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eldritch-spouse · 6 months

Note

Ima make it my life's goal as the queen of wrath to peg kalymir

[HAH. Fem reader.]

TW: Pegging; Verbal degradation; Abusive use of caps lock as usual.

It must have been months of work.

Honestly, you don't really know how you got here. Attempt after attempt after numberless plans all very easily foiled by the King of Wrath. You had begun to go insane, but your stubbornness knew no bounds- Which is perhaps one of the big reasons Kalymir is ever so fond of you. He knows he can flatten you to the ground like a pancake and you will just get back up spitting and biting.

Some little part of you suspects that maybe he's been slacking on purpose, to give you this little victory. But that's ridiculous, the King doesn't give free wins away!

It was pure luck that you just so happened to coax him into a competition you both knew he wasn't that well-versed in, and it was equally a product of luck that he was blind enough with rage that he was more concerned with getting his hand around your neck than he was with listening to the terms you had set.

Oh, that moment.

That sweet triumph. You've savored it like the finest aged wine there exists.

The raw shock on the King's form as he processes that he lost. That he didn't even listen to what he'd have to do upon being defeated -Because, in his arrogance, he never conceived of the possibility- The subsequent bristling as he all but flips the room upside down and roars loud enough to crack the walls.

" YOU CHEATED! "

He accused, but you were no fool, preparations for this exact outcome had been made, and you forced Roch to watch the entire event. Forced indeed, because he had to be snapped awake from time to time... Still, the imp was awake and aware for the moments that truly held meaning, and he verified that there was no foul play, recited the terms back to his King valiantly, even if it resulted in him getting launched into the next three rooms and having a mild concussion.

That poor imp. Anyway-

You won. Something you've been rubbing all over Kalymir's rugged face for a while now, and you swear he grows a wrinkle every single time you do- Because even if he eventually stated being proud of you, in his own vaguely demeaning and aggressive way, he knows what he's signed up for.

Unfortunately, the King did not want to pick a strap with you. Telling you to eat shit and die when prompted. His sore tantrums are like music to your ears. This means that you have the liberty of picking whatever you'd like, and a short trip to Lust was fruitful for said endeavor. Something black, appropriate to your size difference, barbed and ridged and bumped, something you know he won't forget. Your status meant you had the privilege of trying it on with a proper harness, and you damn near fell into breathless wheezing as the scandalous thing swung between your legs.

You could probably kill a man with the blunt force trauma of a cock slap from this thing.

Which means it's the perfect choice for your self-proclaimed husband.

The cashier said something about King Vesper having a similar model, you weren't really listening, far too giddy about the future to care.

Said future is now.

You wear nothing but your birthday suit, a silk black robe, the harness and the silicone menace attached to it. There are, of course, bottles of lube to be found in the bedroom.

When you stroll in, high on your own power, this shit-eating smirk on your complexion, you find the demonlord already bare. He stands in front of the bed, arms crossed, tail swatting in irritation, expression forever twisted in metaphorical butthurt- Which you're about to make very literal.

" FINALLY GOT THE BALLS TO SHOW UP? " He copes.

You spent less than five minutes getting ready.

Strolling up to him, fearless and unbothered, your hands poise on your hips and you give the big red spite-ball a good view of what he'll be working with.

" What do you think, hm? "

Kalymir snorts like a bull. " PITIFUL. "

" Yeah? " You grin. " That's fine, next time I'll get you something bigger. "

For a second there, his mouth opens and he raises a fist like he intends to drill into you for even daring to suggest there would ever be a second time, but unfortunately, he gathers some wit before that beautiful explosion.

" KEEP FUCKING DREAMING, RUNT. "

" I don't have to. I've already bested you once. You think I can't do it again? "

Dancing in that tempting, dangerous territory. You know a taunt too far could lead to an impromptu amputation or a skull ground to ashes, but you can't stop yourself.

" I'M GOING TO CRUSH YOU. " A threat, for sure. But the way he says it, heated and breathy, immediately betrays his enjoyment of your perhaps overly confident attitude.

" Sure, big guy. " You blink nonchalantly, then tap his side lightly. " Why don't you get on your knees and wet this for me? "

Kalymir snarls so deep from his chest that you fear he might cause a small earthquake. Hellquake? Fuck if you know. You're not given time to think on it either because his hand curls around your hair and tugs hard enough that you tear up immediately.

" THE FUCKING NERVE. " You can almost feel his teeth brushing your neck. One bite. One bite and you will drown in your own blood. " I DEMAND YOUR RESPECT. "

Past the sting, you're able to cackle freely. " Not after you agreed to be my slut tonight. "

That's it. You overdid it. He's going to kill you. Those will be your last words before you're split into two, each half hung outside his mansion's walls to dry and paint it in a fresh coat of crimson.

Curiously, you're actually released, stumbling only a little before shaking your head and stabilizing.

" YOU ARE LEARNING THE WAYS OF THIS RING TOO FAST... " He comments, a hint of a smile on his face.

Well, you are a people pleaser.

Although you attempt to mask it, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when the demonlord does just as you said, falling to his knees, having shrunk a decent amount to facilitate the following acts. Oh, it's really happening, isn't it? It's a wonderful view, something that you will relish forever.

Because, even shrunk, Kalymir needs to bend, nearly flatten himself to the ground to be at level with your toy. Seeing his powerful, corded body all but prostrate itself to your person sends all sort of signals everywhere, a blood vessel nearly bursts.

You're all too quick to lift the fake cock in your grasp and drag it on the side of his face, giggling when he instantly starts growling.

" Play nice, my King... "

The taunt incenses him further, though he doesn't stall, perhaps because it would show weakness. Or maybe he's just not fond of drawing this out. It's actually a little intimidating to see those teeth in such close contact, you're quietly relieved you don't actually have a phallus, otherwise you might have gotten cold feet right about now.

Kalymir is not gentle, not even when he's forced to the ground.

His claws coil around your ass, bringing you forward as he wraps his tongue around the girthy toy and takes it well into his mouth. Although there are no eyes on his face, you know he's gazing right up at you.

And you wave back down at him cheekily. " Oh, and you do look so pretty like this, are you sure you don't want to do it again? "

The demonlord can't exactly retort, but the tight, painful squeeze of your rump is warning enough. A heat settles on your cheeks as you watch him lather the silicone cock, moving back and forth on his own accord. Exactly as instructed, he's drooling on the thing, no shame about being sloppy, the same way he insists you don't be timid when you lavish him.

Your hand comes down to stroke across the side of his face, rewarded with no more than a snarl that nearly vibrates your whole body. God, you felt that in your cunt.

It doesn't escape you that Kalymir isn't taking full advantage of your toy's length. A smarmier look settles on your complexion.

" Tsk, you can do better, can't you? You've hardly taken the first half of it. "

Lies. He got a decent two thirds of it in his throat without gagging, that's a champion's feat in your eyes.

The King responds to your taunting by threatening to damn near rip a chunk out of your ass. He seems to be this close to biting your expensive equipment.

" Ah ah, no teeth! " You scowl, hearing him rumble like some kind of misbehaving dog with a tug-of-war toy.

Patience draining, little human hands grab him by the horns as you buck harshly a couple of times. " I said- No. Teeth. "

Somehow, someway, you manage to catch Kalymir by surprise enough that he swallows your cock to the root, but not without making at least one visceral gag that you're going to think about for a long time. Making the King of Wrath choke is already such an insanely satisfying conquest, and you've barely begun.

The demonlord's face wrinkles further, whether in discomfort or spite you're not too sure, but he allows you to luridly fuck his mouth for a while longer, little hips pumping your length into a powerful maw drooling heavily, his tongue still curling through the black mass of ridges. More shivers of pleasure wrack your body as you wonder if he's enjoying his own degradation, if he's turned on deep down, that his tiny and soft human Queen managed to not only best him but have him suckling around her toys.

It certainly turns you on. He might be smelling it already, judging by the flaring of his nostrils.

" That's enough. " You murmur, reaching to smear some of the drool on his teeth across his cheek.

As if being so low on the ground had stung him beyond measure, Kalymir is very quick to take a stand and wipe his mouth, chuffing at you. You hope his throat is sore, but he'll never show it even if it is.

" Was that so hard? " God help you, because you're intent on becoming a red stain across the wall today.

" GET FUCKED, BITCH. "

Oh he's just like an angry chihuahua right now. Delectable.

" Nah, I'm doing the fucking this time. " Before he can bark another senseless retort, you raise a finger. " Let's get a move on already. On the bed. "

The King doesn't budge, staring you down. Seconds pass. The only reason you're demanding it of him is because you know you couldn't topple him over even if you launched yourself into his front at full speed. It'd be more likely that you break some bones in the process, and he'd laugh about it forever. No, you can't let that happen.

Can't let him feel powerful.

" Now. "

He continues not to budge, scowl turning into a challenging smirk. Make me, it reads.

Without checking, without caring, you step forward and dart one arm directly to Kalymir's slit, jamming your fingers as far into it as you can. You underestimated how wet said sheath already was, because your whole hand almost slips in there with the force of your motion.

You mask your shock with a grunt, and to the demonlord's credit, he makes only the quietest gasp before turning the sound into a roar and bucking his hips at you. He's more than hard already, you can feel him rest -Push- Against your fingertips. Which leads you to believe he'd been intentionally keeping his erection hidden.

For how long had he been ready? Perhaps before anything even started!

Nevertheless, you get a firm grip of his length and mercilessly tug his cock out. Not that it would take much force honestly, given he's already more than full-mast. Kalymir's member twitches between his legs, ever imposing, and you happily note that the toy between yours is basically of the same size.

Noticing this, and perhaps to spite you, he snorts and flares the spikes usually kept flat to his base, forming what one can consider a knot of sorts. Upon said gesture, he gains inches of girth that he otherwise didn't have, thus making him "bigger" than your choice of dildo. Petty little shit. Like a dog reaching for scraps falling off the table, you'll let him have this win.

Eyes rolling, you curl the same hand around his cock and give him the reprieve of generous pumping. The kind of thing he'll have you do when he inevitably proves you wrong at something. Kalymir makes the mistake of getting into it, panting and rumbling while his hips rock into your hand. He can't even stay still for too long, having to fuck your hand sooner or later.

The moment he appears blissed out, you step back and leave him leaning into nothing but thin air. The way he throbs in disappointment is hilarious, even more so when the expected tantrum arrives and he stomps hard on the ground.

" GET BACK HERE AND CONTINUE. " The large monster barks. " TEASING COCKSLUT! "

" Hm? " Playing stupid is one of your favorite things to do. Kalymir hates having to repeat himself, it's like a cherry on top of his already perfect cake.

" TOUCH ME NOW! "

" Get on the bed and I will. "

He looks like he wants to kick said piece of furniture. Instead, he growls something in infernal and throws himself onto the reinforced mattress, front up, legs spread and arms behind his head on the pillows.

You get a pretty nice view, admittedly. His arousal standing, flushed slit leading to a defined ass and thick muscled thighs. He hides nothing, demeanor ever intimidating. Perhaps trying to fluster you out of this by making it seem as if whatever you do won't even register to him.

You know better.

" Nope. Not like that. " You start, finishing before he can retort. " Ass up face down. "

Your patience thins when he starts making a scene again. " Are you going to be a brat about this, my King? Because it's making you look bad. "

" HOW DARE- "

" No, I get it. " You motion to the toy. " You're nervous because it's too big, right? I'd be afraid too, it's fine, I'll get a smaller one. "

He moves faster than you give him credit for, rearranging himself the way you ordered. Fucking Hell, what a view.

" YOU THINK I'M AFRAID OF SILICONE?! "

You think he's afraid of bottoming. " Let's find out. "

When you nearly dash for the lube bottles you hastily stashed in one of the drawers, Kalymir snaps his head towards you. " WHAT ARE YOU DOING? "

" Getting lube? " You shake one of the small bottles in your hand for emphasis.

" PUSSY. "

You flinch.

Alright. If he wants a torn ass, who are you to deny him that pleasure? Raw it is.

In a moment, you're behind him on the bed. The sheer size difference allows you to be standing for this, which is both humorous and extremely arousing to you. Your palms glide up the expanse of his full thighs, noting how very little give there is to them, how tense his muscles are beneath your touch. He exhales, probably in frustration that you're taking your sweet time, though you pay the demonlord no mind as you grab his tail and push it back, manually presenting him.

He looks tight- Is the first thing your brain comes up with at the sight of his pucker. Which you suppose checks out, not many people have probably gotten him in this position. Said greedy hands of yours climb from his inner thighs to his length, teasing him briefly before continuing the trek upwards, spreading him out more for your viewing pleasure. His tail twitches, you realize that if you don't pay attention to it, that very dense tip might collide with you at some point.

One of your hands cracks as hard as you can manage against his left cheek. The flesh beneath you barely shifts, and your entire extremity throbs in mild pain, making you hiss.

" HAHAHA- DID YOU BREAK SOMETHING, RUNT? " He mocks, so very proud of himself. " I DIDN'T EVEN FEEL IT. "

" Oh don't worry, you'll be feeling something alright. "

Because now you're determined to wipe that smirk off his words. Some other time, you'd like to take your time and stretch his ass little by little, but Kalymir is such a pissy, impatient little bitch. You wonder how possible that really could be.

As is, you take one of his hips in hand -As much as you can anyway- And line your cock up with his entrance. Some benevolent part of you wonders if it really is a good idea to give Kaly what he wants. But he can take it, right? He's a big boy.

It takes some effort, actually a great deal, you're glad he's not staring at you because you're gritting your teeth in concentration to push in correctly.

" I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY... "

" Fuck. You. "

On the last forceful pump, you chance putting most of your weight into it, rewarded when Kalymir's hole finally gives way and you drill in, his walls caving to the sudden assault yet hugging the toy like a vise.

" HHRNK-! "

You laugh when his whole body tenses, the King fighting to exhale steadily so he doesn't let out any unflattering noises.

" You're feeling it now, aren't you? "

The demon hisses something in a tongue you can't grasp, you can almost feel him try to relax around the intrusion. " FUCKING BARELY. "

Liar.

Instead of pulling out, you rock yourself experimentally, then slam the remaining inches of your cock into him, burying yourself as deep as possible and marveling at the heat of his skin against yours when the entire thing is properly swallowed.

Kalymir sounds like he's wheezing quietly, his arms flex and tremble minutely, his claws sinking into the sheets, creating holes in them. Your hand ventures beneath him and grabs him by the dick, feeling him throb madly in your grasp. Yeah, he's fooling absolutely no one.

The rush of having him suddenly so still and quiet is maddening, one hand firmly on his hip, the other gripping possessively around his cock as you start pumping in and out of Kalymir's ass. He's like a solid wall, jostling him at any capacity proving itself to be a challenge as you're required to really work up a sweat for it.

Finally, you get his ass to bounce. Giggling your delight inbetween pants of exertion. But God is it worth it- Kalymir grunts regularly, trying to suppress noises you know were meant to be moans, perhaps not expecting you to do as well as you have been until now.

His legs shake for a second when you angle yourself a specific way, leading you to knowingly repeat the motion, aware you've hit the demonlord's sweetspot.

" Hah- What's the matter, my King? Why so quiet? "

Kalymir turns his head, as much as he can with those horns flaring in all directions like a mangled crown. Drool seeps from his teeth and his mouth twitches between a frowning and panting. Finally, finally, he groans- In his desire to answer you, a moan much too soft escapes the Icon and you can see the mortification take him over... Until you fuck into him just right again and he growls low in arousal.

" FUCK ME LIKE A REAL WOMAN Hhhrk- "

You snicker. " Are you begging me to go faster? "

Kalymir roughly pushes his hips back, all but knocking into you, stealing some of the breath from your lungs. " LIKE I'D BEG YOU FOR SHIT. FUCK ME! "

Ah, he's getting into it.

And you do. Well, you try your best. Being human kind of gets in the way. Arms readjust as you seek different handles on him, more leverage, more power to put between your taught pistoning. Whether consciously or not, the demonlord shifts to allow you better access, bending further, arching his back more, spreading his legs further. What a delicious sight he makes, ruined beneath you.

At some point, you get sweaty enough to ditch the robe, putting every ounce of might you can muster into this, knowing you'll be sore when it's over. Kalymir appears to enjoy the way you'll grunt and huff with effort, your blunt nails trying to dig into him at every turn, clawing- You imagine his ass must be burning at the speed you're breeding him, but maybe he loves that pain as much as he does the ramming of his prostate.

" HARDER. HARDER, THIS IS NOTHING- FASTER! "

"Nothing", he says, breathless and dripping, strings of precum pooling on the sheets. Though he commands you, the stress in his tone betrays the King's desperation.

When you can't possibly offer him more intensity, already straining your limits, the Icon is the one who bucks his hip and practically fucks himself onto your strap, relentless as he drops his head to the bed and muffles loud noises that fall somewhere between whimpers and snarls.

You wish you could record him like this. It's beautiful.

" Are you close already? " You joke.

" SHUT UP. " He barks, choking on his own saliva when you start quickly stroking his cock. " SHUT THE FUCK UP! "

" Mm, nope. "

You can tell he's going to come very soon, not just by the telltale tensing of his thighs but the way his abdomen flexes and he jerks against your fingers. The way he practically sucks your cock inside himself is no small hint either. You draw up the last bit of stamina you have in your body to offer a few wild rams into his hole, grinding yourself as deep into Kaly as possible, gripping him harder, then sinking your teeth into his tail as if you intend to sever it.

Kalymir all but fucking brays like a beast.

His whole form quakes and he pants desperately, his hips reflexively fucking forward into nothing at all before he twitches and instantly makes a complete mess of the mattress, offering load after steaming load as you take the care to ride him through it- Just to hear him make the softest little mewl you've ever heard from him.

You wouldn't believe it if someone told you Kalymir could make such a noise.

The King deflates onto the cushioned mattress beneath him with a chuff, and you have no choice but to follow, still buried in him to the hilt.

Soft palms stroke his sweat-slicked back. " Did you have fun? "

He hisses something too muffled to understand.

" Hm? "

" ... I'M GOING TO KILL YOU. "

Someday probably, yeah.

#Kalymir oc #yandere monster #yandere demon #yandere teratophilia #monster x reader #monster x you #monsterfucker #terato tag #monster boyfriend #not sfw #minors dni

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megamindsecretlair · 6 months

Text

A Seduction at Midnight

Pairing: Vampire!Tyrone x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH! PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (fem and male receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, blood play, cum play, possession kink, voyeurism, public sex kink, all consensual. Referring to female anatomy as "she". AU Tyrone.

Summary: You are invited to one of Tyrone's exclusive parties. You aren't entirely sure what to expect but you are thrilled at the thought of what he has planned.

Word Count: 4,705k

This has been turned into a series. Catch up here and make sure to read the prequel! Midnight Sin Masterlist

A/N: Ya'll sicka me yet? LOL. Happy Halloweek indeed! This is a fun challenge. This made me so fucking hot. I hope it does for you as well. This was SO fun. Can you tell Vamps are my fave? Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @notapradagurl7 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse

The glossy black envelope was clutched in your hands. You read and reread the invitation plenty of times. The words echoed in your mind as you walked up the stone steps. Your heels clicked softly.

At the heavy, massive doors before you, there stood a bodyguard dressed in an all black suit. He held out his hand for the invitation and you handed it over. You stuffed your nerves into your back pocket. You’d never done anything like this before, but you weren’t going to let your nerves ruin it.

He scanned the invitation and then murmured something in the mic at his shirt cuff. The mask you wore was tied neatly to your face, but unaccustomed to such a thing, you fought the urge to fidget.

The doors swung open on loud hinges, wide enough for you to slip through. The foyer area was dark, lit only by ambient lighting and strategically placed candelabras. The flames danced against the cold marble walls.

A sea of masks greeted you as other members walked around the first floor, floating in and out of rooms. Clinking glassware drew your attention to the right side. You walked through the sweeping archway.

You couldn’t help looking at the other party goers. Wondering how many of them were like him. Was everyone here human? Were they all vampires? The thrill of not knowing made you shiver.

You moved through the silent waiters all wearing black masks with elongated noses, reminiscent of the plague doctor masks. The men had slicked back hair or puffy afros, white shirts and black ties, holding delicate trays aloft. The women wore sensible skirts, button down shirts, and matching black ties.

You snagged a flute of wine from a passing waiter, needing something to calm your racing heart. Everyone spoke in low murmurs. You glanced around at the elaborate masks. Some were decorated finely, like works of art. Others were more industrial with little to none adornment.

An itchy feeling crawled between your shoulder blades. Everyone’s eyes seemed to snap towards you, to the way you moved around them. Maybe it was your imagination but it made you self-conscious regardless.

Your skirt swooshed about your ankles as you flitted from room to room, pointedly ignoring the way conversation slowed when you neared. The way eyes tracked you. The way the light played with shadows and you weren’t sure what you were looking at.

You bit your painted lip. You deposited your empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. The pressure of being stared at was too much. You shouldn’t have come. You nearly laughed. This was all such bullshit.

“A vision,” a deep, soothing voice carried from the right side of you. You turned to the source and found him staring at you through a Phantom mask half obscuring his face. It called attention to his sensual lips and you took an extra breath.

He was delicious, standing there in a close fitting suit, tailored to every inch of him. He wore no jacket, opting instead to stand there in his long sleeved black shirt and black vest, brushed silver buttons catching the light. A silver chain hung from a pocket on his vest.

He smiled, flashing a bit of his fang. The sharp teeth sent a sliver of desire through you and you squeezed your thighs together as you drank him in. The same way you ogled him, he studied you.

His eyes gazed lazily over you. He circled you. His fingers trailed behind him as he passed around you, crossing over the skirt of your dress and up to your arms. When his warm touch touched bare skin, you gasped. Everything you had thought about vampires was void. He surpassed every stereotype.

He stopped behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and caught some faint breeze running through the mansion. A primal part of you recognized that you let a predator behind you. He sidled up closer, pressing a kiss there behind your ear.

He purposefully ran his sharp fangs along your neck, spreading kisses along your exposed shoulders. You sighed softly, rolling your neck, until you remembered that you were in full view of others.

Your eyes snapped open, taking you out of the moment. Those in the immediate area openly gawked at you. Tyrone kept up his kisses, his tongue darting out every so often to lick your skin.

Could he smell the blood running in your veins? Was he salivating at the thought of it rushing just below the surface?

“Tyrone?” You asked.

“Do you not want them to see? How gorgeous you are?” He said against your skin, his lips tickling your neck. You curled into him. His hands slid up your waist, pulling you back against him. A breath escaped you, feeling his hardening length against your backside.

Spurred on by some carnal instinct, you rubbed him over his pant legs. He chuckled darkly. “Already need it?” He asked.

You didn’t come here for the free drinks. You turned around to face him. From his neat cornrows to his suit, to his polished shoes, he looked good enough to eat. His deep ebony skin invited a taste. You licked your lips just imagining it.

“I need you,” you said.

His hands ghosted down your arms, rubbing away the pebbles on your skin, and grasped your hand. He brought it to his lips, his eyes focused on you. Before his lips could connect to your hand, he flipped it over. He inhaled the perfume you rubbed on your wrists. He placed a chaste kiss to the pulse in your wrist.

Fresh arousal escaped you. You’d never met anyone like him. He projected confidence and sensuality. Well, he’d had centuries to learn. When you first met him, you knew there was something special about him. It’d taken a lot of convincing to prove that he was what he said he was. Now you believed him. Here in his element, he moved like a king amongst peasants.

He stepped backwards, raising your hand to the other guests. “Our guest of honor has arrived, right on time,” he said to the crowd.

Low murmuring echoed throughout the room as people started to push and crowd into each other. Had he been serious about that?

You supposed so. Tyrone tugged you by the hand back toward the foyer. Between the staircases on either side, there was a long hallway. Masks split apart allowing you two to walk through.

Your pulse jumped in your throat. You were the center of attention and it was making you edgy. Dizzy with being on display. Your eyes scanned the paintings on the walls, all different impressionist depictions of Tyrone. All the different lives he lived. The time periods he moved through. The stories he could tell.

The low light gave each painting a sinister look though the scenes themselves weren’t dark. You think. He led you towards a room, opening the door for you and letting you enter first. Inside, a round bed sat in the middle of the room on a platform.

The room had windows on two sides and the other side of the glass was dark. An old grandfather clock was positioned in a corner of the room. The tick, tick, tick almost matched your heartbeat.

The windows gave you the illusion of privacy. But you heard the heels, swishing skirts, and squeaking shoes. You knew that the fifty or so people were filing past you, heading towards whatever room that was to watch.

Tyrone warned you what his parties were like. Still you begged to attend. He didn’t want you in that world. But then he shouldn’t have told you about them. He admitted to a morbid curiosity at your response. If you would reject that side of him.

Never. You wanted all of him. For as long as you could have him. This type of obsession you had with him was concerning. You weren’t an idiot. You asked him one day if he put a glamor or spell on you. He had chuckled, throwing his head back and exposing the length of his neck and baring his fangs. “No. I won’t ever do that to you. I’d rather have something else from you,” he had said.

“What?” You had asked.

“Surrender.”

That conversation flowed through your mind as you entered the room. The lights were still dim, multiple candelabras here as well. The sweet incense poured into the room, tickling your nose with its aroma.

The door slammed and locked behind you and you flinched. You stood in the middle of the room at the foot of the bed. Tyrone stood near the door, facing you with his hands in his pockets.

In the next blink, he was in front of you, hands cupping your face. His lips crashed against yours. His fangs scraped your bottom lip. You gasped and he pushed his tongue in, licking every inch of your mouth.

“I almost can’t bear to share you,” he said. “Should’ve ended this tradition.”

“They’d kill you,” you said and smiled.

“They could try,” he said and chuckled. His lips moved over yours, tasting and sighing into your mouth. Your hands gripped his vest, pulling him closer to you.

His body was as hard as marble. Solid. He was a steady presence. He turned you around roughly, one large hand grabbing around your middle and pulling you against him. He kissed up your neck and sucked in your earlobe.

“It’s just you and me,” he said.

You giggled. “You must think I’m some dainty little innocent,” you said. “I know what I’m doing.”

You stepped away from him and looked at him over your shoulder. His mask obscured half of his face, but the other half was set in a devious smirk. He unzipped your dress and let it drop. The silky material slipped down your sides and pooled at your feet.

Tyrone sucked in a breath. You didn’t wear anything underneath. You felt his gaze eat up the curve of your back, the globes of your ass, and the length of your legs. He held your hand and helped you step out of the circle of your dress. You leaned down to take care of your heels.

Tick, tick tick.

“Leave them on,” he said. He raised your hand to his lips and then moved you in front of the windows. He dropped your hand and moved away, telling you to give a show.

A quick sigh escaped you as you threw your head back and squared your shoulders. You twirled, letting those strangers see your naked body. It only emboldened you to dip your hips, rub your breasts, and put your arms up to stretch your back.

Tyrone chuckled. “You like to be watched,” he commented.

“I like to be watched by you.”

“Then come here,” he said. He opened his arms, a grin split his face. His fangs were long and sharp, giving him an otherworldly appearance. He was a devil made flesh, ready to hasten your descent into hell. You went to his side willingly.

He kissed you again, taking his time to explore your mouth. He walked you backwards, pushing you until the bed hit the back of your knees. He pushed you down and stood before you, looking down at your body.

You felt so sexy under his gaze. Your eyes dropped down to his pants. His dick strained against his zipper, slightly pulsing. You reached for him, but he moved at the last second.

“Did I give you permission to touch me?” He asked.

“N-no,” you stammered. You were caught off guard. He had a strong streak in him, but to use that tone…your pussy fluttered. Aching to be filled or played with. Touched by him.

He gave you a series of directions to move where he wanted you. You moved to the pillows at the head of the bed. You molded your back to its plush softness and widened your legs, your heels digging into the mattress.

Tick, tick, tick.

Tyrone cocked his head and walked around the bed. He grabbed one of your wrists and pulled, silk wrapping around your arm. He repeated it for the other side. “Tyrone?”

“I don’t think I can trust you to obey me,” he said.

“I can be good,” you said.

He chuckled. “Not for this part, you can’t,” he said and ran a finger down your cheek. “I don’t want to have to punish you this early,” he said.

You shivered at his deep voice, the soothing cadence relaxing you better than anything could. The promise of punishment wasn’t an unwelcome thought. Your mind wandered to what his punishment would look like.

He returned to his original position at the foot of the bed. He stared, not at you, but at your exposed pussy. He could see the slick from where he stood. He ran his tongue across his fangs. He undid the cufflinks of his dress shirt and stored them in his pocket. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, baring his forearms.

A vein ran the length of his forearm and your mouth turned dry. You wanted to touch him. He didn’t mention shit about not being able to. You pulled against the silk scarves and he smiled. “Knew yo ass couldn’t sit still,” he said.

“It’s not fair,” you pouted.

“It’ll never be fair between us,” he said.

You sighed and conceded the point. He was right. He had all of the power, experience, and the gift of patience. You were a human and slow and needy as fuck.

He crawled onto the bed, fully clothed, and smoothed his tie under his vest. He gripped your knees and widened your legs. He inspected your pussy, angling his head to view it from different sides.

“You are a treasure,” he said.

He watched as your pussy clenched. You were so empty. You needed to be full. Not whatever fucking game this was.

“Untie me, baby. Let me touch you,” you said. You gyrated on the bed, trying to entice him.

He flashed his fangs. He didn’t answer you. Instead, he got on his elbows and settled his face close to your core.

“Hm, she lookin’ a little lonely,” Tyrone said.

“She is!” You said.

Tyrone kissed your pussy and you jerked off of the bed. You were horny and he wasn’t helping. He lifted your legs and placed them over his shoulders. Your heels dug into his back and he hissed in pleasure.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, suckling it and flattening his tongue against it. “Oh fuck,” you moaned. It was quiet in the room so your words bounced off of the walls. Here too, there were paintings of him. All of it focused on the bed, focused on you. That made you remember the windows and how there was a room full of anonymous people, wearing masks, and seeing Tyrone pleasure you.

Tick, tick, tick.

You moaned and twirled your hips, trying to get Tyrone to move. He wasn’t one to be rushed. He kept up a slow, sensual pursuit of your pleasure. He drew his tongue up and down your pussy, from your entrance to your clit.

The sounds you made reverberated right back to you. You sounded needy to your own ears. Tyrone moaned around your pussy. “So fucking good. So fucking delicious,” he moaned. His moans caused your own. You pulled at the restraints but it was no use. You leaned forward so you could watch him.

His eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed as he licked and sucked and tasted you. The stirrings of your orgasm steadily built inside of you, cresting the surface. Your thighs tightened around his head.

Tyrone slowed down and moved away from your clit, drawing circles around your entrance.

“Oh, please baby. Please,” you begged. “Don’t tease me,” you said.

He only chuckled and kept up what he was doing. Your orgasm went away and then he went back to work, slowly building it up again. Your body shivered. Sweat broke out over your skin, drenching you and the pillows beneath you.

Your bottom lip quivered as you watched Tyrone give and take. Made your legs shake and then retreat until your body relaxed. “Oh fuck, please, please,” you moaned.

“Hm, let them hear you. Let them hear this pussy talk to me,” he moaned around your clit.

Tick, tick, tick.

A clanging bell made you jump from the bed. The grandfather clock’s bells filled the room to near deafening sounds. Your gasps and moans stuttered and stopped. Tyrone went back to eating you out in earnest. Your eyes rolled to the clock’s face.

Both hands of the clock faced the number 12. “OH shit,” you moaned. Your back bowed off of the bed. Your orgasm came with a vengeance. Bending you in half, jerking your body beyond your control.

Sharp fangs sank into your thigh as your orgasm ripped through you. “Oh, oh,” you moaned, too lost to the sensation of him sucking on you. The sensation was different from if he were merely sucking on your skin. The pull of your blood from your thigh heightened your pleasure.

Sight left you as you closed your eyes and rode the orgasm. You mumbled and sniffled, your body wracked with aftershocks. Tyrone licked up any run away drops of blood. He was a neat eater.

He lifted his gaze to you. He licked a dark drop from his lips and moaned, his eyes flashing with a dim red glow. He kissed your thigh and nuzzled it with his face. The faint hairs of his beard and mustache tickled you and you moved away, trying to get him away from your sensitive thighs. He nibbled on your thigh, his fangs scraping against you.

You moaned. Your wrists ached from pulling against them.

Tyrone sighed and hummed in satisfaction as he got up from the bed. He smoothed down his clothes, his tongue running the sides of his mouth as if he was still trying to glean any last drop of you.

Your skin buzzed. Like an electric current ran through you. As if you touched a live wire and absorbed all those volts. Maybe it was his vampiric power or maybe it was just that strong of an orgasm from all of his edging. Either way, you were stuck in a daze as he went around the bed and untied you.

He kissed and rubbed the circulation back into your wrists. “We’re going to have to find something better for you,” he said.

Your pussy clenched. You didn’t necessarily want to be tied up, however, being at his mercy was erotic. The image flashed in your mind at what you must have looked like. He kissed your wrists and then up your arm, then your neck, and finally your jaw.

“Please, can I touch you?” You asked.

He rubbed your jaw with his thumb and tilted your head up. He kissed you, a faint sense of copper on his tongue. He hummed, the slight vibration against your lips sending shivers down your spine.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he said. He grinned and leaned back, unzipping his pants, pulling out his dick and running the tip across your lips.

Your tongue darted out and caught the bead of pre-cum. The taste of him made you purr. “Open up,” he said.

You opened your mouth, sucking him down with eagerness. His velvet head slid along your cheeks. You licked and ran your tongue along his thick, veiny dick. He hissed and groaned, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pushing you down.

“This mouth is heaven,” he said. “Suck that shit down.”

You did as you were told, sucking him and made pleasing little noises every time more pre-cum filled your mouth. Your slobbering and drooling seemed amplified in the room. You kept going, grabbing his thighs and pulling him closer.

“You’re making everyone jealous, love. They wish they could fuck this mouth. See them disappear down that wonderful mouth,” Tyrone cooed as you pleased him. You gagged a bit and pulled back to get some proper breaths. When you calmed down, you took him deeper. Sucking harder. Going faster.

His fingers tightened against your neck. “So good, so good. Unhf, suck it. Suck it,” he moaned.

He cursed as he climaxed, his sticky hot cum shooting down your throat, forcing you to swallow him down. “Good fucking girl,” he whispered, just for you.

“Face them,” he said. You turned around on the bed, facing the windows. The tips of your ears burned. You had an audience and yet it was so easy to forget they were there. Tyrone was just that distracting.

“On your back. Spread yourself for them. Let them see,” Tyrone said.

You heard clothes rustling. You got on your back, spread your legs open. “Play with her for them,” he said.

There was a sting in your thigh from where he bit you. It pulled a bit as you widened your legs and slipped your hand down to the center of you. You were a sopping wet mess. Your arousal and his spit mixed and and immediately coated your fingers. You moaned as you played with yourself for the audience. You leaned on your elbow and moved your other hand through your wet curls.

“Faster. Let them hear you,” Tyrone said.

You followed his command, letting your moans escape you and swell throughout the room. The grandfather clock continued to tick and tock. A slight breeze still floated through the room. It made you shiver. The cold air so delicious and welcome, to cool over the sweat on your skin.

The bed dipped as Tyrone joined you. “Hmm, she ready to cum?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned. Tyrone nuzzled his fangs across your face, pecking kisses on any inch of available skin around your mask. He licked the shell of your ear. “Let her cum then,” he whispered in your ear.

You cried out as your orgasm came on demand. You felt like you were being ripped apart, stretched into tiny atoms and flung across the universe. Scattered. Undone and broken. You were not in your body. You were above it. Floating and touching every corner of the universe.

“So fucking pretty cumming. Cumming for them. They wish they could fuck you like I can,” Tyrone whispered as you came. A distant anchor trying to pull you back to the real world. “I don’t want to share you though. I don’t want anyone touching what’s mine. Your body is mine. Your orgasms are mine. You are mine.”

He punctuated every declaration with a kiss. Each kiss dragged you back to your body. Each one a new stitch to keep you together.

Tyrone hauled you to him, lifting you to straddle his meaty thighs. He was deceptively built. He didn’t seem that solid until you took in his naked body. Thick muscle on top of more muscle. Your legs were still open and your arousal pooled on the bed. You were making a giant mess. You moaned, your body spent.

Tyrone kissed your neck as his hands went down to your pussy. You flinched, lifting away from him. “Mhm, don’t run away now,” he said.

His fingers dipped inside your pussy and you cried out, your body trying to escape him. He held fast to you, his left arm across your chest. His fingers played and tugged with your nipples, eliciting more moans from you.

“Is she ready for this dick?” He asked.

“Unhuh,” you moaned.

Fangs sank into your shoulder and you whined, that electric voltage returning. You desperately clenched his fingers, wishing it was his dick instead. He added a third finger and curled his fingers. Rubbing against the right spot.

“Oh, oh shit. Wait, unf, fuck,” you moaned. He kept curling them, flicking it back and forth inside of you. Your climax was swift and merciless. You were in the beyond space. Beyond sight, sound, or hearing. That beyond place that you rarely went to with a partner or solo.

Your body was bowed tight like a violin string. Sounds and sighs escaped you, an incoherent mix of pain and pleasure. That fine line you walked so carefully.

“Aww, look how she weep for me,” Tyrone cooed. You flooded his fingers with fresh slick. He pulled his fingers out and waved them across your clit. Juices flung every which way. Another orgasm surged right behind the last one. “Uh-uh-uh,” your mouth had no breath to form any words.

As you floated down, Tyrone pulled you around with inhuman speed. He entered you, in one fell swoop, and your head dropped down onto his shoulder. He wrapped your legs around his waist and he sat on the bed. You both sat up straight, his arms wrapped around your back.

Your hands were wrapped around his shoulders, hugging him close. Your heels crossed on the bed, sitting completely in his lap.

“Ride that shit, love. Don’t make me do all the work,” he said.

You don’t know how, but you found the strength to move. To grind down on his dick. His silky dick stretched you completely, the thick member moving in and out of your wet walls. You bounced on his dick. Both of your moans created a delicious song of sin.

He crushed you to him as if he were trying to pass through your skin. Your breasts rubbed against his chest. Your nipples mashed against his smooth bronzed skin. “Oh fuck, right there. Please, right there,” you moaned.

“Take it, love. Take it,” he grunted.

Your hips worked in tandem with his. You bit his shoulder. You weren’t strong enough to pierce his skin. But he groaned and told you to bite him harder. Leave the impression of your teeth there. Mark him.

Your pussy squeezed his dick. You were a vice grip, connecting you both and not letting go.

Tyrone kissed your neck, your mouth. Your tongues danced together and you licked his fangs, a scratch forming on your tongue. Blood seeped into his mouth and he groaned, snapping his hips harder, fucking into you rougher.

“Feel so good, so good. Fuck me, fuck me,” you moaned.

“Forever. Mine, all mine. Oh fuck, all mine,” he said. His dick twitched inside of you. You were so close, so close…

He leaned back and sank his fangs into your chest, right above your right breast. “Oh fuck, baby,” you whined slowly.

He snapped his hips, somehow sinking even deeper and hitting that sweet spot inside of you. You were as limp as a rag doll as your orgasm rose once more, dragged to the surface by his relentless pace.

“Tyrone!” You cried as you came. You threw your head back, growled your orgasm to the ceiling. To the audience beyond. To the stars themselves. Your orgasm made your walls clench, guzzling him down, and he came with you.

He unloaded inside of you, hot and pulsing. He kept going, filling you up more and more. The wet and squishy sound of him still fucking you made you moan. He sucked on the wound in your chest, sucking down more of your blood.

As he finished pulsing and twitching inside of you, he pulled back. He licked the blood from the corner of his mouth and then crashed his lips to yours.

“Can’t get enough. Never enough.”

You kissed him back just as desperately. So at a loss for words. He rubbed your back as your foreheads pressed together. You caught your breath, yours so much louder than his. He didn’t truly need to breathe, but some human functions transcended death. His brain still forced him to draw in air and it fanned across your damp skin.

He looked into your eyes and smoothed away some sweat. He smiled, his fangs flashing. He licked your lips and then kissed you one more time. His hands floated down to your ass and squeezed.

“The things I’m going to do to you tonight will make the Devil himself jealous,” he said.

&&&

This has been turned into a series! Read the rest here: Midnight Sin Masterlist. Make sure to read the prequel!

If you need some more in your life, here ya go! The Secret Tyrone Files

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sotwk · 2 months

Text

Taken (Eomer x Reader) - Part 3 of 3

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: After having his proposals and professions rejected by the woman he loves, Éomer still refuses to be dissuaded. He vows to continue fighting for a future with her--even if that means having to let go for the time being.

Word count: 6.7k

Dedicated to anyone who has ever known the pain of loving someone you could not have. <3

Content: Boromir lives (!), angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, Éomer King, Rohirrim OCs, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Sensuality gets steamy, but nothing explicit. Mentions of old battle injuries.

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken

PART THREE

Third Age 3019 May 6

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“If you would allow me to propose something your Grace, I--”

“Éomer.” The King of Rohan growled the ungentle correction with an irritated shake of his head. “If I have leave from your king to continue calling him Elessar, then I will not abide frivolous formalities from you…Captain. And speak freely! It is your candor that I came here for, as much as your counsel."

Boromir chuckled faintly. “Very well.” He downed the last of the wine in his goblet before picking up the jug to refill it, then reaching across the table to serve his guest as well.

While Éomer took a hearty swig, Boromir used the extra seconds of silence to weigh his next words. The noble horse-lord had done most of the talking since his arrival at the house not an hour ago, rambling on with barely contained agitation that would have frightened or offended anyone unfamiliar with his character. But Boromir had known Théodred’s cousin since he was a child, and while he was not nearly as close to Éomer as he had been with the late Prince of Rohan, their friendship had deepened enough--especially over the past few months--to familiarize Boromir with the trigger points of his temper.

And Boromir had never before seen him more sensitive about a topic than the matter they had at hand.

Love certainly wields such terrible power over a man, the Captain-General of Gondor mused, before clearing his throat.

“I will gladly fulfill your request of watching over her in your absence, making sure she is well-treated and wants for nothing,” he began. “But a soldier can quickly grow restless without sufficient martial exercise.”

“I agree.” Éomer leaned forward to fold his arms across the table. “Has she not been here long enough for your men to grow accustomed to seeing her at the training grounds? None of them need spar against her or even alongside her if they do not wish to. She would be content to practice drills on her own. In fact, she may even prefer it.”

“My men will tolerate her presence just fine. The valor she showed on Pelennor was well-witnessed, and stories of it have circulated around our garrison,” Boromir said. “I admit she may inevitably overhear crass remarks from some passing boor among the citizenry. A woman warrior still remains an oddity in these parts. But I am sure she did not come to her status without learning how to weather such criticisms.”

“Yes.” Éomer stared at the empty goblet he rotated slowly between his hands. “She has had to bear with a lot of ignorant talk over the years.”

“Which is why I propose taking her as a member of my company while you are away. Just temporarily,” Boromir added quickly, noting the immediate change in the horse-lord's demeanor. “It will help her feel more at ease while here, separated from you and her countrymen, if she had a group to belong to.”

“She has already taken a strong liking to your Aerdis. Which, I must confess, took me by surprise.”

Boromir smiled at this, his fool heart ready to burst with joy at every casual mention of his betrothed. “My lady is an easy one to love,” he said simply. “And indeed, the two seem to enjoy each other's company. I am certain Aerdis would be happy to continue acquainting her with all of her treasured haunts within the city and even beyond its walls. But…”

He rubbed his jaw slowly, ever the unconscious tell of his discomfort with the situation at hand. But it was no use dancing around the real counsel he wished to present to Éomer King. “When it comes to daily labors, a shield-maiden will likely be happier with work better suited to her talents.”

Éomer cocked an eyebrow, clearly undeceived by Boromir’s attempts at off-handedness. “What sort of work? I sense you have something specific in mind.”

“I do,” Boromir admitted. “And I shall explain it to you plainly, although I will first say that it is both a suggestion and a request for a favor.” At this point he considered offering Éomer another refill of his drink, but the deepening scowl on the man’s face made him think better of it. “As you may have heard, I have been charged by King Elessar to lead the delegation that will treat with the Southrons. Sadhar has already come forward with an offer to parley, as soon as next month.”

Éomer’s eyes widened; he caught on even faster than Boromir had expected him to. “And you wish to include her in your delegation?”

“With your approval, yes.”

“You do not have it!” Éomer exclaimed. “And how could you propose such a thing?! Have you forgotten how she was so nearly dragged off by those animals to be taken who knows where for purposes I dare not even think of?”

“Are you really asking that of the man who came to her aid?”

It was a risky move to prod at that wound, but Éomer looked properly chastised by it. “You rescued her,” he conceded. “And for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But I cannot pretend to understand why you wish to involve her in any dealings with Harad.”

“You must see why I thought of her,” Boromir insisted. “You, who can personally attest to what she is capable of.” But Éomer continued to look too distraught to think, so he laid the rest out. “I can count on the fingers of one hand every person I know who can speak a Haradric dialect with reliable accuracy. Half of them died in the war.”

Éomer rose abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his state. Muttering indistinctly, he turned his back to Boromir to glare out the nearest window and brood at the rain lashing against the glass panes.

“When Théodred used to boast to me about her, I dismissed it as a mentor's pride in his fanciful protégé,” Boromir continued. “I suppose I too allowed myself to be distracted by her sex. But she really is a hidden gem in your Éored, is she not? Your cousin invested in her training with great thoughtfulness, and it has borne fruit marvelously. He really believed--”

Éomer slammed the heel of his hand on the window frame. “Théodred was not the one hopelessly in love with her for so many years! There lies the difference!” he snapped. “So when you ask for my consent to take her to meet with our enemies, consider that you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I absolutely refuse to live my own life without!”

And while Boromir reacted with silence, he stood there, breathing hard, one fist on his hip and the other hand pressed over his forehead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “The wine, I…and I have scarcely slept since--”

Boromir waved off the apology. “I understand your agony well. It was not long ago that I lived through the same, and just mercifully survived to a happy end. I am on your side, Éomer. I know politics and duty might make the lines difficult to discern, but I hope you can believe that.”

“I believe it.” Éomer made another weary swipe of his hand across his face. “At least I think I do. Too many things are changing too quickly, and I fear a failure to keep in step shall result in my simply being dragged along behind everyone else like an unhorsed sot.”

“Then maybe there is wisdom in her request to stay behind and out of your way. The time apart may provide you the focus you need to regain your footing.”

The tired lines on Éomer’s face tightened again. “And why must time apart involve setting her on a perilous road?”

“The mission carries little chance of peril. Peace talks, even with Harad, are nothing compared to everything she has survived to get this far. You know this.” Éomer brushed past Boromir to return to the table, but the captain’s frank reproach pursued him. “Separation from her is what you dread, not the Southrons.”

So furiously did Éomer scowl at the table surface that for a moment Boromir thought he might turn the heavy shelf over in a fit of rage. Instead he seized the wine jug, poured himself a gobletful, and drank it in two forceful gulps.

“I had hoped you could give me counsel on how I might change her mind, and convince her to simply come home,” he finally said. “Perhaps even quell her doubts in the future she can have with me.”

Underneath the anger and frustration, Éomer’s raw misery lay bare to Boromir, and suddenly he felt a swell of compassion for the young king. Would that he could offer a swift resolution to his predicament, instead of mere commiseration for the challenges that still lay ahead.

“However hard it is to hear, separation is the soundest advice I can give you today,” Boromir said. “Time and distance are most effective at calming the storm in one's mind, so that the heart may have its chance to be properly heard. Many have learned this from experience, myself included. I believe it shall be the same for your lady.”

Éomer's shoulders heaved in a ponderous sigh. “If only it did not feel like such a gamble.”

Boromir could not help a chuckle. “Then I regret I must tell his majesty, that you cast your first of many dice the moment you let her take your heart. But in the end, you shall be the one to decide how much you are willing to risk, and you alone decide when you are done.”

The anguish that resurged on Éomer's face was almost a relief to Boromir. The King of Rohan was wise enough to already know the graver half of the truth: that his new throne was in many ways a cage, and there was very little a good ruler could afford to risk in pursuit of his own desires.

* * *

“Take the names of any fools who might give you trouble,” Léodor said, unhooking the reins of his horse to start leading it across the muddy yard. “I can sort them all out on our return.”

You laughed as you followed him to the edge of the farmland property, marked by the scorched ruins of what had once been a granary. “Do you really think I could wait that long without sorting such fools out myself?”

“Anyone with the gall to harass a rider of the king’s Éored deserves a second dose of thrashing, or a third or fourth.” Your friend turned to grasp your forearm and give it a firm squeeze. “Although I sincerely hope these men of Gondor would know better, for their own sakes.”

“They are our allies, now more than ever before,” you reminded him. “And I have every confidence in their courtesy and hospitality.”

“Perhaps if you were less of a recluse and better at making friends, I would not worry so.”

Your knuckles barely grazed his sleeve as he darted away and promptly swung up to the safety of his saddle, chortling and calling, “You are only proving my point, sister!”

“Waste not a thought or care on me, and focus them all on your family!” you retorted, and stepped back as he spurred his horse forward. “Westu Léodor hál!”

You watched him gallop off across the plains of Pelennor, back to the distant towers of the White City. Tomorrow, he and the rest of the Éored would finalize preparations for the greatly anticipated journey home. But as soon as he heard that you had been tasked with staying behind, to remain with the body of Théoden King, Léodor alone took the time to come looking for you.

Whatever his suspicions regarding Éomer's selection of you as the one to leave in Gondor, Léodor spoke nothing of them. He was content to spend his entire visit sharing the cask of ale he brought, and talking your ears off about all the things he planned to do with his wife and son and infant daughter upon their reunion.

How far your relationship had come, you mused, as you watched the shrinking speck finally melt into the shadows of the deepening twilight. With him and with the rest of the men in your company, when you had once sworn, in tears hidden, that they would never accept you. Now their departure would sting as though you had been orphaned for the third time.

It is only for several weeks, you told yourself, to ease the weight of doubt that sat upon your chest. As you turned to walk back toward the cottage, a fierce wind rose and ripped off the cloak that was loosely draped over your shoulders. With a startled cry you grabbed for it, but not quickly enough to save it from landing in a large puddle.

You retrieved the soaked fabric from the mud with a sigh. A fat raindrop landed squarely on the top of your uncovered head, and was immediately followed by another and another. Spontaneous rain had been pouring on and off over Gondor since the King’s coronation, and you heard the locals welcome and praise this tumultuous weather as a blessing, a sign of war’s filth being washed away to cleanse the lands for rebirth.

Shielding your eyes from the sudden deluge, you looked up at the roiling clouds overhead, further entranced by the sight of jagged lightning flashing over the White Mountains. But when your gaze dropped back down to the horizon, you were alarmed to notice a horsed figure crossing the fields through the storm, approaching fast, in your direction.

It was him. Without proof of his face or voice, or even the support of logic, you just knew. It was him.

The very thought of that froze you, mind and body, in place. Pale and immobile and increasingly drenched, you stood like a deeply rooted tree while the rider drew closer and closer, on a horse powerful enough to sustain its determined gait over the sodden ground and lashing winds. Dumbfounded and dazed, you remained, until at last he came to a stop just several yards away. He dismounted Firefoot, his heavy boots squelching in the muck, and that sound snapped you to your senses.

“My lord,” you rushed forward with the soiled cloak twisted uselessly between your hands. “The stables are around the back. Let me take Firefoot there while you get out of this rain.”

“I shall stable him,” Éomer said sternly, but not unkindly, to warn you against arguing. “Go and wait for me inside the house.”

Without speaking another word or sparing a backward glance, you obeyed your king. You shut the cottage door behind you to keep out the ill weather, hung your wet cloak on a peg, and crouched by the warmth of the fireplace to dry off as best as you could. You kept your jittery hands busy feeding the flames with more wood, but your mind refused to be calmed as easily.

What is he doing here?! The agreement had been for you to report to him the following day, to receive in full detail your last set of orders before the entire Rohan contingent departed. Éomer had granted your request to stay behind quickly enough, and with so little argument that you had hoped perhaps the issue between you was settled, at least for the time being.

If he was not prepared to completely abandon his fatuous notion of asking you to marry him, then time apart would surely set his mind back to good sense. The Éomer you knew could always be trusted to do the right thing. You clung firmly to this thought while you waited the agonizing minutes for him to return from the stables.

As soon as he entered, you offered him the last clean towel you could find to dry himself with. He raised his eyebrows at your attempt to give him royal treatment, but graciously swiped the cloth several times over his face, neck, and hair, before tossing it over the back of a chair.

“So this is the place.” He peeled off his riding cloak to reveal clothing underneath that was just as soaked as yours; he may as well not have bothered with the outer garment at all. “You said it belonged to Lady Aerdis’s late…uncle?”

“A relative of sorts,” you said. When you confided in your new friend your wistful desire to be housed outside the city, where you could have more quiet and solitude, she had been quick to offer the empty cottage in near Pelennor that was recently willed to her by deceased relations. “There are things I can work on to help restore it while I am here. Even my meager skills will serve a farm better than sitting on my hands in the city barracks watching everyone else in their labors. I wish to remain useful, and do my part in the rebuilding.”

“I understand. You have explained all that, and well,” Éomer said slowly. “But regretfully, I must rescind the permission I granted for you to live outside Minas Tirith. You can stay here for the remainder of this week, to rest and do as you please. But afterward, I would like for you to go back to the city and remain there until my return.”

You bit back a protest, determined, now more than ever, to reaffirm your position as his servant. “May I ask what I am to do there, then?”

“Lord Boromir petitioned me to loan you to his company, and I granted it. He shall assign your duties, and you will take your orders from him while I am gone.”

Although it surprised you to hear this, it was a welcome prospect. Of all the men in Gondor you liked and trusted Lord Boromir the most, having known him since you were just a girl, albeit not intimately. This would provide an opportunity to improve on the connection. “Lord Boromir honors me with his request. And as always, it shall please me to do as my king commands.”

Éomer responded to your formal pledge with a weary sigh. He braced his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, and the way his knuckles whitened in the tightness of his grip, while he searched for his next words, did not escape your notice.

“Make no mistake, this command does not align with what I desire,” he said thickly. “Leaving without you violates every instinct in my body, but if that is what must be done to make you see reason, then I shall bear it.”

“Reason?” you repeated stiffly. “What conclusion are you hoping I might come to?”

Éomer raised his eyes from the floor to meet yours across the room. “I know you believe that putting distance between us may somehow alter how I feel about you. But I in turn believe the time apart will help you accept how deeply in love you are with me.”

The heat that flooded your face burned through your mask of composure. “I am not--”

“Enough.” The sadness that bled into that single word made it a plea instead of an order. “I did not come to reopen discussions on the matter. Especially not if denials are all you have left to say to me.”

“Then pray tell, what has my lord come for?” you challenged him behind your icy courtesy. “How else may I serve you, Éomer King?”

The hurt that crossed his face came on so suddenly, looked so profound and real, it was as though you had physically struck him. He stared at you in a dead silence, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze while you held your breath, guilt sinking into your gut from the knowledge that you were the wretch who had gone too far.

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Clearly there is nothing more to say, other than farewell.”

He picked up his cloak, turned, and left, leaving you utterly dumbfounded, staring at the door that slammed shut behind him.

The longest seconds of your life passed before your shock and indecision were overcome by a wild hysteria that made your entire body grow cold.

You leapt for the door and wrenched it open, and stepped into the downpour in time to see him vanish around the corner of the house, heading back to the stables.

The loss of him from your sight smashed through your bravado, and you cried out into the storm.

“Éomer!!”

Before you could grasp your reasoning for why you did it, or what you planned to do next, he reappeared, every footstep leaving puddles as his approach backed you up into the cottage. His eyes bore down at you, his expression now guarded and inscrutable and expectant. Gusting wind drove in sprinkles of rain through the door left open and ignored.

I am sorry. The whisper sitting on the tip of your tongue was smothered by a hostile inner voice.

Let him go. It is your duty. It is what’s right.

But your stolid face collapsed under the weight of your anguish. A grimace squeezed out the tears that blinded your eyes, finally betraying your shameful truth. I do love you, Éomer.

Gentle fingers settled lightly over your lips, stilling their feeble quivering. A voice even warmer and more tender than this touch eased your struggle.

“I do not need words. This is enough.”

As the hardened pads of those fingers brushed across the plane of your cheek, you closed your eyes and at once forgot all else that existed. Such was the power of his touch that for years you so vigilantly avoided, until that fateful moment of weakness after the coronation exposed your secret. That moment could never be undone, no matter how hard you tried to bury the truth now.

Éomer murmured your name, his breath warm on your temple, and then his hands stilled where they lightly cupped your face. In that pause lay a question, and the last time you answered it, you had hurt him. Foolish liar that you were.

“Yes.” The whisper passed from your lips to his as his mouth wasted no time seeking yours. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, urging him closer as your own hunger surged. You felt the tremor that ran through his shoulders when you slipped your tongue against his. How could you have ever chosen to cause him pain, when you could have given him this instead?

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, but nuzzled your chin upward to gain access to your neck, so his lips could continue their quest to the hollow of your throat. You gasped at the scrape of his teeth on your collarbone, then moaned when he remedied his offense with reverent strokes of his tongue. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you greedily against him, fingers threading and tugging at your hair as he moved his worship to your shoulders.

But it was your touch, the scrabble of your hands over his hips and stomach as you held on to him for balance, that elicited a low growl. In just a few hurried steps, he backed you to the furthest corner of the cottage, until the side of the bed hit the back of your legs.

Your name was still the only thing he could utter, muffled in between the kisses he could not stop lavishing on every bit of your skin he could reach. Your hands found their way to his hips again, this time sneaking underneath the wet fabric that clung to his torso, then brazenly gliding upward, past his belly to the taut muscles of his chest, high enough for your thumb to circle his nipple.

An ungentlemanly word suddenly rumbled from Éomer King's throat, so startled was he by the sensual touch. Within moments his shirt lay discarded on the floor, your back made contact with the mattress, and there he was, leaning over you, bare from the waist up to your hungry eyes. You gave yourself an extra second to appreciate the sight before hooking a hand over his nape to yank him back into a kiss. The fervor in his response left you writhing and whimpering and completely vulnerable in your weakness.

A deep haze settled over you as you began to lose yourself to the pleasure of his ministrations. With every inch of you, you wanted this, and the way your body reacted to his every action, shaking in desperation for more, would surely tell him that. And yet… yet as you felt his fingers grope for the fastenings of your dress, felt his palm brush the back of your knee to your thigh, felt his hardness press against your hip… something inside of you jerked in reawakened panic.

“Éomer. W-wait.”

So soft was the protest, you were not even sure you had said the words aloud. But almost immediately, Éomer stopped and pulled back. He took one look at you, your disheveled state, and whatever expression lay on your face, and he sat up fully, turning away, dragging your heart out of your chest with him.

“Éomer, please. I am… I just…”

“No, I understand and I agree. To carry on would be unwise.”

He rubbed both hands roughly over his face, shaking away the stupor induced by his desire.

“All these years I have ordered the men to give you the respect you are due. I cannot risk your virtue or reputation now, however long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You are my King, and it is my duty to protect you and your reputation. We must behave prudently.”

He nodded, but still looked so pained you could not help but lift your hand to try to soothe the scowl from his face. He angled his head to kiss the inside of your wrist.

“I will have you,” he muttered, his diverted gaze making it seem more a promise to himself than to you. But when he turned his eyes back on you, the wanton lust pooling in them stirred the heat in your belly. “I will wait for the right circumstances, however long it may take, but I will have you.”

He rose and walked a few steps across the room, perhaps in need of distance from you. As he stood closer to the fireplace, the light illuminated a view so rarely seen by anyone, many people in Rohan had come to believe that Éomer was simply hale and hard of body beyond the limits of mortal men.

The numerous scars that decorated his body testified to both his fragility and his strength. Many of his wounds had been tended to by you on the battlefield, carrying terrible memories that were now also moments of pride and achievement that you shared with him.

Éomer seemed to feel your intent gaze upon him, and he stretched out a hand to you, beckoning you to rejoin him. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped his arms around you again, drawing you against him, sighing contently as your touch drifted over the bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

Your hand moved with intention, skimming down to his lower abdomen, probing carefully for the large scar you knew sat just below his ribcage. That injury was less than two years old. It still amazed you how it had managed to heal with little issue, under the constant strain of the many violent battles Éomer fought in since.

So close. A chill ran through you as the memory rose unbidden: you pressing down hard to staunch the bleeding, screaming for someone to help carry the barely conscious Marshal to the nearest shelter, where you could safely attempt to clean and suture the wound. If the orc blade had sunk in only a fraction of an inch deeper, it would have been beyond anyone's power to save him. You came too close to losing him that day.

Eomer's lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he interrupted your reminiscence with a whisper. “How can you still doubt that we belong together, when already you are part of me?”

Your fingers passed over several other scars from injuries you had tended to over the years, and came to rest over the tattoo on his upper right arm. The black dragon curled around the edge of his shoulder was identical in design and location to the mark borne by every rider in your Éored. Your possession of that dragon mark bound you to Éomer intimately, but also defined your role in his life. Sharing his bed, or even being with him just once, was not your place.

“None of these give me any right to claim you,” you said softly. “You must still marry. And it is your duty to marry well.”

He caught your elbow as you started to move your hand away, and guided it back to slide over his waist, to rest over the scar once more, willing you to hold fast to the memory it carried, and hold fast to him.

“What does it mean to marry? Is it not just the giving of one's entire self--mind and body, heart and soul--to another?”

He hooked a finger underneath your chin, urging your downcast gaze to rise and meet his.

“How am I to dispose of things that are no longer in my possession? I have long been taken, solely and utterly, by you.”

And with that gaze he set upon you, you wondered: how many glances must have he given you in secret all these years, with eyes that burned with something more than the devotion of one comrade-in-arms to another? What willful blindness had you clung to for years, for you not to have noticed it?

“I must fulfill my duties to Rohan, this is true. But not even a king can be asked to do the impossible.”

“But to wed a great king to a lowly servant--” You shook your head. “Many would argue that is the real impossibility.”

A new expression akin to anger flashed across Éomer’s face. Before you could wonder what you might have done wrong, he dropped to his knees before you, both knees, his hands wrapped tightly around yours.

“My lord!” you cried, aghast that he would debase himself, even in private. You tried to force him back up, but he would not budge.

“Never speak of yourself as lowly again,” he admonished. “King or peasant, there is nothing more lowly or humbled than a man so wretchedly in love, as I am with you.”

“Éomer…” You sank to the floor with him. “If only things were so simple. I wish it could all happen as you say, but I just do not see how. I do not know what can be done.”

“Let me hold your love for a while longer, and wait for me,” he said gently. “That is all I ask. The rest is mine to accomplish. As long as your heart is mine, and I know you have given it to me freely, I will fight for my right to keep it.”

You felt his grip around your fingers grow tense in the long seconds of silence that followed. At last, you brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing the hands you adored with such devotion.

“When you leave, you shall take my heart with you,” you whispered into his palm. “But I fear it will be a greater challenge than you believe, to keep others from wresting such an unsuitable offering from your hands.”

“They may certainly try, if they wish to test me.” The ice in his tone unsettled you, even though that veiled threat was certainly not for you, while the warm caress on your cheek was. “Not for a moment will I appear unclear or undecided when it comes to my intentions towards you. I will never make that mistake again.”

“B-but the Council of Eorl. The lords…”

“They answer to the King,” Éomer interrupted. “Do not privileges, as well as duties, come with this crown? Trust me. Please.” He bowed to rest his forehead against yours. “While we are parted, I will prove to you that it can be done, that I will do whatever I must to marry you, and to honor and protect you thereafter.”

“Marry?” you murmured. The idea still seemed no more than a ludicrous fantasy. But then Éomer kissed you again, deeply, as though determined to memorize the taste of your lips, urging you to focus on the present moment.

Because he was yours, even if just for that night. Even if by dawn, it could all crumble under the pressures of the world outside these walls. Éomer loved you, and held you in such high regard to want you as his wife and queen. You would swear to anyone that this knowledge alone was already a dream fulfilled.

And yet. If you were brave enough to hope, maybe…just maybe, this would not be the last impossibility to come true for you.

* * *

They do not know. Hundreds of Gondor’s citizens bearing streamers and flowers lined the streets of Minas Tirith that morning to join King Elessar in sending off the departing Eorlingas. But it occurred to Éomer how strange it felt that none of them had any awareness of a matter that was not only monumental for him personally, but carried significant consequences for all of Rohan.

Soon that will change, the young king vowed to himself. Soon his Council will hear the truth, and afterward all of Rohan, and then the rest of their allies. But for the moment, discretion--no matter how bitter the pretense tasted.

No one except for Lord Boromir and his betrothed, the lovely Lady Aerdis, who both stood next to her, understood what truly lay underneath the courteous gestures exchanged between the King of Rohan and his shield-maiden. A simple bow, an exchange of a few words, and a locking of gazes that was all too brief. Had they not spent that one evening together, Éomer would have remained trapped in the false belief of her indifference towards him. The memory of her kisses would have to suffice for a while, and he could only hope he had given her enough to remember him by, as well.

He brushed the edge of his hand over his lips just as he turned away, and forced his feet to carry him down the line of assembled well-wishers.

A noticeable hush descended on the crowd of onlookers as Éomer came to the end of the road where, closest to the ruins of the Great Gate, the King of Gondor himself met him, flanked by none other than Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and his only daughter.

“Lady Lothíriel.” As Éomer took the hand she courteously offered him and brushed a kiss on her fingers, he became aware of the wan smiles that surrounded them, and the unsubtle tittering of a few ladies watching. “Your presence this morning is an unexpected and most delightful gift.”

Lothíriel was astonishingly beautiful indeed, with such radiant grace and sweet smiles, that it would not have surprised Éomer if many citizens of the White City came out just to catch a glimpse of her. “I wish you, Lady Éowyn, and all your men a safe journey, your Grace,” she said. “And may you have great success in your labors, so that we can soon celebrate your speedy return.”

“You are kind, my lady. I certainly hope for the same,” replied Éomer. “We leave behind treasure beyond price here and shall be eager to return for our own.”

Two Rohan lords had already swooped in to engage Imrahil in quiet conversation, and only stepped aside when Éomer himself approached to exchange farewells. Éomer’s admiration for the Prince only grew the more he learned about him and spent time with him, but the unabashed thirst of his counselors for Dol Amroth’s friendship irritated him. Yet another issue he intended to settle in the ordering of his House’s affairs.

Finally, Éomer came before Elessar, who embraced him tightly and honored him with a bow, from one king to another. “Worry not, my brother,” the man once called Aragorn said quietly to him. “I shall see to it that they are cared for, these ones whom you so dearly love.”

He smiled at the look of mixed wonder and apprehension on Éomer’s face, and dipped his head in another show of reassurance and of farewell.

With that, the Rohirrim set off on the North-way in a procession over a mile long, accompanied by the fanfare from the people that continued to line the road stretching across Pelennor. Countless flags in a multitude of colors and sigils from the different regions of Gondor fluttered in the air, and from every direction, enthusiastic cheering and waving followed the Riders across the fields.

At the head of the procession, behind his standard bearer and with Éowyn at his side, Éomer quickly fell into a brooding silence that did not escape his sister’s notice.

“I truly did not think I would ever see the day when the two of you would be willingly separated,” she said lightly. When Éomer looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “I am sure you have good reasons for choosing her to stay behind with our uncle.”

“Many reasons,” Éomer grunted.

Éowyn regarded him thoughtfully. “Has the time finally come when you would allow yourself to be open with me about these reasons? And the other concerns weighing on your mind and heart? It is just you and I now, Éomer,” she said softly, stretching out her hand to him. “I may not have uncle’s experience or Théodred’s cunning, but I love you beyond words, and would do anything to see you happy. Let me help you.”

Éomer smiled at this, and reached over to take her hand and squeeze it. “Perhaps I can aspire to the happiness you have found with Lord Faramir.”

“Having my affections stolen by a High Man was not what I aspired to,” said Éowyn, trying to look annoyed but unable to hide the blush on her cheeks. “But love, it seems, is the wildest beast of all. It will not be tamed, or bridled, or even reasoned with. It goes where it wills. Éomer…” Éowyn’s sweet face turned stern. “You have suffered enough, and have been forced to carry so many burdens, not least of all our uncle’s crown, which I know you never wanted.”

“It is my honor to take the throne in Uncle and Théodred’s stead,” Éomer said firmly. “And why do you make assumptions about the things I want?”

“I know who it is you have wanted, for a long time now,” Éowyn said with a stout confidence that took Éomer aback. “You are discreet, brother. But I have watched you and looked out for you, more closely than you realize.”

Éomer shook his head. “I am still learning the many ways I have been underestimating you, Éowyn. Soon I shall believe myself unworthy of your care or help.”

“Someone has to care for you, during the frequent times you would not.” Éowyn glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still out of hearing range of the rest of his Éored. “Especially now that you have left her behind.”

Éomer pressed his lips in a tight line and returned his gaze to the road ahead. “I will be back,” he said. “There is much to do in Rohan before then, but with Uncle waiting in the Hallows, I can hardly afford to dawdle or delay.”

And she is waiting. Éomer caught a glimpse of his sister’s suppressed smile that told him she had already thought the same thing. Another person with strong opinions to contend with.

Éomer spurred Firefoot forward to signal the standard bearer, who promptly blew one quick blast on his horn. As the King took off in a steady gallop, the thunder of hooves rose behind him as nearly a thousand other Rohirrim picked up their pace to match his, drowning out the excited shouts of the Gondorians that started them off at last to their journey home.

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#sotwk fanfiction #eomer #eomer x reader #eomer fanfiction #rohan #lotr #eomer x you #eomer eadig #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #sotwk fic: taken #boromir

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theviceadmiralswife · 5 months

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Salute recruits and soldiers to this still funky Friday ⚓🌊⚓🌊⚓🌊⚓🌊⚓🌊⚓🌊⚓

A good question popped up in my mind with Kizarus birthday yesterday out of nowhere 10 pm ... I'm supposed to sleep.. Doberman comes home tomorrow from a mission but no... my brain is like, must answer this question, now. Ps. I better put a NSFW after all Kizaru who is undoubtedly the most pervy, lewd and kinky admiral 😛🙃

So here are the top 10 gifts YOU can gift Kizaru for his birthday in no particular order.

I see you next week I'm off this weekend with hubby Doberman 😍... wish you all a lovely weekend.

• STRIPCLUB. ..mens night out in a strip club, women, wine and "woos" , if your Kizarus darling he drag you with him into the strip club. He gives you booze until your in a good buzz and become More and more open, he will make you go on stage dancing with the strippers it makes Kizarus eyeballs pop out and his fantasy running of what he do to you at home.

• SCENTED CANDLES this one will surprise you all the most but Kizaru is always thrilled to get for his birthday scent candles... he goes bananas for those and loves his house being filled with their aroma, his nose indeed has an exquisite taste.

• YOU /SUBMISSIVE...oh Kizaru loves it when you give yourself as present he can do anything with you for 24 hours, then you be his pet slave for a full day he digs into that and will you parade around Marineford as his pet

• PRIVATE STRIPTEASE ...Kizaru might be partying in the strip club but when it comes to it he prefers when he gets a private show from, do an action packed strip to the song "rock you like a hurricane" and you will end up that night rocking the bed for sure

• LOVESONG he loves when his dearest Darling serenades him for his birthday and after a traditional happy birthday song Kizaru is even more delighted with an additional love song. Move your curvy body while singing "your so sexy" from French affair and Kizarus shades will fog up he can't help but to join moving his hips with you and join in a little sing session

• TROLLING PEOPLE. Kizaru loves it when you join him on his birthday to be extra mischievously with him trolling the troops by groping your breasts in front of everyone and you slap his ass in public, grinding against each other.....best mischief is when both of you take the piss out of Sakazuki like this pretending to make out in a middle of Sakazukis office

•PERSONALISED KINKY SEXTOYS Kizaru is kink,... give him sexy pink shades...as he gets thrilled if you by for him and yourself matching collar and leash to add to your kinky sex toy collection and he is certainly experienced in using those, sex toys are his favourite tool to annoy prude Sakazuki , or give him one of those clone your own willy dildos for Kizaru to clone his cock, yeah buy 2 packs you need it.. and as soon as Kizaru has his cock cloned he will cheekily coerce you to try it out and give it your approval

• BODY WORSHIP AND SPA DAY. he soaks it up when you worship his unadulterated hairy hot body, especially his legs, massage them, kiss them rub them...a full round body worship and dirty talk... Kizaru loves it to lay back and be pampered this way including a facial treatment, and massage...ooooh he coos in pleasure if you end the session with some handywork or your lips

• ROMANTIC EVENING he has a romantic streak somewhere and when you cook set the table for a romantic dinner put candles up everywhere and play soft classic music pouring a glass of delicate fine wine while wearing and elegant dress, Kizaru will just jaw drop and gaffe at you before smiling so happy like you never seen before.. it makes his heart flutter. to him it hits home when instead of him taking you out to a restaurant you seemingly bring fine dining home looking like a goddess

• BOOKS ...this might be a bit unexpected but even someone as covertly educated and intelligent as Kizaru finds joy in books at his age... for one of those slow moments on his rare day off... ooh but what makes him snicker and giggle like a school girl if you his darling dearest gifts him a copy of the Kamasutra. His eyes grow wide and his lips curl into a lewd smile the more he flips through the pages of the kamasutra book... he reads it that evening in one go with a glass of wine... later that night he has to try out all the positions with you.

#one piece #one piece hcs #kizaru x reader #kizaru borsalino #admiral kizaru #borsalino one piece #kizaru smut

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yuujispinkhair · 1 year

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The Red Lord (Chapter 2 of 2)

On the hills above your village stands a magnificent but supposedly cursed castle where the mysterious Red Lord lives. Lord Sukuna is a man of breathtaking beauty. Too beautiful. Rumors claim that there is something wrong with him. But what happens when an accident makes you end up in the care of that mysterious man? Will you uncover the truth about him?

Chapter 1

Pairing: Vampire!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Vampire AU, gothic fairytale, smut, fluff Word Count: 8k Warnings: 18+, Sukuna is a vampire, blood, mentions of murder and death, mentions of past domestic violence and abuse (NOT from Sukuna! But Reader's father, brother, and the man she was promised to didn't treat her well), smut, virginity loss, fingering, oral, creampie. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

As much as the evening in the rose garden and the tender kisses distracted you, you can't stop thinking about the villagers' accusations. Their words play over and over in your head.

Three men were killed.

But what do you know about what has happened down in the village? No one mentioned any names of the victims. For all you know, it could be anyone. There is no evidence that it is connected to you. So why should you presume that the victims were the three men that had wronged you? And why should you assume Lord Sukuna had anything to do with that?

The burn marks on his hand? A foolish mind could interpret them as proof that Lord Sukuna is a vampire. You remember how he didn't fully step into the sunlight but stopped in the doorway. Only his left hand must have come into direct touch with the sunlight. But isn't this a bit far-fetched?

Maybe Lord Sukuna just burned himself on candle wax. That's a far more likely explanation.

It would be convenient to wrap yourself in sweet ignorance and pretend everything is fine.

But you can't ignore the voice of reason screaming at you that all those coincidences are very suspicious indeed. The part about Sukuna being a vampire is still too wild for you to allow it. But what about those mysterious deaths that have occurred?

You have to acknowledge that there could be a connection to you.

Three men posed a threat to you. Three men were killed.

You catch yourself watching Lord Sukuna more closely. Wondering if those strong hands that are so carefully handing you a crystal glass filled to the brim with red wine could be the hands of a murderer. Wondering if those glittering diamond eyes and the confident and handsome smile are hiding his true monstrous nature beneath a beautiful mask.

Is the man who took you in a monster after all?

But the thing is, you find that you don't care either way. Because isn't it all a question of perspective? When is a monster an actual monster? Generally speaking, you don't condone murder, of course. But is it still murder if it was done out of the wish to protect someone? You don't think so.

So that leads to a conviction: Even if Lord Sukuna is the one who killed those men who you assume were your father, brother, and future husband, that doesn't make him a monster in your eyes. To everyone else in your village, he might be. But to you, he is the brave man who ensured that the men harming you would never lay a hand on you again. So you could say Lord Sukuna is your hero. Your knight who slayed the dragon.

You don't mind that he has some strange habits or that the way he speaks is a bit odd sometimes, old-fashioned. It is probably because he never really comes into contact with other people. Lord Sukuna lives here alone with only a loyal servant at his proposal.

He seems to be a lonely man in self-inflicted isolation. You tell yourself you would feel guilty at the thought of saying farewell to him, and so you decide you will stay a while longer even though all your injuries have long healed.

And wouldn't you miss him too? Wouldn't you miss the inspiring book discussions the two of you hold? Or the way Sukuna's face lights up when he laughs at a joke you made? When he looks so devastatingly beautiful in the candlelight, it almost makes you cry?

Wouldn't you miss the sweet kisses he shares with you? Stolen kisses in the rose garden at night. Gentle and sweet, but with an ever-growing passion on Lord Sukuna's and your part. The lingering touches when you pass him in the doorway. A brush of his hand against yours in passing by. A strong arm that sneaks around your waist to guide you down the stairs. A smile and an intense look out of those gorgeous eyes that make the fluttery feeling in your stomach and chest intensify.

You would miss all of those things.

And so you stay. Even after that incident in the village and Lord Sukuna's possible connection to it, you stay.

The doubt remains, though. As crazy as you tell yourself it is to believe in such foolish tales as vampires, there are so many weird things about this place and about Sukuna that it's hard to ignore them.

But one particular incident makes you spin out of control.

Lord Sukuna brings you roses all the time. He puts them on your dinner plate or hands them to you with a smile and a soft kiss pressed to your cheek. Those roses from his garden are magnificent, red, and flawless. They never have any thorns.

Lord Sukuna told you that he asked Uraume to cut off the thorns so you won't hurt yourself on them. You always assumed he was just caring and thoughtful.

But then, one night, a single little thorn is left on a rose, and you prick yourself on it.

"Ouch!"

You gasp and lift your hand, inspecting the small cut, where a big drop of blood already wells up.

Lord Sukuna makes a strangled sound next to you. His eyes seem even redder suddenly, glimmering in an unnatural bright scarlet red as they stare at the thick drop of blood on your fingertip.

Before you can do anything, he grabs your hand and brings it to his lips. You can only watch in astonishment, and dawning horror as Sukuna's soft tongue flicks over your finger, licking up that drop of blood.

Your gaze meets his, and you can see a hunger in it that you have never seen before. So intense that it looks almost feral.

Those bright red eyes widen suddenly, and Lord Sukuna drops your hand and hastily takes a step back. Before you can process what is happening, he has already fled the room, and the dark wooden door falls shut behind him with a loud bang.

It's that incident with the rose that keeps you up for hours this night.

You have never seen Lord Sukuna like this. He usually is so calm and in control. So it seems strange to see him so distraught. The way his eyes were burning with hunger. Glowing red like never before. The way he had licked the blood off your finger. His hurried escape afterward. As if he wanted to hide something from you. Or as if he was scared, he did something bad...or would do something bad if he stayed near you.

You sit up with a gasp. Your head is spinning. It is time, you realize. Time to acknowledge those thoughts that have been haunting you for weeks.

What if vampires exist after all? What if you are living with one at the moment?

Suddenly you're filled with an unbearable restlessness, driven by the need to finally discover the truth.

Is there any base for those suspicions? Or are you just getting carried away by crazy thoughts and fantasies? You know what you need. Cold hard facts! More knowledge about this topic!

Only one floor beneath you is the vastest collection of books you have ever seen. So if there is a likely place to find more information about vampires, it will be there!

You are out of bed in seconds, not even bothering to put on shoes or wrap a cape around your shoulders to keep you warm. You just grab a candle holder and leave your room barefooted, only dressed in your thin nightdress.

The luxurious plush carpets feel soft under your feet as you rush through the long corridors and down the flight of stairs. The heavy wooden door closes softly behind you after you enter the spacious library.

You should start your search in the mythological section and then continue to go through the science section and look for medical encyclopedias.

You are so focused on your mission to find a book that will contain the information you seek that you don't see him until his low velvety voice drifts through the dimly lit room.

"Can't sleep, sweetheart?"

You almost drop the candle, your heart jumping to your throat as your head whips around to stare at the big red armchair Lord Sukuna is sitting on.

"L...Lord Sukuna! I am sorry for disturbing you!"

A lazy smirk spreads over his beautiful face, red eyes sparkling in amusement as he cocks his head and watches you curiously,

"Don't worry, darling. You can come here at any time of the day or night. This is your castle too. And I, for one, understand the nightly craving for information and the fantastic world books can offer us. I come here almost every night to read. Can I help you? Are you looking for anything specific?"

His glittering gaze holds yours for a long moment before slowly traveling down your body. Suddenly you become aware of the way you are dressed. Only standing in front of him in your thin nightdress that slips off your shoulders, sitting low on your breasts. Delicate white silk that is too thin for walking around at night at this time of year.

Your nipples are stiff peaks because of the chilly temperatures, clearly visible through the thin material of your nightdress. You are sure that the snug fit of the dress does nothing to hide your body from Lord Sukuna's gaze.

Your free hand self-consciously tugs on one of the lacy straps, trying to pull it up over your shoulder.

"I... no, I am not looking for anything in particular. I just... I just need something to calm me down, I think. So I can find rest afterward."

The smirk on Lord Sukuna's pretty face turns even bigger, even more dazzling in its beauty. There is something in his eyes and in his voice, a certain sparkle, a specific timbre, that seems almost hypnotic, making you slowly walk towards him when he says,

"Then I have something for you, my dear. Come to me."

You are breathing too fast when you stop in front of the red armchair where Lord Sukuna is lounging, still in the formal and luxurious clothes he has been wearing the whole day. He took off his fine red velvet frock coat and draped it over the backrest of the armchair, allowing you a good look at his muscular figure in the red silk vest and white dress shirt he's wearing beneath it. His thighs in his red silk pants are spread slightly.

He looks gorgeous. Majestic, like a King sitting on his throne. A beautiful and powerful King. A man of such beauty that it makes your head spin.

He smiles at you, mouth opening wide enough to reveal his straight white teeth with the canines that are slightly too long, slightly too pointed.

"Let me read to you, my love. I am sure it will help you feel better. Come, sit."

Your mouth feels dry as you follow the movement of his elegant hand as he pats his muscular thigh, indicating unmistakenly where you should sit.

It's a scandalous offer. Highly inappropriate. Your heart is beating so fast, and you gulp hard. A decent woman would decline politely. It's what has been drummed into you ever since you were a young girl.

But you have left this old life behind. It's not like you haven't done worse things than sit on a man's lap. After all, you have shared many kisses with Lord Sukuna during the last few weeks.

Since he is here, you can't follow through with your plan of doing research anyways. So it won't hurt to spend a little time with him. Wouldn't it be suspicious if you turned down his offer?

And he is so beautiful, so tempting. You have never felt desire stir in your core when interacting with a man before. But Lord Sukuna makes something deep inside you feel so hot.

Before you can think too much about it, you quickly walk over to him and slip onto his lap.

After all, who is here to judge you? Who is here to call you a whore for sitting on a man's lap who isn't your husband? It feels oddly freeing to do this. To let go of all the guilt and strict rules forced upon you, which made you feel like a prisoner in an invisible cage.

Lord Sukuna's strong arms encircle you instantly. He takes the candle holder from you and puts it on the table beside his chair, and then those firm hands land on your waist, always holding you so securely in his arms, always making you feel so taken care of, so safe.

But tonight you aren't wearing several layers of clothes. Tonight there is only a thin layer of silk between your skin and Lord Sukuna's fingers. You can feel their coldness seep through the flimsy fabric, making goosebumps appear on your naked arms.

"Good girl. You don't have to be afraid."

He whispers, his voice as seductive as a caress.

"I am not afraid."

It's true. You aren't scared of him. Even though you came down here to research the possibility of him not being human. But as strange as it seems, you feel safe with Lord Sukuna.

Instinctively you snuggle into his arms, leaning against his broad chest, breathing in the luxurious and tantalizing smell of his perfume. A shy smile spreads over your face as you lift your head to look at him, caught in his spell, mesmerized by his beauty and strength.

He smiles back at you, and his strong hands tighten their hold on you, long fingers sprawling over your waist, thumbs caressing your sides gently. And you catch yourself craving more of his caresses, more of his touch, his kisses, his affection.

Your left hand lands on his firm chest, feeling his muscles even through the layers of expensive clothing. If there is a heartbeat underneath those clothes, you cannot feel it. But you find that you don't care.

You don't care if there is something unusual about Lord Sukuna. You don't care if he might not be human. If being this close to him feels so good even though it is supposed to be wrong, you are very willing to do the supposedly bad thing.

You are willing to let him taint you. To let him steal your innocence. You don't need it anymore. You left all that behind when you left your future husband, your cruel father, and your brother. It feels like for the first time you are truly alive. Truly living for yourself. Truly allowed to be yourself. To feel and to want and to desire.

And you desire him.

You want Sukuna, want to feel more of his muscular body, his firm but gentle touch, his kisses that are so sweet and addictive as if you ran right into one of those absinthe taverns your chaperon always warned you about.

He picks up the book he had been reading when you entered the library, opening it to the page he was currently on. There's a soft smile on his face as he begins to read to you,

"No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be."

You feel comfortable in his arms, resting your head on his broad shoulder and letting his low sultry voice lull you into a state of blissful drowsiness.

His long fingers are still sprawled over your waist, caressing you lightly through your thin nightdress.

You sigh and open your eyes to watch him. To bask in the beauty of his handsome face, the angular jawline, the high cheekbones. His sparkling jewel eyes focused on the page before him, his full lips moving so gracefully as he reads to you with that seductive voice that makes your heart flutter.

It doesn't take long for you to become bold and cup his beautiful cheek, distracting him from reading, and his pretty glittering gaze lands on you, raising an elegant eyebrow curiously.

His lips lift in a smile right before you cover them with yours.

The book falls from his hand, tumbling down and landing on the thick plush carpet with a soft thud.

But neither you nor Sukuna cares about that. Instead, his hand grabs the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as his lips move against yours, mouth opening to deepen the kiss. You sigh softly when his tongue brushes against yours when he lets you explore his mouth, licking and kissing, groaning when the tip of your tongue comes in contact with the sharp point of one of his canines.

Your breath comes out in soft huffs when the lord's cold lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing over your sensitive skin, making your hips buck involuntarily when his mouth closes over your pulse point, and he starts sucking.

Your fingers find Sukuna's soft reddish-pink hair, running through it, marveling at the way it feels like silk. You cannot get enough of the tingling sensation of his lips on your skin. A gasp fills the dimly lit library when Lord Sukuna's mouth travels further down your neck, leaving soft kisses on your exposed shoulders.

You let your head fall back, giving him better access, leaning back in his strong arms that hold you so safely.

His mouth travels to the low neckline of your silky nightdress, making you shudder in anticipation when Sukuna's kisses caress the curves of your breasts.

You press your chest against his mouth, eager for more. The thought of his lips on your body sends a surge of longing through you. You want more of him, want to give yourself to him in any way he wants.

And then Sukuna pulls the neckline of your nightdress down, freeing your breasts, and making them spill out against his beautiful face.

You whimper needily when his soft lips close around one of your stiff peaks, kissing it lovingly and gently pulling it into his silky mouth. He is suckling on it and flicking his velvety tongue over it in tender caresses that make your whole body tremble with desire.

You never thought this was how it feels to be with a man. All those tales about how it is a disgusting thing that no woman enjoys and only has to do for her husband to please him made you believe it would be bad. But what Lord Sukuna is doing to your body feels so good. Better than anything you ever could imagine in your wildest dreams.

Heat is throbbing between your legs, and you spread them unconsciously, opening them only to feel a wetness between them that you have never felt there before. So slick and hot, throbbing with such intense craving, it makes you gasp and squirm against Lord Sukuna's muscular thigh.

He laughs softly, where his face is buried between your breasts, loving them with soft kisses and licks. And then he pulls away only to capture your lips with his a moment later, meeting you again in a deep passionate kiss.

You kiss him back feverishly, naked breasts pressing against his chest, moaning at the feeling of his silk vest brushing over your sensitive flesh.

One of Lord Sukuna's large, firm hands slips under your nightdress, caressing your knee and slowly traveling upwards. He is so cold, like marble. But his hand stays on your thigh long enough to warm up against your skin until it feels like a human hand should feel.

Your pulse is racing, your head spinning as you let yourself get lost in Sukuna's sweet passionate kiss and the feeling of his strong body against you. You can feel a hardness press against your thigh where you are sitting on his lap, making you feel dizzy with need at the thought of what that means. He is affected by this too. He desires you just as you desire him. It's exhilarating.

And then Sukuna's now warm hand slips further under your nightdress, long fingers caressing your inner thighs, making more wetness coat your womanhood as your thighs begin to tremble.

You gasp loudly when that strong but gentle hand finally reaches your hot wet cunt.

Your initial reaction is shame. Not because you don't desire his touch but because you are ashamed of how wet you are down there.

You don't know much about the act of sexual intercourse. But what you know so far made you believe firmly that men don't want to touch women down there. That they only use your cunt to bring pleasure to themselves, to sink their manhood deep into it and take what they need.

You try to close your legs, pushing Lord Sukuna's hand away as your face feels hot with shame.

Sukuna stops, his hand lingering gently between your thighs, fingertips only a breath away from your throbbing heat. You feel his lips on your neck again, showering it with more tender kisses, and then his low voice murmurs soothingly against your skin,

"Don't be shy, my love. Please let me touch you. I want to make you feel good, want to spoil you, my pretty little dove."

"B... but isn't this dirty? You don't have to do this..."

He laughs softly against your skin, the vibrations of his laughter sending shock waves through your body, making pleasure pool even more between your legs.

"I want to touch you, darling. It's the biggest blessing you could grant me to let me touch you like this. May I?"

And you let out a shaky breath and nod, whispering,

"Y...yes, please touch me."

A sob escapes your mouth when his fingers slip back between your thighs, brushing gently over your wet folds, and then your hips buck as those loving fingers rub over a very sensitive part.

He is tender as his fingers travel lovingly over your cunt, gently spreading your lips down there and gathering your creamy wetness on his long fingers, rubbing it all over your folds while soft moans fall from your lips.

His fingers find that place again that makes you cry out in pleasure. He caresses slow loving circles around your swollen nub, making you moan and spread your legs for him, abandoning all earlier shame.

Suddenly you are bold. You want to do more. You want him to do everything a husband is supposed to do to you on your wedding night. You want him to claim you, to make you his, and push his manhood deep into your waiting cunt. No one else but Lord Sukuna should be gifted with your virginity.

"Please take me, Sukuna. I want to be yours, all yours."

There's a fire in his eyes, and his voice sounds rough, full of need as he flicks his thumb over your nub again, making you moan his name as he answers you,

"Then I'll make you mine, sweetheart."

He lifts you as if you are a mere feather. Carrying you over to his large wooden desk and carefully sets you back on your feet, letting you lean against the desk, your back to him. You are breathing heavily, your body brimming with pleasure and nervousness.

Before your nerves get the better of you, Sukuna's strong hands grab the thin fabric of your night dress, his fingers twisting in it, and then he rips the dress off your body in one powerful motion.

The dress slips to the floor, leaving you completely naked in front of The Red Lord. You gulp hard, knowing that his hungry gaze must be traveling over your bare skin right now.

"You are so beautiful, my love. And all mine."

A gentle kiss is pressed to the back of your neck, making you shudder with need, and then you hear the rustling of clothes.

You can't stop yourself from looking over your shoulder, wanting to see him. He is already naked.

He looks like an angel, so glorious and breathtakingly beautiful. Firm defined muscles everywhere, strong arms, and a broad chest. And even down there, he is gorgeous. His cock is thick and long, already erect, resting heavily against the defined muscles of his abdomen.

A dazzling smile blooms on his handsome face when he catches you looking at him. And then he is with you again, stepping behind you, so close that his tall body brushes against your back.

You tremble lightly as his strong hands land on your hips, holding you as he begins to kiss your neck once again. You sigh, relaxing against him, feeling your cunt pulse with arousal, craving him so much that you fear you will pass out.

But Sukuna is there to take care of you, strong and firm behind you, one hand on your hip, the other cupping one of your breasts, massaging it gently, playing with your stiff nipple. And he presses his body against you, his thick cock pushing between your thighs.

He rubs his stiff hard length against you, letting it glide through your wet folds by rolling his hips in a tender slow rhythm. Letting you feel all of him, coating his long, girthy cock with your cream, making it slippery and warm the longer he stays between your legs. You cry out shakily when his gorgeous cock does what his fingers did earlier, massaging your swollen bud.

You are panting loudly by now, your body brimming with pleasure and your face feeling hot as you lean back against Lord Sukuna's broad chest and let him spoil you with his lips and his hands, and his cock.

You're trembling helplessly in his strong arms when the pleasure heightens, and suddenly you get drowned by it, crying out loudly as his cockhead kisses your swollen wet pearl in a way that makes pleasure explode in the little bud. You cling desperately to Sukuna's muscular arms as your body convulses and your cunt twitches and pulses hotly over his thick length.

You have never felt something like this before. It must be what the women in those steamy novels were experiencing with their lovers. And finally, you understand the fascination, the craving to want to feel this again and again.

Lord Sukuna's voice comes out in a low groan when he kisses your neck, and his strong hands caress your breasts with gentle touches. Allowing you to experience that high until the last wave ebbs off.

You turn around in his strong embrace, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him deeply, unashamed now that you feel this bliss.

You press your naked body against him, whimpering with need when Lord Sukuna pushes your back against the desk, and then he lifts you with a fast, fluid motion, making you sit on the desk with your legs spread for him. You can feel your slick coating the wooden desk beneath you, spreading your heat and arousal over it. But you don't care.

Lord Sukuna's gorgeous cock is back between your folds, caressing you again down there, renewing your arousal. But this time, he leaves your bud after a few strokes and instead settles his thick cockhead at your wet entrance. You tremble for a moment in a mix of arousal and fear. Will it hurt when he takes you? He is so big.

His cockhead is kissing your tight heat gently, stretching you open around his thick tip for the first time. Your first man, your first lover.

You gasp loudly when Sukuna pushes deeper into your virgin cunt, truly claiming you now. Taking your virginity with a gentle but powerful snap of his hips.

You hiss as a stinging pain makes your legs jerk, but Lord Sukuna stops immediately, long elegant fingers caressing your sides soothingly, and he murmurs against your neck,

"The pain will be over quickly, my love. I will be careful. I'll take good care of you, my sweet girl. You feel so good around me. So warm and wet."

His fingers grab your chin, tilt your face up to him, and he kisses you sweetly as his other hand wanders between your legs to caress those sweet slow circles around your nub again, making your cunt tighten around him as new pleasure surges through you.

He rocks his hips again, pushing his thick girth into your slick cunt, and your initial pain lessens and gets replaced by a wonderful feeling of being full.

You wrap your arms around him, caressing his muscular back and lifting your hips to welcome him, to let him know you crave him, let him know that he can take you. And he does.

Sukuna groans loudly. His long eyelashes flutter prettily as he moves his hips, thrusting his manhood deep into you and finding a delicious pace that makes you gasp anytime he rams his thick girth back into you, filling you completely.

You discover there is a specific spot deep inside you that makes your body jerk and your hips stutter anytime Lord Sukuna's manhood kisses it. It only takes a short while until your nails dig into Sukuna's back, and you writhe in pleasure against him, feeling hot tears run down your cheeks as the bliss you feel gets more intense with every thrust of his gorgeous thick cock.

But you aren't the only one who gets increasingly lost in the pleasure your lovemaking causes. Loud moans fall from Sukuna's lips, whispered endearments and needy grunts, and then his teeth graze over your neck, and he growls. A sound that sends a shiver down your spine. But not in fear but in excitement.

You cling to him desperately, meeting his powerful deep thrusts, and you catch yourself whimpering,

"Please, take anything you need from me. I want to be yours."

Your mind is hazy with lust, but at the same time, you know full well what you are trying to say. What you are offering to him.

This man in your arms might not be human, and you are fine with it. You want him to show his true self. Need him to do it now that you are as close to him as you can be. Now that you are one with him, filled by his thick cock, your cunt twitching needily around him.

His low voice sounds strained, as if it takes all his strength to hold back.

"You don't know what you're asking for, sweetheart. I can't..."

"I know it, Sukuna. Please...just claim me in every way. I need you to..."

The rest of your words get drowned out by the feral-sounding growl coming from Sukuna. His hands tighten on your waist, and the next thing you know, a sharp pain explodes on your neck.

He did it! He really bit you!

His sharp canines are buried in your neck, drawing blood.

You cry out, but at the same time, intense pleasure washes over you, making your body jerk and your cunt clench needily around Sukuna's manhood.

The pain is gone in a second. Instead, pleasure engulfs you.

You whimper needily, feeling your lover's fangs buried in your flesh. He is sucking at the wound, making your blood spill out, which he drinks hungrily.

You gasp his name, full of longing, and feel something warm trickle down your chest and between your breasts which bounce with every powerful snap of Sukuna's hips.

His mouth leaves your neck to follow that warmth. You realize it is a small rivulet of blood that Sukuna licks up thoroughly, red eyes burning into yours as he looks up at you, tongue flicking over your breasts, licking them clean, moaning at the taste of your life essence in his mouth.

"So sweet, my love. You taste so sweet."

He takes you with even more vigor now, hard deep thrusts that make both of you gasp and moan loudly. A frantic mating, like two animals in heat.

You cry his name when the pressure in your core snaps, and you feel this heavenly bliss wash over you again. The only thing you can do is cling to Sukuna's tall, muscular body sobbing from pleasure while you are coming undone on his gorgeous cock.

His thrusts become faster and harder, making you gasp loudly at the sheer strength he possesses. And then his gorgeous eyes fall shut, and his lips open in a low moan, showing his teeth with the canines that are much longer than usual, looking like a feral beast's fangs, long and sharp with some blood still sticking to them.

You cannot stop looking at him. Sukuna is always stunning, of course, but especially now, at the peak of his pleasure. When his cock is buried to the hilt in your wet cunt as he cums deep inside you. Pulsing his seed into you while your blood is still on his teeth.

You are truly his in every way now.

You are breathing heavily when Sukuna's gaze meets yours, and he captures your lips in a tender kiss before pulling away.

You can't help but look down between your legs, watching in curious fascination as Sukuna pulls out of you. His long thick cock slowly slips out of your stretched cunt, glistening with wetness, coated in your creamy arousal and the evidence of your virginity that he took tonight. Traces of blood paint a filigree pattern on his gorgeous length.

Sukuna moans loudly at the sight, a sound that sends more arousal through you. You want to slip down from the desk, but Sukuna stops you with his hands on your hips. He shakes his head, and before you can ask what he wants, he already sinks to his knees between your legs, strong hands pushing your thighs further apart, exposing all of you to him. His beautiful face disappears between your thighs.

His mouth is soft and tender on your leaking wet heat. He licks and kisses it so gently and lovingly that it makes you cry as your fingers run through his silky hair, lost in the pleasure he gives you.

Sukuna is moaning against your heat as if it brings him just as much joy as it brings you. It's only then that you realize what he is doing. Licking all your virgin blood out of you, tasting the sweetest treat you could offer him.

He kisses a third high out of you, making you whimper weakly as your body shudders and your hips buck as your desire peaks and your cunt twitches against his beautiful face and soft mouth. And Sukuna drinks your pleasure eagerly. Licks your essence out of you as if it is his favorite food.

When he pulls away, you see a faint red stain on his lips. But Sukuna's tongue darts out immediately to lick it up, and his eyes close in pleasure when he gets more of your taste.

As grotesque as it looks, it somehow sends a spark of pride through you. This gorgeous man claimed you in every way. He took your virginity and drank your blood. He made you his like no other man ever could.

A decent maiden shouldn't find this appealing. But you are far from decent nowadays and also not a maiden anymore. The proof of it is still lingering there on Lord Sukuna's tongue.

You don't need to find books about the topic of vampires anymore. You are pretty sure now. All the evidence leads to one assumption: The lord of this castle, the man who kissed you, caressed you and made you his, is a vampire.

And yet you don't leave. You don't even consider it. Because as strange as it may sound, you are happy here in this castle and with The Red Lord.

With Sukuna. Your lover.

He is sweet. He is alluring. He makes you crave him every day. Crave his kiss and his touch and the comfort of his strength and protectiveness.

Love was something you never thought would be possible in your life. A life that had been planned by other people.

Your chaperone had advised you to stop daydreaming about foolish notions like romance. She told you love is something for books or theater plays, but it has no place in everyday life. A woman is supposed to marry a man who her family sees as beneficial, not someone she picks herself and who she loves. She had constantly lectured you that marriage wasn't about love. It was about obedience, learning how to serve your husband, and make his life more comfortable. The sooner you understood this, the sooner you'd be happy.

But that thought never made you happy. The opposite was the case. It made you despair.

But now you feel your chest fill with warmth anytime you think about Sukuna. Your heart beats faster when he is near you. You feel happiness fill you when he smiles at you.

Lord Sukuna is different from how everyone told you a man would be.

He is gentle and respectful. A passionate lover in the bedroom who always makes sure that you find completion and enjoy what he is doing to you. Oh, and how you enjoy it. His kisses and touches are addictive, making you tumble into a hazy blissfulness that sends your head spinning.

But it's not just that carnal aspect that draws you so much to Sukuna. It's the way he treats you in every other aspect too. The respectfulness, the care, the humor. It's the shared interests the two of you have. It's the tenderness that this powerful man allows you to see.

He asks you to keep him company in his library. Invites you to read to him, and in turn, he reads to you. He recites love poems and dark gothic tales in his velvety low voice while his strong arms wrap around you in a loving embrace.

He lets you help him pick new roses for his garden, names them after you, and watches you with pride in those beautiful glittering jewel eyes when you tell him you want to water them yourself from now on.

He plays the piano for you, making tears well up in your eyes at how beautiful and delicate the sounds of his music are. How tragic and heart-wrenching those songs sound. The melodies carry a tale of centuries of loneliness to your ears.

When you ask him with a choked-up voice who composed those pieces since you have never heard them before, he smiles and tells you he is the one who did.

"I had a lot of time to do those things, my angel. But I didn't make music for a long time since it didn't bring me joy to perform for an empty room. I'm truly blessed I can play for you now, darling."

He visits you in your room almost every night. Comes to your bed and wraps you in his strong embrace. His body is so solid and heavy on top of you, but his touch is loving and tender, and he always takes the utmost care of you. He makes love to your whole body, kisses you, and caresses you in all the right places, sets your senses on fire as you gasp his name and come undone on his gorgeous manhood over and over again.

He feels cold to the touch, but his skin grows warmer when he lies with you. That may be why he likes to stay for hours in your bed. And after a few weeks, he doesn't bother getting up again but stays the whole night, wrapping his tall, muscular body around you and holding you to his firm chest.

You have never slept that peacefully before.

You have long accepted that your lover must be a vampire. And yet, Sukuna never admits it. He apologized to you after that passionate night in the library. Apologized for losing control and biting you. Claimed that it was a stupid accident and he never meant to actually drink your blood.

"I am deeply sorry, my love. It was in the heat of pleasure, and I wanted to claim you as mine, give you a little bite mark. But I misjudged my strength. It won't happen again."

You try to reassure him, try to make him see that it is fine. But Sukuna changes the topic anytime you try to confront him. He smiles his most charming smile and ignores your attempts to discuss the matter, distracting you with a new book or a new idea for the rose garden, or, if nothing else works, he just kisses you until you shut up.

You try to come to terms with the fact that you might never be able to get him to confess the truth. But it bugs you. You stare at the beautiful man in your arms, wanting to know everything about him and wanting him to see that you love him the way he is and that he doesn't have to hide from you.

But how can you achieve that?

And then fate offers you a chance you didn't expect. One of your excursions through the castle leads you to a dusty room in the highest tower, and you stumble upon an old battered box that contains things from a former inhabitant, apparently. Some necklaces and old letters, lacey handkerchiefs, and a pearl ring. But you only have eyes for one thing:

A golden hand mirror.

Your heart is hammering in your chest when you hear the door of your bedroom open and the soft footsteps of the man you love as he makes his way over to where you are sitting with your back to him at your desk.

With shaky hands, you lift the small hand mirror and angle it in a way that lets you see yourself and the room behind you.

Your breath catches in your throat. You see your own face very clearly, but where the reflection of Sukuna should be is nothing.

You turn around in your chair, staring at him with wide eyes. His gaze meets yours. A shadow flickers over his beautiful face, and there is a deep sadness in his gorgeous red jewel eyes.

"So you found out after all."

He sounds defeated. His usually so sultry voice is full of regret as he continues softly,

"You can leave anytime you want, my love. I will arrange everything for safe travel and ensure you find a good place to live and never have to worry about money."

You blink at him, tears gathering in your eyes. It breaks your heart to see him like this, to see the sadness in his eyes.

You drop the mirror, and before Sukuna can utter another word, you get up from your desk so fast that you knock your chair over and send the mirror flying.

But you don't care about the chair or the mirror. You fling yourself at Sukuna. Wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly, pressing your body against his and burying your face in his firm chest as you cling tightly to him.

"No! I don't want to go! I want to stay with you!"

You lift your head to look at him, seeing the surprise flash over his flawless features, the way his pretty eyes widen, and he blinks as if he can't understand what is happening. A tentative cold hand cups the back of your head and gently pets your hair.

"But... aren't you scared of me now, darling?"

He says it as if he can't believe you are still here. That he can't believe you are touching him, holding him, when he expected you to scream and run.

You smile softly at him and shake your head.

"No, I am not scared. What difference does it make what you are, Sukuna? That was what I was trying to make you see. That's why I was so adamant about finding out the truth. I know many people call your kind monsters, but I haven't encountered a single monster since I came to this castle. I only met a very kind man who took me in when I was injured and who took care of me and protected me from the people who wanted to bring harm to me. You aren't a monster to me, Sukuna. The only monsters I have met so far have all been human."

The sadness in his eyes gets replaced by a tenderness that makes your heart clench. Lord Sukuna's hand tightens in your hair, bringing you closer to him. He leans down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead.

His low velvety voice is full of wonder when he says,

"You never cease to amaze me, my love."

You laugh softly as you tighten your arms around him, feeling relief wash over you.

"I love you, Sukuna. Can I please stay with you?"

You can see the warmth in his eyes and the wonderous joy on his handsome features as he smiles at you and laughs softly.

"Of course, you can stay. I will be delighted if you stay forever. I love you too, darling."

The months pass, but here in the castle, time doesn't seem to exist. Not when every day spent with Sukuna is so full of joy. And now that he doesn't have to hide his true self anymore, you are blessed with learning about the life of an immortal.

You love the long evenings you and Sukuna spend cuddling together on the large red settee in the library, naked under a warm blanket, letting your hands and lips explore Sukuna's gorgeous body while he tells you tales about his life. About all the different cultures and traditions he encountered in all the centuries he spent on this earth.

There is no heartbeat thrumming under your palms when you press them against your lover's chiseled chest. There is no pulse when you brush heated kisses over his neck. But there is so much warmth inside you when you are this close to him. And a matching warmth is in his gorgeous eyes when he cups your face and smiles at you.

"One day, I will show you all of this. We can go anywhere you like, my love. People get suspicious if I stay in one place too long. So we will have to keep moving. But you can pick our next destination."

You smile at the implications of Sukuna's words.

Three days ago, he got on one knee in front of you in the middle of the rose garden, holding out a beautiful gold ring with a ruby as red as his eyes in its center. Now that ring sparkles on your finger.

It's a promise. A promise that you will be Sukuna's companion through countless lifetimes. His beloved bride, who he will turn into one of his kind so the two of you can be together for eternity.

Lovers until the end of time itself.

Thank you so much for reading part two of my Sukuna vampire story! I am happy but, at the same time, a bit sad to leave Lord Sukuna and his gothic castle behind now. It was so comforting to disappear into this world. I hope this story could offer you comfort too!

Thank you so much for all the love I received for this short series! It means a lot to me to see that you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think about the second part. Comments and reblogs make me happy!

The book Sukuna reads to Reader in his library is "Dracula" by Bram Stoker, a new novel that had just been released, and of course, Sukuna had to get his hands on it to check how Mr. Stoker portrayed someone of Sukuna's kind :)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jjk x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna fluff #tw blood

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bullet-clubs-bitch · 4 months

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Can i request a Billy Gunn fic with some NSFW? Possibly he and reader were old friends when he worked for WWE but they reconnect after a long time and get close to each other again and maybe a wrestler cuts a promo on him and says something about y/n and he snaps and kinda confesses his feelings he has for her.

Old Flame

An: This ended up to be way longer than I thought it would be. I decided to play a different route with this request

Summary: Billy and Y/n "dated" (really just sex) a while ago and Billy hates how he let Y/n slip through his fingers all those years ago because he was afraid of commitment. What happens when she shows up in AEW and he relies he still loves her.

Word count: 2K

Warnings: SMUT (18+) Billy Gunn X Female reader, Mentions of Sex and sexual acts, mentions of alcohol and spiked drinks, 18+ themes

Main Masterlist Part 2 Part 3

I had mixed feelings about having Y/n in AEW, sure it was great to see her after all these years but it was strange since how much we had both changed. I remember when I first saw Y/n after all our years apart. I was backstage at dynamite when I saw her, jokingly said to my sons “That chick over there looks like Y/n” and once she turned around I noticed it was indeed her. I felt my stomach drop. She looked different, older, well of course she looked older we were both way older now but she aged like fine wine, still gorgeous as ever. When I asked what she was doing backstage at Dynamite she explained that she was there to help the young talent in the women's division, along with teaching her daughter how to wrestle. I was happy for her but for some reason I was nervous.

The first few weeks went by fast and I barely ran into Y/n which I was secretly grateful for. That was until my sons, The Gunns joined bullet club gold. Although we didn’t work on screen together at the end of the day they were still my children. I guess the boys did some digging and found out about the little fling Y/n and I had all those years ago. I tried to explain to them that it was years ago, way before they were even born, for them to leave it alone, but they knew I obviously wasn’t over it since I had been practically avoiding Y/n. The boys thought it would be funny to ask Y/n to train them even though I already taught them everything they needed to know. So here I am sitting across the ring from the woman I let slip through my fingers years ago.

“So Y/n, I heard you and my dad used to date back in the day” Austin said. I store daggers at him, but he didn’t care, instead he gave me a smirk, wanting to see how far he could push me before I broke.

“I wouldn't say we dated necessarily” Y/n said, as she corrected Colten’s grip, making the choke he was practicing on his brother more effective. “Sure we went out on a few dates but we didn’t date. Your father didn’t want to commit to a relationship” Her words stung, the story she told had no effect on her but I still hated myself for it even if it was 30 years ago. “So you guys were just fuck buddies then?” Colten asked. “COLTEN!-” I yelled but Y/n cut me off. “I guess you could say that, but your father was a gentleman and always bought me dinner first”

To say I was embarrassed would be an understatement. I was just about to leave when Y/n called out “Come on Billy, don’t be such a baby. They are just messing with you” I continued to walk pretending not to hear her, she came up to me and grabbed my arm, forcing me to turn and look at her. As I towered over her, I felt like I had gone back in time. Back to the time where I fucked everything up years ago.

****

“Y/n I’m sorry!” I yelled out to the poor girl who stood beneath me with tears in her eyes. “I should have known you were only using me to get your dick wet” She yelled back, her words laced with venom. I knew it was only a matter of time before she would ask to be more than whatever it was we had going on but the truth was I was so scared to mess things up between us I didn’t even realize the hole I dug myself into until it was too late. I was trying to protect her but instead I hurt her.

This little buddy system started a few months ago when a very drunk Y/n admitted that no guy she had been with had made her cum. One day after a PPV we all went out for drinks when Y/n’s got spiked, luckily for her it wasn’t too bad but boy did she say some crazy things.

Being a good friend I took her back to my hotel room before she could embarrass herself too much and she ended up passing out right as we stepped foot in the room. Carefully I placed her on the bed and removed her shoes before tucking her under the covers.

When she came to, she was confused. “Did we fuck?” was the first thing she asked me, noticing she was in my bed. “No, but you wanted to” I told her, Y/n looked at me confused. “Someone spiked your drink at the bar. I took you back to my hotel room to keep you from embarrassing yourself” I told her truthfully. “Oh god, what did I say?” “Nothing much, just that you have never had an orgasm before” “Great” “Don’t worry, I'm sure I can help you with that problem” I told her with a smirk.

I couldn't deny the effect she had on me, she was perfect in every way. Seeing her in my bed didn’t help my crush on her. As we made our way back to the hotel she kept rambling about random things and even suggested that we sleep together. I knew that wasn’t her talking, she was drugged and wouldn't remember a thing in the morning. Even though I liked her, no way would I take advantage of her in such a state. I wanted to get with her when she was fully sober, wanting to have something real not just an impulsive booty call or being so fucked up we woudn’t remember anything in the morning.

So I waited until the time was right. I sat in my private locker room fantasizing about Y/n when I heard someone knocking at my door. “Who is it?” I yelled through the door. To my surprise it was Y/n herself. “It’s me! Are you almost ready to go?” She asked me “Yeah, just give me a minute!” I said before opening the door to let her inside. When I opened the door I saw the shocked look on her face. “Well someones excited to see me,” she said as she looked me up and down. I was confused for a second until I looked down noticing I was fully hard. “Shit!” I could feel my face get red. “Don’t worry, it happens to everyone. You don’t have to be embarrassed” She told me reassuringly. I quickly grabbed all my things, changing the subject. “Do you want to get room service tonight instead? I don’t really feel like going out tonight.”

The two of us sat in my hotel room in silence. Y/n was first to break the silence. “Does it hurt?” She asked, referring to my still hard cock. “It doesn’t hurt, just uncomfortable” I told her, the effect she had on me still being shown. “Do you want help with it?” I almost choked when the words came out of her mouth. “What?” I asked in disbelief. “Do you want some help with that?” She repeated as she got up from her seat, deciding to sit on my lap. “We could help each other out?” I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Everything happened so fast, before I knew it we were tangled in each other, frantically taking off the others clothes fighting for dominance. “You have no idea how long I have wanted this,” I told Y/n. I could tell by the look on her face she was shocked by my size. “Don’t worry I’ll take good care of you” I told her reassuringly. I wanted to take my time with Y/n. I placed delicate kisses down her body before settling between her thighs. Kissing and sucking her inner thighs before inserting myself in her. I started with slow thrusts, trying to keep my promise of being gentile but she just felt so good, I needed to feel more, I needed to make her cum, I needed to make her have an orgasm so good, she could never be with anyone else, and that’s exactly what I did. My thrusts were hard, the grip I had on her hips as I pounded into her would bruise but neither of us cared. The two of us a moaning mess, my ears where filled with praises that left her lips. “Fuck, you feel so good, you fill me up so good” I could tell by the way she fluttered around me her words were true. “Fuck Y/n” I called out. I could feel she was close. “That’s it baby” I praised “Right there, You're close. Just relax baby. I need you to relax for me, don’t fight it” I told her as I continued my assault on her pussy. I reached my hand between us to play with her clit. That put her over the edge. “That’s it baby, I got you, let it out, let it all out” I told her as I continued to fuck her through her orgasm before I pulled out, cumming all over her chest.

That became our routine. After shows we would either go out for dinner or order room service then have some crazy sex. As the weeks went past I found myself falling in love with Y/n and it terrified me. I was scared I was going to hurt her so I pushed myself away. I didn’t even realize it but I had become distant with her. Looking back on it I was kind of a jerk, I was never one for aftercare but with Y/n it was different, I almost found it better than sex, it was more intimate. That was why I fell in love, so, I became distant after sex, I acted like I didn’t care but I cared too much. When she asked what changed I avoided the question, when she asked to be more than just sex I turned it down without thinking. By the time I realized what I did it was too late.

“I’m Sorry Y/n!” I yelled out to the poor girl who stood beneath me with tears in her eyes. “I should have known you were only using me to get your dick wet” She yelled back, her words laced with venom. I knew I fucked up. “Y/n wait! I didn’t mean it.” I yelled but It was too late. She was already grabbing her clothes that were scattered around the room and left before saying “And to think I was in love with you”

****

Since that day at the training facility I couldn't get Y/n out of my head. She was all I thought about 24/7. That day replaying over and over again. But tonight I had a Trois match with the acclaimed against top flight and action andretti and I knew I needed to focus on the match, not Y/n. The match went well, another successful title defense until we were interrupted by bullet club gold. Austin and Colton were obviously still not over how I picked the acclaimed over them, the two of them alongside Juice Robinson requesting a title shot. I was going to say no until they brought up Y/n. “Of course you would say no Billy. I’m honestly shocked you are still with the acclaimed, I know how you are with commitment. I mean you let the love of your life slip through your fingers because you were scared of commitment. I wonder what Y/n would think if she knew you still beat yourself up about it 30 years later. Now you are all alone, still wrestling when you should be retired because you have no one to go home to” Their words stung but they were true “You want a title shot? FINE, Next week Bullet Club Gold Vs The Acclaimed and Daddy Ass!” I yelled back at them!

I sure hope Y/n didn’t hear any of that.

#bullet clubs bitch #aew smut #all elite wrestling #aew #aew fanfiction #billy gunn #Billy Gunn aew #Billy Gunn smut #daddy ass #the acclaimed #daddy ass x reader #Billy Gunn x reader #Billy Gunn fan fic #Billy Gunn one shot #billy funn fluf #Billy Gunn imagine

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delicrieux · 1 year

Text

𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧 | autumn features (november edition)

pairing—aemond targaryen x f!reader summary—an accurate and detailed account of what had truly happened to lady tyrell at court, ages to ten and six to ten and nine. word count—9.6k warnings for this chapter—besides the typical hotd nonsense, there are spoilers for further events in hotd at the very end of this chapter! also tw sa (not at reader) and death tagging @thesadvampire @curlszx88 masterlist. ☕. autumn features. part 1. part 2. extra. ♥

Aegon is well into his cups, despite the hour. There are great lines under his eyes and a flush on his cheeks, messy, bed ridden hair and sloppily thrown on vestments that make him, alone in the hall doused in morning sunlight, seem more as a drunken patron of a local bar rather than a prince. The line of soldiers clears after your entrance and the doors shut with a loud, groaning sound. It echoes, rushes past you and into the carved ceiling. His attention is stolen from the cup in hand and redirected to you.

The change in his expression is instant – from a frowning, stony face to a delirious smile, “…Morning, sister.” His eyes roam your body, down the exposed slope of your shoulders all the way to the tidy hems of your new dress, “Looking…dashing this fine hour.”

“What an hour indeed, brother.” You squeeze between your teeth. He hums, takes a generous gulp; a red drop runs down his chin, as if he was feasting on blood. The sight repulses you, “Hope I’m not intruding.” Your voice does not hold the gentle timbre you present to the rest, but rather a sharp edge that will cut cleaner than dragonsteel if prompted. Your eyes burn into him. He merely snorts.

His chair slides backwards with a creak, “Intrude all you please,” He raises his glass to your honour, “you know I’d never mind, my wife-that-never-was.”

“What privilege do I have for you to call me so.” He doesn’t take your sarcasm to heart—he never does. Mostly he’s too drunk out of his mind to care about your thorny words, “And here I was—“

“Save your speeches for someone who cares to hear them.” He interrupts you, though not unkindly. He’s smiling into his drink before tasting it again, “What do you want, sister?”

You raise a brow, “Would it be so strange for me to seek out your company?”

That gets his attention. Even his posture straightens. There’s a beat of silence before his laughter disrupts it, “Well, then,” He shrugs, drowns his cup, sets it harshly on the table, “you’re engaged to my brother, I’m married, but—“ He smacks his thighs in invitation, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“A conversation will do.” You state.

“And you will find that my lap is the only place I’ll care to listen.”

“Charmed, Aegon.” You bite, “Your eloquence truly has no limits.”

“I hope you to find that my actions are much more engaging than my vocabulary.” He tuts, and a slow, pleased smirk pulls on the corner of his lips, “It would be like nothing you’d felt before, I’m certain. Seven be my witness.”

“What did you do?” The severity in your voice catching him off guard. Stumped, for a moment, he can only stare at you, at your rigid, angry features, tightly clasped hands. But he falls into his role easily, so unperturbed and easy-going, smiling to himself without a care in the world.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“I know it was you.” You say, approaching, and he wilts in his chair a little under the scrutiny of your gaze, “So tell me. Enough of these games, just spit it out so I could fix the mess you have made.” He can’t quite look you in the eye. After a pause, he mumbles something incomprehensible, “Speak up.”

“I didn’t do anything, alright.” He snaps, “Could I at least hear my crime before being prosecuted?”

You huff, “Hear your crime? Don’t be daft, Aegon, your jokes are unbecoming—“

The heavy wooden doors suddenly cry at the hinges and part—in comes a shivering servant girl, her head bent down, holding a pitcher of wine in her trembling hands. She briefly lifts her glassy eyes, the same colour as your own, and quickly looks downward once more, “I-I brought more wine for the Prince.” She announces, but her voice is quiet, rasp, near choked.

You note her untidy dress, dishevelled, (colour) hair, bruised skin around her arms, neck, and shoulders. It’s only too easy to imagine yourself being the recipient of Prince Aegon’s unwanted affection—that was a life you had been saved from. Your gaze slides back to Aegon, and his cheeks are burning red, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

The servant girl scrambles to pour him wine, and all it takes is a twitch of his fingers for her to startle and spill most of it on the floor, “I-I am so sorry, your grace—“

“Come.” You tell her. Setting the pitcher down, she obeys and stumbles over, bottom lip bitten from fright. She tries to adjust her skirt and wipe the remnants of the drink from her hand somewhere where you wouldn’t notice. Tears steadily stream down her cheeks, more and more with each step she takes, and you can barely look at her without flinching, “Have you told anyone?”

She sniffles, “N…No, my lady. I, I only—only went to fetch the wine—“

“Go to my room. Use the servant corridors, and make sure no one sees you. Wait there till I return.”

“My lady—“

“Go. Now.”

She bows and scrambles out the backdoor. Silence reigns broken by your angry breaths. You’re boiling from the inside, and all of that frustration trickles down to your hands where you fiddle with your rings. You think this is what it would feel to burn.

Grinding your jaw you turn to Aegon, “You disgust me.”

He doesn’t pretend to be surprised, merely dips his head, like a child scolded. He scowls, “You forget yourself, Lady Tyrell. You’re speaking to a Prince—”

“Fuck you.” You spit, “Fuck you and your court and your vile antics.”

“Well, if you’re offering—“ He growls, “my lap’s up for the taking.”

“I’d rather hang.”

“And you soon will if you keep speaking like that. Fuck.” He pours himself a drink, downs it, and then pours another, “This the crime I’m punished for? Feeling awfully altruistic, aren’t we, sister? Didn’t give a shit about any of the others, but since this one looks like you—“

“We look nothing alike.”

“You do.” He states, “And you should find my opinion no different from my brother’s—Gods, if you only knew—“

You raise a hand, “The only thing I wish to know is what you told Aemond.”

He leans back in his seat, watching, oddly sober, “Told him what?” He inquires, his voice ringing with a genuine note of curiosity, “That your whole bloodline is full of leeches? Or that you don’t give a shit about the people or the servants in this castle?” He snorts, “Doubt that would be a surprise for him, now, my darling wife on the other hand—“

Your fist thunders down on the table. The cutlery shakes and his cup nearly tumbles over, “Damn it, Aegon!” You hiss, “Tell me what lie you’ve spread so I could salvage this before a greater conflict arises.”

Stunned, he simply stares, “…Had…had something happened? Between you and my brother?”

You gape at him, “…You imbecile.”

“I’ll have you know I had no part in this—“ He quickly states, “—whatever this is. I’m innocent, and quite frankly, you blaming me so baselessly—“

“Seven give me strength…”

“What did you do, anyway?” He asks, “I saw Aemond was in a mood but I just figured—“ He shrugs, “—well, he’s always in a mood. So I didn’t figure anything, really.”

You watch him for a moment, straightening up, “…So you mean to tell me that you truly had no part in this?”

“In what? Trying to break you up? No, learned—“ He quiets quickly, taking his glass.

“Learned what?”

He shrugs again, eyes roaming around the area, “That it’s a bad idea.”

“Oh, a bad idea, I recon?”

“Your intellect almost rivals your beauty, sister.”

“And it shall surely surpass it once you tell me what had happened.”

He holds up a finger, lips turned downward, “…Just to preface, I meant no harm—“

“Speak and I shall decide on the fact.”

“—it was, just, simply, a long…lonely night.” He continues, “And I just, well I figured,” He smiles, though it’s uncomfortable, “not my brightest moment, surely—“

“I’ll grow old before you finish if you keep dallying so.”

“I went to your room.”

“What?”

“And so happened to meet my brother half way and really, now, he was not pleased in the slightest, I almost—where are you going?” Noting your retreat, he stands, “I wouldn’t have done anything!” He calls after you, “Just a chat, (Name)! A fucking chat with an old friend! Gods, you’re prissy just like my brother. You two are perfect for each other! Fucking perfect, you hear?”

The last of his voice gets cut off by the closing door.

You move through the labyrinth of the castle in quick, light steps, hands folded, and though your thoughts blaze with an unfurling scheme, your face betrays none of that inner turmoil. Your ears are hot, and the dress is much too tight to rush in, but you prevail and even manage to beam at the idling lords and ladies on your way to Queen Alicent’s quarters.

Ser Criston must have informed her of your nightly ventures by now – he had caught you in one, but she would be right to assume it had not been the first time you broke a sacred codex of courtly manners. What she thinks of you now may be no better than what Aemond assumes, yet—his name spurts a different image, one that brings this strange tightness to your chest and makes you slow your pace, if barely.

You imagine him there, in the shadowy corridors, lost and conflicted, a wraith that had risen from the grave to seek out something precious. Would his face look even lovelier in moonlight? Would his hair be un-brushed, un-braided, tousled, as if he had ran his fingers through it sleepless before finding you? Would he have remembered to done his leather eye patch, or would he had knocked on your door barefaced, with the emerald gleaming in the dark? Would he had smiled once you invited him inside, or would he had fled before reaching you?

You think that you may have been waiting for him on the eve of his name day, alone in your silks, alert for a gentle knock or a push on the door that informed of a visitor you had been anticipating. Your heart was beating in your throat, and you were restless, pacing back and forth, and while you had assumed you were simply anxious to report to mother, perhaps there had been a different cause entirely.

As if summoned, he appears from behind the corner and you nearly run into his chest, stopping just in time. Momentarily stunned, he says nothing; you note his hands clench into firsts before loosening, promptly hidden behind his back.

“Lady Tyrell.” He greets with leer, and you have, by now, realised that the brothers only refer to you as that when they are deeply displeased or wish to wound you—to remind you that you are not family, despite growing up with them, despite loving them, despite being promised to one of them. And from Aemond, your name sounds particularly dull, as if you were nothing but a passing acquaintance.

You would like to think that it does not hurt, to think you had felt worse, and surely will feel worse in the future – this court and it’s secrets and it’s deceit will wear you down, eventually, as it does to most. But it does hurt. It’s a small poke to a wound that’s barely scabbed and prone to bleeding.

“You seem to be in an awful hurry.” He comments when you don’t respond, “Pray tell where is it that you’re running. Or is someone chasing you, perhaps?”

You keep your smile cordial, “I have important news for your mother the Queen I wish to deliver. Excuse me.”

You brush past him, but his firm hand on your forearms halts you, “I’m curious about this news. Indulge me?”

Even through layers of linen and leather his touch burns you. You would shrug him off, if only it did not feel so pleasant, “It is best kept between your mother the Queen and I, my prince.” His face does not change at the nickname. You recall when he was young, when his cheeks would blaze bright by your call.

He had been gentle once, pliant in your hands. You could have moulded him into anything you wished to.

Vhagar never gave you the chance.

He chuckles—it’s a deep, hoarse sound somewhere in the back of his throat, “Something even I can’t know? My, must be of the gravest importance.”

“It is.”

His hold slackens and you break free. Two steps are all you manage to take before, “Pretty dress.” He says, and it’s an indolent remark. You turn back, “Is there an occasion for it?”

“I’m a Tyrell.” You remind, “I have many pretty dresses, as you should know.”

“I was only curious if there was someone you wished to impress by wearing it.”

“If that were the case, that would only be my future husband, who, as it seems, does not care much for my efforts. I must away, now.”

“Husband, you say?” He wonders aloud, mirthless, “If memory recalls you have been promised to a few.”

“Yet I’m set to marry only one.”

He hums, “Yes, though, you were quite adamant in breaking off that engagement as well—or am I wrong, Lady Tyrell?”

He’s so smug with his observations, so effortlessly poised despite pointing a dagger to your throat. You swallow, and your composure cracks—that smile you had practiced so many times in the mirror falls, “I should think a prince would have better things to do than insult his lady wife,” You speak, “but once again, you Targaryens prove to be unpredictable. If you have nothing else to say—“

“Did you see my brother?” He questions, and his eye is fixed on you, watching carefully for any unplanned movement, any twitch and pull of a lie.

“I have,” You admit, “and if you must know, he is why I must see the Queen in the first place.”

“And it is so important that you can’t even tell me.”

You take a step closer, frowning, hissing, “There’s a serving girl in my quarters, one of many to which he shows his affections, and unless you wish the line for the throne to be even more complicated than it already is, I suggest you leave this be.”

“In your quarters?” He raises a brow, “Pray tell, does she look like you as well?” His hand comes to touch your hair, but you swat it away with a slap. There’s faint amusement in his voice, though his features are as if set in stone, “Perhaps she even bares your name and title—“

You turn away. It’s a quick spin and retreat and you feel your throat closing, lashes trembling, molars grinding. But your back is straight, and your head is held high, and you think of Highgarden and the flowers, carefree days of tea ceremonies and rehearsals, as he continues talking, his voice growing further and further away. Once out of sight, you bitterly wipe a stray tear from your cheek.

He had been gentle once, how had he become so cruel?

Queen Alicent had always been most kind to you, and you had always supposed that she regarded you more as a daughter than her own—more as a child born out of her womb than any of the Targaryens she must call her children. Her sombre features were always quick to break into a smile in your presence, and she loved to hold your hands, trace the lines of your palms, and talk about anything, be it the weather. And when your presence is announced, by Ser Criston of all, she swiftly brakes away from her papers and stands to greet you.

Your exchange is quiet; voice soft, ruptured by a devotion you feel somewhere deep—it’s heavy, ivory, without it you’d feel like missing a bone. You report dutifully, as any good-mannered lady should, of the vile actions of the Prince. She is not astounded by the news, and meets it with a tilted head and a small grimace.

Arrangements are made to brew a tea for the poor girl waiting in your bedchamber. Before you leave Alicent calls after you gently, “I know that you are innocent.”

That dark, red room full of incense flashes in your mind, and you glance at her. She smiles, “Ser Criston had…told me he had found you wandering on the hour of the owl.”

“I was only out to clear my head.”

“I know, my—“ She pauses, clears her throat, “I know, (Name). I know. But where I believe you, others may not, so I only ask of you this: no more. I know, I know you may feel…trapped, at times.” She says that word with such heaviness and hurt you feel she is no longer referring to you, “But,” She composes herself hastily, “but it’s the way it is. Such is our duty, as women of the court.”

“I understand, your grace.” You bow, “It was foolish of me. I shall never do so again.”

You see your murky reflection on the polished floor, the cap of your satin shoes embroidered and jewelled peeping out under the hems of your dress—the same shoes your wear to visit the poorest of districts in King’s Landing. The soles are no longer spotless and the rubies had been coated in a thin layer of dust. They don’t sparkle anymore with every step you take down the crumbled stairs. The peasantry sticks to corners, crevices, small nooks where they can hide and feel safe with the walls of their shabby homes protecting them. They watch you with weakly masked awe and distrust. The crowd of soldiers slinks behind you, keeping their distance by your request.

A flock of servant girls trail alongside, arms-linked and cheery, carrying woven baskets of fruit and silk you intend to give out to those less fortunate. It’s a bi-yearly trek, all of the sake of reputation. Your heart does neither weep nor ache at the sight of a sick child or a whoring mother selling her body to feed her family—these streets, with their filth and sweat and doleful hope, do not inspire much to you at all.

It’s a hot afternoon. You are all purged under the rays of the sun.

Your hands grasp smaller ones with a twirl, and you smile and laugh with the children you pulled into a short dance, “My lady!” One of the servant girls squeak, “You’ll ruin your dress!”

“I have others.” You respond easily. The children hold you so tightly you think they do not want to let you go.

“My lady,” As evening slowly draws across the sky, one of your handmaidens springs to your side with a whisper, “I must inform you of what I’ve heard.” Your head barely tilts to the side, so her lips would speak into your ear only. The streets swim with patrons; your guards march in the back with their armour reflecting the setting sun, “Though, I fear to even speak it, for, my lady, sweet and gentle as you are, you may faint.”

Gracefully, your hand extends, and she produces a linen cloth on which you wipe away the grime from your fingers, “Things seldom surprise me anymore, Laenora.” You utter. The hike to the castle is long, and your legs have grown tired and smile stiff from all this theatre, “But if you feel as though it is something I may not care for, save it for yourself.”

“I think you should know, my lady, though it’s no subject for one pure as you.”

“Do not speak of purity here, Laenora. These people do not know of it.”

“Indeed, my lady, and thus you find my conflict. The news I bare comes from the mouths of the women themselves, and I trust their secrets, as they trust in your coin. It’s about the brothers, see—both of them have become frequent visitors of the Street of Silk.” She nearly mouths the name, repulsed to even voice it. A frown lines her lips and her eyes gleam with sadness—surely, you would find this news most unpleasant, especially since your husband-to-be is entangled in this hearsay.

The news of Aegon is hardly news at all, and Aemond, despite his mostly polite behaviour, is still a man. Perhaps he had taken your comments to heart, “…I see.” Is all you manage to say. It’s not disappointment you feel, though it’s not nothing, either.

“But that is not all, my lady,” Laenora resumes, “no, not at all, for what comes next is, I’m afraid, what may shock you still.”

“Well, speak it.” You state plainly, lifting your dress to trudge up the stairwell—the expanse of the castle looms ahead, towering under the gem-blue sky.

“The women had told me, yes, they’ve said, and I could find no lie, for they love coin, their truth is bought, much like their bodies—see, my lady, they indeed confessed, that once the princes come to visit, they only request girls that bare your likeness.”

You inhale sharply and your heart tumbles to the pit of your stomach, as if you missed a step by accident. You glance at her, and she is as serious as she ever was, apologetic, almost, to have to relay such indecencies. You recall what Aegon had hinted at many moons ago, and now it all suddenly makes sense.

“…This is…” You begin, not certain how to weave all of your thoughts into a coherent sentence, “Well…”

“Troubling news, my lady, I know.” She murmurs, and her hands come to hold yours tenderly, as if you would bear the weight of this secret easier if it’s shared between two, “I’m sorry, but you must know, I fear, you must.”

“You mustn’t tell anyone else. Not a soul.”

“I will not, my lady, this I swear; it shall be kept between us only.”

The next you see Aemond is by the dinner table doused in candle-light. The old walls of the Keep echo with silent chatter and clanking cutlery, Aegon’s offbeat laugh or loud jousting of his cup. The King is much too ill to ever join for supper anymore—he you see little, only when invited by the Queen herself to pay a visit. The Lord Hand keeps the King’s seat warm whilst he’s resting. You had noticed this subtle shift in power veer and spill over into blatant occupation. The décor had changed, too: all gloomy and wooden and in reverence to the Seven.

Aemond does not look at you; he seems to skip you as his gaze roams around the table. He is still at cross with you, and when you meet the next day in Helaena’s room, he hardly speaks a word.

The weeks shift into months and your name day looms over the horizon. The fog-laden morning in King’s Landing brims with sleep. The Dragon Pit reeks of flesh and blood and odour, and you have trouble keeping your grimace at bay. You shift in your armour: thousands of leather straps dyed in deep evergreen and fashioned to hold by pins of silver baring the Tyrell crest.

Sunfyre trails the clouds before stooping to the roof with a mighty roar. The sound nearly knocks the wind out of your lungs. Aegon, beside you, laughs merrily, “Sister!” He calls you; the ground shakes as Sunfyre lands, a smelting hot breath of putrid air gushing past the lot of you, “Ride with me, why don’t you?”

“Aegon!” Helaena scolds, fixing her gloves, “Must you jest now?” Her own dragon, Dreamfyre, is being escorted from the Pit, mollified and gentle, much like her. The dragon-keepers speak in High Valerian – what they say is beyond you, and though the language is beautiful, it’s too sharp, like a whip, or a gleaming tooth of a dragon, “Sister,” Her loving smile calms you, if only for a moment, “you needn’t be nervous—“

But her words are drowned in a far-off roar that cracks the sky into two. Aegon is still laughing as he saddles Sunfyre, staring into the swirling clouds and at the vague shape of a massive body casting an even greater shadow. The Queen shakes her head and closes her eyes, as if to shield herself from an upcoming headache. Noting your gaze on her, her lips twitch into a painful smile, “We shall see you shortly. It will be a…” She glances up, “A…quick flight, I recon.”

And there, from the forming storm clouds emerges Vhagar with a splint of sunlight raining down with her. She circles the Pit, slowing, before, gradually, she descends and you note a mane of white hair twirling from behind her head. You hold onto Helaena as she clings to you from the fearsome quake: dust dances in the air a hot vapour slices past your cheeks. The keepers gather, sharp staffs in hand and faces healed in boils, ushering you closer with curt, displeased motions. You dare not move.

You had met Vhagar only twice and it was enough to dissuade you from ever meeting her again. It’s her eyes that frighten you most, ancient and intelligent—she has seen cities burn and be raised again from the ground up, and had, surely, been part of many of such conquests. She’s massive, a body that radiates heat and smoke, with glimmering scales and acute, angular bones. You must crank your neck to look at her, and you grind your jaw to keep your lips from trembling.

This, you think, is what all of it had been for: all of your lessons and ceremonies and late-night dance practices. Perhaps even your own conception. Born and raised to get the only thing the great families of the Seven Kingdoms do not have – dragons. It doesn’t matter which. Power is power, and one breath from either Dreamfyre or Vhagar would leave but a charred shape of you on the floor.

You taste dirt and blood on your tongue, but your features set into grim determination. The leather is uncomfortable and it scathes your skin, but you try your best to ignore it. I’m no warrior, your mind sounds discouraged, I’m not made for this. But your dread hardly matters, if at all. It’s their world and their rules, and the Targaryens have never been considerate.

The keepers help you up, and as you climb, Aemond extends his hand for you to take. Whether he feels the quiver of your body or not is hardly a concern—the beast rumbles beneath you, and one wrong move and you may fall and injure yourself, perhaps incurably. You keep your eyes strained downward anticipating any sudden shift or warning of Vhagar’s discontent. It never comes.

Plopped onto the saddle in front of Aemond, you feel his chest hit your back; silken hair frays in the sides of your vision, and his chin dips to touch your shoulder, “You best hold on tight.” You hear the smirk in his voice more than see it, and your fingers clench around the reigns so tightly they go numb. His arms cage around your waist, “Would you like to steer her?”

“Aemond.” You hiss.

“Surely you know the way to your own home better than I.”

Sunfyre takes off with a gust of wind and a howl; Vhagar stirs beneath you, “I trust your memory, my prince,” You state, “for if you can find my room in the shadows of the night, surely you’ll be able to navigate to Highgarden in broad daylight.”

He stiffens, and the last you hear before take-off is a shout in High Valerian that nearly deafens you.

You feel like something tore out of you and was left with Queen Alicent watching her children fly Reach-ward—your stomach drops and you feel sluggish and heavy, as if the ground was calling back to you. The wind tears at you and it’s so strong that it makes your eyes water and lips frost; in daze, you fall into Aemond’s embrace. He’s mercifully silent about holding your weight. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed it.

The dragons dance and weave through the clouds. Dew collects on your armour and your nose and it’s so cold you barely catch your breath—but then the vistas open, great plain fields and far off mountains soaked in sunlight, the castles and halls of the Red Keep and the maze of the city all minuscule, toy-like, as if made from clay and wax. The world seems to fit in the palm of your hand. Momentarily, you lift it, as if to touch that great expanse, and you laugh, bell-like and wondrous.

“Told you!” Heleana shouts through the noise of flapping wings, “You needn’t be afraid, sister!”

You flash her a smile before Dreamfyre dips and rushes to catch up to Aegon. The journey continues for hours before the first stop. You ride along with the sun, and when night falls, you slumber in the grassy fields under the starry sky, and take flight once more when day breaks.

Its high noon and tears have dried in the creases of your eyes. Your muscles are stiff and aching and your arms and thighs sting from the imprints of fine leather. Before you, the alabaster towers of Highgarden manifest and grow larger. You lean in as your skin prickles with anticipation – finally, after years of playing at court, you are home.

Yellow-violet wild-flowers swim in your vision. Rose-vines cling to sturdy, ivory stone and sling from windowsills—the air is tinted with pollen, and the ground underneath your feet has never been so unsteady. A flock of servants and soldiers greet you in the outskirts of the city, and the girls hold your arms and all you can see are their grinning faces and flushed cheeks as they dote on you.

“Oh, my lady, Gods be good, you poor, poor woman—“

“—your hands, oh, gracious be the Seven!” One aches once she pulls off you glove.

“—and your hair—“

“—everyone has already gathered awaiting your return—“

“—you must feel faint, my lady, please, away with us—“

“Someone fetch the honey-wine! What had the royal cooks been feeding you—“

“—and the rose-water! Oh, I dread to think—”

“---prepare the oils! This way, my lady—“

“—come, come please, mind your step—“

Aegon’s hearty laugh does little to distract them from their mission. They seat in you a plush, velvety chair in the shade of a white linen tent, and they are quick to fetch the brushes and silk cloths wet with warm rose water and dab fragrant oils under your jaw. Helaena is soon seated beside you, and she’s much more receptive to the loving touches of the maids. They wipe the sweat off of her forehead and rouge her cheeks, fix her braids and help her pick a dessert from the assortment of buns, tarts, pies, glossed, syrupy candy, and melted chocolate cups.

The princes watch the scene unfold with varying states of amusement—Aegon seems ready to burst from laugher and Aemond does not seem to be affected at all, save for the brow he had raised once one of the maids remarked about the stench. It pervades, the smell of dragon, of warm blood and sweat and torn flesh, and it seems to cling to your skin no matter how many oils the maids rub into it. They are dissatisfied with such and entrance, and regard the Targaryens and their large pets with cautious, bleary eyes and pouted lips.

It must seem so silly to the princes, this exuberant greeting. But they fail to understand where they are. Helaena giggles as she sips wine mixed with honey; the girls brush her hair, the pointy edges of golden pins shining when caught in light. One word from you and the maids would slip something into the drink or the powder that coats the princess’ cheeks; weave poison into her robes, or the guards, with a raise of your hand, would slit their throats now or when they slept.

They’re in the court of roses, now. They hold no power here. No one outside the Reach does.

Once the servant girls decide that you’re presentable, a carriage of refined wood and silver ornaments rolls around. They lead Helaena to it, holding her hands and smiling at her words, though you know they likely do not understand what she’s saying. You seldom do, as well. Prince Aegon takes a seat by his wife, already nursing his second cup and entertained without end, delighted by such attention.

A guard brings you a steed, white as snow and smooth as satin, the finest horse in our stables, he says. It’s a lovely mare, and you gently run your hand down its snout. You smile, and it’s just a tad happier than it usually is, “She’s beautiful. Thank you.”

You mount her easily, and this saddle is much more confortable. “Will you not join us in the carriage, my betrothed?” Aemond questions.

You glance at him, “In full armour? I think not. We shall speak more in the castle. After the ceremonies, that is.”

“I should like to ride a horse as well, then.”

“Why? Haven’t had enough of your dragon?”

He grins, though you’re entirely certain he’s mocking you, “I only think it wise that husband and wife should meet the kind people of Highgarden alongside one another. Or would you disagree?”

The guards and stable-hands turn away from Aemond’s prompting look and seek your guidance instead. Bored, you comment, “Get him a horse.”

“Right away, my lady.”

The gates part to the sound of trumpets. The carriage rolls in first, and then you follow along with Aemond, who, despite getting what he had wanted, seems personally slighted by the act of your servants. Petals dance in the air and coat the road underneath the wheels of the carriage. The noise is deafening—people are clapping, waving, celebrating and singing, with their flowers and cups held high over their heads. The royal family rejoices at such reverence, but you know, and it’s a prideful inkling in your chest that these crowds had gathered for you.

You, only daughter of the Lord of Highgarden, you, wonderful lady Tyrell, you, princess-to-be in the wake of your name day have returned home. To them it would seem no different than as if you had returned from war. The twin dragons, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, take to the sky. The crowd screams in delight at the display. As you weave through the roads leading up to the castle, you don’t stop smiling.

Past the blooming gardens and twinkling fountains, bakeries and shops of finest silks, smithies and jewellers and ripe orchids next to stained glass Septs. High ranking lords and ladies gather by the castle, and your path is paved by yellow roses. There’s music, fragments of sonnets lost to the rhythmical sound of drums, and the air is tinted with so many fragrances that it makes your head spin.

You dismount and dip your head in greeting before entering the castle you grew up in. The hall is lined with soldiers bearing the Tyrell crest and only marginally quieter than outside. The painted ceiling is just as you remember it – vivid and detailed, a depiction of the mythical reign of the first King of the Reach. It’s all gold and ivory and intricate carvings on polished wood. The Red Keep pales in the shadow of this opulence.

At the very end of the hall you spot your father sat in his seat, not unlike a throne. Beside him stands your mother, smothered in her silks and shawls and great luminescent pearls. She’s smiling to herself in the same way she has taught you how, and their position in the very back of the room on the chequered floor reminds you of chess.

This is nothing but a game, too.

You halt, and the Targaryen children stop behind you, silenced by the grandiosity of their surroundings.

“Lady Paramount of the Mander, daughter of the Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach and Warden of the South,” The announcer’s voice rings shrill in the silence, “Lady (Name) Tyrell.”

“It’s good to see you again, father.” You voice.

“Along with come the princes of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, the children of the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms: Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena Targaryen.”

Aegon leans over to you with a whisper, “…Not much of an introduction in comparison.”

Welcome to the court of roses, you wish to say. You only smile.

Your name day is but in three months, and if all the lords and ladies that matter wish to attend, the invitations need to be sent out immediately. Your day is spent signing letters and melting in hot steam baths. You return to your room late into the evening.

It is just how you have left it that many years ago, large and spotless, aired out well. You smell flowers, and when you move to your bedside window, from it you see the rose gardens and a fountain in which you would throw coins into with a wish. What was it that you had wished for? You can’t recall, but you know it had been something dear, something that made you hold the coin to your heart and shut your eyes real tight. But what could a girl that has everything even dream of? You suppose you’ll never know.

Despite the rough journey, sleep does not come. When the fires are blow out and the castle is silent, you leave your room. The guards standing watch merely dip their head in acknowledgement—you know that, even if the King himself demanded them to state where you had left, they wouldn’t say a word, not unless your father ordered them. Their loyalty to the crown only goes as far as you.

It would be a fib to admit that when you entered the library, you hadn’t expected to find Aemond there. Perhaps the only reason you only came here is for the fact that you knew he could not sleep, either. You felt it, in your heart of hearts, and you went into the room quietly, almost anxious to disturb the sacred peace that pervades it.

It’s a large space, lined by tall bookshelves full of heavy old tomes. The collection of scrolls and books is almost as impressive as in Old Town, if not more—most of them had been collected from the great ages past, gifts from Targaryen kings or bought from the best treasure hunters in Essos. There are relics fished out the Narrow Sea and sunken treasures; custom busts from the Westerlands and diadems from the Vale; cases of old Dornish armour and even fragments of engraved stone from Sothoryos, or so the legends go. The air smells like dry parchment, ink, and sandalwood. If Aemond were to explore any place in Highgarden, it would be here.

He’s sat by a large table with a book in hand, and he has changed out of his coat and leather into pale linen robes. The flickering light paints strange shadows on his face, and you must admit that to you, standing there, between the arches, he looks lovelier than anything you had ever seen. His eye lifts to catch you and the book shuts harshly. His jaw moves, and he slowly sets his reading down.

“Out on one of your walks, I take it.” He mutters. You hum, pretend to be interested in a book pressed in leather in vellum. The printed title reads THE HISTORY OF HOUSE TYRELL, “Is this your first stop?”

“The night is young,” You say, not at all troubled by his tone, “and I am home after many years.” You glance at him, “I shall walk where I please.”

He opens the book again, though his eye does not move to skim the pages, “How did it end, by the way?” He says just a tad louder, “With that servant girl in your room.”

“With tea.”

“I heard the taste is quite bitter.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“How curious.”

“Why is that I am prosecuted from a crime I did not commit?” You question, drawing closer, “I don’t understand, Aemond, what had I done to upset you. Should I swear in the Sept for you to believe me? Or take off my clothes so you could check for yourself?”

He pauses mid-turn of a page, and his eye grows wider in the dim light. He turns to you and you smile, satisfied with such a reaction.

“Awfully quick to suggest that, (Name).” He bites, leaving the book once more. He stands, and his anger is made clear by a scowl, “Must you always disrobe yourself to prove the truth?”

“Why, my proposal was most innocent in nature,” You say, “I figured that, seeing as my lips speak only lies, my actions would persuade you to drop this hearsay, since you would be able to see for yourself. Though,” You feign exhaustion with a shrug and a sigh, “I suppose there’s not much to expect when you have only one eye to see now, is there, husband?”

His fingers cage around your wrist and pull, harshly. “Release me at once.” You snarl, trying to break free. His touch burns under the raw imprints left by your armour. Pain shoots up your arm. He does not budge.

You hit his chest, and when he refuses to back down, you hit it again, “I shall have your hand for that.” He says, grasping the other.

“Then take it.” You hiss, “Take it and my tongue, as you had sworn to do on many occasions. Keep on your promise, my prince, for I shall come to think you dishonour your word.” You reel in, glare into his eye, “And what good is a man that does not keep his word?”

He breathes out, his lips quirking with a smile, “As you wish.”

He captures your mouth in a kiss that knocks the air out of your lungs, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you flush against him. Your hands plant on his shoulders, and in retaliation you bite his lip which only serves him to push you to the wall. Your head aches but neither of you let go, limbs tangled and breaths spent, nails clawing at his shirt and his fingers tearing at your dress.

You taste copper and when he pulls away his lips are swollen, the lower bleeding from your bite. You stare at it, transfixed, and when you meet his gaze you feel dizzy for no one had ever regarding you with such desire. He steps back, releases you, and you feel weak in the knees. He wipes the remains of the kiss from his lips with the back of his hand, “…Satisfied?” He asks. His voice is hoarse and your heart leaps faster just so you could hear more of it. Your jaw clenches, lips thinning into a line. He grins, “I take your silence as a resounding yes, then. Do have a good night, Lady Tyrell.”

The celebration of your tenth and eight name day begins well into the morning, with Tyrell banners fluttering in the wind. Heaps of flowers decorate every corner, and even the townies that are not invited to the feast done their best robes in case you would be wandering around. The main hall brews with life once the sun sets beneath the horizon—candles and incense, silk shawls, gold and glass roses, the finest delicacies coin can buy.

The pile of gifts grows larger—from Pentosian rugs made from the richest yarn, pearl encrusted porcelain eggs for jewellery, to amber pins and rings from the Summer Sea. The lords, with their sons and daughters, keep adding to the mass that crams the table. The King, sick as he is, does not manage to hide the awe from his features, “Those are some fine riches.” He tells the Queen.

She smiles, slightly, taking a sip of her drink, “Indeed. Perhaps rivalling the Lannister dowry, even.”

“Your daughter is most beloved.” Says the King to your mother.

“She is, truly,” She agrees, her eyes catching you dancing with a lord from Old Town, “and there had been many that fought for her hand. Many of which had been your cousins, your grace.” This she says to the Queen.

“We figured,” Your father continues, “that it would be best to marry her to someone we know and trust.” He glances at Lord Otto Hightower seated by the Queen.

“And thus, combining our strength and our armies,” Your mother smiles at the King, “and the rich history between our houses. A splendid union, I believe.”

“Aegon would have been a good husband.” The King notes. The said man himself is drowning cups by a table full of ladies from the Vale.

“That we do not doubt.” Your mother chirps, “Only we thought, and we acted in the interested of the crown and its people, that a Prince Targaryen should have a Targaryen wife.”

“My son’s not the king,” Viserys says, “why on earth should it matter?”

Your mother glances at Lord Hightower, “Yet he is the first-born son, and so, privy to tradition.”

“How well said.” The Queen mumbles.

“What is more, your grace,” Lord Otto speaks up, “we have noticed a…growing affection between Lady (Name) and Prince Aemond.”

“Truly, they had always gotten along beautifully.” Your mother remarks.

“And is it not better to wed from love?” Your father proposes.

The King looks to his wife, and he is old, and weary, and he regards her with something akin to sadness, “…I suppose you are right, Lord Tyrell. A marriage born from love,” He holds her hand weakly, and something within Alicent cracks cleanly into two, “is a fine, strong union. I couldn’t have thought of a better idea myself.”

As parents continue their idle chatter, you bow to the lord that had been keeping you on your feet for a while now. The dance is over and you’re spent, and as soon as you lift your head a glass of wine is placed in your hand, one you gulp down greedily. The visitors clap as the musicians tune their instruments. Aegon is whispering to a blushing maiden dressed in pale blue; Helaena is smitten with a Baratheon Lord that keeps suggesting her pastries; Aemond sits alone, watching, his drink grasped tightly in his hand.

Before you catch a break, a Lannister lord saunters over, requesting a dance. You’re much too giddy to deny him. His advances are halted when the King takes a stand, and the hall falls into a hush. He smiles, though it seems more as a grimace, and holds up his cup in a toast, “I wish to say a few words, if the lady of the house permits me.” He begins, and his request is directed at you, one you graciously accept with a shy dip of your head, “Many years ago, I, too, was ten and eight, and not nearly as smart nor as charming as our deeply treasured flower of the court.” The crowd laughs, and your hands land on your beating heart, “It is a privilege, I do think,” He continues, “to call you family, and a great honour to have you wed my son.”

Your eyes flick in Aemond’s direction, only to find him already looking at you.

“Thus I toast to your health and beauty and eagerly look forward to saying yet another speech at your wedding.”

The crowd cheers. You can barely contain your joy. The Lannister lord tries his luck yet again, though this time Aemond replaces him. The former tries to protest but one look and he retreats, frightened. You can’t help but laugh. The musicians strum a tune.

“And here I figured,” You speak, palms aligned with his; you circle one another, at ease, despite in the peripherals of everyone in attendance, “you wouldn’t dance with me.”

“I’m only performing my duties as your husband.”

You snort and spin and your dress fluffs and the ornaments in your hair jingle, “Not yet.”

Somewhere deep down you know you should be angry with him and his coldness, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“But soon.” His hands fall on your waist and he lifts you, “Have you thought much of it? Our wedding.”

“Mother hardly lets me speak a word of anything else.” You state, passing him; you fall a step back, “She’s deeply concerned with the invitations. And seating arrangements.” You comment slyly, as if divulging a great conspiracy.

A smile pinches on the side of his lips, “It’s awfully long, I recon.”

“Every lord and lady worth a coin will be invited. If only to sit outside and watch from afar.”

Your arm slinks around his shoulders and he pulls you close, his nose brushing your cheek, “Do I have a say in this arrangement?” But his voice is missing its usual sarcastic drawl.

He’s light on his feet, refined. You would expect nothing else from a brilliant swordsman, “Only if you wish.” You murmur into his ear.

“Then I should like to wed you alone.” He says as you part, “With no audience.”

“Do you not fancy the Lannister lords?” You raise a brow, “I do think they’re quite funny.”

“I don’t fancy any lords.” He states, “Least of all, the Lannisters.”

You twirl with a laugh, “Then let us invite no one,” You sing, “and let our witness be the moon.”

“Considering how fond our families are of theatrics, I doubt such a thing would work.”

Reunited once again, you stand close as the floor floods with dancers, “I shall not tell if you won’t.” You say, glancing at his lips.

He exhales harshly and lets you go. So ends your dance. Your arm is locked with Helaena’s and you’re spun once more.

The festivities continue long into the night, even after you retire. Drowsy and drunk and barely able to stand, you unclasp the necklaces and lose the gloves, throw it all onto the vanity. Your earrings, then, and at last, the pins and ornaments in your hair, and you see your dazed reflection in the mirror, and you smile to yourself, buzzing. Usually, you would not allow yourself such indulgence, even alone. But there is no one around, and you are ten and eight, and you are young, and beautiful, and happy.

And absolutely wine-drunk. Aegon made sure of the fact.

Incense curls into white smoke. Your room drowns in candle light.

The door slowly creaks open and you startle, heart skipping a beat when a tall, slender figure enters and shuts it behind him. Aemond is still in his festive robes, though his shirt is unbuttoned, and his hair is frazzled from the wind. He briefly marvels at the pinks, greens, and lavenders of your room. Such soft colours.

“You should not be here.” You say, though it’s hardly a request to leave.

“Your dogs made my journey quite a hassle.” He says, voice rasp, thoughtful. He’s referring to your guards, “One was most adamant to not let me through.” There’s a note of warning in his tone.

You smile, tilt your head, “They have a sworn duty to protect me.”

“He swayed my hand.”

You quirk a brow, “Surely you didn’t hurt the pup?”

He hums, approaching, “As I said,” but when close enough, he doesn’t move to touch you, “He swayed my hand.”

“I shall need to have a talk with my father, then.” You remark, “For if only one tried to defend my honour, we have little use for the rest that did not.”

His hand lands on the side of your jaw—it’s rough from training, yet all the more pleasant. “I thought you stuck to your quarters on the hour of the owl.” You murmur.

His gaze jumps between your eyes, “You know very well that I do not.” He admits, “Where were you, that night?”

“Out to see my mother.”

“Why?”

You gulp, “I couldn’t sleep. I waited for you, but you never came.”

“I did.” He says, “But you were already gone by then. Why not tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t have.”

“You hurt me, you know.” You tell him.

“And I fear that if you marry me,” His thumb caresses your cheek, “I may hurt you yet.”

You smile, “That is a risk I am willing to take. Only if you promise to never be so harsh with me again.”

“I am unworthy of you.”

Your lips, once again, grace the ragged skin of his scar, “You’re a worthy prince, I know‘t.”

He kisses you again, though it’s soft this time, tender, and you can taste the wine in his mouth. His arms snake around your waist and your tangle into his hair, carding through it.

“I have craved your mouth,” He murmurs as he breaks away, peppering kisses down your neck, “for a long time. As a man in the desert craves cool water. And now that I have you,” Once you’re face to face again, your fingers gently pull at his eye-patch, “How could I ever think to let you go?”

“Then don’t.” You whisper, and finally, he’s unmasked; the leather falls to the floor, forgotten, and the prettiest emerald you had even seen glimmers in candlelight.

“Is that what you want?”

“It is what I had always wanted.”

He kisses you again, and it is as if you are back in the library, no longer fighting the passion that grew over the years. His hand sweeps over the vanity and all of its continents fall to the floor, though neither of you care enough to part. And as you’re seated, legs parted, and his warm hands working on the knots in your corset, the party continues with music and howls of joy. The visitors dance and wine is spilled and the moon shines through the clouds, illuminating a shooting star.

But they feast on foals at dawn.

The Red Keep quakes with a wail. In one wing, Helaena is crumbled to the floor, screaming, pressing her dead child to her chest as if her beating heart would wake him.

On the other side of the castle, you watch as first sunlight casts on the cradle drenched in blood. Maids buzz around you and cry, and all you can do is stare at the forming puddle on the polished tiles before you fall to your knees, your fingers gripping at your stomach. Your girl, your only one, long awaited and beloved, dead before her first name day.

The Gods are cruel and war is kind to no one. You don’t recognise the sound that leaves your lips. You hardly comprehend the pain. There are hands pulling at you but all you can see is the blood. How red it is, and how much it looks like fire in the light.

Fire and blood, have you not lost enough?

FIRE & BLOOD, EXCERPTS FROM THE CHAPTER “FLOWER OF THE COURT”

Princess (Name) Targaryen, nee Tyrell, Lady of Highgarden, was the only daughter of the Lord Tyrell and his lady wife. She came to court young in preparation to marry Prince Aegon II as a conspiracy to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, as concocted by the shared interest to unite the forces between the Tyrell and Hightower families. The circumstances as to the switch between the princes is unknown, though it is said that Prince Aemond and, then Lady, (Name), were deeply in love and had requested to marry. […] Their friendship was solid and love unwavering, and it said that they got along well as children and were even closer as adults.

[…] Princess (Name) was kind and deeply beloved by the court and peasantry alike, and she is said to have loved her people in return. Her selflessness is, to this, day, remembered, and a garden of the best flowers from the Reach has been tended to in the Keep in her honour ever since […].

[…] with the death of Prince Lucerys […] came the death of Prince Jaehaerys, the heir to the Iron Throne, and Princess Visenya, daughter of Princess (Name) and Prince Aemond Targaryen. The deaths of the children took a terrible toll on the Greens and greatly weakened their resolve. […].

Soon after the dance began, Princess (Name), along with numerous servants and her mother, died in the siege led by Prince Daemon Targaryen. Prince Aemond Targaryen did not find out of her passing till […].

And so ended the summer of Princess (Name)’s reign and came to the winter of her wake. Her father, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach and Warden of the South, remarried shortly after, though it is said that he never recovered from the death of his daughter and lady wife.

notes: ty everyone for such a warm & loving response from everyone regarding this fic <3 i unexpected fell in love w it & i’m so glad to see that u have, too! this chapter was supposed to feature like 10 more things, but i couldn’t add all of that since then a) it would be too long, b) narrative wise, it would drag on & not make sense. i might write some one shots regarding these two, though ^_^ thanks again, everyone! can’t wait to see my babygirl in season 2

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #game of thrones #imagine #imagines #got x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader #aemond one eye #angst #autumn features 2022

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suckerforcate · 1 year

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Heyyy, I absolutely adored your larissa weams xteacher!reader piece as well as your Joyce Byers xOC smut piece!!! I was wondering if you could write something for Narcissa Malfoy? Maybe where the reader admits their feelings and she's just stunned... or something? I was thinking the reader could be a teacher at hogwarts or a worker at the ministry of magic? Oh and an age gap would be highly appreciated lol...Smut if you want to add some spice to it (; ~@cardlover010155

Weak Knees

Pairing: Narcissa Malfoy x teacher!Reader

Word Count: 1898

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Mommy Kink, fingering, eating out

A/n: I really hope you like it @cissyenthusiast010155 and that this is how you imagined it. It was my first time writing for Cissa so I hope I got it right.

"Come in." You sat at your desk, grading papers when you had heard a gentle knock. You didn't look up when someone opened the door and stepped in. Just as the door was already closed again you saw who the visitor was. And it wasn't who you expected. You thought it'd be a student or a colleague. But in front of you stood Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mrs. Malfoy, what a pleasant surprise. Please sit down." You gestured for her to sit down on the chair in front of your desk. She thankfully accepted the offer and sat down.

"Please Ms.(Y/l/n). Call me Narcissa." You smiled and slightly nodded.

"If you wish. But then I must insist that you call me (Y/n)."

"I was pleasingly surprised as I heard that you're head of Slytherin now. I always knew you to be highly qualified for the position."

"Thank you very much. I hope to do my best. How can I help you?" Your eyes roamed over her. She still looked just as good as she did the last time you saw her. If not better. The end of war must have had good impact on her.

"I need Draco's graduation certificate. He would like to apply at the Ministry of Magic. After the war our house was searched when Lucius was being arrested, and we can't seem to find the certificate." You were surprised at her directness and her openness towards her husband. You had read in the paper that he was arrested. So it was no new news.

"Oh, well. That will be no problem. I can easily give you a copy. Just a second."

You started to search for Draco's file. While your back was turned towards Narcissa, you could still feel her eyes on you at all times. She was definitely staring.

"Right, here it is." You laid the certificate out in front of you and grabbed your wand.

"Geminio. Wonderful. Here it is." You gave her the freshly made duplicate of the certificate and put the original away.

"Thank you, Darling." You were glad she couldn't see your face right now, because you were sure it got bright red at the use of that pet name.

You turned around again and leaned on the back of your desk chair. You needed all of your courage to ask the following.

"Would you like to accompany me for a cup of tea, or a glass of wine?" She looked up at you and smirked. She saw how nervous you were and thought it was just adorable.

"I wouldn't say no to a glass of wine." As she saw you gesturing to a door at the back of the room she stood up and followed you. She stepped through the door and found herself right in the middle of your living room.

"Please sit down, feel just like at home." She heard you speak from a different room. Assuming it was the kitchen she sat down and took off her jacket. You entered with two glasses and a bottle of red wine.

"I hope red wine is fine. I don't have any white wine." You smiled apologetic.

"All fine, I'd always rather drink red wine." Pleased with that answer you set the glasses down and poured the wine in. You took a seat just across the table from her and bend your legs up, so you sat on them. Narcissa had to slightly laugh at that sight. It did indeed look incredibly adorable.

"What?" You asked, laughing. At that Narcissa just had to laugh even more.

"Nothing, love. Everything is fine." She didn't miss the blush that crept up your neck onto your cheeks.

You two talked about everything. How Hogwarts was doing, how Draco was doing, about your job as head of Slytherin and about so much more. Fast one glass of wine became two and even though you weren't technically drunk, your tongue definitely loosened.

"Can I ask, why did you come here? You could have just asked for the certificate by sending an owl." She looked you directly in the eyes now and to be honest, it took all you had in yourself to not look away. It felt like she wanted to look inside your soul.

"Well, I suppose I just wanted to see how the school was doing. Maybe I wanted to see you. Who knows." You nearly choked on your wine at that. Narcissa just smirked devilish.

"I mean I did use to have the biggest crush imaginable on you." You talked before you could even think about it. And directly you regretted it. But now there was no way out of this. Narcissa lost all of her confidence and just looked stunned. She slowly sat down her glass and blinked, speechless.

"Is the so hard to believe? You look amazing, and your constant flirtatious demeanour would make anyone's knees weak." For a second you thought you had seen a slight blush on her cheek, but she pulled herself together again very fast.

"Do you think so? Do I make your knees weak?" She stood up and approached you, sitting down right beside you. Her sudden closeness and her warmth on your skin made you blush even more. You were fully startled.

"Don't you want to say something? I don't think that little crush of yours ever left." She lifted her hand and placed a strand of your hair behind your shoulder. She had perfect sight of your neck. She looked you in the eyes looking for permission and as she received it she slowly started kissing your neck down to your shoulder. This felt like heaven, and it was better than anything you had ever imagined.

You felt absolutely useless sitting there not doing anything, so you grabbed her waist and tried to pull her closer to you.

"Eager, aren't we?" She smirked at you and you shyly looked down.

"If you liked we could move this to the bedroom?" You looked at her questioning, confused as to why she laughed.

"Oh I'm sorry honey, but you just look so cute when your nervous." You sighed in relief and fake slapped her shoulder. She stood up and reached her hand out to you. You took it and followed her to the bedroom.

The second the door was closed Narcissa pushed you onto the bed and hoovered above you. It was very clear in which direction this was about to go. But you didn't mind at all.

She started planting kisses on your neck down to the hem of your blouse while slowly opening the buttons. You were hyper aware of her warm body on yours and her breath on your body. It made you shiver in desire.

It didn't take long until both your clothes adorned the floor. Just underwear still on your body.

You mildly lifted you body, and she reached behind you, with ease she opened you bra and released you from it. Her lips lightly grazed your breast before she took one nipple in her mouth and elicited a moan from you.

"Oh god, please don't be such a tease." You pleaded in-between moans. She stopped to look at you with a smirk on her face.

"Whatever my princess wishes." With those words she gently moved down, all while kissing your stomach every few centimetres.

Arriving between your legs she just couldn't help herself, she had to tease some more. Your thighs just looked too exquisite to not kiss them all the way up to your centre.

While doing so she started pulling your panties down. After they were also on the floor she started spreading you legs and planted some more kisses right on your clit. You were undeniably wet, and she hadn't even really touched you yet.

"Is this for me?" She chuckled at your dripping cunt.

"Yes, please touch me. It's all for you, just for you."

She didn't let you ask again as she immediately started.

She slowly started licking up and down your centre, tasting you and letting one hand wander up to your breast. She gently kneaded it, feeling your erected nipple. At your muffled moans she started alternating between licking and sucking on your clit. Much to your liking. This woman made you crazy, honestly you had never felt so good. And she definitely didn't miss that. She had to say she was proud of the sounds she got out of you.

As she slowly started to push one and then two fingers inside you, you felt like you would explode.

"Please, give me your hand." And she did, she reached out her hand to you, and you immediately grabbed it. Squishing it like your life depended on it. Narcissa had to chuckle at that, but she gladly resumed with her doing.

"Oh god, please don't stop...ahh, Mommy" It had slipped your mouth even before you could think about it and you instantly let go of Narcissa's hand.

But she grabbed it back and squeezed it tight. Stopping from pleasuring you for a second.

"That's okay, sweetheart. You can call me Mommy if you like." Again you blushed immensely at that statement and pulled her up to passionately kiss her before she resumed eating you out.

She pushed her fingers in again and quickened the pace in which she pulled them out and in again. And the same time she sucked harder at your clit. She felt that you were nearing the orgasm.

"Oh god, please Mommy- Can I come...please, I can't keep it anymore." It felt like it was nearly too much, so you squeezed her hand even more. Like it was the only thing preventing you from fainting.

"Of course, love. Come for me." And you did, with Narcissa's name on you lips you came screaming and moaning. Looking like a total mess but felling better than you ever had before. Narcissa let you gently ride the orgasm out and couldn’t suppress the urge to lick her fingers and taste your juice once again. With your taste still on her lips and your hand still intertwined with hers she moved up and kissed you. Tasting yourself on her tongue was so hot you felt yourself getting wet again. But even more than being pleasured again you really wanted to make her scream. So while she was still kissing you, you flipped positions and let your hand slowly wander down. It gently slipped into her panties and your fingers started running through her slit. Narcissa had to gasp for air at the sudden contact.

"Ah, (Y/n) please more." Of course, you obeyed and started rubbing her clit with increasing pace. She grabbed your arm and clung to it. The pleasure being so overwhelming that she closed her eyes.

"No, open them. I want you to look at me, when you come." So she opened her eyes and looked directly into yours. You had never known a moment so intimate. You saw the pleasure in her eyes as she stumbled over the edge with you name on her lips. Slowly removing your hand from her clit you ran them through the slit one last time, hearing her gasp at the touch. She was extremely sensitive. You leaned down to kiss her again and laid down next to her with your head on her chest. To your liking next to her perfectly shaped breasts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Also this is how I imagined them holding hands <3

#narcissa malfoy #narcissa malfoy x reader #narcissa malfoy x you #narcissa black #harry potter #draco malfoy #wlw

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gojoest · 8 months

Text

saw a familiar face in the bus earlier and turns out it was indeed someone i know but haven’t seen in ages like since i graduated high school (which was rly a long time go lol) and we chatted a bit during the rest break and he told me i had become even prettier to which i replied i age like fine wine, right? *hair flip* and he said yes i’m glad you brought that up should we grab a drink sometime? and now what WHAT HAVE I DONE

#— ai rambles

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dilfiam-afton · 1 year

Text

“You´ll be fine”

Summary; William finds you out on their balcony, sobbing bc you got broken up with. William implies his attraction to you. GENDER NEUTRAL

READER IS OF AGE

tiny disclaimer; I wrote this when I truly was sick with bad neurological issues so if it's really really weird, I'm sorry I haven't proof-read it yet but I do want to publish it either way

This was supposed to be a fun day! You were going to hang out with Michael, his girlfriend aka your best friend and your (ex) boyfriend who, unfortunately for you, was Michaels best friend.

But now you found yourself sobbing on the Aftons balcony, tear glazed eyes intensely staring down the moon in hopes of her magically making you feel better. After about half an hour you steadied your breathing, wiping your runny nose on one of your sleeves and blinking away a few remaining tears. Why would he break up with you today? Why emberass you in front of Michael and your best friend? You huffed, if he were to be your forever one, your special one, or if he actually loved you, he would NOT have done that. Simple. Coming to think of it; why wasn't your best friend out here with you, comforting you?Oh well, couldn't care less. Finally, you feel at peace, even if just for the moment. The sound of an opening sliding door ripped you from your thoughts, quickly turning around to meet gazes with Michaels father; William. Though you would never dare call him by his first name, he was Mr.Afton to you. You studied him, mentally slapping yourself for coming out here.

Mr.Afton however just sighed as he swiftly reaches into the jacket of his usual purple suit, casually whipping out a cigar along with a purple zippo lighter. His steel grey orbs seemingly undressing you. Mr.Afton made you feel soft, weak and small. You would never dare to ever disrespect him. Not only out of fear, but he was also intimidatingly handsome. "This man indeed does age like fine wine" you thought to yourself, eyes scanning over the tall man. He cocked a brow staring at you, noticing your red, puffy eyes. "What's the matter?" he harshly asked. The lack of care in his voice startled you out your thoughts once again. Suddenly you felt emberassed to admit you just got broken up with. Emberassed to admit you were neither lovable, nor desirable for a man. You never felt so alone before. Now the familiar feeling of warm liquid rising from your eyes hit you again. Much to your dismay, you were now sobbing in front of William, who seemed very helpless and shocked- stunned, even. "Oh." He took another step towards you, considering laying a soothing hand on your shoulder yet deciding against it as to not invade your personal space. "There there. Would you like to tell ol' William what happened, my dear?".

You would, if you could but everytime you tried to explain, the words came out chocked and gargled. The older man in front of you sighed once again, putting out his cigar and opening his arms, inviting you in for a hug "Would a hug make you feel better? Come on, bring it in. Got nothing to lose" within a second you found yourself sobbing into the purple fabric of his shirt. Lucky you couldn't see the disgusted look on his face as your tears stained his suit. You stayed in his arms until you felt...better? He really did have a soothing aura. "Now, what's wrong? What did they do?" he asked once again, now sounding more empethatic and caring than before. You looked away as you begun explaining how your boyfriend broke up with you, how your best friend didn't even try to comfort you, and how you felt undesireble. William stayed silent, nodding every now and then while you spoke to show he was listening. "Know what? That's no matter to cry about. Other women also have nice sons. You wouldn't want to be with someone who doesn't love you, would you?" you shook your head "no.." he let out a chuckle. "Considering the situation I assume you don't want to return to your friends ?" again, you shook your head. "Well then. I do have another guest room. I suppose you may use it..." for a split second he raised his voice "BUT only if you promise to be quiet. The room is attached to my master bedroom and I do not wish to be disturbed." You nodded this time "Yes, Mr.Afton".

As the both of you made your way back inside, you cautiosly following after William, you notice he's walking downstairs. You were indeed confused, yet kept following. "Tell you what. I'll make you a cup of nice tea while you change into your pyjamas. It'll help you sleep. 'S that alright with you?" you managed to smile "Yes! Thank you, Mr.Afton" William clicked his tongue in response "Oh please. Drop the formalities, making me feel old." he grinned. Nodding, you quickly made your way upstairs into the bathroom, getting ready for bed. It seems you took a while because as soon you left the bathroom you noticed Williams bedroom door open, him standing in the frame yet still in his suit.

He stepped aside as to invite you in, pointing to a door across the room. "You'll be sleeping there today. Consult me if you need something. And hey" he took a step closer to you, letting one of his large hands rest on your left shoulder "tomorrows another day. As you get older, a lot of new doors will open while others may remain closed, or close over time. Yet there's no need to frat over what you can't or don't have. It's all okay." you smiled up at him once again. "Thanks Mr- err..William".

Much to your surprise you suddenly felt a strong tug from the hand on your shoulder, yanking you against his chest once again. "And not to mention, there are plenty other men who will take interest in you" for a brief moment you could've sworn he kissed your head. "Now, off to bed with you. Sleep well." he let go of you. "Good night, William!!". As you entered the room you found a cup of tea on your night stand. The room was cozy! You happily sunk into bed, a warm and fuzzy feeling lulling you to sleep.

#fnaf x reader #william afton #william afton x reader #fnaf #dilfiam afton

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embodyingchaos · 6 months

Text

❥ plain sight | chapter one

pairing: la!sanji x fem!oc genre: best friends to lovers! slow burn! warnings: attempted assault, fighting, light angst word count: 1.8k masterlist: plain sight next chapter: -

a puff of smoke escaped out of her mouth and out the window. it was one small moment to herself but it meant so much to her before returning to the annoyance of complaining customers and taking orders.

“lorrie, you best get out here before the old man decides to kick it up a notch, huh?” vincent, one of the other waiters, warned her, reminding her that she indeed had things to do, despite the fact she only took three puffs out of her cigarette.

with a huff, she put it out in her ashtray, placing it back on the window sill before heading back into the restaurant to resume her job of waiting tables.

“couldn’t even give me enough time to finish a whole stick, vince?”

“come on, you know zeff, lorelai.”

lorelai scoffed, “sadly.” she quietly replied, taking off her sunglasses and hanging them around the waistband of her skirt. she took a deep breath in before stepping out of the kitchen doors.

from the rushing and hectic kitchens to the jazzy, dim-lit seating area, the change in atmosphere was nearly enough to give you whiplash. it was, somewhat, a particularly busy hour. though, lorelai’s definition of busy can be extremely different compared to others’. at least, that’s what her best friend likes to say.

the girl walked towards a table of four, her long, black hair swishing behind her as her hips swayed from side to side.

she placed her right hand on her hip, “welcome to baratie, my name’s lorelai. how may i serve you?” it wasn’t uncommon for lorelai to be straight to the point when serving customers, after doing it for over four years, she’d learned it best to just be nonchalant.

“oh, you’re serving us just fine, sweetheart.” the man with orange hair sitting closest to her on her left replied, a conceited-looking smirk creeping onto his lips. however, the comment didn’t receive any sort of reaction from lorelai. she’d gotten used to this since she first started waitressing at baratie at the tender age of 15.

“would you gentlemen prefer to start with some beverages? perhaps some wine, or bleach.” she whispered her last few words to herself, trying her best to be polite.

“right! yes, please. sorry about him.” a smaller, meeker man with curly, dark brown hair and a scar on his lip quickly said, “behave, owen!” he whisper-shouted to his friend, widening his eyes as a warning.

the orange-haired man, owen, only rolled his eyes, not taking his friend seriously at all.

they told her what they wanted to order, having been here before, they didn’t really need to look at the menu to know what they wanted.

“and could i get a side of ‘do you have a boyfriend’?” the other guys at the table groaned either quietly or loudly.

“sorry, we’re all out of that. too many lonely, desperate men had asked for it.” lorelai’s reply has all of them but owen stifling their giggles and laughs. “youch.” one of them commented, side-eyeing their friend.

“i’ll be back with your orders.” she told them, not missing the vein popping out on his forehead. she smugly smiles when she turns around to head back to the kitchen. the moment she enters the cooking stations, a blonde-haired chef grabs her by the waist, dragging her towards him.

“hello, dollface.”

“hello, coworker.” her cold reply has him feigning hurt, “ow? that’s not how you should greet your best friend of ten years.” lorelai’s eyes widened, “dear god. it’s been ten years already? i need to get out more often.” the man frowned, “okay, i was actually jokin’, but that one stung.” he pouted, resting his chin on lorelai’s shoulder.

she could only shake her head, “what do you want, sanji?” she asked, crossing her arms.

the blonde, sanji, grinned, “well…” he pulled away from her and grabbed a spoon with some sort of brown sauce on it.

“open wide!”

“no.”

“come on, open wide for sanji!”

“even more no.”

“here comes the airplane! wooo!”

“if you don’t stop, i’ll kick you.”

“...taste it, please?” lorelai let out a heavy sigh when her best friend pulled out his sad, puppy-dog eyes.

“fine.” upon hearing that word leave her lips, sanji wasted no time and shoved the spoon into her mouth. “how is it?” he asked, taking it out and dropping the utensil into the sink.

throughout their friendship, sanji found that she could always be the best taste-tester when it comes to his food. always sincere, always honest and always blunt, no sugarcoating nonsense. plus, it is extremely hard to please her taste buds and her picky eating habits.

lorelai wrote down the order from the table she waited on as she let the flavour of it run down her tongue.

“too salty, texture’s runny- holy shit, ji. what the hell is this?” the sight of her nose scrunching filled sanji’s heart with joy.

“light soy sauce. just wanted a reason to talk to you.” his answer has her deadpanning immediately, spitting into the sink.

“and now, that will be the last time i ever talk to you.”

“no, i won’t live long if you do that, lorrie!”

she could only roll her eyes for the seventh time that day at his dramatics. “uhuh. table two wants three medium-rare steaks and a chicken caesar salad.” at her words, sanji’s expression morphs into one of disgust. “i know, heathens, am i right?” lorelai’s sarcasm was evident but the blonde chef was too caught up with the fact he had to cook steak like a boring, old robot again.

lorelai pressed her lips together, “hey, cheer up. just cook whatever you want. i’ll convince them to eat it, ji.” she told him, looking everywhere but his eyes.

sanji smiled, “thanks, lorrie, but i don’t want you gettin’ in trouble with the old shitbag.” she snorted, “please. me? in trouble? have you ever heard of such a thing?” her words made him raise an eyebrow.

“just go cook already, you cheeky bastard.” she ushered him in the other direction as she grabbed herself a sliced cucumber and popped it into her mouth to wash the soy sauce’s taste away.

after serving table two their food, and watching sanji and zeff argue over whatever he’s cooking that’s not on the menu(it’s a part of her daily routine at this point), lorelai chewed her gum as she asked them if there was anything else they needed.

“it’s alright! this is all enough.”

“that’s good to hear. if you would like anything else, don’t be shy to ask.”

as they were talking, the orange-haired man had moved his hand to smack her on her rear. unlucky for him, she’d seen it coming a mile away.

with a swift turn, lorelai grabbed his arm with her left hand and twisted it before using her right hand to give him a punch straight to his jaw, sending him flailing to the ground.

“what the fuck!” owen exclaimed, holding his chin and swiping his thumb over his lip, a bright crimson red colouring it. “where’s your boss?! you’re going to get sacked for this, you bitch!” the ginger yelled, standing up. despite towering over her, lorelai could barely feel threatened.

“i don’t think you’d want to call him, you might get a broken, bloodied up nose next.”

“and why the hell would i get that?”

“because he’s my father, numbnuts.” she said with a bored expression, “so, if you don’t want me tellin’ him that you just attempted to slap my arse and risk a limb being torn off, what do we say we eat our food in peace like a good, paying customer?” owen slowly sat down in shame and terror. shame, because the entire restaurant was staring at them, and terror, because he almost got himself a death wish with former pirate, red-leg zeff.

“enjoy your meal.” lorelai simply said with a toothy grin before heading back to the kitchens, her eyes immediately drooping as she was suddenly starting to get sleepy but still mustering up the energy to chew her, now flavourless, gum.

from afar, she could feel four sets of eyes on her. irked, she turned their way and her gaze immediately landed on a boy wearing a straw hat. the boy stared at her with mesmerised eyes and a wide smile. lorelai continued to stare at him with an unreadable expression before his eyes widened and he awkwardly turned back to his friends.

“huh.” she muttered, blowing a bubble before it popped thanks to a certain blonde… waiter?

“now, this is a sight.” lorelai stated, smirking as she eyed sanji up and down in his suit and tie. “i might just thank pops for making you a waiter again.” her joke doesn’t elicit a single chuckle from him, he was obviously quite upset over it.

“yeah, yeah. whatever. what’s up with that table over there?” he gestured to the table of the almost-assaulted-by-ginger-man incident and lorelai shook her head. “nothin’ much. in fact, i think you have a fight to break up over at that table there.” she told him, pointing at the table in front of them with her thumb.

sanji sighed heavily and grabbed a plate of bread, “see you.” he simply told her, walking to that table to put a stop to the argument happening between two men.

lorelai frowned at his demeanour, not used to it at all. of course, he had his bad days but they were rare, and he’d always be cheering up at her jokes or even just by the sight of her. her head was swarming with thoughts as she pushed through the doors of the kitchen, but they soon came to a halt.

“what do you think you’re doin’?”

the black-haired girl silently groaned, “walking.” she grumbled, turning to her dad.

“well, then, you would have no trouble walking back out to serve some tables, hm?” zeff smiled, grabbing two plates of food and handing it to her. “now, get movin’.” he demanded, crossing his arms.

“this is child labour.” lorelai said loudly, as she slowly walked back out the door.

“too late for that now. you’re 19, sweetheart.” zeff’s reply only made lorelai even more annoyed.

she walked towards table seven, placing down their food, “hello, here is your lobster, and here is your pasta.” the couple smiled, “how’d you know whose is whose?” the man asked, “i have a very keen eye.” lorelai gave them a small smile back. that smile immediately vanished as she heard sanji serving the table behind her.

“something wrong with your eye?”

“just blinded by your beauty.”

lorelai swore she also heard a crack in her ear at that. she shook her head and got her former expression back, “enjoy your meal.” she said quickly, rushing back to the kitchen.

ignoring the shouting and calls of her name from her father as she grabbed her sunglasses, a packet of cigarettes and walked through the backdoors of the kitchen.

“break time!” she yelled out, the door swinging behind her as she did.

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wisteria-blooms · 2 years

Text

long hair & tattoos (bill weasley & reader) (13/15)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

CHAPTER 13: Lucius's uncharacteristic admiration for Bill indicates that your initial plan may have worked a little too well. With your cousin's wedding and the tail end of the trip fast approaching, you attempt to make the best of Nice with Bill. (4.4k words) TAG LIST MOVED TO THE BOTTOM! Let me know if you'd like to be added or if I missed you. :)

A/N: I can't believe there are... just two chapters to go. I ended up changing the title of this chapter because I'm unironically listening to too much Your Body is a Wonderland.... but the next one will be titled "matters of matrimony (a mile away)." Hope you enjoy! (And okay, why does Domhnall Gleeson look so good in this GIF - hello sir, I would like to kiss you).

CHAPTER 13: STRAWBERRY WONDERLAND

Bill was right.

The scene at dinner was something to behold indeed, extraterrestrial even, like your father had been abducted and replaced by an alien. As you gathered on the terrace before dinner, Lucius was in obviously high spirits. He had a firm hand on Bill’s shoulder, the other holding a glass of wine as they gaily recounted today’s game. His cheeks were tinged pink. There was no way Lucius wasn’t drunk.

“Dobby,” you called. The house elf trotted over to you immediately. You pointed at your father. “How much have you served him?”

The house elf squeaked. “Dobby has only poured everyone one glass.”

“Did he drink before?”

“Perhaps at the golf game with master’s brother, but Dobby can’t be sure.”

Your conversation was cut short by Bill laughing at something that your father said. You, Narcissa, and Draco observed from the sidelines, forgotten by the patriarch, in awe.

Lucius’s odd behaviour didn’t stop when you were sat around the table either. He motioned for Bill to be seated by him around the round table, leaving you shoulder-to-shoulder with Draco. At some point, you’d just given up and accepted the circumstances. That was, until Lucius announced another round of golf next week.

“Another game?” you asked.

“Theodore is looking for a rematch,” Lucius said with a pleased chortle. “He says the Paris estate wasn’t ideal for a game.”

“It was more than fine,” Draco remarked. “Nothing is ideal if Uncle Theodore doesn’t have the upper hand.”

“William was being very humble earlier today.” Lucius looked at William. “He had more than a decent stroke.”

“Long and hard, right?” Draco whispered to you. This time, you were able to get a firm kick in. He recoiled in pain when your foot hit his ankle.

“I’d say it was beginner’s luck,” Bill deflected.

“Nonsense,” Lucius tutted, taking another sip of wine. “I’m expecting you to bring your best game next week.”

Alright, this was something you did not have on your bingo card when you asked Bill to meet your family.

In the segue from the bouillabaisse into the dessert, Narcissa changed the topic. “Genevieve is very stressed about her wedding,” she explained with a long sigh. “There are some last-minute problems with the venue and her favourite butler is out with a nasty cold.”

“How awful,” you said, sarcasm dusting your tone.

“Don’t underestimate how much effort her parents are putting into this, (Y/N). It’s an intricate process and it has to be perfect,” Narcissa continued. “I’m sure if you need help when it’s your time to plan a wedding, you could always ask Genevieve.”

“No need,” you said with a wave with your free hand. “I’m getting married at the Three Broomsticks. I won’t be spending barrels of galleons on liquor, at least. It’s dirt cheap there.”

Bill stifled a chuckle behind his napkin. You sat up straighter, knowing he agreed with you.

“Speaking of liquor,” Lucius interrupted, rerouting the conversation back to him. “William, won’t you join me after dinner to sample some of my aged scotch?”

In another rare moment of solidarity, you and Draco looked at each other with disgusted expressions.

“Exactly what happened at the game?” you whispered to Draco. “Did Uncle Theo perform Imperio on father when you weren’t looking?”

Draco shrugged, a snarl on his face, equally as confused as you at the foreign being inhabiting your father’s body.

After dinner, Lucius snuck Bill away to develop a winning strategy over scotch. You huffed. You did not expect to be competing with your father for Bill’s heart.

The next couple of days were spent lounging around the house with Bill (when Lucius would let him go, because it was nearing the rematch with Uncle Theodore and their strategy devising sessions only grew in length). It got unbearably hot mid-day, so you often watched Bill work away from the bed, basking in the comfortable silence. When he was tired of sitting and you were tired of reading, you both ran downstairs for a midday swim. Gone was your aversion to getting too wet and wild and soon, you were on your back, drifting through the water, soaking up the rays, and watching the pale blue sky up above. Back on the sand, you soaked up Bill. You peered at him from under your shades every time he stretched a tight knot of muscle, every time water dripped down his soft ringlets of hair when he came back to shore. The hot sun lightened his hair to a strawberry blonde colour and you were not one to complain.

When you weren’t wading waters, you were back to wading through thick sheets, napping and wishing Bill was right beside you. You imagined your limbs tangled around his, his hands in your hair, as you enjoyed your siesta.

The day of the rematch with Uncle Theodore was also the day you went to tea with your mother and her friend. When you returned home, you could tell from Bill and your father’s gaits and smiles that they’d been victorious. Your father borrowed Bill the next day and you didn't see him until midnight, when the sliver of light from Bill opening the door woke you.

Three evenings before the wedding, when you didn’t know how much more you could read, you put your magazine down on the bed. “Let’s get out of here and do something,” you suggested.

“What do you fancy?” Bill asked, turning around from his chair. He placed his arm on the backrest and looked at you, beckoning a response.

“I’d like to spend a day in town.”

“Then let’s spend a day in town tomorrow.”

A huge grin spread across your face. “Really?”

“Of course,” Bill reassured. “Let’s make the most out of the last few days.”

The weather was perfect the next morning for your expedition – all sunshine with a gentle breeze and not a cloud in the sky. At nine in the morning, you would’ve been out the door if you weren’t holding things up. Bill had easily chosen something to wear and sat on the bed waiting for you. He looked dapper in a navy polo that fit his torso perfectly, white shorts, and loafers. You, however, took your sweet time to waffle over your closet. You wanted to wear something nice and flowy to match him, but didn’t want to look overdone. Navy? Talk about trying too hard to be seen as a couple; was it corny to match colours with a partner? A simple skirt? Was that too casual? A dress? Was that too much?

“It’s the city, not a runway,” Bill jested.

‘For me, it is,’ you thought. You made the fatal mistake of turning around to look at him. Bill laid against the bedframe, arms behind his head. You were too entranced by his position and prominent triceps to say any actual words. So, you just gawked with a hanger in your hands, wondering if you should just not wear any clothes at all and spend the day mounting him and kissing him in this position—

Instead, you huffed and turned back around, ignoring Bill’s chuckle reverberating in your reddening ears. Your eyes then landed on a soft blush dress on the hanger. It had short sleeves and was long, draping right down to the ankles. But it had a cute slit and an open back that dampened its dressiness.

This was it. This was the dress.

You grabbed it off the hanger and went immediately to change.

Strolling Nice was different with Bill. It was fun. It was like a date. He made the sticky heat feel like a warm hug, the dilapidated buildings feel rich with history, and the fading yellow paint of the buildings look sun-kissed. With him, you wanted to pass time in every single store just to peruse and not to visit out of necessity. You wanted to run down every corridor and alleyway to see every crevice of the city that you couldn’t see with your family.

As you strolled down a busy sidewalk with him, a faint feeling of romance in the air enveloped the two of you, even though you weren’t holding Bill’s hand (as much as you wished you were).

After a quick lunch, you stopped for ice-cream at a familiar shop. You’d come here every year since you were young. You joined the queue and stared at the selection behind the cold glass intently.

“Do you want anything?” you asked Bill.

“I’m alright.” Bill looked over the selection with you, his height giving him an advantage. “Strawberry?”

“How’d you know?”

“You told me,” Bill reminded. “I reckon it’s still in my notebook from months ago.”

“You’re as studious as ever,” you remarked.

“I was afraid I’d be asked at the first dinner,” he joked.

“There was no chance they’d ask you that.” You shook your head. “You remember the topic of me taking your last name was the most heated conversation of the night?”

Before you could explore that memory any longer, you were next in line. You placed your order, paid your bezants, and waited by the side. The cup came with two spoons. You grinned sheepishly at Bill at the attendant’s misinterpretation of your relationship status, but he seemed unbothered. You walked over with him to a nearby water fountain, bedazzled by a marble sculpture of a French wizard, and sat on a bench in the plaza. The light mist from the fountain and an overhead umbrella provided some liberation from the heat.

“Are you sure you don’t want a taste?” you asked, gently prodding him with the spoon.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It is your favourite.”

“Your loss, Bill. This is much better than Florean’s,” you commented. Then you thought of the sweet man running the parlor alone in Diagon Alley. “Sorry, Florean.”

“If you insist,” Bill conceded. “I do think it’s proper hot out here.”

You gave Bill the other spoon and nudged the cup closer to him.

“What did you do with my dad the other day?” you asked, greedily dolloping a chunk of strawberry in ice-cream. That was the long stretch of day where Lucius had, to your chagrin, borrowed Bill and you didn’t see him until the creak of the door opening woke you up at midnight.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he responded with a casual shrug. “He showed me around the house and we went to buy a suit.”

Your mouth rounded. “He what?”

“For your cousin’s wedding,” Bill said, his tone teasing. “I didn’t have suitable attire for the occasion. I wasn’t informed.”

“I wonder who’s fault that is,” you mocked with a self-depreciating laugh. You pointed your spoon to yourself in guilt.

“I wonder—” Bill mused. He swung an arm over on the bench, and the temptation to move closer into him was reaching a feverish pitch. He locked eyes with you for seconds longer than needed and there were no words to satiate the silence. His gaze was intense, and you felt your cheeks turning the colour of the ripe strawberries in your dessert. You were immobilized when he began inching closer to you, his eyes boring into yours until you could see your reflection in them.

When his other hand reached out towards your cheek, your heart was in full ignition, precariously ready to combust at any moment. Was this it? Was he going to kiss you? Right here on a busy street? You did your best to control your body, but your eyes unconsciously fluttered closed.

His knuckles grazed your face and his thumb floated down to the corner of your lips. “Bit of ice-cream on your mouth.”

“Oh,” you murmured quickly in embarrassment, your daydreams disappearing in a puff of smoke. You quickly grabbed a tissue to wipe the area. “Sorry.” You were heating up in mortification for two reasons: one, for thinking Bill was going to kiss you and two, for looking like an uncouth fool in front of him. The second thought made you want to crawl up and die, so you gave the corner of your mouth a second swipe in case.

The rest of the day went by too fast for your liking. You fancied stopping to admire artists and musicians on the street. You even threw bezants in their guitar cases. You’d even gotten a caricature of yourself and Bill drawn. When the sun began to dip—and your mood with it—you stopped for dinner in an airy and sectioned part of a restaurant. You indulged in wine and tapas, and talked about Bill’s family and work.

You and Bill agreed on walking around after to watch the sunset at the beach before heading home. You wished you had a camera to take a photo, hold onto to just a little inkling of the day in case it didn’t last forever. And it wouldn’t, given you just had three days here before you had to return to crummy and gloomy England.

As you walked by groups of people by on the boardwalk, you heard some voices ahead of you. Two people were departing from two groups settled on the beach. It looked like a game of quidditch based on the brooms in their hands and the buzzing bludgers and quaffles in the air. One man, tall and dark-haired, looked at Bill, waved, and pointed at the two of you.

“They’re looking for players,” Bill explained. The way his body turned towards the crowd signified that he wanted to join them.

“Did you play?”

“I played mainly as a chaser, but before Charlie joined, I was the seeker for a bit.” Bill rubbed the back of his head. “He was always the better player.”

“I had no idea,” you responded.

“Charlie won’t shut up if you ask him about it,” Bill said, feigning a look of sadness. “This would be my last chance at redemption.”

“I’m not very good at quidditch,” you protested quietly. “My role was to sit on the sidelines.”

“Nothing wrong with giving it a shot,” he reassured. “No stakes, no disappointed peers, no House Cup on the line.” He paused. “Trust me, I know.”

You couldn’t say no to Bill. Not especially with that ardent gleam in his beautiful eyes and the story about Charlie being the better player. You narrowed your eyes at him and wondered if he’d told you that story out of sympathy. You watched him wave to the group of people. Then, you looked up at the goal posts and realized they were floating above water.

“It’s above the sea?”

Bill smirked. “Breaks the fall.”

“Not if you fall from that high up!” you countered. “It’ll feel like landing on cement.”

“I’ll catch you,” he promised.

You shook your head. “Not even you’re that fast.”

“Try me,” was the last thing Bill said to you before he ran over to the group of people. You had no choice now but to follow.

Bill bonded with the group, two co-ed teams, immediately. You guessed quidditch was an international language in itself. After moments of deliberation, Bill pointed to you and never more than right now did you want to run away. The taller man of the group, named Gui, handed Bill a wooden paddle and glove.

“They’re looking for a seeker and a beater,” he explained, brandishing the equipment. “It’s up to you what you want to be.”

“Erm.” You hesitated. You knew you’d contribute nothing to either of those roles, but at least the whole game didn’t depend on you if you chose the role of the beater. You reached for the bat, much to Bill’s surprise.

“At least you won’t be needing those shoes,” he joked.

“Right?” you murmured, kicking your shoes onto the pebbles on the shore. You smoothed out your dress and swung a leg across the broom, careful not to expose yourself to your teammates and opponents. Bill gracefully kicked off and assumed his position over the water. You eagerly followed him into the air. It had been a very long time since you’d flown on a broom, and having to carry a paddle wasn’t conducive to you looking very graceful. You took the first two minutes to balance yourself out.

When the whistle went off, you remembered why you didn’t play quidditch. In less than a minute, a bludger came barrelling towards you, and you weren’t sure which direction to go to escape it. Wait, no—you were supposed to beat the damn thing, not evade it. Fred and George made it seem easy, their muscly arms easily deflecting bludgers at any angle. Unsure, you shut your eyes, paralyzed in fear and confusion. The speeding ball made contact with your thigh and toppled you over.

“Whoa!”

You exclaimed as you lost control of your boom for a couple of moments and spiralled down. You managed to climb atop of it just before you hit the water.

“You alright?” Bill asked with genuine concern as he flew over.

“Yes, peachy,” you responded, trying to sound unaffected despite the whimper of pain that left your lips. You held onto your thigh, thinking of the nasty bruise that would soon form.

The bludgers were tough to beat even when you got a solid hit in; they were dense, unmoveable masses, like George when he fell asleep on the couch. At least he’d fall off to the floor in a straight line because your bludgers were flying in all directions. Your teammate didn’t look so pleased when you launched one that almost hit her. You were also afraid they’d shatter your paddle. Coupled with compromised balance on this communal, left-leaning broom, you swore to never play this position again.

Bill would pass by you occasionally. His eyes were still focussed on the snitch but he remarked your concern. “You can do this,” he reassured. “You’re already getting so much better.”

Bill’s affirmation motivated you. You learned through observation and recalling old games you saw back at Hogwarts. It was exhilarating once you started getting the hang of it, and by that you meant beating the bludgers in a generally correct direction. You loved the wind streaking through your hair as you soared through the pink and purple-tinted sky.

About twenty minutes later though, you weren’t sure how much more your arms could take. They felt limp as you tried to hoist your bat high. When your eyes weren’t on the ball, they were on Bill. Suddenly, he and the other seeker whipped the heads around at the same time, changing directions in a split second. You knew just what was happening. However, you didn’t need to be an experienced player to know Bill was at a disadvantage due to his distance away from the snitch. You were losing hope with every second that passed that he’d make it.

But your saving grace was hurling towards you in the form of a wayward bludger.

You shook off your fatigued limbs and hit the damn thing with as much strength as you could. If your paddle shattered, you’d be happy to absorb each wooden splint in your skin if it meant Bill would win.

You looked with wide eyes, heart beating rapidly, at the flying ball. It seemed to take an eternity to fly over.

You didn’t knock the other seeker out, but the intimidating bludger buzzing by his face was enough to stall him. And that split second of hesitation meant everything, because Bill was quick to scoop the snitch in his gloved hand.

“Yes!”

The rest of your teammates came together to shore to rally and celebrate the win together, but you and Bill were only focussed on each other. Foregoing any self-regulation, you tackled him as he flew over, arms around his neck, and landed with a big splash in the water. Your brooms floated forgotten beside you.

“Where’d you learn to play like that?” he asked in astonishment as he rose out of the water. His hair was wet, framing his jubilant face.

“The Madame Millicent book!” you blurted seemingly out of nowhere, the euphoria of the win preceding any common sense. “She reckons women should make excellent beaters and train in their spare time to please their husbands.”

Bill laughed, a full belly rumble, as he rubbed water out of his eyes.

“Maybe you should’ve kept that book.”

You shook your head. “It’s under the sea where it belongs.”

You and Bill waded together to shore. It was getting dark quickly, signifying it really was time to go. You fished your brooms out and locked them back in the shared space for other players to use for another game.

When you were wringing the last bit of water out of your dress, your fingers traced over a rip in the seam.

“Oh no,” you said with a heavy sigh. “I must’ve torn this while playing.”

“Don’t worry,” Bill assured from in front of you. “Molly can patch that up when we get home.”

Bill’s words resounded sweetly in your ears.

We.

Home.

When we get home.

You nodded and ignored the tattered seam. Instead, you chose to bask in the afterglow of a quidditch win with Bill.

“What happened to your leg?” Draco asked the next morning. The first hit you took had really blossomed into something nasty looking and had swelled up to the size of a saucer. But you were unperturbed; it was a battle scar from a blazing victory.

“Quidditch.”

“Since when did you play quidditch?” he asked incredulously.

“Since yesterday,” you explained. “Turns out I’m not a bad beater.”

“A beater?” Narcissa repeated sternly, setting her book down. She was never into the idea of you enjoying a sport unless it was ballet. “Regardless,” she said. “Heal that before the wedding tomorrow please, (Y/N).”

“I would, but how else would I remember my win?” you protested. “The dress will cover it.”

The next day, you arrived at the venue with your family for Genevieve’s wedding. You were sat outside in the beautiful late afternoon sun by a chateau near the sea. The hanging willow branches laced with wisteria provided shade overhead. Bill, next to you, was in his new suit courtesy of the new and reformed Lucius Malfoy (who you, Draco, and Narcissa still could not accept). Bill had shaved, and slicked his hair to the side and looked very prim and proper. You missed the long hair and earrings he sported when you first met.

Up ahead, Maxime stood under the arbor made of leaves and climbing roses, crossed by multiple fairy lights.

Genevieve strolled down the aisle with her parents. She looked gorgeous, perfect, angel-like, and very much in love with Maxime. You disliked Genevieve, but you couldn’t help but feel happiness for her. You looked at Bill. His hands were clasped in his lap and his blue eyes were focused on the procession of the events. You wondered if he, like you, was wishing it was you and him up there. You swallowed a tingle in your chest that rose up to your throat.

After the ceremony, you filed out with the others to the bar to take your seats for the reception. You and Bill ended up at table seven with your cousins; you were seated with Draco, Astoria, and your aunt Rosamund’s two daughters – Charlotte and Clara. You reckoned Charlotte and Clara preferred to float ethereally instead of existing like normal humans. At the ripe age of seventeen, when Genevieve was busy having too much wine and kissing every boy on her father’s yacht in Antibes, the youngest cousins stayed home, buried their light blonde, wispy-haired heads in a book dreaming of some prince and fairy tale ending. You were a couple years older, and always sunk into a babysitter role when you were around just like the old times.

Bill had been quickly swept away by Lucius to greet other family members. He was busy talking to Genevieve’s uncle. At least Bill looked comfortable and was integrating well.

“What’s it like being in love, (Y/N)?” Charlotte asked dreamily, cocking her head. She had noticed you were staring at Bill.

You didn’t know what answer to provide your younger cousin.

“Why not ask Genevieve?” you offered instead.

“She’s busy.” Charlotte pointed at Genevieve who was getting photos with her husband and family taken by the sea. “Besides, I find it much more romantic to rebel against the world with,” she stopped, “erm, what’s his name?”

“Bill.”

Charlotte laughed airily. “My bad. What’s it like to be in love with Bill?”

You would have to pen an answer off-the-cuff. You stared at Bill who was across the room, deep in conversation with a glass of wine in hand. How did you feel when he wasn’t right beside you, when the seat beside you was vacant, or worse, when he’d stopped writing to you? You tried to translate the feeling in your heart to concrete words.

“It feels like,” you explained. “You’re not complete unless they’re around, like a piece of you is missing.”

It wasn’t a lie.

“And?” she prodded further. “Surely, that can’t be all.”

You thought of the evening before you and Bill set off to France, and the night before he promised to stroll around Nice with you.

“You look forward to the next day because they make it so much more exciting.”

That sounded right. You were convincing yourself at this point.

Charlotte leaned in closer. “And?”

Then, you thought of the thing that scared you the most: if everything fell apart and Bill ceased to be a part of your life, slipping through your fingers like fine sand back in the sea.

“And,” you took a deep breath, the next few words getting lodged in your throat, “the thought of losing them terrifies you, because there’s no one else quite like them.”

Charlotte sighed blissfully, placed her hand over her heart, and said, “Someday.”

“Someday,” you promised her. Maybe Aunt Rosamund would force Charlotte to court a Crabbe-like character and she’d find refuge in her best friends’ eldest brother.

You looked back up at Bill. At that moment, you locked eyes with him and a new wave of giddiness coursed through your body. Maybe he had been clandestinely looking at you, too. He tilted his glass of wine up to you, signifying that he was okay. You did the same, cherishing your silent communication in a crowded room.

>> NEXT CHAPTER

<<CHAPTER DIRECTORY

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