#* visage » i felt nothing & then i felt everything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adelheidvonschicksal · 2 months

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I beg of you, your the only person who wrote such a good zayne story 😍 it makes everything tingle, can we get a story of us sucking him off PLEASEEEEEE

⋆｡°✩ PWP Smut, Banter, Oral (M-receiving), no pronouns. Please let me know if I missed something, and I'll fix it.

Your nerves are on fire, each one a tiny beacon for arousal to run its rickety, lurching course through you. Overwhelmed, you bring your hands up and brace them against the headboard of the bed, clasping them into tight fists to calm the adrenaline rolling like waves through your veins.

It’s been too long since you felt this way, burdened with trembling limbs and stomach-knotting excitement, something that could only be accomplished when you have a certain surgeon between your gripping thighs. It’s been too long since you’ve seen Zayne, let alone have his hard, defined abs taut where you cradle his stomach.

He props his shoulders on dark blue satin pillows, his head in the perfect position for you to look at him. The unyielding gaze he holds does nothing to calm your heaving chest or aching nether regions as you take your time soaking and drinking him in.

Zayne has already changed so much since you last were with him. Your eyes are anchored to the widening of an already broad physique and the stretch and bulge of his biceps when he runs his hands down your back and over your ass to grip at the meat of your thighs. The golden glow of the nightstand lamp setting off against dark hazel eyes and battle-worn skin tempts you to squeeze his slowly fluctuating chest.

Before you can seal the deal on your spiraling dirty thoughts, Zayne catches your intentions, as if the position you were in didn’t already make it obvious. It’s a game that both amuses and frustrates you at the same time.

“It seems someone worked themselves up rather quickly.”

Lifting your sight from his chest, you meet a playfully mocking glint hidden behind a firm gaze. To keep your annoyance, or impatience rather, from showing, you set your attention on the intricate designs of the headboard.

“Just admiring the finish on the wood,” you excuse. “Lacquer?”

Zayne lifts a hand and pinches at your chin to force you to concentrate on him causing you to take your first shuttering breath that night. With piercing eyes, he searches for something in your face, so hauntingly that it makes you throb, and you silently hope he doesn’t feel your legs clamp harder at his waist or how much you're beginning to leak.

He doesn’t need it. As always, Zayne finds what he wants. His voice is inquisitive but the look in his eyes is teasing when he finally asks, “Are you sure that’s what it is? Your pupils are dilated, and I don’t think you’re one to really care about woodwork to that degree.”

You huff at his observation, always the smart-mouthed one. Could he blame you for being hot and bothered when you have an undeniably attractive man under you, especially when you haven't been able to touch him in weeks? It’s so hard with your schedules. Even now, it’s thanks to an unexpected sick day that your schedules managed to align. So, yeah, maybe you were more worked up than usual, but Zayne was a lot of things, stern, serious, reservedly kind, and very much aware of his commanding good looks and the effect it has on you.

Luckily, you’re not the only one who is having trouble maintaining a calm visage. His face holds a barely recognizable flush, his chest strains with too-deep breaths, and his large, scarred hands squeeze the back of your legs to an almost painful point before he swipes your tender skin with manicured thumbs.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the tepid atmosphere is growing too tense for both of you. Who admits to it first is anyone’s guess, but it’s not likely to be Zayne without some encouragement.

So, you prance your fingertips across his angular jaw before drawing a seductive line from the point of his chin through the center of his pectorals, a line you plan to use to start your reacquaintance with his body very soon. The sticky heat radiates from him and seeps into you, knotting the aching twists in your lower stomach even tighter.

“You’re one to talk,” you remark, displaying your own mischievous thoughts. Your hand finds a place to roost over his left side and sprawls open over his heartbeat, reading the steadily rising pace. “I can hear you breathing from here, and your skin is so hot and sweaty.”

For someone whom others wrongfully describe as cold, something about him is smoldering when he rakes his eyes over your body. It’s hungry, and you’re so ready to devour and be devoured, as he forces himself to meet your face again.

“It’s the fever.”

Holding in your laughter, you smack your lips at him. “Didn’t you say you were feeling better today? You didn’t lie to me, did you, Zayne?”

The man doesn’t respond, usually a sign that he was thinking but the only thing on his mind was your hand running orbits around his nipple, outlining the smooth round expanse circling it. You grope lightly at his chest, marveling how full it makes your hand, before cascading that touch lower and lower.

The girth of his cock twitches against your ass, and you think you almost got him as he begins to ripple under your exploration; alas, he manages to keep in his sighs until you start to comb through the delicate valley of shallow black hair that curls from his lower stomach and disappears under his sweatpants.

“I knew you would blow it out of proportion otherwise,” he plays off, releasing another low groan. “It didn’t seem to stop you from marching right over, however.”

“Oh?”

Pitifully pouting, you roll onto your side next to him, press your chest into his arm, and lean in to kiss under his ear.

“You don’t like me taking care of you?” you whine with a pathetic infliction and a whimper, all the while adding pressure as you begin to massage his groin over his briefs, close enough he can feel the sensitive flesh right above the base of his cock imprinting with your touch but not quite where he wants it or how he wants it. “That’s so mean.”

Playfully, you blow against his ear, and there’s the smallest shudder that makes your heart pound hard. There’s nothing like seeing him slowly give in, trying to act in control when his cock readily jumps and stiffens as if to reach your hand. The reaction encourages you to shuffle your hand under his briefs in a few ticklish swipes only to be met with disappointment when his voice catches, hiding a guttural sound you could only curse him for not letting you hear when you wrap your fingers around his cock.

It frustrates you how he won’t even give you an inch of nonresistance, but his cock pulses at your touch, and you smile to yourself at how he couldn’t hide the eager hard-on that you were quickly encouraging with only a few twists and pets.

“When you forced me to let you take care of me,” he begins, pausing only to hiss softly when your fist tightens, which causes the warm slick of precum to seep into his pants and a brief fluttering of his eyes before he recollects himself. “I assumed that meant you’d make a wreck of my kitchen like last time.”

Slowly, you slide your calf over the top of his knee.

“My soup made you better though.”

Zayne groans as you pull him free from his clothing, holding onto his cock as it springs from too-tight confines. Your thumb follows the thick pulsing vein running up the side of his cock before tracing his dripping slit. His head slides back against the pillow, tilting back as he quietly gulps, and his thick throat stretches with the swallow.

“At the cost of my best pot.”

“A win's a win,” you mumble against the crux of his neck, which turns into a sigh when his arm makes space to slide under you, wrap around your upper hip, and squeeze at your ass.

“Now, I see you only had one thing in mind when you came over, after all.”

“That’s not it,” you mewl, squirming when he pinches your cheek harder.

“Are you saying you didn’t come over to take advantage when you have me like this?” he asks.

“You make it sound so calculated!” You shake your head. “I just know this will fix you up in no time. Besides, I missed you.”

There’s a short and irritatingly self-satisfied chuckle from him that makes your chest vibrate with the makings of a moan as his deepening voice rumbles in your ears. “I’m in your capable hands then,” he finally relents, not that you expected any other outcome, and you make your move to flip on top of him again.

There’s a snap somewhere finally releasing any inhibitions when your lips meet. It’s passionate, filled with every desire that’s been burning in him since he’s seen you. Zayne can be gentle, but he can also be bruising. Sometimes he’s a mix of both like when his tongue glides on top of yours and his teeth graze against your bottom lip during the short moments you break for air before capturing each other’s taste again.

You moan into his mouth when he cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer, deepening the kiss to the point you're becoming dizzy. It takes some strength to break free from the passion of it all, but you want more of him, and you’re not willing to wait anymore. So, you pull away and allow your mouth to collide against his collar before he has time to capture you again. Zayne’s eyes glower, half-lidded as he watches every pucker of your lips and every kiss and bite on his body.

Zayne slides a palm up the small of your back, the other going to rub the crux of your thigh, dipping inward to stroke at the yielding flesh right at your center. You moan against him, doing your best not to start dry humping him like you’re in heat whenever his cock pulse against your lower belly, but the scent wafting from him was becoming too much. So, you quickly begin to make your way to the promised land, trailing kisses along the way.

“I missed you,” you puff out softly before wading your tongue across his nipple then under his chest and to his stomach. Releasing his cock, you slide your hands down his sides, making sure to keep them aligned with the movement of your kisses. “You don’t know how much.”

Zayne brushes his fingers along your hand, following down your arm before gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb gliding over your cheek in a tender return of your sentiment as his once proud demeanor in his eyes softens with the smallest of glances from you.

“Is it more than I’ve missed you?” he whispers, and when you nod, he smiles. “I don’t think that’s possible.” Seeing you like this, so beautiful, all his, is a luxury. “I never tire of seeing you.”

Feeling a rush of shyness overtake you, you muffle the small sigh of his name against his stomach. Butterflies filling your stomach, you slide further down and kneel, your knees digging into the end of the bed as you sit back on them, your ass in the air as you hover your face over his lap. He’s so big that you’re never entirely sure where to start. You could go for where he’s most sensitive or—

“You can always use your hands instead if you don't think you can fit it all in your mouth,” he instructs half-jokingly, causing you to grow flustered at your overthinking.

“This isn’t the first time, I know how—” You clamp your mouth shut when you remember the first time you tried, something you’re sure he wouldn’t let you forget. “Don’t,” you order before sliding your tongue over his tip to clean away the pre-cum.

Your tongue laps along his glans as you slowly take his head into your mouth. It’s only when you finally get to work, sliding your mouth halfway down then back up that he finally stops his teasing and lets you have your way with him.

There’s an audible sound of relaxation when you squeeze his base with your palm and purse your lips around him. There’s a certain pride that comes with knowing you’re the only one who can see him like this, with his shoulders lax, eyes closing in bliss, and jaw slightly slacked as he groans. It’s not an easy sight to imagine on someone as stern as Zayne but the look of arousal was also something that seemed like it was made for him, which only causes your legs to squirm with need when it evolves into a low grumble from his chest.

You push it a little further to turn it into a growl by relaxing your throat and allowing it to press against the back, pulling back up and slurping the sheen of saliva clean from him before lapping your tongue over the tip. When you repeat the process, his hips twitch and buck, causing you to whimper when you feel more liquid scalding down your throat.

With a quick reposition to sit up more and force you closer, he presses both hands to cup at your cheeks, lifting your head partway up as he lightly strokes your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Briefly, you look at him, heart fluttering a bit at the flush dusting the bridge of his nose and the wetness of his parted lips.

“You’re so good,” he breathes out, a chilly flow emanating from him, “so good for me.”

Blinking away the water in your eyes, you moan around him, the vibrations rolling down his heated flesh as you suck your cheeks around him as he holds your face. One hand goes to the back of your head, and you bob once again with the encouragement of his hand pressing down on your head.

“Fuck,” he hisses out when you pop him out your mouth and brush your lips down the side of his shaft. You pepper it in kitten kisses before nipping lightly. You squeeze around his tip, making it your mission to keep your thumb grinding his slit and blushing head while you cup and suck his balls.

When you feel them strain and tense, not once but twice in your mouth you have enough warning to know he’s about to cum. It’s with one last stroke of his shaft and one last quick suck around his head that he paints your mouth white, the excess seeping from your mouth and flooding over his length.

You take your time cleaning your mess, like you promised. It’s with slow, deliberate movements as you allow him to ride out his much too quickly fading high, the last throbbing spilling the last drops of his finish on your lips. You release him with a pop and a sigh.

“How messy,” he quietly remarks, causing you to tense as his thumb ghosts over your lips. “You missed a spot,” he explains and slides the finger into your mouth for you to readily close around. He wipes it clean against your tongue before sealing your mouth with a kiss. He slides his finger free from your kiss, and you can feel the lingering wetness of your saliva against your face when he holds you in place to kiss you more passionately.

His strength starts to become too much when he grips your shoulders, pushes you towards the bed, and pins you on your back.

Breaking the kiss and pushing against his arms, you puff out, “Wait, I’m supposed to be in charge today.”

“Sorry to change your plans, but I don’t think I can hold back anymore,” he explains with a growing smile that makes shivers climb up your spine from the sheer hunger in it. “Allow me to show you how much I missed you as well.”

#zayne x reader #love and deepspace x reader #zayne smut #lads x reader #lnd x reader #zayne love and deepspace #adelssmut #notsfw #sorry for the wait hon #i kept getting posting anxiety

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allfearstofallto · 8 days

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Let's do something different and imagine things the other way!

Yandere! Reader x Scaramouche

TW: Yandere obsessive themes, very tragic back story, mention of character death

A/N: just a short idea from the drafts! :)

You're not obsessed, you tell yourself after your months of rigorous training, after joining the Fatui, even after working so hard, that you earned yourself a vision that lay on your hip. You're normal. You're not constantly thinking of the man, who's visage is like a blurry memory of your past, but if you saw him, you'd know for sure that it was him.

How many years ago was it? You weren't sure you could count such a thing, but you remember being too young to understand death. Too young to get why your parents, or even the rest of your humble village wasn't waking up. Why red was dripping from their lips and their fingers felt cold. You weren't old enough to understand that no one was left, no one but you.

It didn't take long for hunger to set in. Too small and weak to even start a fire, you ate what little scraps you could find. You couldn't leave. Not even when the village ran out of food you could eat, the rest rotting away. Or when the well ran dry. Or when the smell of decay set in and there was nothing left for you to mourn. You couldn't leave because you had no where to go. You wouldn't even know what direction to head in and the fear of setting off into the wilderness with no destination was scarier than just waiting out in your village.

He arrived on a particularly cloudy day, one where the wind smelled of rain. A part of you thought you made him up, but when your big eyes met his and he looked upon you, you knew he was real. He looked disgusted at your display at first, then a bit sorrowful. He stayed beside you as the rest of the armored people he came with went through the houses, breaking doors and windows like they were looking for something.

An apple was dropped into your lap. The first fresh fruit you'd seen in days and you scarfed it down like an animal, even licking the juice from your fingers.

"You were left behind too, huh?" He questioned, making you tilt your head in confusion. It was only now when the pains of hunger weren't ripping through your body did you truly get a good look at his face. His skin pale and indigo hair covered by a large hat. When a raindrop fell and hit your nose, he lifted that hat from his head and placed it on yours, shading you from the impending downpour, "I can't tell if you're weak or strong, having lived this long."

He took you with him, letting you sit next to him as the two of you rode on the back of his carriage. He didn't have much to say and you didn't have much to talk about, but you still found yourself staring at him. Drinking in every inch of his features, every part of his face and body. He was dressed lavishly, with clothes so vibrant, yet so different than what you knew. He was perfection in the human form, even young you could see that.

You were left at a random city, at an orphanage. So far away from home, but similar at the same time. His hat was lifted from your head and your hair was ruffled by his long fingers. And then he was gone. You stayed at the door and watched the way the tassles of his hat swayed in the wind. You remembered everything about him. Including his name. Lord Scaramouche, they called him.

With the way you talked about the man who saved you all those years as you aged, it was no surprise that you joined the Fatui. It was no surprise that you got a vision. It wasn't even a surprise when you cheerfully waved goodbye to your siblings at the orphanage, telling them that you were off to Inazuma, where you knew his clothes were from.

He didn't look any different. That's all you could think about when you were bowed before him, head lowered as a sign of commitment. He looked over you and the rest of the new recruits in disgust, a face that made most fearful, but only made you heart beat faster, a blush forming on your face. You'd found him. And he was as breath taking as he was before. Only this time, you didn't intend to ever let him leave your sight.

#genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x you #yandere reader #yandere reader x character #Scaramouche x reader #yandere imagines

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hopefulceladon · 4 months

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silent night | sunday x reader

summary: one is supposed to treat everyone with hospitality in case of chance encounters, aren't they? so why was it so hard for you to do the same for him? pairing: sunday x reader word count: 1.8k notes: this was made well before sunday's first official in-game appearance!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was quiet.

Except, no, that would’ve been a rather inadequate, exceedingly drab way to describe the scenery in which you’ve surrounded yourself in.

Throughout your stay at The Reverie Hotel, you never knew it to behold racket in the middle of the night, so the silence in the air was nearly expected and not at all noteworthy.

Rather, it had not been merely quiet, but everything was so still, so maddeningly stagnant, that all that you felt in that very moment was the sensation of tiny bumps that prickled upon the chilly surface of your arms, as well as the thrumming of your anxious heart that resided in your chest as trepidation clung like a suffocating blanket to your lungs.

In short, you swore you felt like you were being watched; watched long enough for your worries to occupy the vacancies between your rational thoughts, watched long enough for the trees that surrounded you in the courtyard to still, as if they, too, were afraid that whatever was seemingly nearby would undoubtedly perceive them first, as unlikely as that was.

Sick of the sheer absurd nature of your intrusive thoughts, you hastily gathered the small amount of belongings you brought outside to get up from the spot of grass you sat upon. With your mind purely occupied upon going back to your hotel room, where you hoped had been far safer, a sudden voice broke all your will and intent.

“Dearest guest?”

Startled, you fell backwards onto the plush grass with a distinct gasp of discomfort. As you sharply turned your head upright to face the one who shattered your solitude, all that you could see were blurry lines of glowing light, heavily disrupting the clarity of your vision.

“My heavens, that was quite the startle. I apologize.”

The mellifluous voice surely sounded familiar, but with your visage currently impaired by an irritatingly obnoxious amount of illuminance, you couldn't see who it belonged to.

Over the span of a few deep breaths taken to still the anxious tremor in your chest, the luminous aura had slowly dissipated and only lingered near his right hand, moving downwards to form a glowing radius around what seemed to be a lantern the stranger had carried.

As you blinked the aftereffects of the blinding light away from your sight, you felt something sink—though you weren't sure if it was your heart or your stomach—at the sight of the gray-haired man in front of you.

Standing before you was the head of ‘The Family’, the organization you've heard far too many conspiratorial whispers about in passing, and yet knew next to nothing of the truth in full. It wasn’t that you’ve never seen Sunday before, but it was always when you were far off into the background, never once having the chance to hold a full-fledged conversation with him.

And yet, here he was now, and all you could feel was an awkward sense of distrust, instilled in you by the overheard whispers that enabled your inhibitions to take over the reins. Perhaps the eerie atmosphere from earlier didn’t help either.

“Ah... Mr. Sunday.” you tentatively acknowledged his presence.

The winged man noticed the hesitance in your tone, yet graciously offered you his free hand so you could stand upright before you two conversed further.

You quickly declined with a shake of your head.

Sunday's tongue clicked, his eyebrows furrowing together, but the sudden expression of disappointment was as brief as it was abrupt.

“Please, I insist.”

Despite your display of obstinance, he still held out his hand for you to take, patiently awaiting your next move.

The urge to resist and stand firm on your belief that you didn't require assistance was enticing, but, caught up in a sudden moment of weakness after glancing upwards at his softened golden eyes, you finally decided to accept.

It was surely the right thing to do, after all, wasn't it?

You weren't entirely surprised by the gentle way his hand had delicately grasped onto yours as he lifted you upright, nor were you startled by the soft, chilly sensation of his gloved thumb brushing briefly against your knuckles, as you knew from prior observations that he was a courteous man, and this was surely typical behavior.

What you were surprised by, however, was the smile upon his lips as he helped you back onto your feet. It had been a reassuring image at first, until you realized soon after that his expression never met his eyes, let alone crinkled their corners.

Come to think of it, whenever you happened to capture the rare sight of Sunday off in the distance before back at the hotel, did he ever give anyone he spoke to a genuine smile?

The sound of Sunday clearing his throat interrupted both your brain's musings and the night's silence.

“As I stated earlier, I apologize for startling you.”

“It's fine! Absolutely fine, seriously.” you insisted, waving a hand in dismissal as you took a step backwards. With the anxieties from earlier growing ever more intrusive, you wondered if maybe you should've stayed inside your hotel room after all.

Sunday tilted his head, completely ignoring your words and focusing on your footwork instead. “If everything is ‘absolutely fine’ as you say, may I please ask why you're currently backing away like a frightened little kitten?”

Though his tone was merely curious, you couldn't help but worry you inadvertently peeved him, feeling as if the weight of his gaze had fallen upon your every move, silently observing you to assume your next move before you even made it.

“Ah, I just... I'm...” you desperately fumbled for words. “A... a little chilly, yes! And I was simply going to go back inside—”

“You're chilly, you say?” Sunday interrupted your nervous sputtering before taking a step closer, setting the lantern he held with his right hand down onto the stony ground, and then gently lowering his pristine, white jacket from off his shoulders. “I wish you would've spoken sooner, I'd simply hate for a guest of mine to freeze to death...”

Before you could ask whatever it was that he was doing, the sudden heaviness of something completely foreign weighed down upon your tensed shoulders, and you turned to face him, bewildered.

“Think of it as an apology gift, won't you?” Sunday replied, noting your confusion, yet speaking nothing of it as his eyes focused upon one of your shoulders. “And... ah, might I remove this peculiar speck of dirt? Forgive me, it's just bothering me immensely.”

“Huh? Oh, uh... of course?”

Sunday hummed thoughtfully before carefully laying his hand atop your shoulder, gently flicking off the piece of dirt that had offended his sight. A tiny, lopsided, yet ultimately still forced, smile formed upon his lips for a few brief seconds afterwards, though you weren't sure what for.

“There we are. Not only do you look your best, but I'm also sure you feel your best as well now, no?”

“Right, uh... are you always this courteous to guests?” you murmured.

“Ah, of course! The Family prides itself on showing hospitality to all of those who stay in the hotel,” he paused, raising a brow. “...so, shouldn’t you, yourself, provide more hospitality in kind? You can never quite tell if you've entertained an angel unawares, after all.”

Though his words most definitely belonged in any sort of stern lecture, his tone was far from befitting any admonishments.

He had used a tone that was far too soft, far too sugary sweet, and as you stood there, desperately seeking any potential agendas hidden within the depths of his words, you failed to pan out any nuggets of information that could reaffirm your suspicions, despite your best efforts.

Noting your silence, Sunday simply tutted in disappointment.

“You seem awfully anxious still.” the man mused out loud, his gaze lingering on your tensed posture before falling to peer over all what the beautiful courtyard had generously offered. “You see, I've heard the world of dreams has this brilliant ability to still one's mind and heart...”

“Why do you sound so insistent upon me going there?” you asked quickly before you realized your mistake, wishing your tongue would, for once, wait for your brain to catch up.

Sunday's seraphic wings vaguely twitched, and he took a second before answering.

“Is it really so wrong for me to hope that my guests, and I do mean all of my guests, get to experience the full extent of joys that Penacony has to offer? All I wish for is just for you to relax, dear.”

After taking a moment to transfer the lantern on the floor onto a nearby table, providing a far more suitable range of light, Sunday glanced back up at you, his cheek resting against his palm, fully intent on waiting as long as it took to hear your answer.

Nervously, you took a deep breath, trying your best to consider his words.

It's not that you wanted to distrust all that falls from his lips, but surely you were being fooled, weren't you? How could a man at the head of such a famous family be so exceedingly courteous and kind, without some sort of hidden objective? Surely, you were merely an insignificant actor—hopefully not an infuriating obstacle—in his grand plans, whatever they were, and Penacony was merely his performance's stage?

You wished not to be led like a blind lamb to its’ slaughter, but you could nearly compare yourself to a mindless moth bumbling its way towards Sunday's flickering flame, as the possibility of attempting to trust him without reservations was so dearly tempting.

With a sigh, you allowed your tensed shoulder blades to relax, and slowly, you unclenched a fair portion of the strain out of your jaw.

“I'll... try to consider it?”

“Ah, you will?” Sunday's head tilted, and he let out a soft chuckle. Had it just been you, or did he seem rather pleased with himself that he managed to sway you towards his idea?

“Well, I do hope it proves to be a wonderful experience for you, then.”

Forcing your nerves down, you were about to smile at him before you noticed the motion of his wings, twitching with happiness as they hovered so delicately against his ears.

It was odd. Odd in the sense that it was the first positive response beyond an eloquently worded reply or tight-lipped, false smile that he ever gave you. And, unfortunately, not only was it odd, but it really was quite a charming sight.

Blinking yourself out of your distracted daze, you lowered your head with gratitude. “Thank you, sir...”

“Make no mention of it. May your dreams in Penacony always be pleasant, dearest guest.”

Though your nerves still bubbled away in your chest and in your thoughts, you tried to convince yourself that everything was going to be fine.

Because surely, you could trust him, right?

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #hsr sunday #sunday #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #if sunday's eidolons aren't named after the other six days of the week i swear

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yuadokjon · 3 months

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you dare breakup with me?

summary: you dare to break up with sukuna. via text.

-----

"I think we should break up."

Almost an hour later since you've texted him that and still nothing. Typical. Sukuna wasn't the most responsive person, but you had still foolishly hoped something like this would elicit something more than the usual automatic acknowledgement. Anchored only by the tiny timestamp underneath, the text had long drifted among a sea of other blue bubbles before finally being swallowed up by the blackened screen. You half-swore he left these read receipts on just to torment you. He would see your messages - this one almost instantly - but wouldn't respond for hours or days at a time, if at all. Everything was always to be on his schedule. His whim. His mercy. And yet you gave in to it all every time. Every. Damn. Time. Typical. But not tonight.

The phone's screen had darkened long ago, only your tear-stained reflection staring blankly up at you. You tapped the surface and blinked at the white numbers that confirmed your self-imposed deadline was now up. An hour. That was all that you had given him and, even then, most might say an hour more than he deserved. You were tired. Just so tired and done. Tired of his games. The forgotten dates. The long nights alone. The blush of pink across a collar, the wisp of foreign perfume, the mysterious texts, the fights, the tears. Done.

Your thumbs seemed to move on their own as you absentmindedly re-opened the app to text someone else. A flurry of messages back and forth later, and Choso had invited himself to stay for the night -- with some cult slashers, boba, and assorted snacks in tow -- and refused to take no for an answer. You smiled into your pillow. He truly was the best. No matter what you were going through, Choso had proven time and time again that he would always be there for you. And, hell, you were going through a lot tonight. So you relented and even managed a laugh when he sent back a gif of a happily dancing panda. Deciding to clean up a bit before the arrival of your best friend, you dragged yourself out from the cavern of your covers to make your way to the restroom.

As you splashed the cool water across your face, you felt your heart starting to sink again as thoughts of him started to swarm. You eyed the second toothbrush and piled clothes in the corner, and the heaviness seemed to seep out and down into the very edges of your limbs. You gripped the sink and shut your eyes, thickly swallowing back the whimpers that eventually escaped as a surprised cry at a sudden knock on your front door. Choso arrived earlier than you expected. You pathetically sniffed and wiped away at your face. You didn't want your best friend to see you like this. But as you made your way to the front, you felt the tears threatening to overflow again and your steps quickened. You swung the door open and collapsed into the arms of your guest, broken sobs that hiccuped endlessly once the dam had broken.

"H-he's s-such an asshole," you cried into your friend's chest and felt him stiffen under your arms. You were sorry to put Choso into this position, again. How many times had he warned you about him? Hadn't he already told you how much of an asshole he was from day one? You were such an idiot. You should've listened to your friend and spared yourself the many heartbreaks. You squeezed him tighter, hoping he could somehow feel your thoughts through your embrace. It was only when he moved his arms that you noticed the familiar black bands encircling them and froze.

"Who's such an asshole, doll?"

You recoiled back at the inquiry purred into your ear, lightning strikes erupting across your skin and every cell in your body screaming to run. You could feel your heart thumping loudly within your throat, fighting for space with the words that were caught there. You barely managed to croak out the correct identity of your nightly visitor as you gazed upon his marked visage in stark terror:

"S-sukuna...."

A pair of bright scarlet eyes glowered down at your trembling form while a sinister crescent broke out from under their shine. The sickly sweet voice asked again with an amused tilt of the head and a dangerous step forward, the words now tinged with interrogation:

"Who's such an asshole?"

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fic #sukuna #choso x reader #choso fic #choso #jjk #fics

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kitkatscabinet · 1 year

Text

As you wish

Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: You and Aemond have been by each other's side since childhood. He'd drop everything for you, bending to your whims with an 'as you wish.'

The five times Aemond says 'as you wish' + the one time you do.

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: I couldn't not do it. There’s no mature content don’t know why this got slapped with a label :(

One.

"Aemond!" your gleeful shout of his name pulled the boy from the book he had previously been enraptured in. Looking up towards the source of the call he couldn't stop a small smile from forming. You were running towards him, skirts hitched up in your hands and a grin lighting your visage.

Aemond felt his stomach flutter at the sight of the smile you had reserved for him, at the sheer glee you were exuding just for him.

"Aemond, you must come quickly," you said, panting slightly from your run and hauling him to his feet with surprising strength. The prince could do nothing but stumble after you, a slave to your whims.

"Where are we going in such a rush?" he asked while continuing to let you pull him along.

"We're hiding from septa Cerelle. I'm supposed to be attending lessons but I'd much rather spend time with you." Aemond's breath caught slightly at how easy the admission had come.

"You'll help me hide won't you" you questioned, smiling sheepishly in his direction, and Aemond's mouth was moving before his mind could properly register.

"As you wish." The blinding smile and quick hug he received in return left him feeling oddly floaty for days after.

Two.

Upon returning from lady Laena's funeral Aemond had refused to see you. The queen had gently taken you aside to explain the dreadful events that had taken place on Driftmark. Naturally, you had been appalled, but not for Aemond's supposed ruined looks, but for the wild injustice that had befallen your best friend.

You had instantly marched yourself back to his chambers, banging against the door and yelling to be let in. You had stayed planted in place for what felt like days before the door finally cracked open. Causing you to let out an undignified shriek as you tipped backwards, having sat to lean against the wood earlier.

Looking up you were disconcerted to see that Aemond had already turned and fled, hiding his face from your view. Pushing yourself to your feet you quickly closed and barred the doors behind you.

Your heart shattered even further as you finally looked at your friend. Aemond had always been a quiet presence but was nonetheless proud, posture tall and refined. Yet now, hunched over in a chair by the fire you saw none of what made Aemond himself. He seemed so small, vulnerable even as he resolutely stared away from you.

"Oh Aemond" you gasped, feet swiftly moving to kneel in front of him as you grasped at his hands. Forcing yourself not to react to the bandage that was still wrapped around his head. Still, you gained no reaction and fuelled with spiteful anger on his behalf you spoke again.

"I'll beat him up" you promised nothing but sincerity in your tone. Though you hadn't mentioned a name, it was clear who you meant. That finally elicited a slight upwards quirk of his lips. Nothing like the reaction it should have.

Queen Alicent had told you of the large beast her son had claimed, fear clear in her being and in that moment you saw no other option.

"Will you take me to meet Vhagar?" For the first time since you'd entered his chambers, Aemond looked up to meet your gaze. And seeing no apprehension in your smile he shakily exhaled.

"As you wish."

Three.

Aemond hated grand events. Feasts and balls were overcrowded and far too loud, and people expected him to dance. There were few things he despised more. He was acutely aware of the fearful and disgusted stares that would pass over lady's faces as they saw his.

As a second son, he had no great need to socialise or search for a betrothal. Both actions he had zero interest in. As such these sorts of events presented no enjoyment for him

You on the other hand, for reasons he simply couldn't fathom, adored such events. Relished in the opportunity to drink and dance whilst parading the newest gown his mother had graciously gifted you. You were an ethereal vision in the dark emerald satin, and though he couldn't remove his gaze from your form, neither could many other lords. Lords that practically tripped over each other in order to win some of your time. Forcing him to watch as other men placed their hands on you, another reason for him to hate these events.

His outrage was steadily growing as he threw a frosty look at the lord that had monopolised your attention for the last three dances. He was some minor lord from the vale, hardly worthy of your attention. Yet you had seemed to genuinely enjoy his presence, going so far as to laugh at something the man had whispered by leaning far closer than appropriate in your ear.

Aemond is spared from wetting his hands with blood and the lord his life by the song ending, and you parting from him. So focused on making sure the lord was indeed walking away from you he had barely noticed your approach. Only when the familiar scent of your preferred oils caused his head to spin did he see your dazzling smile. The real thing. Not the painfully and politely plastered thing you offered your many insufferable suitors. The one you had also offered lord deserved to die.

He could not however be angry at you, and the frost in his gaze immediately warmed into something reserved only for three people in existence as he greeted you.

"Dance with me?" you asked, briefly surprising him. You knew how much Aemond hated to dance, to be at the centre of attention and as such never asked him. Yet even so he finds himself taking your arms and leading you towards the dance floor barely a second later.

"As you wish."

You danced with no one but him for the rest of the evening. Leaving Aemond forced to admit to himself that dancing wasn't all that bad.

Four.

He'd heard it from one of the guards casually conversing in the hall. Aemond couldn't recall a time he had been as frantic as now, running through the keep and snarling at anyone that moved out of his way too slowly.

You had been attacked during one of your usual trips visiting the smallfolk. Aemond could not say he was fond of said trips, even if your kindness and generosity only endeared you further to him. You had always assured him you were completely safe, under the watchful eye of both the kings guard (courtesy of himself and his mother) and the city watch. Yet someone had still managed to get far too close, and once Aemond found out who had allowed such a thing heads would roll. But for now, you needed him.

One look at his menacing glare was all he needed to get the guards to your chambers to step aside before he was throwing the doors open. Chest heaving from the fast pace of his run his feet only stopped long enough to identify your location within the room.

Both his mother and sister were by your side, whispering soothing words to your obviously shaken form. Helaena was simply holding your hands, as one of her ladies in waiting the two of you had grown close, whilst his mother rubbed your back.

The relief he had felt for a few seconds quickly morphed back into fury as he took in your still-shaking form. At his arrival, Helaena stood, and after levelling him with a knowing stare announced her leave. Although more hesitant than her daughter, his mother followed suit, but not before glaring at him to 'fix this.'

Hands scrunched in the fabric of your skirts you didn't address his arrival, not even when he gently sank onto the mattress next to you. Slowly, to gain your permission, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest when you didn't deny him.

Aemond wanted to scream, to yell until he was red in face, to hunt down and slaughter the men that had come so close to taking you from him. He did none of those things, however, forcing himself to remain calm and gentle for your sake.

As if his arrival was the final catalyst, you instantly burst into tears. Shaky hands fisted into doublet as you shuddered against his chest. Aemond could do nothing but pull you closer, moving one hand up to stroke your hair as he tucked you into him as best he could. His sheer helplessness in the face of your terror distressed him so greatly that he became aware of his own shaking.

Even when you had cried yourself into exhaustion he couldn't bring himself to let go.

"Please... stay" you whispered hoarsely, looking up at him desperately.

"As you wish" he whispered back just as gently, before kissing your hairline in an uncharacteristic show of vulnerability.

Five.

It hadn't been the first time you had gone to Aemond for consolation, tears in your eyes that only he could remedy. It was beginning to feel as if it could be the last, however.

The queen had come to you, gloom dampening her visage as she informed you of the betrothal your father had recently arranged. You had been horrified, at the match and had begged for her interference. Unfortunately, she had already tried, but your father was a stubborn man and had already made up his mind.

You had devolved into a fit of rage, throwing a vase at the nearest wall as you screamed. Which of course, had sent the queen into a quick exit as she called for her son.

Your anger had faded into resignation, and by the time Aemond arrived, you were two cups deep and slumped in a chair staring listlessly into the hearth.

In a mirror of your actions so many years prior, he silently crossed the space, coming to kneel in front of you as he fully witnessed your melancholy.

"Aemond. I don't wish to marry him" you needlessly confessed, pausing briefly before adding "or any of the other lords my parents would foist me upon."

Your confession hung heavily in the air and you watched as Aemond's face hardened with resolve.

"As you wish." He elaborated no further, giving your hands a reassuring squeeze before he stalked out of your chambers with purpose. Leaving you to blink at his retreating form in stunned and confused silence.

When he returned the next morning, a smug smile adorning his face and the promise you wouldn't have to marry any you wouldn't choose you could do nothing but launch yourself into his arms. Heart hammering in his chest at the feel of his satisfied chuckle and enveloping warmth.

One.

Despite the fact that you hadn't wished to marry some lord twice your age, you couldn't help but feel despondent at your unmarried status. Many of the lords and ladies your age were already wed, babes in their belly and children underfoot.

You thought you hid it well, but you had yet to realise that there was almost nothing Aemond didn't notice about you. He noticed the longing in your gaze when you stared after the few happy matches that paraded the keep. His stomach twisting at the thought of you happy and in love with another.

"Aemond!" the scolding tone of your voice pulls him from his thoughts. Blinking, he looked down to where you lay in the grass, pout on your face as you caught him looking elsewhere, and presumably not focusing on you.

"Are you even listening to me?" you whined in a way that from anyone else he would have found annoying, but from you it was incredibly cute.

Your nose was scrunched up and he couldn't help the amused huff that escaped him when you smacked his thigh.

"Aemond." you drew out his name, "Did you hear a word I said?"

"Something about how dashingly handsome I am?" he joked, leaving you to gape up at him in astonishment.

"Not even close" you objected with a scowl before a mischievous look replaced it and you rolled closer to him, "though if you wish for me to sing your praises all you had to was ask."

Aemond could do nothing but stare, mouth suddenly as dry as Dorne. While your tone had been teasing, there had been something in your gaze that indicated you spoke nothing but the truth. His tongue was led, eye darting between your enchanting eyes and perfect lips.

Evidently, he had been staring at your visage for too long, your face crinkling in concern "Aemond? Are you alri-"

"Marry me" he blurted breathlessly, not an ounce of jest in his being. He watched with mortified anticipation as your face lost its smile and your eyes widened in shock.

Yet as what seemed like an age passed and you offered no answer he felt embarrassment like no other burn in his chest. Just before he can make a hasty retreat in order to lick at his newly acquired wounds, your hands snaked out lightning fast and claimed his.

"As you wish" you replied confidently, taking delight at the look of wonder on his face. It was your turn to be breathless as he closed what little distance remained between you. Pulling you into the first of many time-stopping kisses.

TAGLIST: @etherily @psychwardsiren @mihrimahsultan03 @bbyaemond @krispold @hyperfixated-freak @eudximoniakr @deadstarkblacksoul @weepingwitchofthewest @kaitieskidmore1 @eli1fict @rainerax @dsl1999 @uno7 @shine101 @xinyourdreamsx @targeryenmoony @thelittleswanao3 @thenovelcarnival @yourlittlehoe @chattylurker

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon x reader

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lexsssu · 4 months

Text

Moon (Kaedehara Kazuha)

TAGS: Kazuha/Dragoness!reader, breeding, smut, oneshot Ao3 ver.

Kazuha is all too used to seeing odd things from his perch atop Beidou’s ship. Sailing across the sea for months at a time had accustomed him to the strange happenings that occurred when one could only see and smell saltwater for weeks.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

His neck practically snapped towards the direction of the unfamiliar voice, ruby orbs widening and jaw dropping as he beheld an ivory-haired young woman seemingly floating in the air. She was sitting on thin air as if she had a chair beneath her, but the samurai knew that if he held his hand out his fingers would touch nothing.

Whoever or whatever she was, the golden hue of her eyes twinkled as the soft beams of moonlight gave her body an ethereal glow that solidified Kazuha’s theory that if not a figment of his overactive imagination, she was definitely some sort of spirit unbound by the shackles of mortality.

Because how could a mere human ever look as beautiful as she did? Merely a glimpse of her pure visage stole his breath away as all the flowery and poetic words he could use to describe her seemed stuck in his throat.

“Yes. Beautiful…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Please, allow me just this once and I shall never ask anything of you ever again. You can return to whichever realm you’ve come from, but please...just this once and I’ll be satisfied for the rest of my life…”

The wandering samurai’s whole body was flushed from head to toe, rational mind fogged thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol he’d downed earlier after finding himself in a somber mood. He’d allowed himself to be goaded by his fellow crewmates for once, drinking until he could barely even walk straight as the ale numbed his senses.

But no amount of drink can ever numb the feelings that had inevitably planted itself in his heart like a small seed, blooming into a flower as night after night passed where he’d spend the majority of his evenings in your company. It didn’t help that as otherworldly as you looked, you were as down to earth as any ordinary person.

Perhaps that’s what hooked him in the first place.

The soft smiles you’d send him would send his heart aflutter, the melodious giggles had him captivated, and everything else you did set his blood ablaze with feelings he never thought he’d experience as a man who prided himself in being as airy as the wind he wielded.

“You’re so warm...so...so soft…!” Kazuha gritted his teeth as sweat dripped down his temple, hips unrelenting in their thrusts as he was consumed by his undeniable desire. He had you on your knees, face down ass up as he pummeled the entire length of his cock into your warm and tight hole. His red eyes glowed with fire, so unlike the calm winds, as moans and whimpers were coaxed from your pretty lips that he'd had the pleasure of tasting just earlier.

While he was no green boy, his brother-in-arms Tomo having repeatedly dragged him to the red light districts of the places they'd wandered to, he wasn't as easily swayed by carnal desires as the other man. Usually, he just waited at the oden carts located near such establishments, conversing with their owners and or other patrons as he waited for his inebriated and satiated friend to finish.

But this? Kazuha had never felt such an intense need to stuff his cock inside a willing cunt and paint it white with his virile seed, but then again you weren't just any willing cunt, were you? The platinum-blonde is enamored with you, a corporeal spirit, to the point that you made him throw away all his calm out the door.

That is why he fucks into you so furiously, plowing you with the single-minded mission to pour all his desires inside of you. Since you're a spirit and he's a human there's no way that his seed will take, right? Despite reassuring himself, a small and dark part of Kazuha fed him images of you glowing with a maternal shine as your belly swelled with life.

Such an image has the samurai speeding up his movements, hips sputtering all too soon before shoving the entire length of his cock inside your warm and moist insides as jets of hot and gooey cum filled you to the brim.

He is always a careful man, because he knows that he can't give a good life to any woman who wants to wed him and bear his child with his current situation. However, he supposes that it's alright to finish inside you, because this is most likely the last time he'd see you and as a spirit there was no way your body would actually accept his inferior seed...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, look who the cat dragged in. Took you long enough to visit, Kazu-chin~"

"...Tomo?"

"In the flesh! ...Or maybe not since my soul is still definitely mine, but it's the body that's new since the old Shogun fried me back then. Hahaha!"

"But...but how?"

"It's all thanks to our new archon! You should've seen it. I've been hanging out here ever since I died, but no one can see or hear me except for her of course! She kinda just appeared all of a sudden and me being the gentleman that I am, I watched out for her and you wouldn't believe how shocked I was when she could apparently see and hear me!"

The former fugitive could only gape as he stared at his old friend with wide eyes, acting as animated as he was before challenging the raiden shogun. Tomo however, wore new attire now that was especially befitting of a samurai that served a worthy lord. Unsurprising as he was now apparently part of the new shogun's honor guard.

"Anyways, I told her all about what's been happening here and you know what she did after I finished the whole story? She marched straight towards the shogun and ANNIHILATED her. It looked like something straight out of the Archon War with how ruthless she was! Oh, but she didn't hurt anyone else after that. Heck, she even returned everyone's visions and gave me a new body that she just conjured from nothing. So here I am now, back and even badder than before!"

The new captain grinned as he flexed his 'new' body, posing embarrassingly until Kazuha gave him a deadpan stare at his antics. A group of handmaidens passed by, giggling as they gave Tomo sly looks which the man returned with his own flirtatious wink.

"...You've essentially died and risen from death, but you're still an incorrigible flirt as always"

"It's not my fault that the ladies just can't get enough of this—"

"Tomo? I was looking everywhere for you—"

And just like that first night beneath the light of the moon, the young man practically snapped his neck at the speed at which he turned to behold the owner of the voice that haunted him even in his dreams.

There you stood, as beautiful and ethereal as the last time he managed to hold you. Except...there seemed to be some roundness around your midsection, almost as if you were actually preg—

"KAZUHA!!!"

Like a predator that caught sight of its prey and assured in the inevitability of its kill, you pounced and he could do nothing except catch you in his arms. He took care not to embrace you too tightly however, conscious of your apparent condition as his fried brain tried to take in all the revelations that had been dropped on him in less than an hour.

You purr and chirp as you rub your cheek against your mate's neck, scenting him and staking your claim upon the male as he stood still as stone from the information overload.

Meanwhile, Tomo was equally shocked and amused at the turn of events.

"...Huh, so you're the bastard that knocked up our new archon… Guess this means I'll be a very proud godfather and uncle very soon!"

The former scion of the noble Kaedehara samurai household turned wanderer, branded a fugitive, escaped as a sailor, was now the consort of an archon and a soon-to-be father.

...He knew he should have never befriended Tomo in the first place.

#lexsssu writes #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha x y/n #genshin kazuha #genshin impact kazuha #genshin impact smut #crossposted on ao3

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muzansfangs · 5 months

Note

Jugram x f! Reader NSFW??

In the river of crazy.

Starring: Jugram Haschwalth x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, creampie, dom!haschwalth, sub!reader, slightly somnophilia, choking, mention to pregnacy, rough sex, mention to bruises, not defined relationship status;

Plot: he had been always taciturn. You knew Haschwalth’s life was nothing like that of a common civilian. It was a miracle even being able to meet him, at times. Therefore, you left him the key of your flat. When he was upset, you knew what to expect from him. That night, when he slipped into your room and found you asleep in your bed, he did not hesitate to take what he wanted.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

He had never talked much. His cynic and detached nature matched with his stern expression. Haschwalth Jugram was more than handsome. His beauty made angels turn away in jealousy. You remembered with a certain nostalgia how you had thought he was not real, when two first met. No one could be blessed with such perfect features: no creature blessed by a divinity for sure.

There was something demonic about his perfect visage.

His icy blue eyes were his finest weapon. They always stunned you in silence, the moment you made eye-contact. All that you knew was that you could not resist him, you could not oppose yourself to him, you were totally subjected to his requests, eager to satisfy his darkest desires. Everything felt like an endless dream you did not want to wake up from, albeit your relationship was not defined. He would have never told you that he loved you, but if he kept on sticking around, his cold eyes lingering on your face rather than your body, perhaps you were not just a rag doll for him to toss around. It was not a simple lie you told yourself not to suffer for his mood swings.

Haschwalth never cared about anyone. You wondered if that little thing you had meant that he cared a tad bit about you. Then again, there was a chance you were being delusional.

Once, as the night breeze caressed your sweaty faces, blowing gently through the opened window of your bedroom, he had decided to talk to you. He had said those damn words that are still ringing in your head, making your heart skip a beat whenever the thought of him crossed your mind.

“It’s not just sex. I need you” he had stated, his eyes transfixed on the ceiling, his fingers combing your hair absent-mindedly, while you looked at him with droopy eyes full of expectations. Haschwalth Jugram confused you. What a way to mess with your head.

It had been a whole week, since your last encounter. You had waited for him, both day and night, standing by the window with the same apprehension a wife would have for her husband. But you were far from being his woman. In the end, he probably just seeked comfort from you, a person who would have nor questioned him, neither judged his behavior.

No matter for how long he was away, Jugram would have always come back to you. He knew your door would have been opened for him.

As the moon raised up into the night sky, your droopy eyes gave up. Waiting wide awake for him to arrive was useless at this point. As you dragged your feet along the floor to reach your bedroom, your gaze trailed up to the clothes hanger, hoping to see his white cape on it. What a fool you were. He was not there, you needed to deal with it, to accept this unavoidable truth.

Crawling over the bed, however, you chose to abandon your usual spot. Ignoring your pillow, you nuzzled your face on his one, inhaling deeply in a futile attempt to detect even a dull track of his cologne. Much to your dismay, it was fading away. But you would have never forgotten it anyway. Peppermint and an ounce of musk. The amount of nights it had lulled you to sleep was uncountable.

You sighed, heavy eyelids yielding to the fatigue of the day and the turmoil of emotions you were experiencing. You missed him, you missed the way he made you feel. Drifting into the realm of Morpheus, allowing the god to sing a peaceful lullaby to calm your heart, you allowed yourself to finally rest. Snuggled into the blankets, tired of waiting on someone who seemed to live just fine without you, nothing seemed to be able to torment you anymore.

The key unlocking the front door of your home a few hours later did not startle you. How could you hear light footsteps approaching your bedroom, or the sound of rustling clothes as someone began to undress himself by your bed? You were fast asleep.

But he was there. He had come back to claim you once again. He could not help himself, when he spotted you in a fetal position among the snow-white blankets, so small compared to him and, above all, vulnerable. A lamb to the slaughter, his favorite victim but also the only person he could never really get rid of.

You were stuck in his head, you and your way of letting him know that no matter what he did outside your flat, no matter how many people he had killed, you would have always welcomed him between your arms. You were his haven. How was he supposed to stay away from you?

As the last piece of his clothing fell on the floor and he carefully climbed on on the bed, hovering over you and inspecting your features, there was nothing he could do if not delicately tracing your cheekbone with his cold, soft lips. A way to worship you, a way to gently letting you know that he was there for you and you warmth and there would have not been anything that could have ever stopped him from it.

You hummed softly, still half-asleep as your senses began to awaken again and the presence of a naked, muscular body pressed against yours made your heart skip a beat. Your lids lifted slowly, lips parting as you soaked in the angelic visage of the man you had learned to love through blood-stained clothes and sharp blades.

Blonde strands of his hair fell over your face as you reached your hand up to cup his smooth cheek in your hand “Haschwalth…” you whispered softly, lips parted in disbelief.

“Hush, it’s me” he replied in his usual monotone tone, a simple confirmation that he was really there, that you were not imagining him. It was not a vision.

You sighed, tears brimming up in your eyes, but you knew better than allowing them to spill out and run down your cheeks. Instead, you fluttered your eyes closed and let his lips leave a trail of open mouthed kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. He nibbled at the tender flesh, sucking, lapping at your skin so sensually, but showing that he had suffered starvation like a lion in a desert.

He was not gentle, once his hand reached down to hike the hem of your nightgown up, his slender fingers did nothing more than pushing the fabric to the side, and you were met with a guttural growl rambling from his throat, when the pads of his fingers met your wetness. You had missed this like crazy, you had missed the way he somehow always found a way to make you so responsive in a matter of seconds.

You moaned, his fingers delving into your welcoming core, pumping in and out as he prepared you for what was yet to come. It was true that you were used to him, to his rough touch, to the way you crumbled completely when he touched you. But you felt tears brimming in your eyes, the nature of which was either the immense pleasure he was making you experience or the way your body had missed him.

“J-Jugram” you breathed out, your toes curling in pleasure, as the pressure on your lower abdomen coiled. You were close to snap, to release and he knew it. He could feel it in the way your inner, spongy walls, tightened around his fingers.

“Shut up” he whispered firmly, wrapping his free hand around your throat. The pressure was enough to prevent you from squirming around, but not enough to strangle you. The air he was depriving you of made your head spin a tad bit, but it made you focus more and more on your incoming orgasm.

Touching yourself in his absence had been pointless, the only thing it resulted in was feeding your pent up frustration of wasted orgasms far from matching the ones he induced you at.

As he felt your inner walls tightening around his slender fingers, a clear signal that your climax was about to burst, he withdrew them quickly and grasped his cock, giving it some languid strokes before lining it up to your entrance. His hand, choking you, slithered down your waist and gripped your hip to keep you in place, eyes locked with yours, as he finally entered you with a guttural moan.

Inch by inch, you took him inside you, where he belonged, where he was always supposed to be. Your jaw went slack, a strained moan leaving your lips as he gave you the time to adjust to him once again. Your arms found their place around his shoulders, your palms flattening against his muscular back and shoulderblades.

“I missed you” you meekly whimpered, while Jugram kissed you briefly, before picking up a steady by rough pace that made your body jolt with each of his thrusts.

He groaned, his grip on your body tightening as you came to the terms that he would have left some clear bruises and fingerprints over your hips. But it was in his style, this was the Sternritter Grandmaster. As charming as he was, he was a cold-blooded man.

High-pitched moans and grunts filled the room. The crescendo making you shiver as a sinful orchestra played in your bedroom. The lewd sound of skin again skin, the shaky breaths, the sound of the headbed slamming against the cerulean wall behind you were all part of this sinful song you had agreed on playing.

You did not expect him to say anything now, as your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, but he did. As he gripped your jaw, your orgasm building up again, you realized he was close to the edge and quite desperate too.

“I will show you how much I missed you. I’ll fuck a baby into you tonight” he huskily said, leaving you in a daze as butterflied fluttered into your stomach. Maybe you were not just his stress-relief object. You were more.

You were more and you knew it, as he gave you one last thrust, muffling your moan with his mouth and pressing his lips onto yours, while he filled you up to the brim. Your own juices milked him, making Jugram groan and kiss your cheek, when he slowly began to pull out of you.

“You’re staying with me. Tonight, forever” he breathed out, before collapsing onto the bed beside you.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Not me cheering because I have fulfilled a request after so long! I wonder why every single time I write for Haschwalth Jugram I end up writing such lewd scenes… Who knows?😂❤️

As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are highly appreciated!

Tags: @electronicwitchcollection @brittscafe @shattereddreamssara @tsuukichan @cyberdazetragedy

#haschwalth x reader #jugram haschwalth x reader #jugram x reader #jugram haschwalth #bleach jugram #haschwalth jugram x reader #bleach smut #bleach x reader

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cherienymphe · 1 year

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When The Party’s Over XX (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON touching, DUB-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, forced pregnancy, toxic relationship, violence, jealousy, stalking, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, corruption, public sex, innocent reader, Heyward!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @silkholland

➥ series masterlist

summary: Manipulated into a secret relationship with Rafe Cameron, you’re finding it much easier said than done to do the right thing and walk away…especially when he refuses to let you.

“…and there’s the heartbeat.”

You stared at the screen, your own heart beating in time with that of the baby’s in your stomach. You swallowed, gaze roaming over the monitor and feeling…weird. You knew you were pregnant, had known for weeks, but being confronted with the evidence in such a glaring way made your head spin more than expected. The sound of its heart was so loud in the otherwise quiet room, and Rose softly gasped.

You had not wanted Rafe in the room.

At all.

It had sparked a disagreement that was only settled when Rose stepped in.

“Rafe, if she doesn’t want you there then she doesn’t want you there,” the older woman had said. “She’s carrying your child. Let’s pick our battles, okay? She doesn’t need any stress.”

Rafe’s entire visage had clouded over, and you had ignored the feel of his cold gaze all the way to the doctor. You blinked at the monitor, surprised by how your eyes watered, and you struggled to swallow.

“Oh, honey,” Rose said, grabbing you a tissue.

“Sorry,” you tearfully apologized, wiping your eyes.

You didn’t even know why you were crying. Surely that whole hormone thing couldn’t start this early. All of it was just so overwhelming. You’d thought about motherhood a lot growing up, always knowing you’d want to be one someday, but you’d never imagined like this. You never imagined this early, and with Rafe of all people.

This was a moment that should’ve been happy, and it was in a way, but it felt wrong to think. Let alone even say. Rafe had raped you, had cornered you into going through with this, and as awful as the circumstances were, you couldn’t deny how almost excited you were to have a baby. The excitement, however, was more than dampened by everything revolving around the situation.

“Do you want to know the sex?”

You looked up at the doctor in wonder, eyes wide as you thought it over. It was no secret that your families were dying to know. Rose and your mom wanted a little girl so badly. Your dad seemed impartial, just wanting the baby to be healthy, while Ward on the other hand… You hadn’t missed the way Rafe’s jaw had clenched at his dad’s verbal desire for a boy.

The why was no secret.

He wanted a boy that had the capacity to turn out better than Rafe.

Truthfully, you didn’t know what you wanted, and you hadn’t spoken to Rafe about it either. You didn’t talk to him much at all if you could help it, and even from what you knew about him, it was still hard to try and surmise what he hoped for. You didn’t need to look at Rose to know she was disappointed when you shook your head.

“I don’t think I want to know yet.”

“That’s okay!” the doctor assured you, and you wondered if your uncertainty was written all over your face. “Plenty of people want to be surprised, or they simply aren’t ready yet.”

You returned her comforting smile, letting out a breath of relief. The rest of the appointment was spent making sure you were healthy and that the baby was developing as it should too. Rose was an odd comfort, a soft touch on your back as you both walked out of the room. Rafe’s face was hopeful when you finally neared him, and you said nothing as Rose spoke.

“Y/N doesn’t want to know the sex yet.”

You could feel his gaze on you, and you pointedly ignored him.

“Why the hell not?”

“Rafe,” his stepmom scolded.

You brushed past him on your way out, but he was quick to walk in time with you.

“Why don’t you want to know the sex?”

“…because I just don’t.”

He pulled you to a stop once you were outside, and you narrowed your eyes at the way he stared you down.

“First you tell me you don’t want me in there with you, and now you’re taking this from me too…”

“Rafe-.”

“The baby is mine too.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and looking away. Rafe moved closer, and you felt the cool air of his breath as he exhaled through his nose.

“I know that just eats you up inside, but I have just as much right in these decisions, so you really need to get over that,” he spat.

You could hear Rose scolding him again, and your eyes landed on his face again just as a sneer fell onto his lips.

“So, if you don’t want to know the sex, fine, but you’re going to wait here while I find out.”

He was taking off before you could stop him, and you roughly exhaled as your eyes met Rose’s. It bothered you that Rafe spoke about this baby like it was a mutual decision between you two. If you had it your way, Rafe wouldn’t be involved in the pregnancy at all. His determination to make you both one big happy family was unnerving more than anything else.

…because Rafe had an infuriating habit of getting what he wanted.

“Oh my God,” Bunny breathed as she held the sonogram Rafe gave her, lips parted in shock.

Cam sat next to her, both of them staring at it with wide eyes. Part of you felt bad for hiding this from them for so long, but you’d needed time to process it all yourself. Plus, there was the added weight of hiding the true nature of your relationship—or lack thereof—with Rafe from them.

It felt like forever since you’d seen them, and Ward and Rose took no issue with inviting them over.

“I feel like the biggest idiot in the world,” Cam said, shaking her head. “You were fucking Rafe this whole time, and I didn’t even know.”

You threw her a sheepish smile when her gaze met yours.

“Not even Kelce knew, so…”

“Yeah, but they’re guys. We’re girls,” Bunny cried. “We tell each other everything.”

The blonde pouted at you as Cam took the sonogram for herself, marveling at it.

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” you quietly confessed. “Pope, you know.”

Bunny nodded in understanding, Cam humming.

“…but you guys aren’t together anymore,” the redhead sadly mused. “…and you’re still going to have it?”

You sighed, nibbling on a snack that Rose had made you as your thoughts ran. You knew what they were thinking because it was the same thoughts you’d had before your abortion. You’d had no intention of being with Rafe, and he’d shown you that he wasn’t a promising father. Not to mention, you hadn’t wanted him to use the baby against you. It hadn’t made sense to keep it.

It didn’t make sense to keep this one either, but you were cornered.

Still…ignoring Rafe, you wanted this baby, and that was what you’d told them.

“What about school?” Cam wondered.

“One more year off isn’t the end of the world,” you assured them. “Online classes are a thing, and…I don’t know. Once the baby reaches a certain age, I could go in person…even if only for the experience.”

You’d talked about it in passing with both your parents and Ward. You hadn’t missed the way Rafe’s gaze had lingered during the conversation. His gaze lingered a lot lately, and you knew it was in part because you wanted nothing to do with him.

He watched you a lot when you walked, eyes focused on your steps and movements. He stared when you ate too, taking in what you ingested and how much. You weren’t stupid. You knew why, of course, but a part of you didn’t want to accept that Rafe was just looking out for the mother of his child. You didn’t want to acknowledge that beyond all of his awfulness and troubled mind, there was a part of him that existed that did care about you and this baby in his own way.

You didn’t like the area of grey.

Like now for example.

“You can’t forget these,” he told you as you ate, sliding the prenatal vitamin across the table.

Your shoulders sagged for several reasons, mostly because you hated that you kept forgetting while Rafe didn’t. He never forgot everything you were supposed to take and how much you were supposed to be eating and how much rest you were supposed to be getting. It ate you up inside, and you weren’t too proud to deny it.

Bitterness settled in the pit of your stomach.

You knew that you were just overwhelmed, and due to the circumstances, Rafe had much more control over the situation than you did. Even still, you couldn’t help how it made you feel like Rafe, of all people, was going to be a better parent than you. You knew that wasn’t true, of course. You could start smocking crack, right now, and you’d still be a better parent than him.

Rafe just had much more invested in this baby than you did.

Maybe you’d just subconsciously internalized that. You did want this baby, but if you lost it, you’d be sad…but not forever. You’d grieve, of course, but you couldn’t deny that a part of you would take it as a sign, a blessing in a weird way almost. You would be sad…but you would be free, and Rafe of all people understood that more than anyone.

So, he was overly invested in making sure everything went right with this pregnancy.

He couldn’t risk losing the baby because he couldn’t risk losing you.

“I guess I’m going to have to write it on your forehead every night…”

Your eyes met his, and the corner of his lips curved upwards into a cold smirk.

“…or shove it down your throat.”

You looked away, picking at your food.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were trying to intentionally ruin this pregnancy.”

You glared at him at that. You both knew that wasn’t true, and you felt insulted that Rafe would even think that of you.

“You twisted my arm into this whole situation, and now you complain when I’m not perfect at it,” you told him. “I’ll do better.”

You took the vitamin, swallowing it down with some water under Rafe’s watchful eye.

“I know you can be stubborn…but you really plan on doing this for the next eighteen years?”

You swallowed down a sigh, sparing him a brief glance.

“Doing what, Rafe?”

“You know what.”

You hated that smirk dancing on his lips, chin resting in his hand as he stared at you like…like some child. It was the smugness that really made your skin crawl. The unshaking certainty that you’d come around and Rafe would really just get everything he wanted.

“Plenty of people coparent without being together all over the world, Rafe. I don’t see why we can’t…”

“This isn’t all over the world, beautiful. It’s Kildare.”

You rolled your eyes at his tone.

“…and Rose already hates it enough that we aren’t married. I’ll never hear the end of it when you actually start showing,” he grumbled.

“Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you forced a baby in me.”

His face fell at your words, and you held his gaze. Sarah was in the living room, not one to leave the two of you completely alone, but you didn’t care if she heard or not. She already knew, anyway.

“You didn’t give me much choice…now, did you?”

You scoffed at him, looking away with a shake of your head.

“You tried to drown me, Rafe,” you reminded him, watching the way his jaw ticked. “What did you expect me to do?”

“I said I was sorry-.”

“That’s not something that can be fixed with an apology. It can never be fixed.”

“I-.”

“You hit me, you raped me, and you think any of that is supposed to make me want to be with you? You had to get me pregnant just to keep me tied to you, Rafe. What does that say?”

You were grabbing your plate and standing before he could respond, but you weren’t surprised to hear his chair scraping too as he followed you into the kitchen. His hands came down on either side of you at the sink, and you shrunk in on yourself at the feel of his chest grazing your back. He leaned in, and you shuddered when his nose grazed the top of your ear. He sighed, and you felt the action against your back.

“I want you to understand something…okay…?”

His voice was hushed, and you did your best to lean away from him to no avail.

“Baby or no baby, you were never getting away from me,” Rafe purred, and you flinched when his hand trailed up your frame, coming to rest on your stomach. “This was just the easy way, and you think you’d appreciate that.”

You pushed your body against his, trying to get from in between him and the sink, but Rafe’s hand was quick to circle your wrist. When you looked at him, his blue eyes were hard, no hint of humor found on his face. He leaned in, and you worriedly leaned back.

“This is me being nice…because you’re pregnant, and you don’t need the stress…”

His other hand came up to touch your cheek, and your lips trembled as he ran his gaze over you, slowly taking you in.

“…but do not let that get to your head.”

You stared at each other for what felt like a long time, and you jerked when Sarah’s voice reached your ears.

“Rafe! What the hell are you doing?”

The disgust in her voice was clear, and you swallowed when her brother threw her a crooked smile, reluctantly letting you go.

“We’re just talking,” he evenly told her, looking at you again. “Baby stuff.”

He tapped your chin before brushing by you, and you wiped your face, having not even realized that your eyes had started to water.

You let out a breath, staring at the pastel green crib with parted lips. It was so big and pretty and unexpected. When Sarah had taken you out, you hadn’t thought anything of it. Returning to the Cameron’s to Cam and Bunny in your room was a surprise, and the pretty crib was an even bigger surprise. You didn’t miss the gender-neutral color, and you blinked at them.

“Rafe told Kelce and Kelce told me,” Cam said with a shrug. “It’s perfect for…whatever you hope you’re having.”

You couldn’t lie and say your curiosity wasn’t piqued. After all, you hadn’t forgotten the look on Rafe’s face when he’d finally joined you and Rose in the car that day. It was strange, seeing him so happy, and that happiness sparked by something so innocent and genuine.

“Do you like it?” Bunny wondered with a hopeful smile.

You dazedly nodded.

“Yeah,” you breathed, slowly approaching it, placing your hand on the wood. “It’s so pretty.”

With every passing day, this pregnancy became more and more real. In less than a year, a little baby would be sleeping in this thing, and you blew out a breath. You and Rafe would be parents, and you briefly closed your eyes.

“Are you scared?” Bunny suddenly asked.

When you looked at her, she looked like she was for you. All three of you were so young, after all, and you were having a baby. You were starting a portion of your life that wouldn’t even be thought about for another decade for them, if at all.

“Yeah.”

It was an honest answer, but just not for the reason you led her to believe. You weren’t scared of this baby or being a mother, but instead of Rafe. You were scared of the power he held, and would hold, over you. You were scared of eighteen plus years of having to deal with him and his antics and his unwavering determination to keep you under his thumb.

You were afraid of Ward and his money and how difficult your family’s life could be should you ever decide to stand up to Rafe for the whole island to see. You were afraid of Rose’s excitement to have a baby in the house, what she might do or turn a blind eye to all for the sake of looking like a perfect family.

You didn’t say any of that though.

“What if I suck?” you wondered, recalling your thoughts from the other night. “I mean, Rafe of all people, has to remind me to take my prenatal vitamins. What if he’s better at this than me?”

“I can barely imagine Rafe as a dad, and he’s literally going to be one,” Cam scoffed. “You’ll be a great mom, don’t worry.”

“Plus, you’ll have so much help! We’re here, and Rose and Sarah, and Kiara’s going to help too, right? She’s dating your brother,” Bunny reminded you.

It was true that you would have help. You were sure you’d need it, and it did relieve you some, and you looked at the crib again. It looked so nice in the room, oddly in place, and you were thinking about waking up in the middle of the night to check on the baby or watching them sleep. You were still staring at it when Rafe finally returned.

You knew because you heard him knock something over downstairs.

It was late, very late, and truthfully, you hadn’t been all that concerned about where he was. Your curiosity, however, was piqued when you heard Ward’s voice. It became clearer when you stepped out of your room, nearing the stairs.

“Y/N is upstairs, carrying your baby and getting the rest she needs, and you’re out drinking?”

It wasn’t surprising to hear, not even disappointing. You’d come to expect everything of Rafe, and you peeked around the corner, gaze landing on the two of them at the bottom of the stairs. Your ex did look drunk, hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it, and your eyes fell to the large bag in his hand.

“When you came to me to take responsibility for your part in all this, to tell me about the situation, I had hope, Rafe. I still do, but this? I don’t like this,” the older man scolded.

“You can relax, alright? I was just at Topper’s. We just had some beers-.”

“…and then you drove here.”

Rafe didn’t say anything to that, and when you glanced up again, you found his drunken gaze on you. Feeling embarrassed at having been caught, you backed away and made your way back to your room. You could feel your stomach turning, mouth salty, and you grimaced, rushing to the bathroom. Truthfully, you weren’t sure why they called it morning sickness when you found that it sometimes lasted all day.

When you finished rinsing your mouth out, you were stumped by the sight of Rafe in your room.

You opened your mouth to say something when you paused, taking in the way he stood over the crib. You studied the way he seemed to study it, blue eyes drinking in the color and size, and you watched him reach up with his free hand to brush his fingers along the smooth surface. He didn’t acknowledge you right away, just drinking it in, and his throat bobbed.

“Cam and Bunny bought it,” you finally said.

Again, he said nothing, and you sighed.

“Rafe, I need to sleep. You can look at it tomorrow-.”

“No.”

You frowned at him, frown deepening when he moved to sit down on your bed. You folded your arms over your chest, opening your mouth when he drew your attention back to the bag he’d been holding. You watched him dump everything out onto the bed, and it was hard to describe the feeling in your chest as your eyes ran over everything.

It was all baby stuff.

Blankets, onesies, diapers. You sharply inhaled, so conflicted at the sight of Rafe simultaneously trying and fucking up. You let out a bitter chuckle, thinking to yourself to leave it to Rafe to get drunk and drive home with a bag full of things the baby would need. You dropped the blanket, unsure of what to say. You felt like you should thank him, but you weren’t going to thank Rafe for doing what dads should.

Providing for this baby he was forcing you to have was the least he could do.

“Ward said you’re drunk…”

Rafe heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, but he didn’t deny it. He shook his head, running his hand through his dirty blond strands, and standing.

“Topper and Kelce can’t believe I’m doing this, you know,” he slurred, and you eyed him. “They think I’m crazy…but they don’t get it.”

“Look, all of this stuff is great, Rafe, but I think you should-.”

“I fucking love you.”

Your stomach churned at that, and you couldn’t hold his gaze when it met yours. You didn’t believe that for a second, and it scared you that Rafe genuinely did.

“I do,” he drunkenly continued. “…and you might hate me, now, but you won’t forever. You can’t.”

“Rafe,” you sighed.

“…because that baby will know. Our child will see it, and they’ll hate you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Rafe stared you down, and you swallowed.

“Our son will hate you.”

You froze, eyes widening at Rafe as he revealed what you didn’t want to know yet. He watched your face as you processed the knowledge that you were having a boy…another Rafe, and by the look on Rafe’s face, you could see that was where his mind had headed too. You stumbled back, and Rafe let out a soft chuckle.

“We’re having a boy…and I’m going to treat him better than my dad ever treated me,” he practically sneered, your eyes meeting his again. “He’ll never have to beg for my attention, my love, my approval.”

You turned away, staring at the crib and the pastel green color, mind racing.

“He’s going to fucking love me…and you will too because he does.”

You shook your head, and Rafe continued.

“You will too because he’s mine,” Rafe whispered, moving closer, now. “You’re going to see me in his face and his laugh and his God damn smile.”

“Shut up, Rafe.”

Your voice cracked, and you hadn’t realized until now that you’d been hoping for a girl. You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter to you, but in this moment, as Rafe taunted you with everything you wanted to pretend wasn’t true, you realized it mattered a lot. Seeing Rafe in your son was going to elicit one of two reactions.

You were either going to hate the sight of him and everything he reminded you of, something you couldn’t imagine…

…or he was going to make the next eighteen years very trying in ways you didn’t even want to think about.

“I told you I didn’t want to know,” you choked out. “Do you ever respect anything I say?”

You pushed past him, moving to clean everything off of your bed when you felt Rafe at your back. You reached back, pushing at him, but Rafe wouldn’t budge. He wrapped his arms around you, and you felt his face in the crook of your neck.

“Rafe-.”

“We’re having a boy,” he drunkenly murmured, lips brushing your neck. “You’re giving me a son.”

When you turned around, you pressed your hands to his chest, but Rafe dropped to his knees before you could stop him. You gasped when his arms tightened around you, his face pressed to your stomach, and your hands were suspended in the air, unsure of what to do.

“Rafe, get up,” you harshly whispered.

You tensed when he pressed his lips to you, lifting your shirt, skin meeting skin.

“Rafe, stop-.”

You cut yourself off with a gasp when his teeth nipped at you. He kissed his way up your body, lips meeting yours before you could stop him. You pushed against him, noises of protests leaving you as he moved his mouth over yours. Rafe’s hands pressed into you, digging into your skin and preventing you from moving.

Your heart started going crazy in your chest, and you worriedly looked towards the door.

“Rafe, stop,” you hissed against his lips, shoving his shoulders.

He ignored you, shoving you down onto the bed, and in your panic, your hand clasped onto some random baby toy he’d bought. You swung it at his face before you realized it, eyes widening as he pulled away with a loud hiss. The corner of the box it was in had cut his face, and you watched him reach up to touch it. Your lips parted when he looked at the blood on his hand, and you fearfully moved back, tearful eyes focused on him.

When his blue eyes met yours, his entire face hardened, expression taut. He came at you again, and you swung your arm, his hand catching your wrist just as the door opened. You both flew apart with impressive speed, your tearful gaze landing on Ward as he looked between you two. You didn’t miss the way his gaze narrowed the more it lingered on Rafe.

“Y/N needs rest, Rafe. You know that.”

The blond swallowed, running his hands through his hair with a nod.

“Yeah, yeah, I just… I was just showing her the stuff I bought.”

You could tell that Ward didn’t believe him, and when it became clear that Ward wasn’t leaving until he did, Rafe reluctantly moved away from you. You looked down when he glanced over his shoulder at you, only looking up again to watch the way Ward roughly grabbed his shoulder, guiding him out as he shut the door behind them.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, throat tight as you looked over everything Rafe had bought. You were fighting to calm your heart, realizing how close Rafe had been to having his way with you. You were shaking, and you furiously blinked back tears, hand coming to rest on your stomach. A mini Rafe was growing inside of you, and to make sure he didn’t turn out like his father, you worried that you’d might have to lose yourself in the process.

#dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #obx fanfiction #obx #obx fic #Outer Banks #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron fic

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latimeria-fell-from-heaven · 1 year

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#𝗚!𝗠𝗠!𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘.

𖤍 uramichi giving his pretty gf a creampie <33

cw. fem! reader, established relationship, cumming inside (use condoms irl!!), creampie, strength kink, rough sex, mating press, clit stimulation, cervical stimulation, squirting, big cock & overstimulation.

lati. have this while i finish up my other bigger wips lmao,,

» NAVIGATION «

You love it when your boyfriend fucks you stupid, trapping you underneath his well-built body until he can't possibly cum anymore. He's always fucking you like his life depends on it, but you like it when he fucks your cunt so messily n sloppily. Always needing Uramichi to bend you over the nearest surface bc all you can really think about is how nice and good his dick feels inside your pussy. Your fingers could never compare to his twiddling with your swollen clit until you're creaming around his fat cock.

Uramichi's strong enough to fold you in half, effectively trapping you in a mating press that will surely leave you in a fucked-out state. It's always been a favorite of his, but who could blame him? His pretty girlfriend happily letting him use her pussy, wet insides rapidly fluttering and taking everything he has to give despite the overstimulation just gets him so hot and bothered. So he can't help it when he gets so lost in the pleasure of your gummy pussy that he forgets he isn't wearing a condom.

"IーfuckーI forgot to buy condomsーsh-shit, quit squeezing..!" Rasping like his lungs are about to give out, Uramichi grinds down into your pussy, thick cockhead nearly kissing your cervix with each roll of his hips.

The muscles in your legs burn, aching to rest, but you just feel so, so good. Even if the lack of circulation in your limbs has made them long since go numb, you really don't want Uramichi to stop fucking you. You want to think of nothing but the unending good coursing through your veins, wanting it to continue forever even if your legs hurt like hell.

"S'okay... y.. you can cum inside..!" You don't know what possessed you to say that, you know what'll happen if he cums inside. But the risk of it is tantalizing enough to make you forget all of your reasoning and clarity. "So.. make sure to cum inside a loー"

You aren't given a second to breathe, much less hold in your lewd moans as Uramichi pounds down into you faster, harder, leaving you a shaking mess barely clinging onto him. Each of his vigorous thrusts pushes his cock further inside your plush walls, heavy balls smacking against your puffy folds as he rasps and groans like a man starved.

"Shit, s'so fuckin' tight.. so damn good.." His nibs and wetly sucks at your neck without thought as though it's the only thing he knows, "Fuck, it's—I'm--!"

It's odd, the sensation of your pussy being filled with thick spurts of Uramichi's release, but you can't deny that it feels good. Your mind feels like mush, vision blurry as you cum around his length. Choked sobs and weak whimpers of his name are the only noises you can make, the overwhelming good rendering you stupid.

Your stomach now feels warm, fuller than you ever felt before. It's a nice feeling, having Uramichi's thick cum spilt inside your pussy, even if you're risking getting knocked up. You decide that you'd like him to cum inside again.

Wheezing, you rapidly blink away the fat tears filling your eyes and attempt to flex your toes, and heave a sigh when the digits give a weak twitch. Good, your legs are at least still somewhat functional.

"Hey.. you okay?" A soft kiss is pressed against your jaw, and your boyfriend's handsome visage is gazing down at you fondly, as though he hadn't just fucked you senseless moments before.

"Yeah," you release air that you didn't even know you were holding in. He smiles fondly and nods, before collapsing his forehead against your collarbone. He breathes in your scent, basking in the passing moment of your togetherness. Your legs are numb now, but you don't care, not right now.

" 'Michi?"

"Hm?" He shifts against your neck, listening in his dazed state.

"Can you cum inside me again?♡"

#lati thirsts #uramichi oniisan #uramichi x reader #uramichi smut #uramichi omota x reader #uramichi omota smut

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ryuryuryuyurboat · 3 months

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les lois d'amour: lumière de ma vie

synopsis: at last i see the light, and it's like the sky is new. all at once, everything looks different, now that i see you.

genre: fluff

characters: neuvillette x mermaid! reader

warnings: fem! reader

a/n: hehe hii @i23kazu!! submission for ebg challenge 1 :) likes, reblogs and comments highly appreciated!!

masterlist

“say, have you ever seen lanterns before?” such was the question posed to you by none other than fontaine’s chief justice, on a fine evening.

you hummed in thought. “only from under the sea— the elders always said they were traps intricately designed by humans to lure us merfolk to our deaths, so naturally we stayed away— though now that i think about it, they really were just pretty lights. why?”

neuvillette stood up from his seat, rounding the table to the couch upon which you were resting. “in that case, would you like to see them up close?”

“ah, seriously? what’s the occasion?” you took the hand he offered, an incredulous look in your eyes.

“it’s a lesser-known fontainian tradition for people to send out flying lanterns to convey their wishes for a new year, as well as to pray for any wishes to be answered. if you so incline, we could make one, instead of buying them. i believe beaumont workshop is offering such a service at this time.”

your eyes widen in excitement. “well, then, no time to waste! allons-y!”

spoiler: it did indeed prove to be a difficult feat. by the time you were done making a singular lantern, the sun had long dipped beneath the horizon.

the boat swayed gently as it sailed further from land, and the glitter canopy of stars above twinkled down at you.

“so… all we have to do is let go of it?”

“that is correct. be sure to convey your heartfelt wishes, or they won’t come true.” he watched as you seemed to hesitate, “what’s wrong?”

“nothing! nothing, um, well, we only had time to make one, and i don’t think it’d be very fair if i were the only one to let it go especially since you helped to make most of it, so-” you paused to catch your breath, “would you like to release the lantern with me, monsieur neuvillette?”

you were glad that your surroundings were dark, for the proximity between the two of you quite nearly made your poor heart stop.

you could almost feel his breath fanning your face as he stared at you with some unknown emotion on his visage. what’ll it be, monsieur chief justice? your heart wondered.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, his lips curved up in a small smile. “it would be a great honour, y/n. thank you for allowing me to share this moment with you.”

you could barely contain your excitement as you marvelled at all the lanterns floating into the night sky, pure wonder shining in your eyes as you took in the sights— neuvillette, meanwhile, couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“it’s all so beautiful!”

“yes, it is indeed quite the sight to behold.”

bonus:

“hey, hey, do the lanterns themselves symbolise anything?”

“but of course, they were made to symbolise love and care for someone important.”

“ah…”

“…y/n?”

seems like your poor heart couldn’t handle it, after all!

taglist: @lynyluvr @kazemiya @meidnightrain @https-furina @dailypenpen (send ask to be added to taglist!)

if you liked this, do consider dropping me a follow for more :>

#genshinblr january ebg 2024 #astronetwrk #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#neuvillette x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette #neuvillette fluff #genshin fluff #genshin #genshin impact #༄the vessel’s voyages #scrolls of yore✒️ᝰ #resplendent ports⋆⑅˚₊ ༘⋆#january ebg'24 ⋆⑅˚₊ ༘⋆

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theteasetwrites · 23 days

Text

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 11: You Are My Queen

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+ MDNI)—missionary, unprotected PiV (do not endorse, wrap it up), "fucked dumb" (more like "fucked tired") if you squint, food stuff (... idk it gets messy. Honey is involved.) ❧ Word Count: 10.2k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: After the defeat of Negan and his Saviors, you are confronted with the pain of what you've experienced, and you must confide in Daryl. Of course, the bittersweet moment becomes a reunion fit for lovers.

❧ A/N: Um so hi! You guys didn't think I was never gonna finish this did you? I mean I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I did it! I mean, I tried. I had a few different ideas for how to end the series, and then I realized that this isn't quite the end. I am going to write an "Epilogue" chapter that will just be wrapping up everything with Ezekiel and basically the princess telling her dad about Daryl. But for now, this is the end! Now I gotta focus on Begin Again now that I finally have this done(ish). Hope you guys like it, and thank you for waiting <3

Far from the carnage and warfare, miles away in a secluded wood, the hearth burned brightly, illuminating the small cottage in a warm glow that seemed so distinct from the deep, dark night that surrounded outside.

The scarlet wound on his thigh bubbling with vinegar and wine, you held a wooden spoonful of warmed honey, letting it drip slowly over the clean injury. After the bath you’d given him, he wore nothing, save for the loose drawstring braies of linen that reached just above his knee.

Your delicate fingers spread the translucent liquid gold over the surrounding skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you kept note of his visage. Though his face was relaxed, and softened by the warm glow of the fire, he was stoic. No matter how you treated his wound, he did not flinch, or so much as show any signs of discomfort or pain.

As you wrapped his leg with a clean gauze, you spoke to him, cutting through the silence that had settled between you for the last several minutes.

“Does it not hurt?” you asked softly, barely above a whisper.

“No,” he replied simply, though that was not entirely true. The blade had been the worst hurt of it, but now, it was only a dull sting. Perhaps so much pain in his life had heightened his tolerance, or dulled his sense.

In fact, the sensation was pleasant. All he could really feel was the soft pads of your fingers gently spreading the liquid over his skin, the honey acting as a soothing agent after the cleansing properties of the wine and vinegar had settled into the open wound.

Wrapping the last bit of gauze around his thigh, you gently folded the linen of his braises back over, a soft puff of air escaping your lips all the while.

“You are brave,” you said, your eyes lifting with a gentle flutter of your lashes.

With a shift of your legs from underneath you, you carefully replaced the spoon of honey into its jar, setting it aside upon the floor next to you. It felt good to no longer be upon your feet, now bandaged and clean after Daryl had so adamantly insisted that you let him do so. Now, though, you’d tend to him, after everything he’d done for you that night.

But with the fortitude of a true knight, he did not show pain nor pride. He did not bask in any glory or relish in his victory. He did not shed a tear, his limp as he walked not slowing him down or keeping him from getting you to the safety of the cottage. Not only was he brave, but he was humble. The man you’d once called a sorry excuse for a knight had turned out to be a paragon of gallantry, though he never had to prove that to you. You’d known the error of your words since he returned to you that night so many moons ago, promising to take you beyond the walls without payment or worldly reward.

That seemed worlds away now. The way you’d looked at him then was a far cry from now, when before you was the embodiment of the greatest warmth and sweetness you’d ever felt. The swell in your chest had cut your breath short for a moment, while the knight shifted on the floor cushion upon which he sat, leaning forward to pull you closer by your hands, until you were cradled in his arms, your body curled up upon his lap and your head resting against his bare chest.

That was when your breath came back, the soothing motions of his hands caressing your sides reminding you of the safety he gave you now. Negan was no more, the Saviors were no more, and soon, your father and the surviving militia would meet you here, but now, there was nothing in this world except him, and you.

When time just began to crumble away, your eyes heavy with the promise of sleep, you were brought back to the surface of consciousness by his voice, steady and low.

“You are brave.”

A puff of amused air escaped your lips, though you did not contradict him, only listened as he spoke, that voice of his more soothing than the honey on his wound.

“You killed Negan.”

Though you could not regret your actions, you shivered at the thought of that moment, the knife driving into his back, the feeling of the blade tunneling through tissue and finally puncturing his frozen heart. It made you cling tighter to his chest, as if to cower from the memory that haunted you in the back of your mind.

“If you hadn’t, I would not be here now, holding you.”

Indeed, that was what he was made for―holding you, serving you. Just as you clung tighter to him, he held you with more strength, not out of fear that you’d be taken from him again, but out of sheer devotion.

“And I owe you my life.”

“No,” you replied, almost startling him as you lifted your head. As if by instinct, he held your chin softly, the calloused pad of his thumb stroking its soft skin in short, but slow, back and forth motions. “There is nothing that you owe to me. Certainly not your life.”

Though you remained stern in your expression of earnestness, his lips curled into a gentle smile.

“I owe you everything. My life’s devoted to serving you, you know that.”

But as you looked at him, his eyes so full of love and hope for the future he had with you, there was still a hesitation inside you. It was like a parasite, worming its way inside your heart to keep you from fully embracing the comfort he brought you. It had not held such an effect on you, until now. Now that you could comprehend it, the hideous guilt that troubled you so.

He could see it in your eyes now, too, as evidenced by his smile fading and his eyes, still filled with that same love, growing dim with concern.

“What is it?”

To keep it from him would only cause more abject pain, but to hurt him, to tell him of the betrayal that you believed you had committed against him. How could you go on, now that the thought of that man’s cold, slimy hands all over you would not let you rest in the arms of the man who truly loved you?

And if you told him, would he rebuff you, disavow his love for you and never even hold you again?

“Nothing,” you said, but the quiver in your slowly faltering voice betrayed you, and the feeling of a cold, dead hand strangled around your heart made you shiver. He brought you closer to his chest, where warmth briefly tore you from the icy snare of guilt and shame. It was only a temporary respite, though. The only way to rid yourself of this regret was to tell him.

Another man’s mouth had been on yours, the salty, bitter taste of which you swore still lingered and made a mockery of your once pure lips. You’d truly never felt that Daryl had ever taken any purity from you. In fact, he made you more pure, but the bitterness of Negan’s filthy tongue had sullied you, you believed, and now you were nothing more than a broken woman, despite how whole you felt when he held you in his arms.

“Tell me,” he said, with that eerie whisper of knowing on his breath. Even the soothing circular movements of his splayed out hand on the small of your back were made with careful concern. Indeed, he knew that whatever troubled you must have been to do with what had transpired within the last week.

Afterall, the blot of watercolor black and blue around your eye gave him an inkling, one which made anger well up in him like molten lava bubbling to the surface, igniting him with a kind of rage that was strong enough to bring that scum of a man back to life just to slice his head clean off a second time. And, oh, would he do it again if he had the chance, just to know, again and again and again, that the man who tormented his princess could never bring more harm to her, or anyone else.

“Daryl, I…”

Your words having fizzled out into thin air, you shook your head and loosened yourself from his arms, as though you were unworthy of their embrace. The more you thought of that night, the more you believed that to be true.

“What happened?” he asked, his body beginning to stiffen as he mirrored you—both of you frozen in fear of whatever you would say, if you would say anything at all.

For a moment, he felt both weightless and heavy, in some kind of strange limbo wherein worry overtook his physicality before any words could confirm the worst of his fears. It washed the color from his face, where once a warm pink had blossomed from the feeling of the nearby hearth and your body so close to his, once again, after everything that had happened.

Now, he could only begin to think of the heinous things that could’ve been done to you… Knowing how Negan had looked at you, how he touched you that night of the joust. There was something sinister in his eyes then, and now, there was a similar dread in your expression as you looked away from him, eyelids heavy and head downturned.

With a gentle hand on your shoulder, his instinct to hold you too strong to completely ignore without at least a single touch, he began to speak again—voice quiet yet raspy.

“Did he… did he touch you?”

Of course, he had, but what Daryl meant by his words seemed deeper than their surface level definition. The vitriol in his voice, the sting of the word touch, which once might have been so much more beautiful on his lips, was palpable, lacerating your heart further. If it wasn’t for the pain of the guilt, you would still feel the hurt of the sadness in his voice.

You raised your eyes to meet his, though his face was blurred in the haze of your tears. A kind of shocked concern shaped his expression as he held your cheek with so much delicateness, as though you were but an assemblage of rose petals sewn together with gossamer twine.

He spoke your name now, low and almost a whisper. There was something so earnest about that, the way he called you only by your name and nothing else. No title, no epithet. Just you, just a woman, but not just a woman at all—a woman for whom he’d give the skin off his back to keep warm.

With his fingers laced delicately through your hair, he begged you with his eyes, glassy and clear, almost translucent to the point you swore you could see his soul bared before you. Even just in his stare, he made himself vulnerable to you, and soon, whatever fear you had of him turning on you melted under that comforting, warm gaze. Just for a moment, you gave in, and used your tongue to forcibly tear out the words that were stuck in your throat.

But still, you could not look at him as you spoke.

“Yes, he…” Your voice trailed off, followed by a deep breath of air you’d hoped would give you the strength to continue, but it only brought forth the tears that threatened to give way.

Two big arms encircled you hesitantly, slowly enough to allow you to break free had you not craved his touch, but his touch was all that could give you peace now. No further questions were needed, he surmised. He wasn’t sure he could even bear to know more of what was done to you, so he kept you in his grasp, which you did not fight.

With a shaky voice, he spoke against your cheek as he held onto you. Your head found a cradle in his shoulder, where tears wetted his bare skin. On his breath was a gentle shhh sound, like a light breeze rustling the leaves of an ancient oak in cool night air. It comforted you, along with the steady motion of his hands on your back, moving in slow, languid circles.

But no longer could you only contain your emotions to your sobs. Now, you raised your head and faced him, looking him sharply in the eye despite the pain that singed your heart with each syllable:

“I had a plan,” you began. “I… I only wanted to get close to him. He called me to his chambers… I had a knife. I let him touch me…” Once again, you could no longer hold his gaze. You continued on, now tripping over your own words as you scrambled to explain, through a tear-soaked voice that trembled in fear of whatever reaction you’d receive. “Only just with his lips… His filthy lips. Then as soon as I could, I tried to stab him. I swear, all I wanted was to get close to him, long enough to kill him.”

The knight only looked at you with a steady gaze, one that only softened with each passing moment. You felt his arms tighten around you, and you weren’t sure if it was an attempt to comfort you, or to suffocate you. Either way, you would’ve died a thousand times to feel that touch.

But you longed most of all, now, to know exactly what he was thinking. To hear those words you knew must’ve been brewing inside that head of his—those words that would crush you under the weight of their rebuke. Though those words never came, no shame or disappointment, only another kind of pain in his eyes. A pain that was born of your sadness as each tear you shed sent a new wave of agony through his aching body.

Shakily, you whispered to him, pleading in all but words for him to tell you how much he hated you for betraying him, for letting another man touch you. “My love… Won’t you end my suffering and speak to me?”

At times, Daryl’s movements carried more meaning that any service his vocal cords could provide. All he could do in that moment was hold you by your cheeks, his thumbs meandering in circles to gently rub the tears into your skin.

And, finally, he did speak, but his words caught you off guard far more than you thought possible.

“What are you afraid of, princess?”

Afraid of?

“I… I do not understand.”

“The look in your eyes, the fear. You look afraid of me. Why?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat as you shook your head, both in denial and in confusion. “I do not fear you.”

Quite the contrary, you wanted nothing more for him to hold you until your heart gave out.

“I—I fear that you will detest me,” you continued, now trying desperately to let your tears drown out your words. “I fear I’ve betrayed you.”

In your mind, you had, and Daryl would have had every right to leave you now: alone and pitiful. Though he didn’t. He only kept his eyes on yours, and though you had a shameful urge to look away, you could not tear your gaze from his. There was no spite in his eyes, no bitterness or loathing. Not even anger.

All you could see in his eyes was the same gentleness, the same kindness and utter servitude that he devoted to you with each passing moment his eyes took you in. That sentiment had always been there, nothing had changed, no matter what you could say. It would never change. There was no enmity there, only the strength of his love for you.

His hands held your cheeks still, pulling you gently closer until his forehead softly touched yours. The feeling made you shudder, as though still you could never fully comprehend the sensation his touch gave to you. You were sure that you would never get quite used to that feeling, though you never wanted to. That sense of novelty was a pleasant sensation all on its own.

“My princess,” he said, his grainy voice barely above a whisper as his nose touched yours. His lips began to upturn ever so slightly into the softest smile, natural and sweet. “There’s nothin’ you could do to make me think that.”

As you shuddered a shaky breath, he held you closer still. You let out a heavy sigh, one that felt like it had been lingering deep inside you ever since you escaped the Sanctuary.

“You’re trembling,” he said, running his coarse fingertips along the exposed skin of your neck, until his hand met the loose neckline of his chemise that you borrowed, draped over you more like a dress than a shirt as the oversized garment reached just below your thighs. He leaned back to look at you, still sniffling back tears. With a strong hand, he swept back your hair to nestle it in the warm crevice behind your ear.

“You cold?” he asked, already beginning to tug a blanket from under a nearby cushion. “Here—”

“No.” Your suddenness nearly startled him. It reminded you just how fragile he was, no matter how reluctant he was to show it. “I’m all right.”

Daryl knew, though, that you still could not shake the guilt, like a vulture’s ravenous gnawing at your heart. He knew you too well, so well that it almost frightened him. There was no one else with whom he could see through, whose transparency reflected a deep, intrinsic understanding beyond conscious comprehension. The depths of you were overwhelming, but he could never fight the profound urge to navigate them, despite the sadness that his love’s empathy could bring.

With a deep breath of his own, he brought you back to his lap. The ease with which he could manipulate your body with the most gentle yet sudden caress would never fail to momentarily paralyze you. You melted into his arms once again. It was only a matter of time before you became completely at his mercy, though there was absolutely no part of you that protested, except maybe that last shred of guilt.

“You know I love you,” he said. “You know I serve you.” You must have broken out into a smile, because he, too, smiled. “And you know that you’re here now. You’re alive. Whatever you did to get here, whatever I did to get here… They’re sacrifices—risks.”

You found your hands returning to his body, their place on his broad, firm shoulders solidified like indentations in concrete. Swallowing hard, you felt a chill run through you, but it was not from the fear of losing him now—it was the effect of his touch, his hands having found their way beneath the shirt he lent you, sprawled out over your back, stroking in gentle rhythms.

“Daryl.” Your voice seemed to crumble under the pressure of the air that you spoke shakily into, the utterance of his name so delicate upon your trembling lips. “What I did, it haunts me. Perhaps you can forgive me, but how will I forgive myself, when I let that man—”

He did not let you utter another word before he interrupted, his own voice soft with sympathy. How he could remain so patient with you in this state, you would never know.

“I know your heart, I know you.” Now he all but forced your weary head to rest upon his chest, where the gentle beating of his heart warmed your cheek. “The only anger I have is for the man who touched you, not you.”

But still, it was hard for you to forget. The only cure to that ailment seemed to be Daryl’s touch, his assurance that he loved you beyond what words could convey. You needed his touch, but not just skin to skin. There was more, a lingering desire that floated between you perpetually, yet was stronger now than ever before.

It was a desire that penetrates, that longs to be penetrated. The kind that only lovers of the truest caliber could satisfy in the company of one another, the company which you had been deprived of for far too long.

The pestilence Sir Negan left for you to wallow in would only be destroyed by the greatest expression of love—that which made all pain and sorrow and suffering pale in comparison to the feeling of knowing that your heart was in the safe hands of no one else but him, your lover.

Your knight.

When silence overcame you, he uttered your name softly against one cheek, while his hand delicately brushed over the other. If he touched you anywhere else, you might crumble into a million pieces, like an ancient Grecian statue carved from the most fragile marble.

Only the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth could be heard against your soft breaths caressing the shell of his ear, while your hands crept carefully up his chest, brushing over the creases of his underarms to grasp at his shoulders. They felt so hard, so firm and unbreakable. You held them tighter now, and in response, he tightened his arms around your waist to bring you ever closer, until your lips found his.

The kiss was tender, light, each of your lips dancing softly over the other’s. With a tilt of his head and a brief respite, he caught your lips again, this time more firmly, yet still somehow cautious.

Perhaps he’d never grow completely forthcoming in his lust for you, which seemed almost sacrilegious, yet somehow sacred. He knew that he’d be killed for this, but how on God’s green earth was he going to keep his hands off you? How could any star up above in those vast, empyreal heavens compare to the gleam in your eyes when he uttered your name, each syllable dripping with honeyed cadence? How could the rich, melodic refrain of any skilled bard’s lute come close to the dulcet sighs that tickled his ears so delectably, almost tauntingly? How could there be anything more soft, more supple, than your body—that which occupied his thoughts far more often than he could ever truly admit?

Even your scent roused his most lustful thoughts, that sweet citrusy musk entangled with heady notes of the most intoxicating rose, the petals of which could not compare to the plump, velvety lips he traced his work-worn thumb over now, parting them gently until a sliver of darkness formed, with just a flash of white where your teeth could be seen.

Finally, those lips opened just a bit more to speak again. “I want to forget that night,” you said. “I want to forget everything that’s happened… besides you.”

Truly, nothing was of consequence to you now, but him. You wanted to be enveloped in him. To be absorbed in him. To be one with him.

If he hadn’t been so lost in the vibrant hue of your glittering eyes, speckled with sparks alight from the nearby hearth, he might’ve noticed the feeling of your hands exploring his bare chest, your palms melting against the buttery surface of those defined muscles. When the sparkle in your eye lost his attention, he did feel it—that soft touch with just a hint of something more… indecent.

With a slow, meandering movement, never taking those silvery blue eyes from yours, he took both of your hands in his, where they rested so delicately in the strong cradle of his warm palms. He brought them to his lips, the touch of which was so featherlight that you could barely even hear the sound of them pressing an ever so sweetly suggestive kiss to your hands.

It was then that the chemise you wore slid slowly off your shoulder, its size much too big for your frame. With even just your collarbone and the slope of your neck now exposed, much to the delight of his increasingly wandering eyes, he knew there was no escape from the desperation you awakened in him. Only it was not just desperation, but the insatiable urge to provide for you the comfort you so needed. It was written clear as day in your eyes.

Even so, you could not let the heavy air between you go without another plea, though it seemed to him almost like a command—from a princess to a knight.

“Make me forget.”

And so he obliged, not with another kiss, but with a tight grip on your waist, lifting you until you sat upon his lap, where the heat of his center warmed the bare underside of your thighs. After he took a moment to gather his thoughts in the midst of his sudden haste, he did not keep you in that position for long. The feeling of your weight upon his lap was too divine, nearly too much. If he took you now with too much urgency, that which was so strong he could hardly hide it, he might reach the peak of his pleasure much too soon.

So you were caught in a slight whirlwind for just a moment, in one last burst of quickness punctuated by a low, raspy rumble in his voice. Now you were laid out rather ungracefully, resting on piles of weaved woolen blankets and furs strewn loosely upon the floor.

There was not as much hesitation now, having already seen your body in its most bare form. He lifted the chemise over your head with ease, and when the fabric no longer obscured your vision, you met his face—a gentle, almost unnoticeable curl of his lip.

Above you, his eyes took their time roaming your chest, but not just your breasts. There was a delicateness to you everywhere—the slope of your collarbones, the way your shoulders rolled as you started to grow aroused, the pulsing of the strained tendons in your neck.

But before he could bring his lips to kiss your neck as he so deliberately planned on doing, he noticed the now tipped over jar of amber-colored honey slowly dripping from the lip of the vessel onto the floor, not far from where your hair had been strewn about amidst the sudden movements of passion. Those same movements must’ve caused the nearby jar to lose its balance.

Now brought to his attention, the silken honey seemed to shimmer with a warm, enticing glow. His heavy, blown-out eyes returned to your body, now with a sparkle of mischief, perhaps. You weren’t entirely sure, as you’d rarely seen such a quality in his gaze before.

In a trance of combined anticipation and confusion as the man held his half-naked body over yours, you looked up at him with innocent questioning.

“My knight?” you asked quietly, your voice only a faint, fragile whisper, delicate as a butterfly’s wing. “You seem confounded.” A soft tickle of laughter trailed off from your voice. “Does something trouble you? You moved with such vigor only a moment ago.”

He was unsure of how to explain in words the idea that came to him then, though you seemed to have grown accustomed to his sometimes reticent nature. That would prove to work in his favor now, as he all but remained silent in response to your questioning, opting instead only to scoop a bit of honey onto his index and middle fingers, slowly removing them from the jar with a hefty glob of the sticky substance.

You turned your head to watch in confusion, which quickly became concern.

“Does your wound need more honey? Does it hurt?”

“No,” he replied simply, with a more serious tone of lust to his deep, gravelly voice, the vibrations of which sent a fresh shiver down your spine.

For several moments, you were held hostage by his gaze, which roamed down the expanse of your neck. Your heavy breathing told him what he needed to know—the way your chest heaved with each passing second. You craved him, more than ever before, perhaps. With each new breath, he swore he could hear a slight pleaing whimper just trailing behind.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he brought his honey-drenched fingers to your lips, already slightly agape.

But he did not want to force the liquid into your mouth, only to coat your lips in its sweetness.

So he traced the shape of your lips, leaving behind a trail of gold sheen to glaze the soft, plump skin. Despite your slight disorientation, you allowed him to do as he pleased. After all, there was no other way to forget the pain of all that you’d experienced. No other way to be completely enveloped in the pleasure of love.

Soon you could taste the honey seeping into your mouth, dripping slowly onto your tongue. It tasted sweet, of course, but as his lips gently pressed to yours, the taste seemed even sweeter.

Between your lips was a sticky mess of warm sighs and saccharine wetness, with his tongue invading your mouth impatiently, swirling feverishly as your hands reached up to grasp at his shoulders.

Your touch ignited a fire in him, deep in the pit of his stomach, from which a guttural moan melted into your mouth.

And he knew there was more of your body that he needed, more skin he could drench in the warm nectar of the honey, more skin he could lick clean.

A fragile sigh escaped your trembling lips as he separated himself from you abruptly, though the disappointment in your voice compelled him to return to your honeyed lips for just a moment to kiss them in an offer of apology for his momentary departure.

He separated once more, leaning to the side to find the jar of honey, and immediately collecting another hefty, dripping glob of golden syrup.

There was a shaky whimper in your voice when he trailed his honey-drenched fingers over your breast, circling slowly around the nipple.

The more he applied to the soft tissue of your nipple, the more the substance globbed and began to drip slowly, like molasses, down the slope of your breast, making your back arch at the tickling sensation.

The knight could only watch your breast become drenched in translucent golden liquid, the subtle scent tempting him to come closer, until you could feel his warm breath against your heaving chest.

An absent-minded sigh escaped your quivering lips, with his name: “Daryl…”

Just as he heard it, his own name spoken on the wings of a swan’s breath, his flattened tongue caught a plump drip of gold slowly making its way down your breast.

He licked upwards then, reaching the hardened bud of your nipple, where his tongue circled eagerly now, yet with a slowness just enough to delay your pleasure, to properly torment you with his toying attention.

But his own temptation prompted him to take the whole sweetened nipple into his mouth, which craved above all else to taste every inch of you—the delicate, virtuous princess writhing naked underneath him as he made use of your body to the fullest extent of his desire.

With his mouth upon your aroused nipple, he suctioned his lips, now himself becoming too impatient to merely kiss the engorged flesh.

The feeling sent your head reeling backwards against the pillow, with a low, breathy moan. Each kiss made you cry out louder, more impatiently as your body craved more of his kisses.

But what he wanted was more honey.

So he took the jar again, this time tilting it so that the golden liquid began to drizzle in zigzag patterns over your chest, then your stomach.

Now you felt drenched in honey, sticky with it. Not to the point of discomfort, but amusement at his fascination with it, his tongue now licking up the trail.

You let out a quiet laugh, your voice low and sultry as you began to speak. “You’re making a mess of me.”

He did not stop lapping up at the drizzled honey, except to look up at you with a subtle mischief gleaming in his eyes of quicksilver blue for a few moments, long enough to say, “A very sweet mess.”

Soon his lips returned to yours, while his chest pressed against yours in a sticky embrace. You couldn’t help but laugh softly against my mouth, while your hands reached up to loosely tangle in the soft umber colored tresses upon his head.

And it felt like heaven to him then—your softness underneath him, your own sweet taste overpowering the saccharine honey, the tickle of your laugh fluttering against his lips, the slight scratch of your fingernails upon his scalp, the intoxicating warmth between your legs opening up to take him in as your legs wrapped around his waist.

That eagerness of yours made him snicker. Unable to resist the urge to chide you a bit, he pulled his lips away for a moment.

“Your highness seems restless,” he said, nodding his nose against yours with a small but wicked smile curling to one side of his face. “I thought princesses were supposed to be patient and proper.”

With a tilt of your head, you glared up at him, only with a very slight sense of playful annoyance.

“You know nothing of patience or propriety, depraved knight. It is you who so wantonly tempts my resolve… Who compels me to crave your devilish touch, which causes my weary mind such carnal turmoil.”

The knight’s quiet laugh seeped out from the charmingly crooked crack in his lips. With a low hum, somewhere between amusement and lust, he leaned down to kiss his increasingly restless princess once more.

When the kiss broke, he brushed the back of his hand against your heated cheek in soothing motions as he spoke softly against your slightly pouty agape lips.

“Those are big words,” he said, with a low rumble of laughter underscoring his scratchy voice. “They sure sound pretty on your lips.”

As your hands absentmindedly roamed the broad expanse of his heaving chest, the muscles underneath the hair-speckled flesh flexing under your soft touch, you met his gaze from above you with a mischievous glimmer in your eye.

“My love,” you hummed softly, your eyelashes fluttering slowly against his cheek as his mouth roamed aimlessly over yours. “You torment me with your caresses… Your sweet touch.”

“You said it was devilish,” he replied between kisses, using your dramatized words against you.

“It is,” you laughed softly. “Devilish and sweet. But it’s your touch. I wish to feel it every moment of every day and every night for all eternity, and the eternity after that, and before that, and every eternity in between.”

Daryl’s hand lifted to the side of your face, gently placing a strand of unruly hair behind your ear, to continue his increasingly feverish onslaught of kisses on your other cheek.

“Yes, your highness,” he replied, much to your amusement. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“Mm, you’re mine.”

After a momentary pause, he seemed to turn more serious—almost frightening—as he grabbed you with more impatient vigor, your arms having no choice but to cling around his neck. With your face surrounded by soft tresses of brown hair, you let out an instinctive cry, as though he was a predator and you were prey, about to be devoured. Though there was nothing in your biology that compelled you to fight him off. You’d accepted your fate, and you welcomed it.

Your weight was suddenly cradled by the softness of the bed beneath you, though your legs were still wrapped tightly around Daryl’s waist. That did not keep him restrained for long, for he soon unraveled himself from your entanglement and began to strip himself of his worn linen braies.

There was hardly any time to marvel at his anatomy—he soon climbed back over you, catching your breath with his mouth once again. You could at least feel his now unhindered length, though. You could feel it harden between your legs, where the warmth of your soft thighs made his cock begin to twitch from the pressure.

As though your body wasn’t close enough for his liking, he looped his arm under the arch of your back, lifting you up just enough to feel your belly pressed against his. If he concentrated enough, he swore he could feel the delicate fluttering of your excitement inside you.

The tingling became stronger now, his body moving above you with enough rhythm to force his cock against the fleshy folds between your legs. The feeling was still so foreign, having only felt it in its fullest form once before, but you knew that tingle just from the sight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him. He did not even need to touch you there to make your body react in such a way, you were certain.

Taking notice of your soft moans against his lips, and the slight gyration of your body, he used his free hand to find the warmth that so enticed him. His fingers settled in that crevice, staying still for a moment, until by some impulse they began to move. Up and down, up and down… A rhythmic motion not unlike the way the rest of his body moved, too. For your part, you broke the kiss to let out a moan that could not be contained by the velvet cage of his adoring mouth any longer.

“Oh!”

Your head had tilted back so far that your neck was now exposed, completely subject to his will. As his hand moved not faster, but with more pressure, more insistence, he trailed his lips down your jawline, leaving messy, imprecise kisses along your perfumed skin.

Applying increasing pressure, he sank his fingertips into you, that warm, sodden opening between your legs. The sensation was still so new, though the slight burning pain was less than before. You only clenched your teeth slightly, feeling his fingers extend deeper within you, curling upwards toward your belly.

For a moment, he could not pay attention to anything but the way you felt—the way your body reacted to his invasion. Your passageway seemed to pulse around his fingers ever so slightly, as if it was some innate reaction, coercing his fingers further.

He only noticed your slight discomfort when he looked at you, your eyes shut tight. He pressed his lips to your cheek, his hair falling in your face. It was soft, yet ticklish, like a curtain of brown feathers draped over you.

“You all right?” he asked, his voice a soft, soothing whisper. If his touch wasn’t pleasing you enough, his voice so gentle and yet gruff was sure to push you over the edge of pleasure and into the realm of extraordinary bliss. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt. It’s only slight… You’re quite gentle.”

Against your cheek, you could feel his lips curl into a smile. All the while, his fingers moved slowly, back and forth, migrating between the shallow part of you, and the deepest part.

“Do you like it this way, your highness? Slow… gentle? I could go faster, but I don’t wanna hurt you.”

With a laugh, you shook your head, amused. “You could hurt me and it would still feel like heaven.”

He smiled down at you, then pressed another kiss to those plump, agape lips, sparkling with wetness and trembling with desire. Daryl was never a particularly confident man, but something about the way you wanted him, craved him beyond anything he’d ever known, he felt like he had the whole world in his hands.

And now, he felt the world quake and shiver round his curled fingers, an accumulation of warm wetness pooling where his knuckles breached the entrance of your body in repetitive motions. Coupled with the aching softness of your uncontrollable moans were the sounds of his fingers moving inside you, the rhythmic, involuntary squeezing of the canal creating drenched and airy sighs of its own.

As his fingers pulsed inside of you, you clung tightly to his shoulders, the tan, sun-freckled skin stretched thinly over defined muscles. A strained sigh escaped your lips as your fingers dug into his skin. Daryl’s pace slowed steadily to keep you from coming too soon, but he knew you were so very close.

It amused him a little, the way your body was so sensitive to his touch. He found arousal in the way he could so easily bring you the ultimate pleasure, and the way he could withhold it at will. Despite how subservient he was to you, he could not help but revel in the dominance that came over him when so much control of your perfect body was given willingly over to him.

But you sighed and pouted as his fingers paused inside of you. Opening your eyes, you tilted your head and looked up at him—he traced your jawbone with his finger, while the fingers he had inside you playfully wiggled upwards to make you shiver.

“Daryl,” you sighed, not quite sure what else to say but his name.

In response, he smiled as hazy silvery blue eyes roamed your face, taking in each and every flawless feature. “You’re so beautiful… My sweet angel. I’d like to have you like this forever.”

Though your heart fluttered at his sweet words, you could only muster a few words, as your body anticipated its release: “Do not stop.”

But he did the opposite, removing his fingers altogether and leaving you throbbing, writhing desperately as you groaned softly.

Panting, he sat up, lifting himself up from the bed to look at you, taking you in for a moment as he decided on what to do next. After all, he was leading the way.

Before you could say another word, or even lift up your head to see what he was up to, you felt his hands wrap around your ankles, pulling you towards him as he stood at the end of the bed.

You managed a surprised exclamation at the sudden jolt, your legs now spread just wide enough to fit his body as he climbed over you, his weight holding you against the bed. Now he kissed you again, with lips and tongue moving wildly over yours. Lost in this passion, you found your hands exploring the wide, muscular surface of his back, moving in erratic circles. With each flex of his muscles underneath your soft palms, you let out a breathy sigh, swallowed by his mouth on yours.

As much as you craved his kiss, you knew you craved the hardness between his legs that was pulsing against your sodden entrance more. It was so close to being inside you, so close to that feeling you had only known once before, that you coveted ever since he first made love to you. There was an overwhelming emptiness there always now, where you hadn’t quite felt one before. You had known the carnal pleasures of sex, and now it was like a curse of desire had overtaken you. Not a desire just for the feeling, but for him, and the feeling only he could give to you.

He felt your desire, too. It only heightened his own as his lower body moved against yours, assuaging his hunger for the embrace of your body just enough to keep him from spoiling this moment of closeness with his impatience. You deserved more than a quick burst of passion that ended in an underwhelming sensation of relief. That was what he’d only known before, after all―mindless, loveless moments with nameless, faceless women who could satisfy his purely biological need in the most practical exchange of goods. These occasions were few and far between, but never satiating beyond that primal desire. This was unlike anything he’d felt before, and to make love to someone, real love, was a change of pace he had to orient himself with. A most welcome change, of course.

But he could not hold out much longer, he knew this of his body well enough. So at last he pulled his lips away from yours, his focus turning to the space where your bodies were so close to connecting. He reached down, with a series of gruff pants escaping between his lips, to bring the tip of his cock to your entrance.

There was just a tickle of his flesh brushing against yours, but it was enough to elicit a shiver and a sigh against his sweat-dripping cheek. There, you pressed your lips to his face, with the salt of his clammy skin on your tongue. As he slowly entered you, you felt your body loosen, no longer tense with need, but now just beginning to feel full and warm.

And with a deep, guttural moan, he buried himself further. Despite how slow he tried to move, he could not waste another moment―he did not want for anything in this moment but to be completely inside of you.

The feeling lingered for a while as both of your bodies rested in place. He did not move, neither did you. There was only the erratic beating of your hearts and the heavy breaths escaping your lips. Daryl’s head found its place in the space between your head and your shoulder, where he found refuge in the warmth of your hair, scented with galgant and cloves.

Though you could bask forever in the feeling of him inside you, still and deep, your desire was to feel him move again.

As if on their own accord, your hands moved swiftly down his back to squeeze the flesh of his buttocks, as you’d call it. Ass, as he would call it, you were sure. The feeling elicited a laugh which tickled your cheek.

“Where did you learn to do that, princess?”

“Nowhere,” you replied, just as he lifted himself up to look down upon you. There was a look of playfulness in his eyes, with a considerable amount of increasingly impatient lust. It excited you more, so you moved yourself as much as you could in an attempt to feel the friction of his cock inside you.

Amused at your clumsy wiggling, he relented with a subtle swirl of his hips and a movement of his body which pulled him further out of you, until he slowly buried himself deeper again.

His arms propped up the bulk of his weight as he moved in and out of you at increasing pace, his breath becoming more and more ragged all the while. Nothing could hold him back as he began to lose control of himself. Every cell in his body screamed for release, and he couldn’t slow down now. His lower body moved faster with each thrust that shook you to your core, where the tingly feeling of pleasure was building up inside once again.

Wide-eyed and breathless, your hands moved to his shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself steady, but it was no use. His sheer physical strength and size was enough to make your body practically seize from the force of his thrusts. In these desperate, hungry movements, there was a deep reverence—a kind of devotion you’d never known before, not even as a princess. He made love to you like it was an act of worship, in every conceivable way.

From the way he focused on you, as though the sun and stars revolved around you, to the feeling of his body making every frantic, passionate movement not only to sate his need, but to please you, he wanted nothing more than to serve you, as was his sworn oath.

And as you came closer to losing control of your loins, your body squeezed and writhed around him. In a fit of pleasure, so close to the precipice of bliss, your back arched and your head was thrown backwards with an involuntary spasm, as your legs clenched tight around his waist to draw him further into you.

He was so deep, and you felt so full. The pain was there, lingering, as you were stretched open again and again. In all your ignorance, a part of you feared he’d tear you open, but you trusted him—your gallant, noble knight.

Now your hands held for dear life to his upper arms, where well-worn and well-defined muscles gleamed with sweat and ached with each part of him that needed release, which was soon to come. Your heavy, quickened breaths formed a pattern that seemed to match his, with occasional moans, groans, and even a slight curse or two escaping his tightened lips.

And soon, a sudden wave of vibrations overtook you—that sensation you’d been dreaming of since the first night he bedded you. It was like a hurricane sweeping through your body, each new pulse of tingling pleasure surging through you like a strong gust of wind that left you squirming and crying out underneath him.

It was a feast for his eyes to see you like this, and to know just how much power his love held over you. With each gasp, each breathy moan, each soft convulsion that contorted your body, he lost himself in your bliss.

He couldn’t help but kiss your trembling lips as your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling his body further against you and into your pulsing center. This feeling, along with the soft dance of his tongue across and around yours, drew him closer to his own release.

It had been buried deep in the back of his mind from the moment he realized you were taken—that terrible longing, tainted by the fear that never again would he feel this again. Of course he knew the most important thing was rescuing you and returning you home safe, but there was that selfish part of him that desired you carnally, because once was not enough.

Now that you were safe, he feared he’d never be able to go another second without you again.

So, with a final deep thrust and a hearty groan, he let his body go. He was quick enough to free himself from you, releasing the buildup of his arousal onto the soft inside of your thigh.

The warmth tickled you slightly as it trickled down. You watched through hazy, lidded eyes as Daryl’s hand stroked his pulsing cock until it was rendered limp as if with exhaustion. His body drooped over yours, his head cradled against your shoulder. Fast, heavy breaths warmed your neck. In a matter of seconds, he caught his breath enough to catch your lips with his once more.

Heady air thick with the scent of honey and sex swirled between your bodies, moving languidly beneath the fur blanket Daryl had draped over the two of you somewhere between lazy, sweaty kisses and tangled arms.

Tonight was different than the first night you made love. That night, the passionate fire he stoked inside of you kept your mind alert enough to stay awake with him into the wee hours of the morning, murmurs of dreams and worries slipping between your lips. Tonight, you could hardly keep your eyes open once you’d felt your body sink into the straw-filled cot beneath you.

Daryl, in his lust, hadn’t noticed you’d begun to drift off as he showered you in kisses. When your hands began to slowly lose their tight, needful grip on his shoulders, he let his lips separate from yours with a smile. Your head sank like an anchor onto the pillow beneath you. With your last sensation the feeling of your knight’s lips pressed gently to your temple, you entered a deep, much-needed sleep.

The night was still when you awoke in a slight daze, colored a deep brownish orange from the flicker of the dying hearth. Your newborn senses clung to the feeling of the soft fur beneath your outstretched hand, where once Daryl lay.

You stirred awake at the realization of his absence. Sitting up, the fur blanket fell from your body to expose your naked breasts. A sudden shock dispelled any last remnants of sleep. You weren’t at all accustomed to sleeping in the nude, after all.

Moreover, you feared something, though you weren’t quite sure what, had happened to your knight.

As you raised yourself from the modest cot to dress yourself in the once discarded chemise, you could not help the fearful thought of whatever remained of the Saviors taking Daryl from you, leaving you alive in some cruel, twisted act of revenge for the death of their leader.

But as you stepped outside, into the darkness of the early morning, Daryl’s voice, grainy and soft, came to you through the crisp air. In your slight daze from waking just moments ago, it took you a moment or two to recognize his voice speaking your name.

Your eyes caught up faster than your ears when you turned to see him, illuminated only by the light of a small lantern placed on the pebbled ground near his feet. He was dressed already, a simple tunic of linen white, with a wool cloak of deep indigo on his back. The closer you stepped towards him, the more the almost crimson glow of the majestic Friesian’s coat shimmered to distinguish the creature from the black of night.

“Phantom?” you spoke softly, rubbing your sleep-heavy eyes as if to wake yourself from a dream. You’d almost forgotten about the loyal steed, and it was hard to imagine him surviving the chaos of the battle just hours ago, but then again, you survived.

Phantom seemed to perk up at the sound of your voice. He lifted his head to meet your eyes, and left the side of his master to slowly come towards you. The gentle creature’s muzzle seemed to slide perfectly between your delicate hands as he huffed a breath of air. After a few moments of accepting your pets, he raised his head to nuzzle your shoulder, nearly putting you off balance with the sheer force of the large animal’s affections.

Daryl flinched for a moment, about ready to lunge forward to catch you if you fell, but you caught yourself with your back foot, laughing despite the slight pain of the raw blisters that began to form there from last night’s escapades.

“Oh, I am so glad to see you.” The horse lowered his head as if in reverence, some kind of formal acknowledgement of your voice. You ran your fingers through Phantom’s silky forelock, which you knew to be quite pleasing to the destrier. “I thought I might never do so again.”

“He found his way home.” Daryl’s voice came closer, until you felt the warmth of his chest against your back. His chin rested upon your shoulder, a comforting weight. “Like he always does.”

Daryl’s arms squeezed tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him. While still lavishing attention upon the rather needy horse before you, you closed your eyes and took in his scent of pine and honey. But you did not stay still long, turning to see his face you’d dreamed of, just to remember that he was real. Phantom, though, huffed in slight disappointment.

“When will my father come?” you asked quietly. Something about the stillness and the darkness of the early morning, just a matter of time before the sun would begin to rise, made you whisper.

Daryl’s chin lifted towards the distant horizon, where the first sliver of dawn slowly parted the darkness of night to give in to the pale light of morning.

“He said we’d meet here at first light. Should be any moment now.”

Daryl’s mind drifted elsewhere. Last night’s events had left him with a whirlwind of emotions and revelations. Negan’s death brought with it the triumph of war, the splendor of victory that he knew well from practically a lifetime of battle. And with war came the inevitable grief of countless lives lost. Daryl’s thoughts lingered on the duke, the prince, and the rogue Savior who’d helped them. He wondered if they’d made it out of the dungeon alive.

And when those thoughts gave way to the realization that, within only a matter of time, you would return to the arms of your father, and no longer would you be his. The king would never understand your love for each other. Why should he, anyway? Daryl was of lowly birth, even if he was a knight. As much as he wanted to believe King Ezekiel would allow him to marry you, he knew he was more likely to end up headless at the mere suggestion.

As he held you now, and as he knew you in the most sacred passions of love that you had shared, you were not just a princess, but his princess. When you were away from him, the world around you blissfully unaware of the truth, you were just a princess. Not his, at least as far as the world was concerned. Despite all logic, he knew there would need to be a time when the love between you was not hidden in the shadows of the forest.

Daryl’s pensiveness was not lost on you now. You felt him cling tighter to you as he looked off into the distance, a heaviness in his face. Your hand caressed his cheek with enough pressure to bring his attention back to you. His expression became lighter by just a tad, but whatever plagued his thoughts was still lingering.

“What is it, my love?”

“Nothing, I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if to rid himself of these worries. “I wish we had more time.”

Where there was once a look of concern blossomed a sweet smile that was almost potent enough to make him forget your father altogether.

“We always have time. We will make time, like we always have.”

But in your heart, you knew what he meant, and you felt the same. How long could you go on like this, hiding your love from your father? Escaping into the woods to consummate your love in secret? For as much as you loved him, and as sure as you were that your heart belonged to no one else, you were not sure how you could keep your love a secret much longer.

Still, the time would come when you could tell your father. You were sure of that.

“You told me that you’d marry me,” you whispered, lips fluttering against the soft hairs of his cheek. “You said someday, you’d marry me. And a knight always keeps his promise, especially to his lady.”

The knight let out a huff, then soon found himself nuzzled into the warmth of your hair, where memories of every moment spent in your company curled around his face in a deep, honey-scented embrace.

“Someday,” he murmured. “I promise you, my princess.”

When his lips touched yours, he felt your tremble against the cold. He pulled the cloak from his back to swing it around you and wrap you in a woolen cocoon. Pulling you ever closer, your chest was heated by the fire that seemed to perpetually burn in his. Another longer, deeper kiss, then a smile shared between the two of you.

“Perhaps one day, I will be your queen.”

His warm hands rubbed your back in steady motions as his eyes traced dreamily over your face, each curve and crevice and color another feature he would keep to memory for in those moments when he could not hold you. He wanted for nothing in this moment—everything he could’ve dreamt of wanting was here, in the shape of you.

“You are my queen.”

A new heat rouged your cheeks and ignited your heart. To be his queen seemed to be the greatest height you could ever reach, if only it meant you were the queen of his heart.

Dawn stained the sky with rich hues of rosy orange and dusty violet as you fell into another kiss, though your lips would be torn away by the distant sound of clopping hooves coming closer beyond the horizon. Not just a handful, but nearly hundreds.

But the fearful flutter in your heart soon subsided as the blue flag of Alexandria raised above the militia, their silhouettes coming into view. They were led in triumph by the king, flanked on either side by Duke Richard, and one man you did not recognize—Prince Jesus of Hilltop. In your father’s hand was the chain that leashed his mighty companion, Shiva. They were victorious, and no more would you fear Negan, nor walkers, nor death itself. Not when your knight was near.

Not even death could tear you from him, and as you held his gaze, you felt a calmness overcome you—a relief, as though you knew that everything, somehow, would be all right.

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