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madelynraemunson · 1 month

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 (𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲) 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐞 ✨ — a steve harrington one shot fic

modern!sperm donor!steve x modern!pregnant!fem!reader

Summary: It’s hard to find ‘forever’ in a world that glorifies hook-up culture. After multiple failed relationships, you start to believe that your dream of having a family someday will only be just that — a DREAM. That is until you stumble across The Baby Gate Foundation, a family planning organization that helps qualifying Strangers start families with one another.

disclaimers — fluff overload, strangers to friends to lovers, some angst, reader goes by “Honey”,

NSFW — very brief smut, p in v sex (unprotected), breeding kink, cream pie, soft!dom steve

word count — 6.0k words

“So… what’s your favorite color?”

It’s the most aggravating question to ask when wading in the Dating Pool — and unfortunately the most frequent. But you figure at least asking about Steve Harrington’s favorite color is a good ‘precursor question’ when trying to get to know him. After all, you are the one carrying his child.

“Cerulean,” the handsome stranger from across the table replies.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a type of blue.”

“You could’ve just said blue.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

You issue him a touché type nod as you gently place your folded hands over your growing bump…a bump that was a byproduct of an ordeal that he wasn’t even present to participate in.

Before you knew him as Steve Harrington, he was just Stranger #021 whose sperm donation gave you the gift of life. The gift of having a little one of your own.

And it was about time you started a family. It has been a dream of yours — once you bagged your dream job and got to travel the world — to get married and have kids. But apparently the person you spent 6 years with did not share that dream, despite having told you he did in the beginning stages of your partnership.

Are you crazy? How dare you think your ex wanted a family after he explicitly told you he wanted you to marry him and have his kids? Silly lady. You actually thought he meant what he said.

And Steve Harrington’s baby daddy application seemed impossible to resist. The Baby Gate Foundation disclosed to you that Stranger #021 has no physical ailments, was a star athlete in high school, isn’t a carrier for any chronic illnesses, and passed a mental health and drug clearance.

Your baby is very likely to come out healthy and, now that you’ve gotten a good general idea of the guy, will hopefully inherit Steve’s luscious chestnut brown hair, his radiant smile, sparkling eyes, and kind nature. A healthy baby. A healthy family. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Your stomach feeling okay?” Steve inquires.

“Yeah,” you smile. “I just like touching it sometimes. It still doesn’t feel real.”

When selected, Steve jumped for joy. And you bet he started doing cartwheels when your pregnancy test came out positive. My dick still works! he remembers saying.

Having been a foster parent to many teenagers in the past, Steve also felt ready to have a kid of his own. But then his first long term girlfriend of three years cheated on him, and then his next long term girlfriend left him when she realized a family with him was not what she wanted. Steve was practically on the same boat as you. And the stars aligned…

“So I was thinking…when you’re in what’s considered a ‘safe’ point in your pregnancy, say second trimester… we can do cute pregnancy announcements,” Steve suggests.

Your eyes glimmer at the thought.

“As coparents of course!” Steve makes sure to add. “A-and then we can have a gender reveal. We can choose the theme and ideas for it later but I’m just thinking of an intimate cake cutting thing….pink frosting, obviously for girl…”

“And cerulean for boy,” you smirk at him, finishing his thought.

He chuckles at your comment. “Yes, cerulean for boy.”

You two then begin to brainstorm the minor details. Signing up for parenting classes. Check-up appointments. Your baby registry. Ironing out the details so that you both can relish in the pregnancy as much as possible.

When you’re done, Steve then pays for your lunch and you two go separate ways. But not before a long, grateful hug.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his ear. “You’ve made my dream come true.”

“I am just as indebted,” Steve insists, giving your back a loving rub. “I’ve always wanted to be a father.”

You decide to not let go until Steve breaks the hug. But little did you know that was Steve’s plan too. So you both stand there, in the middle of the mall food court swaying back and forth, waiting patiently for the other to let go because to be honest, you never know what a simple ‘I see you’ hug can do for somebody.

Finally, Steve pulls away.

“Listen, uh, Honey,” he says. “I hope this doesn’t sound weird because technically we don’t really know each other…but I already care about you so deeply. You’re the mother of my child. I want to be as involved as possible.”

“I care about you too Steve,” you beam at him. “And I feel like our healing journeys are coming to an end. I’m so excited to come together with another person who has the same goals in life.”

And that is all that’s said during that exchange. You hope that throughout your pregnancy, you and Steve can have more coparent dates to really get to know each other. You love that he feels safe and trustworthy, willing to put his all into the child that he, and many many medical experts helped you create. And you hope that as your baby grows up, you will find a lifelong partner like Steve someday.

“So how’d it go?”

You’re over at your best friend, Eddie’s apartment talking to him about your day. Eddie has been your best friend since middle school, bearing witness to every wonderful milestone — and tragedy — that has plagued your life ever since. Your decision to become a mother on your own, and coparenting with a stranger is no exception.

“I like him!” you exclaim. “He’s very sweet.”

“Do you trust him as your Baby Daddy?”

“If I didn’t, it’d be a little too late for that I’m afraid.”

Eddie would’ve been more than happy to be your donor, and without a doubt, you’d trust him in being fully present in the child’s life. However Eddie comes from a home with a turbulent family dynamic, and unfortunately is a carrier of the addiction gene along with many other illnesses. Eddie didn’t want to risk doing that to you or your family. So it works out that he and his boyfriend Henry are the ‘Fun Uncles’ or as he calls them “Funcles” instead, and Steve is the dad.

“But yeah I like Steve,” you circle back. “He’s funny, sweet, looks like he takes care of himself. Even paid for my food. Oh, and as a bonus, he uses big words.”

Eddie snorts as he strides over to the fridge. “He uses big words.”

“Yeah, like cerulean.”

Your bestie cocks an eyebrow and smirks at you. “What’s that?”

“It’s a type of blue,” you smirk back at him.

He releases a theatrical gasp. “Ground-breaking.”

Your banter is cut short when Eddie’s partner Henry walks through the door.

“Hello, hello.”

“Hey, Henry!”

You watch as the quiet, tall blonde dressed in dark-denim-tailored-to-fit struts in with a grocery bag, closing the door behind him with his foot.

“Hi, darlings.”

“Funcle Number Two,” Eddie greets his partner.

“I thought I was Number One.”

“You are,” Eddie shrugs. “In my heart. If you have an issue with your title and rank, I’d talk it up with Honey.”

“You can be Number One,” you grant him permission, eliciting a betrayed gasp from Eddie.

“Thank you, Honey,” Henry smirks, shooting a sassy look at Eddie.

Eddie issues a sour variation of that smirk to Henry, only to be met with a rough nudge to the ribcage. The two black cats then assemble to unload the groceries, all while focusing their attention back to you, their appointed ‘golden retriever’ of the bunch.

“Speaking of titles,” Henry adds. “How was your meeting with Daddy Steve?”

“It was wonderful,” you respond. “Was just telling Eddie how much I like him.”

Henry grimaces, understandably so. Your taste and judgment in men throughout the years have been nothing short of concerning. But because you didn’t willingly seek Steve out on a shady online dating app, at a dive bar at 2 AM, or on the dance floor of a sweaty small town nightclub, you figured you were in the clear.

“We’re gonna make it work no matter what,” you insist to your seemingly doubtful friends. “Even if there are discrepancies, we agreed it’s our kid before anything. And I’m ready. I told you guys myself that if I don't meet the love of my life by the time I'm 29, I'm having a baby by myself."

Aside from the two "Funcles", you have been the only consistent person in your life. And in this day and age, two people don't need to 'be together' to bring life into this world. And even if they are together, it’s not a happy home sometimes.

All that matters in this arrangement is that both of Baby Harrington’s parents are involved. That was Steve's promise to you.

Let's just hope he keeps it.

“That’s the head… and those…are your baby’s feet.”

You and Steve watch the monitor in awe as the sonographer scans your belly. You are now 20 weeks along, and doing a routine ultrasound check up.

First trimester was a nightmare. Constant nausea and vomiting so you’re not even sure that you’re stomaching those pre-natals, intense mood swings, and breast tenderness so bad you essentially begged Steve to just chop your tits off.

Regardless, you are healthy, and the baby is healthy. And now your camera roll is filled with pictures and videos of every frame of every ultrasound you get done, as well as audio recordings of Baby Harrington’s heartbeat. You and Steve even share your content amongst each other, just in case the other missed something that the other captured. It’s a wholesome exchange, really.

“Baby’s kicking a lot. Almost looks like they’re swimming in place,” the tech comments.

“I did swim and water polo in high school, could be why,” Steve explains.

You bat your eyes in adoration at your friend. He gives you a warm look back.

“Just like Daddy,” you say. And then Steve rests his palm atop your hand.

For the first time in a long time, everything feels complete.

“So, would you like to know the gender?” the sonographer inquires.

Immediately you and Steve bombard her with anxious-filled “No no no no”s. You decided to go with the cake gender reveal idea, and Henry and Eddie were in charge of having it made.

“We’d like for it to be a surprise,” Steve smiles. “But we sure would like an envelope with the gender in it. Honey’s gonna give it to her friends to give the baker.”

“Sounds like a plan to me!” the tech grins widely. “I will have it printed out for you shortly.”

She wipes your belly down so that there is no more ultrasound jelly on your stomach before leaving. Meanwhile, you and Steve are absolutely giddy. You are now halfway through your pregnancy and couldn’t wait to hold Baby Harrington in your arms.

But as exciting as everything is, it is also anxiety-inducing. No parenting book could ever prepare you for bringing a kid into the world. There was so much more that needed to be done. So much to do. And it seems like there was so very little time to do it.

Steve has another question for you. “When does the baby usually wake you up?”

“Baby’s a night owl, strangely,” you reply. “I’ll feel some moving and stuff at night.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head in thought.

“Man, I hope kid doesn’t wake you up at night too much when they’re born. That’d be god awful.”

“I know, I’ve been thinking of that too,” you groan. “And all the diaper changes I’ll probably have to do before putting them back to sleep. Ugh, I don’t even wanna think about diapers.”

You didn’t want to think about post-partum shit. So far, you’ve only been focused on pregnancy shit, and that shit is already overwhelming. While you seem well-equipped for pregnancy itself, the thought of actually being a fully-functioning parenting unit alongside Steve brings on a new set of fear.

Suddenly you and Steve look up at each other.

“Oh shit!” you shriek. “A crib! We need a crib! A stroller.”

“And a whole nursery,” he gulps. “And a baby monitor… A swaddle! A carrier!”

———

You and Steve are moved in together by the end of the month. Platonically, of course. With a capital P.

You both figured that raising the baby under one roof would be the healthiest way to approach your parenting situation. Both of you already get along really well and have similar communication styles. You two also have the same expectations from each other. And not every child is blessed with two parents living together in a happy home. It’s a luxury you both refused to take for granted.

So eventually the non-traditional-housewarming-slash-baby-shower-party rolls around, in efforts to help prepare for Baby Harrington’s arrival. It ends up being a huge success. Additionally, the party gave everyone a chance to mingle with one another, your friends meeting Steve’s friends and jokingly calling each other "in-laws". Robin and Eddie immediately grow very fond of each other, having deemed each other best friends after their third time meeting.

“How long do you give it?” Robin asks Eddie as they watch you and Steve work together to build the crib. “You know till they…”

They observe as you and Steve bicker back and forth about whether or not a section of the crib was installed the wrong way. You argue that it was, and Steve, still firm in his masculinity that he felt like was slowly chipping away (he can’t help it sometimes) insisted that it wasn’t.

“I know how to read, Honey. And besides, if it’s the wrong part, how did I screw it on perfectly?”

“I don’t know, Bob the Builder,” you fire back at him. “You didn’t have to 'screw it on perfectly' to get me pregnant.”

“Til that baby is born,” Eddie estimates.

Eddie chuckles at this. He’s been with Henry for many years, but you two have beat him at the argue-like-a-married couple thing. Slyly, he sips his beer.

“…The very latest.”

“Steve, I’m hungry. Wanna go to Rally’s?”

The cravings have officially kicked in (finally). But of course, it’s at the least convenient of times.

“Woman, it is 1 in the morning...”

“Yes, and I want Rally’s.”

You give Steve a light thunk on his fluffy head.

Now that you two live together, sleeping in the same bed was bound to happen eventually. But it is the least of your concerns. In a world where people go ‘ghost’ after getting what they want, laying your head down in the same bed as Steve is the farthest thing from intimacy. You’re also afraid of the dark, and being in his light calms your nerves.

Except for tonight. Where the only thing that’ll calm those nerves is a Wild West burger and some fries.

Steve huffs, clearly too tired to argue with your hungry ass. But also, you’re the mother of his child. You have the hardest job, and having a late night snack when you felt like it is the bare minimum of what you deserve.

“Let’s go.”

You smirk to yourself as you dance your way out of bed. Anything Baby Mama wants, Baby Mama gets.

Rally’s sure did the trick. When you and Steve return, you find yourself skipping back to the bedroom while Harrington fights to urge to plop onto the floor right by the entry way, his body’s natural response to a food coma, and the state of lethargy he was in from being stirred awake.

But as much as he valued his beauty sleep, he knows deep down he’d still do it again for you. Your little food dance was also pretty damn cute, anyways.

———

THE NEXT WEEK

You and Steve have been ordering way too much takeout. So tonight you decide to surprise him with a home-cooked meal. So while he’s at work, you’re searching Pinterest for healthy, savory dishes to cook. Chinese food it is. One can never go wrong with some chicken fried rice.

Steve comes home right when you finish.

“Oh my god,” Steve gawks as he enters the kitchen. “What smells so damn good?”

“I made dinner,” you smile gleefully, and with pride. “I have so much energy second trimester it’s insane. Hope you like Chinese.”

Steve slows down. Glancing around the chaotic kitchen, he takes in the array of sauces, the cutting board, and the multiple plates and bowls that most likely harbored the. Then he looks at you — a sweaty mess with stains on her apron from all the rice tossing. And he can tell, by your slightly labored breathing, that you’re gathering up all the energy you possibly can to powerwash all the dishes.

“You…made this for me?”

“Yeah! For us, actually. And the baby. I hope you’re okay with onions and scallions.”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine with those,” he insists. “It’s just that…I have a date tonight.”

Suddenly the pots and pans feel so much heavier. The air, hotter. The onions, stronger judging by how tears start pooling at the base of your eyes. At least you want to blame it on those.

“Oh,” you sniff.

“I’m so sorry, Honey. I should’ve told you so you didn’t have to go out of your way.”

“It’s fine.”

Why do you feel this way? It’s not like you two are together anyway. This pregnancy is a partnership… platonic with a capital P. So why are you upset? And more importantly, why are you jealous?

“I-I’m sorry…” Steve panics. “I-it’s just that we’ve been getting takeout all week and I thought it’d be the same toni-”

“It’s okay, Steve.”

“That came out so bad, I…”

“I know what you mean,” you shake your head shutting him down immediately. “Have fun tonight, okay?”

“You’re crying…”

“I was chopping onions,” you point out.

You nod to the bag of onions that were yet to be put away. There was a lot left to be put away actually, and you were kind of hoping Steve would help. But clearly he’s a busy man.

“And it’s probably just the stupid pregnancy hormones too,” you add.

“They’re NOT stupid,” Steve insists. “And you just said you have so much energy. You were bursting with light just a moment ago…before I killed it.”

“Have fun tonight, Steve,” you repeat.

You head over to the wok and scoop out a serving for two: one serving for you, and one for the baby. Dad will get the leftovers, you suppose.

Steve watches you intently. You can feel his stare even with your back turned. Suddenly, you hear the faint dial tone of his cell phone ringing a couple of times before someone answers.

“Hey…Lacey, I can’t come tonight,” Steve sighs. “I’m really sorry for being so last minute. A family emergency came up.”

You look back over at him. He makes sure to look you in the eyes as he says ‘family’.

The two of them talk some more before Steve hangs up the phone. Awkwardly now, you chew softly at the rice you made.

“Well she definitely hates me,” Steve chuckles. “But I don’t care.”

“Steve…” you speak. “You didn’t have to.”

“You’re carrying my kid,” Steve looks at you with glimmering eyes. “I can’t be running through the town in the arms of another woman. This pregnancy is a team effort.”

He glides over you and stops right where your hips meet. You timidly manage to look up at him, tear-jerked, all sweaty, and very very pregnant. And after Steve tucks a loose strand of hair behind the blushing cartilage of your ear, he presses his tender lips against your forehead.

“For the baby,” he whispers to you.

“For the baby,” you repeat after him.

The day is here.

The gender reveal, that is. You didn’t expect finding out something as simple as having a boy or girl was going to be this nerve wracking. And to think some people do this in front of a huge audience.

“Okay…” you exhale unevenly. “You ready?”

“Only if you are,” Steve nods, but his trembling hands betray him.

“Hand me a glass.”

Steve hands you one of the two wine glasses you brought for the intimate picnic you had planned for today. On the count of three, you two were to dig those very glasses into the cake and scoop out the long awaited answer.

SWEET CHILD O MINE, the cake reads. Boy or girl?

Henry and Eddie settled for a Rock-N-Roll inspired cake, with self-indulgent black and red buttercream on the outside, and the pre-determined blue or pink on the inside. You were afraid that it was going to be a little too edgy for Steve, but he assures you the aesthetic of a cake is the least of his priorities.

Drawing out an uneven breath now, you decide to start counting down.

“One…” you gulp.

“Two…” Steve joins in.

But you can't bring yourself to say ‘three’. Shutting your eyes closed in a bout of nervousness, you mutter softly,

"Two and a half..."

It earns you a chuckle from Steve. Knowing just how to calm you down, like he had been doing all pregnancy, he offers you his available hand to squeeze if you needed.

“Three!” you two finally say together.

Plunging your wine glasses into the cake, you and Steve gather one big scoop each while your eyes drift elsewhere.

“I can’t look,” you choke, sniffing back a tear or two.

“I can’t either,” Steve exhales, evidently nervous. “You can look first though.”

“No, I’ll look when you do.”

You’re met with messy dough and frosting in the glass at first. But after trailing after the inside part of the cake, you catch sight of the fluffy frosting that was buried beneath. A bright, eye-catching, pastel....

...cerulean blue. A baby boy.

“Oh…my…god,” your hand trembles in complete shock. “It’s a boy…”

“Oh my god, baby!” Steve sniffs going in to hug you. “We’re having a boy…”

And then it happens. Unable to contain himself from his joy any longer, Steve cups your face with his frosting-laced fingers, connecting his lips passionately to yours, and you with him.

It’s the best day of Steve’s life. You are the reason that he gets to live out his dream of becoming a dad. And now that you two are having a son, all he can imagine is teaching the kid how to throw a football in the backyard, signing him up for T-Ball and Boy Scouts (just like his dad once did with him), and taking him and his buddies out on silly, fun-filled rag-tag group adventures.

And knowing how strange and daunting the world can be, Steve already maps out how to raise your child morally, encouraging him to always treat others with kindness, to be a friend to all, to always lend a helping hand whenever the situation calls on it. And to respect women…because after all, everybody came from one. And Steve knows that he struck gold, considering the fact that he views you as an absolute queen.

You kiss King Steve back, humming in awe because of how natural his energy feels against yours.

It all feels very natural. Makes you feel like you’ve known him your entire life.

Your eyes widen in shock as you two look at each other, both stunned that a kiss was both of your initial, seemingly ‘platonic’, response to the news.

"Is it just me or is it just now hitting?" Steve questions. "We're having a kid together."

"It's just now hitting me too," you agree, the double meaning tugging aggressively at your heartstrings. "We're really doing this, Stevie."

“Our son.”

———

“What happens when one of us finds somebody?”

It’s a talk you and Steve were due for eventually. But Steve is just as unsure, looking over at your pregnant silhouette standing at the foot of the doorway.

But with how beautiful you looked standing at the doorway, your silk, maternity night gown hugging all the beautiful curves of your body while you rubbed your belly that housed your very active kicker, Steve wasn’t even sure if he’d ever want to find somebody else.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he ends up saying.

He makes his way over to you, wrapping his gentle arms around your waistline, emitting his ever-growing love for you and the baby you two share.

“But if one thing's for sure, it's our son. Baby Harrington first. Before anything.”

“Baby before anything," you repeat the promise.

Steve’s lips graze your skin once again, an invitation and incentive to join him in bed — nuzzled up in the sheets and his warmth — so the two of you can soak in all the rest you possibly can before Baby Boy makes his entrance into the world.

Some bridges aren’t meant for crossing. Sometimes settling is the best option. And you don’t mind settling down. Because here, in Steve’s arms, it feels like home.

WEEK 38

An involuntary rush in your lower extremity stirs you awake. When you feel around to push the sheets aside and hobble to the bathroom, you’re stunned to discover your nightgown had become a raft, and that you’re laying atop your own unscented secretions. And you know it’s not piss. So if you didn’t pee…

Oh no, it’s happening.

You begin to panic.

“Steve!” you hiss, sitting up and pushing your partner awake. “HEY! Harrington!”

“Huh?” Steve mumbles, still half asleep.

“Get the hospital bag.”

“What?”

“Get the hospital bag, dingus. My water just broke.”

He shoots up. Still relatively disoriented, but now also horrified.

“W-what? Are you sure?! Does this… A-are you about to…”

“Yes! Grab the bag and start the car. He’s coming RIGHT NOW.”

While you slowly sit up to get your shoes and a robe on, Steve scurries to the car with your overnight L&D bag and purse in his arms. You reach over to grab your phone and charger, dialing up Eddie in the process.

It rings for a long time before he picks up.

“Honey, it’s 4 AM, what do you want?” Eddie grumbles.

“It’s time, Eds,” you sniff happily. “The baby is coming.”

The line is silent for a couple seconds, and for a while it’s like you can hear Eddie connecting the dots in his head. Alas, he speaks.

“HO-LY SHIT!”

*Click*. The line disconnects.

Steve holds your hand through it all. From checking into Labor and Delivery, to moving to your room, to breathing exercises with your bedside doula, check-ins with your midwife, and throughout the entire birthing process.

Not only is he nervous out of his mind, but he thinks you’re so beautiful.

"You know," Steve says in attempts to soothe you. "When I came out the womb, the nurse yelled "Oh my gosh! That's a lot of hair on a baby!"

You're too fixated on your breathing exercises to fully appreciate Steve's story. But you understand his sweet gesture, so you stroke his thumb with your thumb to let him know you're listening.

“I guess I had double the amount of hair than a usual newborn,” he continues. “And all the nurses were crowding around to get a good— OW OW OW! Watch the hand, watch the hand.”

The sudden level 9 contraction that shot through your entire stomach, causing you to scream in agony and beg for the epidural.

"JESUS, FUCK GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME!" you plead desperately.

Steve kisses you softly on the forehead before going in to stroke your, very sweaty, hair. He was not going to leave your side. Not now, not ever. This baby — and you — are the best things to ever happen to him.

Thanks to yours and Steve's mindful prep, the birthing process was a smooth one compared to others.

But still pretty painful, nonetheless. For you, for Steve, for everybody involved.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," Eddie sputters as he and Henry rush onto the unit with the baby's carseat and other miscellaneous belongings in their hands. "It's happening, it's happening. He's almost here!"

"I wonder," Henry pants, doing his best to keep up with his boyfriend. "If she experienced the Ring of Fire yet."

"What's the Ring of Fire?" Eddie questions him.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" your tumultuous screams sound down the hall directly from your room. Anyone would've thought someone was getting murdered in there, had it not been a hospital unit strictly for childbirth.

"That," Henry answers him.

---

"You're almost there, baby," Steve encourages you. "Keep pushing."

The epidural had finally kicked in and now all you had to focus on was pushing.

“I see the head, Mama,” your midwife announces, rubbing your knee as you’re struggling to push. “Keep going, keep going! Couple more for me.”

“FUCK!” you cry out doing your best to contract those muscles.

“There we go…” Steve soothes you as he strokes your hair. “Doing AMAZING, baby. That’s it…”

He strokes your thumb with his, a helpless look in his eyes as he watches you struggle. It’s clear that Steve doesn’t know what else he could possibly do for you, but he attempts to mask that belief. He couldn’t wait to spoil you afterwards. It’s what you deserve.

“Few more pushes, Honey,” your nurse says again. “He’s almost out. We got his shoulders now.”

“Oh god I’m gonna faint,” Steve says, evidently growing dizzy.

“Can someone get a wet towel for Dad?!” another nurse calls out. “And maybe some juice?”

“PUSH, PUSH!”

“PUSH, Honey!”

“ALMOST THERE, MAMA!”

“I can’t,” you cry out. “I can’t anymore.”

“You can do it, baby,” Steve encourages you, pelting the back of your hand with endearing kisses. “You’re doing such a good job, I’m so proud of you…”

Before you know it, the air of the hospital room fills with tiny belted cries, followed by relieved and adorn coos as the nurse catches your baby.

“0507, time of birth!"

“Oh my god,” Steve wails in excitement. “Oh my god, he’s here he’s out. We have a baby! You did it, Honey!”

Too exhausted to say anything you simply fall back, taking a few deep breaths in relief. It’s over, the baby is here. And he is healthy.

You feel a sloppy kiss land on your cheek. Steve ruffles your hair when you look his way.

“You did it, Honey.”

Everything happens so fast after that.

From what you hear, Steve was the one who cut the umbilical cord — and he was very adamant about having the pictures to prove it. The baby was then weighed and bathed, all the hospital data was gathered with permission granted by Steve.

And soon, after an eternity, your son is swaddled and soon returned back to you and ‘Dad’.

"Oh wow!" a nurse remarks. "This baby has a whole lotta hair!"

You and Steve immediately look to each other and burst out laughing. Just like his Daddy...

———

“How does that feel, Steve?” you ask him, eyes fixated on the absolute DILF in front of you.

“Amazing,” he coos. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

When all needs were attended to, it was finally time for ‘skin to skin’. You didn’t think it’d be possible to be both sexy and wholesome at the same time — until you saw Steve cradling your newborn, pressing him tenderly against his exposed chest so that their hearts can beat as one.

“Hi little man,” he sniffs. “I’m your daddy.”

A single tear falls from his face and splashes onto the blanket that your son was cocooned in. Steve pulls him in closer and kisses him softly on the forehead.

“I’m your daddy,” he repeats.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted. Steve’s legacy is about to begin and it’s all thanks to you. And from your hospital bed as you recover, you are able to snap some pictures of the two loves of your life, the first photos of many, of the family photo albums.

“Ugh, when did Steve get so hairy?” Lucas wonders as he sneaks a gaze into the hospital room.

“Right?” Dustin agrees, joining him beside the doorway. “I told him he needs to tame that jungle but he claims the ladies dig it.”

“I mean, look at Honey,” Lucas points out. She seems to like it and Steve knocked her up.”

“True but it wasn’t organic, you idiot,” Max mutters.

Love pours in from every wing of the unit. Soon all your family and friends start to arrive, as well as Steve’s family and friends. You’re spoiled with ‘congratulations’ signs, and postpartum care packages, and an array of foods that you couldn’t eat while pregnant (i.e. sushi, deli sandwiches).

And with your approval, Steve comes out of the hospital room, ready — and proud — to showcase your baby to the entire world.

“Everyone, there’s someone we’d like for you to meet,” Steve says, keeping his voice at a low murmur. “This is Benjamin Dean Harrington. Benny for short.”

You and Steve end up taking parental leave at the same time.

Your entire day-to-day consists of loving on and spending quality time with Benny. The diaper changes, the cuddles, the nursery rhymes, and everything in between. It’s impossible to think you’ll ever get tired of it. You and Steve have officially transitioned to Mom & Dad Mode.

Until Benny goes to sleep.

As the golden sun peaks in through the cream colored blinds, you feel Steve’s hand trail down your back and down to your ass to grab it. Releasing a soft moan, you lean into his touch, shifting your weight to one side of the mattress.

“Baby…” he moans into you.

“Should we?” your eyes twinkle. “The baby’s asleep…”

He chuckles into your neck, raspy voice sure to be the end of you if he kept teasing you any longer.

“‘m scared I’ll hurt you.”

“I’ll let you know,” you barter. “I feel ready.”

———

“Fuck, right there, Steve…”

You grip the sheets tightly as Steve rolls his hips into you, his strokes a delicious mix of pleasure and a challenging stretch. And as you bite into your pillow, your eyes rolling up towards the sky, he maintains the pace you love so much, drilling you in, simultaneously massaging your clit while his quenched lips tenderly suction themselves to the crook of you neck.

It’s your first time together, but it feels like you two have done this before. Your bodies are naturally in sync, knowing where your boundaries lie without needing any cues, and knowing exactly how far you both can take it. Daddy Steve, being the gentleman he is, has your entire body mapped out.

“God I love it,” your overstimulated self whimpers, chest to your chin, ankles dangling off of Steve’s broad shoulders as he rails you.

“Oh, I bet you do, Honey.”

His large hand encloses around your neck, thumb hovering over your lips as he fawns over your mewling, vulnerable body.

“You want my cum, baby?” Steve asks. “Want me to fill you to the brim huh? You wanna have my babies?”

“Yes, I want your babies, Steve,” you moan. “Want all of them.”

And as an orgasm spills out of you, Steve’s spills in, coating you with his warm release as you both unravel in the sheets.

“Holy shit, that felt so good,” you whisper, nuzzling your head against his chest. Steve grins from ear to ear when you kiss him on the chin. “Thank you for making me feel so safe and loved.”

“Well when you’re you Honey, you make it so easy,” he blushes.

Steve rests his hands on your ass again, giving it a faint smack. You bite your lip as he pulls you even closer to him. And as the sun sets, you know round two is on the horizon.

“Anyways, when ARE we having another one?”

———

author’s note: i’m noticing some themes with the way i write eddie smut vs steve smut. i totally write eddie as a rough dom and steve is def a soft dom. not complaining tho, those are my headcannons for them 🤭

divider creds: @silkholland , @elfbar-baby

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troublesomesnitch · 4 months

Text

Phonesex with Aemond

Modern!Aemond x Reader

Modern AU - Aemond calls you after the dinner fight, and you cheer him up in the best way you can.

Contents: some quick smut. New relationship, mentions of oral sex, p in v sex and brief anal exploration (f receiving).

Warnings: brief mention of terminal illness.

Words: 3300

Thank you @arcielee for test-reading, tidying and generally helping out with this little experimental fic!

It has been six days since Aemond kissed you goodbye and shoved his skis and his snow gear and his aluminium suitcase into the back of a taxi. Six days, and you haven't heard from him since, not a single message, and no indication that he's read yours either. Six days, and the farewell kiss was just a sterile peck on the side of your mouth, because the driver was watching, and Aemond was in a foul mood already.

You suppose the thought of two weeks with one's extended family can do that to a person. And especially when one's family is as messy as Aemond's.

They're in the tabloids sometimes, Aegon with a model on his arm, Rhaenyra spotted topless in Ibiza, Viserys leaving the hospital looking more dead than alive. Old money, and every bit the stereotype too, with their luncheons and country estates and public feuds over inheritance. And the incident, of course. But Aemond never talks about that.

The family trip is solely his father's idea. Or, his father's command, really. His final wish; that they should all spend one last Christmas together at the chalet, eating venison and going cross-country skiing and whatever else rich people do on their alpine retreats. It is all very Town & Country, so far removed from anything you know. They have a coat of arms, for fucks sake, and Aemond wears it engraved on the back of his watch; on the cufflinks that sit in a velvet box atop his dresser. For special occasions, and you'd be lying if you said the thought had never crossed your mind: Aemond in coat and tie and cufflinks, yourself decked out in white and his mother's antique veil. Champagne fountain and monogrammed napkins and an article in Vogue Weddings. Double spread.

But you're getting way ahead of yourself. You have only been seeing each other for about three months, and it is still very new and foreign. Terrifying as well, and your heart leaps to your throat when your phone starts ringing and Aemond's name lights up on the screen.

Six days, and it's a quarter to midnight now, so that almost makes it seven.

"Hey," he says softly. "Did I wake you?"

"No!“ you exclaim, a little too excitedly despite your efforts to sound casual. “I was just watching something. How's St. Moritz?"

"Fine," he says, but it doesn't sound at all convincing, and there's a faint sound in the background. Like a scraping noise, and you imagine that he's picking at his cuticles; at the little chips in his nails.

"Aemond," you call, somewhat alarmed by the silence. "Is everything okay?"

The scraping gets louder before it finally stops and Aemond says sort of.

There was a fight at supper, apparently. An actual fight, with punching and shoving and everything. Straight out of Real Housewives, only even more insane, and Aemond started it, because of course he did. And all because of a stupid joke his nephew made.

"Isn't he like, fourteen?" you ask, and Aemond sighs on the other end of the line.

"Yeah," he mutters. "Something like that".

Jesus.

You are tempted to ask him why he would do such a thing, but you kind of already know. Because of his father, because of his sister, because of the incident. Because Viserys would rather dote on his grandsons than his own children, and because Aemond has chronic pains, and the prosthetic gets itchy, and he dented his car when he couldn't see how close that concrete pillar actually was.

And probably also because he doesn't hold his liquor very well.

"Aemond, you're a grown man," you begin, and your voice is kind and gentle, but you can almost hear how he's pinching the bridge of his nose. "I mean, I understand why you'd be upse - angry, but like. He's a child."

"I know," he sighs, shuffling around with something. "I shouldn't have done it.”

There's the click of a lighter and then a deep exhale as he blows out smoke, and it reminds you of when you first met. You used to watch Aemond all the time before you worked up the courage to talk to him. He would lean so leisurely against the wall, cigarette in hand and that haughty smirk on his lips; leather jacket, black jeans, hair artfully tousled and tied back. Tall and handsome and just so fucking cool.

"Thought you quit," you tease, and it sounds a little chiding, but it isn't meant like that.

"I did," Aemond says. "I got this one from my uncle - it would have been rude to decline.”

He is quiet then, but it's a sort of contemplative silence. Like somehow you can feel there is more.

"It pisses me off," he finally says. "This whole charade - it's exhausting.”

Yes, you think. It must be. All of his family trapped under the same roof, forced to confront so many painful memories, yet act as though none of it ever happened. Smile and laugh and play house, and all so Viserys Targaryen can pretend he was a better man. Go to his grave with the comfortable illusion that he did not create the rift that tore his family apart.

If Aemond was with you right now, you would wrap your arms around him and kiss his face and his lovely hands, but all you can do at this moment is give a weak yeah, I understand.

"It has been the most miserable week," he moans. "Although - Aegon did fall off a lift today. He's fine, it was just a T-bar. But that was fun."

You giggle. "Oh, poor Aegon.”

"It was his own fault," Aemond snorts. "He had Jägerbombs for lunch. Anyway - " he clears his throat, back to the brooding mood and somber voice. "I'm sorry I called you so late. And for not being in touch. And for... everything else.”

"It's fine," you shrug. "I don't mind. But, Aemond - " you pause, thinking of how best to word the next part, "I think you should at least consider apologising to -"

"No." he cuts in. "Absolutely not.”

There's an awkward silence then, and you worry you might have overstepped your boundaries. He is so difficult to read sometimes, so elusive. You never quite know what he needs from you, sympathy, or flattery, or reassurance, or nothing at all.

You can, however, think of a way to distract him from his brooding. And maybe sex isn't the healthiest way to cope with one's issues, but still. It is miles better than beating up family members.

You twirl a lock of hair around your finger, even though he can’t see it. "What are you doing right now? Are you alone?"

“Yes,“ he says, curious. “Why?”

"What are you wearing?"

"Same thing I always wear," he responds, but then his voice turns coy and teasing, and he asks "what are you wearing?"

You look down at your fuzzy socks, your faded shorts, the worn-out knickers underneath.

"Honestly? Not anything nice."

Aemond laughs, a real laugh this time, and then he tells you just make something up.

The first thing that comes to your mind is that dress you saw the other day. Aemond would like it. He is not into extravagant lingerie and things like that, always likes it best when you are just you. Dry patches on your lips, bruises on your legs and all. Natural.

But he is still a man though. So, not too natural.

"I'm wearing - I'm wearing a little slip. Silk, and it's the prettiest colour. It is soft to the touch," - you run a finger up your thigh, imagining it - "and it is very short. My legs are out and everything. And my tits look so good in it.”

"They always do," Aemond says, and he sounds a little husky when he asks what is underneath?

"Those panties you liked last time. With the little bows on them?"

"Yeah," he breathes. "I remember.”

"Good. Just the panties, and nothing else. And the dress is so thin - it feels like nothing when you touch it."

You lay back on top of your bed, your hand working its way down the waistband of your sleeping shorts, phone pressed to your ear.

"I want to touch you," Aemond sighs, voice all soft and gentle. "I want to feel your body against mine.”

You blush. He is quite the romantic sometimes. Jesus, Aemond is so out of your league. You can hardly believe he'd even look in your direction, let alone kiss you and hold you and let you sleep with your head on his chest.

"Aemond" you whisper, slowly stroking your between your legs. "I'm getting all wet. All wet for you".

His breath hitches, and there's a faint oh, followed by the rustling of fabric as he palms himself over his pants. Lowering his voice and breathing touch yourself.

"I already am" you purr. "I wish it was you, though. Wish you could feel how much I want you."

Aemond says fuck, he wishes that too. You're getting him so hard. So hard just thinking about your pretty cunt.

"I'd like to suck your cock" you sigh longingly, and he immediately responds with a sharp breath that makes warmth spread in your stomach.

"Wait -" he mutters. "Hang on".

You hear the metallic clink of his belt, the sound of his zipper, and you bite your lip thinking about what he's doing. Taking his stiff cock in hand, brushing slender fingers along the shaft, running a thumb over the tip to collect the little drops that have already leaked from it. He has the prettiest cock, long and thick and veiny. Uncut, and blushing red at the tip when you slide his foreskin back.

How you wish you could feel it in your mouth.

"Tell me how you'd do it" Aemond pleads, and there's a slight strain in his voice that suits it so well.

"I'll start out slow," you whisper, "with just my tongue and my hand. Get your cock big and hard before I take you in my mouth. And then I'll wrap my lips around the head, and I'll press my tongue against the little slit there. And - and I’ll lick the tip of your cock until you’re begging me for more.”

He sighs, and you can hear how his hand settles into a steady rhythm, up and down over his hard cock. Filthy.

You close your eyes and continue.

"I'd take you so deep, all the way to the back of my throat. And I would tease you - I'd be real fucking mean. I want you leaking in my mouth, all needy and desperate for me. Like, so you can barely hold it back anymore. You'd be ready to explode.”

"Don't stop - " he pants, still keeping up the stroking, pausing just briefly to spit into his hand.

"I'll edge you before I let you come. So many times, you'll be desperate for release. I want your balls so tight and heavy - all tender from how much you need to come - ”

Aemond moans, and he's stroking himself faster, tugging and tugging and filling his bedroom with damp, lewd noises. You know how he likes it; firm grip when he moves up, slack going back down, slight twist at the tip.

"And then?"

"I'd let you come in my mouth."

"No," he breathes. "I want to come inside of you.”

You give a little giggle; he always wants that. Occasionally he’ll finish all over your breasts, or in your mouth, but mostly he likes it the old fashioned way. Your bodies molded together and his cock pulsing deep inside of you. Pressing his forehead to yours or moaning into the back of neck.

You like that too - but there are other things you might like to try as well.

"You should come on my panties," you say coyly. "Like, inside them. And then I'd wear them all day, and just walk around with your cum between my legs.”

Aemond groans again, loudly, hoarse and strained and so fucking hot.

"You'd like that?" you tease. "I would feel it there all day. All wet and warm in my little panties. Right against my cunt."

"Fuck," he moans. "Fuck - I'd like that so much."

The sounds of his tugging get louder and faster, and you picture him laid out on his bed, cock throbbing in his hand, hips thrusting up and up into his own grip. Lone eye closed and mouth falling open.

He lets out a soft moan, and a whine - and then the stroking abruptly stops. Close call, that one. Aemond curses, and you can hear him taking deep breaths, calming his body, halting the mounting need to ejaculate. Too soon.

“Can't wait to have you,” he mutters, and you give a quiet hum in response.

“Please tell me how.”

He takes a slow, steadying breath.

"I want to be on top of you" he whispers, low, so no one will hear. "Don't care if you're on your back or what, as long as you're underneath me".

"I'd be on my stomach. You can fuck me from behind".

“Yes,” he sighs. “I want to put my cock so deep inside you. I want you to feel how hard you make me. And I'll pin you down - I'll hold you in place when I take you" - his voice goes all ragged as he starts to slowly stroke his cock again - "fuck you're so beautiful when you're under me."

You mewl, and Aemond’s breath hitches.

“Yeah, and I'll fuck you slow, but hard. I want you squirming on my cock…” he trails off, and for a moment there is only the sound of heavy breathing, his and yours.

You had paused your own ministrations before, too focused on finding the right words, but now you begin your gentle stroking again. Underneath your knickers, fingers massaging right over your clit, so good that you let out a little whimper.

“I love feeling you inside of me” you breathe, “I love it when you lie on top of me - ”

“Yeah?” He gasps, and you bite your lip.

“Yeah. And I love it when you touch my - ass. Oh It feels so good when you touch me like that…”

Just saying it makes you a little flustered. You would not consider yourself very prudish, but there are some things that make you feel bashful, and this is one of them, the things he does to your backside when you’re together. And Aemond knows, and maybe that makes it even more arousing for him, the filthiness of it, the taboo.

“How” he moans, his tone urgent and so incredibly intimate. “How do you want me to touch you -”

You have to take a very deep breath before you continue - you feel so sheepish, talking about that, but you are a woman in love, so for Aemond you’ll do your best.

“I want you to slide your hand down my back and in between my cheeks,” you whisper, blushing all over. “It makes me so wet… feels so good when you caress me there - when you brush your fingers right over my tight little hole while you’re fucking me - maybe next time I’ll let you slip one inside…“

Aemond gives a strangled groan at that, quickening his strokes and hissing oh fuck. He is so close now, you can hear it.

“Say my name” he begs, breathing so fast and tugging frantically on his cock. All hard and swollen now, his hips thrusting up, his balls pulling tight; oh you can imagine it so easily.

“Aemond” you whisper. “Aemond, my love” - he moans louder, strokes harder - Aemond, I want you to fuck me, I want to feel your big, hard cock -

Aemond chokes out a sob, and you say his name one last time as he reaches his peak.

He holds back when he comes, muffling the helpless groans and grunts that you always love so much. But you can hear his strained sighs, his ragged breaths, and the sound is only slightly distorted through the speaker. If you close your eyes it's like he's there with you, gasping right in your ear.

Oh you can’t wait to see him again, to get to touch him, cuddle up to him at night and run your finger down the perfect angle of his nose.

"You didn't come," Aemond says, accusingly, and you hold back a chuckle because he doesn't like it when you laugh at him. But it is as amusing as it is sweet, this need of his to do everything to perfection. Like if every time he is intimate with you isn't the BEST sex of your life, then he has failed as a lover; as a man.

“I did it on purpose” you reassure. “I'm saving it for you. All for you. Only for you.”

Aemond gives a somewhat dissatisfied hum, but he is occupied with something else now, moving around and fiddling with things. Cleaning himself up, you suppose. If only you were there to do it for him, you'd lick his cum right off his skin.

There is a loud noise in the background all of a sudden, someone knocking on Aemond’s door, and he scrambles to make himself presentable and tells you to hang on. The sounds are muffled - you assume he is covering the microphone - but you can hear another man's voice, and Aemond saying yes, I'll be right down, and then just fuck off, will you when the intruder won't take a hint.

"Sorry about that," he says awkwardly. "Aegon wants to go out. I should go with him".

You giggle at the thought - it is difficult to imagine Aemond at one of those tacky aprés-ski bars, glow stick and vodka-cranberry in hand. “Sounds fun!”

"Yeah, well, my mother would want me to,” he says sullenly. "You know, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.”

"What's the age of consent in Switzerland?" you jest, but Aemond just gives an exasperated sigh and mutters too bloody low.

You pause, unsure of what to say next, and again there's that loaded silence until he clears his throat.

"I will tell them about you. My family - I'll tell them soon. I promise.”

You can feel heat rising in your cheeks.

Aemond purposely keeps you far away from his family, and he’ll go to great lengths to avoid running into them when you’re together. In fact he prefers not to go out at all, and you have never questioned it or complained. He’s got you hook, line and sinker - could tell you right to your face that he was embarrassed to be seen with you, and you would still be at his beck and call.

You shrug. “It's fine. Don't worry about it. You don't have to tell them. It's fine.”

“No it isn't,” he says gravely. “You're important to me. So I should treat you as such.”

He says something else after that too, but you aren't listening, still stuck on the words you just heard. You're important to me. You're important.

It makes your heart leap with joy, and you are only pulled back to reality when Aemond calls out your name, and then sweetheart?

He doesn't call you that very often. It is always so nice when he does.

“Sorry” you blush. “I zoned out. But - I've missed you. I miss you. It's nice to hear your voice again.”

There's no way to tell, but somehow you feel like Aemond is smiling.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yours too.”

You tell him to have fun with Aegon and whatever horrid establishment they end up at, and Aemond tells you goodnight and says he'll call you as soon as he's back home. He doesn't say he misses you too, but that's okay. You know he does.

Because you're important.

#modern aemond x reader #modern aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x you

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meiieiri · 7 months

Text

water’s edge | concept dump

₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au

₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?

₊˚.༄ warnings: mean!gojo (but that’s not even the worst of it oh my god what monstrosity have i created), arranged marriage, illness, allusions to criminal activity that may include reckless homicide, physical battery and attempted murder. mentions of depression, cheating, physical and emotional abuse, trauma, adultery. fictional depiction of the japanese imperial family, etc.

LINK TO FULL FIC MASTERLIST HERE!

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who is the only son of the emperor and empress of Japan, the beloved and long-awaited child of his parents. As a child, he had been showered with endless praise and veneration as the one, true, legitimate heir to the chrysanthemum throne. The entire imperial household had expected the prince to inherit an unwavering sense of duty to the crown and to his people much like his fore-bearers, only to be severely disappointed when the prince turns out to be a pathological card shark with ambiguous morals, and a serial womanizer who has slept with countless women from aristocratic backgrounds during the height of his bachelor years.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who finally incurs his father’s wrath after a nasty bar brawl that leads to him getting unceremoniously arrested and is stripped of his title and properties as crown prince, favoring his half-brother, Prince Suguru Geto, who had been born of the emperor’s affair with one of the empress’s ladies-in-waiting. This incident has prompted his mother, the empress, to help in ratifying his public image by arranging Satoru to marry a commoner with an impeccable standing in Japanese society in a bid to re-portray Satoru as a responsible, married man. The empress, in turn, offers to grant you, Satoru’s future wife-to-be, anything your heart could ever desire.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who engages in a pantomime act of being a loving husband to you during a state banquet by showering you with endless praise in his speech addressed to all the world leaders in the Akasaka Palace’s reception hall. When he was asked to introduce you, his new wife, the honeyed words came so easily to him. “You see, the princess (Y/N) is no ordinary woman,” he chuckles into the microphone causing the guests to giggle at the sight of what looks to be a bashful newlywed.

“Other than being the first breath of fresh air our family has ever had the pleasure of knowing in so long, and the most active member in our family when it comes to supporting the many royal charities and foundations, she is…” he trails off. You dared to follow the wandering gaze of your husband, who seems to be searching for another pair of eyes in the room. His eyes eventually stop their search, softening at the sight of the one he loved. For a second, you think he is looking at you, and your heart naively skips a beat in your chest as if all these months of inattention and animosity were finally coming to an end.

“…My better half, the keeper of my own heart.”

Many of the ambassador’s wives who sat beside you nudged you in congratulations for being so blessed with such a devoted husband. You crane your head back to smile warmly at them for the kind words only to have ice coat your veins instantly when you see his Chief-of-Staff, Himiko Zenin, sitting about two seats behind you, staring directly at your husband with a wistful look in her eyes, exchanging words of love in a silent oath — one that is far more certain than the rising and the setting of the sun as each day passes with your husband hating you a tad bit more than yesterday, and one that is far more truthful than the wedding vows you shared.

Of course, writing this godforsaken death march-like speech was easy for Satoru, simply because these words of devotion and love were never intended for you anyway; this poetic spiel was written with another woman ensnaring his mind.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who sneaks out of bed during your wedding night, sparing one last cold glance at your sleeping form before he saunters out the imperial villa to meet his girlfriend in a nearby mountain resort, about half a mile away from the villa. His personal chauffeur had been sworn to secrecy, else, he would incur the wrath of the crown prince.

“I thought you couldn’t get away,” Himiko moans wantonly into his mouth as he roughly takes her from behind, the lewd wet sounds of their lovemaking echoing through the room. He had taken the liberty of secretly bringing Himiko along to your honeymoon, by booking the most expensive suite in the resort for her under another name.

“The bitch is too fucked out to even notice I’m gone— mmph—“ he throws his head back, releasing a pleasured groan when Himiko meets his sharp thrusts, grinding teasingly on his cock as she does so. He grips her hips tightly, readjusting his hips to pound into her from another angle, the muscles on his abs tightening as he gets lost in the feeling of her tight, luscious walls. “Sh-shit, ‘m-m gonna cum—“

“—Ah! S-Satoru,” she was close too, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as the fat tip of his member roughly prods at her cervix.

He half-expected Himiko to be angry with him for engaging in intimate acts with you, but she simply acts like she didn’t hear him. And even if she was upset, why should he, of all people, apologize? She should have known that becoming his mistress entailed having to endure these kinds of things as these were simply Satoru’s marital duties, and by extension, his duty to the crown.

His high washes over him like a tidal wave crashing into the rock shore, grunting as he involuntarily thrusts as he releases inside her, Himiko collapsing onto the pillows as he does. “O-oh, haaa- agh,” his deep tenor moans into her long black hair as his seed paints her walls, holding her close to his form, their heartbeats racing a million miles an hour.

He pulls out his flaccid cock, plopping down next to her, pulling her small frame for her head to rest on his chest. “I just need to have father reinstate me as heir apparent and return all my estates, then,” he kisses her once, his lips moving in sync with her soft ones.

“…We’ll get rid of her.”

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who blatantly and publicly humiliates you by bringing along Himiko Zenin to a state visit to the imperial family’s counterpart in Monaco rather than you, his rightful wife. And when asked of your whereabouts, Satoru simply replies with a casual shrug, his hand squeezing Himiko’s smaller ones as she usurps the banquet thrown in your honor by the Monacan royal family while you watch the horrific scene unfold on your television screen, your heart shattering into a million pieces as Himiko and Satoru uncaringly waltz with one another in front of the watchful eyes of the entire world throughout the evening.

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who crucifies you for your acts of sincere charity, believing you to be actively humiliating Himiko despite having no intentions whatsoever resembling his baseless accusation. “Did you honestly think your little publicity antics would go unpunished? I bet you were just itching for the attention, weren’t you?” he snarls at you the second you come back from a visit to one of the hospitals you had commissioned for the treatment of children with rare diseases, a compassionate act which had been heavily televised by national broadcasting stations and even international news agencies. “If you wish to compete with Himiko, wife, then, by all means. But I swear to you, I will do everything — everything I can — to make the entire world know just how much of an opportunistic whore you are—”

You gaze up at your husband with fear in your eyes. “…I was not competing with Himiko, can I not care for our people — your people? I’m sure they need someone to promote their interests when their own prince couldn’t be bothered to do so!” you retaliate but are quickly shot down when he throws his scotch glass at the wall, causing you to flinch when it shatters on impact.

“I will make sure this humiliation you dealt to Himiko will return to you tenfold, (Y/N),” he dangerously seethes, coming to the aid of his mistress. “Celebrate your victory all you want, wife, but make no mistake, this is far from over.”

₊˚.༄ Crown Prince!Gojo who indifferently scoffs when you crumble into a sobbing mess after yet another argument with him. “W-what can I do to make you not hate me so much? P-please tell me, Satoru.” The only response you receive is your husband dangerously moving closer to you, his eyes, dark with pure loathing. Instinctively, you step backward, only to be met by the cold wall of your shared bedroom. “S-Satoru—“

“—Here’s what you can do: do exactly as I say, without question,” he traps you between his arms, his breath hot on your skin, his lips dangerously close to yours, his voice dripping with the venom that could turn every silver thread in your heart into a hue that resembled charcoal black. “If I tell you to kiss me, you kiss me. If I tell you to get out, you get out. If I tell you to shut up, you sew your mouth shut or rip your tongue out, I really don’t give a damn. If I tell you to die…”

…

“…You drop dead.”

a/n: meh, just wrote this at the top of my head to get rid of this stupid writer’s block since hehe i have like eighteen drafts of jjk smut and drabbles in my tumblr folder rn help :’)

might turn this into a multi-chapter fic depending on how it is received. so lemme know your thoughts by reblogging, liking or commenting on this post!

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader angst #gojo x reader

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mayaree-darling · 4 months

Note

Hi i've been binging some of your fics recently and im in love! I saw that you had requests open so I was wondering if you could do scaramouche x fem reader but where reader dresses in jojifuku or other known as cutecore and scaramouche dresses in a baggy 'cool' way and reader gets made fun of for dressing differently?

of scary dog privileges & matcha lattes // scaramouche (modern au)

pairing: Scaramouche x Cutecore!Reader

synopsis: look, you may be a cute ball of pastels that can test scaramouche's patience, but you're HIS cute pastel lover. but if anyone messes with you, it's okay - his hands were made to be thrown.

from aree: for @amia-69: thanks for requesting and i hope this was satisfactory. i had too much fun with this so i hope you don't mind if it's a tad long with more scenes than you requested. i also made this a bit more feel-good by being a little silly but it’s still mostly serious, i hope you don't mind!

content: slight stalking and bullying scenario (be warned if triggering); very annoyed Scara means swearing; i'm in silly writer mode rn so this is a mix of crack and serious writing; slightly unhinged reader but hey so is scaramouche; praying this ain't OOC; fully accepted this is cringe; fem reader

fic length: 4k~ (unedited)

Scaramouche isn't dumb. He can tell anyone who sees him is asking it in their head.

How the fuck did you two end up together?

There was nothing soft looking about him besides the hair he inherited from his mother. He was his mother but with sharper lines, edges, and words. His eyes were almost a permanent glare if he didn't look bored or annoyed at everyone and everything. He always seemed to wear dark clothing, accompanied by the right amount of chains or belts here and there to complete the look, but they suited him nicely. If anything, he wore them best than most. If he wore anything less than clothes that didn't hang off his body he looked uncomfortable. Didn't mean he didn't hear enough older people talking about his choice of clothes though.

So when he first stood next to you on the fruits and vegetables aisle at the grocery store, he realized how you two stood at different ends of the fashion spectrum. He was there with his mother for their weekly food restock and ended up getting left behind when he went to check something on his phone (typical. How may times had this happened?) When he blinked, gone was his mom, and there beside him stood you, looking at a bunch of melons.

"This shit's overpriced, the hell." you grumble it under your breath, but Scaramouche heard it loud and clear. The snort he lets out isn't unnoticed by you and you turn to him, eyebrows raised. You look at him up and down before your eyes land back to his, and he frowns.

Goddamn it, here we go. He's heard his mom talk his ear off about the clothes this morning and he wasn't gonna hear it from anyone else. He opens his mouth, ready to cuss you to next Tuesday, but you beat him to it.

"I like the eyeliner," Scaramouche stares at you incredulously, and almost as a final nail into the coffin that he heard you right, you nod in approval. You tilt your head to the side. "I gotta say though. I think eyeshadow would look a lot better. Maybe... red? Just a bit at the corners. It would look a lot nice with your eye color and would make them pop considering you wear a lot of dark shades."

Scaramouche gapes at you. He's used to getting cussed out or getting the occasional talking to about his choices in life, but fashion advice was the last thing he expected to get from some stranger in the fruits aisle.

"Thanks..." he eventually lets out. He finally takes a moment to look you up and down and wonders how the hell did he not notice you sooner when you stood out from everything like a sore thumb.

Scaramouche didn't know there were so many shades of pink in the world. Or maybe he never noticed since he never wore clothes like that, and if he was honest, he spent time with people who didn't wear that color at all. Seeing it now was like a jumpscare, just a lot softer considering it's not like you posed any actual threat but slightly still as surprising considering people randomly approaching him first was so rare. If you weren't wearing a shade of pink, you were wearing some pastel shade of another color. Pastel blue, pastel purple, white lace here and there. The skirt you wore was so frilly you looked like you were walking around with a pink cloud. You looked... soft. That was the best summary Scaramouche could put together in the amount of time he gave you a once over.

You looked like everything he was not.

"I like... the frills," he inwardly cringed the moment he said it, but he ended up just frowning at you. It was your damn fault for putting him in this position in the first place so why the hell was he the one suffering. It's not his fault he wasn't good at giving other people compliments.

You laugh, and Scaramouche wasn't sure whether he should be glad you didn't take it to heart or be offended that he actually tried his best to give you a compliment only to be shot down. "It's okay. You don't have to force yourself."

Scaramouche just frowned deeper. Now it feels like you're saying he can't give out a compliment at all. He looks you up and down again and just says what comes to his head on the spot. "You look like the cotton candy sold at the fair across the street. Actually, I think you're a lot more pink than that stuff, but still lighter? Can't tell accurately with how many shades you got going on."

He must've said something good enough for you because you're grinning at him the next second. "That's one of the nicer ones people have said to me."

Scaramouche looks at you in disbelief. "How is that even remotely nice?"

"Well, for one, I know you mean that sincerely. Second, I'll have you know I worked hard to get pretty vibrant pinks that weren't too hard on the eyes, so thanks for confirming that!"

"You made that?" You nod, and Scaramouche nods back slowly in approval, actually impressed. "Not bad."

Your eyes land on his watch and you jolt, looking at the time on your phone. You pick a random melon even when he sees you scowl at the price tag and put it into your basket. Nodding once more to him, you turn around and leave. But as he watches you round the corner, you're running back to his side once more before he can even turn away. The sudden look of alarm on your face, so different from the grin and laughter you had on earlier, immediately has him on edge.

"Please help me," you whisper, but there was no one else in the aisle besides a mother and her baby at the far end. He frowns and looks to the side.

"Do I look like I help people." it came out harsher than he intended, but didn't he give you more than he was already willing to give any other stranger? Now you were just taking advantage of him.

"I need a scary dog right now," you said it so casually and seriously he wasn't sure he heard you right. But your voice echoed correctly in his head and he actually takes a step away from you, face incredulous.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" he scoffs, not sure if he was supposed to be offended or it was a compliment from you in some weird way. "The pet shop is right next door. Go get a dog there."

"Please. You know what I mean." you look at him pleadingly and he looks away. No, no, he was not gonna break first. This wasn't his business to deal with. He's done enough for people for the day. Nope.

"Again, go look for that somewhere else. Don't you have a boyfriend to help with this kinda thing?"

You roll your eyes and Scaramouche has half a mind to smack you silly. "If I did, you think I'd be going up to strangers for help?"

"So this is a regular thing, huh?" he takes a step back and you take a step towards him.

"Of course not, you expect this kinda thing to happen sometimes. But I don't want to hide away just ‘cause some people couldn't stay away and mind their own damn business," you shuffle from one foot to another. You cast a hesitant look behind you. His eyes follow.

"What are you even-" he stops. In the corner where he last saw you turn, a hooded man hovered over the bread aisle. For a shelf that only had five pieces of loaves left he was taking his time picking, so that only meant one thing. Scaramouche watched as the man glanced over once in your direction before seemingly turning back to the bread with fake focus.

"I thought I was imagining it. But he’s giving me the evil eyes," your voice is a whisper again.

That's unpleasant. Scaramouche straightened his posture and looked at you directly. If it's a scary dog you needed then so be it.

"What are you waiting for, then?" his voice was loud, not enough to be too distracting, but enough to carry over to the asshole who decided to be a creep for the day. Scaramouche kept his eyes on you. "You need anything else? I got the car running. Let's go if you're ready."

You look up at him like he was a fucking hero and Scaramouche all but does his best to not look as pompous as he felt. He sees the guy step back a little from his view, most likely thinking twice about following you when you're suddenly with company. He all but stares the fucker down until he leaves his line of sight.

Scaramouche breathes a short sigh of relief and he sees you do the same. He wanted to leave it at that, but if the guy was planning to follow you around the mall, he'd probably stick around a bit more. So fucking annoying. Not you, though. Although you were a bit annoying, you've probably been through more today than he had. He takes your wrist lightly.

"Where to next? I have family waiting outside."

You smile, relaxed and familiar. He holds your wrist, but you guide him around the store for a few other things before heading to the counter. When you leave the shop, plastic bags in hand, he motions for you to head to the parking lot and you follow albeit hesitantly, only visibly relaxing when you see a woman standing by a car who looks eerily similar to your rescuer.

"Oh? You have a friend." Scaramouche bites back the retort that almost slips past his lips. What did she mean by that? Of course he had friends. He'd never introduce them to her and her to them but he preferred keeping those two sides of his life away from each other.

"She had a bit of a problem and needed some help," she looks at you once and back to him. She gives him a knowing look but Scaramouche could swear on his grave that what she was thinking was vastly different from what was really going on.

"I see. Will your friend be joining us for dinner?" she looks at you with a soft smile and you return it. Scaramouche has half a mind to facepalm himself, he thanks what shred of patience he has left that he doesn't because you give him a glance.

"Thank you for the offer, but I should really be heading home," you turn to him fully and take the plastic bags from him. "Thanks for... helping me."

He opens his mouth but before he can say anything, you give him a knowing nod before quickly walking away. He watches you walk a few paces before he hears his mom clear her throat. He looks to her, already scowling.

"Don't tell me you're just gonna let her go like that?"

"What do you want me to do?"

Ei sighs. "At least make sure she gets a ride? If you walked her all the way over here, I can guess you wanted to give her a ride home. But that's out of the question now."

"Why are you so invested in this anyway? I just met her today."

"Oh, really? I thought you already knew each other." Ei hums as she rummages her purse for the keys. "You look like a pair. Not quite sure what kind, but definitely a pair of something. I think she’s rather cute."

He curses silently before jogging to catch up to you. He finds you standing by the bus stop. When you turn to him, you smile.

"Thanks for helping me again."

"You know I was planning on dropping you off at your place, right? Thought that was kinda clear with what I said at the grocery."

"Nah. I'd bothered you enough. Don't wanna bother your sister either." you grin at him, shuffling from foot to foot again, now with a pep in your step.

"First off, that was my mom, not my sister." you repeat the word 'mom' silently before looking at him with barely suppressed admiration, and Scaramouche barely holds himself back from groaning. "Second, it's fine. You're not scared that guy's gonna follow you home?"

"I'll be in a bus full of people. If he tries anything I'll scream my head off." you laugh. Scaramouche can hear a shred of doubt in your voice, but he doesn't say anything else. There's a pause of silence before you look at him from the corner of your eye and hum. "Y'know. I don't know how to properly thank you."

He waves you off. "Forget about it."

"How about I treat you?" you turn to him fully, like he just didn't brush you off. "I know a cafe by the train station that makes really good matcha lattes."

"What makes you think I even like matcha?" he sighs, but he thinks about it for a second. And then another second. Scaramouche blinks before he turns to you with a deadpan face. "You're just trying to take advantage of my scary dog privilege or whatever you call it."

"Maybe? Who knows?"you grin mischievously. "I'm serious about treating you to a meal, though. I owe you one. If you want you can just take the meal and forget about ever seeing me again."

Scaramouche sighs. Surely, it wouldn't hurt...?

"Alright then. When's our date?" You blink at him in surprise before laughing.

When people ask him how you two got together, he says you treated him to matcha for saving your life and you just hit it off. When they ask you to confirm, you excitedly show a picture of the two of you in the cafe of your first date. Should anyone try to mention the foam of milk from the matcha latte gathered around the top of his lips or the cat ears you had graciously edited onto the top of his head, Scaramouche is quick to silence them with a murderous look, almost the very same one he has on in the picture.

Some might think why doesn’t he just ask you to stop showing the photo to people? It’s enough for you to confirm that you got together over drinks, end of story. But as he watches and listens to you recount how you met again, the smile on your lips and the laughter that slips past and the grin as you show all the pictures - he can’t imagine saying no.

Why would he make you stop when you’re so happy?

That’s what he thinks now, as he sees the frown on your face.

He thought people already understood. He let you tell the story over and over even though it got on his nerves time and time again because it made you happy, yes, but also so people saw who they were messing with if they ever even thought of messing with you. This city was a small one - if people didn’t know him from his mother, they surely have heard of him and his friends. This city was the kind where word travelled fast if you were even in any social circle. If not for that, they would have surely seen him walking around with you with all the places you wanted to see.

He underestimated how dumb people could be.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes before frowning. He pocketed his phone and all but jogged to the park. From a distance, he could see two guys in front of the bench he was sure was where you were supposed to meet. It was the bench he and you stopped at to exchange numbers, so it became a place that meant a lot to you. When he was close, the group of guys looked at his direction, snickering, before heading to the next bench over. Finally, he has a perfect view of you, your head down, holding on to your drink and phone like a lifeline. His drink almost lay forgotten beside you.

He quickly grabbed the drink from your side and sat beside you. From the corner of his eye, he can see the group of guys stealing glances at the both of you, not even trying to hide their laughter and sneers. He’s gripping his drink almost as hard as you were.

“You’re here,” you smile at him, but as quickly as it’s on your face it drops back to a wobbly frown and you look away. “Sorry if I made you hurry, I-”

“What happened? Did they do anything to you?” his voice comes out in a rush but it’s soft, as comforting as he can muster with the situation at hand. He can feel his blood boiling, his senses on high alert.

“No, no, they were just being mean and annoying and I-” you shakily pocket your phone and hold on to his hand. He can feel you shaking and he grit his teeth.

“What did they do? What the fuck did they say?” he was gripping onto the cup so tight he would’ve been surprised that it hadn’t broken yet if he wasn’t so focused on you.

“Nothing important.” he squeezes your hand, not enough to hurt, but to make sure you know that he’s here now. You didn’t need to hide anything from him. You just need to tell him. You look up at him and purse your lips. “They just said-”

He hears laughter and immediately whips his head towards the two guys, feeling absolutely feral. The closest one sitting on the edge of the bench flinches for a second, before he meets his glare with a sneer.

“I was wondering what kind of parents would leave their little princess walking around alone like that,” the guy smirks and Scaramouche can feel you flinch under his touch. “But another kid just showed up to pick them up. Where are your parents, kiddies?”

The two guys laugh and Scaramouche can feel his teeth crack with how hard he was biting down. He stands up but you hold on to his hand.

“Just let it go. Let’s just get out of here.” you mumble to him, but the guys heard perfectly.

“Let’s just get out of here~” the other guy copies your voice, all high pitched and mocking and everything that Scaramouche knew you were very much not. “She dresses like a little princess and sounds like one. Aren’t you too old for that?”

They howl with laughter and slowly, Scaramouche feels you let go of him. He looks to you, concerned, but you meet his eyes, your face blank but he knows that look.

Go for it.

With quick strides he’s right beside their bench. They stop for a moment to look at him.

He looks at the matcha latte in his hand and sighs.

What a waste of a drink. You got it for him, too.

“What are you- ARGH!” Scaramouche shakes the cup empty of all it’s content, making sure that each of the guys’ heads had at least a bit of the matcha drink. But Scaramouche was sure he got them both - it was a large drink, after all.

“Pick on someone your own size, you lil’-” the man closest to him goes to stand, but just as he does, Scaramouche raises his own leg and drives a kick right on his knees.

*CRACK*

The man screams in pain, forced to his knees and tending to his newly acquired wound. The other guy stands to try and help, but his form quickly falters as Scaramouche takes one step towards him, eyes blazing. The man doesn’t move, too frightened, as Scaramouche leans down to the man on the ground.

“There you go. Now we’re the same height.”

Scaramouche feels a pull on the back of his shirt and he’s ready to throw his arm back to punch when he sees you. He lets you pull him and you make a break for it as he hears the man crying in pain behind him.

Trees turn to buildings around you both as you leave the park and head to the city center, stopping only when you’re sure the coast is clear. You both take in large breaths of air after running for so long, but even the silence does nothing to make him realize the gravity of what just happened. That’s not the case for you, though.

“Oh, God, I didn’t think you’d do that. The drink, yeah, but...” you say between breaths. You take a shaky laugh and rub the back of your neck. “Was the kick really necessary, though?”

Was that necessary? Scaramouche knew the answer for himself. He walks closer to you.

Why would he let anyone destroy whatever you two had going on? You came as a pair.

"Scara, what are you-" he stops in his tracks and looks you in the eyes. There's a pause before he lifts his hand and flicks your forehead.

"Talk smack, get whacked."

"I didn't even say anything! And why are you hitting me?!"

There’s a pause as he runs his teeth over his lower lip.

“Hey… you.”

“Wow, I thought by now you knew my name,” you sneer at him. “You telling me you still don’t know it?”

He inhales before he says your name softly. You gape at him, suddenly aware of how serious he’s gotten. “You’re happy with… yourself, right…?”

“Of course I am. That’s not even worth asking about,” there’s a doubtful look on your face, but not because of your answer. Your apprehension stems from where this conversation was going.

“Keep being happy, then.” Scaramouche rubs the knuckles of your hand with his thumb before pressing a kiss to your palm. He smirks at you. “If anyone else says otherwise, a drink over their head and broken kneecaps are the least of their concerns.”

“Now, come on,” he doesn’t let go of your hand and you make no mention of it. “We still gotta stop by Nahida’s, right?”

＝＝✿＝＝｜✧••❀••✧｜＝＝✿＝＝

❀BONUS❀

“Your mom’s gonna kill us when she finds out what you did.”

“Nah. She’d be fine with it.” Scaramouche scoffs.

“Find out what?” Ei appears by the kitchen doorway and looks at you both expectantly. You turn to Scaramouche, eyes wide with fear, but he doesn’t flinch or even stop chopping the melon.

“I poured a drink over some guy who said Matcha was acting too much like a kid,” Scaramouche answers easily, passing you a melon slice. “Also might have broken their knee, but we didn’t get to see.”

“I’m really sorry, Ms. Ei-”

“That’s it?” Ei leans on the kitchen counter and to your surprise, looks at Scaramouche with disappointment. “You should’ve broken a bone or two more.”

You blink as they continue talking about how best to have handled the situation; all their solutions involved hurting someone.

Well, you guess Scaramouche must have had to got it from someone in the family.

✨ Masterlist ✨

Taglist: 💛@wonpielle 💜@shikanosn

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact modern au #scaramouche modern au #genshin impact reader insert #scaramouche x reader fluff #scaramouche fluff #genshin impact x reader fluff

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hamsterclaw · 6 months

Text

Drift Kings

You and your brother Seokjin live completely separate lives, until one day when your worlds collide.

Pairing: Jimin x f! reader, Yoongi x f! reader

Genre: Drifting, street racing AU, smut

Word count: 9.5k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Explicit sex, swearing, mentions of drugs, cigarette smoking, illegal street racing

You know from the first time you lay eyes on Park Jimin that he doesn’t belong in your world.

He’s physically blessed, that much is obvious to anyone with eyes, but he’s all wrong.

His suit is beautifully tailored, but the material’s wrong. His shoes are expensive but in that modern, stylish way that screams new money.

You doubt any of the jewelry he has on is inherited.

He catches you staring, assumes it’s because of his good looks rather than that you’re finding him lacking.

He has the audacity to give you a once over of his own, like he has the right to judge you like you judged him.

You stay perfectly still, let him look.

You’re a Kim, and you’re used to people staring at you.

His lips curl in a smile that looks closer to a sneer.

‘You should wipe that sour look off your face, princess, before the wind changes.’

You’re too surprised to snap back at him, and a moment later, he turns away, like he’s the one dismissing you.

You’re still staring at his back when Seokjin, your brother, arrives with Yoongi.

‘Were you waiting long?’ Seokjin asks politely, gesturing for you to go ahead of him into the private room he’s reserved for dinner.

‘Not long,’ you say, still thinking about the very beautiful man who’s just cut you down.

***

Seokjin, is as unmarked as he ever was, at least from what you can see whilst he’s dressed in a three-piece suit.

You’re glad.

Your brother’s always loved cars. When you were growing up, he spent every spare moment in Yoongi’s family’s auto workshop, similar to how you spent every moment in your father’s office, learning the ropes of your family business.

There was a Kim needed to take over the company, and thankfully, your family didn’t have any qualms about which Kim sibling it was.

A life in business would have killed your brother, totally unlike a life spent drag racing on Mount Samo, you think, uncomfortable with the irony.

If your parents were still alive, they’d probably have things to say about Seokjin’s lifestyle.

At least he’s always with Yoongi.

Min Yoongi.

You sneak a glance at him over your plate as you eat.

Around you and Seokjin, his normally serious face relaxes into a smile, perfect teeth flashing often, eyes crinkled at the corners.

Your brother’s closest friend, you spent most of your teenage years swinging between a desperate crush on him and a desperate need not to be perceived by his intense, penetrating gaze.

Now that you’re older, the heat of your crush has settled into a burning ember he occasionally stokes by turning up when you meet Seokjin, all dark eyes and deep voice and the odd flattering comment that has the power to set your heart aflutter.

Apart from all that though, you know enough about Min Yoongi to know he’s got the heart of a hustler, and fierce loyalty to your brother. If your brother ever went down, Yoongi would be right there with him fighting to the bitter end.

‘You look tired, sis,’ Seokjin says, dropping a dumpling onto your plate.

‘I’m just closing on a three year contract with the Moiwa group,’ you say, not denying it. You’ve been working on a lucrative partnership with the tech company for months, and you’re finally on the home stretch.

You’re not sure how much Seokjin knows about the family business, he rarely attends board meetings, like you’ve never seen him race.

Seokjin loosens his tie, wincing slightly as he does so.

‘How’s your collarbone?’ you ask.

Four weeks ago Seokjin had broken his collarbone and three ribs on Mount Samo. He hadn’t told you about it, but as you are each other’s next of kin, you’d found out anyway.

‘Healing,’ Seokjin says, making up for his brevity with a brilliant smile.

You know what they call your brother on the circuit.

Chaebol. Often said with a sneer, despite the fact that he can put together an Evolution IX blindfolded and drive it in a way that credits all the tuneups he can afford to pay for.

‘I hurt my shoulder,’ Yoongi tells you, teeth flashing in the half-smile-half-snarl that makes you feel lightheaded when it’s directed at you.

‘I’m sure you have plenty of people to take care of it for you,’ you say, straightfaced.

Yoongi blinks, and his lip curls again. ‘Don’t you want to?’

You laugh. ‘Are you trying to be cute? It doesn’t suit you, Yoongi.’

‘Stop flirting with my sister, Yoongi,’ Seokjin interjects, distracting you from Yoongi’s pout.

He turns back to you. ‘Are you free this weekend? I was planning to visit Daejeon.’

‘I’m free,’ you agree.

Your parents’ graves are in Daejeon. You and Seokjin go a couple of times a year.

Your phone rings. It’s your PA, Daeun.

‘I should go,’ you say, apologetic. ‘It’s hectic right now at work.’

‘At least finish your food,’ Seokjin urges.

‘I’ll pick up something before I get home,’ you reply.

Seokjin frowns. ‘I’ll drop food off at your place.’

You smile. ‘I’ll see you this weekend, ok? Keep my brother out of trouble, Yoongi.’

‘And you stay out of trouble too,’ you add.

Yoongi throws you another grin. ‘For you,’ he promises.

‘This weekend,’ Seokjin says.

Both men rise as you leave the room.

***

Seokjin wanted to drop by Yoongi’s workshop on your way to Daejeon, and you have to admit, it’s been a while since you’ve seen his crew.

Jung Hoseok, the angel-faced mechanic turned racer who has a smile and personality that can light up a room and drives like he’s halfway to heaven.

Jeon Jungkook, the youngest, a baby brother to all who of recent years seems to be trying his hardest to hide the facts of his pretty face and endearingly cute little shit personality, by getting tatted and pierced and wearing exclusively black.

There’s an unfamiliar person though, and as he turns to greet Seokjin upon your arrival, you realise it’s the beautiful man who sneered at you in the restaurant.

‘Y/N, this is Park Jimin,’ says Seokjin.

Park Jimin gives you a smile that makes you long to slap him.

‘We’ve met. Turns out, I wasn’t far off when I called you a princess.’

His comment makes your hackles rise.

‘I wish I could say it’s a pleasure,’ you say coolly.

‘How did you meet?’ Seokjin asks.

‘It was at the restaurant that night,’ you tell Seokjin, trying to shut down the line of questioning.

You turn to Yoongi, who’s leaning against a workbench, watching the whole exchange with a bemused look on his face.

‘I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like Y/N,’ Hoseok remarks, kindly. ‘It must be your fault, Jimin.’

You laugh. ‘I’m sure I have a lot of enemies, Hobi.’

If Seokjin’s the chaebol racer, and Yoongi’s the drifting king, you’re the ice princess of Cheongdam-dong.

You’re well aware that your family’s laissez-faire attitude to succession isn’t necessarily shared by all. You’ve grown so weary of the misogyny in your society that it barely even registers to you, now. You learned long ago to apologise for daring to carry on your family business lineage.

You completely miss the look that passes between Seokjin and Yoongi.

‘I’ll be back by nine,’ Seokjin says to Yoongi.

That gets your attention. ‘A race?’

‘We’ll look after him,’ Jungkook assures you sweetly.

You roll your eyes in mock exasperation. ‘Who’s going to look after the rest of you?’

***

Seokjin parks the car, cuts the engine.

You unbuckle your belt, and you both walk around to the trunk to get the flowers you brought.

Seokjin asks, casually, as you walk down the path to your parents’ graves, ‘How’s work going?’

‘Still busy,’ you say, shading your eyes against the brightness of the afternoon sun.

‘The deal came through,’ you tell him. ‘I spent most of last night celebrating with my team.’

‘Congratulations,’ says Seokjin. He’s had the foresight to put on sunglasses, you can’t see most of his face.

‘Thanks,’ you reply. ‘How’s the Supra coming along?’

Seokjin and Yoongi are working on tuning up a fourth generation Supra for a client from Hong Kong.

‘It’s coming along,’ Seokjin says. He smiles wryly. ‘Jungkook keeps asking if he can ‘road-test’ it.’

You laugh along with him.

‘Yoongi says he’ll let him if he can rebuild it after,’ Seokjin continues.

You know Jungkook’s talented, but he’s not as skilled as either your brother or Yoongi.

‘You can come watch the race tonight, if you want,’ Seokjin offers.

He’s never invited you before.

‘Sure,’ you say.

‘We’ll head off when we get back,’ Seokjin says.

You’ve reached the graves.

Seokjin kneels down to lay the flowers on the ground.

You wonder if it’ll ever get easier.

***

You’re sitting in a corner of Yoongi’s workshop, watching as Seokjin and his crew get ready.

The atmosphere’s crackling with anticipation, a wild energy that has adrenaline thrumming through your veins.

Seokjin and Yoongi are hunched over the popped engine hood of Yoongi’s Nissan GT-R, talking quietly.

Jungkook and Hoseok are roughhousing by the workbench. Jungkook’s dressed in black leather and motorcycle boots, a chain round his neck, and you wonder, again, when the maknae started to become such a menace.

Jimin’s sitting on the raised walkway over Yoongi’s workshop, arms on the railing, feet dangling off the edge.

He catches you looking at him, and the slow smirk that spreads over his face is, to your chagrin, equal parts infuriating and attractive.

You can’t deny it, he’s not your usual type but he’s so fucking attractive you almost can’t stand to look at him.

His blond hair is styled back, a stray lock falls across his brow as he stares at you, almost in his eyes. His full lips are curved, smile lines crinkling the corners of his eyes.

The way his jacket’s lifted, with his arms braced on the railing, shows off his flat stomach, the plain t-shirt he’s got on doing nothing to hide how cut his torso is.

Beside you, Seokjin clears his throat.

‘You can ride with me,’ he says. He glances up at Jimin as he speaks, and you wonder how long Seokjin was watching before you noticed.

***

You’ve been in Seokjin’s Honda before, but never on a race day.

The interiors are black leather, he’s modified the sound system, of course, but most striking to you is the way the engine vibrates with power, even when he’s driving the speed limit en route to Mount Samo.

Up ahead, Yoongi’s leading the convoy. You’d glimpsed the flash of his grin as he’d cut Seokjin off at an intersection a couple miles back, and the barely leashed ferality of it had made you fantasise, for the umpteenth time, about sleeping with him.

Bringing up the rear are Jungkook, Hobi and Jimin, keeping tight on Seokjin’s tail.

You look around with interest at the cars idling at the summit when Seokjin slides smoothly into a spot next to Yoongi.

Seokjin cuts the engine, and you get out.

You’d expected Seokjin to get a reaction, your brother is striking even when he’s not driving a midnight black Honda, crimson racing stripes cutting the car in half lengthways, but to your surprise, there are an equal number of eyes on you.

Yoongi’s lit a cigarette, the glow of the lit end reflected in his dark eyes as he moves over to make a space for you next to where he’s leaning.

Smoke curls around your face as he asks, polite as ever, ‘Do you mind if I smoke around you?’

‘I don’t,’ you reassure him.

Yoongi nods. ‘I usually just have the one.’

His lips curl. ‘Then another when I win.’

Seokjin says. ‘Jimin will drive you back down when he’s scouting. We’ll see you at the bottom.’

‘Scouting?’

‘For police,’ Seokjin explains.

You look at him sharply.

‘If you want, Jimin can drive you home right now,’ Seokjin offers.

It occurs to you then, just how separate yours and Seokjin’s lives are.

Yours is a world of meetings, boardrooms, euphemisms for what one really means.

And Seokjin’s is this, nighttimes and headlamps so bright they light up the city, and a physical rawness you never see.

Your brother looks chaebol but inside? He’s this.

‘I’ll stay,’ you say. ‘Good luck.’

Seokjin’s gaze lingers on you, but he doesn’t say anything else.

When Jimin arrives Seokjin takes him aside. They have a conversation you can’t hear, they’re several feet away and Hobi’s trying to show you pictures of his new puppy.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere, the deafening roar of engines, blinding lights as three new cars arrive.

One looks like it’s heading straight for your brother’s Honda.

You tense as it approaches at full speed, screeching to a halt barely a foot from the front bumper.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, and beside him Yoongi straightens up, grinds the remnants of his cigarette to ash under his boot.

‘Who’s that, Hobi?’ you ask, as the driver gets out.

He’s tall, like your brother, good looking in a flashy way, and the way he stares at your brother as he approaches makes your skin crawl.

There’s a tattoo running up the side of his neck, next to a jagged scar.

You slip past Hoseok and go to stand next to Seokjin.

‘Hyunjin,’ Seokjin says, neutral.

Yoongi just stares back, lip curled in a sneer.

‘Seokjin,’ the man replies. ‘Ready to be driven off a mountain?’

You tense, and Hyunjin’s gaze shifts to you.

‘I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom,’ Seokjin replies, but Hyunjin barely reacts.

He’s still staring at you.

‘Who’s this?’ he asks.

‘The person who’ll make you pay if you do anything to my brother,’ you snap.

He raises an eyebrow, gaze shifting between you and Seokjin thoughtfully.

‘You must be the ice princess. I didn’t think you’d be quite this pretty. I guess Seokjin keeps you hidden away for a reason.’

‘Shut up,’ Yoongi growls, as Seokjin shifts so he’s in front of you.

You realise Jungkook and Hoseok are behind you.

Hyunjin just laughs.

‘I’ll see you at the bottom, princess. If I beat your brother can I have a kiss?’

Seokjin says, voice low and even, ‘What about winner gets the loser’s ride?’

Your eyes widen. You know how many hours Seokjin put in on his car in Yoongi’s workshop.

Hyunjin scoffs. ‘I’m going to enjoy driving your car.’

He gives you another long look, and then he’s turning on his heel.

‘Go with Jimin,’ Seokjin says, glancing at you. ‘I’ll see you down there.’

You’re hesitant. ‘Seokjin —- that guy —-‘

‘Don’t worry,’ Seokjin says. ‘I’ll beat him.’

His expression softens.

‘It’s not my first race,’ he reminds you gently.

You realise Jimin’s got his car pulled up next to you, door open, waiting.

‘Good luck,’ you say, still uncertain.

Seokjin nods, waits until you get in the car, closes the door after you.

***

Jimin drives in silence, navigating the hairpin bends that make Mount Samo a drifter’s dream with a competence that makes you wonder why he’s not racing himself.

‘Is my brother going to be all right?’ you ask, plaintive in the quiet of the car.

Jimin doesn’t answer immediately, and you’re wondering if he heard you when you catch him looking at you in the rearview mirror.

‘Your brother will be fine,’ he says finally. ‘We’ll wait for him at the finish.’

You’re thinking about the way Hyunjin sneered at Seokjin.

‘Is it always like that?’ you ask.

Jimin takes his time answering this question too.

‘Seokjin and Hyunjin have a history,’ he tells you. He turns to you briefly.

‘You should ask Seokjin about it.’

‘Have you known Seokjin long?’ you ask.

Jimin glances at you again.

‘Not long. We started working together a few months ago.’

‘Do you race?’

‘Occasionally.’

‘Are you any good?’ you ask.

Jimin changes gears, slows to a stop.

‘Never good enough for you, princess,’ he says, flicking his gaze at you.

You feel chastened. It’s fair enough, you know that you can be a snob. It’s a learned behaviour, from your years trying to prove yourself as leader of the Kim conglomerate, but Jimin wouldn’t know that, and you doubt he’d care.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say.

Jimin parks the car, turns up the music. He glances at the clock on the dash.

‘Your brother’ll be down in twenty minutes. We’ll have an extra car to drive back - which is why Hobi and Jungkook rode together on the way here.’

‘The wager,’ you say, a question.

‘The wager,’ Jimin confirms.

‘It was all planned then?’

Jimin laughs, short. ‘Hyunjin’s predictable.’

He glances in the rearview. ‘I’ve never seen anyone drift like your brother.’

You’re processing this when he says, referring to your apology, ‘It’s fine. I’ve been nothing but a dick to you since we met.’

‘Are you any good at your job?’ Jimin asks.

There’s the faintest hint of taunting in his voice. You can’t blame him in all honesty.

You decide to tell the truth.

‘I’m inexperienced but I have a good team.’

You look out the window.

‘I don’t have a problem carrying responsibility. Out of the both of us, I was the better choice. Corporate life would have killed Seokjin.’

You press a thumb to your temple, massaging the tension headache that’s threatening to come away.

The silence in the car is deafening.

You glance at Jimin.

He’s staring at you, unreadable.

‘I’ll wait outside,’ you say.

You push your door open and step out into the cool darkness of the night.

A light rain starts to fall.

Behind you, Jimin gets out of the car. A moment later he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, the fabric warm from his body heat.

All he says is, ‘They should be here soon.’

***

Your heart accelerates when the gleam of headlights cuts through the dark.

The rain’s stopped but the tarmac of the road still glistens with wet.

You can’t see who it is, blinded as you are.

The car comes to a smooth stop not six feet from where you and Jimin, and a handful of others, are waiting.

The door opens as your vision begins to adjust, and your brother steps out.

He looks around, spots you and Jimin, lifts his hand in a wave like butter wouldn’t melt.

There’s a wave of cheering, drowned out by the roar of Yoongi’s Nissan as he cruises past, stops a little way past your brother’s car.

You don’t even notice when Hyunjin and the rest of the racers arrive, caught up as you are in the overwhelming wave of relief that your brother and Yoongi are all right.

You lose Jimin in the crowd that surges forward, eyes only on your brother as Hyunjin tosses keys on the ground at his feet, disgusted.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You check it distractedly as you head for Seokjin.

It’s an unknown number.

You’re swiping to answer when you collide with what feels like a brick wall.

You’d be off your feet if an arm hadn’t curled around you to steady you.

You look up into Hyunjin’s face.

‘Where’s my kiss, princess?’ he asks. His grip around your waist feels like steel.

You lean back.

‘I don’t remember promising you one,’ you tell him, bringing your arms up against his chest, trying to put more distance between you.

He laughs, holds tighter, starts walking you backwards.

‘Get off me,’ you warn.

‘Or what?’ he asks. ‘You gonna call your brother to come save you?’

‘She’s got more than one friend here, actually,’ comes a voice from behind you.

You turn to see Jimin, hands loose by his sides, expression hard.

‘She asked you to get off her,’ Jimin points out.

Hyunjin’s hand tightens painfully around your wrist for a heart stopping moment before he scoffs and drops it.

‘Maybe next time, princess,’ he says.

He leers at you as he steps away.

‘Are you ok?’ Jimin asks, nodding to your wrist.

‘I’m fine,’ you say automatically, despite the throbbing in your wrist. You’re used to showing no weakness.

Seokjin and Yoongi have reached you.

‘What happened?’ Seokjin asks, an edge to his voice.

‘We saw that fucker head straight for you,’ Yoongi says. The feral spark’s back in his eyes, he looks like he’s spoiling for a fight.

You tug the cuffs of Jimin’s jacket down over your wrists.

‘Nothing happened,’ you say.

Seokjin doesn’t believe you, you can tell, but you don’t want to talk about it.

Finally, he says, ‘I’ll drive you—‘

‘I can drive you home,’ Jimin says. ‘It’s on my way.’

***

You sit in the passenger seat of Jimin’s car, waiting as he grabs something from the trunk.

He gets in, tosses a heat pack into your lap.

‘He grabbed you pretty hard,’ he says. ‘You can use that if you feel sore.’

You look at it for a moment.

‘Thanks.’

‘I’m sorry I lost you for a moment there in the crowd,’ Jimin says, shifting the car into gear as he pulls out onto the road.

‘I’m not a kid,’ you say.

The heat pack feels nice.

‘You’re definitely not a kid,’ Jimin agrees.

His gaze flicks over you, so quick you wonder if you imagined it.

‘You don’t even know where I live,’ you say, with a flicker of amusement.

‘I’ll drive you anywhere you want,’ Jimin replies.

For the first time, he smiles at you, lips curving, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Where do you want to go, princess?’

***

Your back’s against the front door of your apartment, your head thrown back as Jimin presses heated kisses to your neck.

He’s beautiful, dark eyes and gleaming skin, you keep wanting to watch him but he’s kissing you so well it’s hard to keep your eyes open.

He’s got one hand under your top, smoothing circles over your skin, the other curled over your ass, squeezing your flesh.

‘Jimin,’ you breathe, your hand braced on his shoulder, fingers curling into the hair on the nape of his neck.

‘Yeah,’ he murmurs, silvery voice making you tingle. ‘Touch me, if you want.’

You slide a hand over the hardness of his torso, feeling the ridges of his abs, the tautness of him.

Skin over muscle over bone.

He’s hard all the places you’re soft.

You can’t stifle a moan as he rolls his hips against yours.

‘Where’s your room,’ he grunts, pulling a whine from your lips as he lifts his own lips from your skin.

You point, and he knits his fingers with yours, tugging you with him as he heads for your bedroom.

The door closes behind you, and in front of you, Jimin shucks his t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

His beauty stops you in your tracks.

Jimin grins. He tilts his chin at you, all golden skin and bright eyes.

‘Stop staring,’ he says, bold, ‘and take your clothes off.’

You can feel your skin heat as Jimin fixes his gaze on you, watching as you fumble with the buttons on your blouse, undo the fastening on your jeans.

You can’t meet his gaze when you’re in your bra and panties.

Jimin takes two steps forward, dropping his own jeans.

You’re still looking down, so the bottom half of him comes into view first.

The waistband of his boxer briefs, stretched over taut skin, the very obvious bulge just beneath. Thighs so muscled your own thighs tighten against each other.

He lifts your chin gently so you’ll look at him.

‘Why so shy, princess? Look how hard I am.’

He doesn’t wait for a reply, lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle.

He walks you backward onto the bed, takes a moment to look at you laid on your sheets. His hand strokes over his rigid cock once, then he’s lowering himself on top of you.

He’s gentle, but you can feel the coiled power in his muscles as he grinds himself into the softness between your legs.

‘You really are a princess,’ he murmurs into the dip between your breasts, so lightly you know he’s just teasing.

He kisses the round of your breast, tongue flicking around your areola tantalisingly until you’re soaked, your hips seeking friction against his hardness.

‘Jimin,’ you plead, maddened with arousal.

‘Don’t worry,’ he soothes. ‘I’ve got you. Panties off.’

You lift your hips to pull your panties down.

There’s a rip of foil, a barely suppressed groan from Jimin as he unrolls the condom onto himself.

He positions himself above you, slides into you like he’s been doing it his whole life, and you moan, eyes squeezing shut at the stretch of him.

‘You like that?’ he asks, silvery voice deep now, breath hot against your skin.

‘Yeah,’ you cry.

He props himself on one arm, rolls his hips against yours.

‘Fuck,’ he groans.

He picks up the pace, eyes on you, flicking between your face and how he’s making your tits bounce with the force of his thrusts.

He’s glistening with a sheen of sweat now, hair flopped over his face, damp.

‘Look at you, princess,’ he murmurs, voice dropped low, breathless. ‘Look how well you take me.’

He flattens a hand over the curve of your lower belly, thumb flicking over your clit, purposeful, firm, making the pleasure build.

Slows, lifts your hips so he can fuck you deeper.

The curve of his cock hits so good you’re crying out with each rock of his hips against yours.

You come with a gasp of his name, and Jimin drops down on you, grinding, hips working.

‘Fuck,’ he groans, deep in his chest. ‘Take it, baby.’

You wind a hand around his neck, and his lips meet yours again, tongue licking into your mouth as he fills the condom.

‘Shit,’ he groans, pulling out, knotting off the condom, tossing it carelessly.

You’re breathless still, heart hammering in your chest, but you sit up, admire how he looks sprawled out on the covers of your bed, flushed and glowing.

‘You were right, you know,’ Jimin says.

He’d been looking up at the ceiling, but now he flicks his gaze at you.

‘You’re too good for me.’

You scoff. ‘Shut up. I never said that.’

Jimin laughs. ‘I didn’t say it was going to stop me from pursuing you.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Pursuing me?’

‘I said what I said,’ Jimin says.

He sits up, muscles flexing, hair pushed back. He drops a kiss on your exposed shoulder, teeth flashing as he follows it up with a playful nip.

As you’re getting up, picking up your clothes, you notice a flash of gold half-out of the pocket of his jeans.

You lift it out, curious.

Jimin says nothing as you rub your thumb over the gold badge, turn it over to see his ID.

‘You’re a cop,’ you say. It’s not a question, you have the proof in your hand, but it comes out querulous anyway.

‘I’m a cop,’ Jimin replies.

You’re trying to process. ‘Does my brother know?’

‘Seokjin knows,’ Jimin says.

He gets up, starts getting dressed too.

‘It’s illegal to race on Mount Samo,’ you say.

‘I’m undercover,’ Jimin tells you. He reaches for his badge, and you let him take it out of your loose grip.

‘What are you investigating?’ you ask.

‘Currently, your ass,’ Jimin says.

You crack a reluctant smile. ‘Could have told me you were a cop before we slept together.’

‘I usually wait for a second date before I get the handcuffs out,’ Jimin shoots back.

You laugh, but your mind’s still racing, wondering why Jimin’s hanging around with your brother and Yoongi.

You’re so preoccupied with your thoughts it takes you a moment to realise Jimin’s watching you.

‘I should get to bed,’ you say, feigning a yawn. ‘I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

Jimin asks, quietly, ‘Is there anything you want to ask me?’

You’re troubled, but you force a smile.

‘I’ll save my questions for when I’m less tired,’ you say.

Jimin’s got his jacket on, you’ve both moved out of the bedroom.

He says, ‘I’d like to see you again.’

Your smile becomes a little less forced.

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

Jimin looks like he wants to say more, but all he does is nod, flash you a smile before he leaves.

The click of the latch falling into place as he pulls the door to sounds oddly final.

***

You’re tired.

You’ve been in and out of meetings all day. On top of that there’s been a problem with the city planning committee over the new property you’ve just acquired.

It was a hard fought battle but you’d managed to pip your competitor, Jungcorp, to the post. You’re not sure why Jungcorp had fought so hard for it, it’s an abandoned tower block in an unglamorous part of the city, but the land’s invaluable to you for development.

As far as you know Jungcorp’s got no vested interests in property development.

You look up, exasperated, as there’s yet another knock on your door.

It’s past 8pm, your feet are sore and all you want to do is go home and take your bra off, if you could only just finish reading and sign off on the city planning committee’s requirements.

Plus you thought you’d sent everyone from your executive team home.

Your frown softens when you realise it’s Jimin.

You’ve been texting back and forth since you hooked up, he’s called you a few times, but you’ve been too busy to meet.

‘How’d you get in here?’ you ask, getting up to greet him.

‘I’m a cop, remember?’ Jimin says. He looks as pretty as ever, dressed all in black, silverware in his ears.

‘I have security,’ you point out.

‘Jaebeom?’ Jimin asks, feigning innocence. ‘We used to work together.

You roll your eyes.

‘I thought you wouldn’t mind me dropping by unannounced like this,’ Jimin says, ‘because I brought food.’

He brings his arms round from behind his back to reveal a bag of food that makes your stomach growl, loudly and ungracefully.

‘When did you last eat?’ Jimin asks.

‘I had a protein shake for lunch,’ you say, eyeing him as he sets out boxes of noodles. ‘They’re apparently a complete meal.’

It’s Jimin’s turn to roll his eyes.

‘Prawns or chicken?’ he asks, holding out chopsticks to you.

You reach out and grasp his hand instead.

‘I’ve missed you a little,’ you say, tugging.

Jimin lets you pull him closer. ‘Yeah? I’ve missed you a lot.’

He’s close now, head tilted to yours, face barely inches away.

‘A lot?’ you ask, staring at his lips.

‘Yeah.’ His voice is husky now, and he dips his head to yours.

You meet him more than halfway, lips already parted.

Jimin’s hand curls around the back of your head as he slants his own to kiss you deeper.

‘I lied,’ he murmurs, crowding you against the edge of your desk.

‘I didn’t just come to bring you food. I came because I knew you’d look fucking sexy in your work clothes.’

He kisses you again, hips pressed against yours, hand slipping down to cup your ass.

You slip your arm around him, sighing a little as he kisses you, lips warm and sweet.

‘Eat, before we get distracted,’ Jimin says, pulling away.

You whine, disgruntled, but he’s insistent.

The noodles are hot, tasty, satiating the hunger you’ve been suppressing all day.

‘Thanks,’ you say, as Jimin gets up to clear away the food.

You’d help, but it’s the longest break from work you’ve had all day, and now that you’ve sat down on the comfortable sofa you’re not sure you can muster the willpower to get up.

Jimin looks at you knowingly.

‘Want a ride home?’

‘I should probably get back to work,’ you say, regretfully.

Jimin says, ‘You look exhausted. Here, I’ll take you home.’

You find yourself picking up your things, letting Jimin help you on with your coat, following him to the lifts.

Jimin curls an arm around you, and you lean into him as you wait for the lift.

He smells good, but more than that, he feels good, solid, his shoulder corded with muscle under your cheek.

‘You can lean on me,’ Jimin says. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but he holds you tighter when you try to pull away.

In the car, Jimin leans over to help you fasten your belt.

‘I can do it,’ you say, but he just smiles.

‘I said you can lean on me,’ he tells you. He starts the engine, puts on soft music, a lo-fi beat.

‘Sit back, princess. I’ve got you.’

You want to tell him to stop calling you princess but you’re so comfortable and warm the words won’t leave your lips.

You blink awake to find that Jimin’s parked outside your apartment building.

‘Sorry,’ you mumble, trying to orientate yourself. ‘Did I sleep the whole way?’

‘You talk in your sleep,’ Jimin tells you.

Now you’re fully awake.

‘What did I say?’

‘I didn’t know you liked my ass that much,’ Jimin says, thoughtfully.

‘What?’

He laughs. ‘Go to bed, princess. Want me to walk you up?’

‘I’ll be all right,’ you tell him. You hesitate, hand on the door handle.

‘Thanks, Jimin.’

‘Anytime, princess.’

He waits until you’re inside the doors before he drives away.

***

Yoongi rolls himself out from under the body of the Subaru he’s working on just as Seokjin approaches.

He stares at the pictures Seokjin hands him, jaw tightening, anger sparking, hot and bright, within him.

‘Does she know?’

‘Jimin says she doesn’t seem to know,’ Seokjin says, voice low, furious.

Yoongi hands him back the pictures, lip curled in disgust.

‘I think you’d better fucking tell her,’ he says.

‘It’s not just that,’ Seokjin says. ‘I got this, too.’

Yoongi listens to the recording on Seokjin’s phone, swears.

‘Shit, that asshole’s asking to be fucked up.’

‘Call the guys,’ Seokjin says, voice hard. ‘We get her and then we show him what happens to people who fuck with us.’

***

You’re hurrying, running late. You’re meeting a client from Norway in the busiest part of the city at 7pm sharp.

You glance at your watch just as the light goes green at a multiway intersection, watch the numbers indicating how long you have to cross tick down as you walk briskly across the white stripes on the road.

There’s a thunderous roar, a wave of screams, and the throng of people crossing with you disperses rapidly as you look around to see where the noise is coming from.

The crowd’s clearing, but you stay where you are in the middle of the intersection because you recognise the midnight black Honda with the red racing stripes heading straight for you, the sleek silver Nissan keeping pace alongside it.

Your brother drives slightly past you and executes a 90 degree turn so his car’s across your path, lengthways, tyres screeching.

The acrid smell of burning rubber fills your nostrils, but you almost don’t notice it, because three other cars surround you in quick succession, boxing you in.

To your left, Yoongi, dark eyes scanning you as if to assure himself you’re unharmed.

To your right, Hobi, his face more serious than you’ve ever seen him.

Behind you, Jimin, a shadow behind his blinding headlights.

Seokjin leans across the passenger seat, pushes the door open.

‘Get in,’ he says.

***

You have questions, but Seokjin waits until you’re out of the busiest part of town, when the streets get a little wider, the lights less bright, before he starts talking.

You realise he’s taking you to his apartment.

‘What’s going on?’ you ask.

‘Hyunjin threatened you,’ Seokjin says, terse, jaw tense as he navigates the expensive neighbourhood his apartment’s in.

‘He threatened me?’ you ask, sure you’ve heard wrong.

Seokjin glances at you. ‘The land you just purchased.’

You frown. ‘The square footage we fought Jungcorp over?’

‘Jungcorp is Hyunjin’s grandfather’s company,’ Seokjin says.

The puzzle pieces click into place.

You let out a low whistle. ‘Shit. And he calls you chaebol.’

‘The company’s in trouble,’ Seokjin says, ‘and they’re being investigated for running drugs out of Jamsil.’

He slides into a space in the underground car park, cuts the engine.

‘You know Jimin’s part of the narcotics squad.’

‘He didn’t say what he was investigating,’ you reply, sliding out the door, walking with Seokjin to the private lift.

Seokjin punches in the code, activates the lift, and a moment later you’re walking into his apartment.

There are pictures scattered across the coffee table in the lounge, and for once you don’t stop to admire the view of the city.

They’re all pictures of you. Full colour, high resolution.

Pictures of you in your office, walking into your apartment, at a client dinner. Even, to your horror, one of you in your bed, asleep.

‘Who took these?’ you ask. Your voice comes out tremulous, you barely recognise it.

‘Hyunjin had them sent to me,’ Seokjin replies.

You have to sit down.

‘They want you to give up the Jamsil property and land,’ Seokjin tells you.

You’re struggling to take all this in.

‘Or what?’

Seokjin doesn’t want to give you the details of what Hyunjin threatened to do to you.

‘You should stay at mine until this settles down,’ is what he settles for.

You look up at him.

‘I can’t give up the Jamsil land, Seokjin. It’s the biggest victory I’ve had since I took over the company.’

‘No victory is worth your life,’ Seokjin points out.

Logically, you know your brother is right, but you don’t know if he knows how hard you’ve fought since you took control of the reins of the Kim conglomerate.

The times you were challenged over decisions the board would have praised you for, if you were a man.

The tears you cried in secret when your spirit was battered and bruised from pretending you were immune to the snide comments, the demeaning remarks.

You know you’re stronger than the adversity you faced but it’s never been easy.

Seokjin studies your face, a look in his eyes that makes you wonder how much your older brother really knows.

‘Yoongi’ll take you home to get your things. I’ll fix us dinner for when you get back.’

***

Yoongi never really seems to expect anything from you when you’re together.

It’s a trait that you’ve come to appreciate more and more as the years go by.

He listened to your naive prattling about your friends on the odd occasion when he picked you up after school, never commenting except to ask if you wanted ice cream.

He picked you up sometimes when you were back from college, letting you choose the music you wanted to play, handing you snacks silently, sometimes smoking out the open window.

He drives quietly now, changing gears so seamlessly you barely notice even though you’re staring at his hands.

You remember once, a couple years ago, when you’d met by chance when you were walking to the metro after a disastrous blind date.

You’d been so stung by the experience the indignation had tumbled out of you, words jumbled, as he’d pulled up alongside you and offered you a lift.

Yoongi had listened all the way to your apartment, murmuring support in the lower range of his vocal register, a reassuring rumble if not any actual words.

As soon as he’d stopped the car you’d unbuckled your belt, intending to turn to him and thank him, and instead, you’d looked at him looking at you, his hair pulled back from his forehead in a tiny ponytail, eyes dark and unreadable, and you’d leaned forward and kissed him instead.

Yoongi had grunted a little, and you would have pulled away, if he hadn’t cupped the back of your head and sought your lips with a hunger that thrilled you all the way to your bones.

Heat had pooled in your belly, down low, as he licked boldly into your mouth, slid his big hands around your hips to steady you.

You’d pulled away, breathless, more than a little aroused, and he’d quirked a brow at you.

A question.

You think that if you’d showed any uncertainty, Yoongi would have stopped, and so you didn’t.

You’d taken his hardness in your mouth with a confidence fueled by the reverent, affectionate way he said your name, had learned what he liked by the way his breathing quickened until it was laboured gasps, then a single uttered, emphatic ‘fuck’ as he spilled down your throat, hand clenched on the steering wheel.

He’d given you a feral smile, thumbed away a smear of his cum from the corner of your mouth and put his hand up your skirt like it belonged there.

You’d come crying his name, once with his tongue buried deep in your cunt and another time on his cock as he drilled you into your bed.

He’d left in the morning, a kiss on your forehead and a goodbye so sweet it’s never mattered to you that you’ve never talked about that night since.

You sometimes wonder if he still thinks of it. You’ve never asked.

You look out the window as Yoongi drives.

He reaches into the centre console, tosses a packet of chocolate fish into your lap.

‘I’m not a kid, you don’t have to bribe me with snacks,’ you grouse, but you open it anyway.

The chocolate reminds you that you haven’t eaten all day.

‘Stop being cute and I won’t buy you snacks,’ Yoongi says, reasonably.

‘I’m not cute.’

He just snorts.

‘Want one?’ you offer.

‘You look like you need them more than me,’ Yoongi says, but he accepts the fish you place in his palm.

He walks you up to your building once he’s parked, waits in the living room as you pack a bag.

Once you’re back in his car you turn to him.

‘Did you see those pictures?’

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. ‘Yes.’

‘Seokjin’s worried,’ you say.

‘He’s your big brother,’ Yoongi says, neutral. ‘He worries about you like you worry about him.’

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him.

‘I’m not,’ Yoongi says. He glances in the rearview, signals to turn. ‘I’m angry.’

You put your hand on his arm. ‘You’re always angry,’ you point out, gently.

Yoongi huffs out a breath. ‘No one comes for you, especially not some half assed wannabe racer like Hyunjin.’

You’re touched at his anger on your behalf.

Yoongi looks at you. ‘Seokjin and I will take care of it.’

‘I can’t give up the Jamsil land, Yoongi. I’ve finally clawed myself some credibility.’

‘Fuck that,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘You’re not giving up jack shit for that asshole.’

His lip curls in a half snarl. ‘We’re not giving in even if I have to chain you to me to keep you safe.’

You raise an eyebrow at him.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow back.

He stops in front of the private lift to Seokjin’s apartment.

‘I think you’d like being chained to me,’ you say, unable to resist.

The smile he gives you is a mix of rueful and cocky.

‘Of course I fucking would. I’d make you like it too.’

He unlocks the doors so you can get out, rolls down the window as you get into the lift.

‘I think about that night all the fucking time,’ he tells you, voice low.

You look up at him in surprise, but don’t have time to reply before the lift doors shut between you.

***

Seokjin sets a plate in front of you.

‘Eat,’ he urges.

You pick up your chopsticks and dig in.

‘The responsible thing to do would be to tell you to give up the land,’ he says. ‘That’s what our parents would tell you to do.’

His words set off a pang of sadness that resonates in your chest.

‘If our parents were still here I wouldn’t be running the company,’ you reply.

‘I don’t want you to give up the land. I know how hard you fought for that victory.’

Seokjin takes another bite.

‘I know how hard you’ve been fighting.’

‘Running the company was always what I wanted,’ you tell him. ‘It’s just that it was supposed to be with dad at the helm whilst I found my feet.’

It’s the first time you’ve ever come close to hinting that it hasn’t been easy.

There’s sadness in Seokjin’s eyes.

‘I can put in some time at the company. I’m a Kim, too.’

‘The company is what I want,’ you say, very gently, ‘but it’s not what you want.’

Seokjin sighs. ‘What I want is for you to be happy. I am.’

You snort. ‘You have three broken ribs and a fractured collarbone.’

Seokjin smiles. ‘And you have no injuries. Let’s keep it that way.’

You clink your glasses in a toast.

‘So, Jimin, huh?’ Seokjin asks, sly.

You blink at him but don’t say anything.

Your brother manages to smirk at you anyway.

***

You’re in the gym in your brother’s building, running through your PT routine when there’s a flicker of reflection in the floor to ceiling window you’re facing.

Jimin.

‘Seokjin said you’d be down here,’ he says.

You look up at his reflection in the glass.

‘I’ve got a meeting with my board tomorrow,’ you say. ‘They’re going to want to congratulate me on the Jamsil acquisition.’

You get up from the mat, turn around, and realise he’s as sweaty as you are.

Jimin tilts his head, blond hair falling over one eye. He’s wearing a grey hoodie, unzipped, a white t-shirt underneath that’s moulded to his torso, sweatpants, hands shoved in his pockets.

The gold pendant he wears glimmers in the low light of the gym.

There’s a faint bruise on his jaw.

Unthinking, you step forward and brush a thumb over it lightly.

‘What happened?’ you ask.

Jimin stays perfectly still as you touch him.

‘Just some bangers down by the river,’ he says, vague.

‘Hurt anywhere else?’ you ask.

‘Check me over and see,’ he says, an invitation.

He’s ready for the kiss you press on him, sliding his arms around you, hands warm on the gap between your top and leggings.

You lose yourself in his kisses, only realising he’s walked you backward when your back hits the glass.

The cool press of the window against your shoulder blades is a startling contrast to the warmth of him.

Shit, why’s he so warm?

Jimin’s more insistent than usual, you can feel his erection, already rock solid, nudging at your core even between your layers of clothing.

He grunts, fingers tugging at the zipper down the front of your top, working your breasts free, hands cupping you possessively, pinching your nipples.

You’re aware anyone could walk in but you’re struggling to care, at least whilst Jimin’s hot mouth is pressed against your skin and he’s murmuring filth to you as he touches you.

You’re the one who ends up tugging your leggings down. They’re barely at mid thigh before Jimin’s surged forward, entering you to the hilt in one stroke.

‘Shit, Jimin,’ you gasp. It’s tight like this, your legs pinned together.

‘Turn,’ Jimin commands.

He pulls out, turns you, one hand cupping your cheek so your face doesn’t hit the glass, the other pressed into the small of your back so your hips are angled perfectly for him to enter you again.

He fucks you hard, drilling you into the glass, cock gliding in and out of you at a pace that makes stars form behind your eyelids.

You’re not wet enough but the friction adds to the thrill.

Your nipples tighten harder against the cold of the window.

‘Look at you,’ Jimin groans. ‘Fuck, I’m gonna come so hard.’

His hand kneads the flesh of your ass, squeezing so hard you know he’s going to leave handprints.

He groans again, long, drawn out, into the back of your neck as he spills.

You’re stil recovering when he turns you around again, drops to his knees, pushes his head between your thighs.

He looks up at you, flushed, breathless still from fucking you, eyes dark as he licks up into your cunt.

He hooks his hands over your bared thighs, parts you with his thumbs, and laps at your clit.

‘Jimin,’ you gasp.

‘Yeah, fuck,’ he moans. He’s flicking at your clit with the tip of his tongue, slow circles, fingers sliding into you, curving, pressing.

You can see his come leaking out of you, dripping down his hand as your cunt spasms around his fingers.

He keeps up the pace, fingers moving in and out of you, lips suctioning at your clit, and your fingers tighten in his hair as you come.

He moans like he loves the taste of you, licking at your arousal until your knees weaken.

You get re-dressed in a hurry, Jimin helping you with most of it, shucking off his hoodie and pulling it tight around you.

‘Come on. I’ll put you to bed.’

You’re boneless from your orgasm, weary from the stress of the last few days.

You lean on him as you head back up to Seokjin’s apartment.

Jimin waits, seated on the edge of your bed as you take a shower, pulls back the covers so you can get in.

You grasp his wrist as he gets up.

‘Where are you going?’ you ask, sleepy.

‘I’ve got more to do, princess.’

Jimin presses a kiss to your forehead.

‘It’ll be over tomorrow, ok?’

‘Yeah?’

You’re so tired you can barely keep your eyes open.

‘Yeah. Promise.’

You want to ask more but you’re asleep before he leaves your room.

***

You love the view from your office, in the nighttime but also on days like today, when the sun blazes bright, laying out the city before you.

In the distance, the silhouette of Mount Samo.

It always reminds you of Seokjin.

Seokjin had asked you to back down from the deal on the Jamsil land, just until he could ‘take care of things’, but your board meeting’s been planned for months.

The success of the acquisition was meant to be the cherry on the top of the cake, the final step in proving your worth to the company.

You’d tried, at dinner last night, to articulate to Seokjin how much you needed this, but had found yourself too close to tears for comfort.

You think maybe at the end he’d understood.

You breathe in, slow, trying to get your head in the game before you face your board.

Your PA buzzes with a reminder.

You take one last look at Mount Samo in the distance and turn.

Time to go.

The walk to the meeting room’s never felt so short.

Everyone rises when you enter.

You scan the sea of faces around the U-shaped table and are about to sit when the glass door swings open.

The murmur through the room makes you turn sharply.

Your brother, tall and broad and exquisitely coiffed, walks up to stand beside you at the head of the room.

All eyes are on you, but Seokjin doesn’t seem affected in the slightest.

He leans over, and says, simply, ‘I was wrong.’

You search his gaze, and realise how wrong you were to think Seokjin has no idea what you’re going through.

The realisation makes warmth course through you.

You compose yourself enough to say, ‘That’s why our parents left the company to me, brother.’

The laugh you share makes the tension ease in a way it hasn’t in days.

You turn back to your board.

‘Let’s begin.’

***

The meeting is a success.

Maybe you’re just flying high off the reaction to your report, but you think you’ve made a significant step towards proving your abilities.

Seokjin, beside you, loosens his tie as he starts the car.

‘Where are we going?’ you ask.

‘You’ve done your bit,’ Seokjin says, glancing in the rearview as he pulls out of the space he’s parked in.

His jaw tightens. ‘It’s time to do mine.’

***

You’ve never really been on Mount Samo in the day before, and the hairpin bends that Seokjin’s manoeuvring with ease are making you a little queasy.

Seokjin glances at you in the rearview mirror, amusement on his face.

‘I could drive this blindfolded,’ he tells you.

‘That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,’ you mutter, trying to keep your eyes straight ahead instead of gaping over the sheer drop you’re inches away from.

‘What have you got planned?’ you ask.

‘We’ve actually already carried out the plan,’ Seokjin tells you. ‘I thought you’d like to be there for the final part.’

You’re curious, thinking back to the night before, when Jimin met you in the gym and then left because he had things to take care of. You’d never heard Seokjin come back, you’d assumed that you’d been asleep and that he’d been quiet.

For the first time, you notice the dark circles under Seokjin’s eyes, marring his normally perfect complexion.

It strikes you that although you’ve been bemoaning your brother’s lack of involvement in your work life, you know very little about what he gets up to.

‘What did you do, Seokjin?’ you ask.

‘Nothing Hyunjin didn’t have coming to him,’ Seokjin replies.

He shrugs.

‘I set him up to meet again today so he could have a chance to win back the car I won from him the other day. I gave Jimin all the pictures Hyunjin sent me, the threats he sent against you.’

Seokjin’s lips thin into a hard line.

‘Hyunjin’s car’s been captured on CCTV in a notorious spot in Jamsil that the narcotics squad have been monitoring.’

You’re staring at your brother.

‘There are traces of narcotics in the trunk.’

Seokjin blinks. ‘Jimin knows I won the car, but he left with you that night so he hasn’t seen it driven by anyone other than Hyunjin.’

You see what your brother’s done.

You turn to him, realising only now, how carefully he’s been watching you this whole time.

Seokjin’s voice is carefully neutral. ‘This is the kind of thing your big brother gets up to.’

Seokjin doesn’t know about everything in your life, and you don’t know everything about his.

All you know is, he’s your brother, and you can stand up for him like he stood up for you.

You put your hand on his, where it’s loosely curled over the gear shaft.

‘Guess you’re a good big brother after all.’

Seokjin fixes his gaze on your joined hands, throat bobbing as he swallows.

‘I’m the best,’ he agrees, giving you a crooked smile.

***

When you make it to the summit, Yoongi’s already there, peering through binoculars.

‘Hey princess,’ he says, shifting over on the hood of his car to make room for you.

He hands you the binoculars, casual. ‘Check this out.’

You hold the binoculars up, and Yoongi gently pushes you in the right direction, fingers warm under your chin.

The scene’s a few hundred feet down from the summit, and for once you’re not distracted by the vertiginous drop.

There’s Hyunjin’s distinctive car flanked by a tactical team, all clad in distinctive blue and yellow jackets over bulletproof vests.

Hyunjin, hands above his head.

A flash of blonde hair you’d know anywhere.

Jimin cuffing him and guiding him to an armoured van.

Beside you, there’s the clink of a lighter as Yoongi lights a cigarette.

You lower the binoculars.

‘I guess that’s that.’

Seokjin lowers his own binoculars.

‘Guess so.’

‘Your boyfriend’s a good cop,’ Yoongi remarks.

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ you reply.

Yoongi’s dark eyes fix on you with interest, but all he does is hum, noncommittal.

It’s barely a quarter of an hour before a car pulls up to the summit, parks beside Seokjin’s.

Jimin steps out, still in his regs, a sight for sore eyes.

He looks tired, but he smiles when he sees you.

‘We’ve got him,’ he tells you.

‘We saw,’ you say.

‘I’ve got to go down to the precinct, then they’re sending me down to Gwangju.’

He hesitates. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. It could be months.’

You reach out and give him a hug.

He smells faintly of sweat and gunmetal, and you think you like it.

‘I guess you should call me when you’re next in town then,’ you tell him, close so only he can hear.

Jimin turns his head, lets his lips brush your cheek.

‘Is that an invitation, princess?’

‘Take it however you want it,’ you reply.

Jimin laughs. ‘I will.’

He gives you a look so heated your skin warms. He nods at Seokjin and Yoongi, gets back in the car.

You all watch him drive off.

Yoongi finishes his cigarette, grinds it into the dirt at his feet.

‘Dinner?’ Seokjin suggests.

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

Yoongi curls his lip at you, that familiar slow smirk that makes your heart skip a beat.

‘Wanna ride, princess?’

Seokjin rolls his eyes. ‘See you guys at the restaurant.’

You guess he really is the best brother ever.

©hamsterclaw 2023

#jimin smut #yoongi smut #jimin fanfiction #yoongi fic #bts smut #bts fanfic

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antxlss · 6 months

Text

but, you’re my boss I

pairing: anakin skywalker x reader (modern au)

summary: you and your best friend, padmé have a movie night. she gets tired of you complaining about your lack of a love life and takes matters into her own hands.

warnings: conversation about a sexual interaction

words: 1.3k

a/n: first part is finally out! if you guys know me, you know i’m a slow writer. i hope you guys enjoy the first chapter of this series. once again i’d like to thank the anon that requested this, i hope to do it justice. fair warning this is starting off slow, not a lot of anakin interaction yet. i hope it was worth the wait. as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! ~ max :)

-—————————⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆—————————-

series masterlist | my masterlist

Your life is boring.

Everyday was the same. Work, eat, sleep, and occasionally go out with your only friend, Padmé. You worked a 9-5 at a big engineering company. You're a receptionist for the customer service department of the company. This is just a job to keep you stable while you complete your master's degree in forensic psychology, then you'll be on your merry way making triple what you make right now.

You hated the job, taking calls, making copies, faxing documents, but you have to keep food on the table. Not to mention your boss is a prick.

It's not like you ever talked to him. The company is huge and he would never spend time to talk to a lowly customer service representative like you. But that's exactly why he's a prick.

Anakin Skywalker. The face of Skywalker Engineering. He's young, late 20's. He's filthy rich. Always has been. He inherited the business from his family and you can only assume he'll pass it on to his children. He's never known what it's like to struggle and you despise him for it, despite never talking to him at all.

You are wrapping up another dreadful day at work, at least it's Friday, when you get a call. You pick up your phone to see who it is, it's Padmé. Who else would it be? You click the answer button and tuck your phone between your ear and shoulder so you can continue to finish up clearing your desk.

"Hey Mé, what's up?" You greet.

"I'm coming over tonight and I'm staying the night and we are gonna binge Harry Potter because I haven't watched it in forever." Padmé rambled.

"Oh my gosh you read my mind." You groaned.

"What can I say? I'm good like that." You could practically hear Padmé's smirk through the phone. "I'll be over at 7."

"Sounds good, I'm about to leave work." You informed.

"Okay, drive safe, I love you!" Padmé finishes.

"I love you, see you later." You reply and hang up.

You quickly finish up, start to grab your things. You are so excited to see Padmé, it's nice to have things to do on the weekends.

You swing your purse over your shoulder and head to the elevator. You press the down button and step in and click the lobby floor. The doors begin to slide closed when all of a sudden they retract back as a hand slides in between them at the last moment.

In steps your boss, Anakin Skywalker.

He keeps his eyes forward and doesn't even glance at you. You shift uncomfortably, the silence becoming awkward, in your mind, very quickly.

"But you faxed those papers over, correct?" Anakin asks with a concerned tone.

What is he taking about? You were the only other person on the elevator, he had to be taking to you.

"Uh- I'm sorry?" You stuttered.

"One second Janet." Anakin taps his ear on the opposite side that you're standing on. "Did you say something?" He turned towards you.

Holy shit. He was using an earpiece.

"No! No, I'm sorry." You wanted to just disappear.

Anakin quickly faced forward again, unfazed, and continued his conversation. As soon as the elevator doors opened you jetted out and practically ran to your car trying your best to forget about that moment. Knowing you, it would haunt your late night thoughts for the rest of your life.

It was now 6:30 and you were fixing up your living room all cozy for when Padmé gets here. You get blankets and throw them on the couch and set out the DVD's. You begin to make popcorn when you hear a key turning in the door signaling that Padmé had made it.

You gave her a key to your apartment as soon as you got it. You and Padmé have been friends since your freshman year of college and quickly grew close. Now you consider her more of a sister than a friend.

"Y/N/N!" Padmé squealed and ran over to you in the kitchen. She jumps on you giving you a big hug.

"Mé! I've missed you so, so much." You match her energy. You squeeze her back and finally pull away.

"I've missed you too! So much has happened bitch, you don't even know." She walks over to the cabinet that you keep your wine in.

"Spill." You state simply.

You grab the popcorn from the microwave and start to pour it in the bowl.

"Okay so you know how I've been seeing that guy Mark, right?" She asks while pouring 2 glasses of wine.

You nod in confirmation and grab the glass of wine from Padmé.

"Well last night he stayed over..."

"No way, bitch! Did you fuck him?" You ask excitedly.

"Yes..." She starts.

"You whore! I bet his dick is so big, how was it..."

Padmé cuts you off. "It was so bad. Like I was ready to die."

"Really? But he's so hot. It's always the hot ones." You roll your eyes. "I want all the hard, wet, nasty details."

She gags. "One, that's fucking disgusting. Two, it actually was the worst sex I've ever had. So we get done with dinner right? And I thought he would invite me to his place but he literally asks me to come to mine. That should've been the first red flag, but you know, he's hot so I ignored it."

You snort and nod your head then take a sip of your wine.

Padmé continues. "So we get to my place and I can't even get in the door before his hands are on me. Not in a hot way by the way. So I push him off me and I lead him to the bedroom so we can properly fuck. Well we lay down and we are making out. He literally started dry humping like a fucking dog. Again, not in the hot way."

"What a turn off." You cringe.

"Tell me about it bitch. So I rush undressing him because I actually thought he was gonna cum just by humping me. Then we are both fully undressed."

"How big?" You interrupt.

"Average, nothing special." She replies. "Anyway, he puts it in and in five seconds he's having an orgasm."

"That's a major ick" You grimace.

"For real. The he had the nerve to ask me if I got off."

"Mé, I hope you didn't let him stay after that." You laugh.

"I didn't even have to kick him out, he just got dressed and left." She explained.

"What a dickhead."

"It's not over though." She grins. "I just matched with his brother on tinder and he is a thousand times hotter."

"That's a such a cunty move, I respect it." You elbow her and she laughs in response.

After a few seconds of comfortable silence you decide to break it.

"Your life is so exciting. I swear I just live vicariously through you."

"That's depressing. Come on, what happened to the Tinder account we sat up?" Padmé asks.

"Every guy I matched with was a fucking creep." You groan. "I'm just about to become celibate or a lesbian or something."

"Okay, I'm tired of hearing it." She shuts you down. "I'm setting you up on a blind date."

You laugh. "Absolutely not."

"Y/N, you just said it. Your life is boring, you can't find any guys, you're going to become celibate. You're desperate. Meaning you are in no position to turn down this offer."

"Okay, fine." You sigh.

"I'll set it up and text you the details later. I think I have the perfect guy in mind." She smirks.

"Whatever, let's just watch Harry Potter now." You get up and grab the popcorn and make your way to the couch. You and Padmé binge the movies all weekend long.

#anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin x you #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin fanfiction #hayden christensen x reader smut #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR ONE

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni, excessive use of pet names (to annoy reader), excessive use of fuck (again, to annoy reader)

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.1k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

1:00 ─ㅇ───────────────── 24:00

HOUR ONE - 4:00 PM

You had a lot of regrets. You were a college student – it was hardwired in your psyche to make an endless stream of stupid decisions you would come to rue.

There was that time you signed up for an 8 AM math class during your freshman year. There was the time your boss walked in on you spitefully gossiping specifically about him and his lack of leadership skills (you had been fired the next week, no surprise). There was that time Steve Harrington convinced you to get matching tattoos with him while drunk last summer, and now you had to explain to each new person you met why you had a ghost giving a thumbs down with a speech bubble stating ‘BOO’ on your ankle.

You had made plenty of dumb mistakes, enough to last you a lifetime.

But this? This had to take the trophy home for your worst impulsive decision yet.

“I’m not going in there,” you huff, crossing your arms as you lean miserably against the wall across from the open door of apartment 2C. An apartment you’d avoided ardently over the last year. To the point of even braving severe FOMO after turning down hanging out with your friends, solely because they’d be hanging out here.

“C’mon,” Steve stands in the threshold, waiting impatiently for your tantrum to end. You had to hand it to him – he had a way of being beautifully tolerant of your misbehavior over the years. All your sour moods, all your childish antics, all your moody mornings. Steve was there for them all the last three years, “Five hundred dollars, remember? You just have to survive a day, and then you’ll be rich.”

There it was – the only thing that could possibly motivate you to make such a catastrophic agreement with alcohol and drugs out of the equation. Money.

It had taken nearly an hour for everyone to agree on the terms the night before when the bet was first born, but in the end, it seemed fair enough to all involved parties. The wager was five hundred dollars for you and five hundred dollars for Eddie if you two managed, partially funded by your friends pooling their money and partially funded by the Harrington Inheritance. The two of you would set base in Eddie’s apartment, considering you were living in the dorms, and you were instructed to send hourly proof to the group chat. A group chat, that ironically, Eddie was not a part of.

You’re not sure why. You never cared to ask.

Regardless, five hundred dollars was a lot of money to a broke college student. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d managed to keep more than one hundred dollars in your account for more than a few hours. It was the kind of money that could pay for a few months’ worth of groceries, that would give you the freedom to properly go out rather than settle for another night in with movies your friend group had already seen ten times over. The kind of money you would probably flounder with once it was in your hand.

“And if I don’t survive?” you sigh dramatically, leaning further into the wall, your bag you’d packed for your time growing heavier in your grasp, “What if, he, like, murders me, Steve?”

“He’s not going to murder you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“If he was going to, he already would have.”

“I’ve never been around him long enough to give him a chance! What if that’s the only reason he agreed? What if this was his plan all along? He gets me alone for twenty four hours, I mysteriously disappear, and next thing you know, they find my body in the local canal-”

“While I’m flattered you think so highly of me that I would be capable of planning something so extensively,” the devil himself appears behind Steve’s shoulder, looking to be just as irritated as you, “Harrington’s right. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now.”

“Right. Cause that’s reassuring,” you snap in Eddie’s direction.

Steve takes a deep breath, no doubt mentally preparing himself for whatever bickering is about to ensue as he sidesteps so he’s not stuck in the middle of your line of fire.

“Listen, are we doing this or not? Because if not, I’ve got shit to do,” Eddie glowers at you, tapping his foot impatiently.

You hate him. You really, really hate him. In the most earnest sense of the word. He was impossible, he was cocky, he was obnoxious. And it never helped that he hated you just as much, always adding fuel to the fire. From the moment the two of you had met, it was instant friction. You said go, he said stop. You wanted pizza, he wanted Chinese. Every time a small, mundane decision had to be made as a group, he’d be sure to announce his opinion, always the opposite of yours.

You’re convinced he solely exists to be the bane of your existence. It’s probably the best part of his day.

“Five hundred dollars,” you mutter under your breath, finally lifting your bag and leaving your spot against the wall. It was now or never. If you didn’t get this over with now, you’d walk away and be army-crawling financially through life again. You needed the five hundred dollars more than you care to admit.

It had to be worth it. It had to be.

The moment you enter the apartment, you’re hit with the scent of him. Something musky, something of subtle spice. It’s all tobacco and pot, cheap cologne and boy. It’s easily overwhelming, and you almost turn around to make a cheap shot at Eddie regarding it before Steve shuts the front door and engages him into conversation.

Maybe you’d get used to it within the first few hours.

The rest of the apartment is decorated exactly how you’d expect from Eddie. There’s a certain messy quality to it all without being dirty. The couch looks worn, probably having not been brand new to begin with when Eddie found or bought it. There’s a coffee table covered in random papers, joined by two empty beer bottles and a couple of random dice. He has a TV, albeit small, and the entertainment center that it stands upon is littered by various nerdy collector’s items.

“Welcome to my palace,” he calls out from behind you, no longer distracted by Steve, “Sorry if it’s not up to your standards.”

“It’s fine,” you gruffly reply, turning back around to look at him, “Where, uh, can I put my things?”

The wicked grin that slowly spreads over his face can only spell out bad news, “Wherever. You’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

“Dude,” Steve sighs.

“What? It’s a one bedroom apartment, and I’m not giving her my bed,” Eddie explains as he brushes past the two of you and heads for his kitchen.

If it were anyone else, you’d insist that it’s fine. Practicality tells you that he shouldn’t have to give up his bed. It’s his apartment, his room, his bed – in short, his rules. But it’s Eddie, so the fact that he’s made this decision without you only stokes the burning coals of disdain. Plus, the couch looked like the farthest thing from comfortable.

“Whatever,” you scoff. You weren’t going to let him know he was already creeping beneath your skin. You were playing the long game here; you were going to start off civil, keep track of just how many offenses he committed against you, and then strike back. “It’s just one night. I’ll live.”

“Unless I murder you!” his voice calls out to you and Steve from the kitchen.

“Unless he murders me,” you agree with a scowl.

Steve puts a caring hand on your shoulder, forcing a frown that’s completely insincere before he says, “What do you want on your gravestone? Also, what’s your preference for flowers at your funeral?” He breaks into laughter as you smack him roughly on his shoulder, “Sorry! Sorry, geez. Just want to have all my ducks in the row. I’ll be sure to ask him the same thing.”

Part of you is absolutely convinced this can only end in bloodshed. You can’t recall a single time you and Eddie have lasted more than ten minutes in a room together without escalating into a full blown screaming match. There was even a time you’d thrown a glass at him at one of Steve’s parties, narrowly missing his head as he’d ducked and let the glass shatter against the wall of the shared apartment with Robin. You’d felt awful remorse towards Steve in the end. As for Eddie? You’d only wished your aim had been better.

Steve disappears into the kitchen and you’re left alone once more, wandering as you inspect some of the collectibles more closely by the TV. Most items were from the Lord of the Rings franchise, a few Star Wars items, and an abundance of D&D figurines. All things that you went through phases of piqued interest for, but nothing terribly exciting. They had been just that – phases. Apparently, when it came to Eddie, such things didn’t exist. The apartment really just looked as if someone had taken a teenage boy’s room, and let it explode over more extensive square footage. As if he entered the typical phases for boys his age in high school, and never grew up.

Just as you reach out to grab one of the D&D figurines, a three-headed dragon, Eddie enters the living room with Steve at his side.

“Hey! Don’t fucking touch that!” Eddie shouts, making you jump back, finger no longer hovering over his glorified action figure.

“Jesus Christ!” you shout back just as loudly, glaring up at him, “Ever heard of an inside voice?”

He completely ignores the comment as his nostrils flare and he stands between you and the entertainment center, “We need to set some ground rules. Rule one, do not touch my shit, especially this stuff. They’re collectibles, fucking rare and crazy expensive. Keep your hands to yourself, princess.”

The nickname is a match, striking against the roughness of your hatred, ready to burst into the flames of one of the classic screaming matches between the two of you. Steve can see it clear as day.

He clears his throat immediately, “Alright, alright. Calm down, children,” you open your mouth to argue against that nickname, but he doesn't leave pause for you to interject, “I’m leaving now. I know we joked about you two killing each other but…. Just, please don’t? It’s not worth it. Think of the money.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, his eyes unmoving from you as you muster up just as hateful of a glare.

“Hey! Are you two listening to me?” he claps his hands, and the staring contest ends as you both reluctantly offer him your attention, “I’m serious. Who knows? Maybe you two can come out of this friends.”

Friends. The mere idea makes you cackle cruelly, Eddie balking immediately.

“As if,” you sneer as Eddie spits, “Over my dead body.”

Steve simply shrugs, “You say that now. We’ll see what changes over the next twenty four hours.”

Nothing, you want to say. Nothing is going to change over the next twenty four hours, except I’ll be five hundred dollars richer.

You join Eddie in walking Steve back to the door, even though you technically don’t have to because, technically, it’s not your apartment. But it’s still the polite thing to do, and Steve is still your friend, so you do.

Eddie opens the door, and you stand a few steps away from them, shifting back and forth on your feet awkwardly. Steve pauses to check the watch on his wrist before turning and facing the two of you a final time.

“Alright, so, it’s currently four-fifteen. That means you-” he pauses and points directly to you, “-need to send proof of you both being alive, well, and still together at five-fifteen. You guys can leave the apartment, but you have to go with each other, and you can’t ditch each other wherever you might end up going. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” you answer in monotone, Eddie not saying a word.

“Good. Oh, by the way,” Steve already has one foot out the door, and you know it’s deliberate. Whatever he’s about to say, you’re not going to be happy about, “Expect randomized calls from all of us throughout it all. Including through the night. Cool? Cool! See you guys tomorrow, and keep your phones charged!”

Both you and Eddie are already attempting to argue, immediately upset by this detail that was kept from both of you, but Steve is already jogging down the hallway, away from the chaotic outburst.

“What the fuck?” Eddie says in annoyance, his face twisted terribly, “I didn’t agree to be babysat during this. I just want my fucking money.”

Even though you were also seething at the additional rule, you opt instead to make a comment to get under Eddie’s skin rather than complain in agreement. “I think you forgot an F-bomb somewhere in there.”

“Oh?” he turns to you, letting the door slam shut as he swings his arm, “My fucking bad. I fucking guess I should fucking watch my fucking language, yeah? Fucking oops.”

“Has anyone told you you’re fucking annoying?” you ask in contempt.

“Yeah. You.”

He stalks away from his entry way at that, clearly pleased at getting the last word in this argument. And it nearly kills you, because you have no choice but to follow him back into his living room.

It’s going to be a long twenty four hours.

He’s clearly heading towards the couch to sit down, and you can’t fathom staying in close proximity for another moment, so you begin to veer towards the kitchen.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks suddenly once your back is turned to him.

“The kitchen?” you glance over your shoulder, lifting an eyebrow, “Or is that not allowed?”

“Why are you going to the kitchen?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because it’s my fucking apartment.”

Right. He has a point. You won’t tell him that, but he has a point.

He’s rerouted himself from the couch towards the hallway you’re about to enter, towering over you as his lips settle into a predictable frown.

“Can you go more than ten seconds without dropping an F-bomb? Seriously,” you question, crossing your arms, “I just want water or something. Is that a crime?”

“To answer your first question,” he shifts around your body in the tight space, his hand brushing your hip. Both of you jump back at the contact as if even touching each other burns, “No. I fucking can’t. Not when I know it bothers you so much, sweetheart,” he’s once again using a nickname he knows will irritate you on purpose as he walks into what you assume the kitchen is. And once again, you’re following behind him like a lost puppy, having to swallow your pride like a jagged pill, “Secondly, one of my rules is to not touch my shit, so… Yeah. It is a crime by the law of the land.”

“Law of the land?” you snort, rolling your eyes, “My God. What are you going to do? Call the police? ‘Hello, yes, 911? I’d like to report a crime. A girl I voluntarily let into my home got herself a glass of water.’”

You choose to purposefully pitch your voice higher rather than lower as you clearly mock him. It gets the reaction you were seeking out - his entire body stiffens as he stops in front of a cabinet.

“Congratulations,” he says slowly, turning at an agonizing pace to face you, “It’s a new record. It’s been less than five minutes alone, and you’ve already gotten on my fucking nerves.”

“Good,” is all you can reply.

He huffs in response before he goes back to whatever he was doing before, opening the cabinet to expose a small assortment of glasses and mugs alike. None of them match – all of them were clearly either bought at different times, or gifts, in the mugs case. They’re the type you might find at Spencer’s, all pop culture references or character faces. He grabs one of the smaller, plain clear cups, turning around to hand it to you.

Before your hand can wrap around it, he yanks it back momentarily, “Now, if you decide to throw this cup at my head like a raging bitch, it’s plastic. Minimal damage. Keep that in mind, yeah?”

Once he’s gotten in his smart-ass remark, he lets you take the cup from him.

So he’s also thinking of Steve’s party. Good to know.

“That’s fine. I’ve practiced my throws since then. I’m aiming for your crotch next time.”

If you two were friends, it might be funny. You would have said it in light-hearted cadence, he would have thrown his head back in laughter, and it could be passed off as a simple inside joke between two acquaintances. But you aren’t friends, and you say it in a convincingly serious tone, and he doesn’t even smile.

“You can get water from the fridge,” he informs you flatly, “Try not to break it.”

“It’s a fridge that dispenses water. I know how it works, asshole. I’ve used one before.”

“You never know,” he shrugs. You expect him to walk away, to leave you to it, but instead he leans against his counter and watches you.

And he thought he was the one being babysat over simple phone calls?

You choose to bite your tongue for once as you fill the cup half full of water, taking your time as you sip some down, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

It’s only been a few seconds of silence. Blissful, wonderful, divine silence. But of course, it’s Eddie, and the moment he notices you begin to relax, he has to speak up and ruin it.

“If I knew all it takes to shut you up is to keep your mouth occupied, sweetheart, I would have done it sooner,” he comments, and it takes practiced patience to slowly lower the cup and swallow what water is in your mouth without bursting with rage. But he has to comment on even that, “Aw, and you swallow? Just full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

You turn to him, face flooding a brilliant shade of red as your eyes narrow. In the most virulent tone you can muster, you only respond with, “I hate your guts.”

He grins. It’s not friendly – it’s downright bellicose. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Yeah. It’s going to be a very long twenty four hours.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #twenty four hours #there will be no y/n by the way haha #this was fun i love dropping this when i know half my mutuals are sleeping #happy friday or saturday depending on where you are!!

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modern-inheritance · 2 months

Note

Now that you mention Valentine’s day… Could we have some Iz and #1 Daddy Evandar moments from the past pleeeeeeeease 🥹

My dear anon, you have given me several ideas and I will do my best to get them down and out by the end of the week.

It’ll probably be focused on things WAY before Arya is born BUT! It will indeed be focused on Evandar and Islanzadi. And will help me introduce several things that have been in limbo for a long time. So, thank you. But per usual, patience is key! 😁 it will be out when it is ready and not a second sooner.

#eragon #inheritance cycle #the cyclists #modern inheritance #the inheritance cycle #ket's modern inheritance cycle #modern inheritance asks #oh hoho I have THINGS in my head now

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evergreen-stories · 12 days

Text

The Forest Beauty | (Aemond x f!modern!reader) (part 1/?)

Summary: time traveler decides to live her new life out in the kingswood, avoiding the new world she finds herself in until an encounter with a certain one-eyed prince changes her life.

Warnings: dark!themes, dark!aemond, obsessive!aemond, book!aemond, no intimacy (smut starts with part 2), intro and first part are kinda a slow burn to introduce the storyline & character

Non-Canon Storyline: 3 years post war – greens won, Aegon's only son was k*lled and only has two daughters remaining, he cannot produce more heirs, Helaena is alive but depressed,Aemond serves as prince regent ever since Aegon got injured during the war and is chronically sick and getting weaker, Aemond is to inherit the iron throne soon, Aemond k*lled Alys Rivers along with all other strongs, Aemond broke the betrothal to Floris Baratheon when he became Prince Regent and won the war (Also, I'm not a native english speaker, please be patient with me)

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

< intro masterlist part 2 > (coming soon)

You wander around the woods, returning from another day of working in the city and coming closer and closer to your home when you start to feel uneasy, as if you’re not alone in the forest. You stop and listen, noticing the sound of footsteps close by. With careful steps you approach the sounds, noticing a head full of silvery hair between the trees and watching it carefully.

A man with an eyepatch, dressed in black leather clothes and carrying a long, sheathed sword on his hip. You monitor him carefully; his hands behind his back as he is gazing out into the treeline, he seems to be taking a stroll. But this deep within the forest?

You stalk him for a while, trailing his steps as you make sure to stay hidden. Too busy with staring at him you don't notice a branch on the ground, stepping on it and causing a loud *krack* sound.

The silver haired stranger turns around quickly, facing you and making eye contact. You know it's too late to hide now, as his lilac eye meets yours and a wicked smile forms on his lips

“Hello there, little one. Are you lost?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” You say, looking him up and down more closely now. He doesn’t look like someone that should be wandering this deep into the forest. You notice the tell-tale signs of a Targaryen. You’ve heard of them and noticed a few children with these features when you explored the street of silk once. But who exactly was this man standing in front of you right now?

His mouth twitches, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Oh, I am not lost, little lamb. Simply having a nice stroll to take my mind off the stress of ruling. May I ask who I have the pleasure of finding so deep in the woods?”

“No, you may not.” You answer, staying wary of the stranger. You’re starting to connect the emblems on his clothes and scabbard with the ones you’ve seen on royal guards patrolling the city before, this man must be one of the princes. “You should leave. These woods aren’t a place for a pretty prince like you.”

“My, my, my. So confrontational. Why the defensiveness, my beautiful little lamb? Are you hiding something?” He steps closer to you, his voice now has a hint of danger in it.

“No one wanders this part of the woods. You’re better suited closer to the city.” You say, trying to sound more polite than before, quickly understanding the prince might not appreciate the disrespect.

“Ah, yes, no one wanders this part of the woods. Well, that only makes me wonder how a pretty little lamb like you got herself as deep in here as I did. Unless, of course, you are not alone.” His eye leaves yours, scanning along the tree line before stepping closer once again.

“Relax, this is no ambush. Unless you keep on intruding on my space, then it just might.” You say sternly, hoping to play into his paranoia and get him to leave quickly.

“I do so wish I could believe you, little lamb.” His eye still scans over the tree line as his hand falls to the hilt of his sword. “How do you expect me to relax when a beautiful girl like you is all alone in the woods? You couldn’t have gotten this far without help.”

“I have. You don’t think all that dirt and tools on me are for decoration, do you?” You say, gesturing to the axe tied to your belt, knifes dangling off the bag you carry that’s strung over your chest.

“And what exactly did I catch you doing all alone in the woods, little lamb?” His voice is firm now, eye narrowing as he takes a closer look at you, trying to judge you.

You remain quiet for a few moments before deciding to answer truthfully. “I live here.”

“You live here, little lamb?” His eye scans over you once more. “YOU live in the woods?” His voice is filled with equal measures of surprise and disbelief.

“I do.” You say affirmingly. “And I’m not fond of guests.”

“A woman alone in the wild? No man to protect her? No family?” His disbelief is evident in his voice and expression. “I cannot imagine how a beautiful woman like you has endured out here.”

Upset at his words, you feel anger starting to boil deep inside of you. Women in this time are still property to be owned, another reason why you decided to live out here, away from society. “Cut the feigned sympathy. I live just fine out here.”

“But is it really living, little lamb? Living in the wild? Surely a woman of your beauty must desire the comfort and luxuries of civilization. Do you feel no desire to start a family, to have someone care for you and protect you?” His tone seems kinder now, almost caring, although his disbelief is still clear and you cannot shake the feeling of danger coming from him.

Suspicious at his invasive nature you raise an eyebrow. “What is this? A tea party to exchange gossip?”

“Oh no, little lamb. You are a most fascinating creature and you have sparked my interest. I am merely trying to find out more about who you are.”

“I’m not interested in conversation-“

“Now, now, little lamb, we’ve come this far already. It wouldn’t be very polite to turn down a crown prince like this.” His eye narrows, an obvious predatory hint in his voice as his hand tightens on the hilt of his blade. “It’s appalling for a citizen to turn down their crown prince, my dear little lamb.”

You tighten your jaw, nervous at the sudden turn this situation has taken but unwilling to comply with his orders. “I am not a citizen of yours-“

“Everyone is a citizen of mine!” His words are soothing with anger as his patience has reached its limit and he pulls the blade from its sheath. “Now come closer little lamb. I’ll help you back to the city where you belong, where it’s safe.” He begins to stalk towards you, his dark gaze fixed upon you.

You take a few steps back before you turn around and start running, using the the fact you know these woods like no other to lure him away from where your home is before skillfully outmaneuvering him in the thick forest, hiding successfully in a small cave. The silver haired man tries to follow you, you can hear him yell profanities and curse words as he struggles to keep up with you, eventually getting caught up in the thicket and falling behind. "Damn you!" Aemond shouts as he breaks free of the branches and finds himself standing in a clearing with no sign of the little Lamb in sight. Where the hell did she go? Damn this forest. Damn her.

He inelegantly shoves his sword back into its casing, taking a last long look around the scenery before begrudgingly turning around to make his way back to the city.

The rest of his day is plagued by thoughts about her, remembering every single detail about his encounter with this strange, wild little Lamb. She lives in the woods all alone, with no one to care for her? Surely, he thinks to himself, no one would truly want to do that.

She did seem awfully skilled at maneuvering the trees and avoiding my chase. Could she truly be completely alone? He wonders, staring into the lit fireplace of his chambers, his finger mindlessly tapping along the rim of the almost drained cup in his hand. His interest in the little lamb was definitely piqued. He would venture out into the woods to find her again once his duties allowed him to.

time skip / two weeks have passed

Things went back to normal after the encounter with the stranger, you didn’t see him again, but you did make sure to be extra cautious about your surroundings at all times, avoiding all travelers for the time being.

You’re sitting on a boulder in the river, only your ankles in the water as you sharpen your axe using whet stones from the river while waiting for the fish you caught this morning to finish smoking. You’re deep in thoughts as when you notice an unusual rustling of leaves behind you and catch a glimpse of the familiar silver head through the trees.

Here we go again.

The silver haired man had been stalking the Kingswood once again as he had done for several days since he encountered the strange little Lamb the first time. Searching for any hints as to where she lived, so that he could go back and speak with her again.

His hope was running low when then he finally saw her again, sitting in the river, tending to her tools. His heart skipped multiple beats, he couldn’t quite explain why he felt like this.

Still, she is the only one this far into the woods. No one around to protect her, just like when he had met her last time. This woman was a mystery he was most eager to solve. He slowly and deliberately stalked over to her, taking great care to be as sneaky and quiet as possible.

Even though you had noticed him immediately you keep focusing on your tool, pretending you hadn't noticed him as he approaches, hiding behind the last tree that provides him with cover before he would have to step out into the open.

"What is it you want?" You ask after a while, your voice loud and clear while your eyes are still focused on the task at hand. His attempts to remain hidden are more amusing than anything else.

The man was startled but quickly covers his reaction with his typical demeanor, standing proud with his hands behind his back as he steps out of the tree line and approaches the mysterious beauty carefully, as if trying not to startle her. She had quite a sharp ear. Although, he should have known better. If this little lamb had survived by herself in the woods, hearing the noises of the trees and animals was a skill she must have honed greatly.

Once he’s only a few feet away he stops abruptly, contemplating his choice of words before he speaks in a friendly yet stern manner. "You are quite perceptive little Lamb."

He remains quiet for a while. You’re still focused on your tool, not looking up, as you probe him further. "Speak. I know you've been following me for a while."

“I was simply fascinated with your lifestyle after our last encounter, that is all." He comes a few steps closer, enough to look at her properly, but not so close as to make himself a threat. "Why do you live out here, by yourself? Away from civilization and society?"

"Because I wish to do so." You say, now leaning forward to wash off the freshly sharpened axe in the river water.

"But is there no other reason little Lamb? You do not get... lonely? You do not yearn for society or friends? This forest is cold, dark, and dangerous." The mans voice seems filled with what seems like genuine concern for your welfare.

"The forests seem like that only to those who aren't welcome in them." You say, now looking up at him for the first time this conversation. "What do I get out of sharing my life story with you?"

Aemond's eyebrow quirked slightly at your words. Your words were not aggressive but they were not exactly kind or welcoming either. „You get to answer your crown prince a few questions that have been gnawing on his mind for a while. Who could say it wouldn’t be worth it?”

“I could say. The less people know about me, the better. Easier to stay hidden that way.”

Aemond stays silent after she says that, thinking over her words in his head. Stay hidden from what? From whom? What could make her feel that she must remain hidden... "Tell me, my little Lamb. Who are you hiding from?" Perhaps after finding out that one thing, he can put this obsession to rest.

"Men like you." You answer, now shifting your attention back to your tools, reaching back into the river to fetch out another whet stone to sharpen a big knife now.

"Men like me?" His eye narrows. " I am no threat to you. What could possibly have led you to believe that? You are alone so deep in the woods and I have not shown you any hostility... yet."

"No hostility?" You say laughing. "Chasing me with your sword was what then? A local friendship ritual I’m not familiar with?"

"Oh, I was simply trying to get you to stop and talk to me. That is all." He says, a small smile gracing his lips at her words. He found her laughter quite endearing.

“Didn’t work very well now, did it?”

"No I suppose not," His smile grows slightly, he finds this strange little Lamb's demeanor quite intriguing. He was never great at interacting with women, but this one seemed comfortable in his company, at least somewhat. Even if she was also incredibly untrusting and suspicious of him, or of men in general. He looks at her intently, savouring her smile as he knows his next words will wipe it right off her face again.

“I want to know more about you. I will not leave until you tell me more.” He says and as predicted, her cheeky smile gets replaced with a frown again.

“I told you, I won’t-“ he interrupts her quickly, almost pleading with her, “I know, I know. But I need to know. I cannot rest at night. I will not tell anyone about you. Whatever you tell me, it will not have any consequences, I swear it.”

You sigh deeply, pondering his words. You couldn’t care less for telling your story, the possibility of sharing too much lingering in the back of your mind. Then again, perhaps this is just what you needed. Sharing a bit of your true self with someone after having to carefully craft a fake persona and uphold it for the past two years. “Fine then. What is it you want to know?”

His eyes light up at that statement as he takes his time deciding which one of his many questions he should ask first. “Your accent, it seems out of place. Are you not from here?”

You immedily begin to regret your decision to talk to him, struggling to find a way to phrase the truth in a way it doesn’t sound too outlandish. “No, I am not. I come from a land far away, you wouldn’t know it.”

“Did you come alone?”

“Sort of. I came here with others but they… forgot me. Or maybe they are just unable to return. I wouldn’t know.” You say, looking out into the flowing river as you remember.

“Forgot you? Why would your family just forget you?”

“They weren’t my family. They were… people I knew. We went here and they left, never to return, at least not until today. They probably told my family I died.” What had they told your family? You often wondered it. The changes of the seasons and moons made it easy for you to tell how much time had passed here, in this world. Did as much time pass back home? Was your family even informed of what truly happened or were they waiting back home for a sign of life that would never come, with no way of knowing your fate?

Aemond is quiet for a while, processing this information. “How long have you been here?”

“I’ve been here two winters already, the coming one will be my third.”

“THAT long?” He blurts out, mind racing. “You have survived here alone all this time, out in this forest, with no family or friends? How?”

A slight smile tugs at the corner of your lips, amused by his disbelief. “Yes, I have. I’m friendly with some of the farmers around here and some merchants. I was fortunate, really, that I was stranded here with a few tools and a bit of money.”

“That could not have been enough to make you survive here. The winters can be hard, as can be nature itself. I don’t know a single woman that would be able to survive like this even with all the tools in the world.”

“I suppose you’re right.” You shrug. This is your normal, all you knew for most of your life, you often forget just how unusual it really is. “I come from a family of farmers. We lived far out, away from civilization, and I learned a lot about nature that way. I am, or was, my parents only child. I spend many years of my childhood in the forest with my dad. He was an avid fisher and knew all the ways around the forest, while my mom taught me all about her knowledge of herbs. She was a healer of sorts.”

Your smile returns as she recalls all her fond memories of home. Oh, how you wished you’d never left the farm. “They bred, trained, and sold horses too. I was strapped to a saddle on my own horse before I could even walk.”

His face shifts from one of shock to one of sympathy. He could tell by your words and the tone your voice takes that you missed home dearly. “And you have no way back?”

“No.” You state plainly. Do you? Truthfully, you do not know, but you surely hope you do.

“Why? If I give you coin for passage, can you go back home?”

“I’m afraid its not that easy.” You huff, struggling to make up an answer to this question. “Unless they come get me, I have no way back. I… I’m done talking about this.” You say, now shaking your head.

He wants to press further but understands he shouldn’t, not if he’d like to keep you talking. “Well then… What are you planning to do here then? You can’t just stay out here forever.”

“Why not?” You conter. “I’ve gotten comfortable out here. I know my way around the woods and can survive quite well out here. I’ve come to appreciate my little life out here quite a lot, actually.”

“Is this really life or is this survival? What about finding a family of your own, what about children?”

You sigh deeply. “I may not have answers to all those questions yet, but I do now I’m content here for now. I have no duties here, no bills to worry about. I just need to figure out my next meal and get to enjoy nature the rest of the time with all the peace and quiet it offers me.”

The change of topic strikes a chord in you, one you didn’t realise was as sensitive as it seems to be. The prospect of having to live out the rest of your days in this time is one that seemed more and more realistic and the question of what you would actually do for the next twenty, forty, sixty years of your life was one burning in the back of your mind more and more frequently.

“I’m done talking for today. You may leave now.” You dismissed the prince, frustration growing inside you.

He is not happy about this, his expression shows this as much as the tone of his voice. “Leave? I just arrived. You can’t just send me away.”

“I do not wish to tell any more stories.” You state. Just as he begins to talk again you turn to face him quickly, looking at him for a few seconds before proposing a compromise. Maybe you just needed some time to gather your thoughts and calm the inner turmoil you can feel bubbling deep inside your chest right now. “How about this: If you can find me again, I will answer you more questions. Anything you want.”

His jaw clenches as he lets out a long sigh. This is not how he wanted this conversation to end but he could tell from her expression that she seemed exhausted and the prospect of getting to ask anything he wanted seemed tempting enough to agree. “Fine then. I will seek you out again soon, but I will not rest until I have all my answers. You must swear you will not avoid me again.”

“I swear it.” You answer, a reassuring smile on your lips. “Have a safe travel back, my prince.”

She had been speaking so freely all this time that hearing her address him properly caught him off guard for a moment. He stands still in place, watching her a bit longer, before begrudgingly turning around to leave after bidding a small goodbye.

As he walks away you turn around slightly, watching the swaying of his silver hair until it disappears completely between the trees. A long, deep sigh escapes your lips as you resume your tasks for the day, thinking about all the questions he asked and what you really wanted from your life now.

You were honest, you did love your life as it was now, but sometimes the solitude did get to you as well. A craving for the love and closeness your family had brought you. As much as you cursed the prince when you had first met him, maybe having his attention on you could be a good thing after all.

He thought his mind would be calmed after speaking to her but to his dismay, the opposite had happened. His head is filled with questions still and worse so, genuine worry about her wellbeing. Yes, his little lamb had survived well by herself, but the confirmation that she was truly alone out there was deeply unsettling to him. When he is laying in bed that night, he realised just how little he knew about her. He didn’t know where she lived – did she have a house or did she sleep under the stars? He had never even asked her name. What would it be? If she is from far away, it surely was exotic.

He keeps tossing and turning that night, the picture of her smiling face filling his mind, even more so when he closes his eye, as if he can see even clearer when the world isn’t distracting him. He tries to sleep but he swears he hears her laugh, still as clear and comforting as it had been when he heard it the first time. A sound so sweet it could lull him to sleep, if only there wasn’t the gaping emptiness next to him, reminding him of your absence, of the fact you’re all alone out there. If something happened to you tonight, would he ever find out? He could not bear the thought of it.

His night stays restless. He falls asleep again and again, dreaming vividly about the way your cheeks rounded when you smiled at him, about the freckles on your nose, the small dimples that appeared under your cheeks when you smiled and over your lips when you pursed your lips in dismay at another thing he said.

It was improper, he knew that much. For a prince, the heir to the throne, to be so enchanted by a forest dweller. Nevertheless, his heart skipped a beat every time he had laid his eyes on her. His mind went back to think about all your interactions at every chance it got, even in the midst of important meetings. He was a devoted and proper man; he knew better and yet, something about her felt so fundamentally right that a future without her seemed wrong.

When the first rays of sunshine broke though his windows he had made his decision. He would go to see her again and this time, he would not leave her behind. He could not. He will find her and bring her – well, where? Somewhere, anywhere he knows she is safe, where he knows he can find her whenever he wants to see her. He will figure it all out, he will find a way to make this work.

His feet soon carry him through the castle, unaware of where he is going until he finds himself in front of two wooden doors. The kings, his brothers, chambers.

Currently editing the next part, that one will be 18+! Second series about Aemond x reader coming soon as well (currently proof reading chapter one)!

#aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #possessive aemond #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond x fem!reader #dark aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #dark aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen

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arabellasleopardcoat · 15 days

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You wouldn’t believe the things I have done for her (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon lives a dangerous life. You wish you could find a way to protect him, but you are too afraid of guns. Lucky you, Daemon has a plan.

A/N: Do not try this at home. Requested by the lovely @avalyaaa I am sorry it took me so long, but I wanted to give your request the attention it deserved.

Warnings: Smut. Mafia! Daemon. Gun kink. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH: GUN KINK. Slight degradation.

You sit quietly in the back of the car. In the front seat sits Harwin, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He is bored. You can tell by the way he keeps fiddling with things. Changing the radio station, messing with the AC.

Harwin probably misses his old work. It’s not like Daemon needs a bodyguard or a driver. You know it’s more for your protection than his. And while Harwin is no stranger to guarding people who don’t need his protection, you bet the fact that Rhaenyra was fucking him made the prospect much more agreeable.

The AC gets turned off again. You would scold him for it, were it not for the fact you are deadly bored yourself. Daemon’s quick meeting has turned into an hour long one, and you have been instructed to not step out of the car. The only entertainment you have is your phone, and you can only scroll through so many TikToks before wanting to claw your own eyes out.

Instead of continuing to refresh your For you page, you turn your attention back to obsessing over your conversation with Daemon. The shame from your stupidity makes your cheeks heat up.

“I don’t trust them.” Daemon had said, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He often avoided kissing you in the lips whenever you were close to his associates. As if not kissing you could trick them into thinking you were not relevant and convince them not to target you. “They are…. Not the most respectful with women.”

“You don’t trust me, you mean. To handle myself.” And by the Seven, it had even sounded bratty to your ears. You had not meant it like that at all. You had only wanted him to stop using that shitty excuse.

There were women who attended these meetings. You knew it. Hell, you had even met them. And these weren’t sex workers or strippers. These were women who held high positions in the organization. Rhaenyra, who was going to inherit it one day. Mysaria, who ran an informant network. Even Alicent pitched in from time to time. You were tired of being lied to. Sometimes, you craved the more normal boyfriend experience.

“I trust you. I don’t trust them.” Daemon had chuckled at your pout, and given you a pat in the head. “Behave.”

It had felt so dismissive. So humiliating. As if you were a child and not an actual grown woman. You hated arguing with Daemon. There was something about his tone, or his attitude, you were not sure which, that made him sound forever condescending.

You supposed inherited wealth was like that. The Targaryens had been running their schemes for nearly six generations by now. They were royalty by modern standards, even when you didn’t know about their more shady dealings.

It was no use, being upset over it. Daemon was too set in his ways to change. You needed to find a way around your problem, instead of charging right into it. But nothing comes to you at this moment, so you unlock your phone and continue your scrolling.

You save a few recipes you want to try, and like some pet videos. You are thinking of asking Daemon to adopt a puppy. A small breed would suit your apartment better, but you know Daemon. He will probably want the most intimidating dog he can get his hands on. A big, scary doberman could be something you could get behind. You had been feeling unsafe as of late.

A sudden, loud noise makes you jerk on your seat. You start to ask Harwin what’s wrong, but you don’t manage to even form the words. It's happening too fast.

“Get on your knees and do not get up until I say!” Harwin shouts. You do not need further explanations, understanding something is really wrong. You fall into the floor of the car with such haste that your phone is sent flying under the seat.

“…. Whisk the butter and the sugar…” You try to reach for it, but the space is too cramped, and suddenly the car is moving, throwing the phone around. Your knees throb from dropping yourself from the seat too hard, and you try to focus on that and not the way your heart feels like it’s in your throat. A gunshot, you realize. A gunshot. You should be used to them by now, but you still feel afraid.

Harwin drives fast and efficiently. It’s two full blocks before he orders you to get up again. You do so, legs shaking. There is a wet feeling on your knee. Blood. You had scrapped it when you threw yourself on the ground.

“What happened?” You ask him, smoothing your clothes down. Now that your panic isn’t as intense, you feel a pang of guilt. Daemon. Seven Hells, you had left him back there. “Daemon?”

Despite knowing that Harwin’s orders are first and foremost getting you out of danger, you can’t help but feel guilty. You had not even thought to worry about him. He is probably fine, considering the place was filled with Targaryens. He is also more than capable of handling himself. But to be so blinded by your fear that you did not even think of him…

“I got no fucking clue.” He asks, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “I’ll call Daemon, alright?”

“Yeah.” You say, quietly. You grab the seat’s edge and squeeze, as if you could will Daemon to your side by frustration alone. Harwin dials.

“Yeah, we are fine.” Harwin says, smiling at you through the mirror. You know he wouldn’t be so casual if something bad had happened, and so, you give him a thumbs up. Your guilt eases a bit, being replaced by relief. “She is fine, just a bit shaken up.” And he rolls his eyes because Daemon can be a bit overbearing.

“Just trouble with an errand guy.” Harwin explains, once the call is over. “He should be here soon.”

But despite how casual they made it sound, you couldn’t shake the fear and guilt away. It stayed on your mind, nestled like a worm, curling around your brain and threatening to choke it. When the night comes, and Daemon sleeps peacefully by your side, you still think of it. Of how you could die, and he could too. And there wouldn’t be a thing to be done.

You sit up on your side of the bed, letting the sheet pool around your waist. You hug your knees to your chest. The night is chilly, and the blackout curtains Daemon insists on having to ensure the room is pitch black. It only serves to disquiet you further.

There is a gun on Daemon’s nightstand. Should there be one in yours? His work is dangerous enough to warrant it. Enough to warrant you having a bodyguard, why not a weapon of your own?

You weren’t going to let him die. Nor were you going to leave him behind, like today. This was the twenty-first century, not the Middle Ages. You were tired of cowering back and acting the damsel in distress. If someone is going to try to hurt the man you love, you sure will fight back.

Daemon was yours. As much as you were his, and so, it wasn’t fair that only he protected you. You needed to be able to have his back, or at least, not be a distraction in a fight.

Your decision is not just something you can communicate to Daemon, though. He is not going to like it. You know him. Daemon is a bit old-fashioned like that. He likes gender roles a little too much for it. He is your protector and provider, and you are supposed to just be sweet and warm. The thought of you using a gun will probably cause him a heart attack.

And the thing is, Daemon doesn’t just style himself your protector. He does an outstanding job of it. He has managed to keep you away from the nastier side of his business. Never have you seen a dead body, or any of his associates beyond his family. So if you hope to achieve this, you need to be smart about it.

You decide you will tell him first thing in the morning when he is barely awake. He will be more susceptible that way. And happy with your plan, you finally manage to catch a few hours of sleep.

The next morning, you get started making breakfast with only one thing in mind. Convincing Daemon. You are barefoot, wearing only one of his shirts. It’s basic manipulation, and he will probably able to tell, but you hope it will soften him to your cause.

It’s when you are scrambling the eggs that he emerges, lured by the smell of fried bacon and a fresh pot of tea. Daemon wraps himself around you, still warm with sleep.

“Morning, love.” His voice is still a bit hoarse with sleep. He nuzzles your neck and hums, pleased. “Couldn’t I convince you to come back to bed?”

You laugh.

“Not really. The eggs are almost done.” You take the pan off the stove, letting it cool. “I would like to learn how to shoot.”

Daemon stiffens. You can feel him pull back from you. It’s not a physical thing, his arms remain wrapped around your waist, but his voice becomes colder and meaner. He is fully awake now.

“And why, in the Seven Hells, would you need to learn?”

“To feel safer.” You answer, keeping your tone steady.

“Do you not feel safe already? I could hire you another bodyguard.” Daemon hugs you slightly tighter. You lean into the counter a little bit, and sigh. Then, you detangle yourself from him.

“I don’t want a bodyguard. I need to learn how to shoot.” You state again, calmly. You turn to look at him. He looks more annoyed than angry.

“Sweetheart. You know that is not the best idea.” Daemon pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Why not?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“You are sensitive. You cry when animals die in movies.” He complains, stepping a bit closer to you. Daemon pours you a cup of tea and plates the eggs. “Go sit. I’ll wrap this up.”

You give him a sullen look but obey, watching him cut and toast the bread just in the way you like. You sit by the kitchen’s island, watching him work. Daemon is only wearing his underwear. You don’t think he owns something that resembles pajamas. Targaryens always run hot, or so they say.

Disappointing yourself, you let yourself be distracted by the view. You watch the muscles on his back shift and move as he finishes breakfast for you. You are mesmerized by the elegance of his every movement.

He is delicious, you think to yourself. You want to climb him like a tree. Despite the slight age difference, Daemon is more handsome than other men you have met. He is a bit vain, sure, but his efforts are worth it.

It’s only after he sits next to you that you remember what you were doing. You blame it on the lack of sleep.

“So?”

“You are my woman. It’s my duty to protect you. I’ll keep you safe.” Daemon rubs your shoulders, comfortingly. His voice sounds apologetic, a denial despite the soft tone he is using. “You know I keep you well away from danger.”

And he does. Not only Harwin and him have talked protocols, but Daemon has also ensured you would be protected even in the event of his death or imprisonment. You have numerous properties to your name, a few fake passports and three hidden bank accounts in different tax havens. None of which would be taken away if the two of you break up, Daemon has clearly stated. He loves you enough to want you to be protected even if you don’t love him anymore.

“I don’t like being powerless.”

“I seem to remember you do.” He squeezes your thigh, playfully. Your breath shifts despite yourself. You cover it by taking a sip of your tea and leveling a faux glare at him.

“I know.” Daemon kisses your nose. “I like that you don’t know how to shoot. That you are clean from this world.”

“It won’t sully me.” You argue because it’s a silly thing to think. It’s not like you are going to start shooting people or running illegal gambling rings. You just want to be able to defend yourself if something happens. And perhaps Daemon. If he doesn't feel too emasculated, this ridiculous man of yours.

“If I wanted a woman who knew how to shoot I would still be with Rhaenyra.” He complains.

“Plenty of women know how. I am not…” You rub at your eyes, tiredly. You want him to understand nothing is going to change between the two of you. “I do not want to go to your stupid meetings or meet your associates for dinner. I just want to know how to defend myself if something happens.”

“And I am saying you don’t need to because nothing is going to happen.” Daemon’s voice turns firmer. Now you can tell he is beginning to get angry, so you reach for his hand and squeeze.

“But if it does? If one night we wake up and there is a gun to our faces? Then what? Do I just let you die for me?” You allow your voice to break in the last part, letting him truly see your anguish. It is a fear of you that has lived on too long. You need this. You need to be able to defend both of you if something happens.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

It gets you to the firing range. Daemon takes you there in the middle of the week, hoping to inconvenience the least amount of people with him booking the entire place.

Your first impression of it is that it’s nothing like in the movies. There are neat little booths with circular targets instead of human shaped ones. You had expected only utilitarian decoration, harsh white lighting and white walls. Instead, the place looks well maintained and expensive. You should have expected so, considering this is Daemon you are talking about.

“Your first lesson…” Daemon says, eyeing you distrustfully. You stare right back at him. “Will be on safety.”

He takes two bulletproof vests out of a hanger, as well two pairs of earmuffs.

“These are protection gear, meant to be used each time you are practicing. And hopefully…” Daemon passes the bulletproof vest over your head. You let him do so, lifting your arms when he instructs you. The vest is heavier than you expect, and more solid too. It feels like what you wear when you are getting an x-ray. “You will use the vest too if you ever fire a gun outside here.”

“And not the earmuffs?”

“You should wear them to protect your ears, especially if you are firing many rounds. But you never see people wearing these because they are heavy-duty protection. In a real fight, you wouldn’t be able to hear your surroundings. Gunshots are pretty loud. So are gunfights.”

“Is that why you are losing your hearing?” You sass, with a grin. “I thought it was just your old age.”

“Oh, shut up. Little brat.” Daemon smacks your ass, playful. It doesn’t even hurt, but you jump and squeal in faux outrage. He laughs at your antics, and it does make you feel better about forcing him to teach you this.

“Should we do the whole…?” You gesture vaguely, trying to reference the classical movie or book montage where the female lead and the love interest stand very close, under the excuse to fix her posture. Daemon shakes his head.

“What is even that?” You would call him an old man for missing your reference, but you know he is sensitive about his age. Besides, you are not a great mime either. “No. You are going to stand with your legs and shoulders the same width apart and a proper posture. No slouching!”

“You know, not all of us grew up with a tutor chasing us and screaming for proper posture.” You grumble, but comply with his orders.

“Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t need all those Pilates and Yoga classes you so enjoy.” Daemon argues right back. He circles you and pushes a bit at your hips. You try to loosen them. “Perhaps my cards would not explode then.”

“Shut up. It’s not like you don’t reap the benefits.”

Your good humor disappears when Daemon places a gun on the counter in front of you. You go quiet, suddenly unsure of your choice. He shows you how to charge it and how to put the safety on and off. You pay him all of your attention, feeling a bit numb. Most of the details about it fly over your head, despite your attempts to memorize them.

“Alright. I think you are ready for your first try.” Daemon says, handing you the gun. You grab it with trembling hands. You adjust your stance and ensure the muzzle is pointing down, and that you are not gesturing wildly with it. He puts your earmuffs on, and then his.

The world around you feels muffled. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, with how silent everything is. The gun in your hands is throwing you off. It looks odd. These can’t be your hands. You feel like you are not actually there, but watching the scene unfold from outside, watching someone else about to shoot.

Daemon adjusts your grip with his hands, casual about his proximity to the loaded weapon. You stiffen as soon as you feel him approach you, worried about accidentally shooting him.

“Come on.” He mouths, impatiently. You lift the gun, take the safety off, and aim. You pull the trigger, and it is with an awful noise and jerk, that you fire for the first time. The shot goes wide, hitting the wall next to the target.

Daemon taps your shoulder and gestures for you to go again. He watches your every move. His expression betrays nothing. If you are going at it the wrong way, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You repeat the motion, flinching at the noise. Even with the earmuffs it’s loud. It reminds you of that day in the alley, and makes your stomach clench. Daemon signals for you to put the gun down, and you do so, glad that it’s over. You can’t believe you thought you could actually do this. You feel so stupid. He was right, you are too soft.

Daemon can probably tell you are getting too in your head. He removes your earmuffs and pulls you in for a hug. The vests make it awkward, but you feel comforted by his solidness next to you.

“You did great, sweetheart.” He lies, and kisses your temple. You feel so disappointed you could cry. A laugh bubbles out of you, a bit hysterical.

Daemon tsks. He reaches for the gun and deftly discharges it.

“Come on.” He says, kissing your cheek. “I know what your problem is.”

“Yeah?” You ask him, a bit doubtful. You don’t want to feel any sort of hope, just in case that he is mistaken. Giving up so easily might be childish, yet you had not expected this to be so hard. After all, like half the people that Daemon knew could do it.

“You have to learn to love the gun.” He places it back on your hand and steps up behind you. It seems like you are doing the movie thing after all. He kicks your legs a bit, encouraging you to shift your stance.

“Love the gun?”

“You keep looking at it like it’s a weapon of mass destruction.” Daemon laughs, and mouths along your nape. You shiver. It’s an almost Pavlovian reaction by now. When Daemon’s voice gets all low and husky, and he holds you like that, your body knows it’s time for sex. It’s very inappropriate. But conditioned as you are, you can’t stop the throb of arousal between your thighs. “Stop looking like you are horrified by it.”

He fixes your grip around the gun. He steadies your hand.

“Shoot.”

You obey, pulling the trigger. The gun clicks, but nothing happens. It’s unloaded.

“Good.” Daemon says, and lightly bites your shoulder. “Again.”

You repeat the motion. He has you do it over and over again, until you no longer flinch when pulling the trigger. When you are fully desensitized to the sound, Daemon takes the gun from you.

“Great job.” He says, placing the gun right on your face. “Now kiss it.”

“Excuse me?” You stare at Daemon, sure that he must be joking. Kissing the gun? No way. But one look at his face, at the amused curve of his lips, and the mischievous glint in his eyes, tell you that he is serious.

“You heard me.” Daemon chuckles, a bit darkly. You understand then that this is both for his amusement and a punishment. He gets off on humiliating others, that you know. And he had not liked that you had forced him into giving you shooting lessons. He now intends to bring you down a few pegs. “Kiss the barrel.”

You scrunch up your face. You got your pride, too. Despite knowing that submitting to his whims is easy and will probably pacify him for a while, you can’t help but resist. Your whole body rebels at the idea of accepting such an obvious power play.

“Come on, don’t be like that. You owe me.” Daemon tilts your head up, placing a finger under your chin. He makes a show of cooing over your pout, before leaning in to kiss you.

“I don’t!” You move your head away, denying him. It’s a bit cruel, and it makes him frown, which you consider a win.

“You so do. I didn’t want to teach you, you know. At least give me good jerk off material.” He pouts at you, and you can’t help but smile a little. He is ridiculous.

It is part of why you love him. Daemon is young in spirit, if not in body, and he makes you feel younger too. Giddy and willing to do silly things. Silly things like leaning in and kissing the barrel of a gun.

The metal is cold under your lips, hard and unyielding. Daemon makes a pleased noise and pulls you in for a kiss. You can feel him smile against your mouth, before trying to deepen it. Playfully, you nip at him, until it is him who yields and opens up for you.

It is then that he presses the cold barrel against your nape. The feeling of the gun against your skin makes you tense and jerk, giving him once again the upper hand. With the control of the kiss back in his hands, he pulls you closer.

You feel yourself slowly starting to become aroused. One of Daemon’s hands finds your hip, squeezing the flesh there. His gesture is both possessive and greedy. Something swoops in your belly, dark and demanding. You want all his attention on you, you want him all for you.

Making out with Daemon is a full-bodied experience. It shouldn’t surprise you, then, that he starts to gently run the muzzle of the gun down your neck. At first, you don’t notice, too caught up on how close both of you are. Your chest is flush against his, and the feeling of his body against yours makes you whimper, before you realize what game is he playing.

“Daemon.” You warn, annoyed. He gives you a shit eating grin.

“I am just getting the two of you better acquainted. My best girls.” Daemon leans in and kisses behind your ear. He takes his time, making out with the shell of it. He is cautious to do all the right things to make you tremble against him. Yet, you can’t seem to forget about the gun, running down your sternum, between your breasts.

The muzzle gets caught against your clothes. Daemon uses it to push one of the sleeves of your top a little aside, to be able to lavish the skin there with kisses. You only feel the metal against your skin for a second, but it makes you think about how it would feel against your naked skin. Would the cold make your hairs stand up on edge, and your nipples pebble? Or would it warm up to your temperature?

The thought makes your breath hitch, and your panties even wetter.

“There is no one here.” You say, quietly. “If you were to take off my shirt…”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Daemon grins, encouraging you to lean against the counter of the firing range. “You devious little thing.”

He drops to his knees in front of you, carefully taking your clothing off. You watch him move between your legs, helping you widen your stance. Daemon kisses a path from your ankles towards your knees, mouthing along as if having the finest of banquets. His kisses feel scorching against your skin, and you can’t help but jut your hips slightly, trying to command him into touching you.

Daemon smiles at you, cheekily. He then bites your inner thighs, scratching just enough to make you arch in pleasure-pain. When you are just about to hike one of your legs over his shoulder, he sucks your clit inside his mouth, and it’s then that you feel it. The cold barrel of the gun, pressing along your inner thighs.

You moan. Daemon laughs.

“You little whore.” It sounds fond. He eats you out without any finesse, slurping noisily. The thought of anyone else being able to overhear this makes you embarrassed, so you try to keep quiet. Your eyes close, hands squeezing around the edge of the counter.

Daemon is not trying to bring you any pleasure. His movements and touches are too methodical for it. He presses a finger inside your hole, then another. Then it is scissoring them and shushing you with soft licks to your clit when you complain at the slight sting.

Any pleasure you get out of it is incidental. Instead, Daemon is getting you ready for something. And this time, you know it’s not his cock. The thought fills you with dread and arousement in equal parts. How will it feel? Metal doesn’t give the same way flesh does. But the thought of having a gun, Daemon's, inside you, makes your hips jerk.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” He pulls away, reappearing from between your legs. “Fuck. I don’t know if I want to see your face or your greedy little hole when I put it inside.”

You look at him. His hair is sticking up in all directions, but his smile is absolutely ferocious.

“My face. Just in case…” You reach for his shoulder and squeeze, gently. Despite how arousing you think the whole thing is, you are still hesitant. Sometimes, things don’t feel as you imagine they would. You don’t want this to be disappointing.

Daemon seems to understand, despite the fact that you don’t verbalize it.

“I’ll talk you through it.” He says, kindly. He then spreads your folds a little and presses the tip of the gun against your hole.

You yelp. Your grip on his shoulder turns punishing. It feels pleasant, as penetration often does, but there is a foreign quality to it as well. The gun is wide, and metal doesn’t give as flesh does. You feel as if you are rooted tp the spot by it, being impaled with each inch Daemon presses inside you.

“You are doing so well. Good girl. My little girl.” He presses a kiss to your stomach. He keeps rubbing at your clit until you relax around the barrel. It’s only then that he attempts to fuck you with it. You clench at his shoulders, overwhelmed, and moan.

It’s confusing. The ridges of it feel good, catching against your hole. The metal slowly starts to warm up, not feeling as strange as before. Daemon keeps steadily sucking your clit.

The pleasure builds. So does your need. You start to move your hips along with his thrusting, trying your best to reach your orgasm. So of course, Daemon pulls away from your clit.

“You are taking it so well.” Daemon praises, voice husky with desire. “Your pussy swallows the gun right up.”

You moan, almost without realizing. You are so close it itches. But moving your hips up and down isn’t enough. You need more.

“Daemon, please.” You beg, near tears. Never before have you been this frustrated.

“Who would have known? You are such a hungry little whore.” Daemon smirks. The crudeness of his words makes you gasp. You feel smaller than you have ever felt, yet somehow, it makes you feel deliciously dirty. He is not wrong. It’s embarrassing, how you are humping the gun he holds, but you can’t stop. “You don’t think, you are so desperate you would fuck anything. Do anything, just to fill your greedy holes.”

“Please. Fuck.” You sob. Daemon licks his thumb and starts rubbing your poor, abused clit. He keeps fucking you with the gun, building you up and up, towards the orgasm you so desperately crave. You come with a scream so loud, you thank he has booked the whole place for only yourselves.

Turns out, you don’t hate guns as much as you thought.

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bucknastysbabe · 2 months

Note

hii, could you write smt abt aegon ii? 🥹 like kinda perv and loser stepbrother!aegon

YES I CAN! Hope you enjoy, getting back into my Aegon ways a bit! Xoxo

Just like that video! - Aegon II

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Loser perv step-bro Aegon, TW: alcohol abuse, underage (17) sexual moment, cocaine use, fat shaming, modern au, Aeg’s a shit but means well, Lannister reader, and they were step-siblings, lots of banter, pnv!sex, chubby!aeg, begging, family interactions, pseudo Incest and they get off on it, the panties were allowed to be kept

Taglist: @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk @targaryenbarbie @lovelykhaleesiii @sugarpoppss2 @fairysluna @thought--bubble @valeskafics @dr-aegon @targaryen-madness @starogeorgina @fallingintoyourlilaceyes

You had no choice but to come home for college this summer, being a lame freshman. Next year you planned on getting a place off-campus with some of your tennis teammates. You would go back to the mansion this summer, reluctantly.

The stupid mansion your family had inherited over generations. Casterly Rock. Now it was infested with your stepmother's weird fucking offspring, minus Daeron. You liked Daeron. Regardless, the youngest sibling could not protect you from the advances of Alicent's eldest son Aegon.

He was harmless, really. He currently was in a 'gap year' between his junior and senior years. The term gap year was a nice overcoat of gloss. You knew he had a bad coke and alcohol problem and needed to get straightened out. You hadn't seen the fucker since he was absent for most of the holidays in a sober-living program.

You had been home for about three hours now, isolating in your room, watching Hulu, bored as fuck. You had spoken to your father and Alicent while the servants brought up your belongings. Alicent asked politely, "How was nationals? You know we would have come but Daeron was graduating."

"We got our ass kicked, I wish I was there to see Daeron too. Where's his highness?"

Jason grumbled, "Eating the house."

Alicent's face soured slightly at the mention of Aegon. She hummed, "He's just working his program and staying sober until he can finish up school. Mainly mopes around, it'll be good for him to have you here." You nodded, holding your tongue. Jason snorted and said, "Make him get the hell off his ass or something, play tennis, who knows. Dinner's at eight."

It would be a boring summer. Maybe you could call up the Reyne or Tarbeck boys for some fun. You didn't particularly want to hang around your peaked and washed-up fratboy loser of a stepbrother. You remember from when you were younger and excited, your father was marrying into the royal family!

You were met with a toddling Daeron, shy and dreamy Helaena, intense Aemond, and Aegon. Who promptly pointed at your chest and scoffed, "Totally not like the porno huh? That's lame." You stood in abject Lannister horror, planning on his immediate downfall.

Instead, you grew up under the shadows of your strange siblings. Aegon was 4 years your elder and acted like he was still in middle school. He ignored or made fun of his 'stuck-up stepsister.' You had a strange interaction when he was home on a holiday You had just turned seventeen and Aegon was a junior. He was pretty bad off when he first came in with Criston, the guard holding him up.

Aegon was rail-thin, drunk as fuck, and a crying mess. You exchanged a look with Aemond, the other brother making a face of disgust. He whispered to you, "Dumbass is about to get kicked out of school, he's on academic probation right now. Or might I mention his raging alcoholism and cocaine addiction?"

The pair of you watched him get dragged off to your parent's room. You mustered a weak reply, "I knew he was a drunk but not that damn bad." Alicent had put him on Antabuse when he was in high school and then deemed him alright to go to college.

That night you'd gone out with the Westerlings to Lannisport, you had a fake ID yourself. Coming back you managed to score Aegon some blow and a bottle. You don't know why you did. Maybe it was that desire to gain his pointless approval. You did it anyhow, smuggling it into your purse. Criston didn't bat an eye, he thought you were the golden child, soon-to-be salutatorian, and a tennis scholarship to a good school in Oldtown.

You crept down the hall, Aegon had the big room on the corner of the second floor. Knocking on the door, a haggard Aegon moaned, "What? I feel like shit! Fuck off, Cole! Jason! Whoever you are!"

You yell-whispered back, "No dumbass it's me, I have something."

The door opened to a much sicker Aeg, eyes red-rimmed, skinny body trembling under a thick blanket. You gasped "What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a virus?"

"No. Withdrawals. What did you bring me?" His violet eyes leered at your bodycon dress, making your cheeks heat up. He was handsome, stepbrother or fiend or whatever. You looked around and handed him the baggie and bottle. Aegon's eyes lit up and his smile brightened. He dragged you into his room, smelling of sweat and alcohol.

"Thank fuck, I needed this so bad, gods you are an angel."

You shrugged, standing there as he chugged some of the liquor, sighing in audible relief. He eyed you and asked, "You got a credit card?" Nodding in slight fear you rifled more in the purse and handed him the card. Aegon locked his door and got busy chopping up the coke. You pulled out your wine bottle and sat down, watching him drinking and shakily chopping up the white powder.

You ended up drunk as a skunk, Aegon absolutely cooked and giddy. He was making you laugh, chatting like you were a friend. Going so far as to inquire about your boring life. He seemed at ease, the dark cloud that would hang over Aegon had melted. The blonde looked at you with glassy eyes and hummed, "M'sorry for being a prick, you're not half bad."

"Sure, you're just happy I fueled your problem. Stuck up Lannister isn't that boring."

He laughed a bit, pretty teeth shining. Aegon asked, "Wanna watch this stupid movie? M'wired up right now." You gestured to the remnants of the coke and giggled, "I'd imagine, yeah come on then." You'd drunkenly climbed onto his huge bed, Aegon plopping on the other side, typing the movie into the big ass television.

It was funny, but somewhere along the way, Aegon had inched his way toward you. You had moved closer to him, snuggling into his side. The voice of reason was screeching in your head. Your stepbrother turned his face to yours, murmuring, "You're so fucking pretty you know that? I don't care how fucked up that is, I am fucked up."

You surged forward to meet his plump lips, Aegon's hand holding your cheek as he kissed you. He laughed darkly, nipping at your lip and sliding in a tongue. As the liplock grew more heated- spit-slick lips and tongues sliding against each other, Aegon rolled his frame atop yours, settling between your spread legs. Your dress rucked up to your panties from the movement, drawing a helpless whine from your throat.

This was disgusting, wrong, awful.

You arched into his touches on your hips, groaning into his mouth as you sensually kissed him, growing messier by the second. Aegon rutted a bit against your pussy, softly moaning and squeezing your waist. He murmured in your ear, "Mm, I know you're all wet for me, stepsis." Skinny fingers crawled to the edge of your underwear.

A deep pang of fear struck you, suddenly withdrawing and backing out of Aegon's amorous embrace. You shook your head, heart beating too fast, shame and guilt pounding your head in. The platinum-haired man stared in confusion, stuttering, "W-What the fuck? Are you okay? Hey!"

You shook your head, chest too tight to speak. grabbing the remnants of your debauchery you skittered out of his room, silent tears running down your face. You felt weird, you drew a line in the sand that would not wash away. With fucking Aegon. You could hit yourself.

The rest of the days he was icy. Icy all the way until he was going into rehab and further treatment. You didn't dwell on the experience until now, eyes darting towards his room. You would have to see him eventually. Passing by his door all you could hear was video game noises.

You locked the door to your room, a bit of anxiety peeping through. For the seven's sake, you were an adult now! You would be a polite sibling, Aegon was obviously sick at the time and trying to get well. He'd written you an apology from his sober living place and you wrote back a brief acceptance and gave well wishes. So it couldn't be that bad?

You'd take a nap and deal with your insane family later.

Sitting down at the dinner table, the normal-sized one, you chatted with your mother and Criston about tennis. Jason prepped some sort of penne dish with a salad. The sound of a chair being scooted back alerted everyone to another presence. It was Aegon. He murmured a quiet, "Hey. Nice to see you sis, sorry 'bout nationals."

"Thanks Aegon, how are you doing? Super proud of you."

You tried not to stare at your stepbrother but he had...changed. His hair had grown out to shoulder length and he'd put on weight. Nothing terrible, but it had to range somewhere in 50 pounds (23kg). The big sweatshirt and too-small joggers didn't quite help his case either.

"Yeah, it's not bad, ready to get back to school or do something before I go crazy."

Jason snarked, "A job is always a good idea huh?"

The awkward silence was permeated by an excited Daeron hugging you, still sweaty from soccer practice. You mock gagged and smiled at the little brother, batting him away. Criston hummed, "Dare's already started practicing at King's Landing U." You grinned, "Hell yeah! I'll come boo you when you play Oldtown!"

Things fell into a familiar rhythm besides Aegon scarfing his food up and excusing himself. Alicent called after him, "Where are you going, honey? Come visit with us." Aegon sighed, "I have a headache, sorry."

Your dad shook his dark blonde hair, rolling green eyes. He scoffed, "All Aegon does is eat and play video games. He'll be a fucking cow sooner or later."

You found yourself speaking up, "Would you rather have him chubby and sober or skinny and tweaked out Dad?"

Jason forked some pasta in his mouth, shaking his head. Criston broke the next stage of awkward silence. "Hey, he's almost at a year now. I'd never think I would see the day." Daeron nodded along. Dinner resumed to normal.

You had helped your father clean up, the conversation stunted and awkward. Lannister men had a tendency to never understand a woman, just a family thing. Some of your friends had fathers who didn't suck. Alicent tried and Criston was the occasionally cool uncle. Even if he wasn't related to any of you, just something that came along with being royal.

You spent some more time playing smash bros with Daeron, laughing and catching up after much needed time. It was late and you glanced at your phone. Marq Tarbeck had texted you back. You ignored it, yawning, "Alright Dare, I think it's time to hit the sack." His sleepy purple eyes seemed to agree as he got up, muttering about 'getting his nasty ass in the shower.'

Daeron split ways with you, going to his room nearby, and you up and across the mansion. Your room was also on the second floor- there was no way but to pass Aegon's room. Part of you wanted to check on him, it seemed like your father was hard on him. The other half said fuck it, he doesn't need to be babied. Still, you paused at his door, listening to the vague background noise of the television.

"F-fucking, god, baby," he groaned, muffled.

Your eyes widened in shock. A drawn out moan of your name made you freeze. Aegon rambled, "Knew you'd be so cute taking my dick stepsis. Gods!" His deep voice made you tremble slightly. Your imagination painted an image of Aeg spread out, fisting his cock, thickened thighs flexing. His plump lips would be extra swollen, those cute chubby cheeks blotchy.

Oh Gods. You couldn't. He was having a private moment and you stood outside his door like a weirdo. Then your phone began to ring. A loud buzzing as you frantically switched it off, fucking Tarbeck! With a pitiful whine you tried to book it away to your room.

"Get your ass back here!" came Aegon's whisper-yell.

You paused, hand over your mouth. Fucking fuck, you thought.

"C'mon, get over here, I heard you."

You dramatically groaned and shuffled to Aegon's doorway, eyes downcast, blushing heavily. A finger tilted your chin up, you reluctantly looking at his smug face. Aegon hummed, "Did you want a look-see or just to listen? You're just slumming it now huh? No Reynes or Tarbecks?"

You gritted out, "I was going to check on you, but then I heard my name. Of course I'd be curious to why you were moaning it."

Aegon rolled his eyes, scoffing, "So. Jig's up. I stole your pretty little lace panties to fuck too. Since I'm a man of honesty now."

Arousal laced up your stomach, pussy throbbing at the actual desperation this fucker was giving off. You panted a bit, shouldering him aside. Your panties were indeed on the bed, thoroughly used. Gaping at Aegon he shrugged, basking in the debauchery. Guess being sober didn't change him from being a little pervert.

You muttered, "I can't believe you."

"I tried to fuck you did I not? I remember how eager you were."

Glancing at his lidded eyes and frankly punchable face you kissed the man, gripping at his oversized sweatshirt. Aegon seemed surprised, inhaling sharply before grabbing your ass and returning the kiss with vigor. He murmured, "You aren't running away- hah- this time." He squeezed your ass hard, lips intense against yours.

Pressing yourself to his soft belly he stiffened a bit, apoligizing, "M'not very in shape, too many sweets, cock's the same." You shrugged, pulling his heavier frame atop your own, a thick thigh slotted between your sinewy legs. He groaned softly, hands pulling at your shirt impatiently.

He grunted while shucking off his sweatshirt, elbow about to take you out. You yelped and ducked, Aegon guffawing. "Sorry?" He chuckled. Shaking your head you pulled on his longer hair and resumed the earlier attentions. The blondie rudely unsnapped your bra, shoving you up the bed at the same time.

Pulling away with a snarl you exclaimed "Fucking hell are you going to manhandle me around the bed or kiss me?"

Aegon deadpanned, "Wanna see you naked. Going to do that for me this time? Nice tits by the way, I can say it's like the porno now."

You growled and shoved down your shorts and underwear, somehow turned on by his shithead attitude and stupid grin. Pointing at him you hissed, "Your turn. Those briefs looking a little tight anyways." Aegon snorted, laughing at you again while shimmying his ill-fitting briefs off. His violet eyes greedily roved over you, the shameless perv.

"Happy Lady Lannister?" He asked while gesturing to his hard cock.

"Much better, get over here."

Aegon pulled you by the legs, thick waist keeping your thighs spread, fat cock rudely shoved flush against your embarrasingly wet pussy. He pressed teasing little kisses across your throat, grasping hands all over your tits and ass. You mewled- rutting a bit against him, utterly pinned by his heavier weight.

"Gods- Aegon, you- gods!" you wheedled, shaky hands digging into his shoulders, slipping down to his plush hips and squeezing. He moaned and began to slide against your slit, eyes rolling erotically. Aegon rasped, "Been so fucking long- know you're tighter than I ever dreamed of. Little cocktease."

He took your mouth again, a possessive hand grabbing your chin, lips and tongue domineering and invasive. You were quickly becoming a puddle, whining as you tried to keep up, unable to focus as the bulbous tip of Aegon's thick cock jerked against your needy clit. Your stepbrother groaned raggedly, "Lion? Mewling kitten huh baby sis?" You whined again, jerking against him to claw at his shoulder.

"That's it, lemme see you try."

You huffed in frustration, nipping Aegon's puffy lips, trying to rut back against him. He laughed into your mouth, rough hands planting on your tits, thumbs swiping across your peaked nipples. You cried out into his warm mouth, shivering as Aegon alternated between dizzying little circles with the pad of his thumb or pinching and pulling roughly.

"Ah, mmm, fuck, fuck you, get- get a condom- oh my gods!"

Aegon groaned in annoyance. "We're literally rich, just go get a plan B."

"Get your lazy ass up and grab it!"

"Sound just like your father, gonna call me fat next?"

You stared at him, waiting. Aegon made a whole deal about heaving himself up and ungainly rolling to his side table, rifling through. "You're not even fat, sure are acting like it though, huffing about nothing," you replied. The prince returned with a condom, tearing the packet with his teeth. As he rolled it on the buffoon asked "Is it that bad? Be honest. The weight, I mean."

Alicent had made some weird fucking kids. You glanced around Aegon's body. He looked better than the last time you fooled around, actually healthy in appearence. The man took the brunt around his midsection, wide striped hips and a soft pooch. It appeared there was a slim layer of softness around his thighs, arms, and face. He seemed nervous now, that creeping insecurity.

"You look good. Healthier than being a skeleton. I don't see an issue. Maybe dress a bit snappier?"

He smirked, blushing and cursing, "Oh fuck off, I guess if you deem it alright. Let's fuck, yeah?"

You nodded with a grin, sealing your lips onto his own, wrapping your thighs around him tight. Both of you moaned as he slipped in, stretching your tight pussy out. Gods it felt good, the girth dragging against your sensitive spots. His hips stuttered a bit, hands clamping on your hips as he swore. You goaded Aeg on, digging your heels into his ass and whining his name.

Aegon pecked your mouth one more time, tucking his face into your neck, thighs heavily smacking your hips as he fucked. You yelped at the sudden movements, shivering in delight. Aegon grunted on every thrust, gasping against your neck before sinking his teeth in to grace your delicate skin.

You could do nothing but take his relentless bullying of your sensitive hole, thick tip drilling your sweet spot as he changed angles with a sharp inhale. Goosebumps littered your skin, sweat building between the pair of you. Your whines and his groans made a lurid cacophony, the slapping of flesh and the squelch of your own cunt.

Aegon panted, "Such a tight fuckin' pussy, made for me, s'good."

You arched feebly into his soft stomach, tits rubbing against his own. All you could manage was crying Aegon's name, tightening around him. You begged "Please, Aeg, touch me, touch me please, m'gonna cummm!" He growled in reflex, hips jerking particularly rough into the soft roof of your pussy.

"Yeah baby? Need your clit rubbed so you can come all over my dick? Beg some more, want you to mean it."

He slapped your thigh, smirking with lust blown pupils. Your eyebrows had knit together, the burning coil of ecstasy tightening into a ball. You just really really really needed Aegon to play with your clit. In the most embarrassing mewl you begged again. "Aeeegon, please! It fucking hurts, m'so swollen for you, please stepbrother, lemme cum, it-it'll feel so good!"

You sobbed in frustration, Aegon rumbling, "Mhm, I gotcha, needy little slut for a step sister. Fuck, you're gonna make me blow." His thumb and forefinger pinched and rubbed your flushed bundle of nerves, your stepbrother slapping a hand down on your wailing mouth. His hips stuttered, eyes rolled again as you clamped down on his twitching cock.

He babbled something, frantically swiping your nub until you released in a gush of slick, shivering from head to toe. Aegon made a gutted noise, his full weight baring down as he sloppily fucked himself out, groaning in near agony. He stiffened and whimpered your name, lips hanging agape as his cock emptied into the condom. Your pussy throbbed and twitched as you stared at the ceiling, hand in Aegon's platinum hair.

He groaned softly, "Ffffucking hell Lannister, you little demon."

Aegon groaned and slid out, laying on his back, pudgy belly heaving as he gathered some breath. You were just as limp, trying to formulate a sentence. Aegon tied off the condom and haphazardly threw it into a trash bin. You wrinkled your nose but managed to make the sluggish movements into his soft side. He was much more cuddly with the extra weight and post-orgasm haze.

Aegon wrapped a lazy arm around you, lips slightly curled up. He hummed, "You aren't going to run this time are you?"

"No. I don't think I will. We can tell Dad we're getting you lots of exercise now huh?"

"Just like the porno."

"Shut up."

#read the tw and tags #aegon ii targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen smut #modern au

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youraverageaemondsimp · 8 months

Text

DÉPAYSEMENT // v.

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none! But keep in mind that this is a 18+ fic, reader and aemond having bonding time, Floris appears!!! reader feels out of place, gentle aemond?????? + not proof read :(

<- prev // next ->

masterlist.

It has been a few days since your last realisation that you're completely trapped here, and it took awhile for you to make your peace with it, everything you knew will never be the same.

The fear of being in an unfamiliar place, an uncomfortable era, it was very hard to move on and accept, you missed the stupidest of things, like when cars would honk outside your apartment, being stuck in traffic, being able to go to a grocery shop and buy them, receiving a minimum wage pay check, junk food.

Your survival skills from your era are not useful here, the only thing that was useful was you knowing the history, and you used the card way too quickly, and the world has changed and shifted along with it, and now you didn't know what would happen.

To your surprise, Aemond was patient with you, he made sure you are every meal, to not have you starving, he even asked what you liked to eat once so he could have it prepared it for you. You had explained your favourite dish from the modern world but he didn't understand so you just left it there.

You just laid in your chambers all day, bored to death, mostly sleeping through everything to fight it.

Aemond on the other hand was busy, dealing with the matters of the realm, he had flown out to get the alliance of multiple houses, strengthening aegon's claim while weakening rhaenyra's.

While you were there, you had learnt many new information left out from the history books, about the surroundings, why rhaenyra was actually ursurped. It was more than just her being a woman.

The realm was ready to accept rhaenyra as their queen, not wanting to support the claim of aegon but she had made a big mistake of marrying daemon, who everyone wanted to keep away from the throne as he would rule with madness, giving him power was equivalent to giving a knife to a toddler.

And Viserys never backed up her claim to the throne except for the time he officially declared her as heir, which is why everyone believed alicent when she had said that viserys changed his mind, because she herself thought the same.

Rhaenyra had never known duty, nor sacrifice, she wasn't fit to inherit throne not because she was a woman, but rather that she was never given an opportunity to learn about them. She doesn't know how to rule properly, Viserys had never trained her to, instead he was dead set on marrying her off and sending her away from the realm.

And her children? That's a whole other headache.

You noticed how Viserys was a common factor in all of the problems which arose, his decisions have been stupid, he tried to eat his cake and have it at the same time, his rule was long but stupid, half of the time he wasn't even present and it left otto hightower dealing with the realms matters.

You sighed when you thought about all these things, and just then Aemond had entered your chambers and you sat up watching him. He took off his gear and leaned it against the table before taking off his long coat and coming to sit next to you.

You and Aemond have gotten a little close after that shared kiss, it was deathly awkward at first but you got used to his presence, and his constant need to touch you, he hasn't done anything else after the kiss, only small forehead kisses and holding hands.

“What's the matter?” You ask when you hear him sigh, “She will be here in two days time.” he replies, annoyed. “Who— oh.” you realised he meant his betrothed. You closed your mouth immediately at that. “I do not wish to marry her.” he groans.

“Then don't marry her.” you say.

“But it is my duty.” he replies.

“Then marry her.” you say again.

“But I do not wish to.”

You groan this time, “Dude, just make up your mind.” you say annoyed and he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, “It is not that simple, It is a duty, which I have to complete, but not what I want, im- I'm torn.” he confides in you.

It was a common occurrence since that kiss, he had been coming to you, telling you all the problems to which you listened to intently, and giving him ideas to overcome and he did exactly that, but you didn't wish to talk about Floris Baratheon. You felt jealous and annoyed at the topic.

“Floris is- I do not know, she is pleasant on the eyes but it's not who I want.” He complains and you get more annoyed, “I literally could care less.” you say before getting up from the spot next to him and moving away to the window.

“There is war brewing Aemond, just because you have not killed Lucerys doesn't mean that Aegon can get away with usurping the throne. You need to work in the favour of your side.” you say, tone clipped, reminding Aemond of his duty.

“Seven hells.” he mutters under his breath before everything falls silent.

“Do you plan on going to the crownlands soon?” you ask before turning to look at him, changing the topic, “Yes, there have been invasions of the blacks and rebellions, they are trying to claim Rook's rest.” he sighs.

“Aegon will get severely injured in that fight.” you tell him and he looks at you shocked, he had not mentioned that aegon will be going with him, “What is to happen to him?” he asks shakily.

“I am not sure if it will play out exactly the same, but Rhaenys will arrive with her dragon there and burn several hundreds of your men, yet you and aegon defeat her. However...” you trail off, you have not used any titles to refer to her, yet it didn't surprise Aemond as he was used to it.

“However?” he questions.

“Aegon will suffer from burns, severe burns, and sunfyre will lose his ability to fly as he will also get injured heavily due to Meleys.” you finish, “You must be careful, although you have your victory, it comes at a cost.” you sigh and Aemond gulps.

“I shall plan to it accordingly.” he says, turning his torso around to leave, “Aemond.” you call out and he halts in his place.

“Blood will be spilled, it is a war after all, but make sure that it isn't unnecessary one, you must be careful.” because I want you to be safe.

Those last words never leave your throat and he looks at you longingly before he comes to you and takes his hand in your hands, brushing your knuckles with his thumb, “I won't.” he says before his eye meets yours.

He leans down to kiss you, but you turn your face away and push him slightly, indicating that you do not want him to kiss you, so he stops abruptly, his heart twinging.

“When will you leave for Crownlands?” you ask him, he swallows thickly, “In 4 days time, I have to stay here in the keep until Floris arrives, mother's orders.” he grits his teeth at the thought of that, in just a month he will be getting married to her and not you, he wasn't able to be honest about his feelings to his mother, he didn't want her to be disappointed in him.

“Okay, you may go now.” you say dismissively, Aemond sighs, “Y/N, please do not dismiss me like that.”

You just hum, pulling away your hands from his grip and plopping yourself down on your bed, grabbing the book that was laying in the middle of it and proceeding to read it, ignoring Aemond.

Deep down you were seething, you and Aemond had a connection, you both knew, it was why you're here after all, there's no way the gods are that cruel to send you here only for you to save him and watch him become another woman's man. Or maybe they are.

You knew you could accept being his lover, it would be much easier, you could have him, but you knew deep down that he would never truly be yours and you'd just be labelled as a whore he spends time with. Just like you are being referred to now.

Yet that didn't hurt much because you were not actually his lover, you knew in private, you can only imagine how much it would hurt you if it was true.

You know it is stupid to toil after a man, especially not knowing what he actually wants from you, his actions convey that he indeed loves you, but never his words, he never expresses how he feels about you, not to you, not to anyone, only to himself.

You knew he had been trying, he is trying to understand you, the differences, know everything about you, he knows that he fell in love with you, it doesn't take much time to fall deeply, he is showing through his actions, but never through words, because he cannot express his feelings, you were the first person that he ever expressed his feelings and opinions too, however he couldn't bring himself to confess.

He tried to understand why you wouldn't be his lover, but it never made sense, he would be yours by heart, maybe you're worried about the children being bastards? He could simply legitimize them by asking Aegon, for he was King, he couldn't understand why.

He turned around on his heel and left your chambers, and you laid on your side, tears beginning to drip down your cheeks as you tried to hold them back.

Two days have passed and Aemond only ever came to visit you to make sure you ate, you decided to go out and take a walk in the gardens today rather than being stuck in your chambers all day.

The weather was perfect, air crisp and wind blowing lightly, if you were in your world right now, you would've gone cycling around, or just hung out with your classmates, you missed those days so badly.

You wondered if they noticed your absence, do they remember you at all? You can feel the familiar headache coming back, you were about to leave the garden and make your way to your chambers but you stopped dead in tracks when you saw two figures in the garden.

It was Aemond and one girl next to him, she had dark hair and a soft face, her hair put up into a braided hairstyle, the jewelry on her looked so perfect, back straight, shoulders back, and head up, she walked graciously next to him, a proper lady, for this era.

You assumed that she was Floris Baratheon

You looked down at your state, donning a simple green gown, no jewelry at all, hair loose and slightly messed up by the wind, you were the complete opposite of her, and it made you feel alienated, like you didn't belong here.

You didn't.

She was talking to him, and he was listening to her with a neutral expression on his face.

What were they talking about? You felt jealous.

Your heart stopped beating when they both spotted you, Aemond's eye widened and Floris looked at you, looking up and down before her face twisted to that of a slight disgust, she likely figured out you were his lover.

You walked past them and you heard her loud gasp which made you turn around and look at her questioningly. “You! You dare pass the Prince of the Realm and not greet him? Who do you think you are.” she scolds you, and you look at her with a bored expression before turning to Aemond.

“My prince.” you say before bowing half heartedly and turning once again to leave but Floris speaks up again, “And now you are ignoring his betrothed! His future wife! You really have no manners at all.” you breathed in calmly, trying not to snap because your mood was spoiled.

Aemond visibly flinched when she called herself his future wife.

You turn to her, give her a tight lipped smile before bowing, “Lady Baratheon.” you say before your face drops into an annoyed expression and you began to walk away again.

“She's is extremely rude.” Floris murmurs to Aemond but he doesn't pay attention, watching the natural sway of your hips as you walk away from them, a smirk winding up his face as he tilted his head, he felt his breeches tighten when you bowed earlier, giving him a glimpse at your cleavage.

“My prince?” the annoying voice of Floris snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked at her, his face returning to that of a neutral one and nodded, “Apologies My lady, please continue.” he says stiffly.

Aemond never wanted the ground to swallow him, he wanted to do nothing except go to your chambers and bask in the familiarity of them and the comfort of your presence.

Floris continued to talk about herself and her family but he just zoned most of it out, not interested.

He was forced to go on a walk with her by his mother, ‘bonding time’ as she called it, alicent has been alarmed finding out that her son had taken in a lover and spending most of his time with her, so she suggested this, he couldn't refuse.

“That woman earlier, is she the one you took in as your lover?” that question snaps him out of his daze and he looks at her, “Hmm.” he hums in confirmation, and Floris' bursts out laughing which leaves him confused.

“No offence my prince but she is not a proper lady of refinement, I had expected your lover to be graceful but she's all messy, that poses no threat to me.” She admits blatantly and controls her laughing.

Aemond wanted to choke her at that moment, but he controlled himself, his head turned to the side before he hummed in a dismissive manner before leaving and left her standing alone, to which she was confused and baffled by.

Aemond was seething and annoyed, angry at the way she had mocked you, his feet led him to your chambers before he slammed the door open before closing it just as roughly, staring ahead and breathing heavily.

You jumped at the noise and looked at him confused, and he finally looked at you, surprised to find you in your foreign clothes, the same top and bottom.

“You changed your attire.” he commented.

“Yeah.” you answered simply, not wanting to explain why you changed back, it was a weird sort of feeling, watching other women who were all dolled up, perfect example of a Lady, while you had none of the elegance because in your era nobody gave a fuck about it.

But here they clearly did, getting that judgmental stare from Floris was your final straw, so you pulled off the dress that hung to you awkwardly and basked in the comfort your pants and a top provided.

You missed home, the busy streets, being able to wear short skirts, dresses, outfits of the modern era without being judged for being unladylike, you for sure knew if you were to show your legs in that manner everyone would lose their mind.

You had accepted that you won't be able to go back, so you tried getting accustomed to here, but no matter how much you tried, you wouldn't be able to. You didn't even know the basic etiquette of this era, you wanted to fit in, but you know you never will.

“Is something the matter?” he asks coming and sitting opposite to you. You shake your head, not in the mood to tell him your problems.

Aemond for once, is able to read the room and put everything together, that's when it dawns on him, you were feeling out of place.

He was able to understand your behavior because he knew your truth, but others on the other hand didn't. So he went in deep thought, wondering how to help you.

“I shall hire an etiquette teacher for you.” he says and your head snaps to him, and you look at him with wide eyes, “w-what?” you swallow thickly.

“And I will order new dresses to be made for you, I will send a person to get your measurements they are perfectly fitted, and about jewelry, since you prefer simplicity, I shall have some pieces made for you.” he continues and your heart raced.

“You- you don't have to, I'm fine staying like this-” you begun but he cuts you off, “This is the least I can do, I realised that not everyone knows that truth about you, and to them you may seem odd, just like how you seemed odd to me at first, and I do not want you face their judgmental stares.” he speaks.

You blinked.

Who is this Aemond? Where is the cocky, annoying and frustrated one disappear to?

He was being understanding.

“Thank you.” you say shyly, not understanding his sudden kindness.

“No need to thank me, ñuha dōna rūklon.” (my sweet flower)

You blushed hearing those words leave his mouth, and he was surprised, “You can understand high valyrian?” he asks and you nod before giving him a smile, “I took it as a side subject during highschool, ñuha zaldrīzes (my dragon) ” you tease him.

“Highschool?” he tilts his head at that, and you chuckle, before explaining the entire concept of schooling to him, he smiles, “It's nice that the privilege of receiving an education can be shared amongst the common folk too.” he comments and you are slightly shocked. You expected him to be kind of classist, but to your surprise, he genuinely seemed to care for common folk.

“Thank you once again, Aemond- oh erm should I say My prince?” you correct yourself and he shakes his head, “Just Aemond when we're alone or... like you called me earlier, aōha zaldrīzes (your dragon)” he smirks causing your face to heat up, before you nod.

“I shall take my leave, dōna prūmia (sweetheart), finish my duties, I will visit you once again tonight, if you do not mind.” he says and gets up, planting a kiss on your forehead before leaving.

You nod, and watch him leave.

And that's when reality crashes down on you, bursting the little bubble you both were in a few moments ago, the bitter truth that you can never truly have him weighed down on you.

You silently prayed on the inside.

Prayed to the gods to allow you to have him.

Prayed for the gods to be each others completely, not just his lover.

Prayed that he doesn't marry Floris Baratheon.

Prayed for the gods to make him is yours.

Your dragon.

———

TAGLIST ;

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