, unless it was pressing or dangerous. It was a refreshing feeling to be informed. To know things like anyone else.

You’d read over the papers, soaking in each word until your eyes hurt. Until you committed each event listed and discussed to memory. In sudden realization of how kind the act truly was, you racked your brain for a way to thank Leon. It was possible he could be punished for this, you didn’t know exactly how confidential this information was.

It wasn’t until dinner the following night after you’d received the papers that you saw the prince again. You had been seated beside him for the first time — probably due to visiting political figures. It was quiet between the two of you, a bit awkward, because what were you supposed to say? The men were all conversing about the situation in the West, Leon looking bored and not caring much to weigh in. So you took your chance.

“I wanted to thank you for the notes.” You spoke up, quiet as only Leon could hear you as you pushed the food on your plate around.

The prince paused, his glass raised to his lips as he sipped the maroon wine. “I trust you enjoyed them?”

“Very much. Thank you, it means a lot to me you did that.” You looked at Leon as he set his wine glass down, offering him a smile to display how much you truly did appreciate the kindness.

“Of course, princess. I am just glad to offer you some solace here. Whether it be politics or roses.” He joked, blue eyes glimmering in the bright candlelit dining hall.

You set down your fork, sipping from your own glass before looking at him again. “I do hope I did not get you into any trouble.”

“No. And even if you did, it would be worth it. So long as you are happy here.” Again, the prince’s kindness was overwhelming. You smiled, cheeks tinged pink again.

“You flush a lot. Is this normal for you, or is it just me?” The prince questioned with a teasing lilt.

A small laugh fell from your lips, shaking your head. “I am afraid it is just you.” You nodded to him, head tilted to the side.

The prince offered you another smile, sipping from his glass before his father began to speak to him, in a way forcing him to engage in conversation. For the first time in your life, you could listen to a discussion of political issues and know what was happening. And it was all thanks to a kind prince.

You sat through the dinner, a small smile taking permanent residence on your pink lips. Eyes sparkling with quiet knowledge.

It was then Leon realized he liked your smile. And it was then you realized you could fall in love with Leon.

2023 ©️ellieslaces please do not repost, rewrite, translate, or submit my work to AI or any other platform. please support your creators by reblogging, liking, and following!

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#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #resident evil 4 #resident evil #royalty au #leon #kennedy #prince leon Kennedy #resident evil 4 remake #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy re4 #Taylor Swift #dancing with our hands tied

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

main masterlist!

these fics/concepts are all smut, unless otherwise stated. MINORS DNI with the smut fics, or with this masterlist!!

fics/blurbs.

*•.¸♡ ✧ eddie munson x fem!reader:

fic series: when i think about you, i touch myself | part one - part two | call me

blurb: two can play

blurb: just keep driving

blurb: stress relief

blurb: you wreck me, baby.

headcanons: eddie touching himself.

blurb: looks that kill. (rockstar steddie x groupie reader)

*•.¸♡ ✧ steve harrington x eddie munson (steddie/steveddie):

fic: holy diver

blurb: eddie tops steve (smut prompt request)

blurb: eddie punishes steve for teasing (smut prompt request)

blurb: eddie goes down on steve

blurb: eddie rails steve in the rv

concepts.

*•.¸♡ eddie munson x fem!reader:

reader with nipple piercings & a flustered eddie

eddie going down on you with a tongue piercing

eddie with a vibrating tongue piercing

sitting on eddie's face while you smoke weed

having sex with eddie to love bites by def leppard

having sex with eddie to dazed and confused by led zeppelin

eddie fingers you at dinner and meets you in the bathroom

you touch yourself and eddie guides you though it

wearing lingerie for eddie | his reaction to new lingerie

eddie notices your nipple piercings & smut ensues

you & eddie have fun on-stage after one of his shows

eddie with virgin!reader

riding eddie on his dungeon master throne

reader goes down on eddie with a tongue piercing

eddie munson is a boob dude

eddie is the type of man who loves eating pussy

eddie & best friend!reader discover something

reader can only get off without toys while high

you & eddie have fun on a dock at lover's lake

eddie gets a tongue piercing just to go down on you

eddie with a breeding kink

smoking with eddie

eddie going nuts over your nipple piercings

reader has nipple piercings & a clit piercing that eddie adores

taking a bath with eddie

eddie loves it when you wear docs

eddie enjoys the fact that you have matching jewelry

eddie ties his hair back before going down on you

eddie says "i love you" for the first time during sex

mechanic!eddie comes to your rescue

eddie rocks a cropped white tank top & nipple piercings to school

reader touches herself & cums while sucking eddie off

you help eddie pass his final

eddie's polaroid collection

eddie fucks you while you wear his dio vest

virgin!eddie cums in his pants as he eats you out

eddie wants to see how you get yourself off

you make eddie play guitar while you ride him

eddie wants you to take all of his cum | a similar concept | how big is eddie?

eddie leaves marks all over you

eddie loves face sitting

eddie gets possessive when you wear his deodorant

eddie puts your panties on his mic stand

eddie fucks your throat

how the different eddies would be with a signature move

you confess to eddie that you've never cum before

riding subby!eddie

eddie dealing with an impatient lover

eddie and catholic!reader have fun at a party.

catholic!reader is jealous of someone flirting with eddie.

perv!reader with eddie.

perv!eddie discovers your adult films for the first time.

eddie makes catholic!reader recite his own ten commandments.

eddie & catholic!reader try anal.

best friend!eddie comes for a visit.

you catch eddie jerking off backstage.

non-smut concepts.

eddie is overprotective of you

you & your best friend eddie share your first kiss together

dustin walks in on you & eddie doing self-care

eddie gives you his favorite ring

you recognize eddie from corroded coffin

eddie as a father | taking his daughter to see the lotr films

dancing with eddie in his room

the jocks break eddie's window

eddie gives you a piggyback ride

you & eddie have a moment in the cafeteria

eddie wants to win you back after you get with steve (nsfw mentions)

you & eddie flirt during d&d which annoys the others

steve accidentally tells eddie that he loves him (steddie/steveddie)

steve kisses eddie to shut him up (steddie/steveddie)

*•.¸♡ steve harrington x eddie munson (steddie/steveddie):

steve says something weird during sex

eddie sees steve in the scoops ahoy uniform

steve accidentally tells eddie that he loves him

steve kisses eddie to shut him up

*•.¸♡ steve harrington x eddie munson x reader:

eddie won't shut up while steve works on you

you & eddie give steve a show after a game of strip poker

steve & eddie surprise you with a vibrator.

eddie & steve jerk each other off as they eat you out.

eddie tells you & steve what to do as he watches you.

#it isn't the most aesthetically pleasing BUT IT WILL DO #i'll also update it as i post more stuff! #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #steveddie #steddie #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Love at first sight

PAIRING | Prince!Tony Stark x Civilian!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT | 9.7K

SUMMARY | Howard and Maria Stark, the current reigning king and queen, are planning on retiring, but they aren't able to until the heir to the throne is married. Their only son, Tony, feels like it isn't the right time for him to get married, nor does he have anyone he would even think about marrying in the first place. This all changes when you walk into his life and turn his entire plan for the future upside down.

RATING | Explicit (E)

WARNINGS/TAGS | Modern royalty AU, a few mentions of 'Y/N', referenced arranged marriage, use of nicknames (Darling, Baby, Angel, Gorgeous, Babydoll)

SMUT | Virgin!Tony, Virgin!Reader, size kink, daddy kink, breeding/pregnancy kink, dirty talk, lots of praise, fingering, handjob, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), cream pie, implied aftercare.

A/N | I want to wish the happiest of birthdays to @ccbsrmsf1 today! I'm so grateful for you, your love and support! Getting to know you has been the best thing that has happened to me the past couple of months, and without you I know I wouldn't be where I am today! This is one of your birthday presents from me, and I cannot wait to see what you think of this! I love you 3000, bestie! 🩷

A/N 2.0 | This one-shot is written based on this request from @ccbsrmsf1 and this Instagram post featuring the amazing artwork of @petite-madame! Thank you so much for the request, @ccbsrmsf1; I hope you enjoy what I did with this because writing was a lot of fun. This story is beta-read by @mrsbuckybarnes1917, for which I'm very thankful. 🩷

A/N 3.0 | Please note that the header for this fic has been changed as of March 10, 2024. If you see any reblogs with a different header, please note that those have been reblogged before this day, and I, unfortunately, cannot change those headers.

EVENTS Masterlist | @marvel-smash-bingo | Royalty AU

Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | Photo: Source

Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist

~ Tony's POV ~

Tony sighs softly as he looks at himself in the mirror, currently getting dressed to attend a ceremony he's not entirely sure he understands. He knows the point of the ceremony - to find a suitable woman for him to marry. The current King and Queen - Howard and Maria Stark - have been looking to retire due to their age and for Tony to take over the throne, but he can't do that without marriage.

And that is just about the last thing on his mind. It's not that he doesn't want to take over their position because he does, but he knows he's not ready for marriage yet. Tony knows that if he enters an arranged marriage, he will resent the woman he is supposed to rule the Kingdom with, and he doesn't think any woman deserves to be treated like that.

Just as he closes the last button of his shirt, he hears a knock on the door, and with a simple 'come in,' he allows the person to enter.

"Are you ready to go, Darling?" a woman asks softly and gently, and Tony meets her eyes in the mirror. Long, blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and her floor-length silver gown makes her look angelic to Tony.

"Almost, Mom. I need a moment to put on my tie, and then I'm ready to go," he tells her reassuringly. She nods before leaving the room and letting everyone know the ceremony can start. In the large ballroom, about 25 women from the Kingdom have gathered with their parents to give their daughters a shot at getting married to the heir to the throne.

Not long after, Tony can hear the loud music from the ballroom. He knows his parents are introduced, so he must prepare for his grand entrance.

His tie is quickly tied, and with one last look in the mirror to fix his hair, he is out the door and ready to head to the ballroom. However, just before he can turn the corner to lead to the ballroom, he finds a woman wandering the halls and feels he needs to help her.

"Are you looking for something?" Tony asks gently, and the woman snaps her head up at him. With big, round eyes, she looked at him, and that one look had a warmth spreading through his chest like he had never felt before. Is this what love at first sight is like? Tony wondered, and a soft pink blush appeared at the thought.

With a soft smile and a voice like an angel, she tells him she got lost on her way back from the bathroom, where she had gone to freshen up before the ceremony. She got lost on her way back to the ballroom because the palace was like a giant maze.

"If you go through that door on the side, you can get back into the room without anyone noticing; that way, you won't draw too much attention to yourself," Tony tells the woman, and she does after a quick thank you. As soon as she slips through the door, Tony feels an almost empty feeling in his chest. The woman is gone, and the warmth she brought along went with her.

Now, all he wants is to see her again. In whichever capacity that may be.

~ Reader's POV ~

Since leaving the bathroom, finding the way back to the ballroom has been a maze. Just when you were about to give up all hope and maybe sit somewhere in a corner until someone came along, you ran into a tall man with dark curls, the most beautiful dark brown eyes you've ever seen, and a suit that perfectly displays every inch of him, leaving nothing to the imagination.

"Are you looking for something?" the man asks in a deep, smooth voice, and for a short moment, you're not sure what to do. You stand there as you get lost in his eyes before your mind snaps back to the moment, and you tell him what you are doing.

"I-I got lost, actually! I'm here for the ceremony, and I went to freshen up in the bathroom for a moment, but on my way back, well- I guess it's pretty clear I got lost," you tell him with a nervous chuckle, and he gives you a reassuring smile as an answer. Aside from the smile, you noticed the soft, pink blush on his cheeks, giving him a boyish charm that made him look beautiful.

"Oh, that happens all the time! If you go through that door on the side, you can get back into the room without anyone noticing; that way, you won't draw too much attention to yourself," he says, and you turn around to look at the door he's talking about. You whisper a soft thank you before turning around and going through the door, your heart racing a mile a minute as you look for your parents.

"Where were you?! The ceremony has already started!" your mother said to you, and you apologized before sitting next to her, waiting for the King and Queen to be introduced, followed by their son, Prince Anthony Edward Stark.

As soon as he walks through the large doors that lead into the ballroom, your eyes go as wide as saucers because you immediately recognize the man you have just been talking to. You just told the Prince his palace is like a maze. However, you only get to think about that briefly because as soon as the ceremony officially starts, all you can think about is what will happen.

One by one, every daughter is brought forward by her parents, and they give a speech to the King, Queen, and Prince about why their daughter should be the one to marry him and why they are the perfect fit to rule the Kingdom. This ceremony has taken place for years and years, and it is how King Howard and Queen Maria got married, too. But it's not what Tony wants.

When they are about to call you forward, the Prince gets up from his chair and wants to make an announcement. He clears his throat before announcing to everyone in attendance that the ceremony will be over, and everyone can go home.

"I want everyone to know that this is unnecessary to continue. I have made it clear to my parents that I am not ready to get married, and even though I respect our royal traditions, this is one I can not get behind," Tony declares, and a murmur rises throughout the room.

"And the reason for that is because I have met a woman who I would like to get to know better," he finishes, and that's when a roar flies through the room. A few parents are upset that they didn't even get a chance to introduce their daughter, let alone allow them to be chosen by Tony.

His eyes are searching for yours in the crowd, but you're already ushered away within the large group of people, quickly getting lost. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the idea you didn't have a chance to get introduced to him, even though you feel the same about marriage as he does. But since you're of age, you had to join, whether you wanted to or not. And now you're rushed outside, but your life suddenly doesn't seem complete without him. Without the man who made you believe in love at first sight.

~ Tony's POV ~

Since the ceremony, Tony has been walking around with a heavy feeling in his chest as he tries to find out more about you. But there appeared to be no trace of your existence wherever he looked. From asking everyone who could know about you to even going out on the streets to see if he could find you, it was all to no avail. That all changed one afternoon when he finally ran into you in a place he never expected.

He has been looking for you throughout the town and has worked up quite an appetite. He enters a small bakery with a simple yet beautiful sign saying 'Y/L/N Bakery.' The smell of fresh bread is spread out onto the street as he walks by, and as he feels his stomach rumble, he goes in to try one of the delicious pastries on display in the case.

"Good afternoon! How can I help you?" the woman behind the counter says, but she doesn't recognize Tony as he's dressed, so no one will recognize him. For a moment, he feels a little sting that you don't remember him, but that's gone as soon as it comes when he looks into your eyes again.

It's all there: the eyes he's been dreaming about, the hair he's been longing to run his fingers through, and the lips he's been dying to kiss. The woman he had been thinking about ever since running into one another in the palace.

Before his mind has caught up to what is happening, he stumbles out something unexpected, making you laugh in response, his cheeks heating up instantly.

"I want to go out with you," he said, and as soon as the words left his lips, he could feel the embarrassment flooding his body. This was not how he wanted to approach this; he didn't even know your name for crying out loud!

"Oh! Uhm... Well-" is all the woman on the other side of the counter can say, her hands rubbing together nervously.

"Y-You seem very nice and all, but I- I don't even know your name," she tells him, and Tony nods in response. She's entirely correct, and he is making a complete idiot out of himself in this bakery. He's secretly thanking every God he can think of that there's no one else in the bakery alongside you two.

"Tony. My name is Tony," he quickly says.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Tony. I'm Y/N." Tony allows himself to let her name swirl throughout his mind, and it is by far the most beautiful one he has heard.

"Y/N," he whispers, letting the name roll off his tongue to taste it.

"Yeah, that's me! But to return to your earlier offer, I'm taking my break in about 20 minutes. If you want, I can sit here in the bakery and have a little chat with you. It's not exactly 'going out' like you asked, but I hope it's okay with you," Y/N tells him, and he nods. He'd love nothing more than that.

~ Reader's POV ~

As soon as Tony walks into the bakery, there is something familiar about him. You can't quite pinpoint what that exactly is, but something about how he moves is like you've seen it countless times before. You watch as he takes his place at one of the small tables in front of the window. His movements are graceful despite his broad stature.

The 20 minutes fly by in the blink of an eye, and your Dad walks in to take over your duties for the next 45 minutes so you can take a long break.

"I'll just take a few pastries and go sit with him," you tell your Dad as you point at Tony. He's a friend who swung by, so I figured I could spend my lunch break with him," you say with a smile. After an approving nod, you take four croissants before putting them on two plates and bringing them to Tony.

"I hope you're hungry, Tony. I brought you something to eat," you tell him as you set the plate before him. He looks up at you. He has taken off his sunglasses, and that's when you realize who's in front of you—the Prince you were supposed to be introduced to during the ceremony a week earlier.

"Thank you, Y/N. That's very kind," he says as he looks at you, drinking in every inch of your face. You're wearing less make-up, and your hair is in a messy bun, but Tony likes something about how you look now even more than when he first saw you. You look more like yourself; he can tell you're in your element here.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Tony asks you just as you're about to take a bite out of your croissant.

"I grew up with the bakery. My Dad, who is behind the counter now - has owned this for almost 40 years, and I will take over somewhere in the next few years if everything goes according to plan! I have always been here, and since my sixteenth birthday, I have worked here," you say proudly. You love talking about the family bakery because it is your true happy place.

The rest of your lunch break is spent discussing your work inside the bakery and what you like to do in your free time. All too soon, however, the time has passed, and it's time for you to return to work.

"Y/N?" Tony asks, and you look at him as you're standing up. "Do you want to go out with me? You know, on an actual date?" He's wringing his hands nervously, and a blush is on his cheeks as he looks at you with a hint of nervousness.

"I'd love to, Tony. How about you pick me up on Saturday at 1? For a picnic in the park?" you ask, and he agrees. With one last goodbye, he leaves the bakery and returns to the palace. All you have to do is get through the next three days, and then you'll be able to see him again. Until then, you have the memory of him and his sweet words to keep you company.

The day of your date with Tony has arrived, and you're just about to step out the bakery door, so you can wait for Tony to meet you there. The sun is shining, and the temperature is very comfortable but not too hot, so you wear a red summer dress with white sandals and sunglasses to finish it off.

"Have fun on your date, Baby," your Dad says as he closes the container where he puts some pastries for you to take. He sends you off with a kiss on your head, and you're very grateful that your parents understand the situation. However, you didn't mention that you are going out with the Prince because you didn't want to put too much pressure on your picnic.

"Thank you, Dad. I love you," you say before walking to the front door, ready to meet Tony. You're a few minutes too early, so you sit on one of the tables on the little terrace, letting the sun warm your skin as you wait. Luckily, you don't have to wait long because before you know it, Tony walks your way, and he looks like a God in the outfit he's wearing.

Tight, beige shorts that reveal his legs perfectly, spanning over his thighs and hips just enough to frame his bulge nicely, too. The light blue shirt he's wearing spans tight over his upper body, the buttons looking like they're about to pop with one wrong move. Topping that with his neat facial hair, a pair of sunglasses, and his messy curls, he looks like he walked right out of the romance novels you've been known to enjoy now and again.

"Good afternoon, you look beautiful!" Tony says as you kiss each other on each cheek as a greeting. The smell of his cologne invades your senses almost right away, and it is so manly yet very clean at the same time, and there's a bit of him in there to finish it off. You have opted for a light, floral smell, which Tony takes a slight whiff of, and he immediately knows it's his favorite scent and wants to smell it every single day from now on.

"Shall we, Gorgeous?" he asks, and you look at him as he calls you that. Butterflies in your stomach go crazy as you nod before hooking your arm through his, allowing him to lead the way to the picnic. The pastries your Dad gave you are in a bag hanging over your shoulder as you two make your way to the park at a slow, comfortable pace.

"So, I know this is a bit of an odd question, but what is it like to be a Prince?" you ask, deciding to get right into it. The question has been swirling through your mind since your first conversation, and you couldn't wait to ask him.

"Going for the deep stuff, are we?" Tony asks with a chuckle, the butterflies in his stomach going crazy this time. You hum in response, looking up at him, smiling as you listen to his story.

"Well, where do I start? There's nothing extraordinary about it if you ask me. I attend some events with my parents; I am preparing to take over the Kingdom one day, and things like that. It's not as glamorous as everyone might think," he shrugs, but you don't believe him for a second.

"I'm not sure I believe that for even a second! Your life seems much more interesting than you make it out to be. Constant parties, fancy dinners, and things like that, I feel like that must be a dream!" you tell him in a teasing yet enthusiastic tone, and he can't help but smile as he listens to you talking about your perspective of his life.

"You know what, if it weren't for the ceremony, we wouldn't have met, and that would have been a real shame," he says after thinking for a moment.

"Speaking of which, were you there as a guest, or...?" he lets his question trail off, the rest of it implied as you know what he's about to ask. He wants to know if you were one of the candidates for the arranged marriage.

"I was one of the ladies who was supposed to be introduced to you, but right before we could get up, you decided you didn't want the ceremony to continue because you had already met someone. And that's kind of why I was surprised when you asked me out, to be honest. If there is someone else, why would you be going out with me?" you ask, shyness creeping in as you ask the last question.

Tony chuckles as he shakes his head, and his curls bounce playfully when he does.

"Gorgeous, the only reason I said that is because of you. You're the woman who I saw and wanted to get to know. You're the woman who caught my eye, and ever since we ran into each other, I knew none of the women in the room would compare to you and your beauty. You're the one who made my heart beat faster, and I was quite sad I never caught your name that night," he says, and that's when the two of you come to a halt.

"Do you- I mean- Really?" you ask him with furrowed brows.

"Yeah. I know it's probably way too soon to say this, but I never believed in love at first sight until I met you, Gorgeous. The moment I walked into the bakery and saw you again, it felt like my entire life fell back into place again, and I knew I wanted to get to know you better," Tony tells you as he looks into your eyes.

Even though his are hidden behind sunglasses, you know they're focused on yours as he says those things. Your gaze flicks down to his lips as you bite yours before you stand on your tiptoes, reaching for him. Your lips make contact with the facial hair on his cheek, the feeling of it scratchy against the softness of your lips.

"Thank you for finding me, Tony," you whisper as you watch his cheeks turn red. A smile tugs on the corners of his lips as you move to be flat on your feet again.

The picnic was like one straight out of a fairytale. Everything felt so natural between you, from cracking jokes and laughing constantly to some of the most amazing foods you've ever had. At one moment, Tony moved to interlace his fingers with yours, and you two have been seated like that ever since.

"Your hand is so much larger than mine, look! Mine is completely dwarfed when it's in yours," you tell him as you raise your hands, and Tony can feel himself twitch in his pants as you say that. It's something he's been dreaming about: you're so much smaller than he is, and in his dreams, he can't get enough of telling you just that and how much it turns him on.

Lucky for him, you then change the topic, and he goes to sit a little differently, so you won't be able to see the fact that he's pitching a tent already like a horny teenager.

The rest of your date goes by smoothly, and you're back at the bakery right before dinnertime, just as you promised your parents.

"Thank you for the amazing date, Tony; it was an honor to be taken out by the Prince," you tell him as he pulls you in for a hug. His strong arms pull you against his chest comfortably, and you never want to leave his hold if you can help it.

"You're welcome, Gorgeous; I'll be looking forward to seeing you again soon," he tells you before moving down to place a kiss on your cheek, and you turn red at the feeling of his facial hair - wondering what it would feel like to have it scratch the same way between your thighs. You quickly push the idea away because you've only ever been on one date with him, and it is inappropriate to think about him that way.

After your last goodbye, you walk into the bakery before letting out a small sigh, and your Dad immediately knows what's going on in your head.

"So? Did you two have fun?" he asks with a quirked brow, and you nod.

"We did. Tony's very kind and funny, and he invited me to a party in a few weeks as his date, so I think I can consider it a success!" you tell him as you walk to the back, and he nods. It warms his heart to see you this happy and to know it's the Prince making you feel like that secretly feels like a cherry on top for him. Though you don't know that he knows, and he would like to keep it that way for now.

Since the two of you shared your picnic in the park, Tony has been by the bakery a few times during your lunch break, and it is definitely the highlight of your day each time he did, but now he's dropping by for an entirely different reason.

The bakery is empty, as it's right before closing time, and you're just cleaning up. The bell above the door rings, pulling your attention to the man you're slowly falling in love with.

"Hi, Tony! What are you doing here?" you ask curiously as you see him walking in.

"I just wanted to give you a little something for our date tomorrow," he says as he holds up a large bag with what you can only assume will be very fancy and expensive.

"A little something, you say?" You walk around the counter, take the bag from his hands, and peek inside. Inside is a stunning dark blue evening gown, a pair of shoes, a matching set of silver earrings, and a necklace to finish the look.

"You got me all this?" you look at him wide-eyed. You had gotten a beautiful dress from a small boutique in town, which is nothing compared to the silky gown in the bag you're holding. It would have been fine for the gala Tony invited you to, but this will make you look like you fit right in.

"I don't even know where to begin with thanking you," you whisper as you look up at him. He has a warm, inviting smile on his lips as he looks back at you.

"There's no need to thank me, Gorgeous. As long as you wear this tomorrow, you will be the most beautiful woman there, and I know for a fact I won't be able to keep my eyes off you all night," he tells you with a wink before placing a kiss on your cheek, leaving you with a warm spot there as he turns around and heads out the door.

The next evening came all too soon for your liking, but you're very fortunate Tony was waiting for you in front of the palace, ready to escort you into the large building. As soon as you get out of the car, you see him, and the suit he's wearing fits perfectly and has a matching color to your dress.

"Wow, you look magnificent tonight, Gorgeous," Tony says as he helps you out of the car, ready to be escorted in.

"You look amazing too," you tell him with a shy smile as you look at him; his hair is slicked back neatly this time, and even though you miss his curls, this makes him look like a true gentleman and the boyish charm you fell for has never left his face.

"Shall we?" he asks, and you nod, allowing him to guide you into the palace and lead you through seemingly countless hallways and doors. Eventually, you reach the hallway where you two first met, and Tony can't help but draw attention to it.

"Remember this? This is where you told me you got lost in the 'maze' of this castle," he chuckles.

"What do you think? It's hard to forget! But secretly, I'm delighted I ran into you here. Otherwise, I most likely wouldn't have been here tonight," you tell him, but he shakes his head.

"I am sure I would have picked you even between all those women. There's something about you that feels like I'm coming home, and I cannot get enough of your presence. You make me laugh without a single effort, and I feel butterflies whenever you smile or even look at me. So yeah, I think I would have picked you that night, but I'm also glad we took the odd route here and did it this way," he says as he bends down to kiss your cheek, his facial hair tickling you again.

"I'm glad we did it this way too, Tony, but I also think we should go in because I don't want to make the King and Queen wait for our arrival!" you tell him, and he nods. The two of you walk in through the large doors of the ballroom, and he quickly guides you to the large table at the back of the room, where they are currently seated.

"Oh, Darling, it's wonderful of you to join us tonight," Maria says warmly as she looks at you, stretching her hand to introduce herself.

"I'm Maria Stark, and this is my husband, Howard. Anthony has told us all about you already, and we're honored to welcome you tonight," she says, and you feel a little chuckle bubble up as you hear her using Tony’s full name. He smiles in return as he hears your chuckle, and the butterflies in his stomach go wild at the sound. He can listen to that sound for all eternity and never get sick of it.

"That's my official name, but I usually go by Tony in casual settings," he whispers in your ear, and that's when it clicks. He has given you his nickname, which makes perfect sense.

"I'm Y/N Y/L/N, and it's an absolute honor to meet both of you tonight. Thank you so much for inviting me along," you tell them, and they nod in response. After that, Tony guides you to the chair on his left, and you look into the ballroom, which feels odd.

"Do you ever get used to being seated here? Because I feel a little awkward sitting here, knowing I'm just one of them," you tell Tony, and he gently shakes his head.

"You'll get used to it eventually, but there's no need to feel awkward about sitting here, Gorgeous. You belong here just as much as everyone else sitting at this table," he says, and you choose to believe him. Even though it's still a little bit awkward at first, you're quickly getting used to it, just like he said, and before you know it, the dinner is over, and it is time to dance.

"Did you want to share a dance with me on this wonderful evening, Gorgeous?" Tony asks as he stretches his hand for you to take, and you take it as you get up from your chair, ready to be led onto the cleared space that will now function as the dancefloor.

For the better part of an hour, you and Tony have been enjoying yourselves there, doing everything from silly dances to slow dancing. You two have done everything, and now it's time to take a little breather. Tony grabs your hand before pulling you through the large doors, the halls, and a balcony, where you have a beautiful view of the city.

"How are you enjoying yourself so far, Gorgeous? Are you having fun?" he asks as he stands beside you, his elbows on the balcony railing as he looks at you. Like Tony's, your face is flushed from the warmth and dancing.

"It's so much fun! I never knew dancing would make me so happy!" you tell him excitedly, and it works wonders for Tony, too. That's precisely why he gathers every last bit of courage before standing up straight and taking your hands.

"Can I ask you something? There's no pressure for you to say yes or to give an answer now, even, but there's something on my mind, and I have to ask you before I feel like I'm going insane," Tony tells you with a breathy laugh, casting his eyes up as he takes in a deep breath.

Your heart starts beating faster, and the butterflies in your stomach go crazy as you look up and into beautiful, deep, dark brown eyes.

"From the moment I met you, I knew you were the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. You make me feel normal in a world where I never used to fit in, and you bring a smile to my face without even having to do anything. And because of that, I want to ask you something significant."

With that, he lets one of your hands go in favor of placing it on your waist and pulling you close to his body, ready to seal the deal.

"Y/N Y/L/N, will you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?" he asks, and you answer him with a breathy yes, your arms flinging around his neck and shoulders as you pull him close to you. His facial hair scratches nicely against your neck, and that's when you get the sudden urge to kiss him.

You pull back just enough to face him, leaning in to capture his lips with yours. His lips are soft and gentle as he kisses you gently, his hand touching your cheek as he deepens the kiss. Even though he isn't your first kiss, this is by far the most memorable one, and it feels like it goes on forever.

His tongue against yours feels like velvet, and you two can't stop exploring each other's mouths as time goes on until the need for air becomes more prominent than the need for each other. This time, it's his turn to pull away, and you look at him as the realization sinks in. You're officially the girlfriend of Prince Tony Stark, and it feels damn good to be in this position.

The past few years have been fantastic as you have been by Tony's side as his girlfriend and learning everything there is to know about taking over the throne together with Tony. At first, you still worked at the bakery, but once you talked with your parents about being by Tony's side instead of taking over the bakery, you moved into the palace for good.

It has been quite a change for them, but they have always supported you. After officially meeting Howard and Maria, they were sold on the idea. Now that a few years have passed, Tony has been working on preparing a beautiful yet straightforward proposal because he wants to give you everything you want and more, but he also wants to keep it small.

And that's how you find yourself on a beach in Hawaï with the love of your life, sipping on a cocktail in the sun. Here, no one knows he's a prince, and it is a nice change of pace for once. The ring Tony has chosen is handmade by the best jewelry maker money can buy. It is a stunning silver band with a single diamond in it. Simple but perfect for you.

"Gorgeous?" Tony suddenly asks as you're in the middle of reading a romance novel. Your attention is pulled away as his voice calls out for you, and you look up at him with a small smile.

"I had something very fancy planned for tonight after dinner, but I have ultimately decided that I want to keep this very small and intimate, so here I go," Tony starts as he gets up from his chair, the ring clutched in his hand.

"I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. Over the past few years, you have shown me what true love is like, and I am grateful every single day that you have walked into my life because it wouldn't be the same without you here today," he tells you as he goes down on one knee, and you quickly discard your book without a second thought.

"Y/N Y/L/N, will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?" he asks, and you give him a loud and enthusiastic 'YES!' before swinging your body forward and pulling him into a hug. The two of you fall over together and laugh loudly as you let everything sink in that just happened. He proposed to you, and it's all you could have asked for.

"I love you so much, my Angel; of course, I will marry you," you say as you kiss him passionately, officially sealing the deal before moving away to allow him to put the ring on your finger. From that moment on, you're officially getting ready to become Y/N Stark-Y/L/N, and you can't wait for that day to arrive.

The rest of the vacation is spent enjoying each other's company and discussing what life will be like as an engaged couple.

"We have to tell our parents as soon as we're home. They deserve to be the first ones to know. And after that, I don't care who knows because I want to shout from the rooftops that I'm going to be your wife," you tell Tony as you're cuddled in bed together on the last night in Hawaï.

"I want that too, Gorgeous, more than you know," he whispers before kissing your head. And with that, you fall into a deep sleep, the ring on your finger and your hand on your future husband's chest. Right now, life couldn't possibly be more perfect.

Not even six months have passed since Tony proposed to you, but tomorrow is officially the big day. You will become Mrs. Tony Stark and marry the man you fell in love with after an accidental meeting when you got lost. It is safe to say he saved you that day and has never let you go since.

Now, you're gearing up for your last day as an engaged woman and the last night away from your husband-to-be. As per tradition, the bride and groom sleep apart on the last day before their wedding, and now it's time for the two of you to say goodbye because you won't see each other again until you're at the altar.

"I can't believe the day is almost here, Gorgeous. I'm marrying the woman I love, and I feel so lucky to have you by my side. Going through all this with someone as amazing as you feel like an absolute godsend," Tony whispers, his forehead touching yours. Tears stream down your face as he tells you that, and your eyes are shut to take in the moment.

"I can't believe it either. But the moment you and I met happened for a reason, and that's exactly why I'm so happy to be here with you today. You have turned my life upside down, but I'm glad you did, Tony. I know my life wouldn't have been half as fun without you. And to call you my husband tomorrow is the cherry on top," you tell him, and he agrees.

"And tomorrow, I finally get to see you naked for the first time," he whispers, making you laugh in response.

"And tomorrow, we finally get to see each other naked," you whisper back. You two have both been raised with the belief of waiting until marriage to have sex, which will make your wedding night even more special. Tomorrow, your life together will officially start, and you're celebrating it by giving your virginity to each other.

"I should go, Tony. I love you so much, and I will see you at the altar," you say before locking your lips with his for the last time until tomorrow. The kiss is bittersweet as it is goodbye for now, but the wait will be worth it. The two of you stay together for as long as possible, but when you officially have to go, you say your last goodbye before heading to your room.

Since you two started dating, you have barely been apart, so it is always challenging to be away from him, but it's almost unbearable on this night. You only want to crawl into your huge bed and under the sheets, ready to warm your cold feet on your fiancé's legs. His arms envelop you in a comfortable hug as you feel his facial hair scratch your face gently with the kisses he places.

All of that would have to wait for one night. Rationally speaking, you know you'll be fine, but it is still a little challenging to be away from him. However, as soon as you step into the room, that is all forgotten, as an entire team of women is on you.

They're taking last-minute measurements to ensure the gown is perfectly tailored. The last things are discussed for tomorrow, and Tony is going through the same thing in his room. Once it is all done and the dress and the suit are perfect, you're left alone, and it is time to sleep.

The next day arrives way sooner than you thought it would, and you feel well-rested as you sit up in bed, looking at the dress on your closet door. The white lace is made from the finest materials and perfectly suits your body, and you can't wait to show Tony what it looks like.

Breakfast is waiting for you, and you dive in immediately, needing to be well-fed to have the energy to go through today. Royal weddings are always a spectacle; yours won't be any different. However, the fact that you will see your parents again on this celebratory day makes it all worth it, because they have always dreamt of seeing you get married one day. 

You hear a few knocks on the door before it swings open, and the entire team of women in your room yesterday is back again, ready to make you look perfect for your wedding day.

"Are you ready to be transformed for your special day, Ms. Y/L/N?" one of the ladies, Olivia, asks you. She's the one who made the last-minute additions to your dress and is seemingly the group's leader. She's very kind and tells you everything that will happen today as you're seated in the chair.

"First, we will do your hair and make-up, after which you will put on your dress and shoes. When you're fully ready, Anthony has requested a private first look with you, so that has been scheduled first. After that, it is time for the official ceremony and the party afterward. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," you tell her, and everything is set. It takes a few hours to get you completely ready from head to toe, but your breath is taken away when you look in the life-size mirror against the wall. You barely recognize yourself, but simultaneously, you look beautiful and exactly how a royal bride should look.

"Now, we will escort you to a different room where Anthony is already waiting for you so you two can have your private first look," Olivia says. You nod before letting her guide you to the room where Tony is. Before you knock on the door, she wishes you good luck, and now it's time to see your husband-to-be again.

You knock on the door, and as soon as you hear his 'Come in!' the butterflies in your stomach go wild. The door opens slowly, and you see Tony standing in the middle of the room, with his back to you, so that the surprise won't be ruined yet.

"Hi," you say as you walk into the room, and Tony immediately gets a huge smile, though you can't see it.

"Hi, Gorgeous. How're you feeling?"

"Better now that I'm seeing you again. Your suit looks beautiful," you tell Tony as you look at the black fabric of his suit, every inch of it tailored to the Gods around his broad physique.

"Can I turn around? I am dying to see how beautiful you look in your dress, as well," he says impatiently, and you can't help but laugh at his impatience.

"Yes, Angel, you can turn around," you tell him, and as soon as he does, his mouth falls open. You can also see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he drinks in every inch of you, from your hair to your face and the white lace to the smooth silk adorning your body. He has never seen you be more beautiful, and he can look at you like this for the rest of his life.

"Wow..." he whispers before stepping towards you, your hands immediately grabbing his when he's close enough.

"I'm the luckiest man on earth today," he says before kissing your lips softly and ensuring your make-up doesn't smudge.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you ask him, "Are you ready to get married?" He nods, and after one last kiss, you leave again. It's finally time to marry the man you love. Everything goes by in a blur, and before you know it, you're standing before your soon-to-be husband, Tony.

"Ready?" he asks you. "Ready," you tell him.

"Dearly beloved and honored guests, we are gathered here today to join Anthony Edward Stark and Y/N Y/L/N as they unite to become one. This contract is not to be entered into lightly but thoughtfully and seriously, with a deep realization of its obligations and responsibilities. Please remember that love, loyalty, and understanding are the foundations of a happy and enduring home," the officiant says, and you nod along in response, unable to take your eyes off Tony for even a second.

"Do you, Anthony, take this woman, Y/N, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and health, in good times and bad, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself unto him for as long as you shall live?''

"I do," Tony says, and the butterflies in your stomach are doing constant somersaults as the words slip out of his mouth, followed by a large smile.

"Do you, Y/N, take this man, Anthony, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and health, in good times and bad, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself unto him for as long as you shall live?''

"I do," you say with confidence. A smile tugs on the corners of your lips as you look up at Tony, knowing it won't take long for you two to be officially declared husband and wife. The moment you've been looking forward to for months is here, and it cannot happen soon enough for your liking.

After a short vow exchange followed by the exchange of the rings, it is time to seal your marriage for the rest of your lives.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride," the officiant says before stepping to the side, and Tony doesn't hesitate for a second as he closes the gap between you, his lips feeling perfect on yours. Your first kiss as husband and wife is soft and unrushed, making it the most amazing one you've ever shared.

"I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Stark!" the officiant says, and Tony grabs your hand in his as he walks you down the aisle again, ready to celebrate your union and the beginning of the rest of your lives together.

"I love you, Gorgeous," Tony says before carefully grabbing hold of your waist and dipping you back at the end of the aisle before his lips descend on yours again, and the reaction from everyone in the room is overwhelming. The happiness is palpable, and you're feeling happier than ever now that you're officially married to the man you love.

The party thrown in your honor after the ceremony was impressive, and you shed your fair share of tears during the night. From the speeches to the father-daughter dance, not a single moment will be forgotten, and you're thankful to have shared it with your closest family and friends.

But now, it's time for your first night as husband and wife. It will be your first time for each of you, and it is soothing to know that you go into it without expectations and with the same level of experience. You can get to know each other's bodies and find out precisely what the other likes at a slow pace, which eases your nerves tremendously.

"Let's get out of these clothes, Gorgeous. I've been fantasizing about what you're hiding underneath all these clothes, and I'm dying to have my first taste of you," he whispers in your ear, with goosebumps erupting on your neck. His hands glide from your shoulders to the zipper on the back of your dress, pulling it down slowly.

When it's fully opened, the fabric slides down your body, and you're left in your heels and the delicate white lingerie you wore underneath it. Tony's breath hitches as more of your skin is revealed, and he can't stop looking at the perfect globes of your butt.

"You're perfect," Tony growls as his hands wander, touching every inch of your body he can reach as you lean back in his touch. Your back is plastered against his chest as his hands glide from your hips and stomach over the soft cups of your bra, your nipples instantly hardening at the feeling of him.

Your breathing slowly intensifies as he takes his time gently playing with your nipples through the cups of your bra, kneading and tugging on them to give you the perfect amount of stimulation. Your panties are ruined as you keep getting more and more aroused.

"That's it; you're doing so well for me right now," Tony says as he lets one of his hands glide down over your stomach and to the front of your panties.

"Hmm, so wet for me already, Babydoll," he says, and you nod, spreading your legs a bit as he slips his fingers underneath the elastic of your panties, his fingers gliding through the warmth and wetness between your thighs.

"Fuck, you're drenched," and with those words, he pulls his fingers back before putting them into his mouth and moaning at the taste of you. After just that one small taste, he knows he's hooked, and he can't wait to get to taste your sweetness straight from the source.

"Lay down on the bed for me, Gorgeous," Tony gently orders, and you do as you watch him strip down to nothing but his underwear, which is when you can see a clear outline of his hardening cock. He's about half hard, but it's already impressive, and you're starting to wonder if it'll fit inside you. Tony can read it on your face, and he is quick to soothe you.

"Don't worry, Gorgeous, we can take it slow. It's okay if we don't go all the way tonight, and if we do, I will make sure I will do anything in my power to make sure you're comfortable and not in any pain," Tony says between the kisses he places from your ankle to your thigh and the edge of your panties.

"But first, we have to take these off you." It's all the warning you get before he rips the panties off your body with a force that has you gushing right away from how much it turns you on, and Tony is looking at your pussy as if he's looking at the Eighth Wonder.

"You have a beautiful, perfect pussy, Gorgeous. Dripping wet and so tight, I bet it'll taste and feel amazing," Tony says, and you nod as you sit up on your elbows, wondering what he's doing.

"Lay back, Babydoll; right now is all about you, and I want you to think about nothing but me," he says before diving into your pussy headfirst. If you didn't know better, you would think he had done this countless times before because, with every movement of his tongue, you can feel your orgasm building inside you.

Your moans become uncontrollable the closer you get. When Tony moves to pay every bit of attention to your clit, he has to hold your legs open with his arms as you keep rutting up against him and trying to close them from the overwhelming amount of pleasure.

"That's it, Babydoll, doing so well for me!" he tells you as you're on the edge, and the second he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks you fall apart, writhing in his hold as he works you through your first orgasm. Your entire body is trembling as Tony lets you go, but it is one of the best feelings you've ever experienced.

"You taste even better from the source, you know that?" Tony says as he crawls over you before kissing you deeply, the arousal on his tongue now coating yours, too. It is hotter than you ever thought, and you enjoy every second.

"How're you feeling so far, Gorgeous?" Tony asks as he tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

"Good," you tell him with a dopey smile, and he can't help but fall in love with you even more now. This was only your first orgasm, and he is planning on pulling at least one or two more out of you tonight.

"I'm glad about that. But before we move on to the next part, I want to tell you that you can stop me anytime, okay? If anything doesn't feel right, we can stop and readjust or stop altogether, okay? Nothing is more important to me than your comfort, so I want you to tell me if anything is off, okay?" he asks, and you nod.

"I will, Tony. But... May I touch you first? There?" you ask as you point to his now fully hard cock, and he nods in response before moving to take off his boxer briefs.

"Of course, Babydoll," he says, and soon the fabric is on the floor, and Tony is fully naked, too. You swallow thickly as you look at his size, which you estimate to be around 10 inches long, if not more. It's looking like an absolute monster cock, and your mouth is watering at the sight, but at the same time, you're very worried it won't fit inside you.

First, you bring your hand to him, wrapping it around gently before starting with gentle strokes up and down, earning yourself some groans as you repeat the same motions. Precum starts to leak from the tip, and you're getting more confidence as you go on. Tony is almost at the point of orgasm when he suddenly stops you.

"That's it for now, Babydoll; if you keep going, I'll cum already, and I was hoping I could save that for when I'm buried deep inside that delicious pussy of yours," Tony says before grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you in for a deep kiss.

"Let's get you comfortable by taking off this bra," Tony says as he unclasps it before throwing it away, revealing your beautiful breasts to him. His hands immediately start to knead them, and his mouth descends onto one of them, sucking and licking it as your hips buck up to gain some friction too.

He keeps this up for both of them until he's finally moving up your body, his cock lying between your thighs as he looks into your eyes.

"Remember what I said, Gorgeous. You can stop me whenever you want," he tells you again, and you nod. With that, Tony grabs hold of his cock before letting the tip slide through your folds, your body jolting each time it rubs over your sensitive clit.

"I love it when you're so responsive for me," he tells you with a big smile, and you smile back up at him. After teasing you for a few minutes, he finally lines his cock up with your entrance, just leaving it there for a moment before pushing in.

"How're you feeling now? Do you still want to continue?" he asks, and you look deep into his eyes.

"Yes, Tony, I want to continue. Make me yours, please," you beg softly, and he shushes you with a kiss. His eyes are constantly trained on your face as he slides in the tip carefully, a moan already leaving your lips at the feeling of it.

"Oh, fuck! You're so tight for me, Babydoll, such a tight, warm pussy for me to slide into," Tony breathes into your ear as he slowly slides more and more of his cock in, pulling back before thrusting in just a little more each time. With constant time to adjust and gentle thrusts, he is slid in completely, and you're both moaning and groaning messes at this point.

"Oh my, fuck! You're perfect for me, Babydoll, nothing but perfect," he groans as he starts thrusting, building up the pace slightly. After a few minutes, he carefully adjusts his position, and with this, he has you seeing stars and moaning even louder, your sweet spot being hit with every stroke.

"D-Daddy! Harder!" you beg him, and that's when Tony stops for a short moment. His cock twitches in your heat as the word keeps swirling through his mind. A deep red blush appears on his cheeks, and for a moment, he's a little unsure if he likes it, but that doesn't take long.

"Say that again, Babydoll, call me Daddy again," he begs of you this time, and you comply immediately.

"Please, Daddy! Fuck me harder," you ask him as you're getting impatient, and that's precisely what he does. He keeps building up the rhythm carefully, but eventually, he is fucking you with so much force the mattress creaks loudly and the bed bangs against the wall, but neither of you cares for even a second.

"That's it! Such a good girl for Daddy; you gonna let me cum in this pussy of yours? Huh? You're gonna let Daddy fuck a baby into you? That's what you want, isn't it, me fucking a baby into you so you're beautiful and pregnant, carrying the baby that Daddy fucked into you," he growls at the end, and all you can let out are a string of broken moans.

"M so close, Babydoll, so close and I'll fuck a baby into you, Daddy'll give you exactly what you want," is all he says before you're both falling over the edge, and Tony can feel you clenching down onto him as he spills his cum inside of you, releasing every drop of it deep inside you until there's nothing left.

Tony quickly rolls off you and to the side so he won't crush you before pulling you against his chest to ensure you can both come down from your highs comfortably. The silence in the room is more than welcome as you're both catching your breaths and enjoying the moment.

That night officially marked the beginning of your lives as a married couple. Three months later, you and Tony have officially been crowned the new King and Queen, while Howard and Maria are enjoying their well-earned retirement.

It only took nine months after your coronation for you to become pregnant with your beautiful baby boy, the heir to the throne. And his name? Anthony Edward Stark Junior. He is a carbon copy of his Dad and the sweetest boy you have ever met. When people say they don't believe in love at first sight, it is clear they have never looked into the eyes of their own baby because when you do that, you instantly know it's true.

There is such a thing as love at first sight, which brought you to this moment. Your amazing husband and beautiful son are creating a wonderful family with you, and in this formation, you know you will be able to rule the Kingdom effortlessly, and you can't wait to give the crown to him.

But for now, Little Anthony can stay as small as he can be for as long as possible. He has all the time in the world to grow up, and you only have a short time to enjoy him as a baby. And that's precisely what you plan on doing with your fantastic husband, King Anthony Stark.

#marvelsmashbingo #tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fanfic #tony stark one shot #tony stark request #tony stark imagine #tony stark x female reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark fluff #tony stark smut

[hederasgarden]

Sins of the Father - Part 1

Summary: When the Greens win the Dance of the Dragons, your father must answer for his support of Rhaenyra.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lady!Reader(house unspecified)

W/C: 1.5K

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, forced/arranged marriage and reference to canon level violence. Future chapters will be explicit.

A/N: Thank you fieldandfountain, @truesblue and @whatblogisthis216 for all your help with the first part of this fic. The fantastically talented @writercole created the beautiful graphic!

Likes are lovely but comments and reblogs make my day!

You trail behind your father into the nearly empty Great Hall, flinching when the heavy doors close behind you. King Aegon the second is nowhere to be seen. In his place the Queen Mother sits on the throne, flanked by the Hand of the King and who you assume must be her youngest son, Prince Aemond. Even though he looks half bored he still makes for an intimidating figure, dressed all in black with an eye patch that only partially hides the angry scar that bisects his right eye. You swallow hard, recalling all the nasty rumors you’ve heard about him. Kinslayer was the kindest one you could recall.

A handful of Kingsgaurd members stand at the bottom of the throne and two more follow behind you and your father. You search the room for any familiar figures or other nobles but find none. There are no friendly faces here. When you spot the King's Justice half-hidden behind a pillar, you stumble. Fear lances through your chest, hot and tight, as you consider what his presence means.

“All will be well,” your father promises quietly, offering you his hand.

You grip it tightly and stare straight ahead. The stories your grandmother told you as a girl about her visits to Kings Landing pale in comparison to what you see before you. The iron throne looms large and imposing, the chaotic array of swords terrifying. You have to crane your neck to look at the high ceiling, eyes catching on the beautiful stained glass. Were this any other time you would have been thrilled at the chance to see the capital. Now you feel only dread.

There is no question why the two of you are here today. Your father and brother threw their support behind Rhaenyra in the war and now it was time to face that choice. To beg for mercy like the other lords summoned before your father. The heads of those unsuccessful in their plea were impaled on the spikes that lined the castle’s inner walls. You prayed to the seven that your father would not join them.

“Your Grace,” your father greets, bending deeply at the waist. You follow suit, dropping into a low curtsey and waiting until she bids you rise. “We were expecting to see the King today.”

“My son is busy,” Alicent tells you with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I am here to speak on his behalf.”

“We were summoned by the King,” your father says, a deep frown on his face. “And have traveled far to speak with him.”

“You also pledged your allegiance to the usurper,” the Hand reminds your father.

“The King is merciful though,” Alicent is quick to add, a bland sort of smile on her face. “He understands your family’s ties with House Targaryen go back to before the doom and that your mother was a childhood friend to Aemma. It is understandable you might have been easily led astray.”

Your father remains silent, waiting for Alicent to continue. He told you on the long journey here that he suspected the crown wanted money. There were rumors the war nearly bankrupted the royal coffers. It was a costly war, paid in both blood and gold. Your father is one of the wealthiest lords in Westeros, second only to the Lannisters. It was a logical conclusion and you hoped he was right.

“King Aegon would like to offer you the opportunity to show us you understand the error of your ways and to reaffirm your commitment to his rule.”

“What does his grace have in mind?” Your father asks.

“Marriage between your daughter and Prince Aemond.”

Your lips part in a silent show of surprise but your father’s reaction is more pronounced. His brows draw together and he cuts a quick look at Aemond who stands tall and disinterested beside his mother.

"You cannot possibly expect me to give up my only remaining heir," your father begins, voice incredulous.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the King's Hand jut his chin out and one of the Kingsguard steps forward, hand on the pommel of his greatsword. You glance up at Alicent. She blinks, her face pinched in a sour expression. You think about the heads on Traitor’s Gate and step forward before you’re even cognizant of your own actions.

"Please your grace, you must excuse my father," you begin, resting a hand on his arm. "He grieves still for my brother, his only son, and heir. He fears he will lose me today too, but I can see that is not the case. Prince Aemond is a virtuous man and would treat me well. We are honored you deem us worthy of such a betrothal."

Your father turns to you and stares, surprised. His eyes, the same color as your late brother's, are full of anger. You know he wants to fight this, but you have your mother and sisters back home to think about. Silently, you beg him to understand, to acquiesce. After a long moment, he seems to, clenching his jaw tightly. The fear you see in his expression is a mirror of what you feel in your heart.

"We would be happy to show our loyalty to the crown," your father says finally, clearly unhappy. A second later he lays his hand over yours.

"The King will be pleased to hear this," Alicent replies.

"Of course, there is the matter of a dowry," the Hand says, speaking up finally. "It would need to be fit for a Prince."

You look pleadingly to your father when his hand tightens over yours, a muscle in his cheek jumping. He came ready to part with his coin, not with you. You should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. The crown needs to ensure your father’s loyalty. He is a powerful man and his influence ran deep. With you in King’s Landing, they could be assured of his cooperation. Any children you bore Aemond would inherit your father’s lands and titles after he passed, guaranteeing your house remained bound to the realm.

“The Prince needs only to name his price,” you say when it is clear your father is too angry to speak. When you look at Aemond, you’re startled to find his eye focused solely on you. His expression is blank, making it impossible to determine what he might be thinking.

“How kind to offer me a say,” he says with a smirk.

You drop his intense gaze, inclining your head forward in a show of respect to hide your fear.

“We are but returning the kindness your family has shown us,” you assure him, not daring to raise your eyes from the ground.

“Then the matter is settled,” the Hand says.

“It is,” your father agrees, voice strained.

The situation you’ve found yourself in is a dangerous one and you know the fate of your father and your house rests on your shoulders now. It’s a heavy burden and he looks at you with such a pained expression you feel your throat close up around any words of comfort you might offer. Instead, you squeeze his arm and try to impart whatever reassurance you can. He nods in return, exhaling sharply. Under his fear and worry, you think you see a glimmer of pride.

“The wedding should take place soon,” Alicent says, drawing your attention away from your father as she descends the throne. There’s an unexpected smile on her face when she beckons Aemon to her side.

“As your grace wishes,” you accede.

“In two months' time, all the lords of the kingdom will come to reswear their allegiance to King Aegon. It can happen then. That will allow us to prepare a wedding fit for the King’s brother.”

“That will give me the time needed for the dowry,” your father adds. “We will return in one month's time to make preparations.”

“You misunderstand, my lord,” the Hand begins, “your daughter will remain in King’s Landing. To ensure your continued loyalty.”

“It will give her time to know her betrothed,” Alicent adds with a smile, drawing closer. She places a light hand on your shoulder and looks at your father. “She will be well cared for until you return.”

“A dragon protects what is his,” Aemond says, a flash of movement drawing your eye to the hand that rests on the dagger in his belt.

“Your skills with the blade are legendary, your grace. It warms my father’s heart to know I will be kept so safe.”

“I am sure it warms something.” Aemond stares at your father now, chin lifted in challenge.

Alicent flashes her son a look but Aemond only chuckles, turning on his heel before your father can respond.

♡

My inbox is open for your thoughts and feelings on Aemond! I’m open to requests but cannot guarantee they’ll be fulfilled.

Also, I no longer have a tag list, please follow @hg-library and turn on notifications.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic

[eviebane]

Good Omens Brainrot: Starter Park

I will be updating this the more I find! Please feel free to suggest things~

Have you recently watched Good Omens and would like to go down the ineffable rabbit hole? Are you a Crowley/Aziraphale shipper? Do you want to find your way inside Neil Gaiman's walls?

Look no further! This post will get you up to speed on what's happening in the Good Omens fandom and is guaranteed to increase your brain rot by 6000%!

Post-Season 2 Theories

The Good Omens soundtrack is lying to you

Crowley's angel identity

The Clock Theory

Double meanings

Maggie is a Nephilim and my meta masterpost

The Coffee Theory

Matchbox foreshadowing

Good Omens Extras

The Deleted Bookshop Scene Animatic (from the Good Omens script book)

David Tennant reads the bookshop scene from Good Omens

Deleted scene from episode 1

Deleted scene Surrender the Angle

Deleted scene Mr and Ms Cheng

Deleted scene Rob encounters a demon

Deleted scene Justine's peanut allergy

Bloopers Crowley ordering drinks

Bloopers Mrs Henderson

BTS Bookshop Tour

BTS Burning Azi's bookshop

BTS Before & After VFX Breakdown

BTS Season 1

The 1992 movie script (link to Neil's post discouraging viewing due to copyright issues)

Analysis & Meta

ineffable-suffering's meta masterpost - NEW Crackpotting Theory Tracker

If you want to watch the kiss in Analysis Mode

Jane Austin in Good Omens

Va Va Voom yellow

How tied crowley is to gay (british) culture

The Bentley handle easter egg and how to tell the Bentley's apart

Silliness and why it's important

Beelzebub's thrones

Crowley's star making book

Mr Brown is in love with Aziraphale

People To Follow

Neil Gaimon's blog

Aziraphale's Library - huge catalogue of GO fics

The Good Omens Heritage Blog

Blogs to follow

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#crowley #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #good omens #aziracrow #goodomens #good omens 2 #gomens #gomens 2 #ineffable divorce #good omens meta

[leupagus]

The degree to which Davos and Brienne are going to become reluctant BFFs, because their lieges keep coming to them complaining about each other, is UNREAL

or, more from this fic that's slowly eating my life

~

Their journey to the Northern army's camp had revealed a great deal about Lady Stark and her lords and petty chieftains: their patronizing generosity, their gruff suspicion of outsiders, and above all their mind-boggling obstinacy. Ned and Lyanna had been much the same, from what he remembered, and Stannis had seen shades of it in Jon Snow, though couched more gently than he'd expected from a bastard. He'd imagined — insofar as he'd imagined her at all — that Lady Stark would be gentler still, her mother's line warming that chilled Northern blood.

He had been disastrously mistaken. It was a wonder only one Stark had survived, but it was already clear that she had gathered the entire share of Stark mulishness.

"I have conditions, Your Grace," said Lady Stark. "If this alliance is to succeed in retaking Winterfell, I feel it right that you hear them." She placed the parchment in her hand carefully on his table and stepped back, hands folded primly.

She had requested, and been granted, this conference shortly after Stannis's army had made camp alongside the Northern soldiers. Stannis's tent had barely been erected when she came to him with this parchment, her wolf, and a determined expression. He had thought he'd listened to her enough on the journey as she'd prattled away with Shireen, but he was in the mood to be permissive.

Reading through her list of demands, he could feel the headache building along his jaw and up through his skull. "Have you lost your mind?" he said, for the second time in a week to an unreasonable woman.

Melisandre had brushed his question aside, but Lady Stark was not made of such supple stuff; she stiffened and glowered at him. "That is a peculiar way to agree to my terms, Your Grace."

"Your terms are rather more than peculiar, my lady," he said, tossing the parchment back on the table.

In truth, the first one was not so peculiar: it said that should they regain the Keep, he would recognize Sansa Stark as Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North in her own right. He would not pass her over in favor of some lesser Northern male relative, nor would he obligate her to marry and rule only as companion to her husband. Considering Stannis's own intention to ensure Shireen sat on the Iron Throne after his death, he could hardly begrudge her this.

Considering the other two stipulations, however, he felt very much inclined to begrudge her everything.

"Supposing your younger brothers turn up?" he asked, thrusting his chin at the parchment. "Or Jon Snow is legitimized?"

This question didn't faze her, he suspected because it was a question of logistics and protocol rather than a personal remark. "If Jon is made legitimate, I don't believe he would want Winterfell—"

"Duty is not a question of wanting, Lady Stark," he reminded her. "And the Lord Commander is—"

"The Lord Commander, as you say, is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," she retorted. "His life has already been pledged to the Wall. If he didn't abandon that cause in aid of my brother Robb, he won't abandon it now."

Stannis observed her. There was bitterness there, certainly, though less than he would have thought. Lady Stark clearly understood the ties that bound men to their duty, even if she did not like them.

"However," she continued, "Should any of my brothers wish to make a claim to Winterfell in my place, I won't stand against them." She paused for a moment, and added, "I have no wish to die at their hands out of misplaced pride."

Stannis clenched his jaw but let that go for the moment — it would be addressed soon enough. "You call me 'Your Grace,'" he said, tapping at the parchment, "Yet your second stipulation says that you will not bend the knee to me, even if I regain Winterfell for you."

"No, it says that I will not bend the knee to any claimant to the throne until they hold the majority of the kingdoms," she shot back. "The Lannisters hold the Crownlands, the Westerlands and the Reach at present. The Riverlands are still in chaos, the Vale has withdrawn from all alliances to sulk in their mountains, and both Dorne and the Iron Islands have declared for themselves, more or less. You can, at best, claim that the Stormlands still support you, though I've seen no evidence for it — they didn't march under your banner at first, did they?"

That was the second time she had brought up Renly, however obliquely. If she were trying to drive him mad, she couldn't go about it any better. "When I hold the North, my lady, I will have more land—"

"Setting aside the notion that it will be you alone who holds the North, you'll have more land and fewer men than any other region. If you wish to win against the Lannisters, you'll need more than mountains and glaciers fighting your battles. And if I wish to be Warden of the North, I can't keep the respect of my lords by swearing fealty to a man who has yet to earn it."

"I could have you burned for such talk," he said, getting to his feet and pouring himself some water, hoping it would ease the throbbing in his head.

"You don't burn nobles, you behead them," she replied cooly. "I should know. I was there when the Lannisters took my own father's head for supporting your claim to the Iron Throne. I have no intention of sharing his fate." She took a deep breath, and only then did he note that her hands had been clenched together, her right covering the balled-up fist of her left. "I won't take arms against you now or in the future, on that I give my word."

"And if I do have you beheaded?" he asked, putting the tin cup down before he crumpled it in his hand.

It seemed to amuse her. "Then my words will mean even less than they do now."

"They mean nothing, because you will not give them!" He pinched his nose and attempted to regain his composure. Surprisingly difficult, with this — child.

She regarded him for a moment. "You call me Lady Stark, Your Grace," she said, "but tell me, have you heard anyone else call me that?"

Stannis, thrown by the question, was forced to consider it. In truth, he had heard only Lady Sansa, though said with more reverence by her men and lords than he could ever recall being addressed himself. "You are Lady Stark."

"Not without Winterfell," she said, shaking her head. "It's more than just the home of the Starks, it is our…place in the world. We belong nowhere else. Just as there must always be a Stark at Winterfell, so too do we need Winterfell to truly be Starks." She gave him a pointed look. "Just as Your Grace needs the Iron Throne, and the fealty of all the Seven Kingdoms, to truly be king."

She was wrong, of course, but Stannis felt the same lurch in his belly whenever his footing slipped during a bout. "Perhaps your reticence has something to do with this last stipulation," he said instead, going back to the table and jabbing his finger at the third line. "Falsely accusing a king is treason."

"Is Lady Brienne falsely accusing you, Your Grace?" she asked, smooth as ice. Her hands were still clenched, he noted.

"I was nowhere near Renly's camp when he died," Stannis said, with perfect truth, even as he felt himself balanced on a knife's edge.

He had been nowhere near. He had woken up just before dawn with the lead weight of certainty in his belly, knowing what had happened — what the Red Woman had said must happen — and lying there, staring up at the tent's canvas, he had wept. Wept for the brothers he had loved and who had never loved him back. He would never know if Renly had had a hand in Robert's death; just as he would never know if he himself had had a hand in Renly's. Had he ordered Melisandre to kill him? Had he believed her when she said she could make such a thing come to pass? Davos had begged to tell him of what had happened in the cave that night, what monstrous thing the Red Woman had done to bring Renly's death about. Stannis had refused to hear it. Perhaps there was a sort of rough justice in facing his accuser now, the only one living who knew the truth.

"Lady Brienne has served me faithfully," said Lady Stark, "and my mother before me, at great cost to herself. I believe her testimony, Your Grace."

"Her testimony that I murdered my own brother."

Lady Stark regarded him steadily. "I will not insult either of you by declaring one more honorable than the other. But when I regain Winterfell, my duty as Warden of the North will be to adjudicate all such matters, and this falls under my purview. Even if you were crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms in the Red Keep itself, the North holds all persons, regardless of title, under its laws while they reside here."

"Renly didn't die in the North," was all he could manage to say.

"He died, Your Grace." Lady Stark looked almost pitying. "And for that, I'm sorry. I know what it is to lose your brothers. But on this point I will not waver."

"Is there any point on which you have?" he asked, curious.

She continued serenely. "Lady Brienne will be permitted to make her accusation publicly; how you respond to it is your affair, but if you prevail, you must give me your word now that she will not be held guilty of treason, nor will she be killed by any member of your party by any means." She put enough emphasis on the last two words to make her meaning plain.

"And if she prevails?" Stannis asked. "Your stipulations do not mention the outcome of the trial, only that it will take place." He smiled grimly. "Your father always said that he who passes the sentence should swing the sword, my lady. Will you behead me yourself?"

"I doubt either of us would find that a pleasant exercise, Your Grace," she said, her lip curling slightly. She didn't blanch, however; young as she was, she had seen worse. Had possibly done worse, if the rumors about the Purple Wedding were true. He'd not asked. "If you are found guilty, then you will ride south. If you win the support of the other kingdoms, the North will bend the knee to you. But you'll never come north of the Neck again. Does that satisfy?"

Stannis glanced down at the parchment again. There it all was, in black and white: the price he must pay for the North. The blasted girl had even provided a space for him to sign at the bottom.

"Not remotely," he said, but reached for his pen.

#got: bitches get stuff done #game of thrones motherfuckers #the more I write these two together the more I'm mad that they never got to meet #same with Tywin and Daenerys #(although that's mostly due to watching too many Charles Dance interviews where he gushes over Clarke's performances) #(as he should!) #but some of the most interesting characters never got a chance to meet and it's a TRAVESTY #anyway #I've read a fair amount of GOT fic and none of them so far have written Stannis-Sansa interactions the way I feel that they would go #which is as you can tell: poorly #just let them be bitches!!! god!!!!!! #also don't even worry brienne is absolutely going to kick stannis's ass even if she doesn't kill him #she should get little an attempted murder as a treat

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

For garten of banban do a fic of the reader actually tackling tying up and gagging bittergiggle up before he can tell any jokes. She tied him up with shoelaces and used a bandana around her neck to gag him

Omg wasn't expecting a GOBB request so soon, but yay!!

Also yes this is happening ya'll I'm getting invested in this silly game again.

............

"Your Majesty, tell me..what did the-?"

"NO!!"

Before Bittergiggle could even react, you lunged and tackled him to the floor of the throne room, much to the shock of Sheriff Toadster and Queen Bouncelia. You were quick to yank off the bandana around your neck, putting it around his mouth as a makeshift gag.

He squirmed and thrashed through muffled yells, furious that you stopped him from telling his joke.

Yet somehow you were able to easily overpower him. He didn't expect any human to be this strong.

"Sheriff! I need your assistance!"

"Huh? Oh!" The toad snapped out of his stupor as you tossed several shoelaces you've gathered around the kindergarten in his direction, and he immediately knew what to do with them.

In the end, you two successfully tied up Bittergiggle in front of the still-bewildered kangaroo.

"What on earth...?"

"My apologies, your Majesty..but it's for his own good." Despite being out of breath, you stood up and smiled, patting the jester's smooth side of his head even as he kept struggling. "He was about to tell you the worst joke in existence. Figured I'd spare your gracious ears from hearing it."

"Oh? Well..I suppose you have my thanks, dear." She bowed her head in gratitude, before sitting back on her throne.

"Gotta say, I'm impressed.." Sheriff Toadster chuckled. "I haven't been able to round up this crook in ages...and yet this fine lady here did it in the blink an eye! I oughta give ya my thanks, too. You saved us all from certain doom."

"Yeah, well...I've been through enough crap already." You sighed. "And even after all this time...I'm still not any closer to finding my kid. I came here for answers and instead I got this dunce trying to kill me and keep me locked up!"

Nudging Bittergiggle with your foot, you watched as he fell onto his side, yelling dramatically despite the gag making his words unintelligible still.

All you did was scowl down at him. "Shut up. I didn't push you that hard."

"Your determination and grit is something I can admire," Queen Bouncelia remarked. "Although I am concerned for your safety, it's not my place to tell you to give up and go home. You didn't come this far to be told that."

"I appreciate your concern, my queen...but I know my kid best. They wouldn't just disappear in a place like this."

"Very well. Unfortunately, I do not have the answers you seek. I'm afraid they lie even-"

"Deeper in the facility?"

"........"

"I figured...guess the only way to go is down at this point." You then turned to Sheriff Toadster, putting your hands on your hips. "I'll help you lock the Jester up, but only if you take me to the next elevator. I'd feel much safer with you than Banban."

"As much as I appreciate that...you ain't one to order me around, missy." While physically impossible for him to frown, his eyes narrowed with a look of disdain. "Don't think you're let off the hook just yet. I'll lock you both right back up. Him for nearly killin' us all...and you for disrespectin' a-"

"You will do no such thing to her." Queen Bouncelia's voice boomed, causing him to tense and look back at her, suddenly trembling under her gaze. "They may not be connected by genome, but I see much of Opila Bird's fire in her eyes. The same instinct to protect her youth from harm. It is unwise to test a mother's love for her child."

"A-Ah...but of course, your Majesty. I shall not question the human any further." He bowed his head in obedience before turning back to you. "Alrighty. Let's go lock this bandit up only and I'll show ya to the elevator down. We may need to recruit an ally on our journey, but worry not...it shall not the that devilish fiend who claims to be your friend."

"Thank you." Nodding, you glanced at the queen with a heartfelt smile, relieved she still retained her kindness and empathy even after being abandoned.

For once there was a mascot who wasn't trying to kill or manipulate you.

So you and Sheriff Toaster eventually departed from the kingdom, dragging a kicking and screaming Bittergiggle behind you.

#clanask #garten of banban x reader #gobb x reader #sheriff toadster #queen bouncelia #bittergiggle #female reader