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#in other words please step on me queen
jiminscockr1ng · 1 month
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✩。°𝄞📹 COVERGIRL 𝄞°✨。✩
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╝ one-shot ╔
╰₊ 𓂂➢ pairing: jungkook x fem!reader
╰₊ 𓂂➢ genre: idol x model au, smut
╰₊ 𓂂➢ warn!ngs: unprotected sex, cumming inside, back shots, orgasm denial (kind of), oral !female receiving, slight pain (in beginning), big dick!jungkook, (let me know if there’s more please!)
╰₊ 𓂂➢ summary: you are the cover girl for jungkook’s upcoming clothing line, JJK. said man, just can’t keep his eyes off of you as you model his designs.
╰₊ 𓂂➢ word count: 3.7k
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You almost break your fucking neck trying to pose in the six inch pumps you have on—
in front of all of these cameras, in front of all of these people, in front of him. But of course, like the boss ass, talented, flawless model you are, you stay on your ten toes. Falling into another pristine pose matter of fact.
The photographers take their photos of you and the staff on the sides of the room doesn’t shy away from shouting praises at you. You slickly slide your hands into the back pockets of the denim miniskirt that barely covered the curve of your round ass. Back facing the camera, as you turned your upper body to eye it.
A large quantity of “ooh’s” and “aah’s” echoes through the brightly lit room once everyone gets a glimpse of your immaculate figure.
Your eyes couldn’t help but fall on the built individual standing low-key in the corner. He’s been eying you for the past half hour since you stepped out of the dressing room with this outfit. Truth be told, this man has been staring you down since you took his place in front of the cameras. He’s only now mentally undressing you. (not that your current outfit left much to the imagination).
You’re sporting a black tie that hangs over the skimpy white laced bra that’s clutched your chest, hanging on for dear life. On your feet are a pair of plain black pumps and of course— the main piece.
That denim miniskirt you’re wearing. ‘JJK’ initials embroidered on the back pockets, the sides are laced together with black ribbon, and it’s just long enough to walk in— short enough to the point you’d be flashing someone if you bent over the slightest bit.
If he could suck his own dick for making such a masterpiece, he would. But Jungkook would much rather you do it instead, because damn… did you look absolutely heaven sent. ‘Second to none,’ he thought as he watched you from the corner of the room.
Jungkook knew that choosing you as the covergirl for his new line was the perfect idea. He fought for it, fought for you. Having a black woman as the cover model of the Jeon Jungkook’s brand new fashion line wasn’t something the board wanted to approve.
Other than the fact you are black, you’re a fairly new up and coming model, leaving you very little experience. Jungkook discovered your instagram account just a few months before he completed his line. At first glance he knew you were something special. Different from all of the slim, long legged, fair skinned Korean women his team had continuously suggested. There was absolutely nothing wrong with those women— at all.
But Jungkook was looking for something else, something new, fresh, something natural. As an idol, he naturally falls into a clean, pure and innocent category. Despite being a grown ass man. Jungkook desperately is clawing to get out of that box. He wanted to prove it and expose the mature side of him through this fashion line. So no, Jungkook didn’t want a put together woman, or a pretty princess, or even a grunge queen. He wanted a natural sex symbol.
The perfectionist that Jungkook is, he never fails to second guess all of his actions and choices. But you, no— he knew that he needed you.
Needed you to wear his designs, needed you to be his covergirl, needed you all up in his face… amongst other things.
To which you were more than excited to do. Like, be serious! It’s Jeon Jungkook. The man with the mouth watering sleeve of tattoos, toe curling wavy mullet, the gut turning physique.
When his team reached out to you, you were more than ecstatic. You wondered how god had seemingly blessed you with the opportunity to model for the a-list idol.
You’re a huge fan of Jungkook’s music, listening to his panty dropping vocals daily. So the fact that you’re actually modeling for him and the fact that he’s currently staring you down like he wants you to be his last meal has you shaking in your six inch pumps. The unwavering tension between the two of you goes unnoticed by the others in the room.
But the way your smooth brown thighs clenches together definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook… neither does the way Jungkook is holding that clip board over his crotch go unnoticed for you.
Shit. You desperately needed for someone to just—
“That’s a wrap!” You hear someone yell and you let out a sigh of relief. Quickly bowing and spreading “thank you’s” to the staff that approached to compliment you.
You make your way back into your dressing room in the back of the studio. First thing you do is take off the tight tie around your neck, then the pumps off of your feet, exhaling in relief when your feet meet the ground.
There’s still an uncomfortable feeling in between the thick of your thighs. Damn, he really got you all worked up… more than you had realized it seems. You slip the soaked laced thong that matches your white laced bra down your legs and it gets flung into the waste bin. Leaving you naked under the famous miniskirt you still have on.
You distract yourself with the gorgeous sight you see in the mirror, then a light knocking hits your door. Before you could even say “come in,” in walks the finest man you have ever laid eyes on… and the reason why your favorite laced thong is in the trash.
“Hey,” he whispers to which you slightly raise a brow. Because yes, he’s fine as hell but at the same time, who told him he could enter? “Sorry for barging in. I didn’t want anyone to see me near your dressing room.” You nod your head understandingly. That would be a nightmare if anyone saw the two of you interacting and decided to go yapping about it.
Which is why this just so happens to be you and Jungkook’s first interaction. How low of you to get turned on before a proper conversation.
“Then again, I couldn’t leave without speaking to you first.” He smiled softly at you, part of his cute bunny toothed smile beamed in your eyes and the butterflies in your stomach start doing flips.
You return the smile. “Yeah, I guess that would be a bit odd. Ya know, since I’m your covergirl or whatever.” He’s intrigued by your wording. Of course, you are his cover girl, Jungkook knows that. But the way you said it just now sounded so fucking sexy to Jungkook.
“My covergirl?” He sing as he leans his shoulder on the wall. Nodding your head, butt pressed against the vanity behind you— confidently. Because the sexual tension between the two of you couldn’t even be cut by a knife. “Yeah, that’s usually what people call it. I think it’s funny how this is my first time speaking to my employer. Scared of me?” You test. Jungkook’s eyebrows flick up at your ‘sass’.
“Your employer?” You actually let out a little chuckle this time. “Are you gonna keep repeating everything I say?” You sarcastically ask before slickly eying him up and down. The white, short sleeved crew neck he has clinging onto all of his muscles and the exposure of his tatted right arm has tears rolling down your thighs. And the black cargo pants that are swallowing his tiny waste makes you bite your bottom lip. But we must stay focused!
“No, just a little intrigued.” He says, pushing himself off of the wall. “And no. I’m not scared of you. Just figured I’d keep my distance.” He trails off his sentence as you boost yourself up to sit on the white vanity behind you. The miniskirt rides up your thighs even more (if that’s even possible), your thighs press against the vanity top makes them look even more attractive and edible to the man standing in front of you— he almost forgets why he came in here in the first place.
“Why’d you figure that?” You tilt your head to the side innocently. But absolutely nothing is innocent about it. You are purposely teasing him— in attempts to seduce him. See if the good boy, ‘youngest’ is as good as people say he is.
Ask and you shall receive, because Jungkook is once again picturing you without that skimpy laced bra and with your legs wide open. The thought has him hard as a rock underneath his baggy cargo pants.
“Wanted to keep things professional.” He forces out. The underlying message doesn’t go over your head but you choose to ignore it. “So what are you doing here now?” With that, Jungkook lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Stepping away from the wall, he makes his way closer to the large white vanity you’re sitting on.
“I just wanted to compliment you on the amazing performance you did today. Everything went smoothly and it’s been a great week.” He says genuinely and you gladly take the compliment, letting out a small “thank you”— to which he battles.
“No, thank you. You really made this whole thing come to life so really, thank you.” You smile from ear to ear at his sincerity, feeling overwhelmingly gratified and proud… and still wet.
“Well your designs are amazing so you should have majority of the credit— by the way, can I keep this!” Asking, pointing to the miniskirt that hugs your hips. Jungkook’s tongue slides out of his mouth, wetting his lips, slightly playing with his lip ring.
“Of course, it’s all yours. Can’t think of anyone who’d wear it better than you do anyways.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. He didn’t even mean to flirt he just said what he was thinking and it remains true. You are the sexiest woman Jungkook has laid eyes on. And if he doesn’t get out of this dressing room right now, his balls might explode.
But in the midst of the internal war Jungkook’s facing, you hum. “Is that why you kept staring at me all day? At first I thought you regretted your decision.” You say and before you could continue your overly sarcastic remarks he interrupts with the rapid shaking of his head.
“I could never regret choosing you.” Your heart dropped to your ass at his words and you’re scared if you move the wrong way the arousal between your thighs (that has been lathered onto the vanity) may drip onto the floor. Without saying much else, he doesn’t let his nerves stop him from stepping closer to you— nearly in between your legs.
He places his hand beside yours that rests on top of the vanity. Slowly his hand intertwines with yours. His touch so soft; the hair on your neck stands tall. His eyes glazing over your plumped lips, layered in lip gloss that shined under the light
“You’re perfect,” is the last thing he says before his lips slowly meet yours.
You could hear angles singing from close range as you finally snag the taste of his lips. His lip ring tickles your lip, sending a shiver down your spine. A soft moan escapes your mouth and Jungkook feels like he just won the lottery.
His tatted hand glides up your thigh, basking in the feeling of your soft brown skin under his touch. He gently caress your naked thighs, spreading them apart to properly stand in between them.
You let out a little huff as you feel him licking and leaving open mouth kisses against your jawline. “From the first moment I laid eyes on you,” he says in between kisses and you feel his breath on your neck, making your clit pulse. “I knew you were perfect.”
You pull your lips away to look at him. The heavy breathing fills the dressing room as the two of you look into each other’s eyes, the similar look of need in both of your eyes.
You slide your hands up Jungkook’s torso, to his broad shoulders, resting them on his neck. Pulling him down closer to you, you say, “Touch me.”
Which was all Jungkook needed to hear before attacking your lips again, your hand wrapped around his shoulders as you slightly grind into his clothed member. You could feel the bulge through his pants, exciting you even more.
“Oh my god— Jungkook.” You whine when he bites at your neck. His hands move to your chest, caressing your boobs through the fabric of the bra you still had on. Until he unfastens it, sliding the bra down your arms with your help.
His hands worry themselves with the feel of your tits again fitting perfectly under his hold. You bite your bottom lip to hold back the moans from the sensitivity of his fingers pinching your nipples. Within seconds his hands are replaced with his mouth and he sucks and nibbles on your nipples.
Your hips grind faster against his hard-on. “Jungkook, I need you.” You whimper impatiently. He removes his mouth from your chest, giving you a quick peck on the lips before smirking down at you which takes you for a whirl. Taking a step back he looks down in between the close proximity of you two.
He spreads your thighs father apart to reach down under your miniskirt to find your bare pussy wetter than the Caribbean Sea.
“No panties— are you nuts?” He exclaims with the raise of his eyebrows. “If I would’ve known I was talking to you like this I would’ve bent you over this fucking vanity once I walked in.” He sexily groans against your swollen lips. The heat between your bodies are making you even more needy than usual.
The two of you share breaths as your lips hover over the other’s. You gasp heavily into his mouth as his finger drags down your slippery slit.
He lets out a low groan at the feeling of your slickness and the feeling of his dick growing harder inside of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Making matters worse, you remove your hand from his shoulder to grip the thick bulge between his legs, almost flinching at the size of it. You look up at him with that needy look you have in your eyes that’s driving him up a wall.
“Then do it,” pulling him down to lick up his sharp jawline. “Bend me over and fuck me good.” You whisper into his ear.
Jungkook snaps, he pulls you off of the vanity, pulling you closer to him to taste the sweet taste of your lip gloss again. The kiss is cut short when he spins you around to bend you over the white vanity top, true to his word.
You let out a high pitched gasp as your bare chest hits the vanity top. He stands over your form, hands caressing your thighs, slowly moving up to your plump ass. His hand smacking against your ass echoes throughout the room and Jungkook’s dick twitches at the sight of your ass jiggling.
“So fucking pretty.” He says before crouching down, face all in your cookie. He bites his lips as you spread your legs further apart, desperate for his mouth.
Again, he drags his thumb down your slit and you let out load moan of pleasure from the sensation of his touch. Your hand quickly covers your mouth. “You have to be quiet princess.” The words smoothly passed through his mouth like butter making your knees weak. However, they actually buckle once you feel his tongue swipe through your slick. Your head lowers into your chest to try to keep your composure.
“Mmm,” he moans while licking through your folds, eating your cunt like it’s his favorite meal. “You taste so damn good.” He aggressively spreads your legs wider to attack your pussy with his mouth.
Your legs shake as you fee his tongue going in and out of your hole, his thumb rubbing over your swollen clit. The grip of his hand on your ass doesn’t let up as you squeeze your legs together around his head.
“R—right there! I’m gonna—” Your hole clenches around his tongue as you felt your stomach tightening. Just when you feel yourself releasing, he stops. He pulls away.
“What the fuck.” You curse in frustration. He leans his body over yours, gripping your hair to turn your head to the side. You let out a moan at his roughness.
“You’re too pretty to be cursing, princess.” He says against your lips before attacking them with a wet, sloppy kiss. You push your ass against his dick, needy from the absence of his tongue. You whimper against his mouth.
“You want me to fuck you bad, huh?” He teases, roughly brushing his bulge over your wet folds. He lets out a groan at the feeling. “Yes— mm! Fuck, yes Jungkook. I need your dick inside of me.” Jungkook places one last sloppy kiss on your lips, lets go of the grip on your hair and began unbuttoning his pants.
They instantly falls down to his ankles and he lowers his boxer briefs, letting them fall the his ankles as well, his dick smacking his stomach. You can’t see his length that he pumps in his hand behind you— but god, when he starts thrusting it in between your ass cheeks you can feel it.
It makes you nervous because you didn’t expect him to be so big. But you grow more aroused at the thought of him fucking you silly, wrecking your tight little pussy. He slowly rubs the tip of his dick over your folds, coating his dick with your arousal, layering over his pre-cum. “I hope you’re fine with me going in raw, didn’t really have me fucking you in mind before I came here today.” You nod your head faster than you ever did in your life.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Just p— put it in.” He chuckles at your impatience and without a second thought, he slowly thrusts himself inside of you. Both of your moans fill the room as his dick penetrates your tight hole. You let out a shaky breath as he pulls back, just for him to thrust inside of you again.
The pain of his length ripping through you has your head spinning. As he thrusts again, he bends down over your shaky body to leave a light kiss on your shoulder. “You okay?” He softly asks and you hesitantly nod your head with your eyes shut close. “Y— yeah, just getting used to it. I’m… fine.” With that, he softly leave a kiss on your cheek before lifting back up and thrusting into you again.
He whisper out curses as your tight pussy swallows his dick and he relishes the sight of it.
After a few more thrusts the pain subsides and it is quickly replaced with the feeling of pleasure. Jungkook, wraps his hand under you to caress your tit as he continues to plunge himself deeper into your sex.
“Faster p— please,” you whisper out and you couldn’t even brace yourself for the next thrust. His hard dick hits your spot and your knees give out on you. He holds your waist out with his hands as he continuously abuses your hole. Your bodies jerk forward with each thrust.
“Your pussy feels so good around my dick, _______.” He says and you let out another high moan— hitting notes you’ve never hit before. He roughly grabs your hair again, lifting you up to make your back arch. You can see the both of you through the mirror, you can see him fucking you dirty, the way his eyebrows furrow looking down at the way your cunt swallows his length, the sight gets you even more aroused— if that’s even possible.
He finally looks up at you through the mirror. He sends you a smirk before going absolutely feral. “Hold on for me, princess.” His grip on your hair tightens as he fiercely thrusts into you. Faster, deeper, harder, he is literally blowing your back out. Your eyes squeeze shut and loud screams escape your mouth. The hand gripping your hair quickly covers your mouth to block out the lewd sounds you let out.
You can feel the knot in your stomach tightening at the fast pace and the constant pounding on your cervix. The feeling grows with Jungkook wrap his free hand over your thigh to rub your clit as he sloppily thrusts into you.
“Cum for me baby.” He says lowly and out of breath as his pace quickens. Your moans are muffled into his hand while he penetrates your cunt and stimulates your clit. “Fuck,” he says as you cum around his length, your legs shaking as Jungkook reaches his high. The sounds of your juices lapping together fills the room and you feel Jungkook’s warm release flow inside of you.
The two of you breathe heavily as Jungkook’s dick rests inside of you. After Jungkook has gotten his composure back, he pulls out, watching as your cunt discharges his cum down your thighs. Quickly pulling his pants up and jogging over to the corner to grab a paper towel, he comes back to clean you with it.
Your body is still limp over the vanity as he does so. “I hope I wasn’t too rough.” He says. You lift up, standing on your own, pulling the miniskirt down over your ass. Shaking your head. “No,” you let out a little chuckle. “That was amazing.”
Your eyes sparkle as they look up at his. He’s almost hypnotized by them, he drops his head to yours, kissing your lips again, his hands on the small of your back. “You have no idea how long I’ve been holding back.” You giggle at him.
“How long?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hand reaches your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he basks in your beauty and the feeling of your arms around him.
“Since the day I chose you as my COVERGIRL.”
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the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects ; suguru geto
synopsis; when the king puts you under the supervision of a dashing knight, you promise to make his job as difficult as possible. unfortunately, suguru geto is the patient sort.
word count; 21.1k (this accidentally turned into a novella idk how it happened either nobody look at me 💔)
contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, knight!sugu x royalty!reader, royalty au (not accurate to any time period ever), technically a bodyguard au, slowburn, reader is a brat and suguru likes it a little more than he should, reader also has thinly veiled daddy issues, protective sugu :3, he goes feral in one part (descriptions of violence and bloodshed), reader gets briefly kidnapped lol, very fluffy overall though!!, includes shifting povs & time-skips, also lots and lots of devotion, knight!sugu is real & beautiful & loves you specifically <33
a/n; HAPPY late BDAY SUGU MY BABY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE this fic has been in the works for a WHILE now and means a lot to me much like sugu himself :’3 dedicated to my beloved @kissxcore for infecting me w this concept & also my dear @mossmurdock for bringing knight!sugu into my life, both of u have made the brainrot infinitely worse and i will never be free (and ofc @softgirlgonehaywire & @dollsuguru & @jtkys for being the sweetest always) I LOVE U ALL!!!!!!!!
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like most things, it begins and ends with a dream.
images form in the depths of your subconscious, wild and vivid, splattering on the canvas of your mind. a dream of cold metal, dark thickets, iron-scented skin — and a knight. 
(or… a wolf?)
before you is a small clearing. trees sprout from the rugged grounds, blooming proudly, clogging up the wool-coated sky. all around you lie empty, discarded suits of armor, dirty with rust and something that smells of death. wilted sunflowers stumble under their own weight, and dragonflies buzz in a frenzy, manic, driven to hysteria. in the distance you think you hear the shrieking of ravens.
and there’s a knight, just ahead, tall and imposing, covered in steel from head to toe. holding a blinding sword, facing the sky, doing nothing to stop the pitter patter of raindrops ricocheting off his burganet. you stand by the entrance of the woods, and watch him in silence. 
he looks a little lonely. 
and in comes the wolf. gracious, growling, big and bad, snarling and showing off the white of its fangs. dragging its claws against the ground, unruly fur ruffled by the harsh breeze; widening its maw, a silent fury on its tongue. from this angle, it looks a little like a grin.
the wolf begins to chase the knight. or maybe it’s the knight chasing the wolf — you can’t really tell. they run in circles around each other, like the sun and the moon, an orbit of violence, matching their steps. almost in harmony — almost, but not quite, because suddenly they’re closing in on you, great and ugly, beasts wearing different hides, and —
and that’s when you wake up.
”your highness!” 
a groan pushes past your lips, groggy with fatigue, and your eyelids flicker open like the drawing of a flimsy curtain. a series of mismatched little blinks, until your vision clears. 
above you waits a familiar face; impatient. one of the maids, your foggy brain tells you. and she isn’t pleased.
but all you do is drag your limbs up to cover your pillow-creased face, sluggishly, muttering beneath your breath. ”a wolf…”
silence. 
the maid tilts her head, with a furrow of her brows. 
”… excuse me?”
”there was a wolf,” you echo, a dreamy exhale muffled against the skin of your palm. stifling a yawn. ”and a guy… he was cool.” 
she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. settling back into her usual rhythm. mildy berating. ”did you have another one of your dreams?” she asks, a little irritated, and for a second you think you hear a tick-tock ticking down. ”at any rate — you need to get up. the king and queen demand your presence.”
ah. of course.
a huff, displeased, even as you force yourself into a sitting position. stretching your limbs like a grumpy feline. ”demands…” you murmur, a click of your tongue. ”they think they can just wake me up whenever they want? at the crack of dawn?”
”it’s 11 a.m, your highness.”
”early as hell,” you rasp, willfully tuning out her murmur of mind your language. letting your legs hang off the bed. ”what do they want, anyway?”
following your silent cue, she hums, walking towards the edge of the room. picking up your discarded blouse, and bringing it to you. ”i was told it was of utmost importance,” is all she says, lifting the fabric as if getting ready to dress you.
”i can do that myself,” you hiss, snatching the white silk from her outstretched hands. as always, she does nothing but sigh, sigh, sigh. it’s all they ever do. ”i’m not a toddler.”
from your position, still cozied up in bed, on messy sheets and fluffy pillows — you can see the view beyond your translucent window’s glass. a sky so gray it’s almost comforting, dark clouds forming in the distance, silently ruminating. when the maid pushes it open, and a cold breeze slips through the gap, you can smell the rain; heavy, earthy, daffodils and oak wood. in the distance, sunflower fields seek shelter from the downpour. 
but your eyes remain glued to the woods. far ahead, but still close enough to see — the woods you long for. the ones you’ll never get to see up close. 
a bitter taste blooms on your tongue. 
(spitefully, your teeth sink into the tender flesh of your bottom lip.)
”fine,” comes a heavy sigh, ruefully resigned. forcing yourself into compliancy. before you can change your mind, you hop off the mattress, running your fingers through tousled strands of hair. ”i’ll go see them.”
and she brightens, visibly, disapproving frown smoothed away with the breeze. for now. ”thank you. they are worried, i’ll have you know.”
a scoff, as you cross the threshold of your private quarters. humorous. ”i bet they are.” 
”your highness,” she calls, following close behind. her tone is reprimanding, now; you will yourself not to shrink. ”we almost lost you.”
”i almost got kidnapped,” you huff. ”not the same thing.”
again, that exasperated sigh. it’s a wonder her lungs haven’t run out of air. ”do you have any idea who that man was?” 
the question makes your mind still. shifting gears, a clockwork coming to life, repeating it inside your head — do you have any idea who that man was? 
”… he was hot.”
sigh. you hear it before it comes, and raise your lips on instinct. 
”no, i mean it!” you ensure her, throwing a fleeting glance behind you. ”he just had that rugged look about him, you know? the scar and everything…” a blissful little exhale, as you gush over your would-be killer. ”what a waste. if only he had gotten away.”
”with you in tow?” the maid quips, raising a brow. her words are steeped in irony.
”of course!” another disapproving glance. ”i mean, did you see those biceps —”
”behave.”
with a flutter of your puffy sleeves, you turn around to face her. and ah — there it is. the hardness of her jaw, those frosty pupils, the impending signs of her dwindling patience. you can see it, hear it, that eerie tick-tock signaling the breaching of her limit. all humans have one; a clockwork heart, of sorts, ticking down to the moment they run out of leftover kindness to give unruly heirs. 
over the years, you’ve gotten expertly good at making the clock tick quicken. a skill you’re very proud of.
”and what if i don’t?” you bite back, just barely restraining your growing grin. delighted at the attention. ”he had nice biceps! what, am i not allowed to tell the truth?”
and the tick-tock quickens. she stills, just behind you, hands on her hips. frustration bubbling beneath her sharp syllables. ”my god, you are impossible today!”
for a moment, you stop to look at her. weighing your options. should you reel it back in, try and appease her? or keep pushing? the answer, as always, is push. it’s all you’ll ever do.
so you turn on your heel, and take a step forward, a spiteful grin curved into your lips. ”deal with it, or leave.” a beat. ”i don’t remember asking you to accompany me.”
before you round the corner, your ears pick up on one final harsh sigh. she makes no move to follow you.
(hmph.)
”where is your maid?”
in front of you stands a throne, proud and luxurious, polished marble, two seats right next to each other. the quarters of the royal pair are the same as always, vivid paintings hanging from every wall in sight, wolf pelts thrown over tables and windowsills. the scent of dried lavender seeps through the air, suffocating you. 
and, of course, the king. speaking to you with the same judgemental voice as always; one you’ve grown painfully accustomed to. 
”i wanted her to get me breakfast,” is the lie you decide on, finely tailored in white. just to make sure she doesn’t get into any actual trouble. ”you didn’t exactly give me time to eat any.”
the king sighs, mild disappointment laced into the breath. nothing new. when he says your name, it comes out sounding like a bad joke. ” — you aren’t a child anymore. one day you’ll be ruling this kingdom; forcing the maids to do your bidding won’t win you any favours.” 
”mhm.” absently, you fidget with the sleeves of your blouse. not quite listening. ”so, what did you want? it’s not often i’m allowed here.”
an evil glint shines in your eyes, for a moment. you cast a meaningful glance at the maid by your father’s side — his personal favorite. 
”don’t you have, ah…” you taste the words on your tongue. ”more pressing matters to attend to?”
he doesn’t flinch. as always, he pretends not to know that you know — that everyone knows. 
yet he still gives you that cold, cold look, colder than the howls of wind beyond the castle walls, cold enough to send a shiver down your spine. it makes you want to push, push, push. break the clockwork in half.
but he’s wise enough to follow your lead. “let me get to the point, then,” he cranes his neck, showing off the fox pelt snug around his shoulders. ”the queen and i thought it best to hire a new knight for you.”
you blink. eyelashes fluttering. all you can hear is the pitter patter of rain against the windowpane. 
then you groan.
”another one?” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet on the floor. ”please, no. it’s such a pain getting rid of them. you know they won’t last long!”
”we aren’t talking about any ordinary knight,” he tuts, as monotone as ever. ignoring your little temper tantrum. ”after what happened with toji zenin, we aren’t taking any chances.”
you tilt your head. confused, for a moment. ”toji?” the gears of your mind turn, clicking into place; zenin. a family of assassins, a man with a scar on his bottom lip. ”ohhh — the hottie.”
your father pretends not to hear you. 
”it was a close call,” he hums, and you muster the strength not to crack another joke about his biceps. it takes restraint. ”we need someone who can protect you properly. indefinitely, from even the stealthiest of assassins. so…”
your eyes meet his. gazes overlapping, the same colour, one above and one below. he’s always, always towered over you. for as long as you remember. 
that is what royalty means — absolute dominion. 
(it makes you want to curl into a ball.)
”today, you’ll be meeting with the greatest knight.” he says the words with an odd sense of pride, an inner satisfaction. ”he’ll be here any moment. i thought it best for you to get acquainted as soon as possible.”
a moment passes. you’re broken out of your bout of compliance, like a rubber band snapping. a clock tick quickening. ”wait, what?” you gape. ”father —”
”your majesty.” 
the correction is stern. gritting your teeth, you force the words from out your throat. ”… your majesty,” there’s a slight grumble to your voice, ”what the hell? now? i haven’t even —”
”you have no choice in this matter,” he cuts you off. coldly, coldly, coldly. ”behave, and there won’t be any complications.”
behave.
behave, behave, behave. it’s all they ever want from you.
(you might as well be a pet.)
the queen is silent, as always. eerily so, not saying a word, like a puppet on a string. she hasn’t looked you in the eye even once so far, not even a passing glance. not like you’d expect her to. her clockwork heart stopped beating for you a long time ago. 
automatons, the both of them. making decisions for you, like there isn’t a sliver of rational thought in your brain. how irritating.
you’re just about to part your lips, when —
”… am i interrupting?”
you still.
a velvety voice. silky, smooth, tailored by the finest seamstress — tucked between the slightest raspy vowel, a hint of something deeper. it sounds like honey, wine, a molten mass of spring clouds. 
the king ahead of you brightens, suddenly, lips curling up into a smile. it looks almost warm; you didn’t know he was capable of making that kind of expression. ”ah, suguru!” he calls out to the source of the noise. ”no, certainly not. forgive me for the short notice.”
when you turn around, you see a knight.
he’s beautiful. gorgeous, even. fair skin, sharp facial features, no scars to be seen. a sword hangs in a scabbard by his hip, and he’s wearing a set of armor, still glistening with the aftermaths of the rain beating down outside. his hair cascades down the metal like a black river, loose and silky, a single strand obscuring his pretty face. and his eyes are a soothing shade of brown; you’re almost certain they’d look warm, if there was any sunlight to engulf them. as it is, in the shadow of a murky spring morning, they’re a dark cedar, almost obsidian. but they look kind. 
and they’re fixed on the king. he’s smiling, too, a dangerous little tilt. disgustingly charming. he hangs his head in a bow, hand on his heart — reverent.
(ah. he’s one of those knights.)
”my king,” the strange knight greets, tongue wrapping around the vowels like a dragon curling around a pile of gold. ”not at all. i’m always grateful for an opportunity to see you.”
(oh god. it’s even worse than you thought.)
”i should say the same of you,” the king echoes, with a warmth that you’re wholly unaccustomed to. your stomach churns, swirling with discomfort. ”our nation’s pride and joy.”
the knight chuckles; muffled by his closed fist. he’s feigning embarrassment, you can tell. ”you flatter me,” he purrs, words flowing smoothly from his lips. too smoothly. ”i’m simply doing my duty as one of your subjects. but, needless to say — i’m honoured to have earned your respect.”
finally, his gaze shifts to you. and you think he must notice how disgusted you are, the reproach you feel for him, that silent contempt. because you aren’t trying to hide it; it’s there, clear as day, in the crease of your brow, your frosty pupils. lips pursed, like they’re aching to bare and to bite.
but he continues to smile. warm, still, like a mellow summer breeze. a well of pizzicato drops.
you feel a little nauseous.
”ah, and you must be the royal heir?” a tilt of his head, knowing. a shimmer of recognition painted in those ashen eyes. ”or should i say…. my liege.” 
he walks towards you, in long strides, slow and steady, only to get down on one knee. ew. ”forgive me; my name is suguru geto. your knight, from this day forth.” his palm unfurls, cedar eyes crinkling with feigned endearment. holding it out towards the subject of his newfound devotion. ”i’m delighted to finally meet you.”
(suguru geto. you’ve heard of him, of course. who hasn’t?)
his hand stills in the air, waiting patiently for yours; to bring it to his glossy lips. but you don’t do anything. nothing, other than studying his smile, picture perfect, tailor-made, sweet enough to melt on your tongue. so sweet you know it must be at least a little bit fake — the smile of a liar. 
it’s a smile you know well.
so you mimic it, a bitter glint in your eyes, only for your hands to retreat to your pockets. and out comes a purr. ”you’re a bad actor.”
silence. the knight doesn’t flinch, not even close, but he blinks, a flutter of his dark eyelashes. like a raven taking flight. that everlasting smile never falters, but for just a second, a clock-tick or two, you swear you catch the slightest hint of something flickering through his keen iris.
interest?
”forgive them, suguru,” the king is quick to chip in, finally stepping down from his throne to join you on the floor. the queen doesn’t move, but she gives suguru a fond smile, and it makes your grimace deepen. ”they woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning. and they’re a bit of a problem child — i’m sure you’ve heard.”
that makes you snicker, silently. maybe just a little bit smug. you’re sure it must be a headache for him to deal with.
”i can’t say i haven’t,” suguru chuckles, raising himself up from the marble floor. your smile falls. ”but it’s not an issue. i understand.”
he looks at you, really looks at you, and you give him an unimpressed stare. wholly disinterested. trying not to squirm under his scrutiny. 
”i’m sure it must feel suffocating — being under this kind of supervision.” he gives you a tilt of his head, strands of charcoal following the movement. smooth, like a waltz, one you didn’t agree to. ”isn’t it?”
ah. the sympathy card.
before you can answer, he bows; hand on his heart. knights and their rituals. ”i’m at your service, my liege. if i make you uncomfortable, at any point, just tell me.” once more, he meets your gaze, a sincerity in his own — reserved just for you. ”really.”
… ugh.
to your right comes a pleased voice, deep and satisfied, as self-affirming as ever. ”i knew i could entrust them to you,” the king speaks, placing a palm on your shoulder. you try not to flinch. ”aren’t you grateful? this handsome, kind man is all yours.”
a sharp scoff is all you can muster, nails digging into the skin of your palm. but suguru only chuckles, good-natured.
they continue to speak, about this and that. you tune out most of it, caught up in preparing for the long headache ahead. sure, you’re an expert at getting knights to quit, but it takes time. weeks, sometimes, just to make them finally crack, push and push until their patience reaches its limit. and suguru seems resilient. more than anything, he seems thoroughly loyal to the king; that really doesn’t bode well for you.
but before you can formulate a step-by-step guide to making his job a living hell, the sound of your name snaps you out of your trance.
it’s the king, of course, as always. you hate that you still instinctively respond to his call. like an obedient puppy. ”show suguru to your quarters. he’ll be accompanying you indefinitely, from now on. don't give him any trouble.” his voice finally sounds cold again; a warning. ”i’ll hear about it.”
(indefinitely.)
a moment passes. then you sigh, deep and heavy, haphazardly hiding a roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah,” you cross your arms. ”i got it.”
suguru meets your furrowed brows with something gentle, a soothing little smile. offering his arm, for you to hold on to. knights and their rituals. ”shall we?”
but you brush past him. stubborn in your independence, in your desire to make this as discomforting for him as it is for you. ”follow me,” is all you say, a dissatisfied huff. loud enough to pick up on.
to your great displeasure, he matches your hurried pace. side by side, as you walk down the halls, the clicking of his shoes echoing against the marble. a shadow you can’t shine away; one that’ll stay with you indefinitely. you feel his gaze burn into you.
”my lord.”
”don’t talk to me,” you sigh, sharp like the sword by his hip. a low click of your tongue. ”just so you know, i didn’t agree to this.”
”that was my question, actually,” he grins, ever so slightly. fingertips tapping against his scabbard. ”i am sorry, you know. i meant what i said — i’m sure it’s difficult for you.” he casts you another one of those meaningful glances, a meaning you have no intention of discerning. ”but i have my orders.”
you bite back a laugh. ”you guys love those, huh?” when you turn your head to face him, still walking forward, he’s met with a taunting smirk. ”your little orders.”
but his smile doesn’t falter. damn.
”not a fan of knights?” he asks, instead, a playful lilt to his syrupy voice. coaxing, accommodating. infuriating.
”nope.” your footsteps quicken — but he keeps up, effortlessly. curse those abnormally long legs. ”you’re all just bootlickers. especially you.”
”oh?”
”don’t oh? me,” you snap, practically growling, ”like you weren’t seconds away from making out with the king back there. it’s all so fake.” the comment makes the corners of his lip quirk up, but you don’t turn around to see it. ”now that you’re alone with me, you’re already acting way less uptight, see?”
he hums. ”i figured it’d make you feel more at ease.”
”god, will you just cut it out?” a hiss breaks out of your throat, sharp and exasperated. tired, drained. you just want to go back to sleep. ”quit acting like you care about what i think. you’ll do whatever the king asks of you — that’s all you really care about.”
suguru stays silent, this time. matching your steps, observing you silently, out of the corner of his eye. the frown on your lips, the crease between your brows. etching them into his memory. you’re pissed, that much he can tell. and you definitely, definitely don’t like him. 
(”you’re a bad actor.”)
the knight comes to a standstill. parting his lips, enough for his voice to flow through, silken sheets and molten honey. a raspy tilt he tries his best to hide.
but his words carry a sincerity he could never fake. 
”from now on, i serve you.”
when the clicking of his shoes against cold marble flooring fades away, you halt. turning around, hesitantly, quirking a questioning brow. rain beats on beyond the window to your left, flicking against the glass, droplets clinging to the translucent surface. marigold petals kiss the windows in a flurry of cream and orange, fluttering about with the harsh bites of the wind, carried from the castle’s orchard. the endless hallway you find yourselves in smells of rainwater and spring.
suguru looks steadfast, where he’s standing, immovable. a little like a pillar of salt. when he speaks it sounds like he’s reciting a scripture.
”i’m loyal to the king. i have to follow his orders.” 
there’s something about his words that you can’t quite pinpoint. is it guilt or pride? ”but i am at your service. certain things are set in stone, but not others. i’ll let you decide how this goes.”
the hallway goes silent. he smiles, again, smaller this time. somehow more genuine.
”from now on, i’m your knight.” the pitter patter of rain mashes with the steady beating of a clock; rhythmic, soothing, a lullaby of rust and time. ”that’s all. i won’t be anything else.”
you stare. lips pursed, awaiting a clarification, but it doesn’t come. he’s giving you time to respond.
(he’s your knight, now. indefinitely yours.)
an inhale. the clock hands of your heart begin to move. ”in that case,” you exhale, lips curling up into a taunting smile. pleased with yourself. ”i promise to be the most insufferable lord a knight has ever had. i won’t make your job easy for you.”
and suguru only chuckles. raspy, like the bark of a tree, claw marks on the ground. ”good,” he grins, eyes rich with mirth, golden pears hanging off the branches. ”i wouldn’t have it any other way.”
he looks sincere. sounds sincere. all you do is blink, a sense of frustration nibbling at your heart, but the knight before you doesn’t falter. he only offers his arm to you, once more; a silent step towards reconciliation.
you watch him, silently. 
then you’re turning on your heel, swiftly, a low grumble at the base of your throat. ignoring him and his offer, walking towards your room with irritated steps that fade as you turn the corner.
behind you, suguru’s smile only grows.
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”good morning, your highness.”
blinking sleepily, still regaining your ability to form coherent thoughts, all you can do is stare. studying the figure above you, towering over your half-asleep form, the deadpan expression on your face.
black hair, and amber eyes. a disgustingly charming smile. 
the gears of your mind finally click into place.
a whine flows from your lips, meek and disapproving, and you roll over to your side. pulling the covers over your head, as if to protect you from the existence of your newly hired knight. so it wasn’t just a bad dream.
but he doesn’t fade away, like an apparition. he stays right by your bed, crouching down next to it. you feel the weight of the mattress shift when he rests his elbow on the cushion. ”still too early?” he asks, soft enough not to grate your sensitive ears. ”i was told you usually get up around this time…”
a muffled groan. ”leave.”
”i’m afraid i can’t,” he hums, but you don’t sense much remorse. ”i’m not supposed to let you out of my sight for more than brief intervals at a time… that’s one thing i can’t compromise on.”
”i don’t care,” you whine, petulant. tightening your grip on the blanket surrounding you, desperate to savour the leftovers of your fuzzy dreams. ”’m not getting up…”
a click of his tongue. quiet, contemplative. until he decides on a course of action.
”would you like me to bring you breakfast, then?”
slowly, your eyes flicker open, consciousness beginning to stir. the tasty temptation rouses you from your half-slumber, ever so slightly; because he sounds sincere. he sounds like he really will bring you breakfast, if you just give him the order. 
it’s tempting. dangerously so. 
(how long has it been since one of the maids actually bothered to serve you breakfast?)
”… whatever,” you croak, finally. weighing the value of your own response — putting effort into not sounding too excited. (but you are.) ”sure. do what you want, just let me sleep.”
a relieved little breath slips from suguru’s lips, as he watches the lump under the blanket stir. ”alright,” he breathes. ”what would you like, my lord?”
(suddenly, you get an idea.)
a smug grin crawls up to rest on your lips, fresh mischief on your mind. ”figure it out yourself,” you chirp, awfully pleased with yourself. 
silence. 
then, you hear him hum — rising to his feet with a quiet groan. ”understood,” he quips. ”i’ll be back as soon as possible, your highness.”
when you hear the creaking of the door, as he steps over the threshold, you barely restrain the urge to kick your legs in victory. now he’s sure to get you the wrong breakfast; and then you can be as difficult as you please, demanding something else, over and over. an ungrateful, spoiled little brat. that’ll definitely make him quit. 
— sadly, it seems you were underestimating him. just a tiny, tiny bit.
before you, on a silver tray, lays a wide variety of breakfast foods. everything from syrupy pancakes and buttery croissants to neatly cut sandwiches and porridge, slices of fruit and fresh lemonade, coffee with cream and sugar, tiny jars of marmalade and jam. sparkling, glittering, begging to be devoured. handmade, you can tell, meticulously crafted by someone who knows what they’re doing. with a gulp, you attempt not to openly salivate — you had no clue the kitchen workers were this talented. 
for just a moment, you’re entirely speechless. he really went ahead and got you some of everything.
stumbling for the right words, any words, the only thing that escapes your throat is a meek huff. meant to sound displeased, but coming out just a little awestruck. ”this is… way, way too much. are you insane?”
he only shrugs. a sweet smile on his lips, sharp jaw resting on the heel of his palm. ”well, you wouldn’t give me any specifics,” he reminds you, a bit too smug for your liking. ”just eat what you like. i’ll keep your preferences in mind.”
you want to protest, want to put up a fight. want to resist his charms, his little peace offering.
but your stomach growls, suddenly. loud enough that you’re sure he hears it, but you don’t turn around to see any silent laughter — just picking up the fork, embarrassed, eager to just get rid of the ache in your gut. eager to get a taste of the delicacies in front of you. with hesitance, you cut into one of the fluffy pancakes, slathered with syrup, trying to ignore his expectant gaze. biting into it with your eyes closed.
when the sweet taste curls around your tongue, you physically feel yourself perk up. letting your eyes flutter open, your eyebrows raised, a sweetness that makes you sit up straighter. it practically melts in your mouth, honeyed and buttery, and it takes all your willpower to withhold a blissed out little sigh. 
it must be evident, on your features. because suguru sounds amused when he asks; ”good?”
”... better than usual, i guess.”
despite your half-assed attempt at hiding how pleased you are, his ever-present smile extends. ”oh, really?” he leans back in his chair, right next to the bed. exhaling in relief. ”i’m glad. i was worried my cooking wouldn’t be to your tastes.”
you pale.
silently, both awestruck and horrified, you look up to meet his teasing gaze. ”wait. you…” a pause. silent, palpable, dreading his answer. ”… made this?” 
”yes.”
another pause. 
”… like. all of it?”
”mhm.”
your gaze falls down to seek solace in your lap. avoiding his own, biting down on your lip, not quite enough to sting. fuck — you accidentally complimented his handmade breakfast. not off to a great start.
wallowing in your silent loss, you simply dig in; desperate to savour it, despite the lingering taste of failure on your tongue. once you’ve sipped the last of your coffee, foamy and rich, the knight to your right speaks up.
”so, your highness,” he begins. tactful, careful. clearing his throat. ”now that you’ve woken up a bit… and, forgive me if i’m overstepping, but —” he searches for your guarded gaze, playing with the beginnings of a smile. ”i was thinking it’d be good for us to get to know each other better.”
”ugh.”
a chuckle — seriously, does nothing offend this man? — flits past his lips. ”oh, don’t be like that, your highness. don’t you think it —”
”cut it out.” you shoot him a glare, voice set to a shivering tilt. ”stop acting like some perfect servant. it’s so obvious you’re playing it up.” a tiny huff, as you pop an apple slice into your mouth. ”makes me sick.”
”… right. you called my acting bad, before.”
”it is,” you nod, a mocking imitation on your tongue. eyes fluttering shut as you bring a hand to your chest. ”oooh, look at me, i’m so humble and loyal! why, of course i don’t mind being summoned with no prior notice! would you like me to lick your shoes, my sweet king?”
and, honestly, you expect him to get at least a little bit angry. the last guy certainly was.
but suguru laughs, suddenly, from the bottom of his gut — a genuine sound. sunshine spilling from his lips, amusement laced together with the octaves. his eyes are crinkled at the edges, like the leaves of a golden ginkgo tree. ”okay, okay,” he puts his hands up, as if readying for a smooth surrender. still amused. ”i’ll try to be more… unguarded, then. would that satisfy you?”
you give him a look. 
he returns it with a smile. ”i’ll take that as a yes,” is all he croons, reaching a hand out. it hangs still in the air, waiting patiently for a response. a familiar sight.
you blink. looking at it, silently, as if trying to solve a puzzle in the pattern of his fingertips. 
then you sigh. ”for the last time, i’m not letting you kiss my hand, you —”
”a handshake,” he cuts you off. soft, a tilt of his head; awfully charming. reassuring you. ”no kissing involved.”
a handshake.
(come to think of it, you don’t think anyone’s ever tried to shake your hand before. it’s something you see other people do; maids, knights, butlers. people on equal ground with each other.)
after a moment of silence, you avert your gaze. there’s a slight, slight flush to your cheeks, one you hope stays hidden from his keen eyes. you grumble, intent on not appeasing him. ”… i’m not shaking your hand, either.”
suguru quirks a brow, smile yet to fall, waiting a few moments more until he gives in. ”you are difficult,” he chuckles, and it sounds almost pleased. ”kento was right.”
kento? now, why does that sound familiar…? 
”— but that’s okay. i look forward to getting to know you better, either way.” his hand retreats to his lap, pliant. ”eventually.”
”that’s not happening.”
”oh?” you swear that smile of his grows, just a little. a man who enjoys a good challenge. humming, closing his eyes for a brief second, switching tactics as if shifting gears. ”then, tell me — is there anything you’d like to know about me?”
hell no, is what you want to say. and you almost, almost do. eager to move one step ahead of him, stubborn in your desire to scare him off.
but then you remember the tale.
so you still, ever so slightly, and suguru leans forward. by a hair, noticing your expression, maybe, the curiosity simmering in your veins. seeping out, little by little, and even though you know you shouldn’t — you just can’t resist the temptation to ask…
”… is it true?”
he tilts his head.
”the … you know.” you move your hands, a bit, as if hoping they’ll say the words for you. they don’t. ”your sword. did you really…” a pause, as your eager gaze trails down to his hip, the scabbard attached to his belt. and then a gulp. 
”… pull it out of a stone?”
a series of silent blinks. then suguru chuckles — dripping with fresh amusement, a glimmer of teeth behind his lips. ”oh, so you’ve heard?”
and, like a pair of shooting stars, your eyes flicker over to meet his. almost gleaming with newfound excitement, a little erratic. ”is — is it true?”
”it’s an old folktale,” he’s quick to intercept. ”gets said about basically every great knight… or, what the public deems as good, anyhow.”
(ah. the humble facade slipped away.)
in a matter of seconds, you seem to deflate, slumping back until your spine meets the headboard. sulking silently. ”so you didn't pull your sword out of a rock?” you huff, mood souring again, a lemony flavour in your veins. ”lame.”
”stone,” he corrects, unperturbed. ”and i'm afraid not.” he gives you another one of his placating smiles, barely concealed amusement swimming in his amber eyes. ”i pulled mine from an oak tree.”
”wait, really?”
the gleam in your eyes is back. suguru almost, almost feels bad.
”depends,” he quips, shooting you a lazy grin. ”how gullible are you, my lord?”
(... oh. he was teasing you.)
an embarrassed heat crawls up your neck, rooting itself into the column of your throat, and all you can do to distract him from it is to scoff. sharply, as if hoping just the sound will be enough to cut into his smooth skin. ”whatever.”
suguru continues to smile, crows’ feet by his eyes, something deliberate in his silent stare. so you stumble for something, anything to say.
”also, can you quit the my lord stuff?” you settle on, taking a shallow sip of the lemonade. sour and sweet, nice and chilled on your tongue. ”it’s creepy.”
he blinks. a flutter of his dark lashes, fingers tapping at his bended knee. he looks contemplative, for a moment. ”does it make you uncomfortable?” he asks, tilting his head. ”i can stick to my liege, if that’s better. just say the word.” 
”god, you’re so annoying,” you groan, licking the lemony residue off your lips. ”just use my name.”
suddenly, suguru stills. fingertips frozen, for a moment, no longer tapping at his thigh. he traps his bottom lip between his teeth, a hesitant hum crawling up the confines of his throat. 
”that….” he trails off, thumb absentmindedly smoothing over the leather of his scabbard. ”seems a little much.”
when you turn to look at him, he seems a little put off. uncomfortable, maybe — or just caught off guard? it’s hard to get a read on him. for someone who smiles so often, his emotions don’t appear very bright.
a pang of something grasps onto your clockwork heart, and a frown pulls at your bottom lip. frustration gnawing at your veins. ”you’re here to service me, aren’t you?” you ask, with a shallow huff. ”just do as i say.”
”well, i still have my boundaries.” suguru leans back, crossing his legs, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. ”and, on paper — i’m only here to protect you. the servicing is my own choice.” 
a very, very judgemental look. he returns it with a tug of his lips. 
”… you really do like being ordered around, don’t you?”
suguru shrugs. playful. ”makes me feel needed,” he purrs, watching you wolf down the breakfast he made.
once you’ve had your fill, he’s quick to gather the silver tray in his steady arms, and you do your very best to hold back from thanking him for the meal. it aches a little, but you can’t give in — you don’t have a choice. you can’t allow yourself to be anything other than the most ungrateful, annoying royal in the kingdom.
anything to snap his clockwork heart in half.
— a week passes with no particular developments. you try your damndest to bother him, but suguru is stubborn. stubborn enough that you’re starting to doubt he’ll ever leave you alone, no matter how much you ignore him, or hiss at him, or whine at him to make you an annoyingly specific assortment of breakfast foods.
he never stops smiling, no matter how bothersome you’re being. the tick-tock of his patience remains unbroken. 
(so for now, you figure you’ll just have to adjust.)
a sense of contentment simmers in the open air, when suguru knocks at your door, waiting for a groan and a grouchy come in. it takes you a few moments longer to respond than what he’s used to, and he notes that you sound a little less irritated when you do.
as he steps over the threshold, bowing his head instinctively, he’s met with the sight of you fully immersed. holding a paintbrush between your fingers, lifting it, movements delicate, self-assured. like it comes to you without thinking. you’re seated right by the window, enough for the would-be daylight to flicker in. as it stands, the weather is still sour. 
he walks up to you, as always, never more than a few steps away.
and, for a moment, all he does is watch you. silently, as you dip your brush in smeary cobalt paint, a splatter of colour on the white canvas. melting together with the indigo and obsidian. there’s a certain rhythm to it, a kind of dance between you and your mind and the painting in front of you — not even close to being finished. a dip of your brush blooms into a jaw, a flick of your wrist into a set of fangs. cobalt cream and silvery edges, an imitation of what you saw in your sleep. murky, blurry, a dream-like clearing in the woods. 
as you work, a sense of relaxation smooths along your sinuses. coaxing you into breathing out, into letting your clenched jaw rest for a while. turning all your irritation into brushstrokes. into a hungry, hungry wolf. 
finally, your knight opts to break the silence.
”you’re quite talented.” 
it’s an earnest comment. filled with respect, not the idle flattery you’re so used to. and despite yourself, you can’t help but grin — glowing a little beneath the praise. prideful, smug, almost giddy. he watches intently as your expression shifts, as those fleeting flickers of joy dance along the contours of your cheekbones. as you lap up his praise like the chamomile tea he served you this morning.
suguru smiles. you have a cute side, he thinks. for no more than a mere moment, he finally feels as if he’s getting somewhere; getting closer to breaking that thorny, thorny shell of yours. closer to meeting the little lamb beneath the wolf’s hide.
but your mind quickly catches up to your body, realizing that your lips are curled up into a pleased smile, and you clench your jaw again. mindful not to let him see it. painting makes you far too careless, too unguarded; you have to be mean.
stuck in a bout of frustration, you put a little too much force into the motion of your fingers, a small slip of the hand. but that’s all it takes. suddenly, the smooth, calm sea of fur on the canvas turns violent, a little more unruly, and you withhold a wince. doing your best to mend the damage. flick, flick, across the canvas, as if to appease the hungry wolf. 
from behind you, a tiny exhale. laced with a kind of stifled amusement, one that makes you snap your jaw in his direction. brows knitted in anger.
”what?”
suguru clears his throat. ”nothing, my liege,” he hides a smile behind his knuckle. eyes gliding across the murky smear of fangs and fur, interest piqued. ”i’m just curious… why a wolf?”
a huff. briefly, you consider ignoring him, but….
(something in his tone convinces you not to.)
”… i saw one,” you admit, absently, staring at the blue and gray of the canvas. flick, flick. violet, navy, a little more depth. ”in my dream.”
silence. your knight doesn’t respond. surely, he must think you childish; everyone else does. why would he be the exception? why did you tell him anything at all? a sense of regret mixes with the paint.
the weight of a brush in your hand truly does make you careless, doesn’t it?
”… huh.”
a clenching of teeth. you muster the will to turn your head, just to give him a questioning look, a silent aggression. biting before he can. but he’s not looking at you; he’s looking at the painting, the wolf that isn’t quite a wolf yet, just blue and gray on paper. a blur of messy motions.
then he shakes his head. ”no, nothing.” 
you quirk a brow. 
but you don’t say anything. falling silent, falling back into the rhythm of it all, painting until you grow bored of it. the wolf looks at you both, still thoroughly unfinished, jaw half-painted, no trees or knights to keep it company. solitary, blurry; baring its fangs towards no one at all. a sorry spectacle of teeth.
— a couple days later, as you’re walking through the castle with suguru in tow, still adamantly refusing to curl your fingers around his bicep, a loud crash breaks you out of your hushed banter.
the two of you share a look. it came from farther away, just beyond the next turn, a certain hallway decorated with delicate vases. one the castle maids desperately tried to keep you from, when you were younger, worried about your habit of jumping around while pretending to be some sort of feral animal. worried, of course, about the safety of the porcelain rather than the safety of the child.
it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the source of the sound. and, lo and behold, what waits beyond the turn ahead is a crying boy and a broken vase.
fat tears cascade down his reddened cheeks, silent fear knit into the way his face is scrunched up. he can’t be older than six or seven; one of the maid’s children, you assume, the kind that doesn’t have the luxury of making mistakes. he looks panicked, down on his knees, holding a large piece of porcelain, painted flowers etched into the front.
what a mess.
when the clicking of your shoes reaches his little ears, he looks up at you with wide, shameful eyes. still sitting amongst the littered shards, the spilt water and irises soon to wilt. it reminds you of something, a memory you don’t quite want to recall; a different child, tiny and alone. taught to feel shame at the moment of their birth. 
it makes your pace falter, a bit, but suguru moves without hesitation. long, careful strides, one foot after the other. 
he crouches down in front of the boy, gentle as he takes the shattered piece of porcelain from his tiny palm. so he doesn’t hurt himself. ”hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, speaking even softer than usual, his voice like a flurry of feathers and jasmine petals. ”are you hurt?”
he’s patient. smiling comfortingly, considerate, grounding, a blanket of wool like the one forming on the border of the horizon. but the child continues to sniffle and hiccup, curling into a ball as if readying for a strike. like an abandoned puppy.
you sigh.
after a moment’s hesitation, you’re stepping forward, figure slipping from the shadows and coming into view. joining the miserable pair, the jagged shards on the marble floor. 
there’s a cold, cold look in your eyes when the boy raises his head to meet them.
a flick of your wrist; you wave your hand once, then twice. ”shoo. hurry up.” 
he blinks. tears clumping his lashes together, cheeks flushed from the panic of it all. he stammers when he parts his lips. ”b… but —”
”didn’t you hear me?” comes a scoff, harsh, cutting through the air. right through the fear and panic. ”that was an order. just run back to your mommy already.” you cross your arms, shaking your head in disapproval. mimicking the king, though you think it’s lost on your spectators. ”all that crying is making my head hurt, geez.”
a series of hesitant blinks. crumbling beneath your commanding gaze, the child stumbles to his feet, sparing suguru one last unsure little glance before scurrying off. the sigh that slips from your lips is quiet, barely audible, tinged with relief. 
when you look down to the floor, you find that suguru is already looking at you; a furrow to his brows. angry, for once. just a tiny, tiny flicker of distaste. you reward him with a cold smile. 
(so this is how you get under this skin. cruelty, aimed not towards him, but towards the defenseless. 
what a picture-perfect, self-destructive little knight.)
just as the child turns the corner ahead, you hear the echo of a maid calling out from behind you. her voice is dripping with fatigue, exasperation, a flurry of sighs you’ve grown far too familiar with.
”your highness! what have you done now?”
there it is, you think; the curtain call you’ve been waiting for. with a swift turn of your heel, sheepish expression ready to go, your focus shifts onto one sole objective — act annoying.
”walked into a vase,” you chirp, proudly, just the slightest bit theatrical. gesturing dismissively towards the broken spectacle, as suguru raises himself from the floor. ”my bad. not my fault you make them so easy to break, though.”
she inches closer, with a disapproving stare, and you hear a tick-tock in your ear. sensing the limit of her patience. ”i’ll have you know these vases are expensive,” she clicks her tongue. ”do you truly think you can go around breaking whatever you please?”
”… i mean. i do kind of own this place, don’t i?” you tilt your head, faux contemplation on your features, shifting into a spoiled smile. ”or i will. so — technically — i broke my own vase. no harm done!”
”… my lord —”
”quiet.” suguru stiffens, ever so slightly, following your sharp whisper. ”don’t fuck this up.”
he looks at you, silently. not saying another word.
(there’s a shame in his eyes that you don’t turn your head to see.)
it doesn’t take long for the maid to shoo you away, pinching her brow at your carefree laughter, bitter at the prospect of cleaning up your mess. she makes sure to give suguru a sweet smile, though, and doesn’t bother to hide the sympathy in it. sympathy for him, such a handsome, well-behaved knight, forced to service such a brat.
the smile he gives her in return is a stiff one. almost, almost cold. but he bows, and follows your retreating form, until you’re all alone together.
the walk is silent. maybe just a little heavy, as you try to ignore the stare burning into your skin, trying to swallow your own displeasure. it’s subtle, something you learned to internalize long ago, but it’s there; a slight sadness. you don’t enjoy getting yelled at.
a thick silence stretches on, before crumbling into dust. you aren’t sure how much time has passed when a certain velvety voice curls around your senses.
”your highness.”
he’s come to a standstill, again. you really should just ignore him and keep walking. but you still, anyway, following his cue, turning towards him with a look that says what now? — you aren’t sure what to expect. certainly not the sentence that ends up spilling from his lips, like a spring breeze through an opened window, tinged with something you fear may be close to fondness. 
(in your chest, your heartbeat tick-tocks.)
he smiles, gentle, with eyes that see right through you. and he speaks. 
”you’re actually kind, aren’t you?”
”… huh?”
he pays no mind to your stupefied expression. continuing, unperturbed, eyeing you with a look you distinctly dislike — as if he’s trying to glimpse into your mind. ”the vase,” he hums. ”you took the blame, even though you didn’t do it.”
a huff escapes you. face hardening, setting into firm lines. ”that wasn't intentional,” you grumble, defensive. ”i just wanted him to leave.” 
but suguru shakes his head. ”you could’ve left when the maid came. but you stayed, and lied, and got yelled at so he wouldn’t have to.” a second passes, silence thick with meaning. intentional on his part, you’re sure. ”is that not what you’d call kind?”
another moment gone, little tick-tocks of your heartbeat counting down. you part your lips, but no sound comes out, as you stumble for words to say. irritation stirring in your veins. or is it nervosity? you think your skin feels a little hot, suddenly. 
just what the hell is happening?
”i’m… i’m not — ” you bite down on your lip. harshly. stammering, voice cracking a bit, to your great dismay. ”… not kind. i hate all of them.”
”but you protect them,” he whispers, ”look after them.” his smile doesn’t waver, never ever, but you’ve never seen it look quite this knowing. and suddenly, he’s closing in on you, gazing at you with laughter in his eyes. 
you try to stand your ground, wanting nothing more than to flee, curl into yourself, scratch at him until he leaves. but your throat feels so dry, all of a sudden, a sensation that only deepens with the next words he breathes into life. 
”a little sweetheart who pretends to be all big and bad…” he eyes you up and down, a meaningful look, raven locks moving as he tilts his head. towering over you. ”is that what you are?”
nothing. no smart reply comes to you. all you can muster is a harsh glare, a low hiss crawling up your throat, like you’re preparing to lunge at him. it serves as a warning, but the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fluctuate. ”you…”
he chuckles. raspy, breathy, a shiver down your spine. ”your acting is even worse than mine.”
”shut up,” you snap, baring your teeth. it comes out almost like a growl, hot and heavy in your veins, and you don’t understand where all this emotion came from. strangling you, bubbling up within your bobbing throat. ”you don’t — understand me, okay?”
no one does. 
and that’s fine. you don’t want them to. 
(you just want him to stop looking you so fondly.)
”not yet,” he admits, eyes fluttering shut. a thoughtful hum on the tip of his tongue. ”… but i think i’m beginning to.” 
he’s looking at you, again, amber and honey and raven lashes, lapping up every hint of a tell in the way you shift from foot to foot. speaking like he knows you, like he’s known you all his life. ”you act difficult — scare everyone away… but deep down, you love them, don’t you?”
a scoff. desperate. ”no.”
”you want to loved,” he continues, not allowing you to flee. relentless in his pursuit of whatever he imagines must be hidden inside your soul, beneath all those layers of frost. ”understood. everyone does.”
”not me.”
”your highness.”
the knight continues to look at you, and you avoid his gaze like it could burn you into cinders — like it could turn you into dust. but he parts his lips, anyway, and speaks. so sincere it makes your chest hurt. words that echo through the endless hallways of the castle, against the surfaces of glass that line the walls. words that make your skin flush under the shadows of rain soon to fall.
he smiles, wide, teeth showing. and he speaks. 
”that was very, very kind of you.”
silence. so thick you wonder if you’re about to faint, or fall to the floor, or something equally embarrassing. a sentence so simple shouldn’t be making you feel this way, this weird. you don’t understand why it makes you feel anything, anything at all, and you don’t understand why your eyes suddenly feel a little glassy.
(someone saw through the act.)
”… whatever,” you squeeze out, at last, but it sounds a little meek. a tiny puff of air. turning around, sharply, blinking rapidly to shoo the tears away. ”i just didn’t want to hear that brat whining. it was hurting my ears.” 
suguru bites back a coo.
as he watches your back retreat, hurrying back to the comfort of your room, he’s almost certain that he’s making progress. that your walls are beginning to crumble, slowly but surely, bit by bit. the path before him clears — a thorny, foggy path through the woods, until a sunsplatter falls on the ground and tells him where to plant his feet. 
it’s not much, barely anything, but suguru’s always liked his hunts blindsighted. 
you turn a corner, and he follows suit. sparing a passing glance at the clouds on the boundary of the horizon, the sole ray of sunlight breaking through. and then he’s catching up to you with long strides.
(it’s his duty, yes, but he doesn’t think he’d mind it so much — getting to know his kind, misunderstood little lord.)
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sadly, disappointingly, to your great shame — you begin to grow used to suguru’s presence in your life. constant, always close behind, always ready to be of service. as infuriatingly patient as ever. it’s a stretch, but you may have become just the slightest bit fond of it. 
maybe, possibly, you’ve even silently decided to stop trying to scare him away. stop acting so difficult with him, all the time.
or, well — sometimes.
”take me outside, please?” you whine, bottom lip jutting out into a deep pout, accompanied by a flutter of your lashes. 
the voice that spills from your lips is hopelessly meek, pleading, so sweet you’d get cavities if you didn’t know how fake it was. effortless, perfected, your one god-given talent; an irresistible pair of puppy dog eyes. 
suguru answers with a smile, tight-lipped. ”no.”
a beat.
”aw, come on,” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet. frustration bubbles up inside your veins, trickling down to your wrist, nails digging into your palm. ”why not? you’re supposed to listen to my every command!”
”still no, sweetheart.”
a series of grumbles scratch at the base of your throat, but suguru pays them no mind. patient, patient, patient. he’s even kind enough to ignore the way you pointedly avoid his gaze after the term of endearment slips past his lips. ”sorry, but that part is non-negotiable. you know i don’t have a choice.”
you do know. but it still makes your mood sour, pulls a sigh from out of your lips. he moves closer, familiar silver tray in hand, dragging a chair to where you’re seated by the windowsill.
”i did bring you this, though,” he gestures towards a particular glass bowl, filled with red berries. they shine like rubies in the light. ”strawberries, like you asked for. wasn’t easy to get a hold of.”
he places the tray right next to you, smiling as he takes a seat. ”cheer up, hm? don’t be so grumpy.”
your pout remains, but you do settle down a bit. just the teeniest, tiniest bit. definitely not because he was kind enough to indulge your cravings.
”… thanks for breakfast.” 
suguru beams, and you avoid his gaze, like always. biting into one of the rubies, the soft murmur of thanks still burning your tongue, soothed by sweet nectar. he lets you flee, lets you continue on like nothing happened, like it isn’t obvious how much you’ve warmed up to his presence. 
”you’re welcome, my lord.”
(even after spending more than a month together, he still won’t call you by name. won’t even entertain the idea. why does that bother you so much?)
peacefully, your morning ritual continues. the same as always; you eat, while suguru watches, a sweet smile on his lips. the silence remains until he opts to break it.
today, he sounds a little hesitant.
”say, your highness…” he picks at a piece of lint on his cloak, absentminded. ”could i ask you for a favour?”
you almost drop your fork. gaze snapping up to meet his own, as a few silent seconds tick on by. tick-tock, tick-tock. then you clear your throat, regaining your composure. trying to sound nonchalant. 
”what is it?” you probe, cutting across the yolk on your fried egg. watching the orange seep out, trickling down, sinking into the crust of your toast. suguru hums. 
”a friend of mine — he’s also a knight…” he wrings his hands together, legs parted. tapping his heel on the floor. ”we’ve been sparring together for a while. once a week, at least. but ever since the king hired me, we haven’t been able to.”
you watch as his gaze flickers down to his lap, then up to you again. it’s smooth, charming, but you still think it seems a little out of place. he must not be used to asking for favours.
”i was wondering if you’d be willing to accompany me? just down to the training fields by the castle.” his fingers tap against his bended knee, slow and methodical, from pointer to pinkie. ”the king gave us permission to spar there, but i’m obviously not allowed to let you out of my sight…”
you bite back a huff. obviously. he waits for a response that doesn’t come.
”… so?”
you meet his gaze, expectant. hopeful, maybe. it’s a nice touch — matches with the amber of his eyes.
”would that be alright with you?” he inquires, again. you think he sounds just a tiny bit unsure of himself.
a moment passes. silently, you look down at your lap. folded hands, itching to do something. something fun, new, exciting. 
your tongue forms around a wish. it spills into the air like a shooting star, a meek little whisper. ”… i wanna swing a sword.”
suguru blinks. once, then twice. ”you…” he tastes the words on his tongue, turning the image of you around in his head. ”want to swing a sword?
you nod. glancing at him, coughing a little under your breath. summoning just a bit of audacity, eyes trailing towards the sword by his hip. longingly. ”… i’ll only watch you spar if you let me try it.” 
a brief pause. he studies you intently, a mystery he’s yet to solve.
then he chuckles, light and airy, full of mirth. a sound you’ve grown fond of. ”well, okay. that’s fair.” he rises to his feet, smiling down at you. ”thank you, my lord.”
you don’t respond. but your eyes glitter with excitement, as you dutifully finish your breakfast, wolfing it down. waiting patiently for him to head down to the kitchen with the tray, for him to change into his training gear. 
when he knocks at your door, he’s wearing a flimsy little blouse. almost see-through, if you squint your eyes enough, exposing his bare skin. you think you see a scar curling up from his chest, reaching for his shoulder, just below it by a hair. and you can see his biceps, the fat, the muscle, practically begging to be bitten.
(tantalizing.)
he’s speaking to you, saying something, but you tune him out. focused on trying to restrain your growing urges. when he reaches up to fix his hair, tied up into a bun, the muscle of his arm twitches.
and, suddenly, you can’t contain yourself. 
giving in to the salivating temptation, you grab hold of his bicep, sinking your teeth into it — gentle, but enough that he feels it, enough to leave a set of teeth marks soon to fade. gnawing at it like a dog with a bone.
suguru blinks. pupils wide, quirking a silent brow, quick to smooth over the surprise in his eyes. 
you don’t move. teeth planted against the fabric, the firm muscle beneath it, surprising even yourself; his arm just looked so biteable. you wonder if he’s put off. upset.
but, as always, he’s eerily placating. like nothing you say or do could rock the ship of his patience, an endless sea. smooth, airy laughter flits past his lips, giving way to an indulgent smile. he studies you with fascination, like you’re a creature he hasn’t encountered before.
ever so gently, he grabs hold of your jaw — and the warmth of his touch shocks you into letting it go slack. before you can say anything, he’s rolling up his sleeve. exposing the tender skin.
”go wild, your highness,” he grins, offering his arm up like a lamb to a hungry fox. a teasing mirth in his eyes, his voice coming out as a low purr. ”i don't mind a mark or two.”
to your horror — it flusters you terribly.
you cough. taking a step back, averting your gaze, suddenly disinterested. feigning indifference, anyhow; that was definitely a scar. and a cool one, too. you think you might even have caught a glimpse of a birthmark or two. 
”i’m… just keeping you on your toes,” you stumble for an excuse, still unable to look at him properly. missing the way he stifles a bout of laughter. ”for your training, y’know? gotta stay on your guard.”
”of course. i appreciate the help,” he quips, fond, as he gestures for you to take the lead. ”he’s waiting for us. are you ready?”
for a second, just a second, you consider grabbing his arm. letting him guide you. but the thought is fleeting, like a bundle of peach blossoms, brushed away by the sunshine seeping in through the window’s glass — illuminating the marble flooring. 
a mellow excitement simmers in your bones. 
you head down to the training grounds with a pep in your step, and your loyal knight follows suit. just behind, always, wearing a smile you can’t see.
”suguru!”
the man that greets you with cheerful fervour, seated cross-legged under a peach tree, isn’t quite what you expected him to be. 
when you heard knight, you imagined someone a bit more… intimidating. but this guy is far from imposing. a little shorter than suguru, brown locks stopping right around his ears, exposing his sunkissed skin. freckles scattered across his nose and cheekbones, a happy little grin curled right around his lips. 
he’s cute. a bit like a puppy. not very knightly, though.
”haibara,” suguru greets, a mellow warmth to his voice. the man in question shoots up from the ground, stumbling towards you both, excitement in his hazel eyes. suguru gestures towards you. ”this is the royal heir. the one who doesn’t like having their hand kissed.”
your head whips towards him, an angered flush to your cheeks — you’re almost sure that he’s smirking, giving you a teasing glance, but haibara’s exclamation prevents you from voicing any protests. 
”hi!” he beams, bowing deeply, so sudden that you jolt a bit. his head whips up instantly, brown locks stirred by the breeze, voice warm and smooth. like honeysuckle nectar. ”thank you so much for letting us spar, your highness! i’ve heard so much about you!”
”… um.” your gaze falls down to a pebble on the ground. unsure of how to act, murmuring under your breath. ”you — it’s… no need to thank me. i wanted to get some air, anyway.”
he continues to look at you, eyes shining with a pure kind of cheer. glittering, honeyed and sweet, too bright to look at directly. you hear suguru exhale amusedly to your left. he’s looking right at you when you glance towards him. 
his hand inches closer to his scabbard, fingertips trailing down the leather. ”should we get started?”
haibara brightens even further, if possible. ”oh, right!” he exclaims. ”you wanted to try swinging a sword, your highness? that’s so exciting! is this your first time?”
a blink. you aren’t really sure how to handle this guy; he’s a bit too sunny to be snarky to. like a fuzzy ball of sunshine given human form, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tail practically wagging behind him. all you can muster is a weak cough. ”uh, yeah.”
”well, you’re here to learn.” suguru speaks up. guiding you both towards the center of the field, hand still at the sword on his hip. ”let me show you.”
in one smooth motion, he’s pulling it out of its sheath, a stripe of silver absorbing the rays of the sun. glimmering, slicing the blue sky in half. 
you’re a little awestruck.
and then he’s facing you. leaning forward, with a familiar tilt of his head, offering the blade with a smile. ”do you want to try swinging it around a bit?”
barely containing your excitement, you nod. making grabby hands at it.
that makes him chuckle. he makes no move to stop you when your fingers curl around the hilt, only parting his lips for a quick warning, a split second too late. you take it into your arms. ”careful, it’s a bit —”
— the sword clatters to the ground with a thud.
silence.
haibara breaks out into laughter, sudden, fond and warm, but enough to have your cheeks burning. fresh with embarrassment, humiliation, before you even hear the breathy chuckle that slips from your knight’s lips.
”… i was gonna say it’s a bit heavy,” he hums, closed knuckle in front of his lips and obscuring his smile. ”i’m sorry, my lord. do you —”
”whatever.” a hiss escapes your throat, and suguru winces. he knows where this is going; knows a bundle of thorns just erupted from the stalk of your spine, knows you're about to get defensive. ”like i’d ever want to touch your dusty sword. get — get real.”
he tries again. patient, patient. the familiar tick-tock of his never-ending kindness. ”hey, we aren’t making fun of you,” he soothes, hoping it’ll make your edges soften. like scratching a feral dog behind its ear. ”it’s understandable. you weren’t expecting it. i’ll let you try again, hm?”
a tiny pause. 
(you’re being childish, again.)
brows furrowed, hanging your head, you kick at a pebble on the ground. having collected yourself a bit. ”… maybe next time,” you finally speak, still grumbling. after you’ve spent some time lifting weights in your room.
suguru tilts his head. speaking softly. ”you sure?”
”yeah.” taking a step back, you raise your head to meet his gaze. ”i’ll just watch you. it’s fine.”
”… okay,” he exhales. leaning forward to pick up his sword from the ground. ”i can spar with you next time, if you want. you’ll be a pro in no time.”
he gives you another sweet smile, bangs fluttering with the breeze; painted in cerulean sunshine. he’s so gorgeous it makes you angry.
a sharp huff. ”don’t patronize me,” is all you can mutter, meeting the eyes of the knight by his side. standing up straighter. ”haibara,” you call. ”knock him around a bit for me, okay?”
from the corner of your eye, suguru pouts.
but the puppy-knight only grins, as bright as the sun in the sky. ”you got it, your highness!” he salutes, cheeks flushing with giddy excitement. 
as you sit on the benches a little farther away, dragonflies buzz in the air. fleeting glimmers of chartreuse and cerulean, chirping happily, keeping you company as you watch the knights spar. the clangs of their blades, the elegance in the way suguru moves. a violent little waltz. he’s sweating, just a bit, but you can see it, droplets glittering in the sun. he looks like he’s having fun. 
he looks like himself. like he isn’t holding back, isn’t acting obedient or well-mannered for the sake of pleasing his superiors. like this, here and now, he looks wild, free, a dog that turns into a wolf under the glow of the sun. 
for a second, your eyes meet — just as he narrowly avoids a slash. 
and he smirks, ever so slightly, suddenly gaining a little more momentum. flashing a brief grin, sunlight reflecting off his white teeth. you huff. heat crawling up your neck. 
show off.
”excuse me, your highness?”
the sudden voice snaps you out of your stupor. mesmerized, by the spectacle before you, the glimmer of their blades and the sight of your knight’s smile. it’s an unfamiliar voice, close, close enough that your head turns to meet the stranger’s ugly grin — inching closer still.
(uh oh.)
— just up ahead, lost in their own worlds, are two knights; huffing and smirking and narrowly dodging each other’s strikes. suguru takes the lead, as always, guiding haibara into improving his swordsmanship. but they both learn from it. and it’s fun, lighthearted, a respite from their more gruesome duties. 
it’s helped suguru more times than he can count; those tiny flickers of normalcy, in a wholly unpredictable profession. a life of bowing and bowing and killing what needs to be killed.
slash, slash, and then two steps back. the same old dance. haibara’s starting to lose momentum, he notices, adam’s apple bobbing with his heavy breaths.
so suguru stills. ”alright, that’s enough for now,” he calls, stretching idly. craning his head, looking around him absently. he wonders if you’re still watching. ”i think i see what the problem is.”
haibara perks up, obeying without a word, wiping the sweat off his forehead and walking towards his friend with a sunny smile. ”okay, great!”
but suguru isn’t looking at him, anymore. 
he’s looking towards the benches, where his little lord is seated, speaking to an unfamiliar man. one who currently has his hand on their forearm, caressing it. you look guarded, irritated, a little like you’re about to bare your teeth. trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. and suguru recognizes that look — the one that means you’re about to start biting and hissing, inching your claws into whatever’s within reach.
(not to injure, but to ground yourself, he’s learned. like how you clutch onto the fabric of your clothing when you’re nervous, sink your nails into your palm. not to injure, but to feel safe.)
in the blink of an eye, he’s making his way towards you. beckoned by his duty, his natural instinct, a protective itch that curls around his ribcage and crawls up his throat. large strides, much swifter than usual. he moves without thinking, and he’s there before he has the time to form a coherent thought.
with as much gentleness as he can possibly muster, he grabs hold of the stranger’s arm. smiling, tight-lipped, cold. ”excuse me, sir,” he greets, ”i need to borrow them for a moment.”
the man meets his gaze with a sour look. bitter, ugly, oddly possessive — like he thinks he owns the arm he’s holding. it makes suguru want to teach him a lesson, show off his sword, but he resists the temptation in a way you never could. his expression is a warning, though, enough to scare most rowdy drunkards and snobby royals away.
and it works. the stranger looks to you, briefly, before finally letting go of your poor arm. something rigid in suguru’s jaw finally relaxes. ”who are you?” comes a question, as the man turns to face him with a look full of contempt. ”their knight?”
before suguru can say anything, you’ve hopped off the bench. clinging to him, with a firm nod; your arms around his bicep. ”yeah. he is.”
(suguru fails to stifle a smug smile.)
with a string of bitter mumbles and a silent frustration, the man scurries away. hesitant, only after being met with another warning glance from the knight in front of him. intimidating, far less subtle, towering above him like a predator over their prey.
as soon as he’s out of sight, your knight turns to you, scanning your face for signs of discomfort. loyal, attentive. ”are you okay?” he asks, a silent shame in his voice. if only he had noticed sooner. ”did he do anything to you?”
you shake your head. ”it’s fine. probably one of the king’s friends — stops by every now and then.” a sigh, a little fatigued, following your explanation. ”they’re mostly harmless. just creepy and touchy.”
”that doesn’t sound very harmless…” suguru lets you pull away, quick to hide the disappointment that flashes in his eyes as you do, waving haibara off with a silent gesture of give us a minute. ”don’t worry. i’ll keep an eye out, from now on.”
still a little guarded, you nod. letting suguru guide you by the small of your back, taking a seat on the solid bench once more. together, this time. 
”there are a lot of those types around the town square,” he exhales, weary, stretching out his limbs before leaning forward. elbows resting on his bended knees. ”they’re a pain to deal with. i’m sorry you have to.”
”are there?” you ask, tone laced with curiosity. ”in the town?” 
”well, i’m sure you’ve heard. that place is a bit of a mess, these days…” a click of his tongue. ”more work for the knights.”
a dragonfly settles on the bridge of his nose. suguru blinks, smiling gently, until it flutters away with a raspy squeak. fading away, melting into the blue paint of the sky. you bite down on your lip. 
”… i haven’t.”
he turns to look at you. raising a brow.
”i haven’t heard about it at all. the king told you, right?” you meet his eye with a rueful smile, before leaning back, nose turned up towards the sky. for a second, you think the air smells a bit of rain. ”i’m not allowed to go out into town.”
your knight falls silent.
so you continue. grinning, with no humour to it. maybe a bit eager to overshare, to break the silent rules you’ve been given. the secret tastes like honey on your tongue. ”i’m a bastard child. he probably told you that, too.” you wouldn’t be surprised. ”thinks it's optimal for everyone involved if i just stay cooped up in the castle.” 
closing your eyes, your voice drips with something close to longing. barely above a whisper. ”i haven't been to the town in a couple of years, now.”
he only hums. ”i see.”
(there’s sympathy, in his amber eyes, but you don’t turn around to see it. you don’t turn to look at him until he’s finished sparring, and haibara’s about to leave. 
you wonder if he’ll meet your gaze the same way as before.) 
— that evening, suguru knocks at your door right as you're about to fall asleep. three rapid knocks, the same as always, knuckle against wood. rousing you from your rest.
when you open it, he’s holding something out towards you.
”here,” he says, voice set to a mellow tilt. upon closer inspection, he’s holding a bottle. transparent, see-through, stuffed to the brim with sea glass. smooth little colourful pebbles, green and blue and pink and orange, like frozen little camellias. ”for you, my lord.”
blinking sluggishly, you take it into your arms; holding it up in front of your eyes. when the light of the moon flitting in through the curtains hits it just right, it blossoms with colour, sparkling with every shade you’ve ever seen. shining like a heap of jewels, in your hands, like something out of a picture-book. magical.
it’s mesmerizing. 
”i asked haibara to get it from the town,” he explains, drinking in your expression of awe. ”this one lady — she collects them herself. i see her by the beach nearly every time i go there.”
when you look up, his smile is serene. peaceful, if just a little bit tired. but he looks pleased, lips curling around silky syllables. ”i thought of you.”
it’s odd, you think. you aren’t a stranger to gifts; you get most of what you desire if you just say the word, an easy way for the king to keep you compliant. as if to make up for the plethora of experiences you’ve missed out on since your birth. and you’ve had more than a couple suitors, men and women, eager to gain your favour. 
but this — this particular gift…
”it’s pretty,” you murmur, finally, unable to voice even a sliver of the emotions clogging up your chest. shying away from his gaze, feeling your heart pulse against your ribcage. ”… i guess.”
suguru just smiles. always, always, always. no matter what you do. ”i’ll get you something else next time,” he promises, ready to go back to standing guard outside the castle. ”get some sleep, okay? be good.”
and you can’t bring yourself to protest. not even a tiny huff of don’t tell me what to do. you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod, soft and pliant, still gazing at the bottle of sea glass in your hands. like you might turn into one of those transparent pebbles, if you wish for it enough.
that night, you dream of waves crashing against sand, the taste of seafoam on your tongue. every colour in the world. a newfound, reawakened wish — a wish to see more of it.
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”are you trying to sneak out again?”
owlishly, all you can do is blink. propped up on the windowsill, immersed in the process of tying pillowcases and bedsheets together to form a rope. caught in the act — by none other than suguru, standing by the threshold, hand on his hip, watching you with silent disapproval. you didn’t think he’d come check on you this late.
a gulp. ”… no?”
and he sighs. walking towards you, brows furrowed, running a hand through his raven locks. you can tell he’s trying to be a little more sympathetic, this time, but it only makes the bitter taste on your tongue thicken. 
”look — i know it’s not fair to you, but the king and queen specifically ordered me —”
”i get it,” you cut him off, with a hiss, a little harsher than you meant to. you soften your voice before continuing. "i know. okay? i know.”
resigned, but frustrated, you clench the silken material of the bedsheets. glaring at them like it’s somehow their fault that the queen couldn’t bear an heir, that your father has a knack for sleeping around. like it’s their fault that he’s so ashamed of your existence that he doesn’t want you integrating into society on anything other than his own terms, until he’s dead and gone and doesn’t have to take accountability anymore. 
like it’s their fault that it’ll always be like this, forever, that it’s better not to hope for more.
(why can’t you just accept that?)
the knight before you exhales. troubled, watching your nails dig into the fabric, watching the way you bite down on your lip and rapidly blink. all signs of your frustration, your sadness, that you always try so hard to hide. 
”hey. how about this?” he tries to get your attention, voice soothing enough to coax you into raising your gaze. ”i’ll tell you a story instead.”
he stifles a chuckle, at the dubious look you send his way, teetering on the edge of a glare. slithering towards you. ”i’ve seen a lot of places. i can tell you about them, if you’d like.” he takes a seat right next to you, on the windowsill, a slice of the moon in bare view. ”what do you want to know?”
you’re silent, for a second. gnawing at your bottom lip, in contemplation, the tiniest bit of nervosity. like you aren’t quite sure if you’re allowed to speak your wishes aloud.
”… the woods.”
suguru blinks. a little caught off guard. 
his silence makes you want to bare your fangs, a bit. misinterpreting it as judgement. your voice comes out cold. ”what?”
but he’s quick to smooth over his features with a smile, as always, cocking his head amusedly. ”sorry — i was expecting you to say the sea, or something,” he stifles a chuckle. “it's the woods that you're so curious about?”
you pout. ”… you can see them from here.”
his head turns towards the window’s glass, squinting his eyes to see the sea of dark green in the distance, a cluster of thick trees. he hums. ”yeah, you can. well… that particular spot isn’t too bad. not many bandits or beasts.” your gaze stays glued onto his lips, every word that spills from them. ”there are wolves, though. this side of the kingdom is crawling with them.”
”they sell their fur,” you state.
(that’s one thing you do know. you spent more of your childhood around wolf pelts than your own parents. they might as well be your legal guardians.)
suguru nods. ”they do. it's a big portion of the kingdom’s exports… general market, as well.”
a frown tugs at your lips. you think of your fluffy childhood guardians, unable to howl or even make a sound; hunters turned decorations.
”isn’t that… kinda fucked up?”
he smiles, revealing no emotion. ”do you think it is?”
you only shrug. ”i’m not surprised that they eat us.” you think of all the stories you’ve heard, the fairy tales you grew up with. ”… if i was a wolf, i’d hate humans too.”
”would you, now?” familiar amusement, seeping from his tongue, soft crows’ feet by his cedar eyes. ”good thing you aren’t a wolf, then. we’re lucky.”
”mhm. you’d be my first target.”
that makes him chuckle, a little deeper this time, and you drink in the glimpse you get of his teeth, the fondness that dances across his face when he looks at you. 
a sudden urge overtakes you. 
”… i wanna know about something else.”
”oh?” he tilts his head, soft locks framing his kind eyes. ”and what would that be, my dear?”
”you.”
… 
for a moment, the mask falls. a silent, subtle kind of surprise, something in the way the tips of his fingers twitch that tells you he’s caught off guard. it coaxes you into continuing, following through with your question. swallowing the embarrassment. ”i wanna know more about you. how you became a knight, and… stuff.”
suguru looks at you with a strange glint in his eyes. undecipherable, unspoken, just watching as moonrays glide across your soft skin. ruffling your hair. 
a hum buzzes in his throat. he scratches at the back of his neck, resisting the urge to dodge your question. clicking his tongue. ”… well.”
anticipation blooms in your eyes, and you cross your legs, waiting patiently to hear him speak. he can’t deny you, when you look at him like that — so suguru simply exhales. a breath of indulgence. 
”it’s not a very interesting story,” he leads, closing his eyes in remembrance. ”they scouted me when i was pretty young…. a bit of a troublemaker, honestly, but i got lucky." memories flash behind his eyelids, fresh bruises, sliced fruit. bittersweet. ”ended up around some powerful people. they liked me. knighthood felt like the right choice.” 
he meets your entranced gaze, speaking with sincerity, devotion dipped in honey and holy water. sinking deeper still. ”it’s my purpose in life,” he breathes, a flurry of whispers on his tongue. heavier than either of you know. ”truly.”
you cock your head. ”being a knight?”
”protecting the weak,” he says. recites. like he’s said it a million times before, in the face of beasts, in the reflection of broken mirrors, a mantra to live and die by. ”protecting those who can’t protect themselves.”
the look in his eyes frightens you. deeper than the deepest lake, dark and murky, dragging him down. a devotion that smells of iron, tastes like steel. mania disguised as loyalty.
(knights love duty. almost as much as they love dying for it. that’s what your father always says.)
”but, honestly — this kind of thing isn’t bad,” he breaks you out of your trance, grinning sheepishly, almost boyishly. ”it’s been a while since i had so much fun on the job… thank you for that.”
he’s looking at you, right at you, into your eyes, an expression reserved for you and you alone. terribly earnest, grateful, a sincerity he wouldn’t show anyone else. ”honestly.”
you can do nothing but avert your gaze. swiftly, meekly, feeling heat crawl up your neck, blooming across your cheeks like the branches of a plum tree. suguru grins, gulping down the slightest coo — but he can’t resist the urge to poke fun at you a bit.
”… you’re a shy one, aren’t you?” he searches for your gaze, chuckling when he doesn’t find it. when you don’t let him. ”can’t even look people in the eye if they’re being nice to you… how precious.”
”oh, shut up,” you groan, glaring out into the night sky. blinking slowly, drowsily, biting back a yawn that your attentive knight still manages to notice. 
(he looks a little enamored.)
”ah… is my sweet little lord getting sleepy?”
”no,” you scoff, far too quick. ”i’m… tired.”
”of course.” he reaches out, carefully, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. ”tired — not sleepy. that would be outrageous, wouldn’t it?” 
a yawn. ”it would.” 
low laughter bubbles up at the base of his throat, like seafoam, melting roses. deep and summery. ”alright. that’s enough stories for tonight, i think.” and with that, he gets up. ”let’s get you to bed, hm?”
rubbing your eyes, absently kicking your legs, you give him a slow nod of your head. making grabby hands at him that you’re sure you’ll be embarrassed about in the morning — but it feels easy, to be greedy, to know that your wants won’t be ignored when you’re with him. ”carry me, suguru.”
an indulgent smile. he doesn’t say anything, only curling his arms under your thighs, lifting you up and cradling you to his chest. you can feel his firm muscles, like this, trace them with your fingertips, hear the beating of his heart. tick-tock, tick-tock. a lullaby. a sense of safety, when you can’t tell where your heartbeat ends and his begins.
lost in that fuzzy, sleepy feeling, a blink away from falling into dreamland, fatigue washes over you — but you cling to his sleeve, even as he tucks you in, dragging the blanket up to cover you properly. 
”suguru,” you murmur, so quiet you doubt he hears it. ”will you tell me more stories tomorrow?”
”of course.” right before sleep coaxes you into its cradle, you feel the weight of his palm on your head; ruffling your hair. ”as many as you want, your highness.”
he smiles, as your eyes flutter shut, at the soft little breaths that flow from your lips. before he slips out, he blows out the candle on the nightstand, a silent prayer that your dreams will be kinder to you than his. 
— one week of nagging later, suguru’s resolve finally crumbles. it’s progress, at last, a tiny crack in his clockwork heart. 
but for once, it works in your favour.
”do you really want to see the outside world that badly?”
he’s got an arm locked around your waist, stopping you from one of your numerous escape attempts. you’ve gotten bolder, sneaking away the moment he takes his eyes off you, but suguru isn’t easy to fool — catching up to you just as you stepped outside the castle, now stuck in place under the portico. it’s to be expected, with that sixth sense of his, the one that seems to alert him as soon as you think the thought to get him in trouble. 
but you still can’t help but pout, huff and puff, pushing at his chest in a helpless attempt to break free. he’s sweet about it, gentle, but entirely unmoving. like a big, annoyingly handsome rock.
”what do you think?” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. ”no, of course not. this whole time, i’ve just been trying to escape for fun. like, as a bit. how could you tell?”
he rolls his eyes, and you break out into a grin. ”mind the sarcasm, please.” he barely resists the urge to pinch your side; letting you loose, instead, trusting you not to scurry away. he’d catch up to you instantly, anyhow. "i’m just saying, it might not be as interesting as you think —“
”what are you, stupid?”
”what did we say about letting people finish their sentences?” he raises a brow, and you try not to cower. rolling your eyes, instead. suguru just sighs. ”i understand why you want to leave. but you have a good life, here. better than most.”
”… i know that,” you grumble, biting down on your lip. a resignation in your eyes that your knight can't protect you from. ”i just —”
you sigh. 
”it’s just so suffocating.”
suguru falls into a contemplative silence. weighing his options, studying the flicker of emotions in your eyes, the tapping of your idle fingers. hands eager to fidget with something. 
moments pass, one at a time, a familiar lullaby of pitter patter ricocheting off the ground just outside your vision. the air smells of marigolds, burning wood, wet concrete. the beginnings of summer.
finally, he makes up his mind. 
”okay, okay.”
when you look up from the ground, what awaits you is an outstretched hand. a familiar palm, and a familiar knight, with a familiar smile on his face. ”but don’t get used to it, alright?”
you part your lips, but no sound comes out. gaping like a fish out of water, hunting for the right words. suguru waits. patient.
”w — hold on,” you stutter, eyes blooming with hesitant hope, studying him intently for any signs of trickery. ”you mean — seriously? like, for real?”
he shrugs. ”it’s my duty to keep you happy.” devotion clings to his tongue, sweet indulgence. ”figure i can make an exception this once.”
another moment passes.
(there isn’t a hint of deceit in his features.)
a grin breaks out across your lips, like a joyous bolt of lighting, and you lunge into his chest — throwing your arms over his broad shoulders, jumping up and down, planting a wet kiss against his cheek. bubbly, giddy, heart racing with disbelief. you don’t even have it in you to be bratty. ”thank you, thank you, thank you!”
suguru makes a choked out noise, a little comical, breath hitching in the back of his throat. stabilizing you with a palm on the small of your back, patting it softly, once or twice, before retracting his arm and pulling away. clearing his throat. ”… you’re welcome.”
(his ears burn a cherry red.)
”but this is our little secret,” he reminds you, firmly, collecting himself. or trying to. ”got it?”
”yep.”
”if anyone asks, you —”
”yep, yep, understood.” you brush him off, still grinning brightly. ”don’t worry! i won’t tell a soul, i promise. swear on my mother’s grave!”
your knight exhales. worried, maybe, a little exasperated — mostly just trying to mask how infectious your joy is. how addicted he is to it, now that he’s seen it up close. he’s only caught glimpses in the midst of your painting sessions; to see it directed at him instead of the wolf on your canvas is a treasure he won’t soon forget. 
sneakily, stealthily, like a pair of bad dogs, the two of you begin your journey to the woods on the horizon. wearing cloaks, sticking together, until the sun begins to set and the sky drains of colour. 
and before you know it, it’s right there in front of you. a narrow path into the woods, a cluster of trees, a world you’ve always dreamed of. dark and gritty, beautiful, brimming with bugs and sights yet to be seen. creatures you could only ever see in picture books. a dreamlike world that takes shape before you, like paint splattered on a canvas, as you follow suguru’s lead — right behind him, clinging to the fabric of his cloak, excitement flooding your veins. heart thumping erratically in your chest. 
when you’ve made it to a tiny clearing, you stop in your tracks. suguru’s holding a lantern, a flicker of orange in the dark green world before you, attracting fuzzy moths. proud trees stand tall all around you, keeping guard, mushrooms and forget me nots scattered across the dewy patches of grass. keeping them company. 
everything smells of life, earth, oak wood and thinly veiled secrets. you want to live here forever.
suguru turns to look at you, noticing the way you’ve stilled. completely mesmerized, bewitched, eyes gleaming with childlike happiness. he tuts, doing a bad job at hiding how pleased he is. the sound makes you meet his eye.
”careful,” he croons, inching closer. fingertips ghosting over your wrist, right above your pulsepoint. ”could be wolves around. stay close.”
you tilt your head, feigning confusion. ”i’ve already got one right next to me, though?”
the comment earns you a flat expression, unimpressed, and it pulls a giggle from out your throat. the corners of suguru’s lips curl up, unwillingly, as he shakes his head; exhaling a tired breath. exasperated. 
then he hums. ”well, at least you're aware.”
suddenly, he’s walking forward, slipping away, cold air replacing the buzzing warmth of his skin on yours. hot blood, ever flowing, hidden within his veins — pumped out from his heavy heart. it’s there and then it’s gone. tick, tock, one step after the other, until he’s turning around to face you again. unfurling his outstretched hand, waiting for you to grab hold of it. 
his long hair sways with the breeze, smooth and unburdened, black like the night sky above you. a starry glint in his eyes. his voice comes out deep, a raspy lilt, like the scraping of metal against concrete. 
when he smiles, you think you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth.
”will you trust this wolf to keep you safe?”
under the web of shadows cast by the trees, barely illuminated by the shivering moon, all you can do is watch him. his gleaming eyes, the curl of a toothy grin on his lips. a knight, a wolf, a friend.
your protector. 
finally, finally, you grasp onto his offered hand. his fingers intertwine with your own, a puzzle finally solved, and his palm feels a little calloused. skin littered with tiny scars, years of training and killing, but it’s still somehow so soft. nice and smooth. 
he’s warm. and now he’s smiling at you, like you put all the gold of the world into his palm. 
”yeah,” you grin, a little cheeky. stepping closer, clinging to him without restraint, knowing he’ll indulge you. ”keep me safe, wolfie.”
his laughter rings out into the air like a cicada song, sweet and nostalgic. or a howl, maybe. it makes you want to gnaw at his bones; memorize his taste, so you’ll never quite be without him. it’s not your fault he looks so chewable when he’s smiling like that.
”i will,” he promises, vows, pledges, hand on his heavy heart. knights and their rituals. ”you don’t have to worry about a thing. not while i’m here.”
and you don’t. you know you don’t. because suguru is the greatest knight, the coolest wolf, and his clockwork heart never ceases to tick. it won’t break under pressure, no matter how much you push — so you don’t bother holding back. wrapping both arms around his bicep, cozying up to him, tugging at his cloak with a pep in your step. 
”c’mon, c’mon!" you beckon him forward. "i wanna see how everything looks up close.”
and he just lets you manhandle him, for a bit. following your lead. ”of course,” he croons. ”your wish is my command, your highness.”
the night stretches on, seemingly never-ending, like the branches of the oak tree you find in the heart of the woods. broken, beautiful, stretching out in all directions — as if wishing to engulf the world. a garden of forking paths, covered in jagged bark, but still somehow so warm to the touch. you’re sure there’s a heartbeat in there, somewhere. maybe a couple of swords too.
all good things must come to an end. but you refuse to leave the comfort of your mossy haven until suguru promises to bring you back, someday, maybe, if you play nice. it’s a deal that you’re willing to take.
only then do you begin your journey back towards the castle. having gotten your fill, for now, left to wallow in the newfound sights etched into your memory. still clinging to your knight like a child with their favorite doll, babbling into his ear about something or another. about how you’re almost sure you saw a wolf in the bushes, about how pretty the cicadas’ songs were. how you’re gonna convince him to take you there every single day.
the sun is yawning, stretching its endless limbs out, getting ready to rise and envelop the world. the sky is a calm blue, soon to be painted orange and pink, but you aren’t tired at all. you must sound a little incoherent, but suguru nods along to your every word. listening attentively.
so kind. so patient. sure, he’s a tease, and more than a little patronizing — but you don’t think you’ve ever liked anyone this much before. it’s weird. it’s fun. 
(you wonder if he feels the same.)
”hey, suguru?”
he keeps his eyes locked on the road ahead, but still spares you a brief glance, just to let you know you have his full attention. a second of hesitance is all your sleepy brain allows you, curiosity enveloping most of your functioning thoughts.
”would you… i mean. if i was, like… a different person —” you pause. suguru quirks a brow, and you suddenly feel a little flustered. ”um, what i mean is! like, if the king ordered you to be someone else’s knight… would you protect them like you do with me?”
he blinks. once, then twice, meeting your hopeful gaze. stifling a yawn, and parting his lips. 
”obviously.”
your face falls. lips dropping down into a soft pout, rich with disappointment, paired with a barely audible huff. suguru furrows his brows, playfully, smiling in the way he always does when he’s about to tease you.
”ah, my bad,” he croons. ”were you expecting something else? a… forbidden romance, perhaps?”
before you can begin to protest, warmth rushing to your cheeks, he stops walking. dropping down on one knee, dramatically, with a flutter of his cloak. theatrical. 
gently, he grabs hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips as his eyes flutter shut. you bite back a squeak. his voice comes out low, sultry, honeyed — so heavy with emotion that it’s obvious he’s faking it. ”the only person i yearn to protect is you, my liege,” his breath feels hot against your skin. ”i could never love another. i exist for you, and you alone.” 
suddenly, he’s smirking. you feel it against the knots of your knuckle, right before he cracks a single eye open. glimmering with deep amusement. ”… is that better?”
and you huff. sharply, doing all that you can to avoid getting flustered, his heavy gaze burning right into your own. it really, really doesn’t work. ”you’re so mean.”
”not mean,” he chuckles, rising to his feet. dusting off his cloak. ”i’m just… managing your expectations, my lord. they’d have my head on the chopping block if i so much as touched you without their consent — you know that.”
another little huff. ”i never said i wanted you to…” 
(you do, though.)
suguru hums. ”i’m your knight,” he reminds you, as always, until you get tired of hearing it. steadfast, irrefutable. ”that’s all. remember?”
something bitter settles on your tongue. 
but you nod. ”that’s right,” you hum. ”mine.”
a teasing mirth flickers through his eyes, like the first setting sunrays reflecting off cathedral glass. reverent, dyeing the world in all the colour it asks for. and he chuckles, raspy, amused. ”possessive little thing…”
that’s right, you remind yourself. he’s your knight. your lying, teasing, playwright of a knight. always wearing a mask, hiding behind a suit of armor, playing one role or another. only baring himself under the light of the sun, when no one is around to see. he’s infuriatingly patient, endlessly loyal, the greatest bootlicker you’ve encountered in your life. but he’s kind, too. maybe a little too kind. 
and he always, always kneels. 
such a large man, all toned muscle and tall stature, broad shoulders and a firm chest — kneeling at your feet. like a loyal dog. with a rustle of armor, a flutter of fabric, a sigh and a smile. as soon as you ask for it.
”c’mon. let’s hurry back,” you hear him say, biting back another yawn. ”before anyone finds out i kidnapped you. don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”
”i kinda do.”
a silent look. unimpressed. it’s the most sincere expression he knows how to make, and also the most comical. ”careful,” he looks ahead, hiding his amused smile. ”wolves eat bratty heirs, you know? better stay on my good side, your highness.”
a bout of sleepy giggles. you curl an arm around his bicep, putting your weight onto him, but he doesn’t stumble. ”sorry, mr wolf! please, by all means, eat my dear father instead.”
”don’t be disrespectful.”
”sorry,” you quip, entirely unapologetic. ”i forgot you had a crush on him. that’s my ba — ow!”
suguru brushes by you, walking forward, hiding his growing grin. leaving you with an ache in your hip and two wide eyes. 
”hurry up, my lord. we don’t have all day.”
”wha — you pinched me!” you stumble after him, barely containing your quiet delight. ”they’ll have your head for this, you know!”
silent laughter. you don’t need to hear it to know that it’s there, just ahead of you, tucked into crows’ feet and a curl of his lips.
suguru always kneels.
but, sometimes, he talks to you as if you’re equals. sometimes he takes the lead, pinches your hip, tells you off a little. teasing, patient, but there’s an edge to him that he doesn’t always hide. sometimes, he lets you see it, and you figure that must make you at least a little bit special.
sometimes, he feels like your best friend.
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careless, careless, careless.
how could he ever be so careless?
everything blurs into a puddle of red. murky, sticky, everywhere all at once. all he sees is red, all he feels is burning. his heartbeat pulses at the base of his throat, bottom lip bruised and aching from hours of sinking his teeth into the flesh, over and over — every single nerve of his body running on adrenaline and nothing else.
(adrenaline and fear, maybe, but they’ve always been synonymous. never one without the other.)
the slaughter is mindless. suguru knows that’s how they like it, anyhow — knights aren’t supposed to think. they don’t need to. 
suguru certainly isn’t. cutting his way through the bandit’s den, practically growling, sword painted such a dark shade of red that he doubts he’ll ever be able to wipe it clean. harsh slashes, pure instinct, wildfire inside his veins, iron on his tongue. 
suguru isn’t thinking, he’s hunting. sniffing like a bloodhound. eyes scanning the area before him like a hungry beast.
suguru is hunting — for you.
and when he sees you, at last, tied up and barely conscious, he’s almost certain he’s going to grow claws, fangs, matted fur. that he’s going to turn into a beast beneath the fading moonlight.
but he falls to his knees, instead, like a wounded dog. throwing his burganet off, with a clatter, crawling closer. heaving breaths, untying you with shaky hands, greedy fingertips hunting for a pulsepoint —
and only when he finds it does he allow himself the luxury of breathing again.
when you come to, veins dragged down by a fuzzy sensation, your vision is blurred. foggy, dull colours on the canvas of your mind, gradually washed away as you struggle for control. you stir, and finally see the figure above you. 
what you see is a knight, a wolf, a beast beneath the moonlight. a kind, kind man.
suguru.
bloodied armor. sweaty, messy hair, sticking to his forehead. pure panic in his bloodshot eyes. he cradles your face, cold metal on your cheek, dirty and smelling of iron. he moves his mouth; you delude yourself into thinking that his bottom lip is trembling. forming around familiar vowels.
he’s saying your name.
there must be something wrong with you, you belatedly realize. the last one to do so. because you’re hurt, scared, but you still feel a skip of your heartbeat. 
(he finally said it.)
you muster all the strength at your disposal, eyelids fluttering. and you try to answer, you do, reaching for that thread between your brain and your tongue — but it comes out as a garbled little thing, more air than noise. 
it’s enough. the tense crease between his brows melts away, and he sighs.
”oh, thank the heavens.”
another sensation. he’s touching your hand, now, cold metal on warm skin, bringing it up to his lips; a shaky little exhale brushing against the knots of your knuckle. his lips are chapped. 
then he’s scooping you up, cradling you close, as close as metaphysically possible, as if willing to cut his stomach open to fit you inside. a firm grip, comforting, stable. desperate, a mother wolf carrying her cub to safety, by the skin of her teeth. his hair tickles your skin, but you don’t mind.
only when he brings you back to the castle does everything fall into place. he explains everything, as you sit in bed, still recovering. a sudden attack, from within the castle, a kidnapping. some enemies of the king, a scandal to do with you and your blood. something, something, something. you’ve grown used to not understanding why you keep getting hurt. and you’re too distracted by the sullen face of the knight in front of you to pay attention.
suguru wasn’t there to stop it — wasn’t there to save you, be your knight in dashing armor. the king had invited him to a game of chess, and you had been adamant in your refusal to join them.
so you don’t understand why he’s apologizing.
he’s smiling, but it’s weak, as flimsy as a piece of paper. his lying smile, tight-lipped, betrayed by the redness of his eyes, the puffy skin beneath them. dark crescents. he sits by your bedside and looks a little like he wants to curl into a ball. 
”i’m sorry.”
and ah, you think; there it is. guilt. always, always clinging to him, a ghost haunting him wherever he goes. it’s been there since the beginning, in the scar reaching for his shoulder, the nature of his never-fading smile. guilt, guilt, guilt. you wonder if he's ever gone without it. you wonder if knights begin to crumble when they stop feeling ashamed. 
he looks sad.
with a breathless inhale, you part your lips. you want to tell him that he has nothing to apologize for, that you’re fine now — that you could never be mad at him. not really, never truly, never at him. you want to tell him that he’s your favorite person, not just your favorite knight, that he’s allowed to make mistakes without demanding that he suffer for them. 
you want to tell him that it’s okay, really. seriously.
but all that leaves your lips is a meek little sniffle. as the shock of it all finally settles, sinking deep into your bones, the fear of being captured, the dull ache of your skull meeting the ground. you can’t tell him any of the things you want to, and you feel so awful — 
because suguru’s face falls. like you just thrust a knife into his sternum and twisted it. he looks like he could cry, too.
”i’m sorry,” his voice cracks, right down the middle. like a broken vase. ”i’m so sorry.” it’s not at all what you want to hear, but you can’t tell him that either. he’s bundling you up before you know it, dragging you into the comfort of his chest, one large palm on the back of your head; tugging you closer still. he smells of soap and oak wood and peach blossoms. ”it was scary, wasn’t it?”
and you nod. into his neck, wet tears brushing against his skin. not stable enough to act tough. you don’t think he is, either.
suguru exhales, shaky, clutching you like he could lose you if he lets go. lose himself. he knows you’re scared, but you let him soothe you. it means something, he thinks. it means something that you let him come so close, closer than anyone’s ever been. so he swallows the guilt until it’s no longer clogging up the back of his throat, if only so his voice can flow out through the gap, give you the comfort you need. just rubbing your back until you calm down, apologizing silently — over and over again. manic, like the tick-tock of a clock.
until your voice breaks him out of it.
”it’s not your fault.”
he stiffens. still holding you, feeling your heartbeat settle down, hearing your voice break out of your throat. it comes out as a weak croak, with just the slightest hint of disapproval.
he gulps.
”don’t worry about me, right now,” he hushes you. a silent plea. ”i’m not the one who’s injured.”
”suguru —” you sigh, almost a hiss. ”i hit my head. once. that’s all.” you wipe away the wetness of your cheeks, biting back a sniffle. ”… you’re acting like i’m fucking dying. cut it out.”
(for once, he’s relieved to hear that sharp edge of your voice. it means you’re feeling better.)
a weak inhale. ”… they kidnapped you. it must’ve been terrifying. please, just…” and a tired exhale. ”please just don’t strain yourself.”
”it wasn’t your fault.”
”your highne —”
”i’m serious.” you’re pulling away, suddenly, clasping onto his cheeks with your tearstained palms. squishing his face together. ”it wasn’t your fault. it was mine.”
he shakes his head, eager to protest, so you squish his cheeks with more force, and shake his head for him. like a misbehaving dog. ”nope. if you even think about apologizing, i’ll start crying again.”
he lets out a huff. frowning, sadly, a downcast pair of eyes.
”don’t pout. i’ll bite you.”
it’s slight, barely even there at all — but you think the corner of his mouth twitches upwards, just by a hair, exhaling through his nose with just the slightest hint of amusement.
he places his palm over yours. 
a moment passes, slow and steady, both of you catching your breaths. calming down, letting the fear of it all seep out of your aching bones. you hope the warmth of your skin against his soothes him as much as it soothes you. 
”… you know, your highness,” he murmurs, softly. meeting your puffy eyes with his tired pools of amber gold. ”there’s something i never told you.”
you blink. he continues.
”just the night before the king reached out to me… i had a dream.” he musters a weak, exhausted little smile. ”dreams… i don’t have them very often. and when i do, they’re nothing good. but this dream…” 
his eyes flutter shut. a curtain closing, a raven taking flight, the tick-tock of a heartbeat. you can’t look away. ”it stuck out to me.”
silence.
your voice comes out soft, like the bedsheets beneath you, the man before you. a tiny breath of a question. ”… what was it about?”
he smiles. smoothing a thumb over your knuckle, reverent, as if memorizing every ridge and dip.
”a fox.”
”it had…” his hand slips from the small of your back, reaching for your cheek, pinching it gently. ”a cheeky smile.”
your skin heats up, beneath his touch. and you blink, not saying a word, because there isn’t any need to. all the words you could ever want have already been painted out.
(well, maybe not quite all.)
”suguru.” you lean close, just a little, drinking him in. and he listens, as always, so you don’t bother beating around the bush. swallowing any embarrassment your tired mind can still feel. because your knight is right in front of you, eyes still red from crying, and you want him to be happy. “i think you’re my favorite person.”
he stills.
then he’s burning up. 
”wha — where did that come from?” he stammers, a strawberry hue to his ears, his neck, the tips of his fingers. enveloping him like a blanket of warmth.
you only shrug. ”you told me the truth. figured i should return the favour, for once.” a giddy, exhausted smile. “we’re both awful liars, huh?”
suguru opens his mouth. then he closes it, again, desperate to collect himself. you think he must be a little too exhausted to, and you wish you could say you felt bad. ”you… you can’t just —”
he squeezes his eyes shut. sighing. giving up, the gears of his mind grinding to a halt. your grin blooms wider.
”hehe.” you poke at his flushed cheek, and he cracks a single eye open. ”you’re blushing.”
he huffs, leaning away from your touch, and you find yourself enjoying the reversal of your usual roles. very much so. he tries to smile, tries to get one up on you, but he only blushes a deeper shade of red once your words reach his ears. 
so he settles for using cheap tricks.
”you’re hallucinating,” he scoffs, shoving your head into the fluffy pillows all around you. ever so gently, listening to your muffled giggles. trying to stifle his own joy. ”go back to sleep.”
”my blushy knight,” you coo, and he drags the blanket over your head. biting down on his lip to stop himself from joining your bubbly laughter, blushing more than ever. 
(the word knight sounds very pretty, when it’s falling from your lips.)
”i swear,” he exhales, heavy and exasperated, but you can hear the smile in his voice. ”just what am i to do with you?”
it’s fond. delicate, even in his bouts of teasing, the light instances of manhandling. and you’re happy, because he’s not apologizing anymore, and he’s happy because you aren’t crying anymore. give and take. there’s a rhythm to it, a point where everything else becomes background noise, whether it’s memories of a kidnapping or a decade-old guilt.
he stays with you all night, even after you’ve fallen asleep. just watching you, safeguarding you, checking your pulse every now and then. content to watch as your chest rises and falls, with the tender ticking of your heartbeat.
that night, you dream of a kind, kind wolf, and a painting yet to be finished. 
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before you lies a field of stars.
you’re seated on a blanket, with a pretty knight to your left, up on top of a grassy hill. daffodils bloom around you, sweet nectar hanging in the air, a field of sunflowers waving at you from below. dragonflies greet you with a scratchy song. 
everything is perfect. a midnight rendezvous, a picnic under the stars — suguru’s own idea. to celebrate the time that you’ve spent together.
(well, that part was your idea. but you’re sure he appreciates it, too.)
the basket next to you is filled with fruit and berries, marmalade and jam, bottles of herbal tea. suguru’s delicious sandwiches. you bite into one of them, humming happily, and he’s quick to brush the occasional crumb from the corner of your lip, ghosting over your skin with a smile.
there’s another basket, too, just in front of you, that you brought on your own. hiding a secret; one you're just about to unveil. 
you clear your throat to get his attention.
like clockwork, he’s looking at you. listening, when  you tell him to close his eyes, only giving you a questioning raise of his brow and an amused exhale. 
you’re quick to lean forward, uncovering the basket, revealing the secret you’ve hidden so well. suguru is still waiting, indulgent, patient. you feel a little hesitant, but still part your lips.
“… okay. you can open them, now.”
he does. instantly, two ravens taking flight, and the sight that awaits them is that of a painting; a painting of a wolf, in the middle of the woods, empty armors and wilted sunflowers all around it. dragonflies and dragonflies, a knight just out of view.
he stares, silently, and you do your best to hide your growing nervosity. even as he takes it into his lap, and your gaze falls to the blanket below you. ”it’s… not my best work, but —” his eyes stay glued onto the painting, as you stumble blindly for the right words to say. wringing your hands together, clutching at the fabric of your sleeves. ”i’d… like you to have it. i mean, unless you —”
”thank you.”
you raise your head.
suguru is gazing at the canvas with the softest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. melting amber, crinkled at the edges, accompanied by a sweet grin. 
”i’ll treasure it,” he vows, meeting your eyes, voice dripping with warmth. hand on his heart, and you can’t even poke fun at it. ”always.”
his earnest acceptance is enough to fluster you, enough to make you feel as it your heart is about to collapse, but he continues to look at the painting with enough awe to fill an empty lake with water, and it makes you terribly shy. 
until his smile drops.
”uh, actually — i…”
now it’s your turn to stare, silently, as he fumbles with something in the basket at his feet. gentle, as he takes out glass jars and wrapped sandwiches. out comes a sheet of paper. 
then he’s clearing his throat. handing it to you, pointedly avoiding your gaze. ”i’m not an artist, so you know. i just…” he coughs, a little out of his element. “well. here.”
with delicate hands, you accept it, bringing it down to your lap. big, curious eyes taking it in.
it’s a sketch — made with coal, a little smudged, but awfully charming. pretty, delicate.
it’s a sketch of a fox.
wide-eyed, all you can do is stare. gaze flitting up to meet his own, his nervous expression, before falling back to the little canine. ”you — this…” back and forth, over and over again. ”for — ?” 
you point to yourself. 
suguru only chuckles. ”yes, it’s for you. who else?” he taps the pads of his fingers against the handle of the basket, watching you silently admire the mischievous fox. not saying anything; so he continues.
”like i said; i’m not an artist. you can always throw it away, if you’d —”
”i’m gonna frame it.”
”i'm gonna frame it,” you repeat, eyes shining with sincerity. a little manic. ”i’ll hang it on the wall of the castle hallway so everyone can see it. it’ll be there for centuries to come, passed down —”
”please don't —”
”d’you think a gold frame would fuck up the vibe? maybe a modest silver is best.” you turn to face him, ignoring his blatant embarrassment. ”oooh, hang on! father knows this guy who makes them with real minerals. i’ll just —”
”your highness,” the knight cuts you off, almost with a squeak. ”please. it’s just a dumb drawing. i just… wanted to give it to you. that’s all.”
a pause. you look into his eyes, flickering with hesitance, an earnest desire for your approval only. so you hum, albeit a little hesitant.
”… alright. if you say so. i’ll hang it in my room, then.”
he sighs; relieved. ”that’s better. really, you —”
”thank you.” you whisper, blinking away the wetness at your lash-line. staring at the sketch with a dreamy, dreamy smile. ”i love it.”
you grin, happily, practically beaming. suguru wants to keep it there, always, on those pretty lips; he wants to lay his life on the line to protect it. but something tells him that would just make it fall. 
finally, everything clicks into place. the air fills with the scent of herbal tea, fresh strawberries, acrylic paint and hushed whispers. your own ritual, repeated over and over, like a loving waltz. 
as always, it’s suguru who breaks the silence. shatters it with the tip of his tongue. 
”hey,” he calls, softly. “my lord.”
mouth full of bread, you simply look at him. chewing silently, attention piqued. swallowing with a gulp. he places his folded hands on his lap, exhaling a little breath. ”… i’ve been thinking.”
”uh oh.”
silently, he gives you one of those flat, unimpressed looks of his, and you quiet down with a grin and another mouthful of bread. he quirks a brow, exhaling amusedly, then shakes his head and continues.
”i retract my earlier statement.”
when you glance up again, he’s smiling. showing more teeth than usual, a little wider, a little wolfish. a little more himself. you want to paint it, keep it hidden away somewhere only you can see.
”if it was someone else — anyone else…” he trails off, tasting the words on his tongue. “i doubt i’d feel this way. i doubt i’d want to protect them as fervently.” his voice flows out like a river of gold, just a little scratchy. it always is, when it sounds this sincere. 
he meets your eyes, and everything falls into place. 
”you’ve become precious to me,” he admits. ”i can't remember what it felt like to not be yours.”
his tongue curls around a familiar set of syllables, and your name seeps from his lips like a prayer, a vow, a trickle of honey and wine. devotion sticks to his tongue, to the vowels, a heavy fondness — something devout. something you've only ever heard from the mouths of priests.
and then he’s smiling. 
”i think i’ll be your knight until the day i die,” he breathes, and deep down you know it’s a vow. “even if the king discards me of that title.”
silence. except for an increasingly loud mantra of tick-tocks, from the depths of your own chest, echoing in your ears. your knight is in front of you, and he’s yours, and he’s smiling like he loves you. like he always will.
”… suguru.”
he hums, eyes lidded, blinking slowly. serenely. he lets you cling to him, pull him close, practically dragging him into your lap.
”stay with me,” you plead, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. too desperate to feel embarrassed. ”forever. promise me.”
an exhale, right by your ear. it sounds so fond you could cry. 
“i promise,” he whispers, fingers intertwining with your own. a perfect puzzle piece, a functional clockwork. lifting your hand, bringing his glossy lips to your knuckle; where they belong. ”until death tears me away from you.”
”it won’t,” you deadpan, partly to distract him from the growing heat of your fingertips. mostly because it’s true. ”you won't let it.”
he smiles against your knuckle, breathing out an airy laugh. ”clever little thing…” his free hand goes to rest on your spine, as always, and you lean back to see him properly. knowing he’ll catch you if you fall.
“.. but yeah," he sighs. "i won’t.”
before you know it, you’re leaning back in. because his eyes are the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen, and his hair is just a little tousled, and he looks so kissable it aches.
his jaw trembles, a little, when you press your lips against the curve of it. his whole body seems to still, for a moment, and you pull back just to see if he’s blushing. he is. 
but he must have anticipated your teasing, because he’s tucking you under his chin before you can see it through. pressing you close. and he tuts, a click of his silver tongue, a touch of restraint. ”… you little tease,” comes a whisper. ”how am i supposed to hold back now?”
”don’t hold back, dummy,” you grin, muffled against the column of his throat. you just barely resist the urge to sink your teeth into the skin. ”you’re a bad actor, anyway. the worst.”
and he is. he’s been looking at your lips this whole time — he couldn’t be more obvious if he tried.
suguru laughs, breathy, overflowing with fondness. chest rumbling with the noise, blending together with the rhythmic thumping of his clockwork heart. ”okay,” comes a soft lull of his tongue. ”i won’t, then.”
a drowsy feeling overtakes you, just as you feel his lips meet the crown of your head. it’s not much, but it’s a start. and it’s tender, tender enough to get you choked up, to get you to close your eyes to stop any tears from forming. because one person in this kingdom understands you, and he tells you that he’ll never leave. and you think you can actually find it in you to believe him. 
one person’s clockwork heart never breaks for you, and maybe that’s enough to convince you to stop trying to push it there.
”you can sleep, if you’d like,” is whispered against your hair. soft, soothing, his palm on your spine. ”i’ve got you. always.”
(one person in this world can make you feel safe, with just four little words. and isn’t that something?)
so you doze off, on the shoulder of your very own knight. your favorite knight, always and forever, a sword at his hip that was forged to protect you. or so he’ll tell you, years from now, when he’s got you in his lap, when there isn’t any need for him to act anymore.
and you dream a perfect dream. a dream of a wolf, and a fox, and a garden of stars.
2K notes · View notes
nickfowlerrr · 3 months
Text
sit me on your throne.
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pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader
warnings: i don't know what i'm writing about but if you're here for smut, there's smut. 18+ only. probably ooc - i've only seen season one. if i'm missing something that needs to be tagged please let me know.
words: 4.3k
notes: i really truly do not know. forgive me not.
thank you in advance for reading! any thoughts, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. let me know what you think. (unless its mean then pls don't).
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"You kneel before me?"
Your question is born of nothing but pure confusion as you tilt your head in bemusement at the bulking behemoth of a man before you.
He hadn’t done as much when he first arrived, not to your displeasure, so it was odd to see him do it now - especially after the battle he has just fought.
He is at your feet, his long white hair darker and dingier now, dirty as his clothes and skin; marred with caked mud and what you can only assume is the blood and guts of the beast he has defeated.
The stench he carries with him is pungent, nothing but putrid, and yet that somehow doesn't take from his striking good looks; those paired with his brevity and bluntness have held your attention from the moment he stepped foot in your kingdom.
He is a man of little words, this Geralt of Rivia. His jester of a companion having done much of the speaking - perhaps too much - for him since they arrived.
Geralt says nothing still, only meets your gaze as he takes steady breaths. His yellow eyes, feline and harsh, cut through you in a number of ways - none of which you'd care to share aloud. You have a feeling he knows, however, just how affected you are by him no matter how well you think you hide it.
You are alone together, no guards at the ready, no advisors by your side. Most of your kingdom is now quiet and abandoned, including the halls of your once flourishing and lively home. The halls of this castle have been eerily silent since the night your men went on their mission to save their homestead. You had already sent word for The Witcher, you implored them to keep safe indoors until his arrival. They did not listen. Most of them still having seen you as the young princess you once were, the others simply following the orders of their leaders. You may have been their "Queen", but their faith in their commanders was stronger.
Those commanders who led them to their deaths... You still sigh at the loss.
Those who were not taken, slain, by the beast have long since fled for their lives. You cannot blame them. But you certainly could not join them. Your castle once held many souls, but now it is only you and a handful of others. Titles of servants, but you really never were one for titles.
"Your friend?" you wonder.
"Somewhere," he answers shortly, his voice low and deep as he speaks.
You quirk a brow, "Safe?"
"For as long as he keeps himself from trouble."
You hum, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Their relationship amuses you, you must admit.
"You needn't kneel, Witcher," you implore as you sit back on the throne. It is yours in name alone. It has never felt right to sit in. He seems to sense your unease, but he doesn't speak it. You continue, "You have done what you said you would, I will do the same."
Still, he doesn't stand. Not until you flick your eyes and move to stand yourself. He rises easily as he stands before you still. There is not much distance between you, and the stench of him stings your eyes and threatens to gag you. Your face scrunches in disgust as you turn it away from him, grimacing.
"I've had a bath readied for you, and new clothes set aside," you inform him, moving to pass around. He follows you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as his eyes cling to you. "Your meals will be served as soon as you're done. I don't imagine anyone would be able to stomach a bite with that smell coming off of you."
He says nothing but lets out an amused "hm" at your words, still following as you lead him to the bathing room.
You thank Amaleah as you enter and she leaves with a nod to you, her breath catching when she smells Geralt enter behind you. It's as fast an exit as you've ever seen.
You move toward the bath and wade a hand in the water. It's a bit hot for your preferences but it should get him clean. You ensure the soap Amaleah brought in is fragrant enough and still look for some nicer oils to add to the water; when you turn around to ask your guest his want, you find yourself stunned silent as you're met with the sight of his broad, bare chest. His muscles flex under his pale and scarred skin as he moves, his solid chest is covered in dark hair, trailing down his torso. His arms are strong and big and a thought at the back of your mind wonders how comfortable he must be to lie with.
You blink, mouth parted slightly as you take a breath. You watch his clothing fall as he discards them and your gaze follows his hand as he begins to strip himself of the rest of his garments.
He is completely shameless as he watches you watch him. You feel as if you are in a trance, you cannot bring yourself to look away despite the heavy weight of his gaze assuring you he sees you staring.
It’s not an act of brazenness, truly you would look away and leave him at once…if you could.
“I’ve slain your monster,” he speaks and your eyes rise back to his chest, trying to ignore the heaviness of his thick cock as it hangs so temptingly before you. No, not temptingly…Shamelessly. He has put himself entirely on display before you, without an ounce of shame or concern, and you are still frozen to your spot. “Was there something else you required of me, Your Highness?”
The title gets your attention, the breath caught in your chest finally flows and your eyes flick up to meet his. You can't tell entirely if he meant it as an insult or if he thought you'd prefer it to Queen.
You remain quiet for a moment as you try to gather a response. Either way...
“I told you that wasn’t necessary, Witcher.”
“Geralt.”
You swallow hard as he takes a small step forward, and you will yourself to not break his intense gaze.
"Geralt. I thank you, for saving what was left of this ruined kingdom, but I consider myself not princess, nor Queen, any longer."
"Did you ever?" he asks, staring into your eyes a moment longer before he steps closer still, looking you up and down then nudging you aside, eliciting goosebumps along your skin, rising under his touch.
You glance over your shoulder as he continues past you, lowering himself into the tub.
You think.
You know your answer, but you won't say it aloud. Clearly he knows it, too.
You can hear the water sloshing with his movements as he begins to clean himself.
You take a deep breath.
"The clothes will be brought in shortly. You might tell Jaskier when you're done that the food is ready."
"Ah," he says amid his washing, "so you do know his name."
"Of course I do. I've grown quite fond of the bard in the week since you've arrived."
"I couldn't tell," he says plainly, yet still biting - his words sharp with sarcasm.
You furrow your brow at his meaning and then there's a laugh at the door and you look to see Jaskier as he leans on it. "You sound jealous, there, Geralt," he taunts, holding folded clothing in his hands as he pushes off the door to saunter in. "I wouldn't worry. I don't believe I'm the one who's caught her eye." He looks to you with a smirk, bowing before you, "Your Majesty."
"I am no longer queen," you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.
"My Queen, none the less," he simpers before standing to his full height.
You smile tightly, eyes narrowed playfully at him before you finally move to exit, leaving them to their inevitable quarreling. And trying not to focus on the tingling still affecting you between your legs.
--
You eat with the women in the kitchen; the dining hall one of your least favorite places to be.
There is a calm yet solemn energy around you all. A peace in the slaying of the monster who took your kingdom, and still the grief from the loss of it all, your people, their families, friends...
Calliope readies the plates for your guests as you bid them all a goodnight, kissing Amaleah's son on his head on your way out with a 'sweet dreams'. Since his father was killed, the poor thing has nightmares recurringly. You only hope with the monster's demise, they might ease for him some. He is far too young to be in such pain...
You think to pass by the dining hall on your way to bed to thank Geralt once more and wish them both a goodnight as well but think better of it.
You will see them in the morning before they set off. You still owe him his coin and you know he won't be leaving without it.
--
You open the heavy door of your chamber and once you are inside, begin to undress.
Slipping into your shift, you swiftly make your way into bed. You thought you'd fall asleep quickly, but as you lay there, your mind wanders to thoughts of only one.
You have one hand on your lower belly, the other resting on the soft skin right above it.
You sigh and close your eyes, but all you see when you do is his built form. His dark, firelight stare set on you. His clothes left on the ground as he stands strong in his glory.
You breathe deeply, your hand starting to slowly drift down your stomach as you tickle yourself. You're so tempted to touch where you want it most, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not just yet.
You slip your hand between your spread thighs, softly running your fingers across the sensitive skin you find there.
It'd been a week of torment, having Geralt so close and not being able to act on your most base feelings. You know he knows what you think when you look at him, if Jaskier can see it, surely, he can too.
You might feel embarrassed but with the way he's managed to get closer and closer to you with each passing day as he awaited the beasts' return, you would wager he feels similarly.
It feels like an age that you lie awake. All the noises about the castle, not that there were many, have settled and it assures you everyone has retired for the night.
Sleep begins to nip at you but the stronger pull is to the dissatisfaction that weighs on you. The emptiness that echos through your body and soul.
Your fingers twitch, and you begin to glide closer to your uncovered core, the need to be touch too much to be ignored for much longer. Your eyes are closed and you imagine it isn't your hand running over your skin, but rather his large, rough palm feeling you, teasing you just so...
Just as you inch closer, your eyes snap open in the dark as a heartbreaking scream cuts through the night air. You sit up, pulling your hands off of yourself. You know immediately where the sound comes from and who it belongs to.
You get out of bed, intent to make sure Hartley and Amaleah both are okay.
You open your door just as the one across the wide hall does the same. You frighten at the unexpected movement but are then unsurprised to be across Geralt.
He is shirtless again, and his eyes are wide as his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths.
"Are you alright?" he asks, voice hard.
"Yes, I'm fine. It was the boy, Hartley. He has nightmares," you explain, keeping your voice quiet as to not disturb the renewed peace of the night.
The flick of the flame that lights the hallway allows you both to see one another. You say nothing for a moment as your eyes fall to his bare torso.
"Did the clothes not fit?"
He looks down at himself briefly, then back to you. He shakes his head, "I prefer to sleep naked."
You burn at his words, swallowing hard. "Oh. Well, I- I'm going to check on them, make sure they're fine."
"I'll go with you."
It's not a question, it's a statement. You stop in your start, turning to look at him. You say nothing, just blink and quickly carry on as you were.
You make your way down the stairs and down the hall until you see the flames licking at the end of the hallway.
You follow the glow to Amaleah's room and knock gently as you look in the open door.
She turns and looks to you, her eyes tired and cheeks damp as she rocks her toddler in her arms. He is sleeping again as she rubs his back gently, more to soothe herself than anything.
She sniffles, "Your High-" she stops herself, "sorry, forgive me," she whispers.
"Don't apologize. Please," you implore her. "I know it's habit."
"Are you two alright?" Geralt asks from right at your back.
"We are, thank you. Just another nightmare," her voice gets thick at the explanation. You know it hurts her that there isn't anything she can do but be there to comfort him when they come.
You smile sadly and nod. "We'll let you be, then. Do try to get some rest. He'll be okay," you reassure her.
You pull the door nearly closed and wind up with Geralt firmly at your back.
You turn into him but he doesn't seem to mind as he just looks down at you nearly pressed against his chest. You try to budge him to turn and move back down the hall but he doesn't waver. After a second, he relents and steps to the side, allowing you to go back down the hallway first.
It isn't until you come up on the throne room that Geralt speaks again.
"Might I have a word with you?" he asks.
You stop and turn to eye him as he stands at the entryway of the door.
"Now?" you question.
He nods once, "Now."
You approach him trepidatiously, and as you near, he gestures you in the room before him, extending his arm, "Princess."
Your eyes narrow again. And you turn on him, watching as he enters the room behind you. "Why do you keep doing that?"
"What am I doing?"
"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.
"I assumed you preferred it to your true title," he tilts his head at you.
"True title," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I prefer no title at all."
"And what shall I call you then?"
You remind him your name, not that he really needs to be reminded. You know he knows it full well.
He considers you, then closes in on where you stand in front of the throne.
You don't move back, no, you quite like the closeness when he doesn't reek of death and innards.
Geralt seems to appreciate your resolve, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile as he studies your face.
"It's a beautiful name," he speaks lowly, taking another step into your space and raising his hand to gently caress your cheek before he leans in to speak against your ear. Your hands touch his solid stomach in an attempt to keep yourself upright, you can feel the muscles as they flex under your delicate graze. "I think I might prefer princess," he husks.
He slips away from you, turning to take a seat on the throne instead. You follow his movements and turn yourself to face him. You're stunned and completely set ablaze all at once.
"Well I don't."
"No," he smirks, agreeing with you, one large hand settling on his thick thigh as he spreads his legs, "you don't."
"It's too bad," he tsks, his voice a smooth rumbling. "No title, no throne."
"I don't want any throne."
Your eyes are glued to his thighs as he brings attention to his lap by rubbing the muscle there.
"None?" he asks before his gaze shifts directly on you, his mesmerizing stare burning into you. His voice lowers deeper than you've ever heard as a desperate longing shoots through you once again, resounding deep in your core. "Not even mine?"
Your mouth goes dry and your brain fuzzy as you take in his meaning.
Unthinking, you step toward him closer.
"You mean to defile the very one you sit on?"
"You don't seem to care for it much anyway."
Another step.
You are nearly stood between his spread legs, carefully you reach out a hand, your fingers light on his thigh. You feel his muscle then, flicking your eyes up. His gaze is dark and heated.
"That's true enough," you say, your voice breathy in a near whisper.
You gasp as your suddenly pulled closer by Geralt's rough hands around your waist. You can feel him through the thin fabric of your shift and its only then you realize how much of your figure he has seen thanks to your nightwear.
"Truer still," he speaks, "I don't mean to defile this throne." He squeezes your plush waist, groping you through your shift as your hands latch onto his solid shoulders. "I mean to defile you."
He manages to pull you onto his lap with little effort, leaning in to crash his lips into yours.
You kiss him back hungrily, chasing his lips as you settle on his lap. Your fingers wind in his hair and you can feel his cock growing beneath you through the material of his pants.
His hands slide down your waist and over your wide hips, reaching for the hem of your shift and pulling it up. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan, shifting your hips atop him.
You pull away, reaching for your dress and pulling it over your head, discarding it behind your back.
Geralt holds you closer, letting his lips explore your heavy breasts as you allow your head to fall back in pleasure, your hands returning to his hair.
"Geralt," you breathe, pulling him off you after a moment.
"Mm," he hums, kissing the swell of your breast once more before he moves to free himself from the restraint of his pants. He knows what you’ve both been wanting for days. What you need.
One heavy hand returns to your back, holding you by your waist while his other grips his red, throbbing cock.
He moves his tip up and down your slick center, making you whimper as he teases you - his cockhead rubbing delightfully against your sensitive clit.
He watches your face scrunch in rapture and holds you tighter to stop your wiggling about as you whimper.
He smiles smugly to himself and when you're just about to open your mouth to protest his teasing, he finally pulls you down on top of him. The sound that escapes you is music to his ears as you grasp onto him, your nails digging into the muscle of his back as your walls squeeze and stretch to accommodate his thick length, the size of him almost too much for you to take.
"Fuck," he groans as your walls tighten around him. He gives you a moment before he begins to urge you to move. He guides your hips, slow and sensually. The feeling of his hands on you motivates you to try and ride him yourself. And you do try, but you cry out again at how big he is, how fully he is stuffing you. You can barely move.
Geralt kisses you as he holds you closer, taking pity on your tight cunt and instead he moves his hands to your soft hips again. He holds you on top of him securely before he begins to fuck up into you.
You mewl as he jostles you, bouncing you up and down his cock, your breasts moving in time.
You pull on his hair, forcing him to look up from where his gaze was fixed, watching his own cock as he stretched you out for him, watching as your cunt took as much of him in as she could, up to your hooded lust filled gaze. You lean into him, chest to chest as you kiss him fervently. His lips follow yours as you taste one another. You nip at his lip and he growls, his hands gripping the ample flesh of your ass, "Keep that up," he snarls.
"And you'll what?" you breathe heavily, eyes screwed shut, jaw tight as you deadbrain on the pleasure coursing through you.
Your answer is a harsh thrust of his cock inside of you, stealing your breath while he slaps your ass, your flesh stinging from the force.
"Oh, fuck," you whimper debauchedly, your velvety walls squeezing him ever tighter as you feel yourself growing closer with every bounce. The tip of him hitting exactly where you need it to. Your body is on fire and you are loving every second of it. The feeling of him inside of you, of his hands squeezing and caressing you everywhere he can, of his lips demanding yours for more.
His grunts are growing louder and his thrusts more powerful, you kiss him hard in an effort to quiet him some, but you can feel what is coming.
Geralt is near slamming you down on top of him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thick thighs mix with the salacious sounds coming from you both and of your slick wetness as you're worked up and down his shaft, your cunt taking him better and better with each thrust.
Your hands move to hold his face, your noses brush as you breathe each other's air, lips touching just slightly.
"Geralt, I'm,"
"I know," he pants harshly, concentrated before taking your lips in his. You whimper pathetically as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. He keeps you moving a top him, your clit being stimulated with every brush of your hips over his, and then with another deep thrust it snaps before you can speak. Your voice is an empty high then silent squeak as your legs tremble and your eyes roll back. Are you even breathing? Your walls clench down on Geralt's cock and he finally allows himself to reach his own high as your tight walls flutter around him, squeezing him perfectly. You ride the waves of ecstasy as his come spills inside of you. You feel him shudder beneath you and it only adds to your feeling of weightlessness, stars in your eyes as you feel, think, breathe nothing but him.
You part from his lips and your bodies are slick with sweat as you both pant heavily. Geralt holds you to him as he softens inside of you, his forehead pressed to yours as your hand comes behind his neck, holding him to you in kind.
Your lips mimic a kiss but neither of you lean in close enough to actually do it. You work to catch your breath and settle for a minute before you finally break the quiet.
"Do I still owe you your coin?" you breathe, smiling when Geralt laughs in your face. You reach to move a stray strand of hair from his face, holding his cheek gently once you do.
Your stare into one another's eyes for a long moment, just breathing and being close.
"Where will you be off to in the morning?" you ask, hoping your solemn tone isn't as audible as it sounded to you.
"Don't know," he shakes his head, eyes straying to your lips.
You take a breath and pull his face closer to kiss him softly.
"I envy you, you know."
"Don't."
You huff a humorless laugh, readjusting yourself on his lap. "Not because you're a witcher. You may not have the most enviable life, but at least you have one. I've never made it past the most exterior gates," you smile sadly, playing with the hairs on his chest as you avoid his eye now.
"I suppose I'll have the chance, now, though. Thanks to you."
"And where will you go?" he asks.
Your gaze floats up to his and you repeat his previous answer. "I don't know. But I won't stay here. This kingdom is..." you shake your head. "I don't belong here. Never felt like I did. But I made a promise to my mother when I was young, and another to my father before he passed. I know I've let them down," you swallow the rise of emotion threatening to overcome you, "but alas, the fall of a kingdom is ever inevitable. Especially under such rule as my own."
"I've heard word of your rule from many. You're known to be kind. Caring. Protective, even. I don't believe you've failed. I think you were exactly the kind of ruler you should have been, who you needed to be. But perhaps it's a good thing you won't be forced any longer into holding power you don't desire. You're now free to do as you wish."
"I am," you nod lightly in agreement. "If only I knew where to start,” you muse with an uneasy laugh.
His hand runs up your back comfortingly; he's pensive, deep in thought for a long moment before he speaks.
"If you ready your things, I don't think Roach would mind a travel companion of her own. She seems to have taken to Belfast… I'm not sure she'd be ready to part with him so soon, anyway."
"Is that so?" you ask him, faux curiosity playing in your voice.
"And Jaskier is easier to take when I'm not the only one he has around to bother."
"Right," you nod, fighting your soft smile.
"And of course your coin would be useful as well."
"Of course," you exaggerate your agreement. "…Geralt, are you getting at something here?"
"Just that, if you want to join us…you might."
You lean into him again, thumb rubbing along his stubble lining his cheek, and this time he kisses you first. More gently than you expect. You can’t help your smile now.
You part lightly and breathe,
"I hope you mean that, Witcher. Because I just might."
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2K notes · View notes
kingconia · 7 months
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TWISTED WONDERLAND'S HOUSEWARDENS WITH A READER, WHO IS INSPIRED BY THE PROTAGONIST FROM THEIR STORIES
A/N: I didn't add Kalim or Jamil, because I feel their storyline is too much Aladdin & Jafar inspired already to do anything else with them.
Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️
— That was definitely a dislike from the first sight. He predicted you to be his future reason of headache as soon as the mirror sent you to the Heartslabyul;
— Riddle sees you as an air-headed fool, who only asks too many unnecessary things, daring to question the wishes of the Red Queen, instead of serving to your dorm as a proper student would do;
— You, from the other side, struggle with understanding what makes Riddle hate you so much. You were nothing but kind towards him, always suggesting to eat some sweets together, and trying to ask him to take a break from his studies to hang out with you or others;
— When he overhears that your signature spell makes you others to tell you the truth, Riddle is... Intimidated. He is afraid that you will use is against him, and so, he starts ignoring you more often.
”Housewarden acts like an asshole towards you, though.”
Riddle doesn't even need to think twice to recognise a loud voice of Ace Trappola, another troublemaker in his form. He knows that he should just give him a punishment and leave for a lesson, but instead, he hides in the nearest bush, waiting to hear the rest of the conversation.
”Oh, Ace. You are being rude,” you mutter softly, sighing at your classmate. ”Perhaps, a housewarden doesn't like me, but this feeling is not necessarily mutual.”
Riddle raises his brows in surprise. Why, though? He is aware that his attitude is nothing but awful when it comes to you. He doesn't have a proper reason for that, either.
”You should, really,” Ace rolls his eyes. ”Dude has a problem with you liking white. And what else? Being nice?”
That isn't true. He is fine with you liking white—though, he admittedly got frustrated when you asked him on your first day why painting roses red, if they are prettier when they are white—and being nice. He just considers you too naive for this world.
”I think, you are... Misjudging him.”
That is right, Riddle mutters mentally. Tell him, Y/n.
”I think, the reason why housewarden is so... Let's say, annoyed by me, it is because I am everything he grew up hating and being restricted with. And it is harder, when something you should never be interested in, is nice and interesting. I think, housewarden is just confused.”
He feels his cheeks blushing furiously.
What did you say—
”And I think you are just being delusional,” Ace chuckles, patting your shoulder softly. ”Now, please, let's get out of here. I want to find Deuce.”
Riddle listens to the sound of your rushing steps, but he can't care less about it now. All he can do, is to recite your words, again and again.
Does he really think you as a nice and interesting?
Yes.
Does it make him hate you even more?
No, but he wishes it could work this way.
Until now, though, he merely returns to his studies. Maybe, you can be honest with yourself and everyone, but this kind of thing is not for him at all.
Leona Kingscholar. 💛
— Leona didn't notice you at first. Honestly, never planned too, until you started to cling to him in some idiotic attempts to be... What? Friends?;
— You remind him so much of Cheka, but he actually likes his nephew deep inside. And your presence is absolutely insufferable;
— You are too childish and annoying, and all you do is sway your tail as you try to befriend him, while pretending that you actually like him. Leona knows you have ulterior motives. Stop lying to him!
— He finds it stupid how someone so moronic as you managed to pull out such an interesting signature spell. Manipulating dreams of others? How cruel.
”Stop doing that,” Leona hisses, digging in your wrist as you try to touch his hair. ”I am seriously going to kill you, if you keep doing this. Do you hear that?!
A few weeks ago—approximately since you figured out your magic—Leona started saw dreams. Very colourful ones, cheerful even. And each, with the same meaning: he becomes the king, and his family and people adores him.
He hates it.
And he hates you for doing that.
Because, of course, he doesn't need your fucking pity. Your condescension. Your gifts. He doesn't need to be mocked!
”Ah? Leona-sama, what is it?” You blink, confused.
”What is your problem, huh?” He hastily jumps on his legs, towering on you. ”Don't you have anything to do? Go and mind your business, brat!”
Your lostness shifts in sadness. You are not scared of him, you are never are—another proof that you don't take him seriously—but you dare to look at him like that. As a kicked puppy.
”What did I do?”
”Stop sending me these stupid dreams! I don't need your pity, do you hear me?!” He yells, still gripping your wrist tightly. ”Go and dream of your family or something, instead, would you?”
”I... I am sorry,” you mumble, and your eyes dart on the floor.
Leona closes his mouth, when realisation dawns on him. You don't have a family to dream about; you are an orphan. Yours, the previous crown family, were killed by his great predecessors.
He doesn't know why he feels bad, when you picked the fight first.
”I will never bother you again, Leona-sama. I apologise.“ You repeat, and your voice suddenly sounds numb.
That is not the sight of you he, or anyone else, was used to. Not a single emotion on your face. You just snatch your wrist from his hold, before leaving him alone as he asked to.
”You are such a jerk,” Ruggie whistles from behind, appearing almost from nowhere.
”Shut up.”
”You know that they can't send any control dreams, right?” He continues, hands on his hips.
”What?” Leona unwillingly turns head on his vice.
”Dunno, but they only can adjust if it is going to be nightmare or a good dream,” Ruggie yawns. ”They are just a first-year, so... It is your brain that decides where is where for now.”
Fuck.
Leona hisses furiously.
He is so fucked up.
Azul Ashengrotto. 🩵
— Oh, so this is love? He notices you in the crowd of other students, as you flinch from loud voices from dynamics, clearly knowing very little of this world, and he is amused. Someone is clearly more social awkward than he is;
— Azul thinks you don't like him that much, though, because you only wave at him, and when he once tried to speak, you merely nodded and smile all the time without answering him properly;
— It is until twins tell him that you don't have a voice. You were brought to this world completely mute, because of the family curse, and though you hear everything, your only way to communicate with others is writing. Or a sign language;
— But if anything gods blessed you is your magic. Everything you touch turns to gold, and that is actually the main reason why you were kept isolated over years. Azul is over heels for you now...
”I am glad that you took time to accept my invitation, Y/n.”
Azul locks his hands together, looking at you with unhidden excitement. He is always too nervous in your company—luckily, you can't read a room—but today is a special day.
You smile at him, instead of answering.
”The reason why I asked you to came here, it is because I have a deal for you,” he continues carefully, weighing his every word. ”Do you see that?”
He points with his finger at the middle of the table. There is very beautiful necklace with pearls and a little seashell, looking quite normal and mundane. You nod again.
”That is something that could break your curse,” he explains, enjoying the way your eyes widen in the poor shock. ”Yes, yes, you heard me right. With that, you could speak easily.”
Azul can't help but soften as you tear up instantly. There is a whole minute, when he fights an urge to give it to you for free, but... He built his reputation too long to break it so easily.
”But, of course, I will need something from you in return.”
You tilt your head in question.
”I...”
I need you to love me.
”...I need you to use your power for my business when it will be required.”
And with that, Azul quickly shoves another contract to you. You blink a few times, but there is no back thoughts in your head. Quickly, as if afraid that he will change his mind, you took the pen, and leave your signature on all places, where it was needed.
Ah... Angelwish, why are you so naive! It kills him! What if he tried to use you? You didn't even read a contract! You really should be glad that Azul loves you so much.
Before he realises that, you are already putting a necklace on yourself.
One second, two. Three.
You are staring at him.
”Well?” He asks, anxiously.
”A... Azul?”
His heart drops.
Your voice is amazing. And hearing you saying his name is even better than he expected. He blushes.
”Azul... Thank you?”
”S-sure.”
Seems, like it is his turn to be speechless...
Vil Schoenheit. 💜
— He originally had nothing against you... Until other students didn't start to call you the most beautiful person in the world, following you everywhere obsessively, and suggesting you to become the next housewarden;
— Vil now officially hates you. Each time you come to him ends up with short anger impulses that he hardly hides from you, and he wishes you could just disappear;
— He is quite... Cruel with you. He wants you to change your dorm, actually, so he desperately pushes you to the edge by giving you impossible tasks to fullfil, and turning others against you;
— And he thinks your signature spell, speaking and controlling animals is another proof that you should leave Pomefiore for Savanaclaw.
“I don't think you are stupid, un petit entraîneur.”
Vil narrows his eyes, leaning slightly forward from his balcony. The sight of his vice speaking with you—hunter's interest in you was his another concern—annoys him instantly.
”What do you mean, Rook?” There is a big cat in your lap, clearly another of your minions.
”You know that our dear housewarden wants you out of here,” he murmurs, moving closer to you. ”A fair exchange with Savanaclaw, I would say. He doesn't like you here.”
You sigh.
”I figured it out, trust me. He made it very clear by always putting me in dangerous situations and giving me outdated products for skin, making me look like a fool in front of others.”
You don't mention how he makes you clean dark and messy rooms of other students.
”Yet, you are not willing to give up?” Rook touches the strand of your hair curiously.
”You know, I actually liked him a lot,” you admit suddenly, patting the cat behind its ear. ”Vil was the world for me. I was so amazed by him. By how collected he was, how hard he worked. I was excited to become his student... I wished to show him what he is worthy of. That others see his hard work.”
Vil's breath hitches. He remembers you mentioning that you were his fan, but he punished you for this remark; he didn't need to be so violently degraded. But... Was it a truth, then?
”...It is in the past now. I witnessed his true colours, and I will not tolerate it,” your smile twists in something more vicious, a ghostly fondness leaving your pretty face. ”He doesn't need to be scared of me being better anymore. Because I am going to be so much worse.”
He shudders as he hears that, your voice cold, and eyes gleaming dangerously. And as if Rook addresses him, he sighs suddenly, with the strange excitement in his voice:
”Oh, mon doux karma. What had you done?”
Idia Shroud. 💙
— From the minute you open your mouth in his presence , Idia knows he will hate you desperately... It is not serious, though;
— You are unbelievably loud, and too cheerful, and too proud, and you are so self-centred? Also, a fucking bimbo. Idia has no idea why everyone so into you, and what you are even doing in Ignihyde! Go away!
— You annoy him so much, and he actually hates the way you try to befriend him and make him more normie! Stop be like that! You are not welcome!
— Idia is absolutely not impressed that your signature spell is an instant tactics creation. Fuck you, by the way.
“You do know, that doors exist, right?” Idia hisses, not even stopping his game to spare you some attention.
”I do!” You say, climbing through the window with a loud thud.
”Then, why don't you use them, idiot?!”
Idia has no the slightest idea why anyone, let alone you of all people—he means, since you genuinely think that it is healthy to spend all your time outside of the room—would want to become his friend. But here you are. Trying to befriend him for a month already.
”Because you never open the door, Idia-sama,” you shrug easily.
”Take a hint, maybe.”
You close the window behind yourself, taking place behind his chair. Putting elbows on it, you hum thoughtfully, glancing from Idia to the screen of the computer, where the game flashes on. Another few minutes, and familiar yelps fill the room:
”Shit!”
Game over.
”Idia-sama,” you frown, ”maybe, I can help you?”
Idia snickers, rubbing his tired eyes. As if.
”Have you ever played this game, even?”
”No,” you murmur shyly, scratching the back of your neck. ”But I am good at tactics. And it is combat game, correct?”
Idia ponders for a while. That is surprising, because... You are actually absolutely correct. For once.
”Sit down, first year,” Idia exclaims, suddenly excited. ”I am going to teach you how to play this game.”
You smile widely, doing as it was told.
Finally, you cracked the code! And they said you weren't for this dorm...
Malleus Draconia. 💚
— Of course, he missed you as the new student at first, since he forgot to arrive at the orientation day. But it is not that long as he starts hearing others praising you, Lilia especially;
— You are quickly becoming the part of the school life as everyone loves you, and calling you ’the heart of the school’. And while Malleus wants to befriend you, too... He also can't help but feel envious of how easy it is for you. The socialization;
— You are quick to fall asleep everywhere, much like Silver. And since Malleus can't find courage to speak to you, he wanders around, when you are asleep at the strangest places, instead;
— When the first overblot incident happens, your signature spell kicks in. To everyone's horror, it is absolutely terrifying. Your magic is about thorns. Thorns, that wrap around Riddle's weakened body, when he touches you. He almost dies. And the same thing happens with Ace, who accidentally brushes your skin. Now... Everyone shun you away.
”Hello, Malleus-sama,” you mutter, eyes sleepy as you look around. ”I apologise.”
Malleus doesn't quite mind you falling asleep in the class, where his gargoyle's researches are going currently. He is the only member, anyway. But he nods.
”I had never seen you here before,” he notices in a poor attempt of the small talk.
You shrug.
”There is no other students here. And it is better for me not to show up around them.”
What a familiar thinking process... Somehow, he finds it easier: to approach you know, when you are not everyone's favourite anymore.
”I see. You can stay, then. I am not welcomed by them either, so no one is going to enter this classroom.”
You offer him a smile. It is short, strained at the edges, but still sweet. Malleus thinks he understands how you so easily charmed others in the last months; you are much like sunshine, when you are happy. It is a shame you are not, anymore.
”You know, Malleus-sama, I always wanted to become your friend,” you admit suddenly, making him open his eyes in surprise. ”And, I think, you wanted to be mine friend, too.”
You? Why would someone like you want to have him as your friend?
”And why would you think that?”
You fold arms on your chest slowly.
”You are always here, when I am sleeping,” Malleus feels blush touching the tips of his pointy ears. You elaborate. ”I am not sure people realise, but I sleep too much not only because I am lazy, but also because I feel surroundings better like this. I remember everything I hear in my sleep, and I do feel if someone is around.”
Ah. So, that is the secret of yours. And he wondered how you master in all your classes, when you sleep all the time...
”...I see,” Malleus mutters, ashamed. ”I apologise, then.”
He reminiscences of how often he whispered you some nonsense when you slept—childish complaints about how he hates you for being so easily loved by others, random poems that came to his mind as he sat down by your side, stories from his childhood—and feels like disappearing in the shame wouldn't be that bad.
”You know, Malleus-sama, you and I... We are not so different. We both do what we have to do to keep our loved ones to ourselves,” you sit down on the couch beside him slowly. ”But it leads only to one thing.”
Malleus gazes at you curiously as you suddenly curl on his lap, much like a cat. Your eyes met as he helps you to settle more comfortably.
”To destiny?” He asks aloud, tilting his head.
”To pain.”
There is a beat of silence in which your smile suddenly appears to be more bitter, less serene. Malleus doesn't know what happened with you in details, and how awfully these changes in your reputation affected on you, but he can say that it was hard.
”Now, if you don't mind, and I believe, you don't, Malleus-sama, I would like to dream a little bit.” You warn him, already closing your eyes, not really waiting for the answer.
Still, Malleus nods. Though that is not something you can see.
”Sleep, then... Beastie,” he sighs, patting your hair gently.
You snicker, before your breath slows down, alarming that you completely drifted off.
Malleus stares at you openly now.
Ah, who would've thought? He had finally made a friend.
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Part two with Leona & Vil is here.
3K notes · View notes
specshroom · 3 months
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•The Queen of Curses•
Part 1 / Part 2
(CW: It's smut bro. Sukuna has two dicks, pp in vagina, pp in ass, They fuck in the curse blood bath, cunnilingus, fingering, cervix fucking? Idk. )
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The Queen of Curses tries her best to be as nonchalant as possible as she's being escorted to the curse blood bath meant to reguvinate her body to it's full strength. Anybody would struggle to stay nonchalant if they could feel the gaze of the King of Curses trained on their body. She's surprised he can't smell the need flowing off her from where he walks, a few feet behind her. Uraume definitely can with the way the woman's perked nipple presses into the sorcerer's arm and the way her flushed skin radiates heat. 
As they reach their destination a few steps above the giant pool, the woman turns to her husband and bows dramatically.
"Please you first, My king" she says with a grin.
Sukuna scoffs at his wife's antics, crossing two arms over his chest as the other two go to undo the string keeping his baggy white pants up. The article drops to the floor and his wife isn't bashful about taking in all her husband has to offer as he walks past her into the huge pool of dark liquid. 
She looks to her subordinate who is already kneeling on the ground folding up Sukuna's forgotten pants. Taking the opportunity she steps towards them and says. 
"Uraume, would you mind helping me undress?"
Uraume stands up without a word. When they stand to full height their head only comes up to their masters cleavage, something that was always very amusing to the woman. 
Uraume's delicate fingers go to the knot tying their masters kimono around her body. They gently loosen the knot until it unwraps and the loosened clothing exposes her whole front to them. Uraume isn't surprised at all by the fact that their master isn't wearing anything under her kimono. 
"AY, hurry it up!"
Sukuna yells from where he sits in the waist high blood. The woman clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. 
"So impatient."
she scoffs to Uraume before shrugging the kimono off her shoulders till it falls to the ground. She walks down the steps towards the pool as Uraume kneels again to fold the long silky piece of fabric. They know that neither of their masters will need their garments any time soon. 
Sukuna stands up as his wife steps into the pool, dark droplets falling from his sculpted frame. Where Uraume only makes it up to their masters breasts, she barely makes it to Sukuna's shoulders.
She looks up at him through her lashes as she gets closer, so close her tits graze against his crossed arms. 
She slowly reaches out to caress the skin of her lover, following the inked lines up his waist. She keeps following the dark lines until she gets to the pair of crossed arms, encourage them to uncross and bringing them to her waist. Sukuna starts rubbing his fingers into her lower back just the way she likes. She traces the black patterns higher up his chest, along his neck until she cups both sides of his face. 
She delicately runs her fingers against the deformed side of his face, caressing the massive beast as if he's made of porcelain. He grasps the wrist of the hand that so gently touches him, holding it still as he leans into her palm. The two hands on her waist pull her body closer, he closes his eyes and breaths her in. 
"why so soft all of a sudden?" 
he mumbles against her tattooed wrist, it didn't sound as teasing as he wanted it to. 
She smiles at him. 
"Because I'm your wife."
 She says lowly, half lidded eyes staring into his soul... If he has one. The curse king stares back with just as much reverence, they move closer until their noses are touching, breaths mixing. 
She suddenly pushes him away hard enough to make him lose balance and fall ass first into the thigh deep blood they're standing in. When his head resurfaces he sees his wife doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach.
The man growls in anger. Why must the woman he loves be so irritating? 
"Hahahaha! Uraume did you see tha- ah!"
Sukuna grabs his wife while she's gloating, pulling her closer to him by her thighs. One hand on the upper thigh, one on her ass, one on the other knee, pulling it over his shoulder and the last one around her ankle holding her in place. Finally his face is exactly where he's wanted it to be for a thousand years now, just a few inches away from her warm cunt.
He looks up at her with four angry eyes.
"You play around too much, woman."
She looks down at him from between her breasts which move up and down with her short breaths. Having him so close to where she needs him the most is making something in her stomach heat up.
"You think I can't tell how much you want me right now? You think I don't know you crave me just as much as I crave you?" 
She grabs at his hair and shuffles in his hold. She can feel his breaths on her cunt, her need is overwhelming. She tries pushing his head to finally make contact with her needy pussy but he doesn't budge, grinning up at her while he nuzzles the side of his face into the flesh of her thigh. 
"Mhm. I can be a tease too, baby."
She lets out an irritated huff. 
"Ryo, if you don't eat me out right now I swear-"
She pauses, not knowing what to say while her husband looks at her with a shit eating grin, cocking his eyebrows up for her to continue. 
"I won't suck either of your dicks."
She says with finality as if she didn't just come up with that on the spot. She crosses her arms over her tits, all proud of herself.
Sukuna chuckles, she can feel the breathy laugh on her cunt. She involuntarily clenches around nothing and her posture hunches a little.
"Well damn baby, that's all you had to say."
 He says before finally. Finally. diving his head in between her plush thighs. Licking one big stripe up her cunt to her clit before settling on a rhythm of eager lapping and sucking. The pleasure is instant as she hunches over and curls her fingers in his short fluffy hair.
The groan she lets out is so gutteral it makes him moan into her pussy. Safe to say, even after so many years he hasn't lost his touch. He keeps going at it as she grinds back into his mouth. The hard malformed part of his face scrapes against her thigh but she's always liked it. It reminded her exactly who was making her feel so good. 
"Ahh, Ryo" She groans into the night air as her husband holds up her whole body without any struggle, getting perfect full access so he can get his tongue as deep inside her as possible. She places a foot on his shoulder granting him even easier access, hands still tugging his hair.
He squeezes her ass and gropes at her thigh pulling her impossibly closer like he can never get enough of her. By the higher pitched noises she's making and the way her thighs tense up around his head, he can tell she's already on the edge of orgasm, about to reach her peak. 
He suddenly unlatches her legs from his shoulders and reaches up, grabbing her by the neck to pull her down into a harsh kiss. Her entire body gets pulled down so that she's straddling him now, blood coming up to just under her breasts. She struggles in the kiss, kicking at him and reeling from her ruined orgasm while Sukuna grins into the kiss.
She bites at his lips and he just kisses back with equal intensity. When her animalistic growls give way to a pitiful whine, he releases her from the kiss. Her nails dig into the wrist of the hand still around her throat. Drawing blood that drips down and mixes with the blood of hunreds of other curses. 
"You fucking bastard." 
She snarls at her supposed lover. He chuckles menacingly at her, very much enjoying the rageful passion she spits at him. That part of her is what made him fall in love with her in the first place after all. 
"Aww, poor baby."
Sukuna coos in the most patronising manner possible. The look of absolute rage on his wife's face makes him surprised the blood around them isn't at boiling point. She thrashes around in his grip, grunting, pushing, splashing, fighting against her horrible husband's hold. Sukuna just holds onto her tighter, never holding up, like she's his life force and if he lets go he'll die. 
She yells out in frustration and anger which is when Sukuna thinks it's the perfect time for the fat toungue of the mouth on his stomach to lick a hard long strip up her whole pussy. She instantly stills as her breath hitches. 
Sukuna brings his hand to her jaw making her look him in the eyes again as he thrusts the large tongue into her. The stretch makes her hiss and tense up. The initial sting quickly grows into euphoria, the feeling of the huge tongue moving against her walls is a pleasure that is indescribable. 
As her moans get louder and her eyes roll back, she almost loses herself again in the feeling but quickly shakes her head and looks at her husband with an intense glare. 
"You better make me cum this time, Ryo" 
She says in a raspy voice, the man in question grins as if he's innocent and replies back. 
"Of course, anything for My Queen."
She groans, not appreciating his teasing at all. 
"I'm serious, I'll kill you. I'll kill you if you do that again-"
Her ernest death threats are rudely interrupted by Sukuna shoving two of his fingers in her mouth. The other hand holds her jaw up for better access. Her dark eyes still trained on his, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 
"I said I will." 
He says, the teasing tone replaced with something deep and honest like a promise to her. 
The Queen takes a moment to admire her devoted partner before she allows herself to lose her mind on his tongue. 
Sukuna slowly thrusts his two fingers into his wife's mouth, loving the way her tongue flattens out to lick his fingers as he thrusts. He brings his other hand that's not holding her down on his tongue to press gently into her unoccupied hole.
She groans at the new sensation of having her ass played with as Sukuna slowly moves to thrust a finger inside. He lowers the hand on her jaw to fondle and squeeze at her tits. 
The woman is in absolute euphoria, her eyes flutter shut as her tongue lols out, spit messing down Sukuna's wrist and her chin. So many different places being stimulated. So many areas of pleasure. It's so overwhelming, it's no wonder she's already almost there again. 
She opens her eyes to stare at her husband, they always liked looking into eachothers eyes when they cum. She only gets louder and needier as Sukuna uses multiple hands to dutifully work her up to her climax. Sukuna brings two hands to her hips and thrusts her down hard on his tongue right as he thrusts it up so deep into her. She uncontrollably clenches hard as she comes undone on his massive tongue, loving every second he gives her. 
Sukuna takes his fingers out of her mouth to kiss her sloppily as she rides out the high. It takes a while for her to come down but once she does she's wrapping her arms around her husbands neck, pushing her body as close to him as it can be while kissing his neck.
"I missed you."
she whispers in between the soft kisses. Sukuna feels his heart and dicks pulse.
"I noticed." 
He grins cockily, the expected response from a bastard like him. 
"Yeah? Well I missed them too."
She murmured against his lips, shuffling her leg so that it grazes the two hard shafts below her. The King grins at her and waists no time hauling her up, pressing her close to his chest. He walks towards the edge of the giant pool and rests her down on the edge.
She leans back on her hands, legs spread wide for him to stand in between them. She admires her husband's imposing frame as he admires how she openly flaunts her body to him. 
Sukuna then holds both her legs right under the knee and brings them to either side of her chest so that his pretty wife is bent in half for him. Said wife lightly moans at the position he's chosen, shes basically presenting her pussy to him. She lets out another louder moan when she feels his two heavy cocks graze against her wet puffy pussy. Sukuna brings his face close to hers so he can see her face clearly as he rubs his cocks up and down her cunt. 
"You ready?" 
He asks, knowing full well that she most definitely is with how slick her hole is. She nods looking into his eyes. 
"Put it in then"
He says lowly, it was meant to be an order but there's just a hint of a plead in there. She reaches down between them to line up his two cocks to their respective holes. She holds them there so that Sukuna can slowly tease them into each entrance. Once the mushroom heads pop in, they both weakly moan. She moves her hand to grab his waist to ease him forward, gradually burying his cocks deeper into her. Once he's halfway in she presses on his waist to make him still, letting herself adjust. 
"Cmon, ease up baby." He mumbles, caressing her hips, waist and thighs soothing her body so that she's not so tense. He gives her neck kisses and eventually she eases up enough, pulling him forward again by the waist. Both of his fat cocks bottom out and the two lovers are in absolute euphoria. Chest to chest, arms clutching around eachother. They sit there for a minute, foreheads touching so they can stare into eachothers eyes. Neither of them meant for this to be so sincere but they truly just missed eachother so damn much and it's overwhelming. 
Sukuna adjusts, getting in a better position where his knees are bent and his whole body is hunched over his wife's in a mating press like position. This gives him much better leverage to slowly pull out, indulging in his wife's cute whines before he slides a pair of hands around her lower back and slams right back into her. 
The hands under her back lift her hips up slightly and it's such a perfect angle, allowing him to go as deep as possible. Feeling every inch of him in both her holes is making her go crazy. They both are so loud when they fuck, the sounds of their moans and the fast plap plap plap of their skin echos through the otherwise silent atmosphere.
"Ah! Squeezing me so tight, you're already gonna cum? Fuck!"
Sukuna tries to sound cocky but miserably fails. She can't even respond, she's been lost in the pleasure since he started thrusting. His grip on her thighs and waist tighten as she tightens around both of his cocks, so close to release. He has no idea how he hasn't cum yet but he's getting so desperate humping into her almost like a dog. The clenching and shaking is too much for him, he's gonna- 
"Fill me up, Ryo."
She whispers to him, tired eyes still looking up at him. With that, he cums hard and fast, shooting strong ropes of cum into her pussy and ass. Her eyes squeeze shut as the feeling of being filled up so well in both holes roughly pushes her over the edge. It's a feeling she'll never get used to.
 It takes a while for her to come down from the high, her fingers ease the grip she had on his newly bruised skin. Sukuna is lazily sucking on her neck, licking at the sweaty skin. Hes laying all his weight ontop of her, good thing she isn't a mortal woman or she'd be crushed under his monster weight. She feels him soften inside her and grins, a devious plan cooking up in her evil brain. 
"Hmm, Ryo?"
"Hmmm"
His head doesn't leave the crook of her neck as she rubs his back. 
"Do you think I can still fit both of them in my pussy?"
He halts. She's built up enough energy to roll the tired man onto his back and sit up in a single quick motion, dicks still inside her. Feet planted on the floor on either side of his waist she places both hands on his chest for balance and lifts herself off his cocks, making them both groan at the loss. He only watches, enamored by the sheer amount of cum that drips from her holes onto his abs. 
She adjusts to balance on the front part of her feet, spreading her legs wide as she manoeuvres her pussy over his two spent cocks. She takes both of them in hand, looking at his face to watch his reactions to her touch on his sensitive members. His eyebrows scrunch but he doesn't waver, lifting himself slightly on two elbows. She holds her pussy open with two fingers and brings herself down slowly, slightly taking in both heads. They both watch where the two heads disappear inside her dripping cunt. She stills and just when Sukuna opens his mouth to complain she quickly drops herself down, taking both cocks inside her in a rapid motion. Both of them let out something between a moan and a scream at the sudden stimulation of both Sukuna's thick cocks being forced so deeply inside such a tight space.
"Fucking crazy woman." 
He struggles out. The stretch feels so devine as she clenches and moans. Her head tilted up to the stars in the sky with a dreamy look on her face. She brings her hand to caress her tummy and grins when she feels it, the bump in her stomach right where his two cocks inside her are. She looks down at it which makes Sukuna look too and the man curses, tipping his head back, absolutely enamoured with his perfect wife. 
She pulls his hand from her hip to her stomach to hold it over the bulge there. They both moan at the feeling as she starts grinding back and forth in slow circles. 
"You got another one for me, Honey?"
She asks snarkily, as if she doesn't know how many rounds her husband is capable of, he just huffs and smirks. She raises herself up on her feet, until both dicks are juuust about to pop out and rams back down letting out a gutteral sound as they reach the deepest parts of her pussy. She continues with these hard long thrusts, moving her whole body up and down his lengths. Sukuna just let's his wife do her magic, occasionally clutching into her thighs and hips. Sukuna knows he'll never be allowed into heaven but the feeling of his two cocks rubbing up against one another inside his wife's pretty cunt is the closest thing to heaven he'll ever need. 
As she gets closer and moves faster the overstimulation starts getting to her and her full body thrusts get sloppier. Her body can't keep up with her need and she frantically tells her husband. 
"Ah, fuck me, Ryo please!"
Sukuna waists no time following his wife's orders and reaches under her legs to grab her waist with two hands. Her legs are pressed against her chest and he sits up before lifting her body up and pounding her even deeper than before. She clutches his biceps for some stability as she gets her cervix fucked by her insanely big husband.
 The position, the depth, the speed, the strength it's all too much for Sukuna as she clenches impossibly tighter. Before he can even register it, his balls clench and his dicks twitch until he's cumming hard for her. He hisses and lets out a long groan, pulling her close to him as he bottoms out so he can shoot his cum as deep inside her as possible. She can barely handle the amount of cum that gets pumped into her. Nothing in the world can compare to the feeling of being filled to the brim by her lover, its no time before she's cumming with him. Her pussy milking his two cocks for all they have. 
 They stay dead still like that for a solid minute until Sukuna falls onto his back bringing his wife with him, still clutching her tightly to his chest. They both breathe ragged breaths, bathing in the sweaty after glow.
"Wow." She chuckles in exhaustion lifting her head from where it rested on his chest to rest her hand on her chin and smile dazedly at him. He lazily grins back from the hard ground while his hands stroke up and down her thighs and back, one arm resting under his head. 
She slowly pushed herself up more with her hands on his chest before she gradually pulled his softened dicks out of her now fill cunt. She's surprised her belly didn't expand with all the cum inside her at this point. 
She stands up, feet on either side of her husband's waist. The copious amount of cum that leaks out of her is so lewd it would make a pornstar blush. He curls a hand around her ankle, his eyes not leaving the leaking pussy infront of him. She places her hands on her hips and puffs out her chest, standing there like some lewd naked superhero. She clears her throat to get his attention and his eyes flick up to her very smug face.
"I win." 
She says simply. His dazed grin falls comically fast.
"What?"
"I made you come first, both times we fucked."
She holds out her hand, presenting two fingers. Sukuna is dumbfounded to say the least. 
"What the fuck are you talking about? I made you cum first on my tongue."
He retorts, holding up one finger.
"Nuh uh, that doesn't count."
He's getting angry now and she knows it. He lifts himself up on his elbows.
"What the fuck do you mean it doesn't count?"
She stretches her arms above her head stepping over him to walk away.
"Doesn't count. Better luck next time, My Love" 
He grabs at her ankle.
"Hey! You promised me you'd suck my dick if I made you cum, remember?" 
She pretends to think for a second. 
"Huh, I did say that." 
she pauses before shrugging,
"Well, I'm hungry now. Uraumeee!" 
She dashes out of his grip but he anticipates it and stands up to grab her around the waist. 
"You will make good on your promise." He growls into her hair slightly grinding his bare cocks into her ass. 
She's unfazed as she turns in his hold and says sternly. 
"I know you know what it's like to not eat a single thing for ONE THOUSAND YEARS!"
Sukuna groans in exasperation, tipping his head up to the sky. 
"You got to eat plenty of innocents already! I've not had a single mortal and might I remind you who's fault all this was in the first-"
"You called master?“
Uraume suddenly appears bowing behind the woman, interrupting her tangent which Sukuna is relieved about. The woman turns with a gleeful look in her eyes.
"Uraume~ Darling, I'm starving."
"I've already prepared you both a few meals and clean clothing."
The Queen practically vibrates with happiness. She reaches out to bring the sorcerer into a sweaty hug.
"Oh Uraume, what would I do without you?"
Just like that the Queen of Curses is back to cooing over her favourite sorcerer, clinging onto them as they lead her to the meal they prepared.
Sukuna just stands there for a minute, contemplating his entire marriage to this point as he watches the two scale up the stares. He peers a bit lower to the absolutely drenched state of her thighs as his multiple loads leak from her filled pussy, walking just a little wobbly. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. As much as he wants to complain and act like he hates it, he knows he's absolutely pussy whipped.
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aemonds-sapphire · 1 year
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Persuasion
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Summary: Aemond protects those he cares about ruthlessly. You are no exception. So he will have the truth, or someone’s head. Maybe both.
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader
Warnings: NSFW. Overprotective Aemond. Edging. Orgasm denial. Oral sex. Breeding kink (implied)
Word count: 2k
“Do not tell Prince Aemond.”
“Do not worry, my lady. My lips are sealed,” Grand Maester Mellos bowed lightly, gathering his ointments and bandages.
“Do not tell Prince Aemond what?”
By the door frame stood Prince Aemond Targaryen, arms crossed, and a dangerously calm look on his face.
Maester Mellos knew better, and Aemond’s seemingly composed demeanor was not to be trifled with.
The old man froze in place, glaring at the young prince as if he’d suddenly grown a third arm.
Clearing his throat, he greeted with a bow. “Prince Aemond… welcome back.”
He turned his eye to you. “I’m waiting.”
You huffed in annoyance, knowing far too well that he would turn something trivial into an unnecessary ordeal.
Because as far as Aemond Targaryen was concerned, your safety was paramount, and he would not have it any other way.
“Thank you, Maester Mellos,” you smiled warmly, trying to ease his nerves.
He merely hurried to make his way out, but Aemond barred the door, eyeing the man in front of him with a deadly stare.
“Aemond,” you called out, shifting to sit on your bed.
The Targaryen prince clicked his tongue, eventually stepping to the side. “Hmm.”
The poor old man was now visibly shaking, and nearly made a run for it once the pathway was made clear.
“That was uncalled for,” you half-scolded.
The door shut behind him, and he came to take a sit by your side, his face twisted into a serious expression. “What do you not want me to know, then.”
But before you could reply, his eye landed on your hands and you could swear you saw a hint of rage crossing his face.
“Who did this to you?” Poison coated his low voice, sending shivers across your spine.
He took your bruised hands in his, closely inspecting the damage to your knuckles.
It looked far worse than it felt. “I was sparring with Ser Criston. Just for fun,” you revealed, meeting his eye. “It was nothing much. This will heal soon.”
“He did this to you?” he sounded uncharacteristically… calm.
“No.”
Aemond’s tender fingers wrapped around your wrists, anger slipping through the cracks. “Then who?”
It would be much easier to give into the pressure, but you knew fully well that if you were to reveal who had been on the receiving hand of your fist, he’d simply storm out, not caring that the short amount of time you had to spend with with would be ruined.
“Let's forget about this for tonight,” you said, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. “I've missed you so much.”
Aemond rose to his feet, arching an eyebrow. “Should I go ask Maester Mellos, then? I’m sure he’d be much willing to talk.”
Rolling your eyes, you held him in place by tugging at his leather coat.
“Leave the poor man alone and fuck me instead.”
You pulled him towards you by his pants, slightly wincing as pain shot through your bruised hand.
“Tell me who it was.”
Deciding to ignore him, you parted you legs to accommodate him, resting your chin on his stomach. “Prince Aemond… I need you,” you pouted.
The hold you had on the young prince was such that had Queen Alicent fear that it might break her beloved son.
And nothing pleased you more than knowing you could bend him to your will with just the right amount of persuasion.
It didn't take long before he started panting lightly as you began caressing his crotch through the fabric, enjoying your touch and how you so skillfully and rapidly had his cock harden.
His eye fluttered shut, and he removed each layer of clothing from his body, until he got to his pants.
“Do not stare at me like that. I might lose it,” he groaned, bringing his thumb to caress your lips.
Your walls reflexively clenched around nothing, and you felt your clit swell in anticipation.
His toned torso gleamed of a faint mix of warm colours that emanated from the candles spread around you, and you couldn’t help to place the softest kiss on the think hair of silver that spread below his navel.
Aemond undid his pants to ease the tension on his cock before tossing the garment aside.
“Will you not tell me?” he asked, slowly dropping to his knees as your eyes were fixed on his thick and leaking cock.
With both hands on each thigh, he further spread you apart, dragging the fabric of your chemise up your legs, revealing your most intimate parts to his hungry gaze.
You knew what came next, and readied yourself by leaning back, supporting your weight with your arms.
Aemond pressed soft kisses up your inner thigh until he reached your folds.
He was staring intensely at you. “Last chance to tell me, my lady.”
You could feel his breath on you. “What does that mean…”
“Who hurt you?”
Aegon had been the one to meet your fist after he decided it would be smart to badmouth his brother in front of you. Not even Ser Criston Cole moved to defend the future king. He had deserved it.
But the last thing on your mind was Aegon and his ridiculous antics.
Aemond did not answer your question, as he pressed a kiss to your folds.
“How is it so swollen already?” he growled, parting your folds to reveal your throbbing clit. “Do you like me on my knees that much?”
He had such a way with words that you reckoned you might be pushed over the edge from the sound of his voice and lewd words.
You bucked your hips into him as you felt his tongue prodding at your entrance for a brief moment before he dragged it to lick your clit.
The sight of having the young prince hungrily eating you was enough to ignite the coil in your lower abdomen.
His tongue slipped inside you, as his nose was pressed against the sensitive bud, teasing it with each slurp.
“Right there… Gods…” you threw your head back in sheer pleasure.
The pressure on your lower half was such that you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.
“Aemond…”
Just as you we were about to plunge into blinding bliss, you felt him draw away from you. The immediate loss of touch earning a strangled cry from you, your clit demanding attention again.
At first, you thought it was merely his intent do shift positions, so he could be buried deep within you and having your walls contract around him from your release.
However, by the time he was on top of you, dragging the thing underside of his cock along your folds, yet refusing to enter you, that’s when you realised something was off.
“Please… please…” you nearly yelled, wrapping your legs around his waist to increase the friction.
But Aemond paid no mind to your pleas, and kept rolling his hips while sucking gently on your neck.
The moment he heard your gasps getting louder and breathier, he halted, kissing away the tears that had started to flow from the overstimulation.
He lifted his hips as to avoid his cock from touching you at all, and you felt the urge to smack him.
“What are you doing,” you cried out, vision blurry and chest heaving rapidly.
He pressed his lips to your cheek in such adoration, that your heart skipped a beat.
“Do not underestimate my feelings for you,” whispered in a warning tone. “I would start a war for you.”
Others might brush that aside as an overstatement, but Aemond Targaryen did not utter empty threats.
That revelation sent you pushing your hips to his, urging him to have his cock on you once more.
Suddenly, his lips twisted into a mischievous smile, as he suddenly pinned your arms above your face.
You eyes widened in utter shock. “Aemond….”
“It seems we are in a bit of a predicament, lady wife,” he purred, lips nearly touching yours. “You seek release, but I shall not give it to you until you tell me who hurt you.”
At this, you tried to wriggle away from his grip. “Oh… fuck you!”
“I want that, too,” he said teasingly. “But first, you need to tell me a name.”
He chuckled at the evident agony in your eyes stilling your hips with other hand.
“And you will not be able to have your release by yourself without your hands,” he said, giving your wrists a squeeze. “Your choice.”
Your clit throbbed desperately in between your folds, craving his touch, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek at the sight of his cock drippings strings of precum onto your abdomen.
He was just as desperate to have you, and you were perplexed that he had such self control.
Seeing that you refused to cooperate, he lowered himself into you, his cock pressed down on your clit as your folds enveloped it.
“Gods… just move…” you growled in despair, tugging at your hands in an attempt to break free from his grip.
Surprisingly, he did as you asked, rolling his hips slowly. You tried to mimic the motion just so you could get to your point of no return.
But Aemond knew your body too well. He knew exactly what made you tick, and how your body would respond.
He stopped moving at once, heaving a frantic wail from you as your release got put on hold once more.
“Aegon! I threw a punch at Aegon,” you blurted out in between sobs as your sensitive clit throbbed against his cock. “He was uttering nonsense about you and—”
“You punched my brother?”
You opened your eyes to see surprised on his face, with a hint of amusement. He then released the grip on your wrists and brought one of your hands closer to his face, rubbing your sore knuckles with his thumb.
“That’s my girl,” he laughed, planting a kiss on each knuckle. “You should have told me right away.”
You rolled your eyes. “And you would have gone after him. I want you here… with—”
He immediately cut you off with a burning kiss, and just as quickly, he angled his hips to bury himself inside you.
The overstimulation and denied releases had left your body so sensitive that it was as if everything stung and you had to bite your lip hard to muffle your cries.
He ground mercilessly into you, breaking the kiss and removing the eyepatch.
“Look at me.”
You were met with the sapphire in place of his left eye, and knew that he was close the moment his arms faltered, and he nearly collapsed on top of you, speeding up and gripping your hips as he pumped in a final broken rhythm.
Taking your face in your hands, you had your lips caress the long scar, knowing fully well he had grown used to you showing him how much you adore every single inch of him.
“So tight…” he groaned.
You then watched in marvel as his mouth fell open in a quick hiss as he stilled inside you, filling you to the brim.
Feeling his cock twitching inside you violently as he spilled his cum inside, drove you over the edge until your vision blurred in waves of colours, tearing the room with a sharp cry of pleasure.
Aemond managed to regain some composure as he lifted your lower half and placed a pillow underneath your backside.
“Stay like this for a while,” he said, slowly sliding out of you.
Your breathing came out in erratic pants and you felt him gently pushing inside some of the cum that had spilled with his fingers.
At this pace, it would not be long before your belly would start to swell with his child.
He caressed your face with his hand, as he brought his lips to press a loving kiss to your sweaty forehead.
“Avy jorrāelan.”
Your heart skipped a beat, but before you could return the gesture, Aemond slid off the bed, rapidly getting dressed.
“Where are you going?” you asked, shifting to your side, a gush of cum spilling from you.
“On my way to behead my dear brother.”
You groaned in exasperation. “Aemond!”
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simplyundeniable98 · 5 months
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look at me t.s.
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Pairing | Thomas Shelby x Female reader
Summary | When Mrs. Shelby requests Tommy in the room with her for the birth of their first daughter everyone is shocked. Men aren't supposed to be in the room with their wives as they give birth, it's just not how it is supposed to be... well all men aren't Thomas Shelby.
Warnings | Mentions of childbirth, pain obviously she's literally giving birth, maybe ooc Tommy? idk. Reader is a little mean to her doctors but she's in pain cut her some slack. MDNI because I said so. Foul language.
Word Count | .06k
~This is loosely based off of the scene in Queen Charlotte when they won't let George into the room to see Charlotte. If you know what I'm talking about I love you~
All dialogue in italics is spoken in Romani.
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"Mrs Shelby forgive me but husbands aren't usually in the room during the birth" The doctor spoke hesitantly as his eyes flicked nervously around the room.
Everyone seemed to speak hesitantly around her. I guess that was what you get when you become a Shelby. Everyone around you is constantly terrified to tell you no or disagree. It was like being royalty in a sort of fucked up way.
Polly Gray cut the doctor a look as she walked over to you and put a reassuring hand on your forehead.
"Polly please" you cried in pain "I need him here." Nothing from the old wive tales could compare to the pain you were feeling. You had been pushing for hours now with Polly at your side but nothing was working. Your daughter simply just would not budge. Polly had made the comment early on about her already showing traits from her father.
"I don't care what usually happens. If Tommy Shelby is not in this room in the next five minutes, I will personally end you." You spoke with a hiss pointing at the doctor.
You weren't usually this aggressive, but given the fact you were in pain and used to getting what you wanted all the time, the circumstances were different.
Polly sighed as she looked down at you and began to head out of the room.
"What's wrong, is she okay?" Tommy spoke immediately as Polly exited the doors of your room.
"She's requesting you Thomas" Polly spoke in Romani so as to not alert the other doctors of your request.
"She wants me in the room with her?" He spoke hesitantly as he looked towards the door.
Polly nodded and Tommy immediately started towards the door.
"I'm sorry Mr. Shelby but I cannot allow you to be in the room." The doctor outside of your door spoke as his eyes flicked down to the floor to avoid Tommy's sharp gaze.
"Tell me, doctor, do you like your job?" Tommy spoke with a raised brow as he waited for his response.
When he didn't reply Tommy bent down to reach his gaze "Hmm? I asked you a question doctor, do you like your job?"
"Yes. Yes I like my job" He murmured still avoiding the sharp blue eyes that were currently staring daggers at the man.
"Well if you intend on staying alive long enough to keep it, I suggest you move out of my way." Tommy stood up straight and tilted his head towards the door.
The doctor nodded and stepped aside, letting Tommy enter the room. "If I hear one more word from anyone about my presence in this room, I will have a peaky blinder on each and every one of your doorsteps first thing tomorrow morning" Tommy spoke before anyone could protest.
"Tommy" you gasped as you finally laid eyes on your husband. "I've been asking for you"
"I know, I know. But I'm here now eh? I'm here now." Tommy bent down to give your forehead a kiss as you winced.
"I cant do this Tommy" you cried "I want it to be over"
Tommy's heart broke at the sight of you. His wife. He wished he could just take all of your pain away and keep it for himself.
Tommy bent down to kneel at the side of your bed as he cradled your face in his hands.
"Look at me. Hey, Look at me, love." He spoke softly as you turned your head to gaze at him with teary eyes.
"You can do this. I know you can. You are the most headstrong women I know, and ill be damned if you give up now." You giggled at his lighthearted teasing and nodded.
"And you don't really have a choice love. This baby has got to come out in one way or another." He smirked at you as you rolled your eyes at your husband.
"Okay Mrs. Shelby its time to push" Your doctor spoke as Tommy placed a kiss on the hand he had ahold of and nodded at you.
"Let's meet our daughter Mrs. Shelby."
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thehusbandoden · 8 months
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You Flinch During an Argument -Bakugo Katsuki
I finished this yesterday but forced myself to wait to post it due to my one part a day pattern I've had going on.
Anyways~ as I said in Shoto's part, I did make this one a bit angstier, but I hope I didn't stray too far away from the original prompt :'). It's kinda bittersweet lol but I kinda like it.
Angst to fluff/Comfort | Kinda bittersweet~ | 993 words | female reader
Warnings!: arguing, yelling, being scared of your partner, parents arguing (the kids were not present), kids being left at school (not for very long), caps, excuses, self hatred, and insulting themselves (Bakugo). Please let me know if I miss any <33
Dabi | Hawks | Todoroki Shoto | Bakugo Katsuki | Midoriya Izuku | Shigaraki Tomura | Aizawa Shota | Amajiki Tamaki | Kirishima Eijiro | Shinso Hitoshi
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You both had been fighting for at least half an hour, screaming at one another for this and that. It started with Bakugo 'forgetting' to pick up your sons from school, and has now escalated into you screaming at him for not 'caring about this family' and his yelling about how hard he works for your family.
No one was totally to blame, both parties had some points that were right, and some that were wrong. But it should have never reached that point.
~~~
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD I WORK TO PROVIDE FOR THIS FAMILY! I TOLD YOU WHEN YOU BEGGED FOR KIDS THAT I WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO HELP OUT MUCH! WHAT ELSE DO YOU EXPECT FROM ME!"
"I UNDERSTAND THAT- BUT YOU'VE HAD THREE DAYS OFF! YOU'RE FULLY RESTED- AND SHOULD'VE PICKED UP THE KIDS NO PROBLEM WHILE I WAS HELPING OUT YOUR MOM!"
"WELL WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO! I FORGOT ABOUT IT, OKAY! AND YOU DIDN'T CALL TO REMIND ME EITHER!"
"I EXPECTED YOU TO HAVE ENOUGH BRAINS TO REMEMBER, BUT I GUESS THAT WAS IDIOTIC OF ME!"
"I HAVE SO MUCH TO DEAL WITH BESIDES THIS BULL CRAP THAT'S YOUR RESPONSIBILITY! I WORK, YOU TAKE CARE OF THE KIDS!"
"KATSUKI I CANNOT WATCH THE KIDS 24-7 WITHOUT YOUR HELP! I NEED BREAKS TOO! YOU HAVE TWO DAYS OFF A WEEK TO RELAX, AND CATCH UP ON SLEEP! WHILE I HAVE NIGHT TIME, BATHROOM BREAKS, RUNNING ERANDS, AND NAP TIMES TO CATCH A BREAK! I SHOULD BE ABLE TO RELY ON MY HUSBAND TO HELP OUT WHEN HE HAS TIME OFF!"
"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WANTED THE KIDS IN THE FIRST PLACE- WHY ARE YOU WHINING TO ME ABOUT HAVING TO TAKE CARE OF 'EM!"
"WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE THEY AREN'T YOURS!? WE BOTH AGREED ON DOING THE BEST WE COULD FOR OUR KIDS, AND YOU SAID THAT YOU'D HELP OUT WHENEVER YOU COULD!"
"Y/N IT WAS THIS ONE TIME- I WAS BUSY, I FORGOT!"
"YOU WERE PLAYING GAMES ALL DAY WITH YOUR FRIENDS! THAT IS NOT BUSY!"
Blazing anger filled Bakugo as he stepped towards you, planning on simply getting closer to you to somehow try and make you see his side of things. He didn't mean to forget about picking up his kids, he loves his kids, he was simply engrossed in talking about them to his friends as he gamed, totally forgetting about the time and the fact that they were at school, waiting for someone to pick them up.
In truth, Bakugo felt bad. Really bad. But you wouldn't stop, so he continued, his unwavering pride making it near impossible to simply apologize and leave the argument behind.
Storming towards you, Bakugo stopped dead in his tracks as you flinched from him, eyes holding a certain terror. Wait- did you- did you think he was going to hurt you?!
Apologies and 'are you okay's were caught in Bakugo's throat as he opened his mouth, too terrified to speak.
Y/n.. his y/n was scared..of him. HIs y/n- the person that tore him out of his 'I don't care about anything or anyone' stage. She brought him out of his dark pit of self loathing, hating himself for how weak he was, how he couldn't do anything compared to that idiot Deku. She brought light into his world, she is his light. His first and last love, his wife, his center, his other half, his partner, his reason for life, the mother of his children, his one and only lover, his queen, his everything.
And he scared her.
Screamed at her for something that was his fault.
Treated her so badly that she flinched away from him- terror filling her eyes.
Her gorgeous e/c eyes. The same eyes that his sons had inherited. Now he's brought tears to three sets of those goregous eyes. What a scum bag.
Pain seared through Bakguo as he embraced his y/n, knowing if he left now she would entirely break, thinking that he was giving up on her. On their love. When in reality, he would't be. He would never dream of leaving her, or their beautiful children.
Because no matter how much of an a-hole Bakugo may be, he would never stoop that low. Never. And so he held her, and continued to hold her as she tearfully cussed him out, telling him how much she loved him and how much of an a-hole he was for treating her like that, their kids like that.
He just held her, telling her that he was sorry, that he knew, that he would make it up to her -and their seven year old twins- somehow.
And for now, that was enough. His love, and comfort was enough as you clung to him, insulting him while telling him that you loved his idiotic self in the same sentence, telling him that you loved him too much to not be able to forgive him.
And that if he was serious about making things right, that you would help him.
Because you were Bakugo y/n*. You chose to take his name and become his wife. Bakugo has helped you through so many up and downs, so you would do the same for him. Because he truly loved you, and you truly loved him.
*Japanese last names go in front of the first name to pay respect to the family name, and that's why Kirishima and Bakugo's other classmates call him Bakugo instead of Katsuki -to pay respect to his family name-. So you would be (in Japan anyway) Bakugo y/n (if you choose to take his last name) and strangers/aquaintnesses/not so close friends and co-workers would call you Bakugo instead of y/n. Annd due to me not liking Bakugo a whole lot I call him Bakugo or Baka/Bakuhoe instead of Katuski and call Todoroki and Midoriya, Shoto and Izuku- do you get what I'm saying?? I hope you do <33
Series' masterlist | Bakahoe's Bakugou's masterlist | Main masterlist | Navigation
Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated<33
Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging.
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thought--bubble · 25 days
Text
Things We Cannot Change
Dark Aemond X (Strong Niece Reader)
Warnings after the cut
Word Count: 1938
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Aemond (Canon Era) Masterlist
Full Masterlist
Banners & Dividers by @arcielee
Based on THIS request
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Warnings:: Reader's hair is brown. That's the only descriptor due to the request received, Breeding kink, Targcest, Virginity Loss. Mental abuse, mentions of canon deaths.
On your knees.
A place you thought you would never be, but alas here you are. On your knees looking up at the cold, cruel face of your uncle.
Once a boy you played with, read with, considered a friend. Now, he holds the life of your youngest brother in his hands. The only member of your family you have left.
"I ask you, Aemond-" He interrupts you with a cruel chuckle.
"King Aemond, my dear"
You cringe at the title. The war that ravaged both of your families put him on that throne. The thought of all you had lost made you sick.
"I ask you, your grace, to please spare my brother and I. There are so few of valyrian blood left." You keep your head bowed, your knees aching against the cold stone beneath them.
The both of you go quiet, you could still smell your mothers burning flesh, hear her screams as she was scorched and eaten alive in front of your very eyes. All for nothing, you thought. Your entire family is dead for Aemond to be the one to ascend the throne.
Your mother had been executed immediately, no court, no trial, just a woman and a dragon. Aegon II had demanded that you be executed as well, but luckily for you, he did not survive the trip back to the capital. Thus, your younger brother and you had been delivered to Aemond as traitors.
Followers of the false queen is what Aegon II had called you. Worthy of a public execution.
"On that front, we can agree bastard" He places his fingers delicately under your chin and tilts your face up towards him.
"I fear that dragon riders may become a thing that history boasts about if we are not careful in our decisions." He rubs his thumb gently across your bottom lip.
"So you and I shall marry, to preserve the bloodline," you audibly gasp at the absurd statement. You were now a mere strong bastard not fit to be queen.
"B-but your grace, I have been stripped of all royal titles. Surely I am not worthy to marry the King"
"You are not." he says curtly."But, preserving our dragon blood is of higher importance than that of courtly titles." He removes his hand from your chin and steps back, clasping his hands behind his back.
"The choice is yours, dear niece. Marry me or face the blade. If not to breed you, I have no further use of you."
You gulp audibly as your eyes begin to well. "I shall serve my duty to the realm your grace."
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The betrothal was announced to the realm with mixed reactions. Some houses understand the reasoning others are very upset that a bastard would be queen and not one of their highborn daughters.
All concerns fell upon deaf ears because Aemond knew what he wanted, and he wanted you. As king, he would have exactly what he wanted.
Your life changed very little after the announcement of the betrothal. You were given chambers instead of being in the dungeons, but you were not trusted.
You were escorted everywhere you went, and the incoming title of Queen did little to garner you any respect.
Everyone knew what you were. A vessel to breed valyrian blooded babies and nothing more.
What was worse was the embarrassment.
Aemond made sure to embarrass you at any opportunity. He would have you serve him at meal times instead of servants. Pull his bath for him. Even perform his ridiculous hair care routine. All of it meant to demean you.
You had hoped that after the wedding, he would stop this disgusting showcase and allow you at least a modicum of comfort, but even in that thought, you were mistaken.
After the two of you had been escorted to your marriage chambers and left alone, Aemond ordered you to pour his wine and stand in the corner. Once again, as if you were a servant and the treatment had finally become too much for you to bare.
"I'll take the sword," you say after moments of silence have fallen between you.
"Pardon?" Aemond lifts an eyebrow and looks up at you.
"I will take the sword, i do not wish to live this way for years and years." You stand with conviction. "I ask only that you spare Aegon so that he might have children in the future."
Aemond chuckles and sips his wine. "The offer has expired, dear wife. You are mine now, to toy with as I please."
"I was kind to you!" The words almost echo throughout the room. The connotation is clear.
"You were." He simply nods and continues to look into your eyes, no clear expression on his face.
"Then why do you treat me like this? Like a-" You search your mind for the words but come up empty.
"Like a traitor? Because you are a traitor. You knew the laws of the world in which you live. You did not at any time attempt to talk my dear sister out of war, did you?" He stands up from his chair and stalks towards you.
"My sister Helaena took her own life, my nephews murdered in the cruelest of fashions." His breath is heavy as he glares at you with his one eye. "You were complicit in their deaths. How should i treat you?"
"As if I lost nothing? You killed Luke. You weren't complicit in it. You did it with your own hand!" You can feel your rage bubbling up in your chest and try to suppress it to no avail.
"You killed Rhaenys and Daemon. There is far more dragon blood on your hands than mine. " You regret the words as soon as you say them, expecting his wrath to be swift and harsh.
He clicks his tongue and looks away from you. "That may be true, but there will not be anymore dragon blood spilled by me. Least of all yours."
He walks toward you but stops when he sees you backing away from him and sighs. "There are things we can not change. The war. The losses we suffered." He continues to advance on you but moves much more slowly.
"Although I believe I can change this, your fear of me."
"I am not afraid." You attempt to sound convincing, yet the shake to your voice gives you away.
"Let me try," He says gently as he gets close enough to cup your face. "This needn't be a marriage filled with fear and hate. We are all that is left of the house of the dragon. Let us rebuild, together"
Your heart cramps in your chest at his words and soft demeanor. This is the Aemond you remember. The boy who was always gentle with you, kind. Not the monster who murdered your brother and countless others in a ruthless pursuit for the throne.
"I have known fear. I do not wish to spend the remainder of my days being the cause of yours." He presses his forehead to yours and kisses the tip of your nose.
"Will you stop? The public shaming?" A tear trickles down your cheek at the thought of continuing to live in this manner. The abuses mounting, the shame unbearable.
"Yes. twill not happen again." He takes your face in his hands and lifts until your eyes meet. "This i swear."
He gently kisses your cheek where the tears have started to fall.
"We have all shed enough tears for a thousand lifetimes." He wipes a tear from your other cheek with his thumbs. "No more."
He pulls you close to his chest, gently swaying from side to side. "Shhh." He tries to comfort you as he strokes your hair.
He very softly brings his lips to yours and whispers. "Let me be more than the monster, I implore you."
You press your lips to him in desperation. Do you love him? No.
Will you ever truly trust or forgive him? Most likely not, but you want to feel something. Anything other than the dull ache that you have carried in your chest since the day Luke died.
If Aemond was aware of your true feelings, he did not let on. He reciprocated your neediness with hungry kisses of his own before lifting you and carrying you over to the bed chamber.
"I always wanted you to be my wife," He admits between kisses. "Always"
You choose not to respond, instead pulling at his clothes. He drops you down onto the bed and rucks up your skirts. Pulling your small clothes down quickly.
"Close your eyes," He whispers huskily, kissing up your inner thigh. You comply with his demands, closing your eyes and turning your mind off. Surrendering entirely to the physical sensations you are experiencing.
He brings his hand to your heat, pushing you open before bringing his tongue down upon you. The feeling is overwhelming at first, and you can't help but cry out.
He tightly grips your thigh as he nudges his nose against your clit, running his tongue along your tight entrance. Never before have you felt something like this and as if your body is controlled by an invisible force your hips buck up towards his face.
He chuckles and grips your hips, holding you in place. "Patience my love, patience" He circles your clit with his tongue, the gentle flicking driving you to near madness.
"Oh gods," you bite your bottom lip as an unfamiliar pressure builds up in your lower stomach. "Aemond!" You clench at the bedsheets beneath you, the breath tight in your lungs as a searing fire moves throughout your entire being.
"Gods!" You arch your back as the feeling hits a peak before dropping back on the bed, your breath coming out in short huffs.
Aemond chuckles as he removes his breeches his hard cock slapping against his stomach. "Im going to fill you with my babes and everything will be better."
He moves on top of you prodding your entrance with the tip of his cock. "Hold onto me, this may hurt for just a moment" He warns, gentleness in his voice.
You head his warning, wrapping your hands around his back, as he begins to push into you, the stretch painful, not excruciatingly so but shocking nonetheless.
"eeeek," you can't help the slight screech that escapes your throat.
"Shhhh, it is alright." He comforts while he continues pushing into you until his hips meet yours.
"Are you alright?" He asks, his breathing labored.
You are ok. The pain, the fullness. It is something, and after so long of feeling nothing, the something, even if it is pain, is relieving.
He thrusts his hips against you, steadily increasing his pace. "You will be with child soon. We will be happy then, " He huffs.
You close your eyes and hold his head to you as he buries his face in your neck gently kissing at the sensitive skin there, and for the first time since the war began you feel calm.
His grip on you tightens as he buries himself to the hilt in you again. "We will be happy. we will" he grunts into your ear as the pressure once again builds up in your lower stomach.
As the two of you reach your peaks together, trembling and smiling you allow yourself to believe.
Even if just for a moment. That he is right. He is telling the truth.
That even after so much death and loss, the house of the dragon can stand tall and be happy once again.
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buckys-wintersoldier · 2 months
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Treated like a queen | Bucky Barnes
Pairing -> CollegeStudent!(Ex-)Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x CollegeStudent!(Ex-)Girlfriend!Reader ; College Student!BestFriend!Bucky Barnes x CollegeStudent!BestFriend!Female!Reader
Summary -> Steve cheated on you, and even when he tries to apologise, you can’t look at him the same way after knowing he just fucked someone else. Luckily your best friend is always there and knows how to treat his doll right.
Wordcount -> 3k.
Warnings -> (T) cheating, break down, crying, angst, but also a lot of fluff, college au
A/N -> The oneshot is dedicated to @imtryingbuck because you’re the most wonderful best friend I can wish for. You’re for me like Bucky is such the perfect best friend for reader. And I know you know that I appreciate you and all but I wanna let you know that you’re my bestest best friend. And I love you so much, thank you for the title hehe.😂❤️ Divider made by @firefly-graphics.
Prompt -> Multifandom Flash Bingo | Round three | Card Number 1008 | 1.5 | Not cheating unless you get caught | @multifandom-flash | Fandom-Free Bingo Frosty Edition | N3 | Soulmate is Best Friend | @fandom-free-bingo | Fandom-Free Bingo Valentines Edition | N2 | Left Behind | @fandom-free-bingo | Sweetheart Bingo | N3 | @sweetspicybingo | Bingo of your own | Steve Rogers is not Captain America | O1 | @thebo3bingo
Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist
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There he is, your boyfriend of five years. He stands in front of you, trying to explain himself, but there are no ways to do so. The two of you moved together a while ago; it’s just a room in the residential school, but being so close to each other was something you two really wanted, and there you are now. Steve and you are standing in the room, and he plays with his fingers in front of him.
“I’m sorry. It was a mistake,” he whispers, his eyes closed while he runs his fingers nervously through his hair.
“A mistake that happens how many times? Three or four times?” you ask and raise your eyebrow.
Steve opens his eyes; he wants to take a step closer, but you lift your hands and walk away from him. He looks down, swallowing hard, before he clears his throat and looks at you.
“We- We had sex seven times,” he mumbles quietly.
You gasp when those words leave his lips. You thought he cheated once, but knowing that he did it seven times needs a moment for you to realize that it really wasn’t a mistake he made. You turn your head away from him; you want to scream, but you feel like you can’t. It would stick in your throat, and you wouldn’t be able to let go of your feelings, and you don’t want to, not in front of him. Then there is the feeling of just turning around and running away, or at least to cry, but everything feels so surreal, and at the same time, you feel reality hitting you. Your boyfriend cheated on you, and it wasn’t a mistake; it was his own decision to have sex with someone. And there is no excuse why he could have cheated on you.
“What did I do wrong that you cheated?”
“N-Nothing. Baby, listen-“
You interrupt him before he can say another word, and you lift your hand, showing him to stop talking. And he does; he always takes care that he doesn’t overstep your boundaries.
You don’t want him to call you baby, babe, or whatever pet name he gave you. How often did he call her babe or baby? Every time they were together and kissed, or only when they fucked? Maybe he never called her that, but he does. Steve is someone who praises his partner a lot and calls them by their nicknames or the pet names he gives them. Was he just there to fuck him, or does he love her?
“Steve, please stop calling me that. I’m not yours anymore.”
Your voice is so cold that you shiver slightly at your own harshness. You’re more the soft one, the emotional person. Steve is still looking at you; he wants to touch you, pull you close to him, and tell you that he loves you, but he knows you’re done with him. He messed up because he didn’t get his dick under control.
“Y/N- listen. I’m sorry. I’m- It’s not your fault. I- We-,” he sighs. A single tear makes its way down his cheek; his eyes are red, and the next tears are just a moment before they roll down his cheeks as well. “We- It was during the party, and then we used it to get rid of every frustration or too much stress because of the exam.”
Steve sighs when you laugh darkly. Then you shake your head and face him. Your expression is cold in a way you never thought you would look at him. There is no love, but also no anger; your expression doesn’t show any kind of emotion. You as well as Steve didn’t know that you would ever be that cold to the love of your life, the boy with whom you have been together for five years, and he threw it away by cheating on you.
“Would you have done it one time, maybe I would have accepted it one day. Maybe we could have fixed our relationship, but- Steve. I can’t look at you the same way I did. Your eyes were the things I always thought to see the truth in; your embrace was my home, but how can I ever see in those eyes of yours when all those promises were just lies? When all those words had no meaning?” you ask.
“They were no lies, and I meant what I said. I love you, y/n,” he mumbles.
Those words, they were meant all for you. ‘I love you'; they made you his; they made you feel special around him, and now he says it. And you’re standing there, trying not to give in, and just kissing him or hugging him to feel his warm body pressing against yours.
“You love me, and you will talk to me. Those were things you said, but you didn’t talk to me when you were frustrated or stressed. You cheated on me when you loved me; why did you cheat on me? I’m your number one. You would never cheat on me, but you did. I felt special around you, but not anymore; you did the things we did with her,” you tell him with a sad smile. You sigh softly. "Steve, those things- I’m sorry, but I will leave now. I hope you will be happier with her. I hope she is worth it that you destroyed what we had. But I’m not going to be with someone who doesn’t want me and has cheated on me.”
You turn around to leave the room, your shared room, and your home. But since you can’t look at him without knowing he cheated on you, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. And Steve stays quiet when you open the door. When you step out of the room and close the door behind you, you’re not leaving your room behind you; you also leave the boy you love behind you, and even when it breaks you, you know that he doesn’t want you; otherwise, he wouldn’t have cheated on you. You look for your phone to call Bucky. He is your best friend and is always there when you need him. So it doesn’t take long for him to pick it up.
“Hey, babydoll. Thought you’re with Steve,” he says. You can hear his happiness when you call him.
“I was. But- I. Bucky, can I come to you?” you ask.
Your voice is shaking, and the gasp that leaves Bucky’s lips tells you that his mood immediately changes when he hears your broken voice.
“Of course. Do you need anything? Chocolate or your favorite food? Some drinks?”
“Just you and a hug.”
“Of course, do you want me to pick you up?” Bucky sounds worried, but his voice is so soft that you calm down when you just talk to him.
“No, I’m almost there,” you mumble and hang up.
You suddenly feel so weak; everything you had with Steve isn’t there anymore. Tears form in your eyes, and you think about everything you had with Steve, the love you shared, the memories, and now there is nothing left of that love, only the memories, which are currently just him cheating on you.
After a moment, you reach Bucky’s room, knocking at his door, and he immediately opens it. The usual smile that appears across his face whenever he sees you isn’t as big as usual. His steel blue eyes aren’t as bright as you’re used to seeing them; he looks worried when he sees your red eyes and the tears streaming down your cheeks. Bucky wants to say something but stops himself when you just open your arms and wait for him to pull you close against him. And he does; he walks a step closer and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. Your head is resting against his chest while he places his head on top of yours.
“I’ve got you, my pretty girl,” he mumbles, pulling you with him into his room before he closes the door with his feet.
When the door is shut, you break down in Bucky’s arms. Every feeling you tried to push away or didn’t want to cheat in front of Steve appears, and you're crying even more. Bucky holds you close, his hands moving up and down your back. You sob loudly, the tears streaming down your cheeks, and you feel like you can't breathe anymore. Your vision is blurry because of your tears, and you grip Bucky’s shirt to hold yourself. You’re a weck, which is just standing because of the tight grip of Bucky’s arms around your body. Everything you had with the love of your life, everything he promised, everything he said, it’s almost visible to you, and you can’t bring yourself to calm down. Your feelings are overwhelming, and you just want to be loved by someone who means what he said, someone who holds you like Bucky does right now.
“Bucky- he- Steve he cheated on me. Am I not enough for him? Why did he cheat on me?” you ask, still crying and pressing yourself more against Bucky.
“It’s not your fault, doll. He just doesn’t know what he lost when he let you go. You deserve someone who takes care of you and treats you the way you deserve to be treated, like a queen. Someone who knows that you’re worth so much more,” Bucky says, kissing your forehead, and he thinks about him when he says that he knows how to treat you right.
The two of you stand there for a while until your sobbing is quieter and you slowly calm down in Bucky’s embrace. He lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist, letting him carry you to the couch, where he has already placed your favorite food and drinks. You sometimes wonder why he always has everything you like there, but he also loves that kind of food, and he always has everything there for his doll. When you see the food, you smile, and Bucky places you between them on the couch.
“That’s what I want to see, that wonderful smile, doll,” he smirks.
You blush, and Bucky captures your cheeks to make you look at him. He wipes the tears with his thumbs away, then he leans closer to kiss your nose.
“I love you so much, my pretty doll,” he mumbles before he lets go of you and lets himself fall down next to you on the couch.
“Bucky!!!! I love you too, but don’t sit on the food!” you say, raising your eyebrow.
Bucky laughs, wraps his arm around your waist, and pulls you against him. You place your head on his chest, then you look for some food you want to eat first. Meanwhile, Bucky looks for something next to him, giving it to you, and your smile grows when you see his hoodie. You take it on and giggle. He loves seeing you happy and that smile when your eyes brighten or when you giggle. Bucky, luckily, knows exactly how to make you happy and feel comfortable.
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It’s been a few weeks since you broke up with Steve, and it wasn’t easy for you to move on without him being around you every day. And especially when you had classes with him, it was even harder. But you get used to it, and Bucky makes sure he is always by your side to comfort you, and he just loves to spend his time with you.
“Bucky, you can meet your friends if you want to. I-I’m fine,” you say, sitting on his couch and looking at him.
“I prefer to spend time with my precious doll.”
You blush and hide yourself behind a pillow. The two of you are closer than ever, and since you’re living with Bucky in his room, you’re really happy after the situation where Steve cheated on you. Even when you sometimes miss him, Bucky makes sure you laugh just a moment later because he does something funny or just tells you a joke, even when it is not funny. But you laugh because he tells you bad jokes and acts like it was the most hilarious thing.
Bucky gets on his knees in front of you, his arms resting on your thighs, and he smiles. His blue eyes are shining in a way you haven’t seen them before. You could look into them all the time; the light blue, which matches the slight gray, looks like the most beautiful ocean. And whenever he looks at you and you get lost in the beauty of his eyes, you can’t get yourself to look away. They are mysterious and beautiful, and it's kind of scary when you realize that you forget everything around you when you just look at them.
“Doll, you’re staring,” he says, squeezing your thighs a bit.
“Sorry- I just- Have you ever seen in your eyes?” you blush when you ask him that question.
Of course, he sees his eyes every time he looks into the mirror, but he probably doesn’t get lost in them like you do.
“Do you want to move in here completely?”
The way his voice sounds makes it clear he really means what he asks. And you thought about moving into his room already, and you talked about it, but now it’s on you to decide if you’re ready to say yes or if you want to have most of your things still in your old room, the one where Steve is still living.
When you went to Bucky the day you broke up with Steve, Bucky told Steve to put a few things into a bag and place them in front of the door so he could pick them up later. And Steve did as he was told; he put things that really meant something to you and some clothes into a bag and placed them in front of the door. And Bucky picked it up later that day and made sure he didn't have to see Steve; otherwise, he would have punched him in the face for being such a dick.
“Do you really don’t mind? I mean, I should talk to Steve first.”
You capture Bucky’s cheeks with your hands. He sticks his tongue out and inches close to try to lick your nose, but you push him softly away so he can’t lick at you.
“Buckyyyyy,” you giggle.
“What’s up, doll?”
You roll your eyes; he can act like he didn’t try to lick your nose and just pretends you’re asking for him to answer, so you’re going to tell him something then. Bucky chuckles before he clears his throat to speak in a deeper voice.
“I don’t mind you moving in with me. I’m a robot,” he says, and you burst out laughing.
“Oke I’m gonna make myself ready, and then I will go to Steve and talk to him.”
Bucky nods, letting himself fall to sit in front of you so you can stand up and go to make yourself ready. He looks at you and sees the way his hoodie fits perfectly as a dress for you, but you just prefer his clothes. Before you walk into the bathroom, you turn around and wink at him. He laughs, and while he listens to the shower and the way you dry yourself before you make your hair, his mind goes crazy with thoughts about you and Steve.
What if you want to go back to him? Maybe you prefer Steve, and even when you broke up with him, maybe your love is stronger and you will leave him alone. His mood changes from the happy little puppy into the introverted, sad boy he is whenever you’re not around him.
“Bu- Hey, Bucky. You’re oke?” you ask worriedly when you walk back to the couch where he is sitting.
Bucky's eyes are slightly red, and he sniffles, but he nods his head. Of course, he is fine, right? You’re not his, and when you decide to be back with Steve, who is going to make you happy. You need to be happy, and maybe you’re happier with Steve, even when Bucky hopes you will choose him.
“I will be back in a few minutes,” you tell him, running your fingers through his soft brown hair.
“But maybe you want to stay with Steve,” he mumbles quietly.
You don’t say anything; you just kneel down in front of him and capture his cheeks. You turn his head, so he has to look at you before you lean closer and kiss him softly. Bucky places his hand around your waist and pulls you closer while he moves his lips against yours. When you two pull away and catch your breath, he still looks into your eyes, his cheeks slightly red, and the smile on his lips reaches from one side of his face to the other.
“Call me when you need help with Steve.”
You grab your phone and tap on it before Bucky’s phone rings, and he picks it up, chuckling softly.
“Yes, doll?”
“You said 'call me' when you need help with Steve. And I call you. I would love it when you would come there with me so I don’t have to talk to him about things I don’t want to talk about,” you say and smile when he hangs up and leans closer to kiss you again.
“Of course, my pretty doll,” he says, and he stands up before he picks you up and twirls you around. “Before you need to throw up on me, tell me, please,” he says, and you both need to laugh.
And there he is, your best friend. But he is way more than that. Bucky is your soulmate; he knows things about you that no one knows about you. And when you thought Steve was the love of your life, it was just because you weren't with Bucky together. With your best friend, you feel like you’re complete, you’re loved, and he treats you like a queen, like his queen. And Bucky can finally show you that you deserve so many good things and that he loves you like you’re everything to him.
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Taglist: @nicoline1998enilocin @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @sergeantbarnessdoll @lives-in-midgard @rogersbarber @kandis-mom @km-ffluv @bucky-barnes-lover @felicitylemon @identity2212 @cjand10 @harleycao @lunaalovesyouu @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @blackhawkfanatic @flstrawberry
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crashtestbunny · 4 days
Text
Grab the Bull by the Horns (Konig x F!Reader)
CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Minotaur!Konig, breeding kink, monster fucking, predator/prey dynamic, dub-con, size difference, porn with a lot of plot.
Summary: You were selected as the bride of the Ox King, hopefully you would be the one that lasts.
Word Count: 2.3k
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A long time ago in a place now unknown there was a King and Queen, who were arrogant and uncaring in their rule. The King was a haughty man with an apathy towards the struggles of his people, while his Queen was a gluttonous and materialistic woman. While their kingdom withered around them, they locked themselves in their lush and rich home, a private garden to hide away from the agony of the land they ruled.  
When famine racked the country the fanciful foods they were accustomed to stopped arriving to the castle, as the people prioritised what little they had for themselves. This caused the royal couple to burst into a vengeful fit, and they ordered the guards to go out and seize any food that the peasantry is hiding – whether that be scraps, plants, or livestock, all of it was to be brought to the palace for their own selfish uses.
Sitting in the banquet hall, the two dined through eight courses whilst their people starved. As they cut into the finely cooked steak that fell apart on the fork a loud crack of thunder sparked through the room. The God of Sovereignty had seen their wicked ways and placed a curse on their meal that evening, that as the Queen’s pregnant belly was filled with steak, that her child may be born a monstrous illustration of her own gluttony and selfishness.
Konig was a large baby, 5kg, with a hefty layer of fat. But not only that, he had been burn with fur and hooves on his lower body, and a calf tail that flicked lazily. His temples split with nubs of keratin that were threatening to grow into huge bull horns.
It was decided then that a large labyrinth be constructed under the castle where the boy could be locked away from people, out of sight and out of mind. This worked for some time until the boy grew into a beast of a man. Then he would rampage and devour any one who came to check on him, consistently breaking out and demanding someone quell the ache in his stomach.
That’s how this all began.
A tradition 40 years old.
You were lined up in the courtyard with hundreds of other girls, all of you dressed in impeccable white silk dresses with veils. Your hands are bound with a ribbon with a cowbell dangling. The attendants pull a calf on a rope around, allow it to sniff at each girl, let it lead to some degree.
Big brown eyes gaze at you, an ivory white calf approaching you with a bleat. You try to shoo it away, try to glare at the creature, tell it to leave you alone, to not cement your fate. Its nose bumps against the bell and you feel your heart falter and the breath escape your lungs. Then it bumps against the bell with a soft ‘moo’, its long tongue poking out to lick the brass. It’s you, you’re the bride of the Ox King.
The guards are grabbing you as you kick and scream, “No! No! This is a mistake! Unhand me! Please! Mercy!” but it’s all hanging in the air and blown away by the gentle breeze as unsympathetic gazes watch you be carried to the ornate doors installed into the courtyard ground. It takes four men to open the doors with a thunderous noise, revealing a weathered staircase that leads into dark, fathomless depths below. The lair of the beast.
You descend the stairs into the elaborate labyrinthian cave system. Every small step echoes like you’re a galloping horse, it’s dark, cold, and wet, and sometimes you think there’s a rat or insect scurrying around too close to your feet. Your hand stays planted onto the rough stone walls to identify twists and turns and keep you walking. Your breath is the only warmth you find as your dress begins to cling to your cold skin with the humidity.
Every tunnel you trudge your feet along feels like it lasts for an hour. Sometimes spider webs tangle around your ankles or a drop of water squeezes its way through the cavern roof and lands on your head, causing goosebumps to raise across your skin and the hair on the back of your neck to stand to static.
You hear it. Something hard and heavy dragging against the stone floor. A hoof. One that didn’t even bother lifting itself up, instead it taunts you, lets you know it’s coming. Drags each agonising step out, allows you to hear it growing louder, the beast growing closer.
The sounds of huffing, animalistic breaths expended from the nostrils. A bull.
It’s down the hallway behind you, eyes baring into your soul through the darkness, and you do not dare look back. Your feet fly into a frantic sprint as you let out a shriek, your arms extended in front of you to catch you from flying into the walls. He’s charging after you, long and even strides that barely warrant being a run, navigating these halls like he carved them out himself.
Light! There’s a light! Flickering, weak, but golden and full of hope, it looks like the sun trying to crack through the stonework! You push yourself towards it like a flower desperate for love. The air begins to raise a few degrees as you draw closer and then just as you’re closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh air, to bask in the sun, to have outrun the beast and been the only bride to survive … you don’t.
A large central chamber with no other exit than to turn back. A torchlit chandelier dangling from the ceiling with a messily made bed sprawling across the majority of the room – this thing, this man must be massive. You see tears of old white fabric from years before, a history of brides with no survivors.
You take a step back and bump into something warm and firm, your hand touches coarse hair. You look over your shoulder and then have to crane your neck to look up at the creature, expecting to be met with the hideous combination of a man-cow. Instead, a well-defined, weathered face with grey eyes - sunken and tired - studying you. His nose is aquiline with a silver septum piercing, his thin lips drawn into a snarl. Long, mottled auburn hair wisping down his neck and large bull horns protruding from his temples. His chest is rising and falling dramatically with every snuff and huff, his defined muscles tensing as his eyes scan over your body.
“Name.” His voice is soft but demanding, and you find yourself telling him your name, and he hums in thought.
“Pretty. I think I shall call you Königin.” He decides for you with no room for argument, his large hands settling over your hips, engulfing them and using them as handles to steer your body as he pushes you back into his nest of blankets and pillows.
He has the skirt of your wedding dress bunched up at your hips, your underwear long torn from your body as his large tongue licks your twitching slit. He’s so much larger in every way, his hands on your thighs almost swallowing the soft flesh whole, his tongue lapping at your desperate cunt is so large he barely need to move it to cover every inch of pleasure he can rip from you. His broad shoulders have your legs spread so wide that your hips ache and threaten to pop.
Moaning against your swollen pussy he pushes his face in to inhale your musky scent of desire, making your hips raise up to meet his mouth. He laps at your entrance, tongue sneaking in teasingly before swiping up to swirl around the clit and give it a kiss.
His large hand climbs from its place on your hip to find the neckline of your dress and tear it in one firm tug, exposing your breasts to the cool air for only a second before his hands swallow them in their grip, massaging and squeezing, his thumbs rubbing over your attentive nipples as his tongue continues to bring you closer to orgasm.
“No- No!” You whimper out as you try to squirm away as you feel your orgasm burning in the bottom of your loins, about to erupt all over his face.
Growling, he grips your hips and pulls you back onto his face firmly as his tongue dives into your entrance, stretching the hole open while his nose grinds against your clit, his moaning sending vibrations of ecstasy through your swollen folds.
You orgasm with your vision turning white as this creature laps up every drop of your release he can, helping you to ride through the violent bliss before pulling away, his nose down covered in creamy slick that he drew out of you.
“Taste so good, Königin… much sweeter than any bride before.” His hands travel back down to your hips and grabs them with authority, “Means you’re made for me. Welcoming my cock, make an heir for my kingdom.” He smiles sweetly.
His cock is as monstrous as his form, an easy ten inches in length with the girth of his wrist, as he rubs it between your oversensitive folds you whimper, the tip leaking pearls of precum over your stomach.
“That won’t fit!” You whimper out and attempt to close your legs in defence but he uses his own thighs to keep them spread wide and have you pliant to his every touch.
“It will have to, Königin, if you are to bear my children you will have to take my cock and consummate this marriage.” He tuts as he lifts you to flip you onto your hands and knees, shoving your face down into the plush, soft pillows, “Do not look, mein Liebchen, just allow me to take care of you, perform my husbandly duty.”
The tip of his hard cock prods against your twitching entrance and you already fell your stomach drop in fear. The tip alone pushes in and causes an aching stretch to your wanting cunt.
“Deep breaths, dear.” He coos as his hand smacks your ass, leaving a blushing handprint on your jiggling asscheek. He pushes in deeper, ignoring your whimpers and begging to stop because he’s going to break you, that it’s too big, that it won’t fit – but he knows you can take it. Because you’re the only bride who didn’t run, the only who didn’t fight back.
It feels like he’s splitting you in half, his hard cock burning your midsection as he spears you on it with a guttural moan. It drags across your pink, aching walls and runs over every delicious spot of pleasure, making you cry out in pleasure as he fills you. He doesn’t stop until his pelvis is tight against your soft ass, his cock buried balls deep in you, your stomach visibly swollen from the huge length inside rearranging your guts.
“See?” He chuckles, his hand coming to the swell on your tummy, rubbing his cock through the soft skin, drawing a moan from you both, “This will be the first day for the rest of your life that this stomach is swollen.” He husks into your ear.
He rolls his hips without pulling out, his length rocking you over in pleasure and causing you to cry out in overwhelming pleasure as your cunt clenches around his length, an orgasm ripping through you like lightning as a foamy ring of pleasure rings around the base of his cock and leaks down his huge ballsack.
Then he begins a relentless pace, dragging his cock back out for what felt like forever and then slamming it back in and sending jolts of pure delirium through your body. He folds his huge form over you and cages you in, pinning you down like a helpless animal as he fucks into your pliant and vulnerable body like its nothing more than a hole for him to breed. Your hands reach back and catch onto the hard bone of his horns and scratch them for some anchor on reality. It arches your back in such a delicious way that he groans and lowers his head more to allow yourself to do it.
“That’s it, Königin.” He grunts into your ear as he bites on your earlobe, “Submit yourself. Allow yourself to bear my children. Look so pretty so full and swollen-“ he mumbles obscenities into your ear as his cock is building to build another tower of pleasure through you.
His hips slam so hard into you it begins to bruise your soft ass, tears run down your cheeks as you scream out your pleasure, drool escaping from the corner of your lips as you begin to get caught up in the dizzying pleasure this beast is putting you through.
“I’m going to fill you up, engel.” He grunts, a whine pulling from his chest as he comes closer to release, “Going to breed you like the good cow you are. Watch you become heavy with my-“ he shivers and sends agonising thrusts through your guts, “-fucking seed.”
You cry out desperately as you feel the pleasure washing over you again, your orgasm cresting like a tidal wave as he pounds into you at a bruising pace. Your aching, swollen pussy clenches around him desperately as you sob, squirting all over his cock and coating his fur-clad thighs with your pleasure.
That’s all it takes for you to feel burning white cum pumping into your stomach as he holds you firmly to his pelvis. Your stomach swells with the sheer amount he’s pouring into you and he squeezes your round stomach, making some of it leak out over his cock.
“Take a breath, Liebchen. I won’t stop until my wife is with child.”
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whorekneecentral · 4 months
Text
Old Friends
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Lance Stroll x Vettel!Fem!Reader
Warnings: big brother seb!!!, queen hanna appearance + a mick and gina cameo, lance has a crush, alcohol and the consumption of, being tipsy/kinda drunk, mentions/ insinuated that someone cheated, nipple play, oral (m!receiving), penetrative sex (p in v), creampie, seb teasing the two of you.
Word Count: 2,492
Author's Note: this is one of my favs so far. I couldn't write lance and not put in seb, it just wouldn't be me.
merry smutmas series
--
Lance gets an invitation to an old teammate’s place to ring in the new year but he finds himself too distracted by someone in particular to care about the ball dropping.
The invite came in the mail; a dying trade his former teammate would tell him.
A little brown envelope with silver glitter all over it, surely his girls helped him put it together. The card inside was hand written, Sebastian's scrawled cursive with pictures drawn in pencil crayon and covered in glitter at the bottom.
You're invited to the Vettel household on December 31st at 9pm for a New Year's Eve celebration.
Please rsvp by December 22nd.
With love,
Sebastian, Hanna & the Vettel children.
Lance didn't have plans, his parents were doing their own things and Chloe would be in Australia with Scotty and his family so he took his phone out and texted Seb right then.
To Seb: Hey man! Got your invite, tell the girls I said their drawings were adorable. Just letting you know I'll be there :)
It took Seb 10 minutes to reply.
From Seb: Thanks Lance! The girls say hello and thank you. We can't wait to see you.
--
Lance finds himself on the Vettel's doorstep on New Year's Eve, a bottle of some expensive Swiss wine in hand. He knocks on the door and Hanna opens it with a little boy in her arms.
"Lance!" She smiles, stepping to the side for him to come in.
"It's so nice to see you," the younger driver says, kissing her cheek before saying hello to their son.
"Please make yourself at home. Food and drinks are in the kitchen and Sebastian is somewhere around here." She tells him, rocking the sleepy boy, "you know how he is." She laughs, shutting the door.
Lance nods, smiling at her as he follows her into the house. The place is full, he showed up around 10 rather than the 9pm invite but it doesn't seem to make a difference. Everyone is all over the place; he goes over to say hello to Seb and then bumps into Mick who was there with his girlfriend, sister and her boyfriend.
He does in fact make himself at home, putting the wine in the kitchen before getting himself a drink. His red solo cup has some vodka in it and he spins around, looking for the cranberry juice. He sees everything but that.
"Need help?" A voice comes from behind him and before he turns, he knows exactly who it is. He smiles when he does turn, now face to face with her. "Hi y/n."
"Hey Lance," you smile, "what are you looking for?" You walk over, hugging the man hello.
"Cranberry juice." He tells you and you nod, walking to the fridge to grab it.
Lance watches you, admiring your outfit; a slinky silver top and a black mini skirt that frankly wasn't very family friendly but was on par with the theme of the night. He had met you when Seb became his teammate at Aston, you had a habit of following your brother around the world when you got bored of your life. You were only a year younger than Lance but he was intimidated by you.
You were just as bubbly and fun as Seb, loud and out there but in Vettel fashion, you could become broody at the snap of your fingers; something that only happened if someone fucked over your brother or at least that's when Lance noticed it.
Now if Mick had walked into the kitchen then, he'd be teasing his friend.
He was aware of the crush his friend had on his other friend. Mick had encouraged Lance to talk to you time and time again but he could never work up the courage. When he finally did, you were in a relationship and you had been since.
"Here," you hand the bottle over to him, "I put it in the fridge. It gets gross.. well even more gross when it's warm."
Lance smiles, "thanks." He pours the juice into his cup, before settling it back into the fridge. In the meantime, you had been filling a few shot glasses with what looked like tequila.
"Are you driving tonight?" You asked, downing one of the shots. Lance shook his head, "took an Uber."
"Perfect," you handed a shot over to him, picking up another one for yourself. "Bottoms up, Stroll." You tapped your glass to his and down the tequila.
Lance makes a face, clearing his throat which makes you laugh. "So, how are you? How's Fernando as a teammate?" You ask him, pouring some soda into a glass.
"I'm okay. He's pretty okay too, he's no Sebastian Vettel though."
You smiled, "that's what I like to hear. I've been keeping track, you did great this season."
"Yeah? You think so?" He asks and you nod, leaning on the counter as you take a sip of your soda. "Thanks," he smiles, taking a sip from his glass in hopes that it covers the blush on his face. "So uh.. how have you been? How's your boyfriend?"
"I'm good," you smiled, "as for him? Who knows, he's probably fucking some model somewhere."
Your words catch him off guard, Lance chokes on his vodka. Your brows furrowed, his hand rubbing at his chest as you looked at him. "Sorry, I just... I take you two aren't together ?"
"No," you shook your head, "it's whatever though."
"Sorry to hear that," he tells you and you shrug, smiling at him. You were about to say something but Gina was shouting for you, something about shots. "Excuse me," you smiled at Lance, picking up the bottle of tequila and the pack of shot glasses before heading over.
As much as Lance wanted to be sorry about your relationship ending, he couldn't be. This must be some sort of gift from god, for you two to be in the same place while you're single and he had enough liquor in him to tell you the truth.
--
The hours go by and it's inching closer to midnight with each passing second and you were dancing around the kitchen as you got a snack. A slice of pizza held between your teeth as you poured yourself a drink.
"Hey," you mumble, mouth full as you take the bite and hold the pizza. Lance smiles at you as he gets himself another drink. "Hey."
"You good?" You asked, setting your pizza on the counter. Lance nods, "perfect, you?"
"Yeah," you smiled, shimmying your shoulders as you danced your way over to the Canadian driver. He smiles, watching you. The many tequila shots added up over the night and the fact that the tiles were sticky from what seemed like spilled soda, caused you to slip and fall right into Lance.
His drink spills all over your very cute top. "Oh damn," you tsked, looking down at yourself. "Oh shoot, are you okay?" you asked, looking at him to see if anything got on him.
"I'm okay, are you?" His hands held your forearms, steadying you. "Do you need to change?"
"I probably should," you tell him and Lance nods for you to walk, his hand holding onto your arm to keep you steady. He knew the layout of the house, he had come over for dinner many times before and he had spent the night after one too many glasses of wine.
Lance walks you up the stairs, hands on your waist as you two head up. You walk into the guest room and Lance shuts the door, "are you okay ? Do you need help finding anything?" He looks at you as you sit on the bed.
You shook your head, "all good, Lance. Thank you."
He nods, taking that as his cue to leave so you could change. As he turns towards the door, you grab his hand. "Can you.. undo the knot?" You turned your back to him, pulling your hair up.
It was two single knots done up with a bow behind your neck and your mid back that kept your top up. Lance carefully undid the knot on your back, letting the strings fall to the sides and your bare back left exposed.
"The.. the other one too?" He asks and you nod, "please."
Lance is hesitant, but he reaches forward and pulls the string, undoing the knot. The silver fabric falls to the floor, the beading on it clings when it hits the floor.
Your back is still facing the driver, you've dropped your hair back down but it's abundantly obvious to Lance that he's stood in the room with you, while you were.. well, topless.
"I should.." he starts but you turn to face him, his eyes shifting down to steal a glance at your tits and he looks back up at your face - it took all but a second and he was but a man.
You smile, holding his jaw with your hand. "Stay."
"I really shouldn't." He whispers and you step closer, my chest pressed to his. "Why not?" You asked, standing on your tiptoes, lips ghosting over his.
He doesn't answer but he lets you kiss him, his cold hand rests on your lower back, pulling you flush against him. "You're drunk," he whispers against your neck and you shake your head, "I'm not."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" His eyes find yours when he pulls back and you nod. "I do."
"Okay," he says, kissing you again.
Your hands make quick work of his shirt, undone the buttons as he kisses down your neck to your chest. Lance has got an arm around you, his lips moving down towards your tits, his lips wrapping around your nipple.
The sound that leans your mouth was like heaven on earth to him; he can't wait to find out what other filthy sounds you could make.
It was much too loud downstairs for anyone to have a clue what was happening upstairs. The door was locked and he knew you had at least 40 minutes to midnight.
You push him away for a minute, the man looks at you confused as you scoot him back to the bed, letting him fall onto the soft mattress. Lance expects you to get on top of him, not sink to your knees in front of him.
"Baby-" "Shut up," you tell him, undoing his pants.
He smiles, carefully pulling your hair out of your face as your hand wraps around his cock. Lance bites back a groan, watching as your hand moves up and down slowly, your lips brushing over the tip.
"Please," he whispers and you smile, looking up at him through your lashes as you take him in your mouth. This time, he does groan out loud. "Fuck," he sighed, your hair into a make shift pony tail in his hand.
Your cheeks hallowed, head moving up and down. Lance watches your every movement, eyes fixed on you and everything you did; had he known, he would have spoken to you much sooner.
The stifled gag comes when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, eyes watering as you pull back a bit. Lance pulls you up, "as much as I want you to keep going, I wanna cum somewhere else."
"My mouth is just as good, Lance," you tell him, wiping the side of your lips with your thumb, sucking your finger. You don't miss the way his cock twitches at the action.
He smiles, "I'm sure it is, but c'mere."
You let him pull you up before you get on his lap, straddling him.
There was enough liquor in your systems to give you the courage to do things you wouldn't normally do but that you’d definitely remember. 
Thighs squished on either side of him and your arms over his shoulders. His hand slides down from your hip to your ass, giving it a little squeeze. He smiles at you, admiring you. "Now, are you gonna stare at me all night or fuck me like I know you've been wanting too?"
For the second time that night, Lance had been caught off guard by your words. "You.. knew?"
"Of course I did, your staring wasn't exactly discreet, babe." You smile, pinching his cheek before you kiss him.
Your skirt bunched up on your hips, panties pulled to the side as you sank down onto his cock.
His hand on your hip guiding you, letting you bounce on his lap, his name falling from your lips.
Lance bucks his hips and your nails drop down from his shoulders to the scratches along his back. He lets out a groan, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
Your hand tangles in his hair, pulling his head back so you can kiss him. You kiss all over his face, Lance's cheeks red not just from the lipstick you had on but from the blush forming on his cheeks; though if you asked him, he’d blame it on the liquor. 
"Fuck," you mumble, Lance's arms around you to keep you steady as you bounced on his lap, back arched slightly.
His hands squeeze at your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave behind fingerprints. 
“Mmm there,” you breathe, chest pressed to his. 
Lance's lips find your shoulder, he bites down softly when he feels you clench around him. “Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” He whispers into your shoulder, peppering kisses over where he had just bitten. 
Humming, your arms are wrapped around him, over his shoulders when you cum, wetness covering his cock. It takes only a few more thrusts and Lance follows behind you, the two of you holding onto each other for a while. Your legs are like jelly when Lance helps you up, letting you fix yourself.
He too get redressed and you change into a different top, fixing your skirt and your makeup before turning to him.
"11:58, we can make the ball drop." You grab his hand, pulling him out of the room with you.
Everyone was in the living room, watching the TV and chatting as they awaited the count down. Your brother notices your return, as well as Lances, who stood behind you.
"Outfit change?" Seb asks, handing you a glass.
You nod, "spilled soda on my other top." You tell him, watching as he passed a glass to Lance.
Seb hums, nodding. "And you required Lance's assistance to change?" His brow raises and your cheeks go red. "I.. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yeah," Seb laughs, "whatever, y/n."
Lance smiles, his arm over your shoulder as the countdown plays; 10, 9, 8.
Your fingers interlock with his; 7, 6.
His cheek presses to yours; 4, 5.
"3, 2, 1, Happy New Year!" The people in the room cheer, friends hugging and lovers kiss. Lance leans over and you turn a bit, your lips pressing to his for a new years kiss.
"Happy New Year, Lance." You smiled, wiping the lipstick from his lips. "Happy New Year, Y/n."
---
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sttm99 · 8 days
Text
Only Ever You and Me
Prince!Bakugo x reader.
Part 2 of Till Death Do Us Part
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After the wedding ceremony, you and Bakugo retired to your chambers for the night. He sat at the edge of the bed, faced away from you, his elbows on his knees as he tried coming to terms with everything.
He'd just gotten married. He'd just been wed... to you. He turned back to look at you, watching you as you sit by the large vanity by the windows, pulling at all the pins that held your hair up.
You seemed so calm with this, so at ease despite the fact that you'd just gotten married to a man you'd met no more than 3 times before. Despite the fact that you'd practically claimed ownership over him just moments ago, despite him confessing to you that he loved someone else.
Your possessiveness had thrust him into an unfamiliar playing field. He'd expected someone timid, meek, a woman whom he could intimidate into keeping shut whilst he snuck around with the maid.
But you? Frankly, you intimidated him instead.
He'd realised what he found off about how perfect and regal you seemed. Sure, there was the fact that you may have slight obsessive tendencies laying claim to him like that. But before then, he'd realised that you just intimidated him.
You were the perfect royal, the perfect ruler his people deserved. From all he'd seen about you; you could reassure people, play court so effectively, and you had an energy that made people want to serve you.
He watched, breath hitching as you stood and began untying the sashes that held your dress up, walking towards the divider at the other side of the room, where your wardrobe was.
Even the way you walked was perfect.
You were so... perfect.
The perfect queen for his people.
He frowned as he stood from the bed. He pulled off his coat, threw it into the hamper at the edge of his bed, and then pulled his undershirt over his head and did the same.
"I've been thinking..." he turned his head to face you as you stepped out from behind the divider, now dressed in a flimsy, pale nightgown stopping just below your knees.
"About what?" Bakugo asked harshly with furrowed brows as he sat back on the bed.
"That servant girl you were looking at." You say as you go over to the bed, sitting atop it, a few spaces away from him. "How long has it been going on?"
He frowns deeply at that, glaring at you. "Of what use is that information?"
You shrug, leaning over to him. "These women, you know.... what if she's keeping your child or something-"
"Excuse me?" He spits out, growing angry at your words. Not only had you called her 'this woman', but also insinuating that he'd father a child out of wedlock.
He had some honour, at least. He wouldn't do that to her, to his love. He wouldn't have her keep a child who couldn't even call him his father.
But you just scoff and roll your eyes. "Oh, please. I'm being cautious. I don't need some bastards contesting the crown with our sons when the time comes."
He glares, a brow raised. "Our sons? Contesting the crown? You're thinking too far ahead."
"Far ahead? There's no far ahead with us, Katsuki. We're husband and wife, we should think of our chil-"
"In paper only." He cuts you off. "We're wed on paper only. The history books? Paper. The marriage contracts? Paper! My heart will always be with someone else! With her! You? You're just a position. Even if not you, there would have been another princess for me to marry!"
His words have you glaring, and you're standing, facing him from the other side of the bed. "We've been promised to each other since birth. There is no other princess to marry, Katsuki. It has always been me for you, and you for me. I was always going to be the one you end up with."
There's a glint in your eye as you speak, a sternness and finality in your voice that has him faltering in imagining a reality where he wasn't married to you, as though there really was no one else for him.
"This- this thing you have with that woman is nothing. It's not real. But us? We have the opportunity to create something real, okay? We're married now. We have all our lives to learn to love each other!"
"You're delusional!"
"I'm real!" You yell out. "What's delusional is you going ahead to cultivate a romance with a girl you knew you'd never be with. You've always known you had to marry me, and yet you went ahead to start something with someone you could never have!"
You pause then, taking small breaths as you look at him. "I've always known I'd end up with you. So I didn't bother giving my heart to anyone else." You glare. "You think I'm delusional. But here you are, tricking yourself into believing you could ever be with anyone other than me. If that's not delusion, then tell me what is."
.
.
.
There's silence for several long moments. Bakugo's frozen, hands clenched by his side, chest heaving and lips parted.
You're right.
You're obviously right.
He's always known he would end up with you. He'd always known he'd have no one else but you. Yet he went ahead and started something he knew would have no end. There was no future for him and the other woman.
Because that's all she'd ever be.
The other woman.
The only one he could be with was standing right in front of him.
"I-" He tries to speak, tries to find the words to convey how he's feeling.
"You should send her away," you say as you climb into the bed, settling under the covers. "You'll only break your own heart, allowing her to continue to stay here."
You try to drift off to sleep, try to block out the sounds of Bakugo shuffling into the bed. Until he's pressed up against you from behind, his arms wrapping around your waist.
"What- what are you doing?" You whisper, still facing away from him.
But he just sighs into your neck and pulls you closer to him. "You're right," he murmurs into your skin. "It was only ever going to be me and you... there's nothing else it could have been."
You hum, letting yourself relax in his hold. He's warm, and he's big, his large frame practically folding over you.
"I'll send her away," he says softly, pressing his lips to your neck.
"Good," you murmur, letting your hand rest over his on your stomach. "It'll only be you and me."
And he nods, "Only you and me, my wife."
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barbieaemond · 4 months
Text
A snake in the bosom
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Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5
PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader
WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.
WORD COUNT: 5.3k
Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶
taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke
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The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.
A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.
A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.
And you did.
You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.
You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath. 
Not looking didn't do much good.
It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.
It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.
It shouldn’t and it will never.
The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.
The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.
Not for long.
“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”
You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”
You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.
There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.
“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”
Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.
You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.
Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?
They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.
“Husband.”
“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”
“Is something the matter? Is the King—"
"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.
The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.
There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.
Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.
The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.
A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.
It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.
He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.
You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.
“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”
There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."
Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“
"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”
Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”
You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”
The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.
“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”
Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”
“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”
With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”
“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”
You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.
“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”
You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells. 
“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”
“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”
“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”
Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.
“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.
You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”
“I see. And why do you hide it?”
“I do not, your Grace.”
“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”
“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”
“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”
“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”
“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”
Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.
“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.”  He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”
Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.
“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"
“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.
“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”
Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.
“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”
You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.
“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”
Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.
“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”
Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.
 “Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”
“My prince?” asks one of the guards.
“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”
The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King. 
One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.
Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.
You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him. 
You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth. 
He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.
But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”
The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.
“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.
His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”
Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.
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When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.
He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.
“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”
“You know why.” you mutter.
“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”
“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”
He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.
You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”
“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”
You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.
“Both.”
“Both?”
“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“
The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.
“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”
“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.
“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.
It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”
He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.
His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”
“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.
“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”
He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.
“No…”
“No? I thought so.”
Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”
“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.
He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.
“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”
He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.
He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”
Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.
“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”
You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”
You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”
The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.
The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.
“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.
“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.
You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.
He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.
"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.
“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”
The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.
“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”
You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.
“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.
“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.
“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.
“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”
Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.
“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.
He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.
“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.
“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”
You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.
“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”
He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.
Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.
“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”
“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”
The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.
“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”
“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.
It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"
“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”  
You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.
He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.
You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”
Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”
You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”
He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.
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thank you so much for reading!! 💕
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Hi my dear !!
My req idea is a fluffy (spicy thoughts can be included) 'seeing each other for the first' time thing with Asgard!Prince!Loki and his betrothed princess yn 🍬💓
💖💖You got it! Thanks for the fun request, @fictive-sl0th! I hope you don't mind that I added a little twist to your idea! Please enjoy! 💖💖
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“The Princess and the Stable Boy” 
After a lifetime of preparation, you finally travel to Asgard for your wedding to Prince Loki, a mysterious man you’ve never met. After your cruel betrothed repeatedly abandons you during your wedding week, you find a special friend with an open ear to whom you bare your soul. But the situation becomes fraught when, on your wedding day, you find you want to give your heart to someone else. 
Pairing: Prince!Loki x Princess!Reader Genre: Fluff, Angst, a little spice Content Warnings: forced marriage, hidden identities, some borderline-smutty thoughts Word Count: 4.5k
MASTERLIST
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“And, tell me, what is the Prince’s excuse this time?” you asked, looking at the diminutive maid in your doorway, her plain white robes a stark contrast to the elaborate, guided threshold she filled. 
“His father is holding court this evening, m’lady,” she replied, her head bowed, refusing to meet your eye. 
Twisting your lip into a skeptical frown, you kept your disappointment inside for the sake of dignity. “Court is never held after sunset,” you answered. “He’s pissed off again.”
The maid didn’t reply. “He did send his regards--”
“--every cursed night for the past four days he’s ‘sent his regards’! We marry in another six and I have yet to see his face, nor he mine,” you  growled, frustration rising in your voice as your anger obscured your manners.”Is he deformed?”
“No, m’lady. His handsomeness is unmatched.” 
“Does his tastes fall to another sex?”
She denied. “M’lady, the Prince is open about his desires, and he does not discriminate between sexes.”
 “Well, does this bastard wish to marry me or not??”
The maid looked helpless for an answer. You softened a little in sympathy. “I suppose you wouldn’t understand.”
She shook her head bashfully. “No, m’lady.”
“Then, just go,” you dismissed, not even bothering to wait in the room for her to leave before scurrying into your parlor and slamming the door, finally letting the scream out that had been building up inside you. It felt like a wonderful release, but it didn;t solve your problem. 
You were getting married to a blank face in six days, uniting your realms, as was decreed on the day of your birth. You were raised getting to know your husband through correspondence, tutors, and finishing lessons. You only knew of his interests through quizzes and long hours of study. And for all your hard work, on the eve of the culmination of it all: he hadn;t even bothered to meet you. 
It was enough of a humiliation when your entourage approached the palace at Asgard only to be greeted by your future brother-in-law, ready with an excuse that your fiance was ailing. The following day, you’d heard he was spotted hunting on the edge of the city. 
The next day, Prince Loki missed your supper with the royal family. Queen Frigga had given you a sympathetic apology, insisting she would send him to greet you personally the following day, assuring you that Loki was eager to wed and merely taking care of some final pre-marital business.
He never appeared at your door, and you’d wasted the entire day waiting for him. 
You were a strong princess, full of glorious purpose, ready to wed whether your heart wanted to or not. Prince Loki was making it very difficult for you to keep your resolve the more it became obvious that he was avoiding you. Every minute that passed solidified the fact in your mind that you were going to be nothing but a weight shackled to his ankle, occasionally bearing an heir and appearing publicly at his side. You were about to become an official Asgardian ornament.
What a sad fate for a princess, you bemoaned, throwing open your balcony doors and stepping out into the night air. You overlooked the inner courtyards and fields of the palace property, a tree line off against the indigo horizon. The twinkle of the city itself was off, beyond the north wall, the light pollution dousing the stars above your head. The rolling knolls were difficult to admire in the twilight.
Something caught your eye before you lost yourself in pitying thought: by the west wall appeared to be a stable, occupied with the royal steeds no doubt. You could have sworn you heard a whinny from that direction. Smiling, you decided that perhaps a horse’s ear was better than no ear at all (and you’d already scared away most of your maids). 
Within a few minutes, you’d donned a black cape and simple dress so as not to attract attention. With all the free time you’d had not getting to know your future husband, you’d gotten to know the ins and outs of the palace corridors quickly, so it was no time before you were out in the open air and strutting toward the stable. You briefly looked up in the direction of the highest tower in the palace: the tower where the royals themselves bedded. Prince Loki was up there somewhere, not giving a damn about you or how lonely you felt. 
“Don’t worry, Loki,” you whispered bitterly before turning away from the palace again, “I won’t say one voluntary word to you for the duration of our lives.”
The stables were clean and impeccably-kept, and the lights you’d seen were still on when you arrived. You stepped inside to find that only one of the stables was occupied, by a tall, sturdy, black stallion. He was contentedly munching on something in a metal bucket hanging off of the side of the cubicle.
Someone watched the horse, leaning with his back against the opposite stall door. His ankles were crossed, as well as his arms, and he looked deep in thought. His raven hair hung in his face, unruly and thick. His gray shirt was unfastened, hanging open at his sides, barely holding onto his shoulders. His tight green leggings were tucked into shin-high leather riding boots. He had a tattoo of an ouroboros winding about his chest, just below his razor-sharp clavicle. You swore it was moving very slowly, slithering about the man’s chest in an infinity loop. 
There was a quality to his profile that immediately stopped you in your path. It was intimidating, but also attractive, as if he was posing for a painting but trying to look candid at once. Upon hearing the shuffling of your boots on the hay-lined floor, the young man lifted his gaze to meet yours, and his blue eyes lit up. 
Looking upon his face only added to the haunting, yet rustic beauty of the man. His jaw was angular, his lips perfectly plump and distorted into an amused smile at seeing your face.
“Princess,” he mumbled, his voice low and casual. “You’re a long way from your chambers.” 
You rolled your eyes. “How do you know me? We’ve never met.”
He scoffed in reaction. “Everyone in the palace knows of the lovely future Princess of Asgard. I may be just another peasant among the ranks, but I’m not as dim as most of them.”
“You certainly have the arrogance of the Prince,” you sneered back. “I did not mean to suggest that you’re simple.” 
The mysterious stranger raised his eyebrow and pushed off from the wall with his shoulder. “You’ve met him?”
Shaking your head, you looked to the side sheepishly. “No.”
“Still?” chuckled the boy, taking another step toward you, but planting himself there. “And you have not tried seeking him out?”
“It isn’t protocol for me to summon him,” you sighed. “It would be considered stepping out of line.”
“Well, from my experience,” said the peasant, “Stepping out of line is the quickest way to get what you want.” 
You looked at him again. “I suppose being judged so harshly without having the chance to even please my betrothed isn’t the best motivator.” 
Your conversational partner shrugged. “Maybe he is simply nervous himself? Perhaps he feels those scrutinous eyes fall on him as well, and he isn’t sure how to--?”
“--I should have known, you’d never understand,” you mumbled bitterly, turning your back to him. You had no interest in listening to this apologist make excuses for whatever mental game your fiance was playing without your consent. You chose to disengage quickly, not having the energy to stand up for yourself. “My mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you, stable boy.” 
You began to walk away. “My name is Arik,” the boy called after you, his voice heightened. 
You stopped. He sounded instantly contrite. 
“It sounds as if I’ve thrown a switch I shouldn’t have,” he continued. “Please forgive me, Princess. I didn't mean to further distress you. I was only seeking to console with you a possible explanation as to the Prince’s rude welcome.”
Turning back, you allowed yourself a small smile. It hurt your cheeks to do so after several days of doing very little with your jaw other than bemoaning your annoying situation. 
“Arik,” you repeated. 
He nodded and clicked his heels, standing at attention like a general, and bowing at the waist. “At your humble service, my Lady.” 
You stepped in further, gaining a closer look at the stable boy. Indeed, the tattoo moved on his chest. “I’ve never seen art like this,” you said breathlessly. The details in the ink were beautiful and delicate. Arik seemed to like you moving in and focusing your gaze on his pectorals. 
“My br--Prince Thor has a similar one,” he said quietly. “It is a large bolt of lightning shooting down his back from between his shoulder blades.” 
“How do you know this? Do the Princes walk about the palace nude?” you laughed. 
Arik’s smile widened at your laugh. “No, Princess. I served with the Princes during our mandatory conscription. Close quarters and all.” 
You sighed. “Which means the blasted stable boy knows my husband more than I!” you lamented. 
He laughed with you. “Perhaps it is time The Prince conquered his bashfulness,” he agreed. “From where I stand, he is the one missing out by delaying his meeting with you.”
You felt a burning blush crawl up your cheek at the compliment. “Arik…” you paused before continuing. “...if you do know the Princes so well…could you tell me about them? If I cannot learn of my husband from himself--”
Arik took your hand in his, bringing it gently to his lips. “--if you are asking me to familiarize you with our sovereigns in their pathetic absence, I would be most happy to oblige you, Princess.”
Your heart fluttered against your ribs, and you began to feel giddy. 
“Sadly,” he went on, your optimism instantly dropping off, “my services are required elsewhere in just a few moments.”
You sighed. “Oh.”
“However, if you wished to meet me here tomorrow evening,” Arik suggested, “It would be my honor to take you for a ride through the knolls.”
As much as you wanted to say yes, you knew that you had to turn him down. “The masque is tomorrow night.” 
“Oh, yes, I forgot.” 
There was no way Prince Loki would be able to abandon you at the masque ball set for tomorrow. It was in honor of your impending marriage. Even if you weren’t going to see his face, you would absolutely be expected to dance with him in front of the mobility of Asgard. 
“If only I could leave him alone in the middle of the floor for once,” you muttered bitterly. “I’m sure he regrets our appointment tomorrow night more than I.”
Arik smiled. “I admire your passion. Perhaps, though, it would be prudent to wait until you meet the Prince, to pass your own judgment.”
“He doesn’t deserve you as a loyal servant,” you remarked. 
Arik shrugged. “If you do find yourself in need of more flattering company, I have a small trundle here. As long as the nights are warm, I spend them out here. Come find me at any hour, and I will be your humble ally.” 
“Thank you,” you said tenderly. “I needed a friend to find me tonight.” 
“As did I, Princess,” he said, holding out a hand, brushing a small piece of hay from your hair that had settled. That tiny, intimate touch from another person was enough to make your nerves tingle. You’d gone for such a long time without any comforting physical contact. 
“Then, Arik, I will leave you to your duties,” you said, pulling away before anything even more wonderful could happen. Awkwardly not knowing how to address the strapping young peasant as you left his sight, you smiled and backed out of the stable.
Arik called out after you.  “Sweet dreams, Princess.” 
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He was all that you thought of as you went through the motions the following day in preparation for the ball. You were fitted for your gown, a rich, golden fabric draped loosely over your body and held to you with green and black ribbon. Your mask was green with gold feathers. Your hair was swept up into a complicated braid and laden with emeralds. Yet even more jewels were fastened to your ears and throat, all submitting to the green and gold palate.
Just as the palace was beginning to saturate with the odor of roasting meats and breathing bowls of wine, you were ready and escorted to the Great Hall, where the festivities were already in full swing. 
Even as the room stopped to acknowledge your entrance at the top of the grand staircase, your thoughts were with the stable boy who’d been the first in Asgard to treat you like a creature with a soul, with needs and fears. No one in this room knew a thing about you even as they praised you as their new princess. 
The crowd parted as you descended the staircase, revealing a tall figure dressed in green finery and Asgardian military insignia standing precisely in the center of the room. His hair was slicked back and tucked under a golden diadem, his high-necked jacket fastened from jaw to hip, a lacy black mask curling down his face so that nearly his entire visage was obscured to you. 
Great, even looking right at him, I can’t see, you complained inside even as you bowed cordially, reaching Prince Loki for your first meeting. You immediately got the scent of wintergreen and pine from him when you reached proximity. 
“Princess,” said a deep, restrained baritone from underneath the mask you faced. Prince Loki clicked his heels and bowed formally at the waist, which only made you long for your secret stable boy more. He shared the Prince’s posture, but that had to be from their shared military days. 
“Your Highness,” you barely mustered. “At last we meet.” 
“You sound disappointed,” the Prince suggested. 
“Only at the bitter reception from Your Highness,” you boldly answered. “What Prince treats his betrothed as such garbage as I have been?”
Loki didn’t twitch, blink, or acknowledge your cheek. He simply took the first position of a groom about to dance with his bride with all the restricted grace of a automaton. 
You went to take your position at Loki’s front for the dance. You only did so out of obligation. However, before you could touch his arm, you found yourself stepping back again in spite of yourself. 
“No,” you said. 
Gasps echoed about the room. 
“Princess?” Loki asked, sounding insecure for the first time. 
“You’ve been treating me worse than a scullery maid since the day I arrived. I’ve wanted nothing but to please you and please your subjects, but after being held in this palace like a prisoner in a cage of glass and gold, I’ve come to realize this: you don't deserve my hand. However, seeing as I am being forced to give it to you regardless, I am choosing to retain a mote of my own autonomy tonight by refusing this dance.”
No one had seen this coming from you, let alone Loki.
You sucked in your breath bravely. “If you permit me to leave this annoyance of a party right now, I will consider it our wedding present.” 
Committing to the offense, you spun on your heels and quickly walked back up the staircase as the murmurs and gasps grew to a louder hum. 
“Princess!” Loki was pursuing you, calling to you as you retreated. 
“So NOW you seek me out, now that I humiliate you in front of the assembly?” you hissed as soon as you turned the corner. “I won’t be anyone’s ornament! May you be damned!” 
He eventually gave up and remained behind. You found yourself stomping about the corridors alone, making a beeline for the stables. 
Tonight, the air was even warmer. Your gown fluttered in the breeze behind you as you made your way to the stables, where no one seemed to be home. 
“Arik?” you called, going inside to find no one, not even the horse, around. “Arik? Are you here?”
After a few moments of you pacing up and down the row, and you heard the sound of shuffling feet outside. You rushed back into the open night, and sure enough, Arik was returning, the black stallion bridled and tethered to his side. The horse was already wearing a saddle built for two. 
“My Lady?” Arik called, slightly out of breath. 
“Did I find you at a bad time? You look disheveled,” you remarked, taking in how Arik looked like he’d thrown himself at a pile of laundry and decided whatever garments stuck to his body would create his wardrobe for the evening: a white peasant shirt loosely tied at the neck, and black pants. 
Arik shook his head. “Alvis was startled by a serpent. Reining him in proved a challenge.”
“Then, perhaps he wouldn’t be amenable to the possibility of a ride this evening?” you asked, batting your eyelashes. 
Smiling, Arik raked a hand through his hair. “I think he can be persuaded, but…shouldn’t you be at the gala, Princess?” 
You scoffed, taking the ribbon tying your braid together and unfurling your hair, shaking it loose until every gem fell to the grass. “If His Highness wished to dance with me, he would have thought of this before casting me off like an old glove.” 
He snickered. “It didn’t go well, I take it?”
You shook your head. “I wouldn’t even stay for supper.”
“Well, that won’t do, Princess. This has already been a trying week for you. You need sustenance.” He indicated the double-seated saddle on the back of Alvis. “I’m sure the horse is well now, my Lady. I can take you to a place I know of on the edge of the kingdom, where we can remedy that.”
Nodding enthusiastically at his offer, you stepped up to the horse, suddenly realizing that you’d never ridden before. Arik seemed to be able to read your mind, scooping you up into his arms and placing you on Alvis before quickly mounting the horse himself.
You got the briefest hint of wintergreen and pine as you wrapped your arms around his waist.
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Arik took you through the knolls and orchards south of the city proper as the sun descended and night returned. The shadows of trees along the path fell across your faces as you rode through the lawns and groves, away from everyone else and off into a better place. Arik showed you how to stretch your arms out to pick apples and pears off the fruit trees you brushed past along the way. You laughed as you made a game out of who could nick more treats before being caught and chased along a few meters by an irate farmer who happened to be walking offside. 
You were brought to a waterfall on the edge of the kingdom, where you and the handsome stable boy sat on a boulder, close enough to the falls to feel the chilly mist. As you feasted on your ill-gotten fruit, Arik told you about your intended, and answered every question you had. 
He was beautiful in the soft moonglow. A perfect specimen, healthy and strong, but also brooding and sweet. Ridiculous as it seemed (it had taken less than a day), you were completely in love with Arik. He was more of a god in his humble rags as he sat before you now than Prince Loki could ever be while arrayed in his furs and finery. 
Something bothered you while he spoke: Arik spoke very fondly of the Prince in spite of your criticisms, almost as if he was trying to sell him to you. It was as if Arik could sense your growing feelings for him, and he was perhaps trying to protect you by throwing you off of his trail. 
“Tell me, Arik,” you implored, “Do you think Prince Loki even has the ability to love?”
“Princess, do you expect love to come from your arranged marriage?”
You shrugged. “I was hoping for some.” 
Arik smiled tenderly and took your hand. “If I know Prince Loki, he will take care of you and your children for your whole lives.”
Shaking your head, you pulled your hand away. “That isn’t what I want! I want love!”
“But--”
“--I can’t ever love Prince Loki,” you said decidedly. 
Arik’s shoulders dropped, and his smile disappeared. “That is very sad to hear, My Lady, That notion will only lead to a woeful match. If I know him, he wishes only for your happiness. But why do you sound so certain of this?”
“Because without trust, there can be no love…and how can I trust someone whose face I’ve never seen?” you explained, breaking down in tears at last, leaning against Arik’s broad shoulder. 
He gripped you tightly, and you felt safe in his arms, wishing you could be there forever. “Let’s run away.”
He didn’t respond. You found yourself doubling down. “I mean it, Arik. I could live a thousand years with you starting tonight.”
He pulled away from you far enough to make eye contact. His face was once of concern, of seriousness. “You can’t mean this. We barely know one another.” 
“I do! I do!” you said quickly. “Arik, you see me as not a Princess, but a woman, someone who wants to make the best of a fraught situation. You understand my soul,” you wept. 
Arik looked touched. He pursed his lips as he thought of what to say next. “My Lady, I don’t know what to say…”
“Take me away with you. Let’s go tonight,” you proposed. 
“No, Princess,” he insisted, pushing you away, standing straight. “You are engaged.”
“So, you won’t have me, and he doesn’t want me…no one wants me,” you whispered. 
Arik’s heart broke for you, and he returned you to his embrace. “Eloping would be instant death for us both, my Lady,” he said quietly. “If it weren’t this way…”
“Oh, Arik, I wish you were the Prince!” you cried, laying your lips against his and putting your palm against his cheek. He kissed you back, wrapping his arms around your whole body tightly. 
“Will I see you again after tonight?” you asked softly once your lips parted. 
He sighed. “It may not be a good idea,” he mused, breaking your heart. “Even this beautiful kiss we’ve just shared is enough to condemn us.” 
You nodded. “I would never wish to cause your death, Arik.” 
“Then, let’s stay out tonight,” he suggested. “With the promise that we won’t ever address the notion of running away ever again.”
“I agree.” 
He returned you just before dawn, to the door of your chambers, giving you one final kiss before leaving. Just before he turned the corner to return to the stables, he stopped to give you one more piece of advice. 
“I really do know the Prince intimately, Princess,” he insisted. “And if I know him, I know that if you give him your hand next week, he will give you his heart.” 
You felt a hot tear sting your eye. “I trust you,” you said with a small nod. 
Arik smiled. “Then, perhaps, there can be love here after all.” 
It took all of your strength to be reserved as you closed your door to the last hope of ever having a happy life with Arik the stable boy. 
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As promised, Arik had disappeared, removing any temptation you’d had to seek him out and go back on your own word to bind yourself to Prince Loki. You let the depression settle over you, painting you in a numbing glaze of complacency in your own imprisonment. You were meant to be a shackle on the Prince’s ankle, as promised by virtue of your birth. You would have to resign yourself to that, and be content with that.
Five days later, at dusk, you were escorted down the long hall leading to Asgard’s throne room. You wore a grand gown in peacock-blue, your hair down and loose about your shoulders, a golden circlet draped across your forehead, your face obscured by a veil so thick you needed a bridesmaid to guide you to your palace at the groom’s side for the ceremony. 
Goddamnit, even now I don't know what he looks like, you admitted the defeat bitterly. Your face was stone. You’d mentally prepared yourself for this, but it required a stiff upper lip to endure.
The ceremony was grand, but brief. A cauldron of eternal fire received your written vows to one another, and as the smoke formed the great tree Yggdrasil above your heads, you braced yourself for the moment where Loki would lift your veil and look upon your face. 
You closed your eyes as the Allfather gave Loki permission to greet his new bride with a first kiss. The ambient light increased behind your lids as the veil lifted. You waited in silence for several moments for the kiss. 
Instead, you heard a familiar voice say “Open your eyes, my Lady.” 
Obeying, you didn’t expect the kind blue eyes that belonged to your beloved stable boy to be looking down at you from the face of your husband. Confused, you raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “Arik? But…Loki?”
He shook his head and said softly, “We are one and the same, my dear.” 
“No,” you mumbled. “It can’t be!”
The deceitful Prince took your hand and quickly kissed it. “I came into this match with the same fears as you, my love, and I had to know that you could love me for who I was, and not what my title was.” 
“But…you were so mean to me…” 
The Prince shook his head. “Please accept the grave mistake I made in choosing to avoid you. I thought that you’d already resented me due to our reluctant arrangement.” 
“I wanted to meet you, to know you!”
“And so you have,” Loki said with a tender smile. “I assure you that Arik is in my heart. He was the real mask I wore, in order to have the courage to meet you for myself.”
You couldn’t believe it. “So, now we’re going to go forward and build an entire life off of a charade?”
“You said you trusted me,” Loki added. “Perhaps we can begin there, and with a kiss.”
The line was pure Arik. You were sold.
“It IS you!” you smiled happily, a warm wave of affection making your head spin. 
As the Prince leaned down to give you your bridal kiss, Arik’s lips met yours and removed the last doubts you would ever have. 
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avtrbee · 1 year
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in the beginning (part 2)
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✢summary: in a final attempt to salvage the rift between your families, you suggest a marriage pact between you and and alicent’s second son (part 2 of in the beginning)
✢pairing: aemond targaryen/reader, 3.7k words
✢warnings: typical targaryen incest, possessive aemond, i think i write aemond in a darker way than what tumblr sees him as, add more lmao
✢a/n: hello everyone! i'm glad by the attention in the beginning got :)) thank you so much for your comments and notes and please do not hesitate to tell me how you feel about my work! your responses motivate me so much, thank you once again <33 there is no taglist for this fic, unfortunately. + gif isnt mine!
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The next few days were a blur. True to your mother’s words, your trip back to Dragonstone had been postponed, though you were fairly sure you were to stay in Kings Landing indefinitely as Aemond’s wife. Once the news of your engagement has reached the ears of the realm, you have been subjected to endless congratulations from lords and ladies and their best wishes. Your brothers, on the other hand…well, you didn’t stick around for that.
“You can’t evade them forever, sweet girl,” your mother tells you. She has little Aegon beside her who runs towards you as soon as he spots you.
“Do they hate me?” You ask quietly. You sit on a bench outside of a balcony, wringing your hands. You despise the way you sounded so timid- so weak. At least Aegon is content and happy playing with your skirts, oblivious to any conflict within the family.
You hear Rhaenyra’s steps as she walks to you with a hand on her belly. “Hate you?” She repeats with a small laugh. “You have held Jace’s heart since the day he held you. Luke looks up to you more than anyone.” Her slender finger raises your head by lifting your chin and stare you down with her gaze. “You cannot avoid your brothers forever.”
You weren’t avoiding them…you just preferred to delay their inevitable reactions. Unfortunately, your mother was right. It was Jace who finally cornered you in the gardens, waiting for Aemond to finish his morning sparring. 
“I’ve missed you.” Jace’s words cut through the tension first. Guilt floods your mind. Out of all your brothers, Jace was the one closest to you. You remember Laenor complaining as he was tasked to chase two toddlers around the keep, with one going the opposite way of the other. 
“It’s only been a fortnight, Jace. I’ve…I’ve been busy with the preparations,” you lie and Jace looks at you with a knowing glare. You avoid his gaze instantly. “Where is Luke? He normally shadows you like a lost pup.”
Jace shrugs. “I’m sorry that it had come to this,” he whispers, walking towards you. A closer look on your brother tells you that he had run away from sword training early as there was a thin layer of sweat that covers him. “I shouldn’t have let him get under my skin during the dinner, I should’t have-”
“I know,” you reply softly. Jace takes a seat beside you and you lean on him instantly. Jace had been your first knight, your first protector out of anyone. “I shouldn't have hit Aegon, too.”
“I don’t like it,” Jace announces and it does not surprise you. Bad blood between the Princess and the Queen’s children are well known.  “I don’t want you to marry him.”
“I don’t like it either,” you admit. Not yet, your mind whispers.  “Brother-“
“You asked for this, did you not?” Jace asks, looking at you. “Mother told us- Daemon too. You asked for this marriage. He did too, back in the day.”
You twist your head to look up at your brother. You have not heard this before. “What do you mean?”
You feel Jace’s shoulders shake as he laughs. “This is not the first time mother had tried to broker peace with the Queen. I was to marry Helaena and you to Aegon,” your brother tells you and you nod. You had known about the failed efforts and the betrothals that she had offered. “Aegon had boasted your betrothal to Aemond that day and I had never seen him so angry-” Jace laughs heartily. “-Aemond was still a little thing back then, and half as talented with a sword but he still challenged Aegon to a duel.”
“For my hand?” You ask amused and Jace nods in reply. “He liked me that much?”
“And now he will have you.” Jace finishes, “all because you have begged mother for it.”
His stare bores down on you and you feel a sudden rush of anger surge in you.You lift your head out of Jace’s shoulder and stand. “You should be on your knees, thanking me,” you seethe. You briefly wonder if you resemble your mother the most angry. “I am cleaning up the messes you have made.”
“I am only scared for you, mandia,” Jace confesses, taking your hand in his. His tone quells most of your anger, and makes you feel as if nine again with Jace gently scolding you for a broken vase. “We were only children, after all.”
“He was also a child,” you frown. 
“Do not act like you were not complicit in teasing him,” Jace warns, “He does not carry bad blood towards you because of some childhood infatuation.”
“I did not tease him by flaunting a pig to be his dragon!” You reason. You were once a child, eager to accept any sort of attention from your brothers and uncles and wary of any action that would lose their favor. You were torn once you were old enough to realize that they had chosen Aemond to be their victim when he had always paid such gentle care for you. 
You regret it now, turning a blind eye to Aemond when he was clearly suffering, and guilt bubbles in your chest when you remember Aemond welcoming you into his chambers to play despite looking the other way when he was pushed and thrown to the ground.
You recall his glum mood when you entered his chambers in the afternoon holding two wooden dragons on each hand. 
From his seat, Aemond shyly peaked at your approaching figure. You could not have hid the gasp that escaped your mouth when you saw his face. Aemond’s right eye was beaten and swollen blue while his other side had streaks of blood running down his cheeks from his forehead. 
“Aemond!” You rush to him, dropping the wooden dragons on the floor. 
In a panic, you reached for a nearby rag on his dresser and began your attempt to wipe the blood off of his face. At your touch, Aemond flinches before you realize you have had to be gentle in treating his face. Gentle like he was to you.
“What happened?” You asked, dabbing on the already dried blood that ran across his cheeks. You moved away to dip the cloth in a glass of water in hopes to wipe the blood off his face.
“I was fighting,” Aemond answers, leaning in as you came back with a damp rag. 
“Fighting who?” You try your best to be even more gentle once you got the the wound on his forehead.
“Aegon.” He turns his head to look at you when he answers. “I challenged him to a duel to protect someone.”
Your face morphs into shock. “Aegon?” You demand. “He is twice your size! They must be pretty important for them to make you fight Aegon.”
Aemond does not offer you a reply, but you do not mind. His silence means the less his head will move and thus, the more you could clean his face. 
“You must see a maester,” you say in defeat. You had gotten a closer look at his now cleaned wound, and though it would not need stitches, it needs a special salve that Maester Mellos keeps in his rooms. 
“Aemond?” You call for his attention when you realize he was not listening. Instead, his gaze is focused on the door of his chambers. You follow his sight and realize he was staring on the floor where you had dropped your wooden dragons.
“Do you think I’d ever get a dragon?” He asks.
You were careful enough to hide your pitying stare when he looked at you. You had found that Aemond loathes pity, especially when talking about dragons. You had tried to express your sorrow for him once, but he only responded in anger. “Maegor didn’t have a dragon until he was twenty-and-six,” you offer instead. “He got Balerion after it.”
“I don’t want to be like Maegor the Cruel!” Aemond protested, his eyes misting up in tears. “Aegon tells tales of dragonriding, it’s all he talks about. It’s freeing, he says, and everyone looks like ants when you look below. I’d never get to experience it. Even Helaena has a dragon.”
You gasp audibly, as an idea pops in your head. You grasp his hand, tugging him out of the room. “We can ride Vermithor!” You tell him. “He was King Jaehaerys’ dragon, the biggest after Vhagar so he can definitely saddle two. Maybe even more!”
Aemond snatches his hands back. “I don’t want to ride Vermithor! He’s yours! He’s not my dragon.” Aemond’s face looks at you contorts in betrayal and hurt. 
You realize he thinks you’re mocking him. “No, no-” you reach out to grasp his hands again in a desperate attempt to satiate his temper. “I- I only meant you can ride with me! So you could feel what it’s like! Besides…” you trail off, uncertain. 
Aemond looks at you curiously and squeezes your hand. You relent immediately. “Would you like to know a secret?” Aemond nods and you pull him closer. “Mother says I’m not to marry Aegon anymore,” you whisper, darting your eyes around the hallway for anyone who might listen. “She says the King and your lady mother had chosen to betrothe him to Helaena instead.”
You look around the hallway again, missing Aemond’s small smile that he could not resist even with a split lip. “Maybe…” you continue. “Maybe she’ll tell the queen to betroth me to you next, that way you don’t need your own dragon because husband and wives share things. All that is his is hers, and hers his.”
“Truly?” Aemond asks.
You nod. “Vermithor can be ours,” you insist. “Whenever you want a ride, you can always find me and we’ll ride together, then you won’t need your own dragon anymore." You tug his hand down the hall with full intentions of running to the Dragon Pit. This time, Aemond did not resist. “Let’s ride our dragon.”
Aemond had screamed so loud as he rode Vermithor behind you, as the dragon flew as soon as he sat down on the saddle. His hands squeezed your waist tighter as he shouted louder while you held on to the reins tightly. 
Eventually Vermithor’s ascent comes to a stop, developing into a smooth sail along the clouds. “Open your eyes, Aemond!” You command.
“How did you know I was closing them?” Aemond quips, hugging your waist tighter despite the easier flight. You had no doubt in your mind that his eyes remained squeezed shut.
“Open them!” 
For a minute, Aemond is silent. You had half a thought to threaten him to his fall if continues to close his eyes, but before you could word out your threat he whispered softly, “Beautiful.”
Then you imagine he took in the sight of Kings Landing and Blackwater Bay on top of the clouds, admiring the tall structure of the Red Keep and millions of houses surrounding it. From here, he could catch the view of the Kingswood as it peeks at the horizon. 
You couldn't agree more. “Indeed.”
He was looking at you.
The rare sight of your mother, Queen Alicent and King Viserys together greets you as you land. Alicent runs to Aemond as soon as Vermithor is escorted back into the pit, and kneels in worry as she hugs her son. 
“I thought-” Alicent mutters, smoothing Aemond’s hair over and over. “I had thought the worst.”
“Don’t worry, mother.” Aemond says, with the widest smile on his face. “I rode a dragon!”
Your mother was the sole opposite of Alicent for she did not reek of worry, she radiated in anger. Nevertheless, she rushes to you. “What were you thinking?” Rhaenyra demands. She tugs your ear. “If Aemond had fell-”
“But he didn’t, sweet girl,” you felt the firm hand of your grandfather. Viserys looks down at you with a proud smile.
Behind you, your mother rolls her eyes. “Father, don’t save the damn girl. She’s spoiled enough as it is.”
“Ah, it’s her grandmother’s spirit, I tell you.” Viserys replies, his eyes twinkling at you in pride. 
“Lady Alyssa?” You ask, already familiar with your grandfather’s tendency to compare you to his mother. “You and Uncle Daemon’s mother?”
“Yes, brave girl.” Viserys agrees with a nostalgic smile. “Have I ever told you my first ride on a dragon? I was no smaller than a babe when my mother, the Lady Alyssa…”
“If there is any penance we could do, sister, we would do it.” Jace’s voice tugs you out of your memory. 
“I am the penance, Jace.” You say, frustrated. “I am the punishment. Our marriage will close the rift that we have opened.” It is not fair- none of it is. You try not to dwell on your situation too much lest you’d be tempted to thrash and throw an unladylike tantrum. If only you, Jace, and Luke were kinder to Aemond, if only Aemond didn’t lose his eye, if only your lady mother and lord father had other children-
“Have you seen his left eye, sister?” asked Jace. His tone is unrelenting and stubborn, too hurt from the reminder that a marriage needed to be born over childhood games. “I hear he has a sapphire in place of it. Some say he exchanges the gem to each day.”
“Jace, please,” You plead quietly, mindful that even in private gardens Kings Landing has ears. You cannot let them see anymore cracks of your house. “I am not asking you to be friendly, I’m only asking for civility for my sake, if not, for the realm.”
Jace holds your stare almost challengingly, before a voice rings out from the other edge of the garden. 
“Betrothed,” greeted Aemond. 
Your head whips to the direction of his voice.  He stalks over the two of you like a tiger, each step a calculated move of restraint. He has grown so much now that Aegon could steal no victories in challenged duels, and you were sure he would fare well against Jacerys despite being a few years younger. 
Aemond’s eye glinted in the sunlight as you see it roam your figure before slowly looking at Jace beside you. “Brother,” Aemond greets maliciously with a smirk upon his lips. 
Jace gives a tight lipped smile that almost looks painful. He regards Aemond with a curt nod. “Not yet.”
Your head turns back to face your brother with a glare and he meets your gaze in equal rebellion. You echo your previous plea to him in your head desperately as if he could hear your thoughts. Before long, Jacerys relents and breathes out a sigh. 
He extends an arm to your head, bringing your forehead close and presses a soft kiss on your temple. 
“I was just leaving, brother,” Jacerys says as he steps away from you. It was not the best response he could have given, but you did ask for civility and not sudden camaraderie. You give him a grateful smile as he turns and walks away.
“Hmm,” was all Aemond had to say as he saw the silent batte between the two eldest children of his sister. Wordlessly, he offered you his arm which you graciously accepted and he led you to the opposite side of Jacerys’ path, walking you deeper in the gardens of the Red Keep.
For the past two weeks, it had become a habit for you to wait for Aemond to finish his morning lessons with Ser Criston Cole and you would roam the Red Keep’s halls with your arms in his. Sometimes he surprises you with courting gifts. Once, he had given you a necklace embedded with huge sapphire stones and little rubies surrounding it.
“For your Velaryon and Targaryen blood,” Aemond explained, as you turned and raised your hair. His fingers were gentle as he hung the necklace around your neck.
“Why bother with these courting gifts?” You asked. “I am to marry you anyway.”
“A reminder to the others,” he simply replies.
You try your best not to snort. You had almost smirked in amusement once Aemond had presented you with the necklace. You pretended not to notice that the shades of the sapphires were far deeper than the color of your father’s house, but instead perfectly matches the shade of his left eye. You would not be surprised if the sapphires were cut from the same stone to what was in his face. 
Despite your initial reaction to the betrothal, you had found yourself charmed at the gesture- not that you would openly admit it. 
“Jacerys is fond of you,” Aemond says after a few moments. He had said nothing as you strolled through the gardens until now. “He is incredibly protective.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes at Aemond’s hypocrisy, with the weight of your sapphire necklace sitting heavily on your neck a screaming reminder to anyone that you were spoken for. “He is my brother,” you reply instead, clutching Aemond’s arm. “My first knight before any of the others.”
Aemond gave another hmm, offering no reply until minutes later when he asked- “Does he fuck you?”
You halt immediately, eyes widening at the accusation. You blink at Aemond once trying to understand if you had heard him wrong. Aemond’s gaze looked at you expectantly. 
“What.” It came more of a statement than a question. 
“Does he fuck you?” Aemond calmly repeats, tugging your arm to continue your walk. If you weren’t too bewildered, you would have noticed the slight tremble in his hand.
“He’s my brother!” You protest, disgusted. Your face contorts in what you would imagine your expression would be if you had bitten into a lemon. 
Beside you Aemond scoffs. “As if that has ever stopped our family before.”
You tilt your head in consideration. Well- he’s not wrong. “He doesn’t. He wouldn’t dare,” you answer. “He is a gentleman to a fault. The only women he can talk to freely are me and our mother.”
Aemond’s eyes squint in thought. “Has he ever bedded a woman?”
“Why are we discussing Jacerys’…bedroom activities?” You snap. You do not want that image in your head, especially since his rooms in Dragonstone are directly beside yours. “Please remind me.”
Before you knew it, you had arrived at the courtyard where Aemond had been before he came to you at the gardens. Aemond slows down to a stop. 
“Tell me, my lady,” Aemond whispers as his nose trails your jaw. He has caged you in his presence behind a pillar in the courtyard. “Have you ever touched a man?”
You hitch a breath as you feel his hand clump your dress’s fabric, slowly pinching it up, up, up. You feel the summer breeze on your now exposed leg. Your eyes frantically roam the courtyard, wary of any person that was unfortunate enough to pass by, all the while Aemond’s face remains close to you.
You can feel every breath he takes and he lets out as he leans further in you like Aemond was taking a good sniff. 
“It’s alright,” he coos, his free arm patting your hair. “I admit I have lain with a woman before.” Your eyes snap to look at him, almost insulted. How dare he tell you this like you aren't his betrothed? You get the sudden urge to rip the necklace off you and throw them on the ground only to see his expression.
But it seems like your anger fuels him more.  “Aegon dragged me to a brothel,” Aemond explains, trying to placate you. “If I had known you were to be my wife I’d turn any woman away. So- tell me, my lady, have you?”
Aemond looks at you with a smiling look but you are still wary. 
“I have,” you admit quietly and Aemond’s face drops. 
“With who?” He shakes as he asks you this, his fist shaking as he holds your dress.
You see the Targaryen madness poets speak about your family in his violet eye that glints of violence no matter what you will say. The madness had killed the builders of the Red Keep, 
“A stableboy. In Dragonstone.” Your voice is a whisper as your own eyes look up to him nervously.
“A stableboy?” Aemond repeats, his eye glinting once more before your hand clamps on his wrist in a panic. Aemond’s hand has suddenly wrapped around your throat, squeezing threateningly. There was no dangerous pressure- not yet- but his hands shake like he wants to snap your head off. 
“Aemond-” you try to plead but he is far gone. 
“You sullied yourself for me,” he whispers incredulously, “for a stableboy?” 
“You have fucked a whore,” you seethe as you feel his hands tighten. 
Immediately, his hand is gone from your neck. His palm cups the back of your head and pushes it to his chest where he lays his chin on it. “It’s alright,” he whispers, all traces of malice gone from his voice. You feel the vibrations of his voice on your head. “With a mother with three bastards and a brother with hundreds more, we didn’t know any better did we?”
You try to rip yourself off him, insulted at his remark at your mother but his hand remains firmly behind your head. Aemond cages you with his palm and his leathers. 
“Shhh,” he whispers. You feel his fingers leave your dress as his palm makes contact with your thigh. You feel your eyes flutter as his hand roams your leg, his fingers gently caressing up, up, up-
“My prince, my princess.”
The way Aemond turned around to face the approaching servant was comically elegant, if his hand were’t so near your cunt just moments before. You try to calm your heart that was beating so loud that you were certain the servant would have heard it.
“There are dressmakers ready for you in your chambers.” To your dismay, the servant’s gaze turned worrisome at the sight of you. “My princess, are- are you alright? Shall I fetch the maester? You’re face is burning.”
“Oh,” You chuckle awkwardly, a hand coming up to your face. “I didn’t realize-”
“The princess is cold. No need for any maesters,” Aemond answers swiftly, before turning to you. “Come, my lady,” he coos mockingly with the devilish smile like he could hear the rapid beat of your heart. “The dressmakers are waiting.”
Absolute cunt.
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