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#mildly dizzy at times too
I just. I think I should probably snack more but a) that's Not What We Do In This House and b) I wouldn't dare so what's even the point of trying
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washngton · 9 months
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Every time I talk about how much trouble I have eating I think of that tweet that's like "Ohhh you only had an iced coffee today should we throw a parade should we invite Oprah?" or whatever and I get a little embarrassed to be alive
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6ebe · 1 year
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In such a weird place with my mental health atm that I’m abt to ask my gp to put me back on citalopram just to fuck around and find out 🤣
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fyorina · 9 days
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ᡣ𐭩 WANNA GET HIM BACK!
FEATURING: nakahara chuuya
SUMMARY: after an argument with your boyfriend and two weeks of no contact, you finally decide to make your first move by stirring up trouble at one of his bars. it can't possibly be that bad of an idea, right? you just want him back, and maybe get a little revenge while you're at it.
(wordcount: 3.6k; ņsfw; fem!reader; m!receiving oral; chuuya gets a bit violent but not with reader; jealous!chuuya; pet names "doll", "baby"; reader is a shit stirrer!!; maybe some implications of toxicity but up to interpretation. lmk if anything is missing!)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: eheheh
You knew the moment you stepped into the bar that you were going to be playing with fire tonight. The lights are dim and the music is low, setting a type of intimate ambience that has your head dangerously dizzy even without alcohol. It’s been weeks since you last set foot in the establishment, but all of the regulars still recognize you, giving you a wide berth and casting you suspicious looks as they whisper amongst each other. You know that by now, Chuuya would know you’re here, informed by one of his many subordinates currently keeping an eye on you from the corners of his bar—it’s only a matter of time before he finally shows up. 
Most of the patrons know better than to entertain you, so you’re forced to seek out the outsiders who are blissfully unaware of your connection to the infamous Port Mafia executive who owns the bar. Your options are limited—two men that are twice your age who seem to be foreigners, a man closer to your age but with such a twisted and uptight expression that you think you might prefer one of the older men, and another man who’s also around your age, his eyes are a bit too sharp and calculating for your liking and he’s playing with something in his pocket, but you eventually decide on him, if only because all of the other options are subpar in comparison. 
You rest your chin on your hand, elbow propped on the bar as you look up at the man through your lashes, lips curled up in a sultry smile as you listen to him drone on about his business back in Tokyo. You watch him stammer over his words every time he glances down and his eyes meet yours, unable to stop himself as his eyes dip down to trace your collarbones and then further. 
Each time his gaze dips down, you feel even more riddled with anticipation, and you'd feel sorry for the unlucky man, knowing you're just using him to piss off your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, currently, you remind yourself—but you think maybe he shouldn't be so unsubtle about being a lecher. Your thoughts drift off to Chuuya as you mildly entertain the man's conversation. It's been two weeks since the argument that led to your break up. You're not even really sure how the argument began, and you don't even remember who broke up with who, all you know is that violent words were exchanged by the both of you until Chuuya ended up storming out. You've been staying with one of your friends since then, and he has tried to get in contact with you since the argument, but it took him nearly a week to call and text you, and you think he deserves to wait just as long to hear from you as you had to wait to hear from him. And it's been a week now, and you miss him, so you think it's about time to get him back—but who are you to ever make anything easy for him?
Poor guy, you think to yourself, watching absently as he babbles on about some thing or another. For this to happen the first time he sees you in almost a month? Chuuya's temper is going to be volcanic, and the oblivious man is front of you is going to be caught right in the crossfire of it. You hate the way it lights up your nerves, you know you shouldn’t be giddy over making him mad, but you can just picture his expression already, you can feel the way his blunt nails dig into your skin. 
You see the bartender step away to pour a familiar glass of wine without request, and your smile widens just a bit, knowing that Chuuya is almost here. The man you’re talking to—you can’t even recall his name –takes your smile as a sign that you’re enjoying his company, and you keep up the charade, absently giggling at whatever he said and letting your hand fall on top of the bar, brushing his. 
You don’t even really know what he’s saying, you don’t care to know, honestly, but he doesn’t seem to notice your lack of interest—or maybe he also doesn’t care, just hoping to get a quick fuck out of the night. Your eyes keep flickering behind him to the door, waiting for the imminent arrival of Nakahara Chuuya, and you’re pleased because you don’t have to wait long before the door is opened roughly and said executive is standing in the doorframe, presence commanding the attention of almost every single person in the establishment. 
Almost. The exception being the man sitting in front of you.
Chuuya is taking a drag from a cigarette as he steps into the bar and you know that his reaction is going to be even worse than you initially thought because he only ever smokes when he’s already aggravated. Your tongue scrapes against your teeth as his eyes meet yours, dark and promising as he takes in the scene in front of him, realizing what’s going on. 
You smile distantly before returning your attention back to your dark-haired companion, catching the tail end of his sentence, “... resort in Kyoto.” 
“Oh? Kyoto? I’ve always wanted to visit—never got the chance,” you say, but it’s hard to focus on him as Chuuya purposefully sits a few seats behind him, making sure to stay in your field of vision as he watches the two of you, waiting to see how far you would take this. 
“I’ll bring you,” the man promises. 
You can’t help but notice as he shifts, his hand reaches out to try to brush your thigh. You’re able to move subtly enough for him to miss, and you hope that he takes the hint, but you withhold a grimace when he goes for a second attempt—this time you’re unable to get out of the way in time, feeling the pads of his fingers brush your outer thigh before resting firmly on your knee, sliding up just a bit.
Chuuya’s eyes zero in on where the man has made contact with you, but you only give the man another lazy smile, watching as his pupils dilate and his gaze tracks down your chest once more. 
The end of your game is approaching—the man has evidently tired of small talk and wants to take this somewhere private, and you aren’t going to take it any further, of course. But more than that, you know that Chuuya isn’t going to let this last much longer, as irritated as he already is on top of having to watch the man feel up your thigh, you can see the way his body is tense and how his gaze promises violence as it pierces into the back of your unsuspecting companion’s head.
Chuuya looks down at the bar and idly picks up a corkscrew laying on the wood where the bartender had left it next to his favorite bottle of wine. You watch curiously as he lazily twirls it around his gloved fingers, your eyes dragging along each of the lithe digits almost longingly because it’s been far too long since you’ve felt them against your skin and you miss his touch desperately. 
Your eyes widen just a bit when a familiar red aura coats the corkscrew and in a split second, it’s flying from his grasp and driving through the hand of the man, who had lifted his other hand to reach out to cup your cheek. The bar goes silent and you swallow thickly as you feel a few splatters of the warm, red liquid against your face; the man stares at his hand in abject horror, shock preventing the pain from taking hold. 
Your gaze darts back to Chuuya, who still hasn’t moved from where he’s lounging on the barstool, expression eerily empty as he tilts his head back and exhales a long stream of smoke before putting out the cigarette on the bartop and sitting up straight. That, evidently, is a signal because almost instantly one of Chuuya’s subordinates rips the man from his seat and manhandles him to his knees in front of him, ignoring his loud protests.
The man quiets down as he looks up at an unimpressed Chuuya, trying to figure out what’s going on. “What-”
“You’re lucky I didn’t take your whole hand for touching what’s mine, you fuckin’ mutt,” Chuuya says lazily, eyes dragging back up to you as if to ask: is this what you wanted? 
You forget, sometimes, that through all of the gentle touches and adoring words that Nakahara Chuuya casts your way, that he’s still a mafioso with a list of crimes so long that if the feds ever got their hands on him, he’d never see the light of day again. Heat pools in your lower stomach, lips parting; you don't know what Chuuya sees in your expression but it has the corner of his lip curling up into a slow smirk.
“What?” the man gasps, looking between you and Chuuya, fury and incredulity painted on his face. “That bitch came up to me, you can’t possibly-”
Chuuya’s eyes cut back to the man, leg shooting out so quickly that it’s nearly a blur to your eyes as the tip of his boot cracks against the underside of the man’s jaw. He would’ve gone sprawling were it not for the grip his subordinate had on him, holding him still as his head hangs and blood spills from his lips.
“What’d you just call her?” he asks, voice low and dangerous, and you think that the was your thighs instinctively press together is kind of fucked up, but how are you not supposed to be turned on by Chuuya calling you his and defending your name even when you know he’s pissed at you? “Say it again.”
He doesn’t—he can’t, actually, because you think he’s unconscious, and Chuuya clearly realizes it too because he lets out a noise that’s nothing short of disgusted as he looks up to the door and nods his head. 
Immediately, a familiar black tendril shoots out to wrap around the man’s waist and drag him out of the bar. You follow it to where Akutagawa is standing, expression stiff as ever as he turns to leave with the man. 
Well, you think to yourself, that's a painful death on your hands. 
You watch as all of the other occupants of the bar begin to funnel out after Akutagawa and dread pools in your stomach as you realize that they’re going to leave you with Chuuya. You’re half tempted to make your escape with them, but one glance at Chuuya’s face and you know if you do that, it’ll be a mistake. 
“C’mere,” Chuuya says to you as soon as the last person leaves the bar, leaving the two of you alone. His voice is deceptively soft, but his eyes are burning. You don’t move at first, so he says again: “C’mon, doll, I don’t bite.” 
You let out a breath, rising to your feet and numbly making your way over to him until you’re standing directly in front of him, between his spread legs. He doesn’t speak at first, eyes studying your face, and you can barely stand to look him in the eye but you force yourself to, no matter how fast your heart was racing in your chest. 
Chuuya’s touch is gentle as he reaches out, gloved knuckles grazing your cheek to wipe off the droplets of blood before his thumb presses against your bottom lip. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, lips parting for him—he pushes the tip of his thumb into your mouth, the earthy taste of the leather seeping onto your tongue, lashes fluttering. “You’re gonna come into my bar, to get my attention, while you drape yourself all over another man? I knew you were up to no good when I heard you were here, but this was bold even for you, baby.”
“I-” you begin, but Chuuya clicks his tongue, cutting you off and pointedly glancing down to the floor. You know what he wants, and you hate the way your body heats up as you lower yourself to your knees in front of him, eye-level with his crotch. You look up at him through your lashes. “I was just playing, you know I wasn’t gonna actually do anything-” 
“Yeah?” Chuuya asks, eyes mirthful as he looks down at you. “Why do you gotta make things so difficult for me, doll? Couldn’t have just answered my texts? Had to make a scene about it, make me lose my temper in front of my subordinates?”
You nuzzle your face into his expensive black slacks, hiding the smile that starts to tug at your lips. “I’m sorry?” you offer, not really sorry at all and he knows it.
You feel Chuuya’s gloved fingers grab your chin, tilting your face up, eyes flashing in amusement when he sees the very much unapologetic expression on your face. 
“Prove it.”
You don’t even waste a second, hands darting up to fumble with his belt. He doesn’t help you, a rare glimmer of cruelty in his bicolored eyes as he watches you struggle. He only tilts his hips up when you finally manage to undo his belt so you can yank down his pants, freeing his cock from its confines. You press your lips to his inner thigh, teeth grazing his skin, listening as Chuuya lets out a soft sigh when you lift your hand to wrap around his half-hard cock. 
“That’s it,” he murmurs when you slowly glide your hand over his cock, thumb pressing down lightly on his slit, just the way he likes it. You can feel his cock hardening in your hand, the weight familiar and comforting as you suck bruises into the pale skin of his inner thigh. “Just like that, doll.”
You hum against him, lashes fluttering when you feel his lithe fingers intertwining with your hair, blunt nails scraping your scalp. His thighs tense when you squeeze the base of his cock gently, smiling before kissing back up his thigh to press your lips to his tip. His breath hitches as your tongue darts out to swipe his slit, lapping up the beading precum.
“Missed the way you taste,” you breathe out against him, tilting your head to the side to lay messy, open mouthed kisses against his length, sucking gently at the vein on the underside of his cock. 
“Could’ve been doing this for a week.” Chuuya has the nerve to sound disappointed with you, so you make sure he can feel the way you pout against his cock. “Don’t go making that face, doll. This didn’t have to be drawn out so long, you know it.”
“I’m stubborn.” You sulk as you look up at him, but before he can respond, you make sure to finally wrap your lips firmly around the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around it. 
He chokes over a low groan, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. You watch as his throat bobs as he tries to steady his breathing, grip on your hair tightening. You wonder if he’s going to push you down so that your lips are flush to his pelvis but he refrains. 
“Yeah, you are,” he exhales softly. “Too stubborn, baby. Love you for it, though.”
You let out a pleased hum around him, sliding your lips down the length of his cock until his tip is pushing against the back of your throat. It’s a bit uncomfortable, it takes all of your willpower to not gag around him as tears begin to pool in your eyes. 
“Been thinking about you all week.” His breathy voice grounds you as your lashes become wet and heavy, teardrops hanging off them as you swallow around him just so you can hear the way his voice falters. You force yourself to take him deeper, ignoring the burn of the stretch as your throat spasms around him. “Been dying to feel you cum on my tongue again, craving the taste of you. Tried to fuck my fist but it’s not as good as you, could barely make myself cum. You spoil me too much, doll, makin’ me dependent on you like this.” 
You brace your hands on his thighs as you push yourself up a bit more to take him at a better angle, mind a bit fuzzy as he slides down your throat all the way. Chuuya lets out a moan of your name, pitched and shaky as it always gets whenever you take him all the way, the base of his cock sensitive to the way you purposely graze your teeth against the skin. You think you could suffocate right now, and you’d die happy with the sound of him moaning like that ringing through your head—you don’t think he’d be so happy about that though, so you make sure to breathe as best as you can through your nose. 
“Called you last night, y’know,” Chuuya says, voice wavering over another moan as your lips glide up and down his cock. You suck hard on his tip, reveling in the way his hips jerk and thighs tremble. “Was tryna get myself off. Couldn’t. Just needed to hear your voice once, should’ve picked up for me.”
Oh, you think to yourself—you remember the call, you’d let it go to voicemail because you figured he’d been out drinking and you wanted him to leave you another message in your inbox. Your nails dig crescents into his thighs when you realize what you’d missed out on, picturing him laying back in his massive bed—too big and too lonely for just one person—fisting his cock with one hand and twisting the silk black sheets with his other, hair matted to his forehead, sweat beading at his skin, lips bitten raw in frustration and phone resting on his chest as he fucks his hand, praying that you pick up.
You curse yourself, wishing that you hadn’t been so damn obstinate, bobbing your head a bit faster as an apology. Chuuya lets out a sharp hiss, head falling forward so he can watch you raptly as your tongue teases his slit again before swirling around his cock. 
“You’re so beautiful,” he gasps, and his words shoot right to your core, heat spreading through you like a wildfire. “So damn beautiful, could look at you forever. Make me so fucking mad at you sometimes, but how am I supposed to stay mad when you look like this, huh?”
You let out a soft keen at the praise, and he must feel it, considering how his breath hitches and his thighs tighten again beneath your fingers. You think you can get drunk off of the taste of him, high off of the sound of his voice; you think that Nakahara Chuuya is like a drug that you’ll never be able to get clean of, and you don’t know why you tortured yourself by depriving yourself of him for an extra week.
“Y’take me so well, doll,” he continues, panting as his fingers twist in your hair and his hips jerk upward again, pushing himself impossibly deeper down your throat. Only sheer determination stops you from gagging again, fat tears rolling down your cheeks that he promptly wipes away, his touch gentle as always even when he’s nearly fucking your face. “It’s like you’re made for me, yeah? You made for me, baby?” 
You try to hum in agreement around him but you’re not sure if it translates.
It does, evidently, if the obscene moan that escapes his lips has anything to say about it. “Yeah, you are,” he agrees breathlessly. “Shit, I’m so close, just like that, keep-”
His voice cracks over another groan, lashes fluttering as a positively wrecked expression crosses over his face when you flatten your tongue along the underside of his cock, right up against the sensitive vein. His grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place, and the only warning you get is a borderline incoherent babble before his hips rock up and your nose is pressed against his pelvis. 
You can’t breathe, you can hardly think, all you can focus on is making sure you don’t choke on the cum spilling into your mouth, warm and sticky and so much of it that it’s dribbling out of the corner of your lip and over your chin. Your lungs burn so badly that you think you might die, and your head feels fuzzy and faint. 
You wonder if you’re about to pass out.
But you don’t pass out. Right when your vision begins to go spotty and you really think you’re done for, he loosens his grip so that you can pull off of him. Chuuya hardly wastes a second before he’s hauling you to your feet and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is hot and messy—you’d barely even swallowed all of his cum before he was pulling you up and you still don’t have enough air in your lungs, but his hand caresses your face so softly that you can’t even bring yourself to care. You’re not sure how long the two of you stay like that, lips moving slowly against one another as his tongue gently traces the inside of your mouth, tasting himself on you, but when you finally break apart from one another, your breath is nearly as shaky as your fingers, instinctively chasing after his lips to steal one last chaste kiss.
“Did I prove it?” you finally ask with a teasing smile, tongue darting out to lap up the remaining mixture of cum and saliva pooling at the corner of your lip as you look up at him through your lashes, leaning your cheek into his touch.
“Undecided,” Chuuya finally tells you, hand sliding from your cheek so he can reach out to trace his index finger on your bottom lip. You capture the gloved digit between your lips, sucking on it gently. “Guess I’ll just have to take you home so you can try again, doll.” 
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gothicomens · 10 months
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let me take your pain away
[aka the eddie-kisses-steve-all-over-fic, some, hurt/comfort, fluff, steve's thigh moles guest star in this]
Steve does not see it coming. 
One second he is calling out to his boyfriend to let him know that he’s heading out for his morning jog. Next second he’s blinking up at the ceiling, mildly winded as said boyfriend beams down at him, incredibly pleased with himself after full-body tackling Steve onto the bed. 
“Eddie, what.” Steve frowns, craning his neck and immediately getting a damp kiss smacked onto his lips for his efforts. 
“Hey there.” Eddie drawls, stealing one more kiss before Steve’s had a chance to gather his wits. And then just doesn’t stop. Straddling Steve’s hips, Eddie trails his mouth down the side of Steve’s neck, lingering by a spatter of moles and Steve shivers. 
“I’m going on a run.” Steve says, unsure and dizzy. 
“No, you’re not.” Eddie tells him happily and bites down on the tender skin just above his collarbone. Steve hisses and squirms before Eddie soothes the newly blossoming mark with his tongue and lips. “You’ve had a rough enough night. No need to make it worse by pushing yourself.”
“I’m fine.” Steve insists, purely to be contrary, even as his eyes flutter close and he tilts his head back to give his boyfriend more access.
"Damn right you are." Eddie says, suggestive and Steve can feel that maddening smirk against his jaw. He snorts, the last of his heavy mood dissipating.
"I know what you're doing." Steve says, trying to be stern. He palms the side of Eddie's face and pushes him away gently. It's more of a caress than anything and Eddie - the infuriating man that he is - catches the offending hand and presses a loud kiss smack in the middle of his palm.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, sweetheart." Eddie says, voice too low and saccharine to be sincere, and it's a testament to how far gone Steve is for him that all he does in response is giggle. Seemingly emboldened by his reaction, Eddie smiles down at him, toothy and broad as if making Steve laugh is the best goddamn accomplishment of his life and leans down to kiss his throat some more, wanting to feel the vibrations of Steve's joy.
Steve feels so full he could burst.
"Shit baby, these shorts." Eddie says under his breath, hands having trailed down to Steve's sides now. Nightmares and chronic pain be damned, Steve is never down enough not to preen under his man's attention.
"What about them?" He murmurs, eyes lidded and sparkling with mirth as he stretches his bare legs. Eddie follows the movement with hungry eyes and if he were a cartoon character, he'd gulp visibly.
"You know damn well, you little minx." Eddie growls and gets his hands under Steve's knees.
Steve lets out an unflattering squeak, taken by surprise and sputters incredulously when Eddie darts down to give a quick kiss to each knee before closing his thighs together like a book and shifting them to the side.
"Here they are." Eddie says, dark eyes fixed on the expanse of skin of Steve's left thigh. Eddie looks like he could start drooling any moment now. "My favorite moles."
Blood rushes to Steve's head so fast and so violently, he knows he would've gotten dizzy were he not lying down.
"Eddie, oh my God." Steve whines, but it's to no avail as Eddie's already trailing his mouth and greedy hands all over his thighs.
He counts his moles with his mouth and makes all these ridiculous growly noises while inconspicuously trying to massage some relief into Steve's aching calves. Because Steve would have sooner spontaneously combusted than accepted, let alone asked for this kind of treatment from anyone.
"Wanna eat you whole." Eddie says, loud and dramatic as he mouths at Steve's hips and tummy, while simultaneously rubbing gentle circles onto the small of Steve's back. Knowing damn well that when Steve is having one of those bad days, it's where he feels it most prominently.
By the time Eddie's kisses and caresses have arrived at his sternum, Steve barely has the energy to stifle his sobs, chest rising and falling with his wet, uneven breaths. When they're finally face to face and Eddie cages him in, slotting himself comfortably on top, Steve doesn't waste any time to wrap his arms around Eddie's neck. Needs the contact to ground himself, he feels so much, he's sure he could drown in it.
"Angel." Eddie breathes, sounding heartbroken and Steve only cries harder. Eddie is careful not to jostle Steve's grip on him as he cups Steve's face and gently wipes away his falling tears. "Why are you crying?"
There's an unmistakable tremble in Eddie's voice and Steve closes his eyes tightly, trying to get his breathing under control. Eddie absolutely cannot handle Steve crying. Nine times out of ten, Eddie will start crying as well from the sight alone, and Steve can't let that happen.
Eddie Munson doesn't deserve to be brought to tears just because his boyfriend can't accept love like a normal person.
"I know what you're doing." Steve says again. He strokes Eddie's cheek and nearly bursts into fresh tears when Eddie turns his face and kisses his palm, the heel of his hand, his wrist. Each touch purposeful and devoted.
"I love you." Eddie tells him simply, gaze unwavering. Steve's face scrunches up again, bottom lip trembling and Eddie is quick to soothe it with his thumb. "I love you, Stevie. And I'm gonna make us breakfast and we're gonna eat it in bed. And we're gonna stay in bed where I can take care of you the way you deserve. Does that sound good, baby? Will you let me?"
One more shuddering breath. Two. Three. And Steve feels more anchored. No longer feels like a balloon floating aimlessly in nothingness.
"Sounds perfect." Steve sniffles and lets Eddie knock their foreheads together and nuzzle close. "Love you so much."
And they both know that Steve has a long way to go before he's comfortable asking for help or communicating when he's in pain, but something does shift that morning.
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ozzgin · 2 months
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Heyyy just checked your masterlist and saw that despite you being into obey me! fandom, you don't have a fic. I'm married to Solomon in my mind so how about a situation where the reader (fem or gn your pick) is equally in love with this old man and begs him to recreate that time potion which made him immortal. Oh? Did i mention i want him to be a yandere? Please do that as well ^^
I love me my morally grey wizard ;)
I have 3 unfinished drafts for Diavolo, Barbatos and Satan on my Wattpad, but it was around the time I started getting Baki related requests here so I haven’t had the time to continue them. This goes for everyone reading, if you see a fandom title with no works you can always request something! :) This blog is only a few months old and I wasn’t writing much before (twice or thrice a year if I was generously inspired), so the variety is rather limited still. (I also finish requests at the pace of a snail, sorry about that)
Yandere! Solomon x Reader Headcanons
Featuring your fellow human classmate and now soon-to-be husband who couldn’t be happier about your wish to spend an eternity with him.
Content: gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior
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It started rather subtle. Just idle curiosity at first, a mere feigned surprise that was quickly swept aside for more important matters. Sure, Diavolo bringing another fellow human to the Devildom, especially one without any powers, was at least mildly intriguing. Your situation was as tempting as a puzzle to fiddle with in between tasks. Beyond polite offers to help you handle the new challenging environment, Solomon was not planning on prying further. Then the surprises begun to queue one after another. To think that you had barely learned your way around and somehow still forged a contract with one of the devilish siblings. Then another. And another. Fascination crept its way in and the greatest sorcerer found himself begging to learn more about the mysterious (Y/N).
Naturally such fascination should’ve had an intellectual grounding and nothing more. What is it about you that has caused such a ruckus across RAD? All he needed was an answer. Yet he discovered much too late how embarrassingly involved he’d become. Childishly clutching his D.D.D. in the middle of the night, wondering if you’ve already fallen asleep, and grinning when the screen lit up with a response from you. Cancelling all plans the instant you’d ask - casually - if he wanted to join you after class to check out a new café. No, of course he had nothing else to do. Yes, it’s definitely a lucky coincidence that he’s always available when you want to hang out with him.
Once he accepted he was madly in love with you, he began fretting over all possible obstacles. The demon brothers, life after RAD. He’d never engaged much with other humans and his charisma only covered superficial pleasantries. How was he to properly convey that he’s - mildly put - obsessed with you to the point where rejection won’t be taken lightly? Uh oh. Closer to a threat than a confession. Thankfully the Heavens were gracious and you immediately returned his affections. No need for potions or hexes (not that he would’ve���he had them prepared just in case). He remembers it to this day, years after, the wide, innocent smile that you so generously bestowed upon him. Almost like a premonition, he knew you’d be the person to marry. Something he never considered in his long, lonely life.
You lazily lift your hand and admire the ring again. Solomon is quite clumsy and forgetful, but he goes all out for the things that matter. The proposal had been planned to a dizzying amount of detail and you couldn’t believe how much thought he put into it, with many aspects you otherwise assumed he’d forget or omit. Yet staring at the intricately carved band adorning your finger now, you can’t help the pang of melancholy blooming in your chest. Solomon lifts his gaze from the book he’s reading, sensing your discomfort. “Something bothering you?” He inquires with a hint of worry in his voice. “What happens after the wedding?” You demand, turning to face him. “Oh my. I personally prefer to focus on the present.” He answers with a chuckle. “Sure, because you don’t have to worry about your future. It’s mine that will end at some point.” His eyes widen and his hands are suddenly cold. He’s been so entranced by your company that he didn’t even entertain the idea of a potential end to it. He almost strokes his cheek to soothe the hard slap of your words, leaving him in a frightened stupor.
Oh no. No, no, no. Within the blink of an eye he finds himself standing before the alchemy shelves, rattling the bottles for the right ingredients. You didn’t even need to mutter a word. He knew exactly what you’re thinking of. How shameful of him to have caused you this distress in the first place. You’re young, and time for him has lost its human meaning, so your mortality hadn’t crossed his mind this entire time. He would’ve found a solution for it later, most certainly, but he didn’t expect this postponement to make you so anxious. His lips are quivering and his slender fingers are visibly trembling. Partly from the fear of almost failing you as your future husband, partly from the excitement of what’s about to come. He always imagined there’d be nothing more beautiful and precious to witness than you in your wedding attire as you tie the knot. But now? Oh, how ravishingly tempting and seducing, the fact that he can listen to the mundanely repeated words of “Til death do us part” and stare down its meaning until there’s nothing left of it. Not quite. Not for you two. The veil will be lifted and your face will radiate eternity.
After all, nothing will stand between him and his fated soulmate. What’s death to a wizard of his caliber?
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dollwrites · 6 months
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— ⟡ dizzy drabbles disclaimer !!
all dizzy drabbles are written when i am extremely high ( or, dizzy ) and they don’t contain a trigger warnings list. if there’s no indication by the request, you can assume that the fic is nsfw + probably dark-leaning, if not blatantly dark. noncon, dub con, and other triggering content may be present, read with caution ( enjoy your experience <3 )
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“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tartaglia was panting in your ear. repeating the affirmation in weak, happy moans, his breath hot waves crashing against the shell, sending your hair to stand on end. listening to him mewl for you was almost as fun as watching him chase the high that hides in your core. so, you didn’t mind too much that he was hiding his face from you. the face that you knew was screwed into a look of pure nirvana, and tinted rosy across his cheeks and his nose. “You feel so good, you feel damn good. I’m losing it in here, cutie. F-fucking losing it.”
another couple of deep, hard thrusts into you, sending your back arching off the bed and your eyes rolling back, and you knew what he meant. you could feel it— his neediness— in the force behind his fucking, and the depths that his base instinct yearns to reach, that he was close. beyond that, his cock was twitchy, the pink tip painfully swollen as it jabs at your spongy nerves.
he was about to cum.
“Ch—“ you hardly find a gulp of air, but it’s stolen almost as soon as you swallow, fucked out of you. “Childe!” your body reacts to his mercilessness. your cunt clamps down tighter around him, and your ankles lock against his lower back, spurring his body closer to yours, as if begging him to breed you.
“Feel that,” Tartaglia grunts, his thin brows stitching closer, his teeth grinding against each other like he was keeping the urge to bite your neck at bay, “feel you right now. My cute, little vice—“ one of your hands jerks at his ginger roots, nails scraping his scalp, while the other claws at the bed below, desperate to chip away that the immense pleasure building with each time his hips slammed into yours, now. “I’m going to cum, and this little pussy starts hugging me tighter. What’s the matter, cutie? Don’t want me to pull out? Finally going to let me put a baby in you?”
it was only mildly humiliating. after weeks, nay— months— of his incessant want to procreate and your vehement protest, you were weak to the prospect. maybe he’d worn you down, or you were swept too far out into a sea of ecstasy to care about the consequences, the reason didn’t really matter. your eyes struggle to stay open, your breathy heavy and ragged as you try to wet your whistle enough to speak without it sounding needy and raspy. it does, anyways. “D-don’t talk about it, just— d-do it!”
his forearms sneak beneath your body, cross-crossing against your back to jerk you upwards and to his chest, cradling you like a precious treasure, but the caress was merely a means to an end— to capture you in a position where he held all the power, and keep you there. “That’s a good girl,” he swooned, ignoring your plea to not humiliate you further. with his face buried in your neck, the sweat clinging to your roots stuck your hair to his face, and his lips dragged and smeared over your hot skin, teeth grazing your pulse point as he speaks, “being such a pretty, little baby oven for me, so warm and inviting.” Tartaglia growls for a moment, a harsh rumbling as he’s nearly crossing the finishing line. “This is going to be a big one, haaa… I’m going to fill you up, that okay, cutie?”
heavens, was it ever.
you nod, now groping his fiery tendrils with both fists. each lock was slick with sweat and slid through your fingers, but you grappled constantly stimulating him further with the rough treatment.
he gurgles out a happy moan in the back of your throat. “Good cutie,” he whispers, “You want to give me lots of sons and daughters to spoil, I can tell. You’re so desperate to have my babies. And believe me— I am so fucking desperate to give them to you. Hold extra still, baby girl, here it comes!”
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v5ttelfilms · 7 months
Text
sweet dream was over ☽ mick schumacher
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gossf1poutlet news of mick schumacher and y/n leclerc previously being in a relationship trends as the number one topic across social media, following an unfortunate leak from their private accounts. both the schumacher and leclerc's have expressed their opinion on this matter, via a strongly worded 'love letter' from legal counsels that represented their respective families. on a statement that was recently released, both parties have similarly urged everyone to refrain from making unnecessary assumptions and encouraged the public to rally against the spread of misinformation and baseless accounts of the pair's alleged relationship. their representatives also promises to pursue legal actions against the culprit.
username the whiplash i got from seeing this all over my tl still makes my muscles spasm😩
username extremely amazed at how they managed to keep it a secret for so long
username yes!!! no one expected little leclerc to REALLY pick one off of her dizzying number of suitors /gen
username thanks for adding the geniune tag op
username anytime🫡 we ride at dawn for little leclerc in this house
username please present your simp card at the checkout
username sure, do you accept the laminated one or does it have to be the government mandated one?
username so... timeline recaping anyone? 🤔
username they probably got together during 2019 or 2020
username seems that way, funny if you account the arthur and mick prema timeline aswell
username got together late 2019 or early 2020 and probably broke up late 2021 or early 2022, but that's only my intelligent guess 🤷‍♀️
username around the same time mick was having haas problems too? fcking brutal
username did the article say to not make unnecessary assumptions or did it not??!🙄
username this news has devastated me more than my own breakup... and that mothertrucker cheated on me with my bff. brb hurling and crying into the void.
username they were so perfect 🥺
username forever enchanted, my treasure. FOREVER enchanted MY treasure. FOREVER ENCHANTED MY TREASURE!!
username are u okay, do u need intervention?
username send all the help you could give my way tysm🥰
username rocking back and forth while hugging my knees to my chest type of thing
username pretending they never broke up for my sanity
username probably the reason she never had the guts to attend a grand prix
username she was getting educated and winning pageants, but yeah?
username these dts fans
username 💀💀
username tell me who was the champion year by year?
username where'd you get that from, netflix?
username so mick HAS game, but i never thought i'd learn it this way😞
username throwing up and shaking trembling and hurling and screaming crying
username love is NOT real
username it's literally the way mick coined the jewel/gem nickname for y/n before the rest of the world started calling her monégasque's pearl 🥺😭
username he has bragging rights forever
username he subconsciously knew it!!!
username never letting any man call me homie from now on
username girl—
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2021, Switzerland
"y/n? what are you doing down here?" corinna asks you, mildly taken aback to see you down at the kitchen just around midnight.
you look up from blankly staring at the keys of your laptop, evidently surprised to see the older woman standing just a few steps away from you. you didn't hear her footsteps or anything.
"just..." you trail off, grappling for an appropriate response as to why you were sitting in the dark, barely awake, in the middle of the night. "files," you lie, unconvincingly.
corinna hums, and you knew she was barely convinced by your pathetic excuse, but she had too much tact to call you out on your lie. she wasn't blind, or oblivious as the kids these days would say; though she was considerably older, she still understood the worries and anxieties of the young heart.
"it's very late, schatz." she chides gently, touching your shoulder. "you shouldn't be working this late, it's bad for you." her tone was heavily laden with a motherly lilt.
"stunts my growth," you utter softly, smiling at her. corinna chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheeks. "and you can't be miss universe if you're short."
"you trust me too much." you remark teasingly.
"you ought to take over the world, darling." corinna laughs softly. "now, are you up for some warm milk and some- what do you children call it? tea sharing?"
"close, you're well versed with today's lingo. should i tell uncle michael that he should be worried?"
"he should always be worried." she says seriously, which made you tip your head back to laugh. she smiles at you, fondness clear as a day. "that's how you keep them on their toes. never make them feel comfortable."
spending the break with mick and his family in their summer home in switzerland has been a tradition of sorts. and alongside your fairy tale like romance with the youngest of the schumacher's, you had also become incredibly close with the rest of his family.
corinna grabs two glasses and neatly places them on the counter, she opens the fridge to get the carton of milk and pours a generous amount to each glass. she swiftly pops it in the microwave, before turning and giving her sole attention to you.
"i'm happy to see you laugh again, schatz. suits you better."
"that's very accusatory. i have been laughing, and smiling all week." you insist, light heartedly.
"maybe so, but not as pretty and geniune as now." she replies, "is there anything wrong? is it mick?" her tone was heavy with concern, looking both distressed and dreading your confirmation. it could have been her son that was the cause of the shift in your demeanor.
you look down at your lap, feeling the tears prick at your eyes upon her overwhelming bout of concern she plainly wears on her face. it reminds you so much of your own mother, and of which, corinna has easily become a substitute for when maman wasn't around.
"it's nothing." you clear your throat, "he's wonderful. he always is." you tried to smile in fake cheer.
"that's good." she smiles softly, "i was just about to say, that he loves you. he tells me everyday, he tells his father; he tells everyone willing to listen how much he could not fathom how you ever came to be in his life," she narrates earnestly, emotion heavy on her voice, "and he'll spend every waking moment of it to do right by you. to make you proud."
you closed your eyes, trying to will the tears at bay. "he tells me everyday too," your voice shook with emotion, throat welling up with tears. "and i know he means it. i do. but he— he never stops feeling like he constantly has to prove something, or be someone, or win everything." you weren't able to stop the tears, even as your eyes were closed. you finally open your eyes to see corinna's teary ones aswell, "and i— if i am the cause of it, i don't... i no longer feel worthy of his love."
you physically, felt all weight of pretense leave your body; finally being able to put to words the emotions, and complex thoughts you've bottled up, in fear of speaking it into existence. your shoulders sank, your defenses crumbling, as you broke down into inconsolable tears, weeping at your hands.
you felt arms wrap around you, weading through the shame and guilt you felt at your admission. you'd expected corinna's blame, but you never counted on her consolation. she held you. sympathetic and kind, and gracious; and understanding.
"it will be okay, schatzi." she says in the strands of your hair, "it will be. i promise you."
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notelcol · 2 months
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The Duke and the Doctor.
Mildly edited, apologies for mistakes✨
You were a doctor from Inazuma who came to work at the Fortress infirmary as an escape. You were running from stagnancy and bitter memories. Over time you simultaneously rose up past your pain and through the ranks, to become Sigewinne’s trusted partner.
“Wriothesley?” Your confused voice echoed through the infirmary. “What brings you here?” He did not normally come down to this part of the Fortress. A sheepish smile graced his lips, as he removed his right glove to reveal deep gouges and bruising all along his knuckles.
“I’m afraid our newest inmate is going to be trouble.” His vague explanation left you curious. You decided to ask more.
“What are they in for?” You took his hand in yours and began cleaning as you spoke. The Duke chuckled and gazed at you fondly.
“I sometimes forget how nosy you are.” His voice did not shake despite the sting you knew he would be feeling as you cleaned his wounds. The truth was, he wasn’t noticing the pain. All he was paying attention to was the touch of your gentle hands on his. ‘There is nothing more pure than the hands of a healer.’ Something he read in a book once, that he was beginning to understand.
“You aren’t going to tell me are you?” You grinned, breaking his trance. You had missed his teasing, he did not visit enough.
“I will….next time.” His smile matched your own as his thumb began to rub your hand. You found your mind becoming foggy and all your medical knowledge flew out the non existent window. Luckily, his hand was finished being treated. So why were you still holding it? Your breathing halted as you both moved closer, eyes peering into one another’s souls. Then a throat cleared.
“Duke. There is a situation in the dorms, we can’t contain it.” The guard in the doorway looked uncomfortable as you jumped away from each other.
You let out a long breath and dropped onto an infirmary bed once Wriothesley and the guard left. You cursed Sigewinne for leaving you alone today. She left you prone to be embarrassed without her there to stop you from being silly. You did not get much rest as the same guard from earlier brought in a bloody man before leaving. You raced towards him to help him into a bed. Once you had sat him down, you started cleaning his wounds. It was mostly superficial face wounds, but the nose was definitely broken. It all looked much worse than it was.
“Let me know if I’m hurting you at all.” You told him as you wiped near his nose. The man did not speak. Only staring at your face in a very unnerving way. You felt like the prey of a hunter. You were almost done, when you saw the man shift in the bed. You ignored it, trying to finish treating him as fast as possible. Then you saw the glint in the corner of your eye. A knife. You gulped and tried to take a step back but his other hand pulled you back. Just as you were about to call for help, the knife plunged through your rib cage. White hot pain blinded you as you fell to the ground.
“I’m sorry. I just need to get out of here.” The man frantically paced around your dying body. “They will be so distracted with you that I’ll have time to get away.” His words did not help your fear. But if you were going to die, you would do your damn best to make sure he didn’t escape. But the man wasn’t done. “But not without killing that Duke first.”
It felt like adrenaline was replacing the blood that steadily oozed from your wound. You stumbled to your feet and looked around for something to use as a weapon. You had only done minor treatments today, all the scalpels were in the drawer. The man had noticed you standing now, and had begun to circle you. His breath shook as he too looked around for a weapon, his eyes landed on your torso. The knife was still inside you. It was then you knew what you had to do. You ripped the knife from yourself, feeling the blood gush out with it. Instantly you became dizzy. You knew you only had seconds before you passed out.
“Hey now, Doc.” The man tried to plead. “You don’t really want to hurt me do you?” You didn’t have time to question yourself. Pulling out the knife was as good as killing yourself. So, you used the last of your strength to thrust the bloodied knife into his heart. You knew you would die content in the knowledge that Wriothesley would be safe.
“Hey! Looks like our next visit came sooner than -“ The mighty Duke, who came to deal with the now dead inmate, crumbled upon seeing your body. He kicked the dead man lying next to you when he realised what happened.
“Wriothesley.” You strained. Your eyes were barely open when you reached out for him. He stopped cursing the inmate and appeared at your side. You could feel his hands on your face as you faded away to the sound of sweet whispers and a broken confession.
“I love you.” His voice was like a lullaby, brining you the peace to close your eyes.
Wriothesley blamed himself. He should have hired more medical staff. Then someone would have been there to help you. He shouldn’t have gotten emotional and should have plugged your wound himself. Instead the guard who came with him had to stop your bleeding. That guard saved your life. Not him.
“Wallowing isn’t going to help anyone.” Sigewinne spoke. “She will recover.” Her words were kind and true but did not cure his ailing heart. But it did inspire him. While he awaited your awakening, he hired more medical staff. Never again would a Fortress doctor need to be alone with a dangerous inmate. He also asked Sigewinne to hold a short first aid course for all the guards. The guard who saved you was, by the grace of the Archons, an ex nurse. But, he never wanted to leave life to to luck again.
You awoke to the feeling of your hair being brushed. As your eyes fluttered weakly, the hand stopped brushing. For a moment, everything was a blur until finally you focused in on Wriothesley’s face. You did not think you would be blessed with that sight again. Shakily, you lifted your arm to hold his cheek. He took your hand once it reached his face, as if trying to take on the weight of your arm. He could see the pain behind your eyes as you moved. You did not care though. You were just thankful for this second chance.
“I love you too.” You thought you would never get to say it back.
I almost let reader die but decided not to be evil 🤫
Thank you for reading this💓
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gogh-with-the-flow · 28 days
Text
Another Kind of Pleasure (Gaz x Ghost)
I caved. Here's Ghost sounding Gaz.
Warnings: sounding (duh), BDSM themes, dom/sub dynamics, sadism/masichism, bondage
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"Will it hurt?" Kyle asked, a slight tremble in his voice. His chest rose and fell with heavy, steady breaths. His arms were spread out on either side of him tied to the bedposts as he reclined against the headboard, pillows behind his back to add support. Ghost glanced up at him through his mask where he knelt on the bed between Kyle's spread legs.
"That's the whole point, Kyle." He had forgone his skull mask and donned a plain black balaclava with a slit over the mouth. No need to scare the poor boy more than necessary with a death-mask, he was already nervous enough. He slowly pumped Kyle's length, hand and cock both heavily smothered in lube. It wasn't enough stimulation to get Kyle off, just enough to keep him nice and hard for his Lieutenant. "But it'll feel good, too." Ghost's eyes flicked back down to the cock in his hand.
Gaz's dick was as pretty as the rest of him. Dark tan, long, and pleasantly thick; uncut, but when he grew to full hardness, the foreskin pulled itself back to reveal a plump, dark red cockhead. Ghost rubbed his thumb over it, admiring the slit in the center of it, pushing the tip of his lubricated finger just slightly into it, making the man below him grunt. The corner of his lip twitched upward at the sound.
"You trust me, Kyle?" Ghost asked
"Yes, sir," Kyle answered with out even a second of hesitation. He trusted his lieutenant with his very life, of course he trusted him with his pleasure as well. Kyle's eyes dropped to Ghost's cock, then, each man studying the other.
If Gaz was big, then Ghost was huge. Ghost's cock was hard as a rock, but it couldn't stand straight up due to the sheer weight of the thing, instead drooping slightly between hs thighs. The girth alone was enough to make Gaz dizzy, and he was sure the length would reach his stomach once he was inside. The skin of the shaft was mildly darker than the rest of Ghost's pale skin, and the head was a lovely bright pink, almost magenta, partly hidden by the uncut skin. And, best of all, it was pierced. Nine lovely silver rungs of a Jacob's Laddar lined the underside, and at the crown was a Prince Albert hoop.
It was clear that Ghost was no stranger to pain-as-pleasure, but Gaz was still new to the concept of masochism, at least to this degree. He was a fan of nails scratching down his back and deep bite marks on his shoulder, he'd even been slapped a handful of times and was surprised at his own enjoyment.
But when he'd seen his Liutenant's pierced cock in the showers one day, his curiosity peaked. Ghost caught him staring, and the conversation started. Gaz had all sorts of questions, and Ghost had as many answers and more. When Ghost, under his breath, lest anyone else overhear, asked Kyle if he'd like his help with exploring this side of him, Kyle had to hold himself back from cumming in his pants.
The two of them arranged for a weekend together and Ghost met Kyle at his flat with a suitcase full of wonderful toys and instruments. The first day they had started easy, a bit of impact play with paddles and floggers that left Kyle's ass and thighs raw. Now on day two, each time Kyle's hips shifted from Ghost's touches, his tender skin chafed against the sheets below him, and Gaz found that the sensation only excited him more.
"You've done this before, right?" Kyle asked. His voice was low and gravelly, thick with restraint as his breath hitched from Ghost prodding at his cock slit again.
"Yes, several times. On myself and someone else." Ghost looked up at Gaz again and, upon seeing the trepidation on his face, leaned over him and kissed him through the horizontal slit in the mask. "If you don't like it, then we'll stop and try something else. Just say the word. Alright?" Gaz took a deep, quivering breath to steady himself.
"Alright," he answered. And with that, Ghost pulled back and picked up the silver instrument beside him, rubbing his lubricated hand over it, coating it thoroughly in the slippery substance.
The sounding rod was long and narrow, as long as Gaz's cock and then a little more. It was ridged, resembling a string of beads, but it was all one piece, straight and rigid. It was only a few millimeters in diameter and very smooth. Ghost held it up to Gaz's face for him to observe. At the very end was the shape of a skull.
"How fitting," Gaz joked with a shiver, trying to lighten his own mood. Ghost huffed lightly through his nose.
"Are you ready?" Ghost asked, rubbing circles around Gaz's tight cock hole.
Gaz's eyes were fixated on his own dick, and with one last deep, calming breath, he swallowed and said, "Yes, Sir." Ghost moved slowly, positioning the blunt tip of the rod at Gaz's opening, and then pushed. Gaz let out a loud, shuddering moan at the new sensation. It truly was like nothing he'd ever felt. It stung, it burned, it stretched him out, but it was so delicious he knew right away he'd become addicted to this feeling. The soft, squishy flesh of his head popped back up from the tension of the sounding rod as his dick swallowed up the first bead.
Neither Gaz nor Ghost could tear their eyes away from the way each little bead popped into Gaz's cock. About halfway inside him, it became too much for Gaz and he threw his head back, chest heaving with short, sharp breaths.
"Hey," Ghost interrupted gently but firmly, stopping his penetration of Gaz's cock. "Don't hold your breath. Come on, look at me, Kyle." The younger man opened his eyes wide and stared down at him.
"Hurts," was all he could say.
"I know. Just breath through it. Come on." Ghost took a deep breath and Kyle followed. "There you go. Again." They repeated twice more, and on the last exhale, Ghost resumed pushing the rod inside, making Gaz moan loudly, the sound barreling out of his chest. "Almost there, just a couple inches to go."
"It's- it's too- it's too much-"
"You can take it, Kyle. This is the hardest part. You can take it just breathe." And finally, the last couple beads disappeared inside Gaz as he let out a shout. He stared down at his throbbing, twitching dick, the little metal skull bobbing in the center of it.
For a moment they both stared at the rod perfectly inside. Fuck, Kyle could feel it going all the way down to his balls. It was a stretch like no other. The burn made his thighs shake, and he came to the realization that he loved it. He met Ghost's eyes and his lips twitched.
"Fuck," he moaned.
"You like that, Kyle?"
"Fuck... yes sir..." Kyle's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Then, Ghost tapped the end of the rod, and the sound Kyle made sounded more like he'd been punched in the gut. The muscles of his arms bulged as he pulled on the restraints. "Lieutenant!" He cried. Ghost only smiled and did it again, then held it in place with one hand as the other started stoking up and down. His thumb pressed against the underside of Kyle's cock, feeling through the skin each bump and divot of the rod inside.
"You feel that, Kyle?" He asked, but Kyle could only moan in response, already out of his mind at the feelings his Lieutenant gave him. Ghost moved his hand tightly, painfully up and down the length, and Kyle writhed and yanked on the ropes around his wrists. But not once did he ever ask to stop.
Ghost started to move the rod in and out of Kyle's cock hole, and was pleased at the tears that began to roll down Kyle's pretty cheeks. His plush lips were parted, his jaw dropped in a mix of pain and mindless pleasure, his misty eyes focused on how Ghost's hands worked the rod in and out, fucking his urethra with it. He did this for some time, until Kyle was just about to cum, and then he pushed the rod all the way in again, and removed his hands completely.
"Please, please, lieutenant, please let me cum, please," Kyle bumbled out, begging, pleading for release.
"Shut the fuck up, Kyle, you'll take what I give you," Ghost said, not quite snapping, but not quite gentle either.
"Yes sir, sorry sir," Kyle quickly responded to his Commanding Officer.
Ghost left Kyle's cock untouched for a moment, letting him stew in the pain and discomfort, and he finally touched his own cock. He had neglected himself the whole night, letting himself hang hard and throbbing in anticipation. Now, though, he stroked himself with his lubed-up hand, adding a few more drops for extra measure. Kyle moaned at the sight and sound of his Lieutenant touching himself.
When he found himself thoroughly lubricated, he reached down to spread Gaz's ass cheeks, grabbing a handful of the plush fat, and then pushing his slippery fingers inside. Gaz moaned loudly at the intrusion, at being penetrated at both ends. Ghost fingered him open quickly, but still left his hole fairly tight. He wanted it to burn when he finally shoved his girth inside the man below him.
Ghost shuffled forward on his knees and brought Kyle's ass onto his lap. He lined the tip of his cock up with Kyle's other hole and made sure to lock eyes with him.
"You ready for this?" He asked him.
"Yes, fuck, yes sir- ruin me, sir!" And then Ghost pushed in. Gaz's eyes rolled back in his head with every pop-pop-pop of Ghosts piercings catching on the rim of his ass. Ghost set a hard rhythm, and the angle had his pierced tip hitting Gaz's prostate each time. The poor man's whole body was shaking in pleasure.
Ghost grabbed hold of Kyle's dick when he noticed the rod rising out of it, and shoved it back in to a scream from Kyle's lips. The man below him babbled nonsense, please for release, for more, to slow down, none of it making any sense. Kyle was completely out of his mind on pleasure.
And then he felt the wave about to crash. He looked up at the Ghost who hammered into him with wild, terrified eyes, and then looked down at his own dick. And when it hit, he could only watch as his cock swelled with the cum trapped inside. His ears rang, he couldn't even hear his own strangled yell. Finally, Ghost pulled the rod out and let Gaz's cum escape. The sticky white fluid erupted from his stretched hole, coating both their abdomens.
Ghost shuddered as his own orgasm approached, watching as Gaz convulsed and then went limp. With a few more rough thrusts, he emptied himself into Gaz's asshole. Both holes were thoroughly abused at the end. Ghost caught his breath as he softened inside Kyle.
"Sergeant, how copy?" He asked from above. Slowly, Kyle opened his pretty brown eyes, and when he answered, his voice sounded thin and exhausted.
"Solid, sir."
"Are you sure about that?" Ghost asked, picking up Kyle's soft dick, making him flinch.
"Very funny, sir," he mumbled.
Finally, Ghost pulled out and got to work untying Gaz from the bed. He had warm, damp towels ready and waiting to wipe them both off while they waited for the tub to fill.
"Need me to carry you, or do you think you can make it?"
"Huh?" Kyle wondered, laying boneless and brainless on the bed. Ghost decided to carry him. He let Gaz lay in the hot bath as he changed the sheets and got him water to drink. He finally removed the mask as he settled into the water behind him.
After they were washed and dried, they lay in the clean bed, Kyle's head resting on Simon's shoulder.
"So..." Kyle said, sleep heavy in his voice, "What do you have planned for tomorrow?"
---
This was very much inspired but @/HotSatans sounding art on Twitter, but I changed the ship from Ghoap to Ghaz to make my own story. I definitely totally did not have a sounding kink already...
@greatstormcat enjoy pookie
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chaosfae-writes · 3 months
Text
𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞
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premise: a crowded marriage of three, a suffocating marital bed, and one must go — and it’s the meddling husband.
pairings: Alicent Hightower x Targaryen!woc!reader, Targaryen!woc!reader x Vaemond Velaryon (arranged)
ao3 // 15k words
warnings: birth/labor, wlw romance, infidelity, jealously, arranged marriage, misogynistic Westerosi views.
a/n: for my Alicent, my little meow meow. Alicent really said, “look at me, look at me, I’m the husband now.” prepare yourselves, it’s long, please take your time.
do not repost my works.
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The birthing bed is a woman’s battlefield.
Choppy breaths of agony, quivering and irate as a wounded animal. Squelching wet noises mildly echo, the scent of copper is nauseating —- the terrain of your neck is damp with sweat. Nostrils flaring, baring teeth as a snarling dragoness.
White hot fire licks along your uterine walls, sore pelvis aches as if it’s cracking, bloodied thighs shaking, chest heaving, throat parched and dry as unforgiving Dornish sand, and the Queen’s tender fingers interwoven with yours.
Alicent’s knuckles baring white, milky fingers clutching tamarind tart fingers as in one fist. She’s perched on her knees behind you, as your spine laid against her bodice hanging off a chair; not caring that blood has now stained her dress — embroidered emerald fabric now adorned with murky brown stains.
It’s been a few hours into the long night, guttural groans rip through your throat, stings as if shards of glass live there —- by now the entire realm of King’s Landing has heard your wails. Trembling teeth, mouth wet with tears and sweat.
Your dizzied skull falls defeatedly upon the crock of Alicent’s neck; sweetly she lays her cheek on your temple. Alicent is a mess, heaving and panting from the stress.
She’s on her knees ungracefully, her thick midnight auburn hair in messy tresses, no longer does she don the regal guise of a queen, but as a soldier in war.
Murmuring under her breath, pleading to the Gods for you and the child to survive the labor -— the ichor that slowly trickles and seeps from the cave of your womb terrifies her as it pools and stains down your thighs.
Prayers recited as hymns, as chants, pleas to the Gods for your life. You have been a life-line to Alicent, been her anchor at each of her births —- throughout her entire life. And she too, will be by your side.
As your hands shook in pain, entering into the new world of motherhood, Alicent witnesses it as not your step-mother, but as your entrusted companion—- as lovers, with ease, she assimilate to the role of husband, as if it’s her babe too who is struggling to breathe life into the new world.
“Push, princess! Its crown is near!”
Throat nearly torn, you muster the strength to push, a high-pitched scream pierces through; a wounded animal using all her strength to bring her unborn cub to the world. A babe’s cry comes as a crackle of thunder, an unforgiving war cry — the fight is won! What a shrill, fiery dragon unfurling its wings.
Relieved gasps, your abdomen a tad bit lighter, but still a little swollen flesh. The umbilical cord still connected, the connection still strong.
“A daughter, princess!”
Exhausted cheers as the baby is swathed in a blanket, sore fingers out-stretch for her. You sob in relief, face wrinkling with a wavering smile, as Alicent kisses your cheek, inches away to your lips. The maidens say nothing over the gesture, too overjoyed — it’s all too familiar. It has been for years.
Clumps of blood clots rest upon Valyrian pale tufts of hair, you cradle the delicate neck of your snuffling babe, your baby’s little chubby fingers curl mindlessly in the air. The babe’s spine lay on the flesh of your thighs, sinking into yourself on the bed.
Doe violet eyes blink, and stare at you, curious and innocent. Alicent is truly over-joyed, her sore shaky fingers reaching for the newborn’s cheek. “Hello there, we’ve been expecting you.” Gently your thumb caress your daughter’s cheek. Alicent’s stroke the ends of your daughter’s hair —- pale as fresh snow.
“What name shall you bestow her, Princess?”
A beat of silence, you smile as a name rings in your mind. “Alysanne, beautiful Alysanne. Named after our late good queen.” A joyous moment, all basking at new life— maidens, the mother, the mother queen all awe at little Alysanne, her arms wiggling in mid-air.
All glee at new life.
All but a missing husband.
-
The journey from Driftmark to King’s Landing was a blur. It took two days by ship for the return. His trip back home was cut short by the caw of a raven.
‘Ser Vaemond, come with haste to King’s Landing, as the princess is in labor.’
Vaemond tiressly demands for the chariot rider to speed up his horses on the kingsroad, all under the blanket of the night sky —- with the letter still in his grasp, wrinkled.
Anxiously clicking his heels against the wood, scoffing furiously at himself for ever leaving. Bouncing in his seat, his back hunched.
His fingernails digging into the velvet stitching of his cushion, his teeth seeping out, as if he hisses in anxiety.
The Red Keep towering into the night-sky, stars twinkle and shine; the driver couldn’t utter a word, clumsily Vaemond shifts to the door.
His feet bolts out the luxurious carriage, dashing up the castle’s stairways, knees bowing inward, nearly slipping onto his face. The palace slumbers with only few sworn shields roaming on duty, and the many more counting roaming in the streets down below in Flea Bottom.
All move in the presence of Vaemond, clearing the path for him. His feet twisting, and twirling upward the grand stairway, his sweaty palms gripping the railing.
His wife’s chambers are not too far, inching closer and closer by footfall. His heart beats as a wild war drum against his chest, so many thoughts swim in his mind—— what does his child look like? Is it a daughter or a son?
Hurried steps softly echo, closer and closer now to the chambers. The hallway seems as a stretched maze, mocking him as if he could never reach his end.
With a flick of his wrist, the golden knobs are tugged, and yet it’s silent.
The shared quarters glow in dark ambience. The scent of incense is faint. Vaemond straightens his wrinkled cloth, and takes a step closer.
The silence breaks.
A bitter scoff, more as a bite, “By the Gods, he has arrived. What husband doesn’t even accompany the birth of his first born?” Alicent sits across from the bed, posture now rigid.
Her fingers curl near her chin, as in deep thought. The low crackles of flames illuminate her face, wickedly cold as stone. The marigold hue casts upon Alicent’s face —- ever so strikingly benevolent.
Vaemond’s nose flares, cheeks puffing up, walking on edge, inches more closer to Alicent now, his tongue ready to lash out.
“I’m quite baffled, your Grace — from how high you reign on that horse of yours, it’s a miracle from the Gods that you haven’t fallen yet.”
“She was nearly at the Stranger’s door.” Alicent nearly shouts in a hush — bolting from her chair with a dull screech, and the clicks of her heels -— maintaining her volume to make sure she doesn’t awaken you; peeking over her shoulder.
Not even a stir from Alysanne and yourself, a soft smile adorns Alicent’s face. But as quickly as it came, it quickly went, muffled footsteps grating Alicent’s senses, coming closer behind her.
“I arrived as soon as I —-” His hurried footsteps halted clumsily, the crackle of the flames echoing piercing the silence.
There he sees it.
The splotches of blood that splatters across the green flourish, Alicent’s mouth is pursed, her eyes calculating and cold. Staring him down with such distaste, her lips twist as if to spit poison, with a hint of a curled smirk.
And he sees it all, he sees her spite.
Alicent never changed into clean nightwear, but remained in the soiled dress, wearing the stains of your blood that slipped from your warm womb —- proudly so. Just moments after your birth, you nearly slipped away to the Stranger, too much ichor spilled.
Despite edging on death, you drowsily clung Alysanne against your damp breast —- if you were to draw your last breath, at least, your little girl was the last touch you felt before departing from this realm.
The sight of your body succumbing to unconsciousness nearly sent Alicent’s soul to the heavens, she felt as if she could crawl out of her skin; your bodice crumbling back into her chest.
The handmaidens quickly grabbed your crying little girl, one of them dashing to fetch the maesters —— all the while amidst the chaos, Alicent’s cradles you, her hand stroking your jaw, pleading for you to awaken. Nearly shrilling on the top of her lungs.
For the last two days, Alicent had been by your bedside, hawking over the maesters —- no woman can trust the maesters, the very ones who cut through the belly of the late queen.
Maesters only follow the word of their king—- but for you, Alicent ensured all the hand-maidens and maesters listened to her strict commands as knights on a battlefield.
She snarked, and nipped, scaring all of them away and even your devoted maidens who were reluctant to leave you —- to the point of herself solely attending to you as your care-giver, as Ser Criston Cole guards the chamber doors outside dutifully.
For sparse moments Criston would leave his post, and see Alysanne. The moment his rich brown eyes fell upon the sight of Alysanne in your arms, he swore to the Gods that he will protect her till his last breath.
Alicent served you the milk of the poppy by hand. Cradling Alysanne when you were in deep slumber, and when you would awaken, in and out of consciousness, Alicent would softly help bare your breast for Alysanne to feed.
Alicent would gently cuddle your baby in your exhausted arms, guiding little Alysanne’s plump cheek against yours, both heads on the pillow.
Alicent wants him to bear witness -— for him to see that even as your husband, that mere title means nothing, it never held true value, nor never will.
How boldly she is—- impudent even. Raised to be modest, to uphold duty, it’s never been in Alicent’s nature to be cruel, but something has changed in her over the years.
Perhaps it’s the manipulative lessons from her father, the loneliness that iced her heart to become this unhinged cornered animal.
That’s who Alicent is now — cold and hardened as an uncut emerald gem.
Another knot formed these past fortnights, tighter in the tether of your two souls, it’s her who gets to see the scars, to bear your blood.
A badge of honor.
No marital vow can diminish this bond.
“Your Grace, it’s quite late. I must retire for the night, to tend to my wife.” The formalities bundle in Vaemond’s mouth as pit seeds, biting his tongue from lashing out.
He sees it, the condescension that vibrates off of Alicent, pursuing her lips in deep thought. Alicent hums with a tone, sneering at him with just her eyes, but as a drop of a coin, her mood shifts in such trained manners.
“Of course, Ser Vaemond.” She turns her back to him, walking to your sleeping body, bending over to gently kiss your forehead, and little Alysanne’s forehead.
“Oh— please do make sure to provide her with the milk of poppy in the morrow.” Alicent doesn’t look him in the eye, as if doing so is tedious, that he is beneath her.
“She still aches. Here,” Alicent points strictly at a bowl that rests nearby on a table, “rag soaking in warm water, she runs a little chill. As well, do make sure not to ale her as she feeds Alysanne by her breast.”
‘Alysanne? By the Gods, he has been blessed with a girl! The babe has been named?’
Vaemond swallows his confusion and surprise, awaiting for Alicent to leave his chambers—- although, if he could, he would throw her out the door himself. She tells him what to do, as if instructing a child, that he couldn’t merely comprehend basic tasks to take care of his wife.
From the corner of her eye, Alicent senses Vaemond’s shame. Shame for missing the birth of his child, his first daughter —- more so, rage, and she feeds off of it like a starved animal.
“Goodnight.” Alicent’s hand gestures to Vaemond dimessively over the shoulder, quietly shutting the door shut. Vaemond stands rooted in the middle of his chambers, his fists coiling by his sides—- he mutters under his breath, cunt.
Alone now, Vaemond steps close to the bed. Both Alysanne and yourself undisturbed, deep in slumber. The babe tucked in your arms, cozy under the thick blanket.
Vaemond’s hand shakes over your cheek, stroking a damp strand of your hair. Breathing frustration through his nose, his knuckles graze the cheek of his newborn child.
His anger simmers, he missed it—- the birth of his first daughter.
-
“Prince Lucerys has been officially declared the heir to Driftmark— how absurd.”
House Velaryon has been blessed by the Realm’s Delight fertility once more, a new babe, a new heir. The silver beauty birthed yet another boy with rich brown hair, and dark brown eyes. A gleeful time for House Targaryen … and a grievance upon the queen. A son, healthy — and strong.
It has been three days now since the birth of Alysanne Velaryon, not yet presented to the realm; your inistience of wanting Rhaenyra and Daemon’s presence in the royal court.
Despite your uncle living in far Pentos, and your sister residing on the island of Dragonstone with Laenor, and her children —- just for a bit, due to tensions arising once again between the queen and the heir.
Before Rhaenyra’s departure, she had just been in labor, delivering her second child. You were hoping that sending ravens detailing the new birth of your firstborn would help bring your favored loved ones back home, and bask in unison over new life.
Cooked platters sliced pheasant, steamed vegetables, bread, and gallots of wine. But even the sweet tang of wine cannot tame the sour disgust that weighs on Alicent’s tongue. A hovering presence looms across the table, ever so snide, ever so thinking. A selfish void that will devour any in its path.
Across from Alicent is her father.
At times, Alicent would have her private dinners with Otto, when even his affections are twisted, and against Alicent’s well-being, she still seeks his love, and advice. Despite the filth he has taught her, what child doesn’t crave their father’s love?
“The disrespect that Rhaenyra harbors for her own kin, parades her bastard son as a true born.” Alicent scoffs, leans back in her chair, her cuppee resting in her palm, her nose scrunches in distaste.
“Corlys has his daughter wedded to Daemon, and his son —” Alicent titters a bitter chuckle, “A pillow-biter claiming bastards as his own. Corlys’ claim no longer upholds.”
Alicent doesn’t stop her bitter poison, and her father relishes in it, seated across his daughter with a small proud smirk. Her fueling rage will guide her to uspur Rhaenyra, for her son to ascend the throne. How proud he is, as his daughter falls deeper into her spite.
“Alysanne is true blood, she deserves her inheritance in Driftmark.” Alicent impatiently takes a gulp from her wine, the sweet tang trickles down her throat, but it doesn’t quell the brewing venom.
“Rhaenyra claims to care for her younger sister, the gall of it all.” Alicent doesn’t stop, she can’t, she has to release this anger, even in her quiet solitude with a man whose tenderness only reaches so far.
Blinding affection has Alicent turning her perspectives away from her obvious hypocrisies, but no taught honor or ideals in her mind can truly touch you.
Otto Hightower sees women in power as a preposterous notion, a sin against the order — women cannot provide value to the natural law; only if aided by a man.
Otto prides himself on the molding he persisted upon his daughter over the years, a Hightower as Queen of all seven kingdoms —- the last Hightower to rule, fell to her demise to Maegor the Cruel. And he vows to never let that fate fall upon his only daughter.
Indeed, Otto has his strict opinions but —- even he has his exception; under his benefit. He has admire your tenacity since you were a little child, bright-eyed and naive once.
Yet intelligent, claiming that you wanted to do good for the people as princess, despite your inheritance being knocked down behind your siblings.
He can see you are a woman grown, determined and ambitious, making plans as the new lady of Driftmark to contribute for the land to prosper; just perfect for his molding.
Otto can perhaps reach his hand into the political dynamics of Driftmark through you, carefully craft your black and red dragon scales to a lovely shade of emerald.
“Vaemond is a proud man, too proud —- but, a better fitted heir for Driftmark. Corlys is weak, he cares more about names than honoring heritance.” Otto cuts into his meal, the warm pork melting in the cave of his mouth.
“If Vaemond were to become the new Lord of the Tides,” Otto clicks his tongue, “Alysanne will be named his heir.” His tone lingers, a hint is thrown in the air; calculating his thoughts.
Alicent hums in agreement, her mind twisting in her murky thoughts. Nodding along, hell-bent, her motives aren't as ambitious as her father. Her belief is solely molded by you, but that this is what’s best for you, for Alysanne.
‘Alysanne must become the new heir of Driftmark. Tis only fair.’
The silent tension breaks.
“She will soon expect her sister to return.” Alicent mutters in her wine, her fingers unlock, as she gazes down at her porcelain plate, her finger tapping against the silver engraving.
“And her uncle.” Otto speaks in a hush.
It’s no hidden secret, the rogue second son harbors deep affection for his younger niece. Most of your childhood was spent on dragon back with your uncle, and older sister—- your uncle is a rather protective creature.
When Daemon departed on dragon’s back to the far Pentos with Lady Laena, he hugged you tightly the day he left. You sobbed for long days, alone in your chambers, aware that you won’t see your favored uncle and cousin for a time.
But exile is no more than a word to Daemon.
Often leaving Pentos with his wife, and children, gallancing around the court with Rhaenyra and her children, as Viserys allows it.
And that worries Otto.
To have your alliance, he must first go through the turmoil with Daemon, and Rhaenyra. To convince you to forfeit your loyalty, in favor of your youngest siblings.
The seven hells can freeze over in frost-bite, and you still won't turn your back against the menace of a prince. Prince Daemon will rip through the realm with the flames of Caraxes before he lets his niece support the Hightowers.
“Marriage.” Otto perks up, his finger tapping against the table. His tone is ominous, and yet it leaves a heavy weight in the air. “You have given birth to Aemond moons ago,” Otto’s eyebrow raises, goading his daughter’s reaction, with a knowing nod, “—- and one day, he will be in need of a bride.”
Alicent’s eyes are moon-wide, but with a silver of agreement, she’s tittering on the idea. “Aemond will learn under our wing, be wed to Alysanne —- perhaps, the fresh air of the sea is healthy for a boy.” Alicent’s lips curl into a devious smirk.
Hightower blood on the Iron Throne, on the seat of Driftmark——how marvelous.
“Indeed.” Otto’s pride gleams into a wolfish grin.
-
Devotion.
All Alicent has ever been in her life is devoted. A devoted daughter, a devoted wife, a devoted mother, and a devoted queen. But alas, in all of King’s Landing, no one truly took Alicent’s side, despite her efforts to maintain peace. To engrave her voice within the council.
At first, before she grew as a child bride, and a babe herself who bore children; she thought perhaps her father was her aide, since Rhaenyra shunned her the moment King Viserys announced the engagement — but he is not, he never was.
But despite the sorrow her father gifted her in this life, she still harbors love for him.
But no, never her father.
Is there still peace from Rhaenyra? No — Rhaenyra doesn’t see Alicent, and Alicent doesn’t see her, it’s as if they speak different languages.
Perhaps the king?
No, never her husband, who never showed affection for his younger children — in his heart, he has only one child.
No, never the king.
The court shall see to her efforts?
No, the lords would rather entertain themselves with the king’s sickly rambles and her father’s greediness than to solely hear a woman’s thoughts and ideas.
Only through her father as her mouth-piece, would the court take her efforts into consideration. At birth, Alicent was a woman marked for sorrow. A loneliness so deep, simple kindness would send a jolt.
A young Alicent would pray and pray to the Gods for a love she can hold onto every night — just herself. Selfishly would cling to her heart, stuff and sew it herself.
For a while, Rhaenyra band-aided the wound, but it wasn’t enough. Rhaenyra was once a true friend, and Alicent would sometimes catch herself missing those lost years in the quiet of her solitude.
Especially when she holds the ripped piece of paper from the historical text of the late Queen Nymeria.
But it wasn’t Rhaenyra, it was never her.
It was you.
Tamarind tart skin that shines under the sun, silver pale hair that curls at the shoulders, violet eyes and plump cheeks. Velaryon and Targaryen descent, inheriting your late mother’s complexion, and the aquiline nose you share with your older sister.
So pretty, with your braids interwoven with your waves of silver. Wispy lavender, and red dresses, and gem rings that adorn your fingers. Such a peculiar creature, so dainty, yet fierce—- digging your heels as a young girl in the training grounds.
Alicent used to watch your private lessons in the training grounds with your uncle, and or with Ser Harwin from time to time. Or rest under the trees’ shade, as you practiced your archery in the gardens, much to your septa’s dismay.
A deep friendship blossomed, years spent reading under the hovering weirwood, late conversations as young girls, attending tourneys, and even inviting Alicent to your chambers, to sleep in one’s embrace.
A beautiful bond—- soon challenged by a beast.
Your mother had passed, taken by the Stranger, just as the late Queen Aemma had many moons ago; died in labor, trying to birth a son into the realm.
A piece of yourself died with her, a void that could never be filled. Late fortnights, wailing at the sept, head bowed, pleading to the Mother for mercy, whispered prayers for her to carry your mother safely to the heavens.
Consoled by Rhaenyra, and Alicent, as you all kneeled at the fire pit. Your forehead connected to your arms, wailing, as Alicent’s and Rhaenyra’s heads rested on your shoulders. Your sobs echoing against the sept’s walls.
The faint memory of copper still lingered in your nostrils, to see your mother’s lifeless body coated in her own ichor—- dry-heaved and wailed over her.
It took all the maidens and maesters to pry you off of her.
It was the king’s duty to wed, and bring heirs, you knew he had to marry again. Word spread among the court, advising with much encouragement for Viserys to remarry—- not all were enthralled at the prospect of a girl crowned heir for all the realm.
And the beast conquered as he pleased, just as his ancestors.
The day came, months after your mother departed from this realm. And you can recall the day vividly, the pang to your heart still fresh.
The day Viserys announced that he will take Alicent as his new bride, she can still remember your solemn face, quickly blinking away tears, smiling through the restraining pain —- how you dashed as fast as light after Rhaenyra who couldn’t bear to stomach the anger within herself.
Alicent can still feel the empty ache, witnessing you flee away in what she mistook as disgust, rage, and heartbreak. Pacing through the keep, trying to follow your trail, as a puppy galloping after a scent. Trembling fingers cling to the engraved walls, balancing herself.
Faded voices loomed from the heart of the gardens. Under the Weirwood tree, two pale silver heads now barking at one another, crying. Pacing after one another, hands flying in the air—- trying to understand this grievance.
Rhaenyra sobbing, angry tears stained her flushed pale cheeks, as you tried to soothe her down. Alicent hid behind a pillar, picking at her cuticles.
It felt the garden soil unearthed itself, caving inside —- ready to swallow you. Collapsed onto your knees, your mind buzzing. Sniffling, as your fingernails fully scratched at your skin.
Timid footfalls echoed nearby, slowly your eyes peeked through your wet lashes. Before you, Alicent walked to you, her auburn hair haloed by the sunlight.
Kneeling before you, her lip quivered, her hands fearfully hovered over yours. Afraid that you might reject her, but you took hers into your hands wholeheartedly.
“I don’t desire him. My intentions were not for pleasure.” Alicent spoke in whispers, heavy with sorrow. “My father sent me to his chambers, I —” Alicent’s breathed quickened, as if her cavity was tightening.
“I simply gave comfort for his loss.”
You believed her immediately, for months, Alicent had been aiding you through your grief over your late mother. All Alicent ever does is tends to anyone in need.
You embraced her in your arms, shushing her, apologies slipping from her. Shaded by the Weirwood tree, consoling each other.
Duty had to be upheld, autonomy isn’t a woman’s right. Resentment coiled itself as eels—- loathing the very man who is your father.
Father Time felt rushed yet the atmosphere felt slowed—- the preparations to integrate House Hightower into the royal reign was tedious and buzzing, causing you to spiral.
Days and nights spent weeping in your bed, hugging Alicent tight. Time blurred. Ceasing down to the atoms, time was not your companion. You didn’t have the space to breathe —- one blink, and the day of the wedding ceremony came bursting violently.
Dressed Alicent in her ivory wedding gown, accompanied by Rhaenyra—- but you possessively took over, fixating on her hair pieces, and tying the spinal laces.
An ivory dress, with gold threading of dragons against her chest, her brown hair pinned in curls, with a creamy red jeweled crown. Cleaned her bloodied fingers with a warm rag.
As you leaned against Alicent’s spine, brown fingers clinging to her shoulders, your cheek resting against the crock of her neck. Her face glowing with a dew from fresh dried tears.
You whispered in the shell of her ear, “In another life, blessed by the Gods, I shall take you, Lady Hightower as thy wife. Under the Weirwood tree, wed you in Valyrian tradition.” A tear escaped your eye, staining her skin.
Alicent sniffled, droplets falling down her milky cheeks, onto her lips.
“We shall wear marital crowns as our ancestral women before us.” You sniffled through a weak smile, under your puffy eyes. “I shall wear green, to honor your house.” You whispered.
“And I shall wear shades of red and black.” Alicent whispered back, nearly sputtering through her tears. Her chin wobbled.
A marital ceremony, a splendor to the realm, but a horror. A malevolent man, tightly his hand gripped your love, Otto Hightower walked his child to her death, with a proud smile.
Rhaenyra wore lavish black with intricate threads of crimson red, hair pinned into a jeweled headpiece—- truly a delight. A reminder of her inheritance, no matter of your father’s new marriage. In her own terms, it was her way of grieving.
But not a grief that rivals yours.
The High Sept blessed the union, with a shaky gesture of his ailing hand, reciting the scriptures of the Faith, as Alicent stood in a pure innocence—- sold for the price of power.
Recoiled underneath your skin, at the sight of Viserys’ hands engulfed over Alicent’s. Leaned inwards for a kiss, his chapped lips nearing those familiar pink lips you have tasted—- sweet, and tender.
Alicent’s brown eyes filtered slightly, twitching with disgust.
Screaming internally, as the claws of the Seven hell’s demons scratching raw at your throat, fists tightened shielded by your fabrics.
That’s not how she likes to be kissed! Don’t hold her, not as that! Be gentle with her! STOP DEFILING HER!
A kiss to seal this matrimony hailed from the seven hells.
Rhaenyra and yourself bowed dutifully, stiffly and rigid; before your father— the king, and his new wife, the new Queen of Westeros—- your new step-mother, your love.
Slurred and drowned in wine, engorged in feast to only vomit over a balcony —- throughout the night, Alicent’s eyes broke at the sight of your head bobbing tipsily, eyes closing one slowly after the other.
Dizzyingly watched the acidic chewed food stained in burgundy spirits fall along the palace wall.
A dainty hand stroked your back, pulled you into a warm embrace. Rhaenyra tended to you, caressing the slope of your spine, as you wailed over the balcony.
You couldn’t bear to prolong your presence during the wedding feast, Rhaenyra guided you to your chambers that night. Helped clean you, and shed you of your gown into your sleeping wear.
The cushioning of your bed sunk you into a hard sleep, as your sister tucked you under massive blankets.
Awoken that fortnight, by a slight shake of the shoulder, a heavy grogginess pulling you down as rocks in one’s pockets.
Blurry vision cleared, strained a bit in the dark, to see a sniffling figure by your bed’s edge. Those big brown eyes—— gleaming wet. A gasp left you, without a second, you enveloped her into your arms, as Alicent bursted into wails. Her cries pierced your heart.
Your hands stroked her back, guiding her into your blankets, as your fingers caressed her, you felt sticky wetness, causing Alicent to whine.
Your hand shook, in the gleam of the moonlight, crimson stained your fingertips. Tears showered your face, mouth shivering, as Alicent cried, muffled words into the crook of your shoulder, “It hurts.”
Your mouth agaped in silent agony, both arms encased Alicent, cooed her. Rocked Alicent to sleep that night till her weeping quite down to silence —- you vowed in the dead of night, that you will do your duty, you will honor Alicent; do right by her.
Stood by her, and kept her company —- and plotted. Your father will not have the oath of being Alicent’s husband, it felt wrong.
Built the courage to go against taught beliefs, over moons—- until one day, you lured Alicent to the gardens, with a soft note left in her chambers.
‘Meet me by the noon hour, in the gardens.’
Waddled down to the gardens, carrying her first born, Alicent found you pacing, burning a hole in the grass. A soft mutter, my dearest. Alicent’s fingers stroked the jut of your elbow, she didn’t enjoy seeing you overwhelmed with stress.
With a deep inhale, and wild wide eyes, only a few words could be muttered.
“Let us be wedded.”
A disbelieving chuckle escaped Alicent, but by the glimmer of your eyes, it was nothing short of a joke. Alicent’s face drained, with a teary wavering smile.
Slow nodded, and a hasty smile, Alicent accepted the proposal.
A warm day it was, the sun beamed upon King’s Landing—- a little white lie to escape the palace, to seek refuge.
Accompanied by a sole witness, your beloved Grey Ghost—- as he flew majestically upon the sky; as Alicent and yourself rode on one of those long boat to Dragonstone.
Silver steel, ichor staining bottom lips, and the slope of your foreheads connecting. A caress of Alicent’s swollen bump.
United in blood, as one.
Devoted —- all your life, you have only been to Alicent. Loyally by her side, despite the growing pains between Alicent and your sister; trying to be the voice of reason.
Alicent’s grief suffocated her, a girl enduring a woman’s sorrow. Being Alicent’s shadow in each of her births, defending her against all odds.
Cherish and care for her children —- your siblings —- as your own. Cared for your brothers and sister more than your father ever did.
A child bride who everyone said should be grateful to be queen of all seven realms—- not given grace to be seen as a girl, not even a woman, but a mere object.
Only one did. You are her companion, the only one who desires her body wholesomely, who yearns for her mind. You plague her thoughts all through the hours, at night, and in her sleep.
Itching possessiveness tingles at Alicent’s fingers, flooding her veins. How she yearns to box you in a jar, and gaze upon you, a beautiful treasure that no one can have.
Unimaginable acts she will do—- just to keep you.
-
Dearest sister,
New life has been welcomed to the realm, a babe with ripe cheeks, and a soul kicking as a goat. Beautiful bronze skin, and pale Valyrian hair.
A girl, by the Gods, she is magnificent!
I yearn for you and uncle to be home — I dearly miss all the children, how they would love the babe. Her name is Alysanne, named by our great-grandmother, the good mother.
Please return home. I pray to the Gods that the animosity will soon be seen to end. We are family, by blood and marriage.
Love you dearly, sweet sister.
May the Gods be with you, and the children.
A letter freshly written, ready to be sent to Dragonstone by raven. Given to Alicent by you, praying deep down that one day the broken bond between Alicent and your sister would be mended.
Tirelessly over the years, attempts to cease Alicent’s emotional humiliation upon your sister, weaponizing the crude word ‘bastard’ against your nephews.
Continuously in-between Alicent and your sister, being forced to choose who’s side to be in. Nearly straining your relationship with Alicent at one point of time.
Alicent’s lips purse into a scowl, crudely folding the letter once more, instead of packaging the letter for the awaiting raven, Alicent simply stashes it within her library.
Rhaenyra doesn’t get to savor the joy of your motherly glow, she doesn’t deserve to see Alysanne. To pretend to be the doting aunt. Not after snatching away Alysanne and your future, the blatant disregard of loyalty, usurping Driftmark.
Alicent will not see to such treason.
-
Sunlight twinkles, and illuminates the king’s chambers. A warm day, the sun swelling with joy.
Sweet hands pat Viserys’ chest, arising him from his slumber. He awakes with a small cough. His eyes blink open, to see his wife kneeling before him.
Viserys sighs with a small smile, with a whisper of Alicent’s name.
“Viserys,” Alicent’s kindly whispers your name to gain his attention. Tenderly her hands reach for the joints of his elbows, guiding him to sit up right from his rest. “She and the baby have recovered.”
A soft cough followed by a relieved chuckle emits from Viserys, now with the will to move on his accord despite his ailing pain.
For a while now, the sickness has bestowed more ache on the king. The milk of the poppy and the maesters hovering over his well-being has become more of the normal routine.
Alicent points to the wooden chamber doors, there you stand with little Alysanne clutched in your arms. Viserys’ lips stretch into a wide smile.
You are a vision of your late mother. With your hair brushed back into a braided crown, as waves cascade down your spine, with various woven braids decorated with little gold ringlets, with a gold chain across your forehead.
A pant of guilt and endearment blooms in his chest.
“My sweet girl.” He outstretches his arm, beckoning for you to come sit beside him.
An odd jolt of happiness is in your step, taking a spot next to your father, Alicent assists you to make sure Alysanne doesn’t fall from Viserys’ weak grip.
For once, in such a long time, you felt seen by Viserys. For once, you are not the spare.
“Father, her name is Alysanne.” You softly cradle the sleepy babe in your father’s arm, a toothy smile stretches his face, his cheeks plump with joy.
“By the Gods, she is beautiful.” He strokes her little cheek with his thumb, her little chubby fingers grab his index finger. Viserys glees with a laugh, “We must fetch a dragon’s egg for her cradle.”
A joyous occasion, as Alysanne is held by her grand sire. Viserys coos at her little sleepy mumbles. A lovely family unit, a mother, a grandfather, a step-mother and a step-grandmother —-- a lover.
All but a husband.
-
Awoke the morrow with a sleeping wife, and child—- went on his morning walk for his own time.
Returned to an empty chamber.
Vaemond walks with a stride, such speed to his step along the pathway to the king’s chambers. As he nears the doubled wooden doors, a hand halts him at his chest that is followed by the clink of armor.
With a heavy breath of annoyance, Vaemond doesn’t have to turn his face to see who has the nerve to stop a father from his child’s presence. The sworn shield, the queen’s loyal dog.
“Ser Criston, my wife is in the chambers with my child. You dare stop me?”
“The queen has instructed that no one enters.” Smugly Criston stands digiantly with a snide smirk, the implication is snarky, and bold — ‘and that means you’.
‘Pitiful and pathetic.’ Vaemond mulls, his lip twitching.
“I do wonder…” Vaemond tilts his head mockingly, back-peddling his steps, calculating his next move. Criston arches his brow.
“I’ve always forethought the queen leashed your head as her pet, but now I truly see, I mistook the wrong one.” Vaemond’s eyes trail for a second —- Criston’s face scrunches in offense.
A chorus of spewed shouting and pushing ensues. Shoving each other, declaring for the other to throw the first blow.
Even before the marriage, when it was simply courting—- the decision of marriage being made by Viserys upon your behalf, Alicent was always near in the shadows.
Putting her thoughts on how the ceremony should commence, only letting you decide what you want—- even going so far as to suggest to Viserys to end the bethroyal that ‘there are more suited men for her hand. Ser Vaemond is only a second son, what is there that he can offer her?’
The courting phase was always interrupted with Alicent stringing along. Vaemond would try to isolate you, converse with you, sweet-talk you —- but never once asked you of your interests, only boosted himself, and what he can provide.
And to Vaemond’s displeasure, Alicent would whisk you away at any given moment, hushed whispers among each other, and girlish laughter; with a sly eye over her shoulder at him.
Vaemond admits he didn’t fall in love for the sake of romance as those fairytales that young maidens read. He was the peruser, convincing Viserys for your hand, that ‘pure valyrian blood must be in union.’ You are his cousin. A cousin he barely saw over the years, but enough encounters to be familiar with one another.
It offended Vaemond greatly when Alicent rebuffed him, stating it was unfair to you to not have the choice to choose your betrothed, like Rhaenyra once had. Alicent was furious, her face scrunched in fury.
“It seems that our grace has forgotten that Princess Rhaenyra was bestowed the choice —- do you recall how she squandered it?”
Alicent’s lips pinched shut, turning to Viserys, hoping he would consider her decision. But Viserys’ allowed this, claiming that it is best that his second born be close by, not married off to another foreign house —- in a far away land.
Alicent has been a thorn in Vaemond’s rib, she made it her life’s purpose to torment him. Never could he be alone with you during the time that bridged between the proposal and wedding ceremony.
Vaemond was surprised Alicent didn’t sneak in their marital bed the fortnight of the ceremony. But she took full control anyways —- and Viserys let it happen every time.
Now, he sees another ploy of Alicent’s. To isolate him as a husband, and now as a father. He cannot even present his own child to the king as a man, the pride and honor of such an act stolen. Alicent has pilfered this opportunity right from under his feet.
To add salt to the wound, her sworn hound is restricting him from entrance.
“Vaemond?” Your muffled voice beckons for him through the door, he tries to inch closer but Criston doesn’t relent his intrusive hold, earning a growl from Vaemond.
“Vaemond, that you?” Footsteps closer behind the chamber doors, the latch clicks, with just a sliver of a crack the door opens.
“Vaemond, why all the shouting?”
“Ser Criston refuses to let a father enter.” Vaemond interrupts, pacing from heel to heel, agitated to the brim. Chest puffing, trying to intimate Criston.
You breathe a sigh of frustration, furrowing brows in disheartened dismay —- your gentle arm curls around the edge of the doorway, delicate fingers with the gentlest touch on Criston’s armored shoulder.
“Ser Criston, please let him enter.” The knight’s hardened features soften at your request, no longer bristling with entitlement, bowing his head, and finally steps aside, with a sweet-honeyed, ‘As you wish, princess’.
You sweetly thank him, and extend your hand to grab Vaemond, pulling him inside to partake in the joyous celebration. As Vaemond walked through the chamber doors, an exchange of distaste was thrown through dagger glares.
Alicent’s eyes sharply pierced his heart, if looks can kill, Vaemond would drop dead on the spot —- preferably with his heart cut out.
Alicent sits perched with Alysanne in her arms, swathed in an emerald blanket, as you provide your father his milk of the poppy; his joints were aching, and needed to rest back on his chair.
Alicent’s fingers caress his child’s little toes, purposefully her knuckles graze the stitched fabric—- peeking up at Vaemond subtly through her lashes.
Green cloth?
On his child?
On pure Valyrian blood?
Vaemond nearly wretches in his mouth. He notices your dress is a light shade of evergreen. A dragon brooch on each shoulder that ensembles a gold chain across your chest.
Green? Have you gone mad, woman?
Orchestrated performance, the movement, the positions —- you tending to your father, as the dutiful daughter, the wife and now newly mother. Viserys, the illustrious king, the father, the grandfather, weak but strong, overlooking the new life of his bloodline—- and her.
Alicent held little Alysanne, observing it all with a proud smile.
As if Alicent is the husband.
And Vaemond is merely a stranger trespassing.
Alicent’s eyes, methodical and smug. Vaemond sees it, he sees it all. He’s dying inside to snatch his child away from Alicent, but who knows—- Alicent would probably fall prey to the act of victim, cry to her husband that she has been wrongfully accused —- of what exactly?
Vaemond doesn’t have any evidence to his brewing resentment.
What can he say? The Queen has been trying to meddle in his marriage for the last two years? That she won’t let him near his own babe? That she has to be everywhere with his own wife?
Every soul in court will say how crude he’s being, that it’s all nonsense, merely preposterous.
‘The Queen is a good woman.’ The court will proclaim, ‘That she’s only performing her duty as the princess’ mother.’
‘She is no mother to you.’ Vaemond thinks. ‘Not even you can see through Alicent’s games.’
“Ser Vaemond, bless be. Sired me a beautiful granddaughter.” Visery sits as a jolly aging man, hair thinning to the point of some of his dome visible, and even a little pot belly protruding through his embroidered fabric.
Vaemond smiles, “Thank you, Viserys.”
“Truly, she’s beautiful.” A voice stabs Vaemond, swallowing down his loathing with a strained tight-lip smile.
Alicent is gazing down at Alysanne, rocking her against her breast, “She has her mother’s beauty.” Her tone is innocent, a demure smile to Viserys, and he falls for it, nodding along.
‘Fool. She plays you for a fool, Viserys.’
Vaemond walks to you, with the same forced thinned smile. His fingers reach for your long thick hair, caressing the curls, kissing your cheek.
No doubt in his mind, he can sense Alicent’s irate, and for a moment, it delights him.
-
‘Alas, the charade has ceased.’
Vaemond feels lighter, finally getting solace between himself and you. Time to part from Viserys and Alicent, Vaemond desires to eat a morning meal with you. To break fast together with Alysanne in her cradle, gurgling happily.
Recovery from birth has left you famished, craving for a hearty meal.
Departing from Alicent gave a shiver up your skin, it felt wrong to be away, she has been so attentive during the labor, and the after birth. Always holding Alysanne, as if she was Alicent’s blood.
Alicent hesitantly restrained herself, as Vaemond took control like the reins of a horse. Alicent wanted him to leave, to befall in the pits of the seven hells, so she can have Alysanne and you to her own.
But, an outburst couldn’t be made.
Ser Criston swiftly dashed to your aid, his arm jutted out for you to hold on to—- conveniently occupying the space that was meant for your husband. But at least, Vaemond was able to hold his child in his arms back in Viserys' chambers.
Trailing behind Vaemond and yourself is your handmaiden, Elinda Massey—- who is also your sister’s handmaiden. You summoned her to help you, still a bit achy at your step.
A mousey, loyal, and gentle woman. In her arms is Alysanne, letting your daughter’s small chubby hand grab at her slender creamy fingers.
Vaemond walks behind you as if a lonesome man, a mere man trailing behind a princess, and her sworn shield, watching you and Criston laugh and converse—- excluding him is your second nature.
The dining chambers are filled with platters of food—- the extended polished wood covered with meats, eggs and fruits.
See Criston bows, taking his post at the door, his darkened gaze shadowed by a brow.
“At last, we are alone.” Vaemond’s hand holds yours, his thumb stroking your fingers. Crawling with disgust within yourself, forcing a genuine smile to appease him.
“I have missed you.” Vaemond leans in, speaking against your cheek, his warm breath nearly making your skin recoil in a shrivel.
“And I, you.” You spoke in a formal, practiced infliction.
Vaemond’s lips connect to the skin of your cheek, daringly near the corner of your mouth. In times to display marital affection, to keep from shriveling away, you close your eyes, and a vision of Alicent soothes your mind.
Whenever you were to ‘perform’ your bedding duty as his wife, you lay limply on your back as a spread eagle, and imagine Alicent ravaging your body—- as she has done many times. Years now of this affair, suppressed away in the dead of night, hidden behind closed chambers with only whispers.
Edina cradles Alysanne close to her chest, prepping your little dragon for her slumber.
Vaemond pulls a chair for you, “This food looks divine.” He says, his hands caressing down your shoulders. An innocent smile forms on Edina’s face. “Queen Alicent has ordered the feast.” Her tone was gentle.
Vaemond chews the soft wall of his cheek, but wrinkles his mouth to a feigned smile. Nodding with a sardonic scrunch of his nose.
Edina breathes a smile, her eyes in your direction, “The Queen has also extended an invitation, the children desire to see little Alysanne.” She speaks, with adoration in her eyes on Alysanne.
Before you can speak, Vaemond interrupts. “Ah, yes, the king’s children shall see their niece,” He boasts. “We’ll present Alysanne after our fast.” Vaemond turns swiftly in his seat, almost lifting his fork, but your hand-maiden stammers.
“The Queen has not requested your presence, Ser Vaemond.” Edina’s voice lowers to an anxious stammer.
Vaemond’s mouth wrinkles, limbs frozen stiff. He slowly turns with a sharp shark eye. “I am their brother by law.” He says matter-of-factly. His eyes narrow a little, small and spiteful.
“Yes, of course, Ser Vaemond—-” she’s flushed with embarrassment, you nod your head that it’s okay, she hasn’t spoken out of turn. “But, Queen Alicent has only requested our Princess, and Lady Alysanne.”
Vaemond brews in silence, his eyes pierce and burn into the void. His breathing became heavier. Anxiously with a brave face, you instruct Edina to take Alysanne to your quarters, and give her your thanks for the delivery of the news.
Edina whisk away with Alysanne, patting her little bottom, exiting the shared room, leaving behind Vaemond, yourself and the cooked food that now grows cold.
A pregnant pause earns a tired eye roll from you, you can feel the vibrating stewing.
“When will this madness end?” Vaemond speaks, staring into his porcelain plate. You turn your eyes to him, your mouth hitches up for a moment in confusion, “What do you mean, Vaemond?”
His eyes look upon you desperately, “Alicent…” He says, shaking his head in disbelief, “She always meddles. She is a thorn upon me.”
Vaemond’s fingers grip the cloth of his stitched clothing, his fist poking at his chest. You roll your eyes in annoyance, a placid sigh, just hoping he can drop this.
“Do not speak of her in such a manner.” You spread through gritted teeth. “Alicent does not bear any ill will.” Your resonance is firm, no budging can waver it.
Your fingers curl in a gesture for him to stop. Jaw clenching, opening your napkin, just wanting to eat, and move away from this useless conversation.
“She prides herself as if she carries the cock!”
“Vaemond!”
“It is true!” He points at you with such fury, his eyes blood-shot red, “I cannot even hold my own blood without Alicent hovering!” Vaemond nips, his hands shaking, thrashing in the air.
You shush him again, his rising voice grating your ears. “Alicent is good, and kind. I do wish you could be respectful—-” Vaemond’s scoff interrupts you. Your face contorts with offense.
Vaemond’s face softens, furrowing in desperation.
“If you carry any love for me, you will distance us from Alicent.” Vaemond pleads, his hands clasping over yours, his voice irks you, it’s so pathetic.
“Tell her to go, flee from our presence.” Closing your eyes, your face resolving to an exhausted state, you shook your head in defiance, not even daring to look into his gaze, restraining to wretch your hands away.
“I will not.” Your voice is low, and firm, with your dead shark eyes. It’s been like this for the last two years, Vaemond complaining about Alicent, and as usual, your response defies his wishes.
“I understand Alicent was your childhood companion, but—-” Vaemond tries to ease the burdensome tension.
“Is. She is, Vaemond.”
He hums with annoyance, head nearly falling in exasperation, “Do you love me?” Vaemond asks in disbelief, questioning your faithfulness.
He leans back, offended and forlorn that he must ask such a question. You shake your head, with a sympathetic strained smile, “I care for you.” Patting his hand, a gesture often used to calm whining children.
“My wife does not harbor love for her husband?” He speaks through his teeth, wrenching his hand away from your touch.
A scoff escapes your lips, inhaling deeply, with a harsh swallow. Why must he make matters so difficult?
“This is an arranged marriage, marital vows spoken for the sake of allyship between our two houses. I care for you, Ser Vaemond, but I do not love you.”
“You love another?”
”No.” You spoke too quickly.
A pregnant pause.
Vaemond’s anger dissolves, fading to a blank stare, his breathing becomes shallow. His burning stare earns an uncomfortable shiver, uneasy in your own seat.
Jagged puzzle pieces twisting, slowly forming together —- all the times of Alicent’s shadow lingering. Whenever he dares utter a mention of Alicent, all you do is brush him off, as if he was the mere nuisance.
“You do.” He speaks in a hush, bolting to his feet, he huffs under his breath, such a petulant child. Stepping back a few steps, sneering.
As if the pieces finally shape and move, the thought pushes through the crevices of his mind. A deadpan chuckle scuffs from his mouth, his eyes just staring into you.
“The Gods made man and woman….” Vaemond trails off, unflinching, boring into you. No, no, no… your throat clenches in a swallow. Your brows compress into what seems as hurt and confusion, but truly it is fear.
“A man and woman shall share thou bed, and—” Vaemond’s eyes widens, motioning you to finish the well-practiced verse.
“And?” He prodes, he tilts his head, clicks his tongue. Your face morphs to silent anger, staring up at him with lavender daggers, breathing harder now.
“You are well taught of this verse. Have you forgotten your teachings?” Vaemond mocks you. Your glare at him through your lashes, your nose flaring into a snarl, muttering a spiteful whisper.
“One shall not lie with the same sex.”
Vaemond nods mockingly, his eyes never leaving yours. Muttering under his breath, “ Yes, yes. ”
Violet optics stare with fury.
A screech of a chair follows.
Vaemond begins chanting, spewing zealot verses, as a delirious septon. Pacing back and forth, hands twirling into the air.
“A sin against the Gods!”
A crack of a slap echos, so hard his face is swacked to his side, his mouth pouted. The sting of your rings vibrates against his cheek. Vaemond stares at you in disbelief, but your spine straightens, what once was gentility in your eyes, is now just disgust.
“I am your wife.” Your throat tightens, unable to swallow down the tears. No tears wasted on your husband —- no, never. Tears for that the truth could bleed out, such a scandal it could be!
The Princess and the Queen in a twisted love affair—- the shame it would bring to the names Targaryen, and Hightower.
“And you will respect me as such.” You spoke with an edge, with a firm finality. You whisk away from him, Vaemond believing that this was the end to the conversation.
The rough edge of the wooden table digs into the heels of your hands roughly. Tinkering your body back and forth by the grip, yearning to scream. Throat burning raw, splintering.
But the longing inside of you is violent, changeling. To vomit the ache that has been brewing —- Vaemond’s foot has been tinkling the pot, and now it has spilled.
You just want him to understand —- that a young girl to be married to her cousin, a cousin she has no grown affection for, to be ripped from her autonomy, to have hidden her true love secretly—- that this isn’t what a girl should be subjected to.
Your fists bang against the dining table, stinging the wound tight flesh. Twirling so fast, it startles Vaemond in a flinch.
“I have only been dutiful, sacrificed my body… for you. ” Your voice in a hoarse whisper. Peering at him over your shoulder, nearing a sob. Dutiful not in the traditional sense, but you have defended him, even when you couldn’t stand the man.
“I am a second born, but I am a princess, no less. My title is your prize.” Heavily restraining your breathing, the sorrow transforming into anger.
“I am merely a token for your status. A pawn for the purity of your bloodline.” Speaking through tears, frustration from your wounded core spewing. “Yet, I have not begrudged you, nor humiliated you.”
Vaemond flinches back, his pride stomped on under your pretty foot. Grinding the heel into the splatter.
“I have done what was expected of me!” You shrill, your breathing becoming haggard, “And here you stand, demanding me to throw away the only companion I have!”
“You have me, darling.” Vaemond’s faux sweet tone does nothing but disgust you.
“You’re more like my father than I thought.” Your nose recoils in shame. That left a sour twang on your tongue. “I had no say in this— this —” you’re stammering, dry-heaving as tears collide down your cheeks, but the fury is boiling over.
Murmuring under your breath, ‘I didn’t want this. I didn’t desire you.’ Vaemond huffs a breath, stepping closer, his presence suffocating.
Vaemond goads you, ‘say it, say it!’ Nearly hovering over you, his nose inches away from yours, but the blood of the dragon that soars through you snips back against the weak feeble sea snake.
“—- THIS MISERABLE CHARADE OF A MARRIAGE!”
Both of your voices shrill higher, mangling over each other in volume, alarmingly. Vaemond screams that he is your husband, to obey his word as law, but you follow no man. Vaemond corners you into the wooden table, trying to scare you, but you bark right back at him.
The roaring echos so badly, it may have reached all through King’s Landing.
Criston barges inside the chambers, the carved doors nearly thrashing against the wall pavement. Bolting towards Vaemond, thrashing him by the jut of his arm, standing in-front of you as a shield.
Vaemond shrills, “How dare you lay your hands on me?!” Criston seethes his sword, the sharp steel’s reflection blinking at Vaemond, catching his eyes within the reflection.
“I will not permit insults upon her grace.” Criston’s teeth are grinding, he hissed through his clenching ivories.
“No offense has been made, Criston.”
Criston’s face peeks over his steel shoulder, you assure him with a smile. “I am quite alright, thank you.” The warmth in your eyes melt to cold ire regarding Vaemond.
“My husband lost himself briefly, I assure he will refrain himself from a spectacle.” Cold, dead violet eyes blink at him, Vaemond hums with disbelief.
Criston lowers his sword, swiftly into its leather sheath. His rich brown eyes never leave Vaemond, as he walks back to his post.
The doors shut.
The silence hangs tightly.
“Vaemond, I don’t desire an argum—” You sigh, turning around on your heels, but your words die in a gasp, his hand grabs your jugular, a weak attempt of intimidation by a small man.
Vaemond’s fingers clutches the terrain of your throat, pulling you into him by his grip. A startle overwhelms you. Your fingers hovering over his wrist, gripping onto him. Offense melts into mockery.
A small laugh leaves you, tittering at Vaemond. Snide eyes blankly stare at him, daring for him to continue. Embarrassment floods him, releasing your throat.
“Such affections will not be tolerated.” Vaemond hisses, his face morphing between stoic and hostile. His ego is bruised and bitten off at the edges.
“Will it? ” A soft insulting chuckle emits from your lips, your face cold yet devilish. “Who will believe such tales?” You breathe another chuckle, more harsher now, your lavender eyes leering at him.
“My father will never believe such fabrications . His dear wife, and his daughter—”
“Soiling each other. ” Vaemond’s voice grats, and gruff, his voice looms low. You shake your head in disbelief, your pale curls bouncing against your cheekbones.
A sick, derisive smile, “You will become ill with your unfounded paranoia.” Coyly your hand plays with his cloth that rests at his shoulders.
“Why do you insist on such vile lies?” You ask him, your hand rests upon his shoulder. Caressing his shoulder through his luxurious vest.
“By the Gods, Vaemond—- why can’t you see that Alicent means no harm?”
The shells of Vaemond’s ears burn, his voice cracks into a groan, he refuses to submit to your ‘seduction of sweetness’ . Twirling his body in a circular pacing —- as if he was possessed by unholy madness. Your feet peddle backwards, rather smug at his insolence.
Vaemond turns his body, composing himself.
“We will leave for Driftmark.” Vaemond’s index finger menacingly pointed at you. “By the morrow.”
His hand strikes the air with every word he utters, “That is my word. ” And another, “ That is my law. ” Vaemond spins in haste, his heels clicking against the marbling with vigor.
You watch him depart and disappear, your head held high indignantly, but as he disappears through the chamber doors, you nearly collapse to your knees.
Your fingers fidgety and twirling the gold bands of your jeweled rings, clutching your belly —- your torso nearly hunching over from the rush of anger, and fright. Your belly is trembling.
The familiar emerald gem resting on your marital finger, fiddling your fingers against each other. You kiss it to ground yourself.
Criston waltz back inside your chambers with an irate gait.
“Princess, are you alright?”
You nod hastily, clearing your throat, already hoarse from the screaming. “Yes, I am quite fine.” You hesitantly move back and forth, feet bobbing from toe to heel, not sure if you want to sit for a moment or run to get Alysanne.
Criston steadies you, before you fumble to pieces from the overwhelming stress. He guides you by the joints of your elbows, seating you down on the velvet dining chair.
Criston’s admiration bleeds profusely. A rarity these days to acquire a male companion, who doesn’t yearn for your womanhood, but seeks out your mind—- and approval.
Criston mounts Alicent and yourself on a pedestal akin to those carved idols in the sept. A peculiar affection, Criston seeks to mold himself to be worthy in your eyes. As a pleading mortal prays to the Mother.
Beyond his rich brown eyes, he sees a being holy. A girl, who accompanied Alicent, saved him from the edge of his own sword, from the filth of his sins.
Your sworn shield since you were a young girl. A bond built on the fragments of trust, and pain.
“Does he often yell at you?” Criston asks. His eyes shadowed under his dark brow. Big brown oculus glistening with newfound frustration.
Your mouth gaps open, trying to find the words, but Criston is bristling as the hairs of a cat’s spine. “He dares abuse you?”
An airy inhale catches your throat, as tears sheen your eyes. “Abuse, that word weighs too heavy—- he’s an entitled man, who believes a woman should kneel in obedience.” Shaking your head, with a forlorn smile.
“In all the Targaryen bloodline, has there ever been a mousy woman?” You giggle, shoulders shaking. “He prides himself as a conqueror.” A boisterous laugh escapes Criston.
“A conqueror? Barely a knight.” Criston speaks cruelly, a mean smirk curling at his lip. “In the battle field, his armor is polished.”
A moment as this, a wife should display shame to discuss her husband with disdain, but Vaemond is not a man. Your hand was forced to wed a spoiled brat—- your father has no qualms on arranged marriages.
-
The Red Keep has many secrets. A plethora of hidden away chambers —- fit for two people. Alicent’s chambers were your favored choice of solace.
Alicent entrusted you with her secrets, and her fears, as you have done as well.
Her fingertips graze against your skin, tracing softly against the curve of your wrist, to the underside of your palm. Stroking the healed scar, the very one Alicent gave you many moons ago.
Just two bodies lying together, in bliss. The warmth of the fire pit and body heat encases you both. Flesh dew and scented from a shared bath of oils and soaps.
It wasn’t always so pleasant through the early years of shared girlhood. The guilt, the shame of harboring such affection for a woman. There isn’t a word in the western tongue for this affection.
There were days as young girls, Alicent would lock herself away, reading over verses, deep in prayer. As you spent hours with septas reciting prayers in unison, under the cloth of your dress, pinching and scratching the flesh of your thighs till splotches of deep purple formed.
Alicent mutilating her fingernails, gnawing or pinching away the redden cuticles.
Many suns and moons passed in the early days, but the love kept growing. The perpetual denial, the discreet glances, the graze of fingers tantalizingly touching—-ever so close, ever so far. How lost you become in Alicent’s moon-brown eyes.
The guilt was far too great, keeping distance between each other, but the ties thread only stretched painfully. A desperate longing, a raw human feeling.
Harbored tenderness finally exploded, blinding tears, and dashing feet carried you through the corridors of the sept, one day. There, as a holy vision, Alicent knelt in prayer, crying silently.
Clicks of hast feet alerted her, turning her watery gaze over her shoulder, as her fingers rested interlocked. A lost little babe under the towering marbling of The Mother.
This separation was a death sentence, vile and cruel. No longer, could you stay away, you needed her touch. And she did too for yours.
Without a word, you collapse to your feet before her, as you would in worship. Kneeling against her green silks, sniffling as your head falls against her thighs, her gnawed fingers wove themselves within your pale tresses.
‘Why did the Gods sew my heart to you?’
Alicent’s lips peppered kisses on your scalp, sniffling as her hands clung onto your back, cradling you. Rocking you back and forth, a rhythmic cradling, as a mother would.
If you were born a son, perhaps life wouldn’t be so cruel, so unfair.
Haunted by then the guilt of loving one another when your father took Alicent as his new bride. By the eyes of law, Alicent is your step-mother, but she never was, nor ever will.
The rings you both bear, is a reminder that your union isn’t recognized by the law of man, but the law of the Gods. Biting down on your bottom lip, sucking it into your mouth as a child, you couldn’t bear to stomach today’s charade.
“He suspects.”
Alicent’s head rises from your shoulder, confusion and fear creeping into her brown eyes. Her brows pinch, her fingers stroking the silk of your nightgown.
“Your father?” She asks in a whisper, so hushed as if scared anyone could hear beyond the walls.
“Vaemond.”
“How?” Alicent shakes her head, her beautiful face morphed with concern.
“As we were breaking our fast, he threw a fit, that your invitation didn’t extend to him.” You wearily laugh, “He went mad, raving on about how you seek to keep me from him.” Alicent sits up, her hand sinking into the mattress, darkness enveloping her eyes.
“Did he strike you?”
“No, thank the Gods. Criston came to my aid,” You wipe the tears that spill over your eyes by the back of your hand, “If he were to strike me, I would’ve gutted Vaemond as a fish.”
Alicent became quiet. “It worries me, so.” She says. Her thumb flicks against a cuticle. Quickly, you cease the harm, engulfing her hand in yours.
“My love, please.” You whisper, tapping her fingers gently. A sweet whisper stops Alicent’s assault.
“He will not have us seperated.” Alicent swallows, her face shrivels, the mere images of you being whisked away —- as she would be left behind to drown in this loneliness.
Shaking her head, speaking through wet inhales, “The Gods answered my prayers as a child,” Alicent’s head fell in a bow, her forehead connected to your knuckles, “I will see to it that you shall stay.” Alicent spoke through her tears, muttering now as a prayer, you must stay.
Rocking back and forth, hunched over as she would be in deep prayer—- stripped raw for you to see.
Alicent holds your inner wrist, kissing it against her lips. Her eyes were dilated, stammering under her breath. Your arms encase Alicent in a tight, warm hug. Cradling her as a babe.
“Oh, my love,” You croak, voice hoarse, laying your head on her spine. “The Gods have blessed us to still have one another, I have no doubt that I shall stay.”
“You have blessed me with a daughter.” Alicent says in a hush. “In another life, she is ours.” Her eyes gaze upon you.
Cupping Alicent’s cheeks into your palms, leaning for a kiss. Kissing her eyes, the bridge of her nose, between her eyes getting a titter from her.
Alicent strokes her nose against yours, her lips capturing yours. Lips melting, wet tongues fondle —- Alicent suckles your tongue, her milky fingers untying the cotton, slithering fingers underneath the flaps, cupping your swollen breasts.
One of Alicent’s hand trickles mischievously down your belly, caressing your sore mound, through the white night wear. A gasp slips from your lips. Her teeth nip at your cheek, open wet kisses trail across your skin down the slope of your throat.
Flesh singing alive, and Alicent whispers to be gentle, a little fondling, but no penetration. Unlike Vaemond, who sought for your body just merely days from birth.
Intertwining bodies cast shadows by the dim candle light, and girlish giggles echo against the chamber walls.
-
The hour is late.
Alicent and yourself departed for the night, begrudgingly to upkeep the reputation of dutiful wives.
In comfortable silence, Edina helps your achy bodice, in your night routine. Brushing your hair, and assisting you with Alysanne. You bathed her, and clothed her. As you held her against her chest, Edina brushed your hair.
It’s restful, and Vaemond isn’t near to ruin such bliss. You weren’t sure where he had run off to, but you didn’t muster the strength to care.
A quiet knock on your chambers alerted you, and for a moment, a growl nearly slipped. “Edina, can you please see who that is?” You ask sweetly. She mutters, Yes, princess.
Edina opens the door gently, with only a silver opening. As you rock your daughter against your breast, Edina breathes in a relief, turning back to you. You stare at her through the reflection of your mirror.
“It is Ser Criston, Princess.”
You sigh with a smile, grateful it isn’t your husband. You shuffle carefully in your stool, “Please, let him in.” Patting Alysanne’s little bum.
Edina moves the door wider, and Criston bows his head respectfully. “Hello Criston.” You greet him with a hum, “Is everything well?”
“A meeting has been called, Princess.” He says, almost with a tone of urgency. Your brows pinch in confusion, “The hour is late, why has the council been summoned?” Titling your head, eyes tired.
“I saw Alicent, and Otto accompany your father in the council chambers—-” Criston exhales with frustration, “— along with Vaemond.” His jaw clenches.
Stoned fury cements itself on your face, swallowing down, breathing becoming more heavier.
“Edina, please take Alysanne. I must tend to my imbecile of an husband.” The courtesy of graciousness, and taught manners are long gone, seeping out of you with the urge to bark.
Edina shuffles with quickness at her step, her hands out-stretched for Alysanne. Carefully Edina took your little bundle in her arms, you kissing her little furry head, as Criston helped you get to your feet.
“Criston, please take me to see Vaemond.” Your hand cupping Criston’s extended forearm, guiding you, his other hand on-top of your fingers.
A malicious smirk curls at the corner of his mouth, as you mutter obscenities under your breath along the path of the keep.
-
A meeting has been summoned.
An invitation only for Viserys to join Vaemond in the council room, but Alicent and Otto have come forth as Viserys’ shadows.
“I see your grace, and the Hand has come.” Vaemond says, rather annoyed. Alicent’s gaze subtly searches the room, but you are nowhere in sight.
“Whichever you must say,” Viserys says with a smile, “can be spoken among my wife, and my hand.” Viserys limply walks to the council table.
“Of course.” Vaemond strains with a formal smile. He clears his throat, his hands behind his back. “It’s time for my wife to reside in Driftmark.”
Silence commences. Alicent’s eyes widen.
“My daughter has just been born, and I would like my blood to enjoy her home.” Vaemond continues. A sullen look drags on Viserys. “So soon, my granddaughter has just been born.”
“Of course, not yet. Out of respect, we will stay for a little longer, but once we are ready—” Vaemond’s words are snuffed out, by Alicent’s scoff.
“No— - she cannot leave. King’s Landing is her home.” Alicent speaks anxiously, turning to Viserys. Vaemond scoffs under his breath. Alicent’s head twists in his direction with such haste, any faster her head would have spun and fallen off her shoulders.
“Two years we have stayed, not once has my wife visited Driftmark.” Vaemond puffs his chest, “She has not seen the seas of my home!”
Alicent chortles, a wet growl. “Viserys, please see to this.” She turns back to Viserys, “The children will miss her, you won’t see Alysanne for a time.” Alicent’s slender fingers grasp Viserys’ clothes forearm with a tightness. An exhausted sigh escapes him.
“Or you will miss her.” Vaemond spits.
“She is my friend, of course I would.” Alicent hisses through her teeth. Vaemond’s feet walk one by one, with sardonic thumps; leaning into Alicent’s space.
Alicent’s eyes squinted, “And where is she? It would be preferred to have her presence.” It didn’t feel right to not have you in this meeting, yet Vaemond is here overseeing a decision on your behalf.
“It is her right to choose where her home is! This should be her decision!” A vein slightly protrudes at Alicent’s neck, her throat straining.
“Your peculiar need for my wife is —- disturbing.” He says spitefully.
“Enough of this!” Viserys shouts, shutting both Alicent, and Vaemond to silence. “Two moons of this insufferable fighting—” He wheezes, “from the both of you!” He clicks his cane against the marbling, declaring his authority.
Vaemond towers over Alicent, nearly cornering her, but she doesn’t back down. Holding her head up high, staring back at him with such hate. A vision of silver, and a shuffle of metal enter the room.
Criston wedges himself between the two, his feet in stance for a brawl, but Vaemond only chuckles at the notion.
“Alas, the sworn mutt has come to protect his consort.”
“Must we have another go?” Criston asks, his dark brows shadowing his eyes. Venomous snake eyes, as his hands itch to slice Vaemond into an carasses.
”Would you liken I tell the king how you disrespected the princess?” Criston’s throat is hoarse, vein bulging. The seething rage within him is reaching a high.
Vaemond sucks his teeth at the notion. “My wife and I merely had a disagreement.” Alicent leans into Criston’s side, her lowered eyes twitching in a hooded glare.
Viserys shouts your name, his voice echoes within the room, beckoning you to him by his shaky hand. He caught you peeking from the chamber doors, watching the speckable.
Alicent’s eyes flooded with relief at the sight of you. You waltz inside with a determined gait, but as Vaemond opens his arms for an embrace, you swiftly pardon him with a worried smile, for Alicent and your father.
Vaemond’s feet bobbles, rooted into the marbling, still staring at the direction you walked through. Criston laughs to himself, at the pitiful sight.
Alicent holds you by the shoulders, shielding you away from your pestering husband.
“My sweet girl,” Viserys says, “Vaemond is declaring for you to leave.” He’s wounded. Viserys truthfully doesn’t want to see you depart, but you are a wedded woman now.
By law, a wife must accompany her husband, and it is two years late for your leave for Driftmark, such as Rhaenys had when she became lady of the sea.
“Yes, my love!” Vaemond says with a sardonic boast. “Our daughter has been born. It is our time to depart for home.” He steps closer, preparing to pry you away.
“The decision shall be done, only by my daughter’s permission.” Viserys casts a gaze at you, with such a kind smile, entrusting you to choose the ‘best decision’, to tame this spectating chaos.
Vaemond is repulsed at the notion of Viserys allowing you to make a decision on such matters.
You nearly stutter as a jester before everyone, terrified. Out of nature, your fingertips fidget with your ring. Not the ring bestowed to you by Vaemond, but the very ring shared between Alicent and yourself.
Blinking tears back, all eyes fall upon you. Alicent’s distressed wet eyes stare into yours, silently pleading with you.
You do not wish to prevent your daughter the opportunity to enjoy Driftmark, it is her home just as King’s Landing, but your heart is torn —- to be separated from Alicent is a murder.
Your soul won’t bear it, it would be felt as death. Worse than the pain during the wedding between Alicent and your father, the grief caused you to nearly fall ill. To separate the children—- hopes of being a family again shattering before you.
Hesitantly, your mouth quiver, but your mind was set. Driftmark is simply just a dragon’s ride away.
“I wish to stay here,” you proclaimed, standing with a firm posture. Vaemond’s eyes wide and enraged, gawking at you.
“Alysanne has just been born. There is no need for hast, I shall stay here in King’s Landing.”
A weak smile stretches just a little on Alicent’s face. All the fury seeps away from her face. Vaemond sputters in disgust, and rage. Nearly foaming at the mouth as a rabid dog.
“Then so be it.” Viserys proclaims, walking towards you with his cane, the ache of his body weighs on him, causing a limp, and a cough.
With no hesitation, you dash to his side, as does Alicent. You whisper to your father with a kiss to his cheek, a firm yet gentle ‘thank you, father’.
The pin drops. The hinges snap.
The Sea Snake breaks through the bubbling sea foam. A man cannot take anymore of this.
“ Viserys,” Vaemond pleas, shoulders shaking, fingers curling, “she plays you for a fool. Don’t you see that Alicent has bewitched your daughter—”
“Enough!” Viserys stomps the end of his cane, the clank startling you, as a frightened little girl, you cling onto your father’s forearm. His aging face distorts, his eyes leering into Vaemond.
“I respect you, Ser Vaemond, but you shall hold your tongue.” Viserys waddles closer, “Alicent is your queen, and respect is in order.”
Otto leans by the pillars, arms crossed against his chest. A spectator enjoying a theater play.
“Alicent is my daughter’s childhood companion, and I will not see them separated.” Viserys declares, stomping his cane onto the ground, echoing against the keep, its thud emphasizing his decision.
His word is law.
“I love your daughter, Viserys—”
“Then act as such!”
Vaemond sighs loudly, nearly stomping his feet in defeat.
“Vaemond, for the nearly twelve moons, you have made me mad with your judgment.” Viserys huffs. Shaking his head at Vaemond’s childish attitude. “Ridiculous bickering with my wife.”
Viserys softly tilts his head, “No more of this.” He whispers to Alicent. She swallows down, holding onto Viserys’ arm, mouth wrinkling into a frown, as if reprimanded as a child.
“Alicent ploys against me—-” Vaemond’s words die into a groan as a fist punch at his chest. A series of grunts and thrashing. You bellow for them to stop this thrashing.
Vaemond and Ser Criston tussle on top of each other, Viserys declaring for both of them to cease. Your pleas fall onto deaf ears. Your feet carry you near them, trying to tug Vaemond off of Criston, fruitlessly.
A clash of limbs, a tug of war. With one miscalculation of his elbow, a crunch and airy gasp of pain breaks. A collision against the floor, you softly whine in pain.
Shouts of your name, and feet running.
Nose welting as a smashed berry, seeping into the cave of your mouth, copper embedding on your palate. Your vision is blurry, colors of fabric and candle flames are translucent murky strings before your eyes.
Sensations of hands picking up your limp body in marital fashion, your mind too deep in a daze to connect with reality. Not sure who has you, muffled shouting becomes clearer.
Your lavender eyes are blank, and unblinking, as your vision begins to unclog the fog—— auburn hair stands before you, and trembling fingers caress your swollen lip.
Out of habit, your tongue glides over the top cage of your teeth, stinging the swelling flesh of gums, but you don’t stop the brushing of ivories.
“Fetch the maesters!”
You inhale a small gust of breath, a deep one that fills your lungs to an odd relief; as if you haven’t breathed in ages. Such vacancy etched in your pupils, gazing through your lashes to witness a faded vision of Vaemond staring in surprise.
He tries to come near you, but your father barks in his face. You don’t seek his affections, he has committed enough damage for a fortnight.
Sweet palms encase your cheeks, dabbing the spilling blood that coats the bridge of your nose, its sticky. Scared breaths escape Alicent, hyperventilating, as your eyes become loopy, one closes slowly after the other. The maesters all encircle you, muttering that your nose may be broken.
A wounded dragon rests upon the shores of Oldtown, crying for help. A roaming sea snake is lurking, snipping. The tower shines green. Alicent’s eyes catch Criston’s spare dagger —- the banners have been called.
Alicent charges at him, hatred and spite feeding off of each fiber of her being, taking the dagger that was seethed in Criston’s satchel, woven in her grip.
Dashing feet clamor against the flooring —- an ungodly manic shout roars from Alicent, frightening all men. Viserys haggers a few steps back, calling out to Alicent.
“Have you gone mad?!” Alicent’s voice is hoarse, snarling at him as a devilish beast. Her arm raises up, ready to strike through his flesh.
Quickly, Vaemond’s arms fling high, freeing himself, catching Alicent’s wrist in his. Alicent can’t even hear pleas from her husband, nor her father —- the stain of red has engulfed her vision. All shouts for her died in the distance, as blood rushed to her ears.
Murderous thoughts plague her mind as grave rot, to gash Vaemond’s skull open, feed his torn limbs to your dragon, imprison him as a suffering lame —- his delayed death will only sedate her fury.
Harming the only soul she can confide in, the only being who understands her fears, who shares her guilt for possessing love for another woman, but oh —- such a sin is delightful.
You’re the only one who can hear her voice in this wretched hell procreated by the Gods —- you can still hear her heart-beat in a crowded room.
You see her, as she sees you.
Not as your step-mother, more than a childhood companion, but as your lover, another-half of your soul. Stolen moments when the realm is asleep, both crying, laughing as if the world outside doesn’t exist—- ushering fantasies of traveling on dragon’s back to East, exploring the colorful lives of the Free Cities, as young girls again.
Praying on your knees, caressing each other.
Love, this is her love, to be seen in a room of shattered shards of glass that reflect the children you both once were. You won’t leave her alone, to slip away from each other. To be inside each other’s skin, to be inside each other.
Two women tangled in the realms’ webs. Forced to marry men who make their skin crawl. A matrimony in misery together.
“Alicent, put away the dagger!”
“What have you done for her?” Alicent’s whispers, with malice. Her eyes wet with an unshed sheen. Her voice is so low, just enough for Vaemond to hear, as a chorus of shouts fade in the distance.
“Besides take her body as ownership?” Alicent’s voice cracks into a broken wail, “Wedded her to claim her nobility as yours.” Her nose scrunches as a hound, “She is not a pawn in your games.” She hisses through her canines.
“Own her? I, a man, cannot even enjoy his marriage without interference. Meddling in affairs you have no qualms with.” Vaemond’s thrashing causes a slip of fingers.
His veiny hand tussles with Alicent’s arm, a futile attempt tugging by the jut of her elbow, to try to take her to safety, but she doesn’t relent. She thrashes her arm away, with a grunt.
The dagger’s sharp curved tip inches hairs away from Vaemond’s exposed glossy ocular.
“It is my right to be concerned.” Alicent’s teeth bore into a scowl. She’s unrecognizable, edging on her last thread of sanity. “Who will care for her?” Her voice carries the weight of concern, affection, a crack of desperation.
Disoriented voices fade in and out from the distance, a stand-off brewed from loathing, and jealousy. As many try to break apart Alicent and Vaemond—- others flock to your limp body, and the sprinting maesters.
Vaemond leers through his lashes, turning his attention away. Your ichor staining Alicent’s fingernails, and wrists in splatters. Vaemond’s venomous spite inflates akin to spikes, his eyes daringly bore into Alicent’s, sneers low under his breath, ‘suffocating’.
A disgruntled growl slips from Alicent’s lips. “ I am her companion. Her only friend. ” Alicent inches closer, nearly barking in his face. Such a declaration in her bellowing voice, her brows pinching in sorrow.
A moment stills.
He smirks, nose flaring.
“The very friend who bedded her grieving father.”
An ungodly screech rips from Alicent, raw and animalistic. Strength and sheer adrenaline. A scream that echoes the thousand unheard cries of her depraved girlhood. A release of her festering sorrow all in one strike.
By the Gods, what a fleeting delight.
With a swift glide of her wrist, the dagger just inches from the bridge of his nose, but the sharp tip rips a slice on his cheek.
Clamor of voices die in the silence.
Alicent slowly backed away, with such wild rage glistening in her eyes, her fingers trembling loose from her grip. The dagger clanks at her feet, her breaths are haggard.
Vaemond’s fingertips dab against the bleeding slash. Stricken with astonishment at the drips of ichor —- and great offense, Alicent has gathered the nerve to commit such a heinous act.
A suffocating figure comes near as a shadow.
Otto comes to his daughter’s side, his shoulder patting her shoulder to quell the tension that tightens her muscles. His vacant palm grips her wrist, softly squeezing, comfort? A warning.
Towering behind her, with such an ominous categorical glare, Otto breathes through his nose, a frustrated sigh. If no one will take the reins of this masquerade, he will. He always prided himself to be the solver of any problems.
Calculating his next move, to not only pacify Vaemond down, but to not frazzle the feathers of his child.
“Let us handle this bickering with grace.” Otto’s head tilts down, gaze downcasted at his daughter's dome, caressing her thick waves—- whose face was still twitching with lingering tears, exhaustion draining from her.
“We will all discuss our —-” Otto pauses for a second, turning his sight to Vaemond, feigning an inch of sympathy, “troubles in the morrow.” As a master manipulating the strings of its puppet, dancing to his rhythm.
-
Dull pain weighs on the bridge of your nasal, the milk of the poppy soothing most of the inflamed ache. The maesters claim it’s the luck of the Gods that your nose wasn’t shattered, with being the brunt of brute strength.
Resting in your chambers, deep in the massive blankets, boneless bodice sinking into the mattress, but your hooded eyes never leave Alysanne’s cradle.
Even in a moment of enduring the strain of this wound, the motherly instinct within you is overtaken. Awaiting any gurgle, or cry, any excuse to hold her in your embrace.
An uncomfortable whine vibrates low in your throat, nearing a snort, by the joints of your elbows into the mattress, you lift your heavy body up. Groggy muscles tighten and burn as you dig within yourself any inch of remaining strength.
Slow steps inch closer —- one and two, one and two—- your fingers grip the cradle. Carefully, your open palms dive into the blankets, grasping Alysanne’s little neck, and back; by the bent of your knees, you hoist her up.
Small gurgles emit from her heart-shaped mouth, you coo her, connecting her small body against your chest. Rocking her back to slumber, you shuffle back to your bed, hawking your balance, so that your feet don’t catch the loose end of your silk night-gown.
You gaze at her, what a beauty she is.
Despite loathing her father, the miserable masquerade he performed not only before your father, but to the sworn shield, the king’s hand to bear witness —- and above all else, in-front of your dear Alicent.
Vaemond’s outburst of demands, proclaiming you to be taken by his force, to reside the end of your days in Driftmark.
Aware of how tedious Otto is upon his reputation that extends upon his daughter, he will chastise any witnesses to keep tight lips. No whispers of this dreadful night. For once, you hope Otto weaves his fingers —- there is no need for anyone to speak such haughty gossip about Alicent.
‘My love has suffered for too long.’ You mull quietly. Softly grazing Alysanne’s button nose. Alicent doesn’t deserve to be the subject of the talebearers—- to be humiliated as such.
Alysanne mewls in her sleep, but your essence lulls her, caressing her cheek with your nose. Tracing the bridge of her nose with the grace of your finger, admiring her innocence.
“I will not let him have you,” You whisper in a hush, “And I will not have him take me away.”
-
“A mere scratch.”
The head maester dabbed Vaemond’s cheek, as the white cloth soaks in splotches of his blood.
“If it was closer, it would have been a gash, and the loss of an eye.”
Vaemond sits with his fingers digging into his clothed knees, as an insolent child. Vaemond is marinating in his seat, brooding in his pathetic defeat.
His fingers clenching onto the arm-rests, the intricate gold dragon engraving digging into the flesh of his fingers.
A handful of maesters flocked to Vaemond’s aid with haste, as Alicent was whisked away without a word from her father.
Humiliated, that his own wife would not defend his honor, that he was cut down by a woman’s hand, that the king himself would not see the impending shambles of his house.
A shush falls upon the maesters, quietly bowing.
Vaemond’s eyes gaze up to see Alicent at the doors. Mute, and regal, despite losing herself in her anger. The maesters all bow, one after another, taking their leave — all scurry out of the door, as rats.
Alicent walks inside, stoned silent, her palms clasped on top of each other against her belly, her lips pursed — restraining herself, her eyes still red at the rim from dried tears.
No less, her father sent her to mend the peace. Alicent stares Vaemond down, even through her display of vulnerability, she sees him as nothing. As if he is the dirt beneath her feet.
Vaemond stiffened his spine, his chest puffed out to ready brace himself against her wrath. But Alicent doesn’t move… her feet stay rooted. Her eyes are distant, as if reflecting quietly.
She hums.
“His grief doesn't bear a flame to mine.”
164 notes · View notes
sxrvice · 1 year
Text
john doe : boredom? cured!
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john doe x reader (theres not enough of this lmao)
wc : 1.6k 
warnings: first post bear with me, mating press, breeding, cunnilingus, cockwarming (?), unprotected sex, public sex, cream pie, praise
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You sighed as boredom continued to take over your senses, looking out the window of the gas station. Uncanny Valley, for the place it was, ‌frankly, was dry today. There were barely any customers that day, and you were mildly dreading having to figure out what you were going to make or buy to eat that evening. It seemed like every time you blinked, the world around you moved more and more like a slug each time. As the setting went dark around you for a second more, once the light came through, a familiar face sat maybe a tad too close in front of yours. Your breath hitched almost immediately, and you shot back, your heart racing, adrenaline pumping in your veins. 
"Helllllllloooo, darling!~" His familiar voice rang in your ears. Someone was extra happy today. 
"Oh, fuck, it's just you, Doe." You responded a little out of breath. You walked back over to him from the other side of the counter, your arms opening up for a hug, but he snatched you up, literally. Doe was squeezing you to the point you had difficulty even letting out a single breath. 
"I miss, miss, miss you!" He exclaimed, swaying side to side with you in his grasp. "Love- I… Can't- Breathe!" You squeaked out while patting his back in an attempt for him to let you go. 
"Ah, sorry!" He apologized, hesitantly letting you slip from his grasp. Your hands went to his cheeks, and once the soft skin of your palms cupped them you pecked his lips affectionately.
“I should’ve expected your arrival, really. There’s not a day where I can’t leave you for long, is it?” You teased a chuckle following afterward. Doe looked away sheepishly before looking back at you. You know he can’t look away from you for too long. That’s asking too much from him. 
“What? Cat got your tongue?” 
“No, just lookin’.” He responded. 
You made a small noise at his response before removing your hands from his warm face and trying to make your way back over the counter.
“Where are you going?” He asked, almost urgently. You looked over your shoulder at him. "I have a job to maintain, sweetheart."
He huffed at your words and looked like he had deflated on the counter. His lower half off of the counter, the top half on it, and his lanky arms dangling over the part where you live practically all day. "Don't be so down in the dumps, Doe. I get off soo-" "I can't help it! I miss you so much - I miss how you feel against me, I miss how warm you are! Darling, I simply can't help it!" He exclaimed like a manga schoolgirl declaring her love for the male protagonist. 
"You have to wait." You told him sternly.
Doe's wide eyes narrowed. "Mmm, nope! Nadda! Can't do it!" You groaned at his words. Damn him. Damn. Damn. Damn. 
"What'll get you off my ass?" You replied to his whining, irritated. 
Doe hummed and looked off into space before snapping. 
"Getting in between it." He answered, grinning smugly at you. 
And that's how you found yourself in the position you are in now.
Trying your best to keep yourself standing straight, your knees buckled now and then because of your eldritch boyfriend lapping at your heat between your thighs. Doe's nails dug into the tender skin of your ass, pulling your mounds apart to get in even deeper. You tried to stifle your moans to the best of your ability. Meanwhile, Doe is down south having the time of his life. Desperately licking and slurping for your sweet essence. 
"Good b-boy, Doe. Good-" You take a deep breath when his prolonged tongue curls inside of you and hit a sensitive spot. A choked moan erupted out of your throat, and Doe only went quicker. The surrounding atmosphere was getting almost too hot, and you felt yourself get dizzy with pleasure. Doe ripped his face from your sopping cunt, panting to that of a dog onto it.
"Why'd ya stop?" You complain, looking over your shoulder into his enormous eyes.
"Can't wait anymore. Need you." He replied, his ordinarily playful voice husky as his enlarged pupils seemed to shake. Huh. This was certainly new.
He slithered his arms around your waist and pulled you onto the freezing tiles below you. A thought instantly came to your head that the floor your bare ass was touching was the filthiest, dirty, germy thing you'd probably come into contact with today. Let alone having your exposed skin on it. No matter, the ache in between your thighs distracted you from the filth. Doe found himself on top of your figure, and the way you looked up at him with those glimmering eyes made him want to destroy you until you were nothing but a mewling, hot mess. His lips caught yours as he put his overly warm hands onto the underside of your thighs, pushing them towards your stomach. The breeze from the A/C puffed onto your exposed folds and you made a noise of discomfort. To which, soon replaced by Doe slapping the fat tip of his cock onto your clit. You gasped into his mouth, prying yourself from his addictive kiss. "Doe- Oh, god, please just.. Ughhh.." A drawn-out moan came out of you as the sensation of your beloved rubbing the tip against your sensitive button. Doe had a devilishly joyous smile on his face as he examined how your face contoured into something beautiful. He wanted- no, needed, to see more of his piece of art.
You watched as he lined himself up at your entrance, feeling him poke and prod at the sensitive hole before he shoved himself into you. A high-pitched shriek echoed throughout the gas station as his thick cock created a burning sensation through your lower half. "Too- Big!" you exclaimed with tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Doe peppered kisses all over your face to distract you from the uncomfortable situation. "S'okay, just a little longer, okay?" He slurred into your ear soothingly, warm hands rubbing your sides. The burn subsided, and a familiar ache took over. The cock warming had gotten old, and Doe had gotten a tad fidgety in his own discomfort. "Move, love - Please." You whined. Your boyfriend wasted no time rocking his hips into yours nicely, slowly, and deliciously. It sent shocks throughout your pussy and made butterflies tickle the pit of your stomach. Doe felt the same pleasure in his dick. The feeling of your fluttering cunt on him felt like pure euphoria, from the tip, and to his spine. You looked at him with doe-eyes, your face flushed, but the joy plastered on your face was undeniable. "So .. Pretty. What did I do to deserve you?" He mumbled. You smiled sweetly before your lips shifted to an 'o' shape when the tip of Doe's member brushed up against a certain bundle of nerves.
 "Ah! D-doe! Right there!" Hearing his name fall from your mouth like the way it did made him twitch inside of you, and his pace quickened, bruising that spot. The noises you were letting out were sinful, and they made you bashful, but dear lord, they weren't as lewd as the noises your sopping pussy was making as he pounded into you. As he pulled back, the squelching it would make was terribly pleasuring in its own way. There was this suction noise that came out when he'd pull all the way out and plunge back in was nearly too much. You could hear his grunting and breathy moans leave Doe's mouth when he would thrust into your heat. Doe felt himself nearing his release, thrusting animalistically into you, in his attempt to chase it down. You also felt the bubbling of your own release, and his hard fucking was only helping the bubbling sensation rise more and more.
"Please - Nghh! - Keep going! Don't you dare fuckin' stop!" You demanded, and Doe replied with a mumbled 'Uhm'. It was the moment you felt his fat tip slam into your cervix that utter bliss washed over your entire form. Doe felt your gummy walls clamp down on him and your savory (To him.) substance gush all over. After you reached your prime point, he didn't bother to slow down. You yelped underneath him as he continued to fuck up your overstimulated insides, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "W-wait, please! Wait!" You shrieked to no avail. Doe's hands went under your knees and pushed upwards, essentially putting you in a mating press. Hot tears went down your face, and that only drove Doe crazier. With a few more deep thrusts, his hips stuttered against the underside of your thighs. You felt him stuff you full of his hot, thick cum. God, it was so much it had felt like your tummy was about to explode. Doe let out a moan of relief as he felt ecstasy course through his veins at a mile per minute, and you felt so good - looked, so good.
As the last few spurts exited his softening member, he collapsed atop your shaking body, chests heaving and skin sticking together. Doe buried his face in the crook of your neck, taking in your true scent and shuddering as it pierced his nose. You giggled at his actions. "Oh, and to think I was bored." You replied to his actions. He let out a small giggle, too. "Boredom? After that? I believed I've cured your problem."
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adoregojo · 15 days
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what do i do when i have writing block? write a drabble for reo of course, the cure for my halt and depression, a man that i need in my life
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reo knew this is a bad idea.
maybe if he had a little piece of mind and considered the fact that you will end up inebriated to the point where you were wiggling around like a spaghetti, leaping joyfully every short second you got. even chanting a random melody, handing him a non-existence microphone as if you were in a karaoke, 一a place he grew to love because of you一
don't get him wrong, reo loved a lot of things about you, most of seeing you carefree, like a free bird. shuffling around the street for all what you cared for the world, he couldn't feel anything but the universe thumping in his ribcage.
it was you two engagement celebration. nevertheless, he scored nothing more then be enclosed by other reeking riches bastard, he spent the whole night seething at whoever laid an eye on you. violet hues filled with cold acquisitive greed. that left him drying sober, he just couldn't drift away his eyes of you. and if it wasn't for the cockblooker 一aka his parents一 crawling his way to guests that he bet reading a newspaper would have been more fun than keeping a chat with them, he would've been spent the whole night glued to your figure.
before he knew it, you were all drunk and barely able to walk two steps straight. reo wanted any reason to leave early anyway, so he take off your shoes ever so mildly, caressing his fingers cautiously beyond the pained parts, mainly the heel to the achilles tendon. you mumbled something about the pairs suffocating you throughout the whole night. so now they were hung by his two fingers.
all what he had of despair glided into ashes the moment it was only you and him, it may be left uncharted, but reo always felt like it was only the two of you in this world, a world where he doesn't have to carry the burden of being judged, where he can spin you around without worrying about slamming flatly onto the floor, where he can slow dance with you in his arms without feeling like an idiot every time he stepped on your feet 一out of nervousness, not his fault that your face was too much of a distraction.
"heyyyy, reoo, look at me! don't i look enlightened under the sunlight." you sluggish, a hand under your chin as you posed, feeling yourself as you blow your fiancé's a kiss. reo cold feel an arrow keening throughout his heart, and somehow he still managed to gather himself to not collapse on the dirty ground.
"dearest. as much as you look astonishing as ever, this is a street light, and it's almost midnight."
your face fell off onto a sulk, flipping your thumb downward at reo. "booo, haterr." you say as you stick out your tongue at your soon to be husband beaming back playfully, he wasn't even bothered.
"I assure you, my love. no hater is willing to carry these pair of shoes. they hella stinky." says reo, shoving your pairs away as possible, even blocking his nose holes merrily. and he couldn't be happier when you gasped dramatically, slamming your palm on your chest where your poor, fragile heart shattered at such painful words.
"nonsense! i will not take such a fails accusation! these twins of mine will remain memorized forever," you say heedlessly, whirling around in circles to prove your pointlessness.
reo says something about being careful, but you keep spinning yourself until your vision becomes blurry and your eyes were drifting in different directions. you were dizzy, so dizzy your feet were betraying you, you couldn't keep your balance, and before you meet the ground, a firm arm caught you midway.
"hey! i told you to be careful," reo's hand made it way to your waist, keeping you in shape. you almost felt like a slimy baby in his grip, he wanted to scold you more, for being reckless, for smiling broadly and making him gush, for holding his soul hostage, but he was far, far a goner to be rescued.
"haha, i did it because i knew you'd catch me." your chuckles overcome him any sense of life within him, the amethyst eyes of his only sees you, only felt the wreck of yearning pouring on you, reo's heart was pinning under your spell.
"yeah?" he asked, a stupid lovesick smile on his face.
"mhm! you'd always come to catch me when i fall." you were right, he'd jog his way to the end of the world for you. to make sure your save and sound.
"always," he assures you, tightening his hand to pull you even closer that no such thing as personal space exists between him and you, your light cologne blending with his heavy one. he snuggled his nose against the skin of your neck, drinking on your scents, as if it was the only air that bloomed his lungs. it was ticklish that it made you laugh inwardly, which was a balm on his chest. presses a quick peck on your warm cheek along the way. then carrying you with one hand like a lightweight tool to him.
"let's go home my prince charming, i need to take a looong bath." you babbled, fondling him a sloppy kiss just an inch away from his lips. a little dumbfounded, he still drags you alongside with him, you were a farther goner to notice the struck expression he had glued to his face, a faint reddish hue across his cheekbones and tip-ears.
"I'm already embracing it." maybe you were too drunk to hear that, maybe he didn't say it out too loud, maybe he's too in love to care, who knows.
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sansaorgana · 2 years
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— THANK GODS (I)
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PART TWO
PAIRING — Marc Spector x fem!Reader
SUMMARY — Khonshu fell in love with another goddess and now Marc has to spend time with her avatar. The problem is they don’t like each other much and there is only one bed at the hotel.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — I didn’t plan to make it smutty but I got carried away and oh my God, it’s my first smut in this fandom so please, go easy on me. 😩🙊
WARNINGS — enemies to lovers, and there was only one bed, SMUT, thigh riding, handjob
WORD COUNT — 3,730
🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
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THANK GODS (I)
Marc left the bus and sighed heavily at the sight of a familiar tenement house. He absolutely hated Khonshu at this moment… more than usual.
How could that stupid bird actually fall in love…? That was absurd for Marc and that was something he just couldn’t imagine happening. Ancient gods in love…? Didn’t they have more urgent matters?
Anyway, Marc wouldn’t even care about Khonshu’s personal affairs if not for the fact that his beloved was goddess Sekhmet. Strong woman with a head of a lion was usually a red flag for men but Khonshu once again proved to be different from most.
And once again, Marc would somehow survive Sekhmet’s interfering with his jobs with Khonshu… but of course Sekhmet wouldn’t do that personally. She had her avatar, too.
And that avatar was (Y/N) (Y/L/N) who was living in the tenement house in front of him. They weren’t very fond of each other to put it mildly.
The only thing they could agree on was that they hated Sekhmet and Khonshu dating. (Y/N) wasn’t used to the world of action and adventure as her goddess hadn’t been needing her much before starting to date Khonshu. Now she suddenly got involved in the affairs of humans and (Y/N) was sick of it.
She was a domestic type; her flat was full of trinkets, she had three cats and she worked at the bookstore. Marc was a man on the run, always running from something or someone, including himself. They were like fire and water. It was hard to believe that she was an avatar of the goddess of destruction. Sekhmet had to have her reasons, though. The gods were never wrong.
It was Steven that would probably adore (Y/N) and Marc only hoped to keep his other self restrained around the girl. He didn’t want to complicate that stupid situation even further.
Because of Khonshu and Sekhmet, the life of Marc and the life of (Y/N) got intertwined in all kinds of ways without their approval nor agreement.
He knocked upon her door; a bit too loud than needed, not being able to hide his frustration.
She opened the door quickly and rolled her eyes at the sight of him.
“Khonshu wants us to–” he started.
“I know. Sekhmet told me. Come in, I’m packing my bag,” she invited him inside and he nodded.
(Y/N) closed the door and disappeared in her bedroom, meanwhile Marc put his backpack down and sat on the couch next to one of her cats.
The atmosphere of (Y/N)’s flat was haunting. It was so homely and cozy that he felt almost dizzy and he was too ashamed to ever invite her to his own. In fact, she didn’t even know where he lived unless Sekhmet had told her.
Those three stupid cats walking around lazily and licking their paws, the vintage trinkets and the smell of candles… It all felt so good that he almost understood why she didn’t like leaving this lovely enclave.
“I’m ready,” she left the bedroom with a huge suitcase as Marc raised his eyebrows. “Don’t comment, please.”
“We are going for three days.”
“Maybe five,” she corrected him.
“How will you carry it around?”
“Oh, I won’t. You will,” she shrugged her arms and Marc snorted.
“No way.”
“It’s your fault that it’s all happening so…”
“No, it’s not. It’s not my fault that Khonshu and Sekhmet are together now,” he protested and stood up to grab his backpack.
“It is Khonshu’s fault to convince Sekhmet to go on those stupid adventures and help people…” (Y/N) sighed, not willing to lose.
“It was Sekhmet’s fault that through all those years of her rest and abandonment, she lost track of the huge amount of her artifacts and now we both have to collect them all over the world,” Marc pointed his finger at her and she looked down, defeated. “Now, we have to hurry,” he added and took the suitcase from her before disappearing in the hallway.
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The whole trip to Egypt was spent in complete silence. (Y/N) was listening to music and sleeping on the plane, meanwhile Marc was trying to repeat every step of their plan inside his head. He knew perfectly well that it would be him doing most of the job and (Y/N) was only needed there because as Sekhmet’s avatar, she was representing her presence, which was crucial in some tasks.
He lost her twice at the airport, somewhere in the middle of the crowd full of tourists. It wasn’t their first time in Egypt but every time they had been there, she was relying on him and his knowledge of the country, therefore she hadn’t learnt much herself and it was frustrating him.
Everything about that woman was frustrating him.
“What do I have to do to make you follow me? Hold your hand like you’re a child?” he scolded her after finally finding her next to a security guard, scared and confused.
“You weren’t answering your phone.”
“I didn’t hear, it’s loud here,” Marc sighed. “Come, the taxi is waiting for us already.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the hotel. It’s too late to go to the desert now,” he explained and they started to walk towards the huge door leading outside.
“Aren’t you a Moon Knight?” (Y/N) teased.
“There is no way I am taking you to the desert at night if you are capable of losing yourself even at the airport.”
“Perhaps it is you being capable of losing me at the airport.”
“Don’t act like a child” Marc opened the door of the taxi and pushed her inside before following her.
He told the hotel’s address to the taxi cab driver and turned his head around to stare outside the window and avoid talking to (Y/N).
It was silent again and it was awkward. They were both perfectly aware that most people were assuming they were a couple. And they always looked like a couple that had just had a fight. Curious and slightly uncomfortable were the looks they were usually getting and now the taxi cab driver was exactly the same.
Marc thought he would probably go insane if she was really his girlfriend.
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The hotel was rather obscure and unknown but this week there was some festival happening and every single room was taken except for the one with a double bed.
“You… You must be kidding me, Marc,” (Y/N)’s eyes widened at the sight.
“I’m gonna sleep on the floor,” he muttered in response and she nodded without a word.
She got busy unpacking her suitcase, while Marc went to take a shower. When he was back, she was waiting for her turn to use the bathroom.
“Where on the floor, Marc? On the carpet?” she asked. “Like a dog?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You are the one paying for this room…” she hesitated.
“You want to sleep on the carpet?” Marc raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. She shook her head. Of course she didn’t want to and he would never let her, no matter if he liked her or not. “It’s fine. I’m used to worse,” he answered.
(Y/N) went to the bathroom and left him alone. Marc put a pillow on the carpet below the bed and took one of the blankets. It had to be enough.
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(Y/N) was shivering. She couldn’t fall asleep because of the coldness surrounding her despite the closed window. She had only a quite short nightgown on but who would have thought it would get so cold at night in Egypt?
Last time they were there it had been warm but now she remembered that the last time it had been a different time of the year.
She curled up under the blanket and thought of Marc. How could he sleep so peacefully on the floor when he had only his boxer shorts on? Maybe he wasn’t sleeping but frozen?
No, she could hear him breathing. It was steady and somehow the sound of it was bringing her comfort.
“M-Marc…” she started shyly but her voice was raspy and weak. “Marc…” she repeated and he woke up abruptly. He had a soldier’s sleep; always on the watch for his surroundings.
“What?” he asked and rubbed his sleepy face with his hand. “What happened?”
“I’m cold,” she confessed in a disarming, innocent manner; chewing on her bottom lip and playing with the edge of the blanket between her cold fingers.
“Nights in Egypt tend to get cold,” he answered.
“I didn’t expect that… How are you not cold?”
“Who said I was not?” he huffed.
She rolled on the bed to let her left hand hang and touch his shoulder. It was cold like a marble statue.
“You can’t sleep like that, you’re gonna be sick,”(Y/N) insisted.
“Since when do you care?”
“Just because you’re an insufferable assshole, doesn’t mean I don’t like you a bit,” she whispered and Marc raised his eyes to look at her.
They were both already used to the darkness so they could see each other. She looked almost ethereal on the bed above him, her legs tangled in the sheets and a soft smile on her lips. Despite the sleepy gaze and ruffled hair, she was like a goddess herself in the moonlight, waiting to be worshiped by a humble servant that he felt like while laying on the floor.
He suddenly realized how much he craved to touch her. It was an odd feeling but was it really? Why had he been disliking her so much all this time? Was it because she was so different from him or perhaps it was a defense mechanism? Perhaps all this time he had been doing nothing but craving her next to him and it was easier to shut it off because a man like him would never find peace and he didn’t want to ruin her life with his problems.
“What are you suggesting?” he swallowed thickly.
“Join me…?” she proposed in an almost inaudible whisper, like she was ashamed of her own proposition and scared of his reaction.
“If you insist,” he teased her and got up to lay next to her under the blanket. Her scent was all over, her body lotion, her shampoo, her perfume. It all smelled so cozy and nice like her flat. She felt like home he would never have.
Maybe that was the reason why he didn’t like her. She was reminding him of things he was not destined to know… but he wanted to. Badly.
“Try not to snore,” she chuckled nervously. They were under the same blanket but they weren’t even touching each other. Their bodies were radiating a bit of the heat but it wasn’t enough.
“I hope I’m going to snore all night long into your ear,” Marc grinned.
“Look who’s childish now,” she sighed and moved a bit closer, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
But he did and he moved closer, too. Now their arms were touching and it seemed like their arms were the only parts of their bodies that felt warm.
“If we spend this night hugging, I don’t want us to ever mention it again,” he tried to turn it into a joke.
“I think Khonshu and Sekhmet would like that,” (Y/N) whispered mysteriously.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know… Don’t you think that… That they can feel through us?” she asked and put her arm carefully around his chest.
“I haven’t been thinking about that,” Marc shrugged his arms and put his hand on her back to rub it slowly, trying to warm her up.
“I have… Maybe because I’m lonely,” she confessed. The night was always encouraging people to share secrets their hearts had been holding for a long time.
Marc froze for a moment. He wasn’t expecting such a declaration.
But of course she was lonely. How could he be so blind? It was stored everywhere. In her eyes, in all the trinkets around her place, in her three cats, in the silence of the bookstore she was working at. She never disagreed when Khonshu and Sekhmet came up with an idea of another adventure because she never had any other plans.
“I’m lonely, too,” Marc told her and went back to rubbing her back, “but it’s better this way for everyone.”
“You hate yourself even more than you hate me. Why?” she asked, intertwining her cold legs with his. Now everyone would believe that they were lovers… maybe even they would.
“I don’t hate you,” he whispered without making a sound.
“What?”
“I don’t hate you,” he repeated.
“I don’t hate you either. I just love to argue with you,” she chuckled. “Why do you hate yourself then?” (Y/N) raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me,” she sighed and put her head on his chest, pressing her ear to hear his heartbeat. “I’m starting to get warmer. What about you?”
“Me too,” Marc hummed softly. His hand accidentally slipped too low, to the hem of her nightgown. He hesitated for a moment before deciding to start rubbing her naked back now.
(Y/N) didn’t comment on that but her breath changed its pace. Now it was quicker and more shallow as her legs opened a bit and Marc could feel the warmth of her core being pressed to his thigh.
Fuck, he had to withdraw. Having sex with her would only complicate everything even further but… Goodness, he didn’t want to stop. Her scent was all over him, her soft hand was drawing circles upon his chest, her body was pressed to him.
He could feel Steven inside of him unconsciously going feral. Steven didn’t know yet about Marc’s existence but Marc knew very well about Steven and his desires.
(Y/N) would be a perfect match for Steven but Steven came with a burden named Marc Spector and he didn’t want to sign her up for that.
However, he raised his thigh a little to give her more friction as his own boxer shorts were starting to grow too tight.
(Y/N) hid her face in the crook of Marc’s neck, her hot breath tickling his skin. He put both of his steady hands on her hips and helped her to grind on his thigh, already feeling the wetness of her panties.
She put one of her hands on his crotch. Her touch was gentle and shy but the teasing nature of it was making him shiver out of anticipation. Then she slid her hand inside his boxer shorts and he couldn’t help a little grunt leaving his lips when she placed his cock in her hand to stroke it.
They quickly forgot about the cold, now their bodies were warm and sweaty, their skin stuck together like someone had covered them both in glue. Her nightgown was pulled up to reveal her panties while the straps of it were hanging loosely, giving Marc a beautiful view of her tits, squeezed together. Her breath and heartbeat were quick as quiet moans were escaping her parted lips, straight into his ear; she was like honey, he thought.
Marc pulled her panties aside with one of his hands to feel her bare pussy on his thigh and (Y/N) let out a whine so vulgar and sweet at the feeling that he nearly came himself. Instead, he focused on her, pressed his thumb to her throbbing, wet clit and massaged the spot while she kept on rocking her hips to bring herself to an orgasm.
They were tangled with each other, their moves were desperate and not a single word was said. They were like lovers who had known each other for centuries already and although Marc had known it wasn’t true, it was bringing him comfort to be loved like this for a while. Even if it was fake. Even if she ran away if only she had known half of the things about him.
“M-Marc…” she whined when she was close, so close, he could feel her hand slow down its movements around his cock because she was so lost in her own pleasure.
“Yes, baby?” he asked her softly like she indeed was his baby. Because tonight she was. She was his baby.
“I want… I want more…” she gasped and he nodded before laying her down and kicking his boxer shorts off of himself and the bed, alongside with her soaked wet panties. He was naked, she had her nightgown on but it wasn’t covering anything except for her belly at this point; her pussy was bare and wet between her legs spread wide open. Glistening in the moonlight and inviting him as her breasts begged for his touch.
He couldn’t believe it was just some obscure hotel room with one bed and that it was a woman he had spent so much time arguing with. She was a goddess on the altar.
“Wait a second, baby,” he kissed her forehead and turned around to reach for his backpack lying on the floor to get to his wallet as quickly as possible.
“Is everything alright, Marc?” she asked, worried.
“No, it’s just…” he threw the wallet away and put a condom on in one swift move. “Alright, I’m ready.”
“So am I,” she opened her arms and he positioned himself above her, sliding inside slowly to watch her reactions carefully. Her eyes rolled back, her back arched as her whole body trembled. He could feel her warmth and her slickness, it was like heaven. “So full,” she gasped and dug her nails in his back to scratch it with his every thrust.
He was balls deep inside her and it felt like she was made for him, he could feel that they were both very close so he picked up his pace. He nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her amazing scent and feeling her mound pressed to his pelvis as her hips rolled while his hips thrusted. They were in a perfect rhythm and even their gasps and quiet moans sounded like a symphony. Even the squeaking bed banging on the wall somehow sounded just right. Just like it should be every night. But it was only that night.
(Y/N)’s toes curled as she let out the loudest moan that night, cumming around his cock and clenching her walls around it, making him cum as well while the feeling of her nails digging into the skin on his shoulders was somehow exciting him even further.
Their movements slowed down and after riding out their highs, they finally stopped. Marc wanted to just lay down in her arms but he knew he couldn’t. Sudden wave of guilt started to wash over him as he quickly left her side and the bed to go to the bathroom to refresh himself.
When he came back, (Y/N) was sitting up with a blanket barely covering her. She was staring outside the window.
“I’m sorry,” he swallowed thickly. “We won’t talk about it.”
“Why are you sorry?” she asked sadly. “Should I be sorry, too?”
“No, I mean… I don’t want you to…” he tried to find the right words while putting back on his boxer shorts. “There are things you don’t know about me and if you knew, you would change your mind about everything.”
“What things?” she turned her face around to look at him. There were tears glistening in the corners of her eyes and he already hated himself for everything. “I know the things. Sekhmet told me everything about you.”
He froze at that and he didn’t know what to say. So, as usual, he said the worst thing he could.
“What you did with me was done out of pity then?” he asked.
“Pity?” she snorted and sniffled her tears back in. “God, you’re so stupid, Marc Spector. Have you ever thought that maybe someone can like you? Just the way you are? Simply like you…? Just a little bit… After all, you’re incredibly insufferable,” her voice broke as she tried to make a joke.
“Why would you like me then?” he asked and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Because I like fighting with you, you’re so funny sometimes, you know that? And you always take care of me, even when I’m annoying you. You make me feel safe and less alone. I’m a simple woman, what else would I want?” She hugged him from the back and traced the fresh scratches on his back with her soft lips. “I know you don’t feel the same way, it’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you.”
“Do you know what I feel when I look at you?” He turned his face around and saw her surprised but also quite scared expression.
“No, what?”
“Home.”
And then they kissed, finally, for the first time that night and the first time ever. They pressed their lips together and closed their eyes, holding each other in a tight embrace.
“Look at them, finally,” a deep voice made them both jump on the bed as (Y/N) covered herself desperately with a blanket.
It was Khonshu and Sekhmet standing above them, visibly pleased with themselves.
“Were you two fucking watching?” Marc asked, angrily.
“Maybe a bit,” Sekhmet giggled. “After all, you needed our help.”
“What do you mean?” (Y/N) furrowed her brows.
“Brrr, it’s really cold in here. I think you kind of overdid it, Khonshu. I don’t want (Y/N) to catch a cold,” Sekhmet pretended to be cold as she hugged her own arms.
“You bastard…” Marc started.
“Wait until you find out that almost every room in this hotel is in fact empty,” Sekhmet winked at him and Marc was ready to jump out of the bed and fight them both but (Y/N)’s soft hand stopped him.
“Thank you,” she smiled at the gods and intertwined her fingers with Marc’s. “I didn’t expect myself to say it but thank you.”
And something broke in Marc at that moment since he had never expected anyone to thank gods for having him.
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MASTERLIST || TAG LIST IN THE COMMENTS
2K notes · View notes
noodle-bin · 6 months
Text
Bleed Me An Ocean
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Vamp!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader
Summary: Leon visits his lover at night and ensues in a night of passion, but not without a little extra lube.
CW: Bloodplay, blood used as lube, masochism, smut, f receiving oral, mildly dubious consent
Word Count: 2.2k
Ao3 crosspost
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
You sat at your vanity, looking at your reflection in the dimly lit room as you brushed your hair. Candles littered the room, making shadows dance all around your bedroom walls. There was a feint playing of music in the corner of the room, your phonograph playing sweet notes. You hummed along, preoccupied with applying your night cream, adoring the sensation as the cream melted into your skin. You were so busy with your task at hand, that you barely noticed the sound of your window lock opening until you felt the cool breeze of the night coming in. You got excited immediately, knowing Leon had come to visit you. You heard his footsteps behind you, but you couldn't see him through the reflection of your mirror.
"Princess," Leon purred, making his way to you. He let his hands trail down your shoulders to the sides of your arms, kissing the crown of your head. You turned your head to look up at him, noticing the black veins adorning his face, slightly covered by his bangs. His eyes were red, piercing into you, taking in the sight of your satin dress barely covering your thighs, your nipples noticeable against the thin fabric. While you let him adore you, you took in his scent. He smelled divine, like bergamot mixed with citrus.
"Leon, I'm glad you came." You got out of your chair and wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him in for a hug. This caused Leon to immediately burrow his face into the crook of your neck. He groaned in excitement, kissing your soft skin. Kiss by kiss, lick by lick, his mouth traveled to that sweet junction in your neck. The sound of your artery pumping blood was music to his ears. You exposed your neck further, enticing him to give in and taste you. Leon hesitated, holding you by the curve of your waist. He didn't really like to inflict pain on you, but he loved to hear your soft pants as you arched your back against him every time he fed from you.
“Please, Leon. Feed from me,” your fingers curled in his hair, pulling him closer to you. You waited with anticipation, feeling Leon's breath against your warm skin. Finally, you felt the piercing pain. It was hot, and sharp, leaving you dizzy, but you adored it. It was the best pain imaginable, dancing on the fine line of pleasure and pain. It shouldn’t feel so good to have your lover feed on you, your hot blood dripping down your neck onto your satin pajamas, but you loved it. The stinging pain quickly melted into pleasure as he drew blood from you, holding your frail frame against him. He indulged in the taste of you, feeling your small frame give into him.
Leon pulled away quickly, lapping at the mess he had made on you. It was hell stopping himself from sucking you dry, but he forced himself to stop. He kissed up your neck, and your jaw, traveling up your lips. You turned to face him and kissed him deeply, dizzy from the pain and loss of blood. You tasted the metallic taste on Leon’s lips, his fangs bumping into your teeth from the desperation of your kiss. He finally pulled away, letting you rest your head against his chest, your legs feeling wobbly from beneath you. The both of you stayed like this for a small while, your body aflame from being fed on only moments ago. The erotic pain was pooling heat between your thighs, and your dizziness only intensified Leon's presence against you. There was nowhere in the world where you didn't feel safer than in Leon's arms.
"Leon," you started, looking up at him. His red eyes met yours, his thumb rubbing across your lips.
"What is it, princess? Did I hurt you?" Leon was immediately concerned.
"No, no. I.." Your face felt hot with shame, too embarrassed to ask something so simple from Leon. It wasn't like the both of you hadn't slept together all the time. It was simply torture asking for it.
“Leon I need you,” you whimpered against him.
“Yeah? How do you want me?” Leon purred, his calm demeanor returning.
“You know,” your head nudged towards the bed.
Leon chuckled at your vague answer. “You’ve gotta be more specific.”
You pouted, knowing he knew damn well what you wanted. You squeezed your thighs together, the ache continuing to develop from all of the pain and kissing. Leon noticed this, pushing his hips against yours so you could feel his bulge.
“How am I supposed to please my princess if she can’t tell me what she wants?” Leon licked his lips, his tongue trailing against his fangs. You looked at him with your signature puppy eyes, looking deep into his red eyes.
“Please Leon, you know what I want,” you protested. You refused to say any more than what you had already told him.
Leon could only look down at you and adore you. Your heavenly body, the taste of your blood, the simple way your moans left your mouth as you arched your back in pain and pleasure when he fed from you. It took everything in him to stop himself from sucking you dry. And here you were, begging to be fucked by him moments after he fed from you. He really hit the jackpot.
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Leon grinned and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. He slapped your ass, making you squeal, as he carried you over to the bed. You fell with an oomph, your short pajama dress doing nothing to conceal you at this point. Your nipples were hard against the fabric, stained from your blood. Leon crept closer, his large frame overwhelming, before he dipped his head down between your thighs. He pushed them apart, showing him your slick-covered panties.
“Wet already? You’re going to taste divine,” Leon praised before kissing your clothed cunt. The heat from his mouth was erotic as he pressed his tongue against your sensitive clit before trailing his tongue downwards. The pressure of his tongue against you made you frustrated at the panties separating you from him.
“More, Leon,” you whined.
“More? Hmph, I’ll give you more.” Leon pulled away and pulled your panties off before he grabbed your wrist.
“You’re going to make a fine meal,” Leon purred, kissing your wrist before his fangs pierced your flesh.
You squealed at the sudden pain, closing your thighs from the pleasure. As quick as he had bitten you, he pulled away, pushing your thighs apart. Your hot blood dripped out of your arm, and with the way Leon had it positioned, it fell straight onto your cunt. You stared in shock as you felt hot drops of your own blood fall onto your sensitive clit, dripping down your wet folds, mixing with your slick.
“W-wait, Leon,” you were scared, but you hated how hot it looked. Leon, content with the amount of blood covering your cunt, licked your wounds clean before dipping his head back down between you. He basically moaned at the taste of you, the taste of your sweet blood mixed with your delicious slick. Lick by lick, he lapped away at the mess he had made of you. Sucking on your clit, sucking on your sweetness, before his tongue pushed into your needy cunt, your own blood following right along. You felt him push his tongue father into you, his nose bumping into your clit. You arched your back from the pleasure, forgetting about the blood entirely, hands gripping Leon’s hair. Leon pushed your thighs up against your chest, opening you wider to the torture from his mouth.
“So fuckin’ good,” Leon moaned, eating you like you were his final meal. The way he knew exactly where to push his tongue, building the heat in your abdomen, made you go crazy. You cried out as you listened to the lewd noises of Leon's tongue fucking your wet folds, his lips becoming shiny with blood. Your thighs trembled against him, melting into the pleasure he was bringing you. He finally slipped a finger inside, curling toward that sensitive bundle of nerves he knew so well. You threw your head back, feeling him press against that sensitive spot all while sucking on your clit. You begged for more, the heat in your belly becoming unbearable as Leon pushed you further to the edge. He finally slipped another finger inside, his lips covered in your blood as he continued to bully your sensitive bud.
"Come for me, princess," Leon groaned as he continued to taste your sweet cunt, the taste of your blood bringing him to his own high. Sucking ever so gently on your clit, pushing his tongue further against your sensitive bud to taste the remnants of the blood he has licked away from you.
“L-Leon I-“You could barely get it out before you finally came, trembling around his tongue as he continued to draw out your orgasm, sucking on your clit.
He finally withdrew, letting you collect yourself while he took his pants and underwear off, crawling back to you. You looked at him in a daze, seeing the blood coating his lips. “Do it again, Leon. Use my blood,” you said as you offered your other wrist. Either you went crazy from the blood loss or the orgasm, maybe both, but you desperately wanted Leon to smear your blood on your cunt again.
Leon’s red eyes filled with excitement, biting into your wrist with no hesitation. This time, he fed on you for a little longer before pulling away, letting your blood drip back onto your cunt. He was in a daze, watching your puffy clit get covered in your own blood, dripping down onto your wet folds. Content with the amount, he licked your wound clean before using his cock to rub the blood around your folds. The both of you moaned at the wet sounds as Leon slapped his cock against you, adoring the sight.
“What a naughty girl, asking her lover to fuck her with her own blood,” Leon taunted as he continued to play with your entrance. You waited patiently, holding your thighs to your chest, staring at the bright red on your cunt. Leon rubbed his thick cock against your blood-covered entrance before finally pushing in. You whimpered at the stretch, panting at Leon’s sheer size as he bottomed out in you. He began to thrust slowly into your tight cunt, feeling you squeeze around him.
“Relax, baby, you’d think the blood would’ve helped,” Leon laughed a little as he stilled, sitting inside of you while rubbing small circles on your thighs. The both of you sat like this for a small while, your cunt hot with your own blood and Leon's cock. You panted at the sheer size of him, feeling his tip nudge against your cervix. Once he felt your body relax, he continued his thrusts. The slowness turned into desperation from the both of you, leaving you crying out for more. You were on a cock drunk high, the dizziness from the blood loss finally catching up to you. You could only lay there and take Leon's cock, feeling him push deep into you, the lewd noises of him fucking into your wet cunt filling the room. He immediately found your sweet spot, fucking deeply into it with need. You babbled, holding onto Leon's arms as he pounded into you. Your eyes pricked with tears at the sheer amount of pleasure of getting stretched open by Leon's thick cock.
“Fuck, fuck, princess,” Leon groaned as he pushed your thighs down onto your chest, his face burying into your neck. You heard his own needy moans as he fucked deep into you, your own orgasm building up again.
“I’m so close, ugh,” Leon groaned, fucking you deeply. You were so close, so so close, the lewd sounds pushing you closer to the edge. Leon’s own hips became messy, pushing roughly against your sweet spot over and over, bringing you closer to the edge. You barely noticed his hot breath against your neck before he bit into you. You screamed, your orgasm hitting you like a wave. The pleasure mixed with the sharp pain of Leon’s teeth shook your body to the core. You barely noticed Leon’s own orgasm as he came deep inside of you, crying from the overstimulation of your orgasm alongside the pain of being fed on again. Leon's slow thrusts filled your senses as he sipped from you again and again, his body caging you in. The edges of your vision turned black before Leon pulled away.
You looked up at Leon with hazy eyes, your senses fading out slowly.
“Fuck, wait, stay with me,” Leon held your face in his hands, his breath ragged. You whined as you felt Leon’s body retreat from you before you felt a glass of water at your lips. You drank, tasting water immediately. You hummed in pleasure, resting back against the pillows of your bed. Leon pulled you close against him, rubbing small circles into your back, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Minutes passed by before you finally came back, feeling weak from everything that had just happened.
"We need to do that again," you giggled.
"I'm afraid not, princess. I lost control there for a bit," Leon’s slow heart squeezed in his chest seeing you look up at him with round eyes.
"You're no fun," you smiled hazily at him.
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dairyminki · 7 months
Text
– first time clubbing with boyfriend!san
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fic type: headcanon
pairing: choi san x fem!reader
description: just san taking you to the club for a night out after seeing you so stressed with studying
genre: fluff (?), mildly suggestive, established relationship
warning/s: use of alcohol, pet names (if i missed anything else pls lmk!)
wc: 1.1k
a/n: this is supery dupery self indulgent LMAO and as a giggly drunk myself, i'd like to have a choi san too pls!
* i would rlly appreciate it if you reblog and leave some feedbacks btw!
— !¡☆
UNI was stressing you out
all the studying had your head always drowning in books and you rarely leaving your room
your boyfriend, choi san, knew he had to do something
now, san had a lot of options in his head on how to help you take a break
bcos even if you kept insisting that you didn't need one
san KNEW that it was only a matter of time before you burst and break down
and so he surprises you while you're eating dinner with him one night,
"do you wanna do something fun tomorrow night?" "what? san, you know i can't afford to-"
"please?" he cuts you off, PLEADING
and who were you to say no to a pouting san?
you were ALWAYS a weak woman for him
"fine," you say, giving in. "what do you have in mind?"
"wanna go clubbing with me, baby?"
as soon as those words left his mouth, he sees it
sees the way your eyes sparkle with something akin to excitement and then you're blurting out,
"oh god, yes!"
the following night, san enters your bedroom after he was done getting ready
his hair was slicked back, he was dressed in a black button down shirt with the first two buttons unbuttoned
a silver necklace dangling on his neck, a sliver of his chest exposed
he's wearing black slacks and a belt with silvery chains hanging on it
since this will be your first night out, he wanted to look good for you
and boy was it a pleasant surprise when he enters your room and see you all dolled up from head to toe
"well, aren't you a sight to see?" san marvels while he watches you apply lipstick
you were oozing with such allure in a dress you're wearing for the first time that san thinks he's severely beguiled with you
and so it goes without saying that his eyes never left you even until you left the house
the only time san's gaze breaks away from you was when he was driving
arriving at the club, san immediately turns to you and asks,
"hey, i know, we're already here and all but i just wanna say that if you wanna back out and go home, we still can, just say the word and-"
san knew just how much your family coddled you while growing up
and you've only started to venture out of your comfort zone when you met him
so he understands how settings like this might overwhelm-
"are you kidding me?" you gave him an incredulous look, cutting off his rambling
"i wanna get hammered!" you shout against the blaring club music
and then you were the one pulling him further inside past the sweaty bodies and the heavy smell of alcohol and the blinding neon lights
"unfortunately i wont be getting my usual today, so i'll just have a soda ," san says since he'll be driving. "but, hmm, maybe a tequila sunrise for this pretty lady right here" he tells the bartender and winks at you
you roll your eyes, your gaze shifting to the dancefloor
"can i dance…later?" you ask san
san barks out a laugh and pinches your cheek
"i won't be stopping you tonight, baby, so go ahead. tonight will be all about you," he whispers these in your ear, goosebumps trailing your skin
you haven't drunk anything yet, but you already felt hot just like that
when your drinks do came, you surprise san at how you basically drunk it in one draft
"baby, hey, hey, we got all night!" he chuckles trying to get you to slow you down
soon, one tequila sunrise became five, and you were already red from the drinks and laughter
you were a giggly drunk how cute
"i think," you slur, pointing at san and then abruptly standing that you slightly wobble due to dizziness. "i think i'm ready to hit the dancefloor"
san grabs a hold of your arm, asking if do you want him to escort you to the center but you brushed him off
you were still giggling when you walked away
while you were dancing the night away, san just keeps staring at you
watching every move you make, every smile popping out to grace your lips, and every glance you sent his way
you were mouthing for him to come join you but he shook his head
san wanted you to have your fun for now
he wanted you to let loose so badly that you'll be screaming at his face tomorrow morning for letting you drink that much
but then, deeper into the night, he starts noticing that more eyes were on you now and that your intoxicated self remained oblivious to it
san downs the remaining liquid in his canned drink, licks his lips, and leaves the bar, deciding it was finally time to join you
unaware, your dancing was starting to become bolder as you become hotter with all the alcohol coursing through your system and all the body heat emitted by everyone surrounding you 
and then you feel hands on your waist
a familiar scent filling your senses and you immediately knew it was san who was behind you
you let your body become slack against his while he rocks your bodies from side to side, his hands pulling you even closer and face leaning in
you bring your hand up, caressing his face while he speaks to you in a low tone
"are you having fun, baby?" his lips brush against the shell of your ear making you shiver
you reply with a mere hum, giggling as his hot breath tickles your face
"i take it you loved my suggestion then?" "mhmm, i loveddd it san, i love youu" you mumble, smiling with your eyes closed
san chuckles at your drunk self, he doesn't really think you'll end up remembering MOST of this tomorrow
but at least you had fun
and so was he, san thinks as he smirks
later on not so subtly meeting the gaze of this one person he caught looking at you since earlier
by the time he was about to drive the both of you back home
san steps out of the car, heavily exhaling, after laying you down in the passenger seat
he needed a breather especially that he didn't expect the scenario of you grinding on him earlier at the dancefloor
san left the house with with you, hand in hand, and two of his buttons unbuttoned
and now, he comes home with you passed out in his arms and his button down shirt open 
— !¡☆
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