#verse: from a whisper to a scream

[kalisbaby]

“From the River to the Sea.” A Poem by Samer Abu Hawwash, translated by Huda Fakhreddine

every street, every house, every room, every window, every balcony, every wall, every stone, every sorrow, every word, every letter, every whisper, every touch, every glance, every kiss, every tree, every spear of grass, every tear, every scream, every air, every hope, every supplication, every secret, every well, every prayer, every song, every ballad, every book, every paper, every color, every ray, every cloud, every rain, every drop of rain, every drip of sweat, every lisp, every stutter, every yamma, mother, every yaba, father, every shadow, every light, every little hand that drew in a little notebook a tree or house or heart or a family of a father, a mother, siblings, and pets, every longing, every possibility, every letter between two lovers that arrived or didn’t arrive, every gasp of love dispersed in the distant clouds, every moment of despair at every turn, every suitcase on top of

every closet, every library, every shelf, every minaret, every rug, every bell toll in every church, every rosary, every holy praise, every arrival, every goodbye, every Good Morning, every Thank God, every ‘ala rasi, my pleasure, every hill ‘an sama’i, leave me alone, every rock, every wave, every grain of sand, every hair-do, every mirror, every glance in every mirror, every cat, every meow, every happy donkey, every sad donkey’s gaze, every pot, every vapor rising from every pot, every scent, every bowl, every school queue, every school shoes, every ring of the bell, every blackboard, every piece of chalk, every school costume, every mabruk ma ijakum, congratulations on the baby, every y ‘awid bi-salamtak, condolences, every ‘ayn al- ḥasud tibla bil-‘ama, may the envious be blinded, every photograph, every person in every photograph, every niyyalak, how lucky, every ishta’nalak, we’ve missed you, every grain of wheat in every bird’s gullet, every lock of hair, every hair knot, every hand, every foot, every football, every finger, every nail, every bicycle, every rider on every bicycle, every turn of air fanning from every bicycle, every bad joke, every mean joke, every laugh, every smile, every curse, every yearning, every fight, every sitti, grandma, every

sidi, grandpa, every meadow, every flower, every tree, every grove, every olive, every orange, every plastic rose covered with dust on an abandoned counter, every portrait of a martyr hanging on a wall since forever, every gravestone, every sura, every verse, every hymn, every ḥajj mabrur wa sa ‘yy mashkur, may your ḥajj and effort be rewarded, every yalla tnam yalla tnam, every lullaby, every red teddy bear on every Valentine’s, every clothesline, every hot skirt, every joyful dress, every torn trousers, every days-spun sweater, every button, every nail, every song, every ballad, every mirror, every peg, every bench, every shelf, every dream, every illusion, every hope, every disappointment, every hand holding another hand, every hand alone, every scattered thought, every beautiful thought, every terrifying thought, every whisper, every touch, every street, every house, every room, every balcony, every eye, every tear, every word, every letter, every name, every voice, every name, every house, every name, every face, every name, every cloud, every name, every rose, every name, every spear of grass, every name, every wave, every grain of sand, every street, every kiss, every image, every eye, every tear, every yamma, every yaba, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, all…

#free palestine #poetry #samer abu hawwash #huda fakhreddine

[cammys-imagines24]

°•Astarion Drinking Your Blood•°

Oh, Astarion never tires of your taste.

Whether it's his first time drinking from you or the hundredth.

You were his first human after all.

But even if he hadn't of lived centuries slaking his thirst with that of vermin...

Forcing their rotten, diseased blood down his hungry maw in sheer desperation...

The Vampire would still find your blood to be like ambrosia from the gods.

The sweetest thing to grace his tongue and warm his belly.

Sometimes it's hard to stop, if Astarion is being honest with himself.

But he loves you too, too much to put you in any mortal peril.

Though after a feeding you may feel dizzy and need to recuperate the next day.

It's just, after so long dining upon infected, squirming rats with mottled fur and yellowing buck teeth...

In the shadows of night, prowling the pests and repugnant riffraff.

He can't help himself and he's grateful you allow him to indulge a little.

But despite however ravenous he is, he's always gentle.

Pulling you close and kissing the moonlit column of your throat.

Tenderly wrapping his ivory arms around your waist, his tone sultry while whispering sweet nothings and gratitudes in your ear.

Astarion is so well versed in his ministrations that you've come to want him to feed off of you just as much as he wants, no, needs to be fed by you.

You relishing his hands leaving indents in the flesh of your hips and his breath upon your nape...

Often finding yourself tugging on strands of his curled silver locks to pull him closer.

Until no space is between you two. Until his mouth touches your neck.

And once it does, Astarion can't help but close his eyes, an involuntary shudder resounding through his whole body at the perfume of you.

Your essence a seductive potion which the Vampire would gladly, willingly lap up forever and ever.

No matter how gentle and inviting he makes the build up though, there's simply nothing to be done about the initial pain.

Astarion can't help the fact that once he bares his pearly, white fangs and sinks them into the sensitive flesh of your neck that it's unpleasant.

His fangs like two white hot pokers burrowing into your jugular vein, causing a muffled scream to leave you.

Your bottom lip plump from how hard you gnaw at it.

He does hate your scream. It revolts him that he's the cause of it.

But it is a momentary distress from you before you reassuringly comb through his hair again.

And after a few labored breaths, you ease into the pain. Getting used to it every single time.

By then he's drunk on you. Gorging himself on the nectar of your life. The crimson, pulsing river of your very being.

He's practically sent to heaven with each swallow and he never thought a spawn like him would get there.

Once you go slack in Astarion's arms he holds you tight, cradling your warm body. His fingers ghosting over your chest, hips, stomach...

And when your heartbeat begins to slow that's when he forces himself to pull away.

Licking the scarlet stream which drips down the two raw puncture wounds.

Cleaning up his mess all the way down to the start of your cleavage, exposed from your unlaced shirt.

Aftercare is incredibly important to Astarion and he is quick to sweep you up bridal style in his arms.

Tucking you safely into your shared bed and fetching you a glass of cool water.

You, weakened and tired, putting up little fuss but managing to smile at him and reach out to take his hand.

He wastes no time, falling into bed with you and pulling you close so your head is upon his chest.

He keeps you in a vice grip all night long so that any who would dare come to harm you in your diminished state would have to go through him first.

And he damn well would never let any harm come to you, save that of the wounds he assaults upon your neck.

And with you content but exhausted in Astarion's arms he licks his red stained lips and smiles in satisfaction.

He thinks you are a marvel really, to allow him to drink your blood in the first place.

To consent willingly and give him a taste of pure ecstasy.

And with his flushed cheeks and twinkling, enlivened crimson eyes, he places a kiss on your forehead.

Whispering how very much he loves you while you sleep soundly upon his chest.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion x reader #astarion x reader #astarion imagine #astarion imagines #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 imagine #baldur's gate 3 headcanon #bg3 x reader #bg3 fic

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Shut Up and Kiss Me | Jeon Jungkook | Epilogue

Summary: Jungkook let's you work on his second single 3D but although he's singing this to girls all over he reminds you that you're the only one he wants Pairing: Backup Dancer Reader x Idol Jungkook (f2l they're honestly crackheads I love them) Word Count: 4.7K~ (barely edited per usual lmao) Warnings: Explicit language and smuuttt (he's so hot ya'll I can't) a/n: Kay this took me ling enough to get out but I figured it was about time since the main story hit 1K notes!!! Like what??? Ya'll are actually insane! Thank you so much and I hope you like the epilogue as much as you liked the first part 🫣 p.s. This takes place partially during the 3D dance practice video so yeah I hope ya'll enjoy 🥰 Be sure to read Shut Up and Kiss Me first 💜

"Alright guys go ahead and take a break. Jungkook can you come here for a second?" the choreographer calls out.

"Y/n" Nari whispers, right in my ear scaring me half to death making me place my hand over my heart to ground myself. "Don't do that!" I whisper scream at her. "Not my fault you're staring girly I said your name like three times" she teases and I scoff before walking over to grab my water bottle.

"Am I not allowed to stare at my boyfriend?" I say cocking a brow at her after taking a drink of water. "You are but you also have to remember that your boyfriend is Jungkook and not everyone here knows that" she says, scolding me and bringing me back to reality.

"Hey" Jungkook says, jogging up to us. "What did he want?" I ask, nodding my head towards the head choreographer for this song. "Well..." he says rubbing the back of his neck. "Well what?" I ask, scared that theres something wrong.

"Well they wanted to tell me everyone is doing a great job and the formations are solid but..." he trails off again. "Jeon Jungkook if you trail off like that one more time I'm gonna have a heart attack now tell me what's wrong?" I scold, waiting for his answer.

"They said that we had good chemistry while we were dancing together" he starts off and I let out a breath, glad that it wasn't something major. "But maybe too much chemistry. They think it looks obvious that we're dating with the way we're interacting with each other verses the rest of the dancers" he says and grabs my water bottle out of my hand and starts chugging it nervously.

"Really?" I cringe, loving the fact that we show clear chemistry but also hating the fact that I haven't blended in like a background dancer should. "Yeah they kinda just told me to tone it down and asked me to tell you the same" he says, handing me my now empty water bottle, cringing as well at the notes that they had given.

"Well alright then I guess I'll try my best" I say, shaking my arms and legs real quick to physically shake off the pressure I had felt growing. "Yeah I will too" he says, nodding his head and smiling at my actions.

"What are you smiling at?" I ask, eyes narrowing, a playful scowl written all over my face. "You look cute when you're nervous" he compliments with a crooked smile and I roll my eyes, scoffing at his words.

Once I hear the choreographer call out to everyone to come back and I start to make my way over Jungkook grabs me by my wrist and pulls me back towards him making me fall on his chest. "What are yo-" I start but he kisses me right on the lips and dips me real quick causing all the dancers to gasp and cheer us on.

"Alright you two that's enough" the choreographer scold and Jungkook breaks the kiss and steadies me on my feet again. I take a deep breath, my breath literally being taken away from how sudden that was and how embarrassed I am on top of it.

He rests his forehead on mine and lets out a dry chuckle before I wack him on the bicep which happens to be on full display today with his white muscle shirt on. "Why did you do that?" I whisper scream to him, looking around at all the eyes that have started to trickle away from us and listen to the instructions for the next run through.

"Just because he said we couldn't show too much chemistry while we're dancing doesn't mean that we can't do it while we're not" he smirk, placing a kiss on the back of my hand before running over to the group that's gathered in the middle of the practice room.

I shake my head at him and make my way over on my own, wiping my lips to take away his messy saliva he left on them and when he sees me do so he pouts a bit before looking turning his attention to where it once was.

"What just happened?" Nari whispers when I walk up next to her. "Don't look at me, Jungkook did it. He said something about they said we were showing too much chemistry while dancing but we can when we're not. I don't know something like that" I mumble and she nods her head and goes quiet for a second to listen but breaks her silence again.

"You know all of us had to sign new NDAs today right?" she says and I turn to look at her, my brows scrunched together in confusion. "Really? But why didn't I have to?" I question and she laughs at the same time that the choreographer tells us to get in starting position.

"We signed them so that they made sure we would keep our mouths shut about you two" she winks and the two of us and two other of the girls line up behind Jungkook to get in formation, waiting for the music to start.

"You're kidding me right?" I whisper and she shakes her head, "Your name was on it and everything. They even highlighted it since you guys are the newest idol couple. Well a couple that includes an idol" she says, clarifying her wording unnecessarily.

"Okay I get it I get it" I say, and cover my face with both of my hands in embarrassment. No wonder everyone had been giving me weird looks today.

As Jungkook's voice blares through the speakers Nari and I compose ourselves and wait for our parts.

"I can't touch you through the phone" Jungkook starts, getting into his idol mindset and I get weak in the knees like I always do but take a deep breath and remember to maintain chemistry with him but not too much...

"When there's two dimensions..." he says and our eyes lock when we step into each other. 'He's so fucking hot' is the only thing I can process, my body on autopilot, following muscle memory and willing myself to stop thinking about him.

"So if you're ready, and if you let me" 'Trust me I've let him' I think, my mind wandering to the places I've let him- "See it, in motion, in 3D" he sings, his voice going in and out of my head as I follow the steps along with everyone else.

'Okay why don't I just focus on the other dancers? Yeah make sure our formations look well and our moves are in sync' I think to myself and go along with that.

"Body to body to body to body to body" comes through next and I push on his right shoulder while one of the others girls pushes on his left and I look at the way he's grabbing onto him, definitely a lot harder than she needs to me and I annoyingly take note of it.

"You give me brand new emotion, you got me drinkin' that potion" he says and I hold onto his shoulder while we all do this hip thrust thing. I don't know what the choreographer was thinking when he gave the girls this kind of a move but alright. Being next to him and holding onto his while he does it tho is um...well let's just say the flashbacks are a lot more vivid this time.

"I just wanna see you like that see you like that..." 'God I swear why did I start focusing on the other dancers? Now all I can think about are the girls and everything that goes along with this song and how Jungkook's voice and music dictates our every movement.

"'Cause you know how I like it girl" 'Yes Jungkook, I know how you like it, and you know how I like it. When is this song gonna be over? This is honestly some sick form of torture at this point. You know what, lemme just look at the staff, yeah the staff will be more or less harmless right?'.

When I look towards the staff though my eye catch Jungkook's in the mirror behind them and it takes everything in me to not stop dead in my tracks.

The look in his eyes is mesmerizing, promises of things we would never say aloud hidden behind that fiery stare and it brings me some form of comfort, knowing that although he's singing this song to women through out the world and with female dancers around him, I'm the only one he's got his eyes on. The one he's singing his song to.

I wonder if the reason he chose this song was because these might've been some of his thoughts and feeling for me when we weren't living in the same city, or weren't even on the same continent. Why do I have to keep on having these thoughts? I swear I'm just digging myself deeper.

"I had one girl, too boring" I hear Jack's voice come through and I roll my eyes, chancing a glare at Jungkook and I see him wince, remembering the scolding I gave him when he showed me the song for the first time.

"Am I not enough for you? Too boring?" I fumed. It was on a day when I had been feeling a little insecure to begin with and when he told me he had another song I had been excited to listen because he was excited to show me.

"Baby that Jack's verse, I swear I don't feel like that! You know I've loved you since I was little! I promise!" he pleads and I just end up giving him the silent treatment for the rest of the night but I let him cling to me and he apologized over and over again.

"We already asked him to rewrite his lyrics a few times and I felt bad asking him again" he says, placing his chin on my shoulder and arms wrapped around my waist, being positively attached to my hip.

I turn around to face him, still with his arms wrapped around my waist to make sure he's being honest with me.

"You sure you don't mean that?" I say, glaring up at him and he nods, the poutiest lips and the saddest doe eyes I've ever seen are granted to me along with his response. "Okay" I say, cupping his face and he closes his eyes leaning into my touch before I tap him twice on the cheek.

"Hey" he whines, scrunching his brows together, a new flavor of a pout on his face. "Just make sure that any more features you have on this album young man have to do with monogamy, you got that?" I say pointedly and he nods his head up and down violently.

"I promise! I'll make sure to tell the producers" he says and I hum in response, loving his panicked response. "Why couldn't his verse have been like Latto's?" I groan and try to walk away from him but he pulls me back.

"And what might you mean by that princess?" he says, taking on a whole new demeanor knowing exactly what I mean based off the explicit lyrics. "How they more or less kinda sorta are based off of a true story" I mumble, looking down at where he's pressed our bodies together and dying to get rid of these clothes already.

"Yeah? Which part? Maybe I should make sure it's completely based off of a true story hm?" he says, his hands slowly trailing his hands down from my waist grab my ass, pulling me even closer if possible.

I lean my head against his chest getting shy at the thought that he's keep his promise and he laughs at the cute gesture mixed with the explicit words that garnered this reaction.

"Is my girl getting embarrassed?" he taunts, placing a kiss on top of my head but still making no moves to take his hands off my ass. I whine and he laughs again and lets up, leaning back to try and catch my gaze.

"You know I love you right?" he asks and I hide my face even more, making sure he can't see how red it's gotten. I nod my head and mumble out a muffled 'love you too' but he's not satisfied by my answer and starts walking us backwards, the back of my knees hit the couch and as a result has me not so gracefully falling onto it.

"Since you're too embarrassed to say that you love me it guess I'll just have to make you scream it instead" he says leaving me biting my lip, my heart rate skyrocketing when he comes closer...

'So if you're ready, and if you let me, I wanna see it in motion in 3D' blares through the speaker one last time at the end of the song, all of the dancers going on with the choreography and Jungkook looking back at us, at me and he knows what's on my mind and smirks through the lyrics and I know I'm an absolute goner once we're alone together.

Why do all of these songs have to be so sexual? Every single time we're done with practice or he finishes up his own rehearsals it seems as though he can't wait to be alone with me. Not that I'm complaining but how can one man contain this much stamina.

When Latto said 'Seven days a week, Seven different sheets, Seven different angles I can be your fantasy' she really hit it right on the head.

'You know how I like it girl, 3D' finally closes out the song and everyone stops, panting in effort to catch our breaths can be heard throughout the room and a few of us dramatically fall to the floor in an effort to ground ourselves, including Jungkook.

"Alright everyone that's a wrap. We'll see you guys bright and early Monday morning with one last rehearsal before we fly out to film the music video. Thank you very much and get some rest because we've got a long week ahead of us" the choreographer says and we all clap for each other and get ready to grab our stuff to go.

Jungkook comes over and gives me a hand to help me up and I take it right away, not even having to put in any effort with him putting in all the work to get me back on my feet. "You done for the day?" I ask, seeing that look in his eye, knowing exactly what's bound to happen and as soon as he's about to open his mouth one of the staff members calls him over again.

"Meet me in my studio, this shouldn't take long" he whispers in my ear leaving me shuddering as he leaves me, not giving me even a second to answer before he's jogging over to said staff.

"I was gonna ask if you wanted to go home together but it looks like you've got other plans" Nari says, scaring me again for what is it the third time today? I look at her and she knows the answer already, rolling her eyes and placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Just don't get pregnant" she says, louder than I'd care to admit. "Nari!" I scold and she laughs, causing our little conversation to catch Jungkook's eye, granting me a wink in response but quickly switching back to a more professional demeanor.

"I'll see you later" she sings and I groan before picking up my dance bag and heading towards the locker rooms to shower. I'm thankful that they have these for us because I would hate to have to deal with being disgustingly sweaty just waiting for him to come back.

~~~~~

Once I finish up I make my way to Jungkook's studio where I see him sitting at his desk, hair still dripping a bit while he towel dries it a bit more.

"Thought I told you to wait here for me" he teases, draping the small towel around his neck before getting up to walk towards me, placing a hand on my waist and pulling me in to kiss him. I hum into the kiss, loving moments like these where we can openly be ourselves again.

"Didn't know how long they were gonna keep you so I took my time in there" referring to said shower and he kisses me again before taking my bag off my shoulder and throwing his towel in the little laundry basket by the door.

"Looks like you're gonna need another one soon though" he says, turning around and stalking towards me leaving me walking backwards until I stupidly back into his desk. "Is that a threat?" I ask, taking us back to that morning after.

"Thought by now you would know that I always keep my promises" he says and places his hand on my jaw, putting me at just the right angle to kiss me.

He starts slow, full of the longing and desire he had shown me when he was looking at me through that mirror and deepening the kiss, making me fall further and further into him.

Trailing my hands up his chest I bring them up to wrap my arm around his neck, trapping him against my lips while I use the other to run my fingers through his hair, making my nails drag along his scalp and pull at his locks just how he likes it leaving him groaning into the kiss.

"Tell me what you were thinking about during rehearsal" he says, pulling away from my lips before kissing me one last time and the trailing his lips down my neck. "I wasn't thinking about anything" I gasp when he bites down on my collarbone in response.

"Don't lie to me, I saw the way your eyes glossed over and how flustered you got when I finally caught your eye. Baby was having flashbacks wasn't she?" he teases, trailing his hands under the shirt I'm wearing which happens to be his.

I whimper when his hands cup my breasts, the warmth of his skin seeping through the pitiful excuse for a bra and he pinches one of my nipples as a punishment for not telling him the truth.

"I was thinking about you" I gasp, feeling him smiling against my skin before leaning back and pulling up my shirt a little, waiting for me to give him the go ahead by lifting up my arms which I do right away, used to having done this time and time again in his studio.

"Care to elaborate?" he asks cocking a brow at me, leaving me rubbing my thighs together giving him clear answers as to what I had been thinking of.

"Remembering that you know how I like it? Perhaps the champagne confetti you know you give me every time? Rain rain rain you can't fake it?" he says, trailing his hand down and pressing a finger against my center, already feeling how wet I am for him.

"Seems like she's already soaking wet isn't she" he says, trailing his hand up towards the drawstring on my sweats and tugging them as a plea to take them off. I hop off the desk and he immediately helps me out of them, smiling at the small wet stain that's been left on them before setting me up on his desk again, totally bare with only my bra on which is new and incredibly sheer him having just noticed since it's the last thing that's keeping me from being fully exposed.

I bring hands to my back to unclasp it but he tells me to leave it on. "It looks so pretty on you. Wanna fuck you in it" he growls into my ear before leaning back and ridding himself of his clothing and smashing his lips up against mine, having become even more needy if possible while scanning my body and taking off his clothes.

"Been thinking about this all day. Wish I could fuck you in here all the time. Can't even work properly in here. Just thinking about how I've fucked you everywhere in this room" he says, driving me to insanity while he drags his dick up and down my slit, making me dizzy from the stimulating but needing more to satiate this hunger he's built up in me.

"Jungkook please, do something" I plead, remembering the fact that this room is soundproof meaning I can be as loud as I want in here which is another reason why he loves having sex in here. He tells me he that sometimes he wishes it wasn't though. Says he wants the whole company to know how he makes good on his word and is fucking me right.

"Needy little thing now aren't you" he says, holding back his need to be buried balls deep in me in favor of making me beg some more. I scoot my hips forward and pull him closer in an effort to do it myself but he gives me absolutely no power over the situation.

"Gotta stretch you out" he mumbles against my lips and replaces his dick with his fingers, dragging it along my folds to get some of my slick on it to make it easier to slide in and after playing why clit a little and gaining breathy whimpers from me in response he slides a finger in, drawing circles along my clit in an effort to help me relax.

He does a quick job of it but makes sure to be gentle nonetheless while prepping me for him, needing to me inside me now. As a result he's soon pulling his fingers out of me and placing them in my mouth, distracting me from the fact that seconds later he's pushing into me, leaving me moaning around his fingers.

When I bite down on them from the surprise of him putting it in he hisses from feeling my walls clench around him along with the pain from the bite.

He pulls his fingers out of my mouth and places both hands on my hips and pull me towards him, slamming the rest of his length inside of me leaving me arching my back and choking out a sob.

He snaps his hips into me over and over again at a fast pace he only settles for in times where he's extremely needy or feeling a need to remind me of who I belong to. The first being the case for this situation.

"Shouldn't have let you work on this project" he grunts while his hands grip my hips even harder, dimpling my skin, bound to leave marks tomorrow.

"Drives me fucking insane seeing you move like that, you know that? Makes it so hard for me to not pop a boner right then and there. Fuck how did I get so lucky?" he growls in my ear, leaving me drowning in the sound of his voice, hearing all the thoughts he's been having this whole time.

"You're lucky I took a chance on the loner" I slur out leaving him slowing his pace so he could look at me properly. "Loner huh?" he smirks and I nod, smirking right back at him. He rolls his eyes and picks up the pace again, leaving me giggling at his reaction but soon I'm moaning his name with ever snap of his hips, all my coherent thought long gone when I'm close to tipping over.

"You've got a smart mouth on you today huh? Just begging to get ruined like always, my girl is never satisfied until she's begging for me to stop. Telling me it's too much. You're so fucking adorable when you cry like that. Fuck I wish I cou-" "Shut Up" I choke out, cutting him off by smashing my lips against his, not being able to handle his dirty mouth anymore.

Although I know it's almost impossible for someone to hear us I can't help but want to muffle my moans with his mouth when I cum, making his swallow all of them as his hips stutter and my orgasm triggers him leaving his slowing down, changing his pace to one that more lazy but just as deep, fucking us both through our highs before he pulls out making me whine as the loss of contact.

Maybe I am insatiable, maybe I'm completely lost in him. Not just because of who he is or what he does to me but just because he's him. Someone that I want to spend my life with and although I've felt like that for a long time I'm sure the freshly fucked mindset I have right now is the reason these feelings have come to the front again. 

He rests his forehead against mine and focuses on cleaning me up with a clean towel he had somehow gotten when I was lost in a daze and walks away, cleaning himself up quickly and throwing some sweats on.  

Once he's done and throws yet another towel in the basket he walks back over to me and kisses me. Over and over and over again whispering sweet nothings between every kiss and I swear I could never ask for someone more perfect in my entire life. 

"You okay?" he asks, pulling me off the desk and holding onto my hips, keeping me on my feet when my knees buckle once I make contact with the floor. "Yeah I'm, yeah I'm fine" I say, embarrassed by stumbling even though for the most part I always end up like this after we fuck. 

"Did a number on you huh?" he smirks, guiding me over to the couch to rest after having helped me into thankfully another fresh change of clothes I had in my dance bag with me. "Shut up" I grumble and flop down onto it, laying down and he chuckles before laying down and putting his full weight on top of me. 

I groan and hit him on the shoulders, hoping to get him off of me but he just laughs in response. "I swear you're trying to kill me" I say through labored breaths, but he thankfully alters his position so he's still on top of me but distributes some of his weight elsewhere. 

"No, I just love you that's all" he says, propping his chin on my chest and looking at me as if I hung the stars for him. "I love you too weirdo" I say, ruffling his hair when he pouts at me words, feigning offense.

 "First I'm a loner and now I'm a weirdo? You hurt me with your words" he whines, placing his hands on his chest right over where his heart is. "You are a weirdo" I say, sitting back up and cupping his face turning it towards me. "But you're my weirdo" I whisper, placing my forehead against his and rubbing my nose up against his, giving him eskimo kisses. 

"We need to get home" he says standing up and grabbing my hand to hoist me up as well. "Wait, why?" I ask, questioning his urgency and also getting a fluttering feeling when he call his place home as if we lived there together. 

"You're too cute to fuck just once today and I wanna spoil you" he says, kissing me and making me lose myself in him again. When he pulls away I laugh as I watch him clean up everything and grab both of our bags to carry out and when I try to reach to take mine from him he refuses. 

"Least I can do for my girl after that champagne confetti is carry her bag" he teases and drags me out of the studio before I'm able to scold him properly. "Jeon Jungkook you better watch yourself" I growl and he laughs, thoroughly pleased with himself. 

"I'd rather see you, in motion, in 3D" he says pulling me into the elevator and pressing G for garage while I push him against the wall once the doors close. "Feisty are we? Thought I took care of that back there" he taunts. 

"Just shut up and kiss me" I mumble against his lips and he switches roles, turning me around and pressing me against it instead. "You're gonna get yourself into trouble you know that?" he says between kisses, gripping onto my hips and pulling them flush up against his, showing me how hard he still is. 

"I counting on it" I say and we laugh before he kisses me breathless, the elevator taking us, down down down, each moment bringing us closer to my demise. Knowing tonight will leave me completely shattered, but luckily I've got him to pick up the pieces.

The End

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[serpentandlily]

Untouchable X - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand'sSister!Reader

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court’s spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he’d eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on—with Elain, your brother’s mate’s sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that—more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: smut and fluff, pure fluff 

Author’s note: omfg guyssss, I can’t believe this series has come to an end! I had so much fun writing it and I hope y’all had just as much fun reading it! Thanks for all the love and support you guys have given me throughout it all! Hope this is a fitting ending! 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part X: The Finale 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Are you sure about this?”

You looked at Azriel, at the vulnerability in his warm hazel eyes, at the love and adoration they held but the lingering insecurity dampened it just enough that you turned to him fully. 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Azriel,” you whispered, gently. 

“I just don’t want you to feel rushed,” he sighed. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to make this decision before you’re ready. I’ve waited five hundred years for you, I can wait more. I can wait until the sun and moon collide, princess, as long as you’ll be mine in the end.” 

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. You were standing outside the doors that would lead to the Priestess’ chapel. Just a few steps away from being mated—from being tied together for all of eternity. 

“I’ve waited enough. We’ve waited enough,” you replied. “I want this, Azriel. I want you. I can scream it from the rooftops if you wish. Nothing will change my mind about you.” 

His lips twitched into a smile. “Okay, okay. Then, let’s not keep the Priestess waiting.” 

He pushed open the doors to the chapel, holding them open for you as you strode inside, the small train of your dress trailing behind you as you went. Your mother had sewn you this dress before she died, for this very moment. It was pure white with a long, sheer draping cape covered in silver diamonds. The bodice had a sheer underbust with those same diamonds carefully placed to make a beautiful, intricate pattern. The skirt fell to the floor, shimmering in the faelights of the chapel also covered in diamonds. It was beautiful, truly, and Azriel’s breath had been stolen away the moment he had seen you in it. You looked like the goddess of the moon, herself. 

Your brother, who you allowed to help you get ready since you had decided on a private mating ceremony, had teared up at the sight, himself. Rhysand had given you a loving speech before sending you and Azriel off to your ceremony knowing he wouldn’t see the two of you for at least a few weeks as you would leave immediately after for your mating honeymoon. 

Azriel himself was dressed in all black formal wear, finely made and tailored to his body perfectly. Your mouth had gone dry when he had stepped out of the shadows, his dark hair tousled and looking like a true Angel of Death. The dark side of your moon. 

Standing here now before the Priestess as she read out verses of love and unity, you couldn’t focus on anything but your mate. He stared back at you with the same intensity, his wings held out proudly and his shadows encasing the two of you, swirling around in delight. 

“You may say your vows, now,” the Priestess declared, shutting her book and bringing out the ribbon that was to be tied around your wrists and hands. Azriel held out his hand for you and you took it, holding them up for the Priestess who began to wrap the ribbon around them. 

“I have prayed to the stars every night since the moment I fell in love with you, Azriel, that a day might come where you’d be mine and I’d be yours,” you breathed out. “Despite all that stood between us, the magic that kept you from me all these years, I wouldn’t change a single thing if it meant that this was our ending. I will love you until I no longer exist, through death and all that comes after.” 

“There would be no shadow without light,” Azriel whispered, resting his forehead against yours as you stared up at him. “And you have been my light, princess. I live and breathe for you. My body, my soul, my mind, were made to love you and only you. Because you are the light in whose shadows I exist in. You are the guiding star that I will follow until the end of all things. I vow to love and cherish you for all of eternity. Nothing shall keep us apart from this moment on. No magic, no God, no death can separate us. You are mine as I am yours.” 

You blinked the tears in your eyes away as the Priestess finally tied off the ribbon with a smile. “As witness to your love, I bless thee with the sanctity of the Mother and all that is holy. May your love serve as a reminder of the good this world can offer. You may seal your vows with a kiss.” 

And so you did. The kiss Azriel gave you was full of love and passion—a promise to all that he planned to give you. The Priestess held out a small tray with the pastry you had baked for him—a small pear tart that you knew was his favorite sweet treat. She winked as you took it from her before winnowing away to allow you privacy. 

And the Gods knew you’d need it if the heated look Azriel was giving you could be seen from heaven.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You barely made it through the door to the villa the two of you would be staying in for an indefinite amount of time before Azriel’s lips crashed against yours. You met him with the same intensity as he pressed you against the wall, caging you in with his taut body. 

He groaned as you parted your lips for him, allowing him the chance to taste you—to claim your mouth as his. One of his hands stayed against the wall while the other traveled down the length of your body, somehow finding your leg in the mess of your skirt and hooking it around him. 

Still, there were far too many layers between the two of you. Your body was on fire with want, with need. Sparks were igniting in your lower stomach, a terrible ache that only Azriel could soothe was taking over. The mating bond was singing its beautiful tune. 

“Bed,” you managed to mumble out between his kisses. “Now.” 

His shadows encased you once more, taking the two of you to the lush bedroom upstairs. You pushed him towards the bed but he stopped you, pulling away from you as you whined in disapproval. 

“No teasing,” you pouted. 

Azriel grinned. The sight of it was so breathtaking. 

“I assure you, princess, I have no intention other than ravishing you tonight.” 

He twisted you so your back was to him and he gently began to unbutton the bodice of your dress, pressing a kiss each time a new inch of skin was exposed to him. You melted into his delicate touch, allowing him to undress you completely until you were naked before him. 

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he growled against your skin, pressing kisses down the length of your back until he was on his knees. He placed his hands on your bare waist and turned you around to face him, staring up at you with a reverence that had your heart jumping in your chest. 

He kissed your stomach, hugging your body with his arms. You could feel his muscles flexing—his hazel eyes so dilated, they appeared black—and you knew he was holding himself back for a moment. 

“There is no part of you that I am going to leave untouched, princess,” he groaned, his eyes trailing down your body, full of hunger. “Now that I can touch you, I’m going to make you wholly mine.” 

“What are you waiting for?” You whispered, so full of need. Your words had the desired effect, his restraint finally slipping. He pushed you backwards until your knees hit the bed and you fell down on the soft cushion, your hair fanning around your head like a halo. 

Azriel rested on his forearms above you, capturing your lips again with a new frenzy that left you panting. A hand slipped underneath your neck, tilting your head back so he could deepen the kiss, caressing your tongue with his. He tasted as good as sin.

His lips began to trail down your throat, sucking on the tender skin and leaving love marks in their wake. Your hands slipped into his hair, fisting his dark locks between your fingers and he continued his path down your body, staying true to his own words that no part of you would go untouched tonight. 

He explored every inch of you, leaving you to moan and squirm underneath him. You arched into his touch, wanting more. So much more. 

“Azriel, please,” you whined as the ache between your legs became unbearable. Azriel looked up at you with his dark eyes from where he had taken your breast into his mouth. 

“Keep begging, princess,” he growled. “You will not rush me.” 

Your head fell back against the pillow as he started his ministrations on your breast again, using his hand to caress the other one. His kisses were soft but his hands were not. Not as they groped and squeezed you with a bruising grip that only heated you further. As if having handfuls of you was simply not enough. 

His mouth traveled down your stomach, licking and biting a path on your skin until he pulled away, standing up at the edge of the bed. You rose onto your elbows, eyes glazed with lust. 

Azriel drank in the sight of you laying bare before him, a muscle in his jaw flexing, his hands itching to touch you again. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “My mate. My love. All mine.” 

“I’m yours,” you whimpered, sounding far too needy. “Please, take me.” 

He leaned over, running his hands down the length of your body before he pressed a kiss against your belly again. “My mate.”

Another kiss between your hips. “Mine.”

He fell to his knees, pushing your legs apart so he could kiss the inside of your thigh. “All mine.” 

And then he hooked his arms around your thighs and yanked you to the edge of the bed. You let out a gasp, raising onto your elbows again to look at him. He kissed the back of your knee before moving his way up your thigh. 

“I need to taste you, princess.” His voice was a near whine as he left marks all along your leg—sucking and biting. You moaned his name repeatedly, begging and begging him just like he wanted. 

That set him off because a moment later, he was devouring you with a hunger only a mate could have. Your wanton moans had him palming himself through his pants, trying to relieve some pressure. He sucked and licked your core, not stopping until you fell over the edge, his name coming out of your mouth like a prayer.  

You were still coming down from the high as he made his way back up to you, kissing your lips, letting you taste yourself on him. You pulled back, grabbing his face in your hand. Gods, he was so beautiful. Everything about him was so beautiful. 

Your heart fluttered at the love in his eyes, you were smiling without even realizing it. You kissed him as you reached for the buttons on his shirt. “Take this off. Now.”

“Anything for you, princess.” He smiled against your lips and helped you undress him as fast as he could until he was as naked as you. 

You could feel his hard cock pressed against your stomach. 

You ran your hands down his chided chest, raking your nails over his skin. He groaned at your touch and you pressed a kiss to his jaw, his throat, enjoying the noises you were causing him to make. Your hands continued their way down his body until you were about to finally grasp his cock but he grabbed your wrists in one hand and slammed them into the mattress above your head. 

You let out a noise of displeasure.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Azriel groaned. “I need you. Now.” 

You hissed as he took his cock in his hands and lined it up against your entrance. He hovered for a second, glancing at you, seeking permission one last time. 

“Please,” you begged. “Don’t stop.”

Azriel held himself up over you with a hand on either side of your head, lightly brushing his lips against yours. He slowly slid inside of you, inch by inch. Savoring the way you wrapped around him. You groaned, wrapping your hands around his biceps, your nails digging into his skin at the slight pain. 

But the pain was worth the pleasure. Was worth the feeling of your bodies becoming one. You wanted that feeling to never end. 

He stopped once he was buried inside of you, allowing you a moment to adjust as he hid his face in the crook of your neck, breathing deeply.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your skin. “You are mine. My mate, my love.”

“And you are mine,” you whispered back. 

“Until the end,” he agreed. 

He started to move, pulling all the way out and thrusting slowly back in. Azriel let out a curse and bit down on your neck, his canines piercing your skin. He licked the new wound as he pulled back out and thrust again. 

“Gods, please,” you moaned at the feeling of him inside of you. 

“No gods here to beg, princess,”Azriel growled. “Just me.” 

He fully unleashed himself then, his restraint snapping, as he lost himself in the feeling of you wrapped around him. You closed your eyes, melting into the mattress. He took every part of you, claimed every inch of you with him. You weren’t sure where your body ended and his began. 

With every frenzied thrust came a declaration of how much he loved you, how good you felt, how beautiful you looked with him buried inside of you, between his growls of pleasure. You became hyper aware of every brush of his skin, the feeling of his warm breath against your neck. 

The pleasure inside of you grew and grew with every stroke of his cock until his name was slipping from your mouth with a string of curses and pleas. Your hands trailed his body, down his back until you reached his wings. He groaned as your fingertips brushed against the cool membrane, his pace quickening. 

His thrusts grew more frenzied at your touch as the bond shined like starlight between the two of you. It was blinding, all consuming. 

“I love you,” Azriel murmured between his kisses and it was those words that finally sent you over the edge. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, your darkness taking over the room as you reached a high you’d never felt before. 

At the feel of you coming on his cock, tightening and pulsing around him, Azriel fell over the edge right after you with one final thrust, burying himself inside of you as a hot stream of his cum filled you so thoroughly.

Both of you were panting as you came down from that high. Azriel collapsed on the bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your body and dragging you to him. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heart that beat to the same rhythm as yours. The same rhythm of your mating bond’s mesmerizing song. 

Azriel lazily ran his hand up and down your spine. His touch was soothing and you never wanted it to stop. Not when you had once been untouchable to him. No, you wanted to feel his skin against yours at every waking moment and you knew he felt the same way by the way he clung to you now. 

“I love you,” you whispered, tracing over his tattoos with a finger. 

“I love you too,” he mumbled into your hair. “You are my everything. I’m never letting you go again now that I have you.” 

“Good,” you smiled, propping yourself up to look at him. “Because I'm never letting you go either.” 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

100 years later

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Your heart was warm as you sat cuddled against Azriel, watching your family open their solstice presents. Your hands were intertwined, as they always were since the day the two of you had your mating ceremony. Azriel had never considered himself a publicly affectionate person but after centuries of not being able to touch you, he would never stop now that he could—no matter who was around. 

Rhysand and Feyre sat on a settee across from you guys. Nyx and Selene stood beside them, smiling down at their two younger siblings as they ripped open their presents from them. Cassian and Nesta were on a couch next to them, a bundled up babe held in her arms. 

Mor and Emerie were giggling in the corner together, like they were in their own little world. Elain stood with Lucien, three younglings that shared the same red hair running around her legs with laughter. Even Amren was smiling, sat with Varian. 

You placed a hand on your bulging tummy. You were due any day now with your first babe with your mate. Azriel placed a scarred hand over yours, his warmth seeping into your skin. Azriel’s shadows wrapped around your belly in a protective cocoon of sorts and you batted at them with a huff. 

You had thought your brother had gone overboard with protecting Feyre all the times she was pregnant but Azriel by far took the cake. 

The baby wiggled, causing both of you to gasp lightly at the feel. 

“I can’t wait to hold him,” Azriel murmured to you. “He’s going to be beautiful. Just like you.” 

You smiled, kissing him on the cheek. “I think he’s going to look just like his papa.”

Azriel chuckled, the tips of his ears turning a bit pink. He had been fussing over you and the baby since day one. He had built the entire nursery himself, with his own hands, claiming he didn’t trust anyone else to make things for your child. 

“Either way he’ll be perfect,” Azriel said, kissing the side of your head. 

“Yes,” you breathed out, lovingly rubbing your belly. “He will.” 

And three days later, the next chapter of yours and Azriel’s love story began. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The end. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

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#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #rhysand's sister #azriel fluff #a court of thorns and roses

[inkdrinkerworld]

a spider!reader who gives off “sweet girl next door” vibes? she tries to bring miguel cookies with he’s working on something and he scares her, coming off more angry than intended, and ends up dropping them on the floor. (collect groan lmao)

contains minor spoilers to across the spider-verse pt 2

you’d been thinking all day after the whole fiasco of recruiting gwen that miguel needed cheering up.

margo warned you not to, said, ‘he’s a grump. let him grump.’

but you hadn’t been able to take that answer. there was something about miguel that didn’t just scream grump. something seemed tired about him.

so, you tried your hand at baking him something. you’d debated for a long time of chocolate chip cookies or oatmeal cookies were more his style.

you decided on chocolate chip.

you spent two days on them, using a recipe which required brown butter, overnight chilling and a lot of dark chocolate.

you got a lot of flour on you as you baked them, watching them rise and then spread out on the floor of the kitchen.

when they were done you packed them up in a cute purple box you snagged from the cafeteria.

your heart leapt to your throat as you turned down the corner to HQ, hoping that you wouldn’t catch miguel at a bad time.

that hope is decimated when you walk in and find him grumbling to his computer.

“um, miguel?” you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet as you stand in the archway.

“what? what do you need?” he huffs and you feel some of your momentum dry up.

“i brought something for you, but if you’re busy-“ it appears that was the wrong thing to say.

“of course i’m busy! i’m always busy trying to keep the stupid multi-verse from collapsing. maybe some other time we can chit chat.”

you’d never actually been on the receiving end of miguel’s upset, and maybe this wasn’t exactly for you but his tone and the way his arms are flailing around his body makes you feel small in a way that hasn’t happened for a long time.

“right,” you whisper, managing not to cry as you jolt and the box of cookies fall. “i’m sorry for bothering you.”

miguel watches as you don’t even bend to pick up the box. he watches you turn like you’re being remote controlled and he catches sight of your hands wiping at your eyes.

“great, you’ve made her cry casanova.” lyla appears suddenly, foot tapping in air as her arms cross over her chest.

“so now i’m the bad guy?” he asks, but it’s rhetorical. he feels like the bad guy. guilt and shame burn his throat and belly like he’s downed two tequila shots with no lime or salt.

lyla flits to the box, “she made you cookies.”

miguel sighs, hands scrubbing at his face as he steps off the platform to pick up the box. in your neat cursive he notices you’ve written, ‘a pick me from having to do all the hard stuff.’

he wants to smash something. of course he’d blow up at possibly the nicest spider-woman variant. of course he’d be the asshole to make you cry too.

“where is she?” he asks lyla as he sets the box on the desk and opens it to find the cookies all broken. they smell delicious - something close to that bakery you liked when you’d visited earth-2067 with him on a scouting mission.

you and miguel always make a great team on missions and he hates to admit it but he’s very fond of you and he knows you're fond of him too.

it’s why his chest is aching and he needs to find you. “lyla, where is she?”

“in her room, blasting music and cleaning. give the girl a moment alone before you barge in there and make it worse.”

#miguelo’hara #miguel x y/n #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x yn #miguel spiderverse #miguel o‘hara imagine #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara one shot #miguel x you #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x black!reader #miguel o'hara x you

[honeyhoshi]

deathless death

summary: Wonwoo isn’t religious. But he knows other ways to pray and other gods to revere. 

this is a part of the playlist universe

genre: pwanp - porn with absolutely no plot

wordcount: 4,317

pairing: wonwoo x afab!reader x gyuhan

warnings: foursome, bi mingyu, switch mingyu, bi jeonghan, switch jeonghan, voyeur/cuck wonwoo (but not really), soft dom wonwoo, afab reader, mentions of female anatomy, oral (f & m receiving), breast play, spit kink (bec i wrote it), creampie (again bec i wrote it), use of religious terminology and imagery, slight bulge kink, edging, squirting, finger sucking, THEY ARE IN LOVE!!!!

author's notes: It’s not a lie when I say there’s no plot in this but it is part of a bigger universe which I intend to expand later on. For now, no thoughts, just vibes with this one. Enjoy!

Knows everybody’s disapproval I should’ve worshiped her sooner

She is a sinner in the eyes of the world, but to Wonwoo she is a goddess and who is he to offer her anything less than what she wants and deserves.

Wonwoo gives her what she wants when she wants it and how she wants it, indulges her and spoils her. How can he deny her of anything when she grants Wonwoo salvation every time she says his name?

He is powerless as she whispers her request to him, the dirty, filthy words dripping with sin. Wonwoo is weak in her hands but he is willing to grant her wish and takes comfort in her conditions.

To keep the goddess by my side She demands a sacrifice

So Wonwoo watches with eyes glazed over as his girl lays in bed unclothed, fingers of one hand threaded through Jeonghan’s hair as he presses kisses onto her stomach, going down, down, down and bites and sucks on her thighs. He makes no move to stop them but his fingers twitch as he watches her mouth part in a silent scream, her eyes shut in the feeling of bliss at Jeonghan’s descent.

Wonwoo is silent as her breath hitches when Mingyu fondles her chest, sucking one nipple between his lips, his thumb rolling the other in time with the movements of his mouth. He laves his tongue on her bud before his eyes flicker to her face. With a wicked smile, he bites lightly and a whimper escapes her mouth. Trying to keep himself grounded, Wonwoo tries to lean back on the armchair. The Little space he adds between the obscenity before him and himself does little to quell the simmering heat in his blood.

He doesn’t know how Jeonghan or Mingyu feel but he knows how she feels. She feels euphoric. She feels bliss. She feels salvation. And that is what this is. It is salvation in its purest form, devoid of religion or rules or statutes. It is the salvation he has pledged himself to—to give himself willingly to her and she to him.

The beads of sweat on her forehead and the way her brows furrow pulls Wonwoo’s focus. She is lost in the feeling but she is far from through. She wraps her slender fingers around Mingyu’s length dragging her fingers down his abdomen lazily as she blinks up at Mingyu, finally gaining some focus back. Her eyes speak volumes but only Wonwoo is well versed in her to easily decipher how the gears in her mind turn. There’s theology in every gasp and every whimper, the rolls of eyes and heaviness of lids.

This was a unique request from her. Its a topic that’s never been brought up—something they’ve never considered but the way her body moves between Mingyu and Jeonghan’s lithe bodies seems almost choreographed. She knows how to play the two men like she was playing an instrument, knowing which strings to pluck, when to get the most beautiful harmonies, and Wonwoo has never heard a symphony more beautiful than this

The three of them shift and Wonwoo almost wants to laugh. Both Mingyu and Jeonghan position themselves off the bed. Mingyu stands with a clumsiness he’s known for, the weakness in his knees at their actions is an effect she has on men that Wonwoo is intimate with. Mingyu’s eyes catch Jeonghan’s, his hand pumping his length as Jeonghan kneels on the floor opposite him. Before them a feast is being laid on a king-sized bed with mussed sheets. She moves to lay between them, on her back, and getting comfortable. She locks eyes with Jeonghan and pulls him in with a crook of her middle finger and spreads her legs to present herself to him.

Jeonghan chuckles at the playfulness and recognition that he’s being played like a fiddle. Whatever his usual position and dynamic is in another’s bed is overruled in here. She will call the shots tonight. With his own lascivious gaze, he relinquishes control to her and moves to his position, hooking her legs over his shapely shoulders and spreads them wider.

“Fuck.” It slips out like an accident, like he didn’t mean to break the silence but can’t help himself as her beautiful cunt bares itself to him. Still wet from when he first tasted her just minutes prior, even her thighs are wet. He licks broad stripes at the wetness on both her thighs, not wanting any of her essence going to waste. She’s mouthwatering and he uses that to make her even wetter, quickly collecting it on his tongue and harshly spitting on her pussy.

She squeals at the harsh and warm contact but can barely get the laugh stuck in her throat out as Jeonghan dives into her cunt to spread the spit from her slit up to her clit. A wicked smile spreads on her lips as Jeonghan finally makes good on his reputation with his tongue. When he finally sinks his tongue into her hole, Wonwoo can see how she relaxes. Finally, she moves to lay back down, leaning back on her elbows and her mouth ajar at the pleasure stemming from her center.

The room sounds wet and disgusting with panting to break the sounds of tongue and spit and cunt.

Wonwoo eyes trail up the length of his girl’s body, starting from her curling toes and delicate ankles in the air and her plush thighs caging Jeonghan’s face. The heaviness in her breathing is causing her to suck in her stomach and he longs to trace her ribs and roughly grasp her tits, thinking they must be cool to the touch with no one fondling him. He thinks that’s where he would be better at Jeonghan.

He would have praised her everywhere at every given moment.

As his gaze moves up to her face, he starts when he catches her eye. She’s been watching him watch her. She bites her lip suddenly at a particularly harsh suck from Jeonghan. She has just enough time to send him a wink before she lays herself down on her back and looks up. Wonwoo can only smirk because he knows what she means. Its a reminder. A reminder of this evening’s conditions and that the night is young and that there is so so much left to be done.

What you got in the stable We’ve a lot of starving faithful

Wonwoo’s will remains strong as he keeps his eyes locked with her body. Even when she moves her hands to grasp her breath and to pinch and twist and pull at her own nipples, he doesn’t look away. When she lays her head back letting it fall off the bed, she licks her lips and opens them wide, Wonwoo does the opposite and grits his teeth. She sticks out her tongue in invitation at Mingyu who has been quiet and good and reverent, waiting for his turn. Wonwoo has to bite his tongue when Mingyu finally grips onto her jaw, fingers slipping onto the back of her head and tangling with her. It's to keep her mouth open and wide as he finally sinks his cock into her throat.

The image playing before Wonwoo is beautiful, he thinks. The way Mingyu’s eyes have slipped closed as he fucks into the tight wet heat of her mouth beautiful. Her lips wrapped around him tightly and how she sucks down on his cock in time with his shallow thrusts, is beautiful. The way Jeonghan’s tongue slides against her folds and dips into her center, causing her eyes to flutter, is beautiful. Wonwoo finds beauty etched into her face even when her hair is mussed, her hips are bruised from another’s hands, and her lips are swollen from sucking someone else’s cock.

Beautiful.

She is an expert lover and is eager to please as she lets Mingyu’s impressive length fuck her throat, relaxing her throat to take him as far as she can. Mingyu hisses as her lips stretch over his length and feels her throat constrict around him. The loud groan Mingyu lets out only spurs her on even when he pulls out to catch his breath and grip at the base of his cock. Wonwoo gets it. He doesn’t want this to end so soon.

The loss of Mingyu’s cock upsets her, empty feeling in her mouth as she pulls away only to take him back into her mouth again, slowly this time around. She is patient as she sucks lightly on the delicate head of Mingyu’s cock, digging her tongue into the slit for good measure. She opens her mouth wide again in invitation. As Mingyu fucks his cock back into her mouth, she hollows her cheeks and moans lowly. Wonwoo knows just the look of it is driving Mingyu wild, the bulge in her throat hard to miss. She moves quicker, now, sucking faster, a hand above and behind her to pull Mingyu even closer, knowing that Mingyu is not too far from release. He’s concentrated, focused on finally coming and he pulls of off her to jerk himself off with long thick fingers wrapped around his cock. Her lips press kisses to the skin of his thighs,  his stomach, whatever she can reach in her position. She eyes the head of his cock and quickly laps up the drop of precome from Mingyu’s slit and turns to look back over to Wonwoo with a cheeky glint in her eye.

“Mingyu,” she says, voice sultry and smooth, “come down my throat.”

Her every request is a command and every command must be followed. She quickly takes Mingyu back into her mouth, and Wonwoo knows it’s too much for Mingyu. He cries out and spills into her mouth as she eagerly swallows and sucks around him. Wonwoo’s fists are clenched so hard as he watches the few drops of come that collect around the side of her mouth. She continues to suck even as Mingyu’s shoulders start to sag and the muscle on her lower stomach starts to twitch in response to his sensitivity. It’s just as Mingyu pulls away, almost tripping over himself backwards, and she could even make a move to clean off the come on her lips, her face crumples in pleasure.

All this time Jeonghan’s been patiently lapping at her center, digging his tongue into her hole and sucking on her clit.

Her self-control is commendable as she sits herself up and pulls Jeonghan off of her even when she’s so close to coming. Jeonghan pushes her almost roughly onto the bed with her head on the pillows and Wonwoo feels himself almost standing. Jeonghand presses kisses down the length of her body, from her neck to the valley between her breasts. Jeonghan is a thorough lover, always biting too hard or fucking too quickly, but she loves it almost when fucking is slow and almost torturous. Jeonghan nips and licks at her stomach as his hands knead at her chest roughly. He pinches at her nipples and smiles as she squeals. He looks up and behind himself at Mingyu expectantly, and Mingyu, without missing a beat, swoops down to press a kiss to Jeonghan’s lips.

Wonwoo can see the jealousy in her eyes as she watches the exchange before her. She wants the taste of someone’s tongue on her lips but she tries to tame the hunger. She whimpers, wanting to avert the attention back to her body and both Jeonghan and Mingyu pull away with a small smile on their faces as Jeonghan continues to move down her body.

Jeonghan nudges her to spread her legs and she obeys with a knowing smirk. She bites down on her lower lip and Jeonghan settles in between her legs. He uses two fingers to spread her folds and Wonwoo can see how wet she is from Jeonghan’s prolonged torture. She loves it though. She loves getting close to release and falling just short of it, having to build up to it all over again. She says it makes the orgasm just so much better. It doesn’t take much for Jeonghan to get her thrashing on the bed. He licks broad stripes against the length of her center and sucks harshly on her abused clit. The way he dips his tongue into her with his thumb rubbing tight circles against her nub has tears in her eyes.

When Jeonghan slips two long fingers into her curling them upwards and scissoring them inside her she whimpers out his name like a prayer. It's when Jeonghan slips in a third finger and roughly curls them inside of her repeatedly that she allows herself to drown in her first release. The stretch feels delicious and she can hardly stop herself from spilling onto Jeonghan’s fingers. Wonwoo’s ears perk up as her moans grow erratic and she calls out a name.

“Wonwoo!”

Wonwoo stands from his seat across the room with a determined look on his face. All night he’s been patient. All night he’s had to watch her writhe in pleasure without making a move, without saying a word. Now it was his turn.

That looks tasty That looks plenty This is hungry work

Wonwoo has tunnel vision when he looks at her. The only thing clear is her and everything else can fade away. She is the only thing he sees. He pays no mind to Mingyu breathing heavily beside her, or Jeonghan who is pressing kisses down her thighs. All he can see is his girl biting down on her lip and the fire that's dancing in her eyes. She's breathing hard and heavy and there is nothing Wonwoo wants more than to feel her breath on his lips. 

Wonwoo stands at the foot of the bed and pulls his shirt off in one smooth move. Her eyes are clouded but as he moves to unbuckle his belt, she calls out to him to stop. 

"I want to do it," she says and Jeonghan finally releases her from his grasp and lays back on the pillows to wrap a hand around his weeping cock.  

She on the other hand moves sluggishly towards Wonwoo, but he loves the way she looks. Languid, relaxed, worshiped. 

She kneels in front of Wonwoo, the height of the bed makes it perfect for her to look into his eyes as she reaches down to unbutton his jeans. Her fingers move deftly and Wonwoo pushes them down the rest of the way.

It's quiet in the room—no one dares to make a sound as she and Wonwoo are eye to eye. The air around them is static and it's almost solemn how the two look at each other. This wasn't sex, and this was most definitely not just fucking. This is an offering, a celebration, a sacrament only she and Wonwoo would ever understand. Mingyu and Jeonghan were mere bystanders, only hoping to feel a semblance of elation that she and Wonwoo share with one another. 

For the first time that night their lips meet and Wonwoo can finally breathe. There is no second guessing, no hesitation or shyness. There is only love and adoration. Wonwoo is a starving man and only her kisses could feed him, nourish him, and bring him back to health. This was one of this evening's conditions. Neither Jeonghan nor Mingyu could kiss her—only Wonwoo could claim her lips, breathe in her air, and taste her tongue in his mouth. 

She pulls away only to press more kisses against his face, down to his neck to lick hot stripes against his skin. She latches onto his collarbones, sucking and biting, determined to make her mark. She does the same to the defined muscle of his chest and moves even further down to finally wrap her lips around his cock. 

On any other day Wonwoo would let her take her sweet time sucking on his cock, until he cries out and spills all over her face, but today he has no patience for such pageantry. He is starved and he has been patient for far too long. He allows her to sink down on him one more time, feeling the tight, wet heat of her throat before he pulls on her hair and meets her eyes. 

They share another heated kiss before Wonwoo pulls away to roughly push her back onto the bed that is finally vacated. She smirks at his rough handling but the way she spreads her legs is an invitation. She wants this just as much as he does. 

Wonwoo presses kisses onto her feet and up her calves. He nips and licks at the meat of her thighs and she holds her breath, praying for him to press a kiss where she wants him most but he smirks at her knowingly. He leaves her core untouched and opts to suck a bruise on her hip, the first of many she will be getting tonight.  

She holds Wonwoo's gaze as he dips his tongue into the hollow of her belly button. Wonwoo can feel her skin humming under his lips. She threads her fingers through his thick black hair and tugs impatiently. Wonwoo smiles against her skin as he wraps one of her legs around his hip. He moves quickly and captures her lips again in a heated kiss, cradling her face in his large hands. She rolls her hips pathetically, trying to ease the need for friction, moaning desperately. Her hands grip onto Wonwoo's broad shoulders for dear life and Wonwoo hisses as she digs her nails into his skin, littering his skin with small crescents. 

When Wonwoo pulls away he runs his thumb across her cheek and looks into her eyes. Her eyes are glistening with something secret that only Wonwoo can read. They read vulnerability, hunger, trust, and above all things, love. He smirks down at her before he presses his thumb against her plump lower lip, opening her mouth.

"Open up, baby girl," he says as her mouth opens up and her tongue flicks to lick at Wonwoo's thumb, "Now, suck." 

Both her hands fly up to hold onto Wonwoo's larger hand and bring two of his fingers up to her mouth. She presses her tongue flat against the digits in her mouth and sucks earnestly. Wonwoo smirks, pleased with her compliance. His eyes leave her for a moment to glimpse at Jeonghan and Mingyu who are locked in a deep kiss with Mingyu pumping steadily at Jeonghan's cock. 

His eyes go back to his girl as he grinds down to feel how wet she is on his cock. She groans around his fingers at the feeling of how heavy Wonwoo's cock feels against her. 

"Patience, baby," Wonwoo whispers as his head dips down to lick a broad stripe against one of her nipples, "I want to worship you." 

He finally pulls his fingers from her mouth with praise and presses his fingers against her center. He slips both fingers into her easily with how wet she is and he sucks on a nipple. At first his slender fingers move slowly, easing into her but he speeds up until his pace is almost punishing. 

"Wonwoo, please!" She yells out, eyes clamped shut. 

Wonwoo releases her nipple from his mouth to send her a lopsided smile, "Please what, baby? Tell me what you want, sweetheart," He says before taking her nipple back to his mouth. 

She only groans in frustration and that isn't good enough for Wonwoo.

"I don't know how your wicked little mind managed to think this up," Wonwoo whispers as he adds another finger into her, "Are you having fun? Is it all you ever wanted?" 

He's taunting her, she knows it. He wants her to know, to feel even just a fraction of the agony he felt as he watched her being pleasured by hands and mouths that aren't his. 

"Is Jeonghan's mouth as good as mine? Huh, baby? Did you like sucking Mingyu's cock? Did his cock fuck your throat as well as mine does?" 

She can barely get anything more than a whimper out of her mouth now that Wonwoo is rubbing tight circles against her clit. 

"Not too mouthy now, are we?" Wonwoo smirks, watching as a single tear falls from her eye. "Just tell me, baby. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you." 

She groans in frustration, "You. Wonwoo, I want you." 

"What do you want me to do, baby?" He asks, teeth grazing her collarbone, tongue laving at her flesh. 

"Wonwoo, please," she whimpers, unable to get the worlds out of her mouth, "Please f-fuck me." 

Wonwoo loves when she gets impatient, nearly crying in frustration, because he knows it'll feel so much better when he finally fucks her. 

"My pleasure," he says as he slips his fingers from her to pinch her clit between his fingers while his teeth clamp down on her nipple. 

She groans at the sensations flooding her body but screams when Wonwoo finally pushes into her. 

Offer me that deathless death  Good god, let me give you my life 

There is something about the way she and Wonwoo move that's different. There's something in the way her mouth falls open and in the way Wonwoo mouths at her jaw, pressing open mouthed kisses on her damp skin. Wonwoo's hips move languidly, like they have all the time in the world, and it seems like they do.

It is as if the whole world has stood still to pay respect to such a ritual—two godly creatures becoming one to shower praise onto each other. 

This is the way it always was with him and her. She begs for him to take her, like a woman starved, someone lowly praying to the divinity for sanctification, as if she were the one in need of salvation. In reality it is Wonwoo who is the sinner. It is Wonwoo who falls to his knees for her, the one to give offering to such a high being. He is the one who needs to be cleansed, he is the one in need of salvation. 

So he offers her his body, his heart, his soul. And she consumes him whole. 

Wonwoo continues to move at a leisurely pace, wanting to feel how she tightens around him whenever he pushes into her so slowly. It's beautiful, the way her face crumples up when his pace is this gentle. It is a far cry from the way he touched her earlier. But this is all part of the plan, the ritual. 

Her leg around his hip tightens around him, a silent plea for him to move faster, take her to the edge quicker, fuck her, praise her, love her harder. 

Wonwoo smirks and quirks his eyebrow at her before he moves to adjust her leg, lifting it so it's placed comfortably on his shoulder. The position allows for him to move deeper, quicker, rougher. 

Her eyes squeeze shut as Wonwoo slides in deeper, pressing into that spot that drives her crazy just right. She can't form any coherent thoughts, her brain is a jumbled mess. She can barely remember the events of the evening with only the ghost of Jeonghan's tongue on her body and Mingyu's cock down her throat.

She opens her eyes to see Wonwoo smiling down at how and she can't help but return the small gesture. Yes, she thinks, this beautiful, amazing, gifted man is mine and I am so wholly his. 

And this is how they dance, how they love, how they topple over the edge. This is how the world stops and listens to the ragged breaths and the whispered confessions. 

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

Only then I am human Only then I am clean

Wonwoo removes his lips from her neck to press kisses up to her ear. He bites lightly at the lobe of her ear before he slows the movements of his hips. 

"I want you to come now," Wonwoo says, teeth still pressing down on her lobe. 

"Make it worth my time," she laughs breathlessly. 

Wonwoo takes it as a challenge. He quickens his movements, pounding into her as quickly as his body lets him, and she quivers around him, her body arching off the bed. His pace is punishing, but this is exactly what she wants—what she needs. 

Wonwoo moves his arms from beside her head to grab onto her hands, bringing them above her. Their fingers are intertwined, a show of intimacy despite their carnal act. 

Wonwoo sucks a deep purple bruise on her neck as his hips continue to move, a little sloppier now that he's nearing his end. She's about to come too. Wonwoo can tell by the way her moans hitch, how her breathing is more shallow, and how her eyes are screwed shut. 

“Open up, love.”

Like clockwork, her jaw falls slack and her eyes weakly open to gaze up at him. Pleading. He wants this–Wonwoo wants this forever. All it takes is for Wonwoo to harshly spit in her mouth and finally spill all of his come into her cunt for her to finish and cry out his name.

Her breathing is ragged and her skin is damp, but Wonwoo thinks she looks vibrant. He pays no mind to Mingyu and Jeonghan who are kissing on the bed, both sated and have sleep heavy on their eyelids. Wonwoo untangles one of his hands from hers to brush her hair away from her face, leaning down to kiss her forehead. 

Wonwoo may very well be condemned to hell because he’s committed countless sins and cares not to seek forgiveness. He pays it no mind. Not when there are better ways to pray, more important things to revere, and beings far more perfect to praise.

-`✮´- if you've come this far, thank you. this is an older work of mine that I revisited after YEARS and felt would work well with these members. let me know what you think!!

#frizzy fiction #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #mingyu #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan smut #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan scenarios #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo smut #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #au: playlist

[vase-of-lilies]

Shh...Just Kiss Me...

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Enhanced!Reader (f)

Warnings: Soft smut, fingering, morning sex, thigh riding, grinding, nudity, boobiesssss, fingering, snuggling, kissing, orgasms, some self-doubt, ranting, interrupting with a kiss lol, mommy kink, sexual intimacy

A/N: This is not a part of the series, only a little drabble for Phase 3 of "Levels of Intimacy." This falls under sexual intimacy. I felt like I needed a break from some of the darker stuff. I hope you like this addition to Levels of Intimacy! I will be working on this series a little more lately, now that I am in a slightly better headspace, but I will also be working on some of the Tiny Verse too, so don't worry!

"Baby, I can hear your mind screaming, whats going on?" Wanda whispers in your ear, her arm snaking around your belly and pulling you against her bare chest. You had woken up no more than five (5) minutes before you heard her voice, your mind silent for a short time. It was when one stupid thought pushed your brain to be racing with thoughts of self-doubt and self-hate. Wanda could feel it...

"Hm? Oh, nothing," You say, leaning back against your girlfriend's chest with a soft sigh, your lie not passing through her. You feel her lips smile against your neck, causing chills to cover your body.

"We both know you are lying sweet girl, now tell me what's going on?" Wanda says softly, assisting you in turning in her arms so you are now facing her. "You can tell me anything, you know," She smiles as she kisses your nose and then up to your forehead.

It was her reassurance that flipped the switch to the dam that held in your tears. Burying your face in Wanda's chest, you sob quietly against her skin. She sighs, her nails drawing soft circles and shapes on your back as she holds you close. The sensations were relaxing, but being in her arms felt even better.

As Wanda listened to your struggles of the week, she really listened. She gave advice when you asked and bit her tongue when you mentioned that one pesky professor. But when your words turned to self-hatred and self-doubt, she cups your cheek and turns your face towards hers. You keep talking, only looking at your girlfriend head-on.

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks as you continued talking, seconds passing before you noticed Wanda's concerned look.

"Wh-whats wrong?" You sniffle, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I-I'm sorry if I said t-too much, I just need to stop talking. God why do I tal-" Your rant is cut off by soft lips against your own. The kiss takes you by surprise, but it helps you relax further into Wanda's arms.

"Shh, дорогой (sweetheart)..." Wanda whispers against your lips, cupping your cheek. Her intent was to mute the thoughts trailing in your head and by your reaction, she succeeded. You don't protest, staying silent as Wanda takes care of you. "Just kiss me..." She whispers against your lips again.

Her hand trails from your cheek, to the back of your head, and down to the nape of your neck. She pulls your head closer to her, sucking in every ounce of love you'll give her. Your lips and hers mold together in a kiss that could end anyone's racing mind. And god, did it put yours to rest.

To deepen the kiss, she rolls over and pulls you on top of her, your legs straddling her waist. "Such a good girl, малышка (little one)," A smile spreads across your lips and you can't help but giggle at how much you love Wanda. Staring at her from above, even after just waking up, her beauty was stupefying. All you could do was ogle at her.

Wanda tilts her head, a half smile on her face. "What are you thinking, принцесса (princess)? What is going through that beautiful mind of yours?" You wait before you answer, shaking your head while biting your lip.

"I just love you, and I don't know what I would do without you," Your eyes sparkle in the dim light of the morning sun, Wandas doing the same. "That's all," You smile down at her.

Wanda sits up so her back is against the headboard with you sitting perfectly in her lap. Your chest meets hers as you wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her into a hug. She hides her head in the crook of your neck and kisses your skin softly, moving up to your jaw and back to your lips.

"My beautiful girl, so sweet and just for me," Wanda loved to shower you with words of affirmation and you absolutely loved it. Every single word that she said about you made the butterflies in your belly flutter every time. "Mmm, move your hips, baby, just like that..."

With Wanda's hands now on your sides, she guides you to move your pussy against her thigh. A moan leaves your lips as you lean forward against her chest, whimpering as her left-hand moves from your waist to your breast, rubbing your nipple like a little ball of clay. All of these sensations pull together a sense of euphoria, and you can't help but arch your back in response.

She helps you move faster, your aching clit rubbing perfectly against her skin. "There you go, baby, good girl..." She whispers in your ear, her lips planting open-mouth kisses to your neck. The room fills with the aroma of sex, and sweat starts to form on your body. Your moans got louder, and at this point, Wanda knew that you were close to your orgasm.

"That's it, зайка (precious), I know you're close, just let go," She looks up at you, your face contorting to an expression of pleasure. A face that Wanda can't get enough of. Her arms move around your back, holding you against her body while you came, a whimper of satisfaction and orgasmic relief muffled in against Wanda's neck.

"Good girl, good girl cumming for mommy..."

As she continues to hold you, she pulls your right leg from between hers and has you wrap your legs around her waist. You were in just the perfect position for Wanda, you pussy wide open and wet. "How about one more, sweet girl?" She asks, her hand dipping between your legs and her fingers moving lazily around your clit.

A moan is all she gets for an answer, and that is really all she needs. Gently, two fingers prod at your tight hole, Wanda's thumb continuing to rub your clit in hopes of relaxing you. "It's ok, sweetheart, let mommy in. Let her take away all those pesky thoughts." Your body obeyed her, allowing your walls to loosen just enough for her fingers to slide all the way in, the knuckles of the two barely peeking from outside of your hole.

"Look at you, taking my fingers. It's like you were made for me darling," Her words sparked so much joy inside of you, and you smile against her shoulder as your sensitive pussy is played with. Her thumb continues to roll around your clit, her fingers pumping in and out.

Startled by the sudden movement, you yelp in pleasure as Wanda's hand turns, a third finger poking your entrance while her palm grinds against your button. Your soft, wet walls pulse around her digits as she moves them faster, your own fingernails dragging against the skin of her back.

"M'gonna cum again, mommy, o-oh please," You beg in her ear, your second orgasm coming closer by the second. The moans that leave your mouth get higher, faster, and louder as you cum for a second time, your mind going blank as your body shakes in Wanda's arms.

Slowing down, she helps you ride out your orgasm, smiling as you fall limp against her. She kisses your slightly damp forehead and tickles your back softly.

"How do you feel, sweetheart?" She asks, and you let out a quiet chuckle.

"Much better," You mumble, smiling as Wanda lays back down, you still comfy on her chest.

"Get some more rest, sweetheart," She pauses and gently lifts your head up. Pressing a kiss to your lips, you see her smirk. "I'm craving breakfast in bed, and I know I'll be starving..."

The two of you share much-needed laughter and love, allowing the vulnerability of being with each other.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #Wanda Maximoff x enhanced reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda x y/n #wanda x female reader #Wanda maximoff smut #Levels of Intimacy #LOI Phase 3 #Wanda Maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x female!reader #wanda maximoff fan fiction #scarlet witch #the scarlet witch #wanda x you

[humansofnewyork]

(54/54) “I wish I could see it again. Just one more time. I wouldn’t need long. I’d spend a day in Tehran. I’d visit Persepolis, to see the ruins. I’d go to Nahavand, to see my people. To meet their children. And the children of their children. And then I’d go to his tomb. He was buried in his garden. And to stand there one more time, where he tended his trees. Where he sowed his seeds. Seven verses a day. I’d say them quietly in my head, I wouldn’t want to disturb the peace. But something happens, I can’t help it. I feel the heat. I feel the pressure. It’s like a sword pierces my body and I have to let it out: 𝑹𝒂𝒌𝒉𝒔𝒉 𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒎! The thunder of hooves, the spark of swords, the clash of axes, the single arrow spinning through the air. Who are these Persians? Rumi, Saadi, Hafez, Khayyam, Ferdowsi. Not even a lion! Not even a lion could stand against them! Our kings. Our queens. Our castles. Our battles. Our banquets. Our songs and celebrations. Our culture. Our wisdom. Our choices. Our story. And our words. All of our words. Words of mothers, words of fathers, words that teach, words that fly, words that cut, words that heal, words laughed, words sung, words wept, words prayed, words whispered in a moonlit garden, words of sin, words kissed, words sighed, words spoken from one knee. 𝘔𝘦𝘩𝘳. Words forgotten. Words remembered again. Words written on a page. Words etched on the face of a tomb. 𝘑𝘢𝘢𝘯. 𝘒𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘥. A castle of words! That no wind or rain will destroy! Who we were. Who we were! But also, who we wanted to be. We begin in darkness. A siren screams. A knight appears. A knight with the heart of a lion. A knight with a voice to make, the hardened hearts of warriors quake. A knight who rode out to face the enemy alone, and she roared. She roared! She roared at the enemy lines! Here! Here is your champion! Her wisdom, her soul, her voice, her faith, her power, her heart, her passion, her sin, her choice, her life, her fight, her fire, her fury, her justice! And her hair. Hair like a waterfall. Hair like silk. Hair like night. Hair worthy of a crown. 𝘈𝘻𝘢𝘥𝘪. All of Iran, in a single poem.”

 آرزو دارم بار دیگر آن را ببینم. برای یکبار هم که شده. کوته زمانی شاید. یک روز هم در تهران بمانم. سپس به تخت‌جمشید بروم، ویرانه‌های پرشُکوهش را دیدار کنم. آنگاه سری به نهاوند بروم، با سر بروم، برای دیدن زادگاهم. دیدن مردمانش. دیدن فرزندان‌ و فرزندان�� فرزندان‌شان. سپس به آرامگاه‌اش خواهم رفت. در باغ‌اش که خاک پاک اوست. یک بار دیگر آنجا بایستم که او درختان‌اش را می‌پروراند. زمینی که دانه‌هایش را در آن می‌کاشت. هفت بیت شعر میانگین هر روزش را می‌سرود. سروده‌هایش را به آرامی در دل و جانم زمزمه کنم. آرامش آنجا را به هم نخواهم زد. بی‌گمان از درونم احساسی می‌جوشد، جلویش را نتوانم گرفت. گرمایش را، فشارش را احساس می‌کنم. شمشیری تنم را می‌شکافد، فریادم را فرو می‌خورم: از این سو خُروشی بر آورد رَخش / وزآن سوی اسب یل تاجبخش! پژواک سُم اسب‌ها، درخشش شمشیرها، چکاچاک تبرها، و چرخش تک‌تیری در آسمان بلند. ‌کیانند اینان، ایرانیان؟ مولانا، سعدی، حافظ، خیام، فردوسی. دل شیر در جنگ‌شان اندکی‌ست! شاهان‌مان. شهبانوان‌مان. کاخ‌هامان. نبردهامان. بزم‌هامان. سرودها و جشن‌هامان. پهلوانان‌مان. فرهنگ‌مان. خردمان. گُزینه‌هامان. داستان‌مان. و واژگان‌مان. همه‌ی واژگان‌مان. واژگان مادران، واژگان پدران، واژگانی که می‌آموزند، واژگانی که پرواز می‌کنند، واژگانی که می‌بُرند، واژگانی که بهبودی می‌بخشند، واژگان خندان، واژگان سروده شده، واژگان زاری، واژگان نیایش، واژگان نجوا شده در باغ مهتابی، واژگان گناه، واژگان بوسیده شده، واژگان آوخ، واژگان گفته شده بر یک زانو. مهر. واژگان فراموش شده. واژگان یادآوری شده. واژگان نوشته شده بر برگ. واژگان حک شده بر آرامگاه. جان. خرد. کاخی از واژگان! که از باد و باران نیابد گزند! که بوده‌ایم. که بوده‌ایم! و چه می‌خواستیم باشیم. در تاریکی آغاز می‌کنیم. بانگ آژیری برمی‌خیزد. سواری پدیدار می‌شود. پهلوانی با دل شیر. با خُروشی که دل‌های استوار جنگیان را می‌لرزاند. پهلوانی که به تنها تن خویش به نبرد دشمن می‌رود. و می‌خُروشد. می‌خُروشد! می‌خُروشد بر صف دشمنان! اینجاست، اینجاست پهلوان شما! خِرد او، جان او، آوای او، ایمان او، نیروی او، دل او، شور او، گُناه او، گُزینه‌ی او، زندگی او، زمان او، نبرد او، آتش او، خشم او. داد او! و گیسوان او. گیسوانی چون آبشار. گیسوانی ابریشمین، گیسوانی چون شب. گیسوانی سزاوار تاج. آزادی. همه‌ی ایران در شعری یگانه

[loveburrowx]

Performance

Request - Y/N performs with her group and Joe is her biggest supporter

A/N - This is my first fluff story! Enjoy!

As the first note of the bass drum echoed through the cavernous arena, Y/N felt a surge of adrenaline course through her veins. She took a deep breath, steadying herself as she prepared to step out onto the center of the stage. This was it; the moment she had been training for her entire life. She was the main dancer and rapper in a group of four ladies, and tonight's performance was going to be one for the books. Little did she know, her boyfriend Joe was in the audience, about to witness the show of a lifetime.

Her heart raced as she glanced around at the sea of faces, the lights reflecting off of their eager expressions. She couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment wash over her as she took in the enormity of the moment. The group's choreographer had outdone herself with their latest routine; it was sexy, sultry, and full of energy. Y/N knew she was going to absolutely kill it tonight.

As the first verse of their latest single began, she stepped forward, moving her body in perfect synchronization with the music. The crowd erupted into cheers, and she felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips. This was what she was born to do; this was her purpose. And as she caught a glimpse of Joe's beaming face in the crowd, she knew that he felt it too. He was the reason she danced, the reason she rapped; he was her everything.

The choreography grew more complex as the song progressed, and Y/N found herself lost in the movement, lost in the music, lost in the moment. She felt a rush of adrenaline course through her veins as she executed a series of intricate dance moves, her body glistening under the stage lights. The audience was on their feet now, shouting and screaming, their energy feeding off of hers. She could feel her heart racing, but it only seemed to make her dance better.

The solo performance was finally upon her, and she took a deep breath, stepping forward once again. The music switched to a slow, seductive beat, and she began to unleash her inner siren. Her hips swayed, her body undulated, and her movements were both fluid and powerful. Every move was for Joe, every breath was for him. She could feel his eyes on her, burning into her skin, and it only made her dance with more passion, more fire.

As the final notes of the song faded away, she stood before the crowd, her chest heaving, her heart racing. The cheers were deafening, but all she could focus on was Joe's face, his beaming smile, and the way his eyes never left hers. In that moment, she knew that she had given him everything she had, and that he was proud of her. And in that moment, she realized that no matter what happened in the future, she would always have this memory; the memory of dancing for Joe, and the feeling of his love surrounding her like a warm, protective blanket.

The rest of the concert flew by in a blur of music, lights, and movement, but for Y/N, it was as if she were still standing alone on that stage, her heart beating in time with Joe's. Even as she shared the spotlight with her fellow group members, she couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment and peace wash over her. This was where she belonged; with them, and with Joe.

The final encore came and went, and as the crowd began to file out of the arena, Y/N made her way backstage, her body aching from the exertion of the performance but her heart full to bursting with joy. She found Joe waiting for her, a huge grin on his face, and she couldn't help but laugh as she collapsed into his arms, feeling the warmth of his body and the strength of his embrace.

"I knew you were going to be amazing," he whispered into her ear, nibbling gently on her lobe. "You are incredible, you know that?"

Y/N leaned back, looking up into his eyes. "I couldn't have done it without you," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're my everything, Joe."

He smiled down at her, his eyes shining with love and admiration. "And you're mine," he said, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Always."

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would always have this moment; this memory of the night they danced together, their love burning bright on the stage.

The afterparty was a blur of music, laughter, and champagne, but for Y/N and Joe, it was a quiet oasis where they could escape the chaos and revel in their own little world. They danced together, slow and sensual, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. They ate and drank, savoring every bite and every sip, knowing that it was a celebration of not only their success, but their love.

As the night wore on, they found a quiet corner of the room and collapsed onto a plush couch. Y/N nestled herself into Joe's side, feeling the warmth of his body against her own. He ran his fingers through her hair, tugging gently on the ends as he watched her, his eyes filled with tenderness.

"I love you so much," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the music.

He smiled down at her, his expression softening. "I love you more." And even though she knew it was impossible, she felt her heart swell with happiness at the thought.

They spent the rest of the night like that, lost in each other's company, lost in the moment. As the sun began to rise, signaling the end of the party and the beginning of a new day, they knew that they had created a memory that would last a lifetime; a memory of love, of passion, of two souls intertwined forever.

Hand in hand, they made their way through the crowds of revelers, stepping out into the cool morning air. The city lay before them, still asleep but bustling with life, and for a moment, they stood there, taking it all in. Y/N leaned into Joe, her head resting on his shoulder, and she felt the warmth of his body, the beat of his heart, and she knew that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

As they started to walk, their fingers laced together, she glanced up at him, her eyes shining with love. "Where to now, handsome?" she asked with a grin.

He smiled down at her, his gaze never leaving hers. "Well," he said, "I was thinking we could grab some breakfast, maybe take a walk along the beach...?"

She laughed, her head tilting to the side. "Sounds perfect," she replied, squeezing his hand. "Just you and me, huh?"

He nodded, a fond smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Just us," he said. "Always." And in that moment, as they walked together through the city, their future stretching out before them like a blank canvas, they knew that no matter what challenges they faced or how the world might change, they would always have each other. They would always have this love.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #nfl #nfl football #nfl imagine #explore #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x y/n #aesthetic #y/n

[skteezcursed]

❝MANWICH❞ — k.ys & c.jh

part i || part ii || part iii.

PAIRING. kang yeosang x reader x bf! choi jongho.

GENDER AND WARNINGS. smut. idol verse. dom jongho. switch yeosang. sub reader. masturbation (both recieving). oral (both recieving). handjob. fingering. mxm action (only one part, so you can jump that if you are uncomfortable). cum eating. double penetration. p in v. overstimulation. lmk if i forget anything (i probably did).

SYNOPSIS. in which jongho choses to make one of your dreams come true with the helping hand of yeosang.

WORD COUNT. 7,7k.

NOTES. english is not my first language. this is a collab with @songmingisthighs & @bro-atz, this is the third and final part, also apparently i'm the only one who remembers how tihs crazy collab came to be, but yeah, i gave my best on this, i hope is up to everyone standards and lets be honest, the standards are high after those two amazing parts help. i also didn't think it would turn out like this, but anyways, hope you enjoy it, bye ♡.

IMPORTANT. this is a work of fiction, it has zero intent on portraing how any of the people quoted here are in real life.

CREDS. dividers by cafekitsune ♡

                There were many things Yeosang was proud of, there were many things he could endure. He was a person with a strong conviction, he wasn’t a person to fold easily, or to beg, or to show his soft side. At least not until you came into the picture, at least not until he managed to have you around his arms, to have you wrapped around him in more ways than one. If he was to say the truth, those two weeks he had with you, every single night having you squeeze him in between your legs, hearing you whimper and screaming his name were like a dream.

                A fever dream he was now, trying to recover from.

                Unfortunately, just like Jongho had been stuck in the studio, was now his turn, and for the last month, not only he had to barely see you because Hongjoong would lock him in the studio or Yunho and Wooyoung would lock him in the dance practice room, he also had to come home late at night and hear you and Jongho every damn fucking night.

                He knew it was wrong to crave you the way he did. The offer Jongho had proposed all those weeks ago still felt like a trick. Did Jongho really allow Yeosang to have you in every way?, to satisfy your needs in every way? Yes, yes he did. In all honesty, that day really wasn’t on Yeosang’s mind, at least not until the day you and Jongho returned from that trip he said he’d take you. 

                That was when he started to question everything, if it had even been real. The two weeks he had your legs squeezing his face as he ate you out, the two weeks he was buried inside you whispering sweet nothings as he watched your face contort with pleasure, pleasure he was giving you.

                Everynight he returned home, everytime you and Jongho kept him awake as Yeosang could hear all the moaning and beg that you did for Jongho, just like you had done with him all those weeks prior, his name never leaving your lips, the sweet delicious lips that he often on imagined wrapping around his cock as he could hear the two of you through the walls. Fuck he was a pervert, no, he was a simp. A perverted simp, if that was even a thing.

                As if his situation wasn’t bad already, as his mind kept wandering back to those weeks he had you, it also returned on how you ended up on his dick. By a motherfucking proxy kiss. If that wasn’t horrible, he now not only imagined – vividly – you around his cock, but the way he could hear Jongho command you and toying with you, was also starting to rail him up, the damn kiss playing over and over in his head when all he could hear was Jongho, probably because he was muffing your sounds and, in all honesty, the way Jongho spoke during sex should not have such an effect on him.

                When the two of you were being vocal, Yeosang couldn’t help but curse and imagine him with the two of you, on how you would whimper in between them, or how Jongho could easily manhandle the both of you, as he had done several times to both in different scenarios. He should not be thinking of you like that, he should not be thinking about his friend and member like that, yet, it was all he could think for the past week as he would use his fist, imagining it was you, as his mind would wander around imagining Jongho commanding you and Yeosang around. 

                “Good God, fuck-”

                That was his mistake, making him bite his lip with his other hand against his mouth containing the moans that wanted to leave him as the warm white stripes of cum would go all over his abdomen, it was only then he noticed how quiet the whole house was, a moment of panic flowing through him.

                “Fu-fuuuuuck!”

                When he heard your crying moan and Jongho’s little laugh, he could finally breathe peacefully. Hopefully neither of you would’ve heard him, hopefully he was still in the clear, being able to fuck himself at the thought of the two of you. Fuck, he was completely doomed at that point. Yeosang bit his lips as the sound of your wet pussy echoing through the dorm, along with your little moans and pleading pointless words sank through his body, making his cock getting hard again. 

                Giving him no other choice but to fist his leaking cock one more, using the cum on his body to help him find his release once again, your loud moans being the only focus of his, as he shut his eyes, his fist moving firmly against his length, completely unaware of how a certain figure passed through the room, a small smirk on his lips as he kept his walk towards the kitchen in search of getting you some more water. 

                Today was the first day in a while he had a break from everything, so he ran home just so he could relax. He knew you and Jongho wouldn’t be home, so he would also be able to relax and not have the imagine of any of you making him hard. No, that moment was for him to purely relax at the cozyness of their home. So, Yeosang took a long warm shower, made something for him to eat, making sure to leave some for you and Jongho to share as he knew you’d whine if you noticed he made food and left nothing for you.

                Once he was finally done, he sat down on the couch, his head resting peacefully on the back of the couch, eyes shutting down and sleep finally catching up to him. If he could just sleep it would be incredible, but the world had a different plan, or rather, Jongho, had a different plan.

                Although Yeosang sighed loudly at the pop-up text, he just locked his phone once more, only to be followed by three more notifications in a row. With a low curse spoken, he lit up the phone, the last notification being a simple, ‘open the damn text’ from Jongho, which he quickly did, regretting the same second his eyes were found with your smile, your cute little laugh filling out the dorm and Yeosang caught himself smiling at the screen.

                You two were out together at a park, your shorts leaving your legs bare for his eyes to linger as Jongho made sure to focus a lot on you from afar, and Yeosang couldn’t stop his mind from wandering towards the memories of your smooth skin against his, your legs wrapped around him, legs squishing his face while he ate you out. Then the laugh filled the space, the laugh you would leave whenever he kissed your neck after sex, or when his fingers lightly caressed your heated skin, or when he dropped an unfunny joke, but you laughed as if he had said the most hilarious thing ever. 

                Fuck, he missed you.

                The memories of all those weeks flew back into his mind as his fist worked around his length, teasing himself at the thought of you, you with him, you with Jongho, you. He was down bad and that was bound to become a real issue, but as of now all he wanted was to think of you, on how pretty you sounded when you moaned his name, how your nails dig into his flesh and scalp whenever he was eating you out or burying himself in you. At last, his thoughts went to the first time he had you, on that very same couch weeks ago, on how your pleas were music to his ears, on how perfectly your cunt hugged his cock, how pretty you looked above him impaled on his dick.

                His train of thoughts was cut short as he heard the lock on the door, how long has he been edging himself? In a quick movement, he picked one of the cushions, placing it on his lap as he took his phone swiping randomly at the screen, his cock aching under the cushion as the pressure made him hold a whimper as he heard you and Jongho entering. Both eyes quickly found Yeosang as he forced a smile trying to sound natural, but he noticed Jongho’s stare, most specifically on the cushion Yeosang held firmly against his lap.

                “My raccoon! You are finally home!” The fact that you didn’t notice how uneasy he was, made him give you a genuine smile, but still moved a little away from you, a small wrinkle on his nose as he did so, feeling the fabric of the cushion cause friction against his cock. “Sangie, you okay?”

                “M-me? Ye-yeah, I’m fine, totally fine!”

                He knew by the confusion in your face that you didn’t fall for that, walking closer to him, making him try to stay put, although his cock ached at every step you took closer.

                “You sure? Your face is red, maybe you have a fever or -”

                “Sweetheart he says he’s fine,” Jongho’s voice made you both turn to face him, but you still turned to Yeosang, your hand finding his forehead and neck, before he flinches away from you, not noticing your hurt face at that. “Why don’t you go take a shower, hm? Maybe do what we talked about?”

                “Okay teddy bear,” your voice was weak and Yeosang almost let out a whimper at how obedient you were being, “take care of Sangie, I don’t think he is fine.”

                “Don’t worry sweetheart, just do as I say, yes?” As they both watch you walk away, Jongho’s eyes find Yeosang once again, but his eyes are closed. “C’mon,” his voice was stern as the older one eyed him confused. “Hyung, don’t question, just come, let’s go to your room.”

                As soon as Jongho’s back faced Yeosang, he put his cock back into his trousers, cushion forgotten back on the couch as he tried his best to keep his hard on hidden. Jongho is on the desk as he points to the chair beside him.

                “Jjong, look -”

                “Sit.”

                It was all it took for Yeosang to know it was time for the dreadful talk.

                The talk in which Jongho would lash out on him for telling you he liked you, for fucking you every night for two weeks straight, for fucking you in Jongho’s fucking bed, for -. “Take it out.”

                “What?”

                “Take it out.”

                Jongho said it again, right hand on the desk as his left was inside his front pocket. His eyes and jaw sharp, not leaving Yeosang’s face even for a second, making the older one feel considerably small beside him.

                “Take what out?”

                “I know you are hard as fuck right now hyung,” Yeosang’s eyes shot up and he felt his cock twitches inside his trousers as Jongho lowered himself just a little, “now take it out and start stroking.”

                He shouldn’t be as turned on as he was.

                He shouldn’t be as turned on as he was by thinking about you, his friend’s girlfriend.

                He shouldn’t be as turned on as he was for how Jongho was talking to him.

                “J-Jongho, ple-please I-”

                “Take it out now, hyung.”

                Yeosang’s breath hitched as he looked down at the tent and wet patch on his trousers. Thank fuck you were in the shower, or would you like to see him like this? At yours and Jongho’s mercy? Something deep inside of him told him you would like that. He whined a little at the friction of his sweats against his red angry sensitive leaking cock, moaning as it was finally free, twitching slightly as Yeosang’s eyes found Jongho’s attentive ones already on the red tip, but he was still dead serious, and that was a little unsettling to say the least.

                Jongho leans over, face mere centimeters away from Yeosang who was already panting. A small shock went over Yeosang’s face as Jongho’s hand went to his lips, his tongue wetting the palm before his fingers met with the red tip, smearing the pre cum all over the head before going up and down Yeosang’s length.

                He had to admit, Yeosang had a pretty cock and having him do Jongho’s every bit made the younger one wanna play with the older one a little bit. The image of you and Yeosang coming back to his head, the moan he heard from both your lips that night he found the two of you in his bed coming back to him, on how turned on he was despite being slightly angry at the situation, or was it jealous? He didn’t know anymore, all he knew was that he wanted you both to squirm under him, fuck he wanted to see you both fucking again, but this time, he’d be present to guide you both through it, to see both of your fucked out faces as he buries his cock into both of you.

                Seeing Yeosang whimpering and squirming all thanks to his hands was a sight he never knew he wanted or needed. Whenever he started to shiver, Jongho would slow down the movements of his hands and fingers and watch Yeosang break little by little at that. On the other hand, Yeosang couldn’t do anything but to curse as he felt Jongho’s hand work on his cock, how good he was, how much at his misery the oldest one was, and how much he liked it.

                “Look at me hyung,” he couldn’t, he couldn’t open his eyes, all he wanted was to cum, “I said, look at me,” a harsh squeeze made Yeosang jolt and open his eyes in shock, finding a small smirk on Jongho’s lips although his eyes were dead serious. He gulped knowing that was the moment Jongho would tell him that it was over, that he would never have you, that he -. “You wanna fuck my girlfriend, don’t you?”

                As Yeosang remained silent, Jongho’s hand squeezed his cock once again, the wet sounds already even more present whenever his fingers went up the tip, spreading more of the precum, making Yeosang whimper and bite his lip.

                “Th-that’s not -”

                “Don’t fucking lie to me,” his voice died on his throat at Jongho’s words and torturous movements. “I know you want to, so I’ll let you fuck her again.”

                “Huh? Jjong what are you argh fu-”

                Fuck, why was Jongho so fucking good with his hands?!

                Yeosang’s thighs start to shake as his chest starts to go up and down, as his abdomen contracts even more, Jongho knows he’s at his limit, he’s gonna cum at any second and Jongho can’t help but smile as he sees Yeosang's spent expression. His smile only grows wider as he notices the shower noise being cut out, you were done and now the fun would happen.

                “Sweetheart, are you done?”

                “Yes, teddy bear, where are you?”

                The panic on Yeosang’s features made Jongho move his hands a little faster, but just enough to contain whatever thing the older one was planning on doing.  “Come to Yeosang’s room.”

                Although you were confused as to why Jongho would be in Yeosang’s room, you didn’t question as you tiptoed your way there, only to gasp at the sight in front of you. Yeosang fucked out face, cock out, red, angry and wet, being held by your boyfriend’s hand as he eyed you with a smirk, letting go of Yeosang turning towards you, eyes drinking every single part of your body regardless of the barrier of the towel.

                “Jjong, what -”

                “Perfect,” he says as his wet fingers call you towards where he and Yeosang were. You do as you are told, trying to ignore how wet you already feel yourself becoming, pushing your thighs together at each step which doesn’t go unnoticed by Jongho, whose smirk grows wider. “Lose the towel and get on the bed.”

                Your eyes avert to Yeosang once more, meeting it again before your eyes go to his rock-hard cock, wetting your lips ignoring how mouthwatering it was, how bad you wanted it in your mouth. As you lowered your head watching the towel fall to the ground, you also noticed the tent in Jongho’s pants, your eyes meeting him once more, the smirk present as his hands both went to his pockets, and you knew his hard on was getting uncomfortable. You took slow steps towards the bed, hyper aware of both their eyes on your naked glory as you crawled towards the bed.

                The whimper that left Yeosang and the groan that left Jongho, made you smile at yourself before turning back to them, knees shut together as you sat on your heels, hands crossed in front of your body, waiting for more orders. Jongho’s eyes turn to Yeosang, a simple ‘strip’ is said and the oldest looks between the two of you before finding Jongho nodding and you smiling, not taking long before he gets up the chair, striping down from every piece of fabric against his skin.

                Your breath is caught on your throat at the sight of him, but it doesn’t last long as Jongho also starts to strip, causing you and Yeosang to slightly panic, even if for different reasons. In all truth, you had led on the idea of having a threesome with the two of them, but never to open about it, yet you tried to make the idea blossom in Jongho’s mind. When he told you to get all clean up, you knew it meant that tonight you’d be fucked good, you just didn’t expect for Yeosang to be participating in it, but you weren’t complaining.

                On the other hand, Yeosang felt a pit in his stomach as he watched Jongho strip, his eyes averting for every single part of the youngest body, on how the wet stains would stick the clothes, the wetness being the mix of saliva and precum from how well Jongho had worked him up, his cock twitching again at the memory begging to cum at once, begin to be buried in your cunt or to be around Jongho’s fingers once more. Fuck, he was doomed.

                “Hyung, all fours on the bed,” the voice that came out of Jongho was dark, full of lust and Yeosang knew what awaited him, he just didn’t expected to be so eager for that to happen to make him question if it was a dream, one of the fucked up dreams he’s been having since hearing you and Jongho fuck every day and night since you two got back from your trip. “Hyung?”

                “Jjong, maybe he’s not okay with -”

                “If you are gonna fuck my girlfriend, I’m gonna be present, are you okay with that, hyung?”

                The subtlety that Jongho said that he will be present however he sees fit, made Yeosang gulp, looking at you once more, all pretty in the bed waiting for both of them to ruin you. The thought of both their cocks buried in you made Yeosang close his eyes and let out a breath before heading for the nightstand, opening the drawer and handing the lube to Jongho, who smirked at the oldest one who heads your way, standing right in front of you. Your pretty breasts insight for him, making his hands twitch to grab them, to pinch the perked-up nipples, to hear you moan to -

                “(y/n) spread your legs so we can see you properly, will you, sweetheart?” You do as Jongho says, your hands going to the mattress as you lift your hips moving your legs around until they are wide open on the bed, the sight of your wet folds making both boys in front of you smile. “Now, hyung, all fours, I want you to look at that pretty cunt while I take care of you for a while, yes?”

                Both noticed how you clenched at those words, biting your lip as you saw how lenient Yeosang was towards Jongho’s schemes, you threatened to close your legs, but Yeosang’s strong hands held them open making you whimper at the smirk he gave your way. The lube quickly being opened as Jongho took a good amount spreading on his fingers and on Yeosang’s ass, which you saw him closing his eyes. Fuck, this is gonna be one hell of a night.

                Your eyes met Jongho’s as he lowered his lubed fingers towards Yeosang’s cheeks, his right hand pushing one cheek to the side before playing with the hole as you saw the man in front of you whine and bite his lips, your hand cupping his face, making him look at you. Once he lifted his face, you could see the wet patch on the duvet from Yeosang’s leaking cock.

                One last look at Jongho, a small question there, the only answer you got was a small air kiss, so you pushed your body forward. The same time your lips met Yeosang’s, Jongho’s fingers entered his asshole, a loud moan left Yeosang’s lips but that didn’t stop either of you to kiss. How much you missed his lips, how much you missed his body, his reactions, him.

                Yeosang had been good to you, both you and Jongho knew, he also wasn’t stupid, your boyfriend knew how you two looked at each other, but he also knew you would never leave him or do something without his permission. He also knew Yeosang would never try to steal you from him, so what was the bad thing about sharing once in a while? If everyone was okay with the arrangements?

                Once you noticed how Yeosang would only moan stead of kissing you, your lips started to move around his face, kissing the corner of his mouth and his sharp jaw, as your fingers would tangle in his hair, scratching his scalp as you feel yourself getting wetter at the sign of him like that. Moving yourself closer to him, your legs still spread open, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Jongho, who worked his fingers up Yeosang stretching him open a few more times, feeling his own cock starting to hurt.

                “Hyung, eat her out.”

                Yeosang doesn’t take a second to waste as he lowers his head finding your wet cunt, feeling Jongho’s hand grip his waist holding it up as he put more lube putting on both Yeosang’s ass and his cock, pumping a few times watching as your face contorted in pleasure at how Yeosang’s tongue was playing around your clit and folds, your hand going straight to his hair as your other sustained your body, making your back arch, giving Jongho clear sight of your perked up breasts before he pushed his tip on Yeosang’s asshole, making him moan against your pussy.

                “Fuck, this is…”

                Your words died down at your lips as Yeosang lips closed around your clit, moaning as he felt Jongho stretch him out from behind, the tip of his cock touching the duvet just enough so he knew he wouldn’t last, but Jongho picks up on that, pulling his hips towards his cock, making his dick dangle loosely, receiving a whine from Yeosang.

                “Once she comes, you can cum.”

                “GOD FUCK!”

                It was like a fucking prayer to listen to you scream like that, to see the pleasure building up in you, to see how your eyes rolled back, to see your legs tremble, to see you biting your lip trying to contain the moans that were to leave you. Those things only turned Jongho more as he held Yeosang’s hips tighter, ramming against him, hearing your moans and his, completing each other in front of Jongho.

                As the youngest took a pace behind Yeosang, he became an incoherent mess of moans, which make him eye you with hooded eyes before using one of his hands to hold you in place as his dominant hand played with your folds, all while he left a chaste kiss on your clit making you arch your back before gasping as he pushed two fingers inside of you, curling them as his thumb pressed circular motions on your bundle of nerve along with random kitty licks when he felt himself capable of using his mouth for anything other than moaning at how good it felt Jongho’s cock on his ass. All Yeosang wanted was to make you cum, not only because he loved to see your fucked out face, or how much of a mess you could make, but also because once you did, he was also allowed to cum after all the edging it has been happening.

                “C’mon princess, cum on my fingers, make a fucking mess like we all know you love to make.”

                That was your breaking point, Yeosang’s deep voice as Jongho fucked him from behind, his fingers curling inside of you so well that you couldn’t do anything but clench around them, your eyes went to Yeosang’s first before meeting with Jongho’s who had a smirk at your direction, mouth slightly ajar as he kept thrusting into Yeosang. And just like that, your whole body started to tremble, your legs shaking, caging Yeosang’s face against your core as his fingers wouldn’t stop pumping and curling inside of you, his nose bumping against your clit at every thrust Jongho made.

                “That’s it sweetheart, make a sweet mess on hyung’s face.”

                The scream that left your body came along with the pull you had on Yeosang’s hair as his tongue kept taking all of your juice, only meeting you once he was sure none of it would go to waste before crashing both your lips, and you moan as you tasted yourself on his tongue, but the connection was lost as Jongho pulled Yeosang towards him, holding him by the neck, giving you open view of Yeosang hard leaking cock. 

                “Baby bear, can I?”

                “Yes, sweetheart, I think hyung has been good for us, so put that mouth to use, will you?”

                So you laid flat on your stomach, kissing the tip of Yeosang’s cock, hearing one of the most pleasant moans leave his lips as you take your tongue out, kitty licks all over the head before licking your dominant hand to hold the base of his cock, only enough to hold him in place, but light enough that Jongho’s thrusts would pump the base ‘till the middle of his cock, as your mouth engulfed the other half and tip, the taste of the precum finding your taste buds making you roll your eyes back, finding Yeosang’s already down on you, and you realized he himself, was also moving his hips trying to get more of himself in your mouth. 

                Panting heavily, both men were starting to get sloppier with their thrusts, as you took Yeosang’s cock with a better grip, moving your head trying to get more of him every time, hollowing your cheeks feeling him closer and closer, by the noises you could hear from Jongho you knew he was also close, so you moved your hand under both of them grabbing hold of Jongho’s balls, hearing him groan loudly. Your cunt already wet just by seeing and hearing those two men.

                As Yeosang’s left hand found your hair, you knew he was gone, he wouldn’t last long. Your hand squeezed the base of his cock as your hand started to move along with your head. It's been a while since you had Yeosang crumbling in front of you and that was making a new round of arousal to find your core. 

                Once his left hand forced your head to a stop, the warm cum went down your throat not long after, but once you patted his thigh he let go of your head as you promptly tried to get every drop of his cum in your mouth. Ah small weak, ‘fuck, princess’ was heard, making you eye up fiding a fucked out Yeosang looking down at you sucking him dry. 

                “Such a pretty little thing, ain’t she.” Jongho’s voice came from a little behind and you noticed he too had cum as he took a clean towel around his cock, that was getting hard by the second, although you still had Yeosang’s cock in your mouth. Your boyfriend’s hand patted your head before the tips went all the way to your back. “Did you swallow everything like a good little slut, sweetheart?”

                “Yes, teddy bear,” you said, opening your mouth, sticking your tongue out, letting go of Yeosang’s now soft hardened cock as Jongho’s fingers took your jaw, pulling you in. “What do you want me to do now?”

                “Well, you thought of me while fucking hyung, and thought of him while fucking me, so I guess nothing better than having both of us fucking you, no sweetheart?” You gulp trying to close your legs, but Yeosang’s hand were faster cupping your wet core, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly on your swollen clit. “Now, be a good slut and let us take good care of you, yes?”

                Before you could answer your boyfriend’s lips were on yours, his hand firmly on the nape of your neck as you felt Yeosang’s hands leave your pussy, but the movement under you made you break the kiss only to find the eldest head in between your thighs once again, eyes filled with lust. You moan loudly as his tongue takes a long stripe from bottom up, but you are silenced by Jongho’s lips again on you.

                It didn’t matter that you were whimpering against his lips, it didn’t matter your whole body was shaking on top of Yeosang almost making it impossible for him to breathe – not that he cared at least. As your body started to fail you, Jongho’s arms wrapped around your waist holding you steady as Yeosang ravishes on your pussy, finger, tongue, and mouth taking their time as your mouth was way too preoccupied with Jongho’s own mouth. 

                You could feel the buildup on your lower stomach, your legs already unable to hold you away from Yeosang, barely able to keep kissing Jongho, which he quickly noticed, giving you a smirk before calling the oldest one in between your legs, who quickly left from underneath you, his face glistering with your juice as he stood behind you, his hard cock pressing against your ass as Jongho kept his gaze fixed on you, analyzing how much you still could take. 

                “How do you feel about marking hyung?”

                “I think the skin is rather blank, Jjong, should we really mark the little princess?”

                You tried your best to hide how the praising was getting to you, how they are talking about you as if you weren’t there was affecting you, but you couldn’t, you had no more strength in you to fight the neediness that took hold of you. 

                “I think even sluts have owners, property should be marked so no one else touches.”

                His hand on your neck pulled you in for another kiss as you felt Yeosang’s teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, his hands cupping your breasts playing with the hardened nipples, making you moan against the kiss with Jongho. As your legs failed again to keep you steady, you felt Jongho put his left leg under you, your soaking cunt against the skin of his thigh in a way to keep you elevated so both men could take their time with you, and God they were taking their sweet time with you. 

                As an instinct, your hips started moving on their own against Jongho’s thigh, making him chuckle against your lips before taking one side of your neck as Yeosang took the other, both sinking their teeth on the burning skin, leaving a mark each. Jongho’s hand never leaves your hips, helping you move against his thigh as Yeosang kept playing with your breasts, cupping, pinching, squeezing it. You were seeing stars and they had barely started to properly touch you, yet you were long gone under their lustful gazes and touches. 

                Again, as you start to feel the buildup, the warmth spreading from your core, the trembling of your limbs, but they both stop, making you cry out loud already sensing a bit of the tears forming. 

                “Please teddy, let me cum, I’ve been good, please.”

                Jongho only coos at your words, fingers gently brushing the skin of your face, in contrast to the hands around your marked neck, you could also feel Yeosang still kissing every part of your back, hands playing tortuously with your breasts as you feel him dry humping your ass, low grunts being heard from time to time. 

                You were nothing but their fucktoy at that point and you couldn’t even complain.

                “You will sweetheart, I promise you that, but first I wanna make your filthiest dream come true and to have both of us, with you being at our mercy.”

                Instantly your hips started to move faster against your boyfriend's thigh, getting a chuckle from both of them, but you didn’t mind, you were desperate. 

                “Seems like someone is eager,” Yeosang baritone voice made you shiver and throw your head back, only to find his lips brushing closely to yours. A painful pinch on your nipple made you gasp before he silenced you with his lips. “You should start behaving if you want to cum, princess.”

                “That includes, stop moving your hips, sweetheart,” at that, Jongho’s fingers held your hips in place, digging into your skin, making you whimper as you could feel the crescent moons forming on your flesh. “That’s it, such a good girl, aren’t you?”

                “Yes, yes I am,” you whispered, barely capable of forming a coherent phrase as they sandwiched you, pressing their bodies against yours, taking everything you could give them and more. “I’m your good girl.”

                You heard both of them groan at your words before Yeosang’s body takes a distance from yours, but before you could say anything, Jongho took your waist pulling you close as his back fell on the mattress, before his hand pulled your leg up so you could straddle him properly, his hard cock in between your bodies. With a small exchange of looks, you swiftly took his cock and put it at your entrance, but didn’t sink down to it, you knew better than to do that.

                “Oh sweetheart, you think you are ready for what’s to come?” Jongho coos as his fingers draw small random circles on your skin, your legs barely capable of keeping you up from all the things both of them have done to you. “You think you are ready to take both of us?”

                “Yes, yes please,” you cry out a plea, noticing Yeosang missing for your view before feeling hands cup one of your breasts as another takes your throat making you look at Yeosang behind you, a small smirk before he pinches your nipple and slap your tit making you hiss, before feeling his cock against your back. “Please Sangie, I’ve been good, haven’t I? I’ve been good, right. my little raccoon?”

                Your doe eyes almost made him pull you in for a kiss, but that wasn’t the moment for that, he also didn’t even think Jongho would be okay with that happening, not when you were mere seconds of being impaled by the younger’s cock. 

                “You’ve been good, princess, but do you think you can take us both?”

                His hand left your breast finding its way between your ass, pulling the cheeks to play with your asshole, making you jolt as he pressed one finger in.

                “Have you done what I told you to do, sweetheart?”

                Jongho’s upper body quickly met yours, his hands firm on your shaking thigh, he was testing how much you could endure until sinking into his cock, just so he could punish you for doing something without his permission.

                “Yes, yes I have, I cleaned up real nice for you teddy bear.”

                “Oh sweetheart, that wasn’t for me,” you felt his left hand leave your thigh already anticipating what was gonna happen, “Yeosangie hyung is the one taking your ass, because just like I said prior, your cunt was made for me.”

                A harsh slap met your right ass cheek, and you whined in pain and pleasure, closing your eyes as Yeosang pulled your face higher, kissing your cheekbone before pushing another finger into your asshole, making you jolt before sinking in a little, feeling the tip of Jongho’s cock entering you in the slightest as another harsh slap was felt.

                “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Jjong, but my legs, please, I can’t, I-”

                “It’s okay sweetheart, you can sit down, we’ll take care of you, won’t we hyung?”

                “Always the best for the princess.”

                Although you wanted to give in completely, you knew Jongho wouldn’t like that, he has been taking his time with you, if you sink in completely on his cock, he’ll be upset, and yet, the stinging on your right ass cheek made you consider how much were you willing to not take the punishment.

                At least, Jongho’s hands were holding your legs, helping you to keep spreading them a little at a time, clenching every once in a while, mostly because on how Yeosang’s fingers were going in and out of your asshole, making you only imagine how it would feel once his dick was inside. As you sank down on Jongho’s length, both boys were saying the filthiest praises you could hear. 

                Fuck, princess, can’t even take my two fingers is this pretty little ass?

                Sweetheart, my cock isn’t too big for you, is it? Your cunt was made for it after all.

                You are so pretty like that, all fucked out, do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

                You are gonna take the both of us so well, aren’t you sweetheart, such a good girl.

                Our good girl.

                They were driving you insane and they were barely fucking you properly.

                “That’s it sweetheart, how are you feeling?”

                “Full,” you moan as one of Jongho’s thumb found your clit, making you gasp and arch your back. “So big Jjong, oh my -”

                “Ready to take hyung’s cock, sweetheart?”

                Without expecting a word, you heard the lube being opened again before feeling the tip pressing against your other hole as Jongho’s hands spread your ass cheeks, Yeosang’s were firmly on your waist, making you whine and moan at every centimeter he entered you. If you felt full before, now you were on a break point of losing your fucking mind.

                Nails digging into Jongho’s shoulder making him groan against your ear before slapping your already red ass cheek, making you clench around both of them, making Jongho repeat the act as Yeosang pulls your hair, fingertips going all the way down your spine until it reaches the point where his cock is buried in your ass. 

                “Princess, we need words.”

                “I need you to move, please.”

                “Now, that’s not how I taught you, sweetheart.”

                “Green, my color is green.”

                “That’s more like it,” Jongho kisses your temple before holding your thighs while Yeosang pulls you slightly up by the hair, leaving a bit of space between you and them. “Tell me if you ever feel empty, sweetheart, okay?”

                “Y-yes, teddy bear.”

                In a swift motion, both start to move in different rhythms but in such sync that you never felt fully empty nor fully full. As Jongho would be coming out, Yeosang was coming in and you thanked your boyfriend for having the idea of asking Yeosang all those weeks ago to fulfill your every need or else you wouldn’t be here in this fucking manwich of heavens.

                In all honesty, you were nothing more than an incoherent moaning mess. Your mouth open, screaming moans and curses leaving it every so often, your nails digging into Jongho’s flesh as you tried your best from time to time to escape the overstimulation they were creating within your body, they were fucking reorganizing your organs at this point.

                Whenever your body would start shaking, both would slow down their rhythm, whisper sweet nothing in your ear, Jongho would kiss your lips as Yeosang would leave open mouth kisses to your neck and back. You bit your lip trying to muffle your moans, but Yeosang took your neck as Jongho pushed his fingers to spread your lips open.

                “Don’t you fucking dare hold back your moans, do you hear me?”

                “Ye-yes, te-teddy be-bear,” you cried as both of their rhythms came back full force, your cervix was nonexistent at this point, you were numb, your legs and arms shaking like crazy, you clenched around them more than you relaxed. “Oh God, fu-”

                “Tell us how it feels, princess.”

                “Tell us how it feels to have both our cocks.”

                “So fucking good, Jjongie,” you cried another moan just as Yeosang yanks you back, making both hit you on a different spot, feeling the common build up in your lower stomach, “fuck, yes, don’t stop, please please please let me cum, please!”

                You screamed as both of them, once again slowed down their movements, you just wanted to cry at this point, so you did something you knew you would be punished for, but it didn’t matter, you need to cum, you need to-.

                “What the fuck you think you are doing?” Jongho’s hands pulled your wrist away from your clit, making you look at him with pleading needy eyes. Fuck, you couldn’t take it any longer. “Hyung, hold her hands back,” the grip on your hands were firm, making you whine and move a little, the friction of your clit against Jongho making you moan. “If you wanna cum so badly, we’ll make you cum.”

                “Thank you.”

                The chuckle that left Jongho’s mouth was enough for you to know you were fucked.

                It didn’t take half a second and they both started rammering their cocks in and out of you, while Yeosang held both your arms and hair – making you back arch, leaving your breasts and clit exposed for Jongho’s pleasure –, you boyfriend took his time, slapping your breasts, pinching your nipples, playing with your clit, it was all too much, too fucking much and you were loving every second. 

                “Cum sweetheart, cum for us, cum all over my cock.”

                Automatically your body responded to Jongho’s words, clenching one last time before you convulse in between them, crying and cursing out loud as they used you, kept fucking you through your high, which wasn’t even done yet and another one was building up. Yeosang let go of your hair, hands wrapping around your throat pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, as Jongho’s thrusts became more feral. 

                “One more time princess, cum for us once more, please.”

                At Yeosang’s words against your ear, you came once again, this time, feeling the older one’s thrusts become erratic before he fill your ass with his seeds, before pulling out, letting your body fall against Jongho, who quickly enveloped you around his arms, fucking you even harder before his hips suddenly stop and you feel his seed inside of you. 

                “How are you sweetheart?”

                A small kiss is felt on your temple as you feel Jongho lift you up, putting you on the mattress, the feeling of emptiness and numbness fill you up after what just happened. Your eyes scan the room, finding Yeosang returning from the bathroom with a towel, ready to clean you up, while Jongho takes his already used one to clean himself before joining your other side as Yeosang takes his time cleaning your legs and taking particular care with your sensitive areas.

                “I feel amazing Jjong, thank you,” you pull your boyfriend in for a kiss before looking at Yeosang who is taking extra attention to the task at hand, even though you know he already cleaned all he could out of you. “Sangie?” His eyes pick up as you call his name. “C’mere, please?”

                You try not to roll your eyes as you saw Yeosang direct his attention to Jongho, who chuckles nodding as his fingers trace random patterns on your heated skin. In a swift move, Yeosang is now on your other side, pulling the loose hairs away from your face, making you giggle before taking his hand in yours.

                “Hope we weren’t too harsh with you, princess.”

                “Never,” you say genuinely, although your body would certainly complain a little more once it starts to cool down, but you didn’t care. “I know you two could never really hurt me, thank you for everything, my boys.”

                You kiss each of them on the lips one last time before looking at the bathroom door of Yeosang’s room, making both boys chuckle. 

                “I’ll get the bath ready; you make sure she doesn’t sleep before that bath or we will never hear the end of it!”

                Jongho got out of the bed shaking his head as Yeosang pulled you close to a hug, your leg quickly flying over his, tangling with each other, hand intertwined on top of his chest. 

                “And to think this all started because of a fucking proxy kiss Jjong gave you,” both laughed at the memory, as you turned to face him, making him curious. “I don’t regret it Sangie, and I talked to Jjong, he knows you like me,” he closed his eyes cursing at himself, “he also knows I like you,” his eyes shot up at your response, a small smile appearing in your lips. “I like you Sangie, but I also love Jongho, and he loves me, this needs to be clear.”

                “I’d never ask for you to choose between us, if that’s what you are going for.”

                Your laugh made a smile form on his lips, before you pulled him in for a chaste kiss.

                “I was actually thinking of proposing something, like, maybe sharing?”

                “Enough talk, you need to shower, we talk about that tomorrow,” Jongho quickly entered the room, taking your arms around his neck as he took your legs on his arm before turning to Yeosang, both of you eyeing the oldest. “I believe she said enough for you to think it through, hyung, we’ll talk tomorrow after a good night of sleep.”

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[kneelingshadowsalome]

🤠🫶:

I am CACKLING like a cartoon villain oh my GOD you are a genius!!! Of course the toxic king breaks his back of COURSE he does the fucking idiot (affectionate), so there's fuck-all he can do with reader's big announcement that this was all worth it and he can totally get some...yknow, in a couple months. AHHHHH. And she just wanted to give him something to look forward to, motivation for the physical therapy <33 (she boops his nose while he lays there wishing for death and cowering from her, of course she does, omg. i love them your honor!!)

and maybe she gets more confident now that he can't fucking move 💀💀 (lmao, oh god. König if you weren't such a menace this would have been easier for her a lot earlier and nobody would be in this situation) and maybe this leads to way more sensual  touching from her on her own initiative; she's curious, after all, and she does like him a lot and she's just trying to help him get better, you know? and König eats that shit up, starts telling her all about these itches and sore muscles he can't reach, could she be a dear (trying to act like he's not literally begging for her touch) and then he basically blacks out the first time her hands linger and drift, but probably better that than the things he was going to say to her. So König wants to die, this is too much, he's done, he's a goner each time she visits him. and damn her, she's a devoted little thing, never misses visiting hours. Always so sweet and caring towards him and it's the perfect image of a faithful, doting housewife without the wife or the house or the sex part of it lmao. And of course he can’t move when all this is happening!!! so basically just more torture and his mind just kind of breaks into little tiny pieces held together by demented lovesick lust-filled fantasies. he says some absolutely filthy things (makes the cunt licking look family friendly in comparison), he can't control it really anymore, and poor reader is shocked/horrified and blushing furiously, but thinks it's the medications and the pain and whatnot, tries to be understanding, only chides him once she gets her shock under control (and he's actually stone cold sober the entire fucking time lmao, but he ain't telling her that, she'd run if she knew). 

AND THEN MAYBE~~ (dun dun dun) one day reader is FINALLY reaching under the stupid hospital bed blanket - he can feel her soft little fingertips and carefully manicured nails travel down his abs, trace the V of his hips (my man is going to black out again, good lord) and she's looking at him with big round eyes and she's nervous she's going to do it wrong and he won't like it (as if), and it's taking FOREVER for her to get her hand between his legs bc sweet little thing just wants to do it right, and he's out of his mind, half-crying, whisper-begging at this point (it's probably not even English, not German either, just mindless pleas). Her hand FINALLY wraps around his length and he's lucky he doesn't cum right then and there; she's blushing so violently at taking a man in her hands for the first time and she's seeking HIS approval with those pretty doe eyes as she bites her lip. So of course that's when there's a knock at the door (the universe hates him, he's going to scream, whoever this is is lucky he can't move and they might die anyway from the blast radius of sheer rage) and a doctor comes in for daily rounds. Reader barely has time to yank her hand back before doc sticks his head through the privacy curtains and yep our man's heart might actually just stop, he is just going to keel over right then and there. 

so not even a handjob for our poor king <3 if he doesn’t die (lol) he transfers to in-home care IMMEDIATELY and finally gets reader to himself in a more private setting where he can lock the fucking door. this is the part where I look away lmao, I'd leave him blue-balled & suffering forever ...am i a mean person?? also RIP to that doctor. this verse is so hilarious & wonderful and i love it, feels like a tug of war between tropes and genres if that makes sense which results in your delightful genius works, thank you thank you <333

This is so beautiful. I am puddle & I can't thank you enough for collaborating & I LOVE YOU Howdy anon 💋 and um, I think I got a little too excited about their first time lol oops (I can't leave him blue-balled forever! Poor man would die of heart failure 🥺)

(Tamara and Demon (1864), Mihály von Zichy)

Word count: 3.7 k

CW: 18+ NSFW. Corruption kink goes brrrr. Masturbating, dirty talking, obsessive/yandere König. Awkward handjob. First time/virgin!reader. Kinda sweet and fluffy 🩷 Also coersion/mildly dubious consent, tread carefully!

A/N: You can find the story of König x virgin!reader and their relationship so far by following the tag (könig x virgin reader)

Oh she visits him alright!

She’s much braver now that König is bedridden and can’t move. They actually spend more time together after the weightlifting accident. The intense stares haven’t gone anywhere, he's actually gotten worse in that department, but otherwise, König is behaving quite nicely.

He seems to like it when she reads to him next to his bed, which is immensely cute in her opinion. Armed with a new book in the crook of her arm, she’s on her way to visit him again for another session.

She's already accustomed to simply floating in after giving his door a light rap. She's also gotten used to the sight of guns and knives and the smell of army storage, even the manly, pungent stench of sweat that lingers on top of it. 

But it’s not the potpourri of masculine military scents that stop her at the door and nearly make her drop her book.

The King himself is lying naked on the bed – well, naked except for the bag of a mask he seems to hold on to like it’s his soul. This time, she doesn’t even see it: her eyes fly straight to the towering erection he’s stroking, urgently with one hand while the other cups a pair of shaved, pale balls.

"König…?" 

The man who calls himself King curses – in German or in English, she can’t tell. The sight of him there, caught red-handed on touching himself, only makes her feel sorry for him. König has nowhere to run and hide, nothing to cover himself with, he's not supposed to even move yet. And he is not the one who should be embarrassed, after all, she's the one who barged in on his privacy. 

Although… König doesn't look embarrassed. 

He only looks drunk and sweaty and in need.

She thinks about turning back and leaving him with hurried excuses because what the hell is she supposed to do…? Read him a book? He is still gripping his cock like it’s a sword or something, breathing like he just ran a marathon. 

And speaking of swords, that weapon is far too big for her... Hell, she doesn’t know much about swords but she would deem that sword far too big for any woman.

If she were clever, she would run away from that stare and that huge, monstrous cock. But she’s not that clever, that much is clear because everyone she’s told she’s dating König have warned her about him. Every cell in her body is warning her of danger, but she keeps running back to him, over and over again…

Well, at least he can’t move, she thinks, takes a hesitant step, and places the book down on a table. Just when she’s about to whisper some calming, soothing words to this beast, the beast speaks.

"Take your clothes off," comes a husky command from the bed, and she freezes with her fingertips still on the cover of her cute little book about German fairytales (she knows König likes his fairytales bloody). 

Normally, she would make a scene out of such audacity. She might even storm out of the room and vow to never speak to him again for daring to talk to her like that.

But… 

He looks so desperate. König looks like a giant bound for torture on that bed. And he's not the only one who has been tormented these past few weeks… The incident at the hospital has plagued her dreams every night as she has tucked herself in with the memories of König's… sword.

Perhaps it would help with his pain if she offers him relief in his time of need. No harm can come from that, surely. She doesn't know how exactly taking her clothes off will help, but if that is his wish, then it’s the least she can do. 

To her and his surprise, her hands drift to the hem of the top she’s wearing. She’s feeling rather wild – something about seeing König completely naked yet unable to move is making her act like this. Like she's the brave one. Like she’s in control now.

Dedicated to her task, she pulls the shirt over her head.

Nothing moves on that bed for a good long while. As far as she can tell, König might've stopped breathing. But by the time she takes her bra off, there’s a swallow under that hood. Then the hand slowly starts to stroke again, the moist, slick sounds continue as her breasts fall free from their confinement. 

She’s breathing heavily too, and the man on the bed is stiff as a stone: every single muscle in his body is pulled taut as he stares at her breasts like they’re the Revelation of John. Then those blue eyes lift to her face just before another command is issued.

"Take off the rest."

"The–the rest…?"

"I just want to watch you." 

His voice is hoarse and croaky, and she feels even more sorry for him – König must be in so much pain and she just keeps on teasing him. She started this, so perhaps it’s better just to see it through. 

What’s crazy though is that he actually moans when she gets out of her pants, socks, and finally, her underwear. The slick sounds of fapping increase, and he’s moaning.

She hasn’t even touched him yet… She’s just standing there before him completely naked, heat pooling low in her belly as König continues to work himself with what looks like both pleasure and pain.

"Komm… Come here," he orders next, out of breath but surprisingly politely, and she has no other option than to approach his bed. She sits down as chastely as possible, then almost jumps back up when a steel-hard thigh brushes against hers.

"Touch it. Ja?" 

Her eyes grow as wide as they can go as she takes in the cock she has touched once before, briefly and under a hospital sheet. Now it’s right there, foreign and demanding. 

Better just to see it through, her mind tweets as her hand reaches out through what feels like water. Like before, there's a sharp intake of air under the hood as she takes him in her hand. It’s even hotter than she remembered, and gives a tight pull the instant her fingers wrap around it. 

"Like this…?" 

"Just like that…"

Her meek little mouse peeps and multiple bats of eyelashes are like drug to him, it seems. The man is as tight as a bowstring when she starts to move her hand up and down, mimicking the motions she just saw him do. They're not as fast as his, and her grip must be way gentler, but she seems to do surprisingly well for an inexperienced virgin. The poor man looks like he’s about to faint on that bed. 

What she doesn’t expect, however, is König to touch her.

A large, warm palm sweeps across her ribs and lands on her breast, softly, as if he's concerned that he might scare her off. She's the one who's stopped breathing now… And then he rubs her, squeezes her. Gently… Reverently.

"You're soft," comes a strained sigh from the bed as she tries to keep her own grip both tight and gentle. She’s starting to get so wet she fears she will stain his sheets. Bewildered, she tries to change her position, but the palm cupping her breast seems to have bound her to the bed too. Nothing moves, except her hand and his as they explore each other. A giant and an angel...

Something hot and wet meets her hand as she strokes him – is he cumming already…? But it can't be, she has heard there’s supposed to be quite a bit of it when a man cums, and there’s only a few ample drops of clear liquid oozing out of the slit on his tip.

"Can't wait for the day I get to make you scream," he rasps, and her heart is hammering in her chest as more cum-like liquid streams from the slit of his cock, adding to the lewd, moist sounds of the handjob she’s giving him.

König doesn’t know she has never even kissed a guy… 

"We'll… we'll get there," she tries to soothe him, thanking her lucky stars this man can't move.

"I want to fuck you," he continues, sounding more and more desperate. "Good and hard… until you cry under me. Want to see if you can take it all in."

"König…"

"It’s a long cock, ja? I can make you squirt."

"König, I'm still a virgin… You can't–"

"Nh–Sorry… sorry."

His head falls back on the pillow, his muscles relax just for the tiniest moment. But if she thought he would finally leave her to it, she was wrong. The hand of a giant killer drops between her legs next. 

She’s sitting on the bed like she would sit on a side saddle, with one leg slightly bent, giving the horniest man on earth good enough access to the heat between her legs. She doesn’t stop him – she doesn’t even want to – as broad fingertips meet her pubic hair and slip between her already slick folds. 

"...Was? Pretty angel is all wet," he comments on her state of mess. Approvingly: like all his fears have suddenly disappeared. 

She has to fight the urge to roll her head back and moan as those agile fingers start to give her full, generous strokes. She almost messes up her rhythm while stroking his cock, which seems to have gotten even harder.

His fingers delve into her with more courage, they tease her tight, tender nub with excited circles. She tries not to jolt and shiver as he makes her even more slick, tries to ignore how her nipples grow hard from that burning stare alone. 

"Such a pretty girl… and so wet. You sure you don't want it?"

She thinks about it – how it would feel if he somehow was able to take her on that bed. If he pushed that cock inside her and if it would hurt or make her moan even more. Even the thought of trying to fit that inside her makes her thighs feel like pudding.

"I don’t know… You're still recovering."

"Heh… That's not a problem. You can be on top. I'll help," he offers as if it’s a gentlemanly thing to do, to help her bounce on that huge cock. 

"I–I'd rather do it the classic way."

"I'll show you classic when I get better," he promises with unconcealed greed. "I'll show you all the other ways too. We’ll do it any way you like."

She tries hard not to whimper when hearing his promise. She tries her best to pleasure the biggest cock she’s ever seen. It’s ridiculous that it’s the only cock she’s ever seen... What sort of a cruel joke was it from the universe to choose this king-sized Austrian to be her first man? 

She wonders how König would react if she told him he’s too big for her.

Would he try to change her mind? Would he have a meltdown? 

Would he cry…? 

She doubts if this man ever cries. The last time a brutal soldier like him shed tears was probably when he was a kid. But he did look like he was about to cry that one time when she booped his nose... 

And despite being a cold-blooded soldier and somewhat awkward at times, König has always been so, so delicate with her. He's tender even now, touching her with the gentlest avarice there is. But that searing stare wants to possess her, devour her, and it makes her bite her lip nearly to the point of drawing blood.

"Sit on my face?" he offers next, this time sounding so desperate it's almost pathetic. 

Sit on his face… 

What would he even do? Lick her? Try to push his tongue inside her while finishing himself?

The thought alone makes her mess up her rhythm again and causes her pussy to pulse more wetness on his fingers. She secretly hopes he would slip at least one of those fingers inside.

"Let me see your cunt," he begs. God – this giant mercenary is begging to see her poor, aching pussy. "Just… let me at least taste you–"

She can’t even reply before the hand between her legs gives a sudden twitch and stops those delicious rubs. Actually, his whole body is going rigid. 

"König…? Am I hurting you?"

"I'm–gonna cum…" 

Oh god.

Oh god ohgod-

She's not sure what gives her more of a fright: the sound that leaves her soldier boyfriend as he cums, or the bright, hot flash of liquid that shoots from the cock in her hand.

He groans like it’s torture. Long and hard, so loud that she’s sure other people can hear it in the neighboring rooms, perhaps even further than that. There’s one, two, three spurts of thick, hot liquid, after that, she loses count because it spills to coat his stomach, it runs down her hand, and she’s pumping him in a frenzy while he just keeps on moaning.

"Slow, slow down–" he tries to groan in the middle of his climax and she obeys immediately, reveling in how his cock still throbs in her hand when she finally stops moving altogether. More cum gushes out with every strong pulse, even if the eruptions are less violent. Ropes of it already cover his abs, it coats her hand with thick film – it's far more than she would ever have expected, and a shiver goes through her as she imagines what it must feel like to take all of that semen inside her… 

"Ah… Das war wirklich…" König sighs dreamily while she must be looking like a startled deer.

Yes, that was really something… She doesn’t know what to do with his cock, or her hand, or the mess that coats half his body.

Luckily, he instructs her to take his old shirt from the floor and clean herself with it. She cleans him with it too, dabs the black t-shirt over his muscled stomach, even tries to swipe his crotch with it as gently as she can. 

König looks happier by the minute, looks at her like she’s an angel or something, and when she fully commits herself to getting him cleaned up, he gets another erection. She’s quite horrified – how is this even possible…? She thought men would need at least hours to get it back up again.

"Come on top," he offers, sounding all but seductive with that commanding tone. 

She swallows, thinking if König wants to be a "gentleman" and finish her too. With his tongue... or something else.

"Just for a hug? We don't have to put it in."

She seems to be under some spell tonight, because she simply drops the poor, cum-stained shirt back on the floor and crawls to the bed and on top of him.

König is hot and lean as she presses herself against him, her thighs now straddling the intimidating thing between his legs. Her head falls right beside his mask-covered face, and the smell of guns and fuel and sweat is prominent there, as is his natural odor, the woodland musk she has grown so fond of.

"There we go," his arms go around her waist, pressing her tighter against him. There’s no escape now, she thinks, but like always with König, she eventually softens and relaxes, molds against him… Accepts her fate.

"You did well, Meine Liebe," he even caresses her head as she slowly melts into his hold. "I’m sorry if I frightened you. Will you forgive me?"

"Um, of course."

"A gentleman should always apologize if he has upset his lady. Do you agree?"

"Uh… Yes."

"I promise to be a good man. The best man you could ever hope for."

She bites her lip as König continues to caress her. She’s far from upset, but she doesn’t want to tell him that and excite him too much. Otherwise he might end up hurting himself. He hugs her tight, and seems to have calmed down more than ever.

Is this what an orgasm does to a man...? The change is drastic, and her lover feels warm, and tender, and inviting. He even whispers more promises on her skin. They're nonsensical but gentle, König is probably trying to be romantic, but she can feel how his breaths grow heavier as time goes on. After all, they're both naked, pressed tightly together, closer than ever before, and he's having an erection again...

She tries not to shiver at the things he tells her. The husky promises of love and protection: "You are mine now, ja? Don’t be afraid. I would never hurt you. I will always keep you safe." And then, "You’re still wet, mein Mädchen… How about we practice just a little bit? We'll do it slow. Ja? I will make you moan…"

He coos those things in her ear while holding her in place for his cock. She starts to move on her own accord; it’s like her hips have their own will. Soon, her entrance meets the tip of him, still hot and bulged, and she starts to grind against it with barely restrained greed. She is wet – wetter than ever. 

König curses multiple times under his breath, and she feels so, so filthy for loving how unhinged he is, how unhinged she is – spread wide on top of him like that, trying to get off of the faintest touch of his cock. She’s so soaked that the hot tip of him glides across her folds with no effort at all. 

She feels like she’s doing something forbidden, taking her pleasure from him like that, but König doesn’t seem to know what the word filthy even means. He keeps praising her, guiding her, helping her, telling her how good she feels, that she’s doing so, so well.

Soon, he’s asking to put it in – just the tip. 

She tries her best not to sound too needy as she breathes a soft, mousy "Yes."

"How does that feel?"

He’s panting, few inches of thick cock inside her, and she thinks, did she just lose her virginity? Is this it? Why isn’t it hurting?

“You like that, hmm?”

He feels so, so good, pressing her against him, spreading her legs with his own, trying to feed more of that marvelous thickness inside. It doesn’t hurt, at least not yet. It makes her dizzy to even think what she must be looking like, with her legs spread and a huge cock partly inside her.

She should say something… What was it that he asked? Oh yes, if she likes it. She more than just likes it, and tries to push herself down to get more of him in. König reacts immediately with a ton of praise leveled at her in the softest possible way.

“That's it, that's it, pretty girl, take it in…”

Him cheering her on like that only makes her decide that it’s time to let go and let go for good. But she can’t get him in by herself, not while he’s holding her a prisoner like this.

"More… König, please," she hears herself whimper. 

God, is this all it took...? Him holding her close and letting her find the joys of sex herself? Apparently so, because he sounds goddamn smug when he turns his head to rasp more needy, throaty things in her ear.

"Ah… Knew you'd beg for it… "

His voice makes her inner walls clamp down on him, and that’s when it hurts, but only slightly. She wants him so much that it’s painful. And König… God, he keeps on showering her with praises and promises.

"I'll show you how good it can be… That's it, let me hear you. It's a good cock, ja? Good cock for a pretty girl…"

It’s not even fully in before he starts the thrusts. That’s when she knows she has lost her virginity. She’s being plunged. Not taken… Just… loved, thoroughly and deeply. 

When she moans, finally sounds as filthy as can be, he tells her how tight she is. How good she feels. He says he’s going to cum again soon. But not before her…

He doesn’t need to instruct her to rub her clit on his pelvis in rhythm with the thrusts. She is smart enough to do that by herself. And the thoughts of This is it, I’m not a virgin anymore have turned into Is it possible to cum on your first time…?

Everything’s perfect, all things considered. But there’s something missing.

"König," she swallows arduously. "I’ve never been kissed... Would you– Could you…?"

He stops moving, releases his hold a little. A strong heart is hammering inside his chest, she can feel it against her own fluttering heartbeat. 

Is it stupid of her to ask…? Will he only laugh at her for being so sentimental?

Apparently no, because it’s the warmest possible command that surrounds her this time.

"Lift the mask, angel."

By the time their lips meet, both hesitant and needy, he's fully inside her and holding her like a mountain. She feels like she's in a fairytale now: the only thing that moves is his mouth, and hers. Theirs is a slow, hungry rhythm. 

Her first kiss is not only awkwardly romantic and sweet, it’s sinfully good. 

The kiss also does things she did not expect. Her pussy goes tight around him, so tight that a whimper or two escape her nose, and König only purrs – she feels like the softest little creature in the embrace of a lean jaguar.

And she thinks… 

Why on earth didn't they do this months ago?

#answered #yandere könig #könig smut #könig x virgin reader

[ninety-two-bees]

where the lost things go

jegulus microfic | 462 words | parenting au

═══════☆═══════

“Piglet?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Eeyore?”

“It has to be Tigger, James.”

Harry has been wailing in Regulus' arms for about an hour now—almost the exact length of time since he dropped his most beloved teddy. James and Regulus had looked everywhere for it, turning every inch of their house inside out, and had come up empty. It’s as if Harry’s Tigger had never existed in the first place.

“They don’t have Tigger, baby,” James says through the phone, barely audible over Harry’s cries. Regulus does his best to calm the baby down, but all of his efforts have proven futile. “I could try another store?”

“No, it’s—just come home, Jamie. We’ll figure something else out.” Exhausted, Regulus hangs up the call and turns his attention back to their son. He hates seeing Harry like this, red-faced and teary-eyed, not knowing how to fix it. He wouldn’t trade this life for the world, but it would be lovely if there was some kind of instruction manual.

Nothing he has tried so far has worked. Harry has no interest in eating or taking a nap or playing with another toy. He barely seems to react to Regulus’ voice. At this point, it feels like a miracle that Regulus hasn’t started crying along with him.

He has one idea left in his desperate attempt to soothe Harry. Settled on the couch with Harry curled against his chest, Regulus begins to sing. It is the same soft lullaby his brother sang to comfort him when they were kids, though Regulus would argue that Sirius is not known for having a particularly calming voice.

It takes him until halfway through the song’s second verse before Harry finally calms down. There are no more wails echoing off the walls, just the faint melody of the lullaby falling from Regulus’ lips. By the time the song ends, Harry’s eyes have fallen shut, and his cries have been replaced with soft snores.

“You’re a miracle worker,” James’ whispered voice muses from the doorway. Regulus turns his attention from their sleeping son to find his husband leaning against the door frame, Harry’s Tigger held tight in his hand.

“You found it?” Regulus asks, careful not to raise his voice any louder than absolutely necessary.

James chuckles, stepping farther into the living room to sit down next to Regulus. “It was at the front door, inside one of your welly boots.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was so drained, Regulus would have to bite back a laugh. Instead, he drops his head onto James’ shoulder with an amused huff, and takes Tigger from his hands to lay it on top of the sleeping baby. “Next time, you can stay home while he screams. I think I’ve earned a day off.”

#combining my two loves #winnie the pooh and jegulus #have had writers block all day so this is me trying to fix it #jegulus microfic #jegulus raising harry #marauders #marauders fic #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #kit's microfics

[self-deprecating-possum]

Fragile Apologies (Yandere! Miguel O’Hara x Gn! Reader)

Content notes: minor spoilers for Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, unhealthy/abusive relationships, verbal & emotional abuse, physical intimidation & violence, minor injuries, implied future imprisonment

Word count: around 4k

Short summary: You thought it would be easy to leave your dying relationship with Miguel. This turned out to be not true.

The sun was setting. It cast a long, orange beam on the wall, and you slowly followed it with your eyes as it advanced, gradually fading.

You purposely didn't look at the clock on the wall, you didn't want to know how much time had passed since Miguel decided to pull you onto his lap, not caring that you were right in the middle of preparing dinner. You were relieved you had not boiled the water in advance. You were not sure if the kitchen would burst into flames by the time your boyfriend lets you go.

Miguel's arms wrapped around you like iron bands. He didn't squeeze tightly enough to cause pain, but even so, you wouldn't have been able to move an inch, no matter how much you wanted to. All you could do for your own comfort was to wrap your legs around his hips and let your hands hang by your sides.

From experience, you knew it wasn't worth begging to be let go, no matter how stiff you were or how important a task you had somewhere else. The easiest way was always to simply wait for him to finish.

Your stomach growled loudly. Maybe… Just this once, he might let you go.

Miguel buried his face in your neck, you felt his hot lips and closed eyes on your skin. Softly, you patted his back with one hand, while attempting to slide the other in the gap between your bodies, hoping he would let you push him away.

He didn't move at all, so you let out a frustrated sigh.

“Miguel” you whispered “Miguel, please, let me go. I'm very hungry.”

Despite trying to move and signal that you wanted to break free, you were ignored. Panic started to set in, but you were trying to overcome it. You grabbed his shoulder to try to push yourself away with full force.

It felt like you were trying to move a concrete wall. He showed no reaction, not even his face moved on the skin of your neck.

"Miguel," you hated how whiny, how sharp your voice was. It sounded annoying even to your own ears. "Please, please, let me go!"

“Enough.”

You immediately stiffened. There was something in his voice that made your throat tighten. You waited for him to say something else, anything, as you lowered your hand to its previous place, but in vain. It seemed like it was enough for him that you didn't protest anymore.

The sun set behind the skyscrapers of Nueva York, and the room plunged into darkness. With a defeated sigh, you rested your chin on his shoulder.

Miguel began tracing playful circles on your back with his thumb, pressing slow, deliberate kisses onto your neck. As if your protest woke him up to the fact that he was holding a living being in his arms. The touch of his skin ignited a flare across yours, and your chest tightened with pain.

If only it had always been like this with him. Or at least sometimes, when you would have been open to him too. He was completely unpredictable, never knowing when he'd acknowledge your existence. From the very start, you knew he wasn't an easy personality, but this was something different. You felt both completely abandoned and overwhelmed at the same time.

You raised a hand to ran your fingers through his hair and felt his hands relax around you. You gently kissed his temple.

Suddenly he tensed, and you stifled a quiet scream. You know he would never hurt you, you told yourself, but you weren't convincing enough. You saw with your own eyes how the iron rods bend under his fingers as if they were made of clay.

You watched every news report on TV and every video that Lyla showed about him. You were well aware of what he was capable of. Even in this moment, he could have snapped your spine at any time, a slightly stronger squeeze would have been enough.

“Okay, that's enough," said Miguel, as if you were the one who didn't want to let him go, not the other way around.

"Hey!"

He pushed you off his lap. You would have fallen if he hadn't caught your arm to hold you. You grabbed onto him to regain your balance while he turned his attention towards his watch.

“Lyla, is there anything new?”

“Yes there is, but I didnt want to disturb you lovebirds. It seems like there’s some new info about Vulture, but nothing imminent. Still no info about his whereabouts.”

Miguel hissed in frustration and then turned his back to you. He started heading towards his own room.

"Didn't you want to make dinner?" he threw back before the door closed behind him.

You just stared after him for a few moments, standing alone in the dark room.

"Asshole," you said to the door. You sounded more tired than angry.

You went back to the kitchen and continued preparing dinner. Your home appliances could have made anything you wanted, probably cheaper (and tastier) than you, but there was a certain comfort in this simple routine that you couldn't let go of. Right now, you needed your hands to be busy as you thought through your situation, likely for the hundredth time in the past few weeks.

You didn't want to live like this. That was the simple truth.

When you first got together, Miguel was different. Not by much, but different. He was still willing to put energy into your relationship. However, since then, there have been more and more threats, work and problems, not to mention the number of Spider-Men he kept track of.

He doesn't have the time or energy for those little things that made you fall in love in the first place. You knew what had happened to him before you met, what happened to his daughter and that other universe. You tried to be understanding, genuinely.

Honestly, if it were only you suffering, maybe you could let go of all this, but it seemed like that Miguel also didn't want this relationship that much. Those tender moments that used to be so common between you, the hugs, the kisses, the intimate touches were increasingly scarce.

No, scarcity is not the right word for it. These moments between you slowly condensed into a single point, first daily, then weekly, lately almost monthly, when you often could do nothing but endure whatever he put you through.

You didn't want to think this way about the person you loved more than anything, but when you looked deep inside yourself, you knew you were starting to fear him. It didn't help much that when he wasn't being controlling, he often just plain ignored you, like he was doing right now.

When it first occurred to you that you should move out, you dismissed the thought. Then again. And again.

And then you didn’t.

It was much easier to find a rental apartment than you thought. Even Lyla helped when you asked her to. She hesitated, but not much, she just said you definitely have to talk to Miguel about it, and you agreed with her. You didn't understand why you haven't brought up the matter to him since then.

Maybe because you knew trying to reason with him wouldn't accomplish anything, as you had asked him many times before to consider your feelings. Maybe because you felt this was a much bigger step than anything you've brought up before. Or maybe it was the guilt you felt over the fact that you were increasingly looking forward to the date when you could finally move out.

This date was tomorrow.

You finished dinner. Two plates of boiled egg sandwiches with salad and a soft drink. Nothing special, you just tried to drag out the preparation as long as possible. You laid everything out on the table and then leaned against the counter. It's been so long since you've eaten together like this. Lately, Miguel ate everything in his own room or wherever he happened to be on a mission.

You took a deep breath, then pushed yourself off the counter. You started walking towards Miguel's room to knock. You thought you'd have to beg again, so you were surprised when the door slid open in front of you.

You entered the dimly lit, cold room filled with humming and blinking computers. You didn't like being here. You never knew when you'd see something on one of the screens that you couldn't get out of your head for weeks.

"What is it?" Miguel sounded annoyed, but at least he turned in his chair to look at you. You saw his eyes searching your hand for the plate of dinner you usually set outside his door, as if he were a teenage kid and you a resigned parent. When he realized you were empty-handed, he furrowed his eyebrows. "Is something wrong?"

You cleared your throat. You felt your heart racing, making you feel like an idiot. You had prepared for this moment for so long, yet now you wanted to turn around and flee. But why am I still so scared?

“No, I just want to talk to you. Can you come out a bit? I've set the table outside.”

Miguel looked like he would rather say he was too busy, but when he looked at your face, it was clear that he knew something was wrong. After a brief silence, he spoke up in a surprisingly gentle tone.

"Just give me a minute to finish this. Lyla!"

You didn't wait to hear all his instructions. You went back to the kitchen and waited for him there.

"If this matter is so important, you can tell me now," Miguel said.

"Let's eat first, please. We can talk after. I promise, this will be the only time.”

It was clear that this did not decrease his suspicion, but rather fuelled it. Nevertheless, he sat down and without any further talk picked up his sandwich. This compelled you to do the same.

As you ate, you tried to formulate in your mind what you would eventually say to him from the myriad of possibilities you had gathered. It proved to be surprisingly difficult, and you didn't feel ready to speak when you finally finished eating.

Miguel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well? I'm all ears.”

There was something so condescending in his voice that your jaw tightened. You closed your eyes for a moment before you spoke. You tried to keep your voice calm.

“I've been thinking a lot lately. About you, about us… You know this isn't working. I don't know if Lyla told you, but…"

Miguel slammed the table so hard that the cutlery clinked. Your breath hitched. You didn't even see him move.

“Again, seriously? Look, I don't have time for this. I understand that you're not happy with the current situation, and believe me, neither am I. But still…”

“I want to leave you, Miguel.”

He immediately stopped talking. You just stared at each other. The sound of the impact was still ringing in your ears.

Eventually, you broke the silence again.

"I'm sorry. Believe me, I really am sorry. I know we've tried a lot…" I tried, you told yourself, “but I don't want to continue this. It will be better for both of us if we can move on."

“Vale” he said dryly.”And what are you going to do after this? Do you have any idea what's out there in the city?”

"Yes. I've already found an apartment, well, we've found one with Lyla."

Another silence followed. You stood up from the table.

“I'm sorry” you said again. You didn't even know what got into you when you reached out to stroke his hair.

"Don't," he hissed, causing your hand to stop in the air. He turned away from you.

“What are you waiting for? Pack your stuff and get out of here.”

This time you didn't hesitate. You turned around and left to gather your things.

***

Unbelievable. Just fucking unbelievable, really.

A week had passed since you moved out. Miguel refused to use the word ‘permanently’. At first, he didn't even want to believe that you were really capable of going so far as to bring up the breakup, and he never dreamed that you would actually go through with it.

As you packed, he waited for the moment when you'd break down and apologize, when you'd take everything back to let things return to how they used to be.

As it turned out, he waited in vain. Somehow, you had enough backbone not to waver as you always did before. This was his mistake, he should have noticed the signs that this time you are not just planning, but also acting.

His fist clenched at the thought that Lyla helped you without telling him. This could never happen again. When you told him this, he was so furious that he was on the verge of smashing the table between you. He was so angry that he feared he might actually harm you. This is partly why he didn't stand in your way when you started pulling your suitcase out.

But now? Now he was left alone, and he knew he would never be able to truly let you go.

He lay alone in his bed. He managed to fall asleep on the first night, perhaps he didn't even dream, but then he woke up in the middle of the night. He was so used to you being next to him when he slept, regardless of the time of day, that when he didn't hear your breathing in his sleep, panic immediately set in.

He woke up to his heart almost bursting out of his chest, while clutching the spot on the sheet where you usually lay. He hated himself for being so predictable, and he hated you for eliciting this from him even when you weren't near.

Since then, he hardly slept at all. He was so tense that even the slightest slight could push him to the brink of a rage fit. For a while, Lyla didn't even try to reason with him.

He immediately got your address from her, of course, then checked it out for himself. He deliberately didn't go when he knew you would be home, but he couldn't help it, he had to cling to the walls of the surrounding buildings to watch when your figure, shrouded in shadows, got home.

Villains came to his mind. They were the ones who thought like him in this moment. Obsessively focusing on a single target as if his life depended on it… In a way, it was a very petty mindset. Not suited for someone responsible for the safety of others. But that's exactly what he was doing – watching over you and ensuring no threat reached you. Of course, he continued to track Vulture and the others as well, not to mention the other Spider-People, but it was true that they all took a backseat when it came to you.

No, he wasn’t like the villains. He did this because you were important to him. If you had a little sense, you could have seen this too. That's why he waited through this week to calm down enough to speak to you in a normal tone. If possible, it would have been best if you came back to him of your own free will, but if he scares you, he might achieve the opposite.

Actually, what he wanted most was for you to come back on your own with your stupid suitcase, but so far you've held firm. It seemed you were doing just fine without him. Sometimes he even caught you humming to yourself on the way home. You haven't done that in months at his place. Miguel didn't even want to admit to himself that this made a small part of his heart ache.

The problem was that as time went on, he didn't become calmer, quite the opposite. If he wasn't thinking about you, then he was thinking about the things that could harm you while you weren't with him. If something were to happen to you when he wasn't there…

He didn't finish the thought. He couldn't.

A soft beep came from his watch. A reported robbery. Since it seemed the local patrol had already dealt with the matter, he almost settled back down, but then he glanced at the holographic map.

He immediately jumped to his feet. His blood thudded in his ears so loudly that he could barely hear Lyla's responses to the instructions he barked at her as he headed out.

The robbery had occurred near your block. Right next to you.

***

You stood with your arms crossed in front your chest in the window of your third-floor living room. The sirens had long since gone silent and the police had left. The case did not seem serious, and you were not overly worried. These things were not unusual in this city. Before you got together with Miguel, you often saw similar crimes.

Miguel. You thought you would miss him more, but from the very first days you felt the invisible weight lifting off your shoulders. You unpacked the few belongings you brought with you and started creating a new life for yourself.

It was good to occupy yourself with something other than ruminating about your ex. It was strange that you no longer had to think about when you would push him away or make him angry with some insignificant detail.

At first, you didn't even notice the dull thud that sounded like a heavy object had hit the wall of your panel apartment.

Then your bedroom window burst.

You slapped your hand over your mouth before you could scream. You looked around the room, then crouched behind the couch in the corner, using the clatter of the glass shards to cover the sound of your movement. You didn't turn on the light in the living room because you didn't want anyone to notice you watching the police cars, but the light was on in your bedroom. The intruder must have seen this.

Who was currently out in the city? Vulture? Venture? And who else? They shouldn't have known who you are. While you were with Miguel, you barely left the apartment. No one has seen you two in the same place for months.

You covered your face with your palm as a massive thud shook the wall behind you. That might have been the door that led to the hallway.

“Where are you?”

Your breath hitched. This can't be happening.

You almost answered him, but changed your mind at the last minute. You flinched when another blow shook the house. It was the wall mirror.

You pulled your knees to your chest, using one hand to stifle the sob rising in your throat, and the other to pull your phone out of your pocket. Who should you call? You can't send normal cops after Miguel. Plus, you've never heard him like this.

A superhero wouldn't harm innocents… But a superhero wouldn't break into his ex's home like this either. If he just wants to save you from something, then why did he smash everything in his path? No, you felt that you shouldn't come out, but with his senses, it shouldn't have taken much time for him to find you.

As if he heard your thoughts.

“I know you're here. I can smell you.”

His voice was slightly calmer than it was a few moments ago. You heard him take a deep breath. This meant that it was quiet enough that if you started crying now, he would find you instantly.

You didn't dare to move. Tears freely flowed down your face, but you didn't feel it. Suddenly, you became very aware that you really had no idea how good his hearing was.

He stopped in the hallway. What was he doing? Fiddling with something, but what…

Your phone rang in your hand.

The next moment, the couch disappeared in front of you. You didn't have time to end the call before Miguel grabbed your shirt to pull you up. Your back hit the wall, knocking all the air out of your lungs. Your phone fell to the ground, but you didn't even try to catch it. Sharp claws tore up the fabric of your clothes where he held you.

You cried out in pain and terror.

For a moment, you locked eyes with each other before Miguel's red gaze slid down to scan your body. It took a little time for you to realize he was looking for injuries.

When he was convinced that you were unharmed, he slightly loosened his grip, but not enough for you to break free. You desperately clung to his wrist, despite knowing that if he wanted to kill you, nothing would stop him, especially not your weak human hands.

"Please, don't hurt me," you whimpered from the depths of your throat.

He growled. You had never heard this sound from him before.

“Hurt you? Are you out of your mind? I'm here to take you home.”

You didn't dare shake your head, but he must have seen something in your eyes. Suddenly, you felt your feet on the floor again.

Miguel dragged you by the remnants of your shirt like a ragdoll. Your mind was foggy with panic, yet you instinctively tried to dig your heel into the carpet. As you passed by the doorway, you reached out to grasp it, but it didn't slow him down. You felt something crack in your shoulder, then the burning pain flooded you. You had to let go.

You needed all your willpower not to scream when you saw what he had done to your apartment. It was as if someone had let loose a small hurricane. Your knee was scraped raw on the few feets leading to your front door, not to mention the shards of glass Miguel dragged you over. You were so terrified that you barely felt the pain.

You thought he would drag you straight out of the apartment, so you squeaked in surprise when he stopped in front of the door and let go of your shirt. As you collapsed unceremoniously onto the floor, he stood in front of you.

"I want you to pay very close attention to me, because I won't say this again. What do you see?"

You looked at him in shock. You followed his gaze with your eyes as he pointed to the lock.

"The door handle?”

He growled so loudly that your chest trembled. He reached down to roughly grab the back of your neck. His claws left shallow scratches on your skin as he forced you to stare at the lock above the door handle.

"This is a damn biometric identifier. Do you know how long it takes for someone to get a few samples from you? For God's sake, do you know how hard it would be to break in here?”

You were afraid that a stronger jerk and he might just tear your head off. You whimpered like a cornered animal.

"Answer me!"

"Very easy?" you muttered.

“Exactly! And do you know what's the deal with your windows? Anyone can see in, from anywhere, not to mention breaking in.”

Yes, you demonstrated that very well, you thought numbly, but you had the sense not to say it out loud. He let go again, and you took the opportunity to slide against the wall. You huddled up just like you did in the living room only a few minutes ago.

Miguel said something in Spanish, but he spoke too quickly for you to understand. He paced back and forth in front of you.

"I simply don't understand what was going through your head. It's a miracle you're still alive. What if those on the streets decide to break in? What if they follow you to your apartment?"

He roughly ran his hand through his hair.

"I know foresight isn't your strong suit, that's for sure, but even you have to see this. You need to come back with me. It's obvious you can't keep yourself safe."

You were about to shake your head, but you stopped yourself. Instead, you covered your face, and agonizing sobbing broke out of you again.

A little time passed, which seemed like hours to you, but could only have been a few minutes. Miguel stayed silent, and you had no idea what he might be doing. You didn't hear him move among the shards of glass, but that didn't mean much. If he wanted to, he could remain completely silent.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens began to wail.

You flinched when you felt his hand on your arm. His claws were no longer out. You didn't answer him when he called you by your name. You were still crying.

“Damn it” he said quietly. “Please, calm down.”

You tried to hold yourself back, you didn't want to anger him again, but you couldn't. Even though every part of you protested when you felt him gently pull your hand away from your face, you didn't resist. Now you could see that he had squatted down in front of you. He wiped a tear off your face with his thumb.

It was evident that he wanted to say something more, but then he changed his mind. This time, much more gently, he reached out to pull you into his arms. As he drew you close to his chest, you responded by clinging to him and burying your face in his shoulder.

You could feel the movement of his muscles beneath his skin as he let out a sigh.

"God, I missed you so much."

You had no idea what expression he might be wearing. Tears were still streaming from your eyes, soaking his superhero suit, but it no longer seemed to bother him.

"I'll never let you go again."

#yandere #yandere miguel #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere across the spiderverse #yandere miguel x reader #yandere x reader #yandere spiderman #yandere atsv #yandere spiderverse #cw: abuse #cw: yandere #cw: violence #cw: injury #cw: imprisonment #gn reader #possum writes

[darklordofthesimp]

i’m sad and hurting my own feelings here.

ghost is..well ghost, and tries to hide feelings right? okay so imagine this.

ghost falls for someone and feels himself getting attached. the other person is obviously attached too bc the feeling is mutual. he picks up on it and decides to start sleeping with other people to try and make his crush fizzle out. probably thinks it’s just purely physical desire and anyone could fix that. nothing as good as his person could possibly happen to him (YOURE WRONG SIMON GET THERAPY)

his crush finds out about the sexcapade and is distraught. like screaming, crying, and throwing up (quite literally) and soap is comforting them. ghost overheard the ordeal and is just like “what the fuck did i do”

Oh my God. But imagine that in the Anything verse???

Ghost and Sunshine acknowledging each other's feelings on their beloved rooftop. Despite all of their harsh edges, somewhere along the line they fell for each other.

Through thick and thin, despite their bickering and their tension, the stolen glances- the stolen touches- have reminded them exactly how they feel.

Except Simon Riley has fallen too hard. It was fine when it was a crush, it was fine when him and Sunshine had slept together in a drunken attempt to forget a bad mission. That had been seeking comfort in each other.

It wasn't fine when he couldn't stop thinking of them. It wasn't fine when anxiety crippled his breathing at the thought of them getting shot. It wasn't fine when he realised he wanted Sunshine all too himself- to call them his.

He needed to get over Sunshine before his stupidity got them both killed.

You can't form attachments in this job.

You can't love in this job.

So he finds Birdy. Birdy, poor and vulnerable Birdy. They hold Ghost on a pedestal, he helped them through so much, he was there for them during their darkest days and slowly put them back on his feet.

He trusted Birdy.

Simon felt frantic when he opened the door to their room. Although they weren't having nightmares anymore they still struggled to sleep, he'd often come to keep them company because he could never sleep either.

Birdy knew the energy was different the second he sat down on the bed with them.

Ghost said nothing, his fingers trembling as he reached for Birdy- praying that they'd let him touch them, begging whatever deity that Birdy would get him over Sunshine.

When Birdy shuddered a breath, and leaned into his touch, he knew that he had them.

One after the other, the layers of their clothing stripped, one after the other, their walls fell. Ghost never let them all down, only one person could have him vulnerable- and it wasn't Birdy.

The door creaked from behind them as Ghost moved against Birdy's body, their breaths painting the room with lewd images.

A glass shattered against the ground from behind them and Ghost turned over his shoulder.

Sunshine stood in the doorway.

Ghost had left the door slightly ajar in his rush to forget them.

"I just-" Sunshine shook, "just wanted to check on Birdy."

Birdy sucked in a breath.

Sunshines eyes hardened as they landed on Ghost. His eyes were wide and distantly he could feel Birdy pulling the covers over where they had split from each other.

"Sorry to interrupt," Sunshine said. Their voice was venomous. The hatred in their eyes shone bright and Ghost was suckerpunched by the sight.

Sunshine would solve their issue for them in their lifelong attempt to never get hurt.

Sunshine would never fucking speak to him again. That didn't mean mission talk, work talk was work talk- but Sunshine would never speak to Simon Riley again.

----

He could hear them sobbing.

The hushed soothing of a man that wasn't him.

He imagined König's fingers smoothing down their hair, his arms wrapped around their wracking body. He imagined the giant man kissing Sunshine's forehead and whispering sweet nothings against their skin from behind that door.

Simon knew he had no right to be there. No right to stand outside König's room listening to the person he loved hyperventilate.

He'd ruined it all.

His inability to love others, he'd fucked his chance to be truly loved.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #anything lore

[mydearesthrry]

A Compilation of Y/nrry on Stage - h.s.

a/n: self indulgent, once again. been watching a couple of old 1d concert vids lately and this just came to me like i think i wrote all of this in about 20 mins? enjoyyyyyyy

🎀 warnings/cw: nothing, fluff, cursing?

🐇 pairing: 1dbandmember!yreader x fratboyera!harry

💐 wc: 1.2k

summary: 3 moments during the take me home tour where ynrry shined through on stage.

Y/N could sense mischief from a mile away. From the second the fans screamed to looking over at where they were pointing, she knew she was fucked. Clad in a light pink shirt and crop top that only showed an inch about her torso, she tried to run away from Louis but the stilettos on her feet gave her no opportunity to. 

“Louis! Louis stop, don’t!” Her pleading seemingly wasn’t enough because, within a blink of an eye, she was drenched in cold water. The two of them immediately knew what this meant. 

It meant war. And she was determined to get all of her bandmates on her side to defeat Louis. 

At first, she tried running after him, but when she realized it was no use since he was so fast and she was in heels, she called Harry over and immediately told him to turn around and crouch to help her. Harry, who had seen the entire interaction, was immediately down and got down without question. She hopped up on his back, motioning at Zayn for him to throw her a water bottle, Harry immediately started running toward Harry. 

As he ran, her in-ear monitors made her remember that she was to sing soon, and she raised her mic to her lips, singing softly. “And if we get together, yeah get together, don’t let the pictures leave your phone! Do you guys think I can beat Louis?” She screamed, following her lyrics, giggling at the loud cheers from the crowd. Harry continued running, and Y/N looked down to see that Niall and Liam were running with them, water bottles in their hands as well. 

Louis glanced over his shoulder and saw them running after him, pulling a face and running away faster. Unfortunately, he was too slow, and they all eventually caught up to him. Zayn too, who was right behind him and making sure he didn’t run away. Liam and Niall caught Louis by his arms, holding him still so their best friend could get her revenge. Harry stalked over to them and set her down, Y/N still singing as she had Harry crack open her bottles. Giggles instead of melodies filled the stadium speakers as she poured the water over his head. The rest of the boys handed her their water, and she continued to pour water on Louis. 

“Paybacks a bitch, Tommo.” She grinned, grabbing him by the back of his neck and into a hug, pushing him away when their cue came in to start doing the rowing dance move. They all stood in a staggered line, laughing loudly while they danced. 

Everyone else flared away, but Harry stayed. He bent down, mouth close to her ear as he popped out her in-ear, and very softly, whispered, “Good job on your victory, Princess.”

—

The band sat in their respective spots, the soft guitar for Summer Love filtering through the air. In front of Harry, a little off to the side was Y/N, who had the brightest gleam in her eyes, admiring the crowd. It was during songs like these that she allowed herself to bask in the feeling of fame, one that often consumed and overwhelmed her. She giggled when she waved at a few fans and they started screaming and crying in response to her. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Harry had seen that, and smiled wider when she saw he already had a grin on his face. 

Raising the mic to his lips, he followed Zayn’s lyrics, and since Y/N was already looking over at him, she twisted on her bottom, being careful of her skirt. Her eyes traced all of Harry’s features, them being nearly enhanced due to the bright spotlights on him. Finishing his part of the first verse, his eyes flicked back to her, nose scrunching cutely. She blew a playful kiss back, laughing when his cheeks became overtaken by a pinkish hue. Jumping down from her spot, she walked over to the back of the stage to retrieve her phone, before jogging back to her spot, confusing Harry when she passed it and instead beelined for him. 

Plopping down next to him, she swiped on her phone until she got to the camera app, holding it up to be level with their faces. They pulled a couple of funny faces before she tossed her phone over to Liam and Niall to the right of her, who grabbed it with ease. They started snapping pictures too, Liam turning to face his back to the crowd, taking a selfie with them too. The mic was on her lips, and they motioned her to catch it, but she shook her head no. 

They tossed the phone back to her anyway, but she missed the catch and clenched her eyes shut, only for them to snap open again when she felt two taps on her thighs. Opening her eyes, she saw Harry grinning at her with a shit-eating grin, holding her phone in his hand. 

She rolled her eyes, grabbing it from him and unlocking it again. She pulled up her camera roll app, looking at the pictures of her and Harry. She smiled and set one of the funnier ones as her home screen background. She turned her phone to Harry, and he grinned at her, trying to subtly move his arm behind her back to rub it. Turning to him, she held up a hand to block the crowd from seeing what she was whispering into his ear. 

The crowd screamed when they saw this, but they would never know that the words she whispered into his ear were ‘I love you’.

—

 As Niall talked to the crowd, Y/N and Harry pulled their in-ears out of their ears to talk to each other, something that was extremely common at their concerts. 

“What d’you wanna order from the hotel when we get back? ‘M starving and I miss you. I feel like I’ve not seen you all day.” Harry said— shouted, knowing she could barely hear over the volume of the crowd. She turned around, shrugging her shoulders. Harry rolled his eyes, and she tiptoed, the heels on her feet not being enough to be able to reach his ears. 

“I‘ve been craving pizza since this morning, maybe that if they have it. We can cuddle when we get back to the hotel, but you have to shower, you’re all sweaty. As for the pizza,” She questioned in his ear. “I’m not sure what toppings yet, but maybe we can agree on some?” 

He nodded, giving a thumbs up, “Wanna join me in the shower?” She looked at him with an annoyed expression, but he had a boyish grin on his face.”‘M putting olives on the pizza.” 

“Oh, absolutely not, are you serious? Harry, that’s disgusting.” She pulled a face of disgust, putting her hand on his face to push him away. He had the biggest look of offense on his face, and she giggled. He didn’t get far from her push, only about 1 foot away. She laughed when she heard him scream ‘Say sorry!’, and she shook her head no. 

“You know I hate olives! I’m picking all of them off and giving them to you.” She grinned back, and he rolled his eyes again, but with the look he gave her, it was obvious that he would do anything for her.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry <3 #harry styles blurb #harry edward styles #famous!reader x harry styles #harry x 1dbandmember!reader

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 11: Visitors

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. Your babes meet their family.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to my slap daddy @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for editing this monster! Thank you also to @evisnotok​ and @ajthefujoshi​ for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture.

You are startled awake by the sound of crying.

Jolting up before your mind truly registers the sound, it takes you a moment to remember why it is that you have roused. You rub your eyes and yawn, peering to the side as the wailing multiplies, two thready, discordant pitches begging for someone, anyone to notice.

Daemon groans beside you. “Fucking hells.” His voice is muffled by the pillow, timbre lacking the heat his words imply. “We were just up, weren’t we?”

You reach out to whack him for the profanity, arm striking across the span of his back. He grunts with the impact.

“I will take your daughter,” you mutter, already untangling yourself from the sheets, “but your son also begs for attention.”

Rolling from the bed behind you, he says, “Fussy thing.”

You smile. It is true that Aelys is the more demanding of the pair, and you are certain it is her sharp squalling that dragged you from unconsciousness in the first place. You ache with every step and your thickly lined smallclothes squelch uncomfortably from the remnants of afterbirth, denser and of greater volume than your moon’s blood ever had been. Your body still experiences the shock of it all, but it is difficult to feel aggrieved when your eyes alight on the pair of pale-haired miracles fussing in the cradle.

Your thought had been correct, indeed. While Rhaenar’s cries quieten at the brush of your fingers across his cheek, your daughter only sobs harder at the contact. In the weak light of early dawn, her flushed face and stubborn frown are easy to see, wrinkled features contorting in as furious an expression as an infant less than a sennight old can possibly muster. Her knees jerk against her wrappings, the only part of her that can gain any traction within the firm swaddle you have placed her in.

Lifting her up and carefully manoeuvring her into your arms, you coo sympathetically. “Rhovus riñus.” Loud girl, you call her, gently settling her fragile head in the crook of your elbow. Mind her neck, mind her neck, you think, a whisper repeating itself over and over again. It is overly cautious of you, perhaps, but you do not wish to inadvertently harm your babe. “Skorio syt ñāqiot hīghā?” Why are you screaming at sunrise?

Lashes fluttering and lip quivering, she cranes toward the sound of your speech. Though you know she cannot see properly yet, you swear her gaze is trained on you, muzzy and unfocused. She kicks again at the feel of your thumb brushing over her pout, angry soft breaths puffing from tiny lungs. That raw, wrenching feeling of violent love wells up as it does each time you behold these lives you have made, bringing with it the urge to bar the entrances and dash the eyes from the skulls of all those who dare to look upon your little ones.

“Kesrio syt zijo kepo syt ēdrunon iotāptios daor.” Because she has no respect for her kepa’s rest. Daemon grumbles, the warmth of his body spreading into yours as his hands fall to the cradle on either side of you, bracketing you in. He proffers a drowsed, aimless press of lips to your temple, sliding down to your cheekbone as he sets his chin to your shoulder and peers down at the troublemaker in your arms. “Vȳs kiragon lo ziry gaomas jaelza, hm?” She wants the world to wake when she does, hm?

You are sure this is a quality inherited from your uncle. From all accounts, you had been naught but a quiet, pleasant infant, scarcely to be heard unless in great need of the necessities for survival. It entertains you greatly to muse upon Daemon’s penchant for commotion being passed to his daughter, your daughter. Already she shows the signs of such a fate.

“She hungry?” His palm spans the circumference of her scalp and then some, a gentle ruffling of snow-fuzzed skin—your colouring, his colouring—that coaxes a vexed scrunch and whine from your girl.

“No,” you say, passing your thumb back over her mouth. She does not attempt to suckle at it. Good. Freda, the wetnurse, is absent from her pallet. You are not yet able to fill both their bellies alone, your milk thin as it is. “Just wanting her mama and papa, I think.”

There must be something soporific about the hum of mother and father conversing, for by now Aelys’s haranguing has petered off to a manageable grizzle. She is clearly unhappy with her present state, though you are glad she has chosen not to be quite so combative about it.

Rhaenar’s whimpers begin anew below you.

“Oh, kepus…”

Daemon readily slides around you and plucks the babe from the cradle with a deftness borne of familiarity. You do not know if it unnerves or reassures you that you yourself had helped shape this skill, once a newborn niece to the budding Rogue Prince.

He sighs, cupping the back of your son’s head to his shoulder with a hand propping him up under the rear. “Kesīr māzīs, ñuhus trēsys.” Come here, my son.

He sways slowly, and you can only watch spellbound as the motion silences the little boy entirely. Your husband’s lips curve in that gentle, aching countenance reserved for only the quietest, most unguarded moments, his nose brushing along the slope of Rhaenar’s skull.

“Jeva idaña pelrar issa,” he continues, glancing at you impishly. “Īlōn valī hēnkirī humbisi.” Your sister is a menace. Us men have to stick together.

“Lies. Lies and slander, my darling,” you say to your daughter, spinning on your heel to convey her imperiously to the bed.

Your jesting march reaches a quick and abrupt halt as the cramping of your belly reminds you why it is that you are confined to your chambers for the time being. You stop, waiting for the discomfort to pass, clutching the heft of your babe to you tightly enough that she squawks with the indignity of it.

“Give her to me,” Daemon says firmly, hand rubbing soothingly at your waist. “Get back under the covers.”

“But you have—”

“I can bloody well hold two babes, you know.” He levies an expression of utmost stubbornness your way. “You, however, shouldn’t even be up. You’ve scarcely begun to heal after shoving them both from your cu—”

“Language,” you hiss, passing Aelys into the care of your uncle so that you may hobble back to your safe haven. It is still warm beneath the blankets, and you gratefully press your chilled feet into the temperate spaces so as to regain some measure of sensation in your toes. “I wish you would not use foul words in front of them,” you say, rearranging the pillows on either side of you unhurriedly. If you move too fast, a fresh bout of soreness will plague you. “If the first thing they say is something horrid they have learned from you…”

“… then they’ll prove themselves adept pupils, won’t they?” Daemon smirks, sitting himself upon the edge of the mattress.

You stretch forth to take your daughter back, propping her on your lap and unbinding the cloth that keeps her so unhappily restrained. Her little arms lift as though in jubilation the very instant she is free, the knot of frustration between her translucent brows smoothing and her legs curling up in a manner much like the pose she had decided was most comfortable while still in your womb.

“Besides, we’ve a while until that becomes a problem,” your husband says. You are only partly listening, utterly engrossed in the clench and unclench of her small fists as you shift her, swaddling cloths and all, to one arm. “Not as though they’re performing dramatic orations any time soon.”

You do not get the chance to scold him yet again for the profanity, for your other arm is promptly occupied by your son. The movement startles him but briefly. Squeaking with the jolt of sudden movement, he promptly curls into the heat of your skin emanating through your shift, smacking sleepy lips and wiggling his feet against your belly before dropping into slumber.

Rhaenar is a different sort of creature to his sister. Whether it be that he allows her to make complaints vociferously enough for them both or that he simply does not have any, he is a solemn thing, content enough to while away the hours slumbering or blinking new eyes up at the world, aimless, as though deep in thought.

He looks a little like an old man, you think to yourself, charmed by the frowning pucker that forms on his dreaming face. The peace in his darling visage is such that you feel your own lids droop, the comforting weight of happy babes lulling you quicker than any draught or brew could.

Aelys is fire and blood and retribution, the very image of her father. But Rhaenar… he is you. Calm and introspective, the cool that acts as balm to the stinging burn of tempestuousness.

Nothing pleases you more than to have given new life in equal measure, to have given Daemon both a child he may love for those traits he admires in you and another in whom he may see his own reflection. In whom he may learn to love the parts of himself that he has so long despised.

Of course—being her father’s daughter—Aelys is not one to stay still and silent for too long. Rhaenar begins to stir when she whines, twisting uncoordinated limbs and kicking her heels into his.

“Go back to sleep with our boy, hm?” Daemon leans down first to brush a kiss on Rhaenar’s velvety crown, then up to your lips, his smokeleatherspice scent filling your nostrils and his calloused palm etching tender along your jaw. “I’ll take this one for a time,” he says against your mouth, drawing back to lift Aelys from you with feigned resignation. He tuts down at her with a gnawing sort of softness as she complains further, striking out at his proffered finger. “Perhaps her fit will abate with some fresh air.”

“Do not go far,” you say, eyes already closing as you turn to your side to face your son, your firstborn. The babe does not even notice you making yourself comfortable, drawing him ever closer so that you can feel the line of him against you, small head to tiny toes.

Daemon grunts an affirmative. He would not risk Rhaenar toppling from the bed or being smothered. The last thing you register before sleep claims you entirely is the sound of his low hum, fading with each step he takes toward the balcony.

“Brand new to the world, young madam, and already tormenting your brother? A little dragon, that’s what you are…”

Three days. Three days in total are all that is granted to you before the visitors become truly persistent.

To be fair, you had assumed they would barge in on the very first morn, heedless of the alarm and the strife your wearied form had been put through over what had ultimately been a relatively swift labour. And yet, you had been blessed with four entire days in which none but those necessary—Ūlla and Gerardys and Rhaenyra and your ladies, among others—entered your chamber, giving you hours to learn these strange beings who had housed themselves in your womb for the better part of a year.

Alas, you muse, joggling the arm full of a squirming Aelys to soothe her. I cannot keep them to myself forever.

Your hair is combed and braided, your skin scrubbed to tingling and your simple gown pristine as you sit with your babes in your grasp, awaiting the arrival of your guests. They have been fed, in part by you and the rest from Freda. The wetnurse sits on the chaise with Jeyne and Bethany, darning shirts for the soldiers of the Keep with good cheer. You can tell she unnerves them both. She is remarkably like Ūlla in vulgarity, no doubt astonishing their virtuous sensibilities.

“That Aron.” She snickers, winking cheekily at Jeyne. “I’d let ‘im do whatever he wanted to me. Fine, fine arms. Nice ears. Big feet. You know that they say, don’t ya? Bigger the feet, bigger the co—”

“That is—very lovely!” Bethany says, dropping her own embroidery. Jeyne is so violently flushed that you are concerned she may faint away. You snicker quietly to yourself on the bed.

Though you feel well enough by now to walk about with manageable discomfort, you remain all but chained to the mattress, reclined in stately pomp below the covers as though you are an invalid. To Daemon, you may as well be.

“Need anything?” he asks, smoothing a stray lock from your cheek. Clearly, he is ignoring all conversation taking place by the balcony.

“No.” You beam. You have everything you could want.

He stands as the door opens, revealing Laenor and Harwin with the children in tow. Your sister takes the rear with Ūlla, herding them through the entryway and into the room while hushing their excited chatter to a low buzz. Jeyne, Bethany and Freda abruptly rise, ushering themselves through the door of your adjoining solar after dropping a brief curtsey.

“Is that them?” Daeron steps forth from Ūlla’s side, shy at first, then emboldened when Daemon waves him over, hand ruffling his hair as he passes. “Is that…”

“Come here,” you say, watching with fondness as your young brother clambers up with utmost care. His eyes remain fixed on the babes with curiosity and a distinct nervousness. “Come see your niece and nephew.”

He settles himself by your knee, peering down at each infant in turn, studying the faces of these new interlopers. You know not what he thinks.

“Which one is the boy? And the girl?” His small pudgy finger tracing the shell of Rhaenar’s ear. He has chosen well. Your son whinges slightly at the contact but does not make a commotion of it as his sister likely would. Daeron grins, riveted. “They look like you and Nuncle, and me and ‘Nyra.”

“They do.” Daemon laughs, wedging himself beside you. Holding out his own finger to Rhaenar, you feel your husband’s soft exhale as the babe grips automatically at his father’s flesh, little digits just barely wrapping around his own, much larger one. “This fine lad is Rhaenar,” he tells your brother, “while this bold thing”—he taps your daughter on the nose, chuckling when she grouches and flushes red at the imposition—“is Aelys.”

“They’re pretty.” Daeron reaches for his little niece’s hand. She blinks up at him, her wafer-thin nails scraping across his palm, though she seems to find his touch unobjectionable for the time being.

“The prettiest,” you murmur, eyes blurring at the sight. My family.

Bearing and birthing these babes has transformed you into an ocean, perpetually leaking water at the slightest of provocations. You cannot help it. Your brother and your uncle—your husband, your lover—and your son and your daughter are all nestled together with you here, safe, unshakeable in spite of your great trials.

“I wanna see.”

“Luke—”

“No!” You shake your head, glancing up at Laenor. “No. Let him meet his cousins. In fact, there is plenty of room on this bed for you all.”

You lift your elbows just slightly as the mattress jostles about, Rhaena tucking herself against you while the boys and Baela scramble to seek a good vantage point.

Luke leans over Jace’s back to examine them. “Aw,” he says, “they’re not even awake. I want to play with them!”

“They just came out,” Baela hisses, nudging him with her shoulder. “They can’t play yet, stupid.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Get off me,” Jace grumbles.

“Boys,” Rhaenyra says, tugging Harwin along to the side of the bed. “If you’re going to fight, then I’ll have Ser Lorent collect you for your training this very moment.”

“Sorry,” they each say in turn, untangling from each other to sit next to each other, squeezed tight between Daeron and Baela.

“I’m glad you aren’t hurt,” Rhaena says quietly, her chin digging into your arm as she cranes her neck. “Like Mama was.”

Your gut twists low at the reminder of Laena.

Lying abed in a pool of blood—

“I thought I was going to die—”

Face ashen and bloodless, frozen forevermore—

You swallow back the hurt, trammelling it within the iron-wrought cage deep, deep in your soul. All you can do is turn your cheek to press your lips to Rhaena’s crown, silently sharing in her melancholy.

Harwin clears his throat. “… Congratulations, Princess.” He tries to smile, but it falls flat. You wonder when life will afford him respite from the cycle of anguish and betrayal. Baela extricates herself from the gathering before you, shuffling across the mattress toward her father. “And you, Prince Daemon. They are… they are bonny babes, the both of them.”

“Yes,” Ūlla says sagely, patting the man on the elbow. Harwin squints at her, the subtle shift in the arch of his brow a tell-tale sign of his befuddlement. “Very nice, both of them. Look like you, Princess.”

Your uncle offers some response of haughty appreciation, the buzz of it traversing from his chest and through your skin. You do not hear the precise words for your gaze is fixed upon Baela, who has decided to change course and wander past Harwin entirely. Evidently, she has elected herself to the role of cradle inspector.

She stares down at the bedding with a frown. “Where are the eggs?” she asks loudly, looking back at you. The others jump; only you had been watching your little cousin’s adventure. “The dragon eggs aren’t in here.”

“They’re by the hearth,” Daemon says, an indulgent quirk to his mouth. “We must be sure the babes are hale and hearty enough for fresh dragonlings to crawl about in their bed with them, don’t we? Their bones have to harden after spending so long sleeping in their mother’s belly.”

“They have soft bones?” Daeron whispers to himself, alarmed, snatching his hand away as though further pressure might shatter little Rhaenar’s skull entirely. Your son snuffles against your chest, inciting a slow-rising warmth in your breasts.

Oh, dear. Not now.

“Speaking of dragons”—Laenor’s voice is raised, eyes rolling at his former comrade-at-arms—“when are you going to visit that godsawful brute of yours, cousin?”

Never have you been gladder for your goodbrother’s timing. “Hm?”

“Your bloody—” He winces sheepishly at the warning scowl Rhaenyra offers him. “Your… labours sent your dragon into quite the state.”

Your sister motions to the children, encouraging them to join Baela. Jace and Luke engage in a silent shoving tournament as they amble forth, necessitating Ūlla’s intervention. She grabs each boy by the shoulder and cleanly splits them apart, guiding them onward with nary an admonishment to be heard. Meanwhile, Rhaena and Daeron drift toward the open chest by the cradle, inspecting the collected sundries for the babes laid therein.

“I thought the whole Keep would go up in flames,” Laenor says. “Next time, warn us when you go to the birthing bed. I’d like to be far, far away from the threat of immolation.”

Rhaenyra thumps him in the chest hard enough that he chokes on his attempt to draw breath. Daemon snorts.

You remember little of the birth, to be truthful. The hours seemed to pass oddly, in dribbles of awareness amidst a wash of agony, distorted, meaningless. You recall the bare facts, of course. Waking to the cramping in your back and in your belly; wondering if Rhaenar would split you apart from womb to chest; the awful foreboding sense that Aelys may well kill you if you could not amass some strength left to finish the task; your first glance at the bloodied, screaming forms of your babes. But the rest…

“I thought I imagined it,” you say, ruminating over those moments in which your cries had wavered in your own ears, had coalesced and reformed into draconic shrieks, thready, duplicated. In those moments, you were a dragon, your blood was fire in your veins and between your legs and bursting in your lungs and heart, and you felt and heard yourself as girl and beast at once, together, whole, power and magic fuelling you to the racking end. “Athfiezar… he was calling for me?”

Laenor nods with a nervous chuckle. “You could say that. It was terrifying. Almost like he… felt it himself.”

Rhaenyra’s voice is soft, reflective. “Some say Targaryens are closer to gods than men. We owe that to the dragons, yes. But perhaps there is truth enough in it. A bond exists between our spirits and theirs unlike any other.”

He was with me. Of course he was with me.

How many weeks had passed since you were last able to see Athfiezar? To feel the ground shake beneath your feet with his every movement? To scramble atop his mighty frame and take off, to feel the wind whip through your hair and your organs shift inside your body as his wings beat a drum-like tempo across the sky? To stare into viridescent eyes and sense the pulse of life thrumming to the same rhythm as yours? Your heart squeezes with longing, fierce and tormenting.

“We’ll visit them both soon,” Daemon finally says, hand warm on your knee.

Unlike you, he had not been restricted from the arduous walk to Caraxes’s latest island haunt—but in those final days when the thought of him leaving your rooms seemed utterly intolerable, he had foregone his visits, remaining sequestered with you with remarkable forbearance. Sometimes you hear Caraxes’s piping song in the distance, plaintive and searching.

Your lips twist gratefully as you look at your uncle. He understands.

“My mother took me flying on Meleys less than two sennights after I was born,” he says, glancing down at the babes. Rhaenar is awake, staring intently at his father. It is as though he is absorbed by every word that falls from his mouth. “My children ought to have the same.”

You cannot help but to balk. “They are too young and too little to fly on dragonback—”

He laughs, patting your covered thigh. “They’re Targaryens, sweetling. Dragon-riding is in their blood.”

“I know, I know.” Still, you loathe the idea of taking them high above the earth where they may catch cold or freefall from loose hands. Another part of you thrills at the idea of introducing your son and daughter to their birthright.

What is a Targaryen without their dragon? Your father comes to mind. It is not a pleasant association, though admittedly he serves to support Daemon’s argument rather aptly. If our spirits are driven by fire, you think, then his has long since been snuffed.

Predictably, Aelys begins to cry, effectively ending the visit. You pass the babe to your husband so that he may mollify her displeasure by rocking her around the room, humming deep below his breath. Rhaenyra and Laenor and Harwin offer parting well-wishes to you and Rhaenar. You giggle when each of the children offer sweet kisses to the cheeks of each infant. Luke plugs his ears with his fingers before he leans in to press his lips to Aelys’s red face.

That evening, you decide to place the dragon eggs in the cradle. You watch, interested to see if even the slightest contact might bring forth the destined mounts of your twins. It is probably naïve of you to feel so disappointed when there is no change. The babes sleep on, undisturbed by the settling weight of the new additions.

“They’ll hatch when they’re ready,” Daemon whispers into your hair, arms solid as they slide round your form.

Your uncle is firm, hot, the hard line of his shaft finding purchase in the divot of your lower back through layers of fabric, but he makes no attempt to seek relief from you. You are glad. There is no room in you for desire. He seems content to touch and touch alone.

“I know. I just… how long does it take?” you murmur.

“As long as needs be. Give it time.”

You huff, taking one final look—at the babes, at the eggs, still and silent and peaceful—before turning in his arms, resting your own upon his so that you may slide your hands up past his shoulders and neck, trailing fingers across the stubble on his jaw. His palms are brands on your waist, your spine, your rear.

“Thank you,” you say. Such simple words—but the import of them is immeasurable.

‘Thank you for reassuring me. For being here. For loving me, and loving them, too.’ The words are stuck in your throat. You cannot say them aloud, but your body can impress their meaning upon him.

His eyes are crinkled in that way you adore when you crane yourself upward, searching out his lips with your own. There is something pure about the meeting of mouths that follows, the dip and glide of tongue that ought to feel lewd, charged, and indeed it carries a spark that could very easily be stoked but not now, not in this moment. He tastes of wine and home, his breath humid, the rumble in his ribcage buzzing into your bones. You sigh as he lays claim to what is his, tilting your head to accept him.

When it is over, it does not feel like an ending. He strokes along the curves and hollows of your figure, caressing child-widened hips and swelled belly and milk-heavy breasts at a languid pace. It is observation rather than invitation that plays upon his face as he studies the changes he has wrought, hooded eyes scanning you, a twist of pride or smugness or arrogance as if to say ‘yes, I did this, I remade you into the mother of my children inside out, you are mine mine mine’. But there is also great affection there, the earnest softness of desperate, abiding devotion.

You do not need words. Nor does he. Yawning, you follow Daemon to the bed, slipping below the sheets at his gentle coaxing prods. He smooths the covers over you, stroking the stray curls back behind your ears before blowing the candle out.

Each passing moment feels too short, too quickly over and done with. You find yourself hyper-aware of your son and daughter’s development, noting their budding responsiveness as they test their limbs and strengthen the projection of their cries. Mere instances are as full of occasion as entire days. You can almost swear that you are watching them grow before your very eyes.

Aelys’s silver-white hair sprouts thicker, a moonbeam lustre that triggers half-formed memories of a smiling woman that looks as you do now, but older, a deep-seated weariness forming lines upon a face not yet aged enough to have weathered. When your daughter smiles—‘tis instinct, no more, though you like to believe she is happy in your arms—you see something impish, mischievous. You see Daemon.

Rhaenar’s stare is sharper, more alert, seeming intent and focused as you nurse him or lay kisses on his round tummy or sing songs from your childhood. His fingers tangle in your tresses, tugging hard enough to hurt, little lips peeling back to show off pink gums as he grouses while awaiting his turn for your attention. He is patient, your precious boy, but he craves the softness far more than his sister does. It is unbearably sweet.

Though they have thus far been but a fleeting part of your life, you cannot remember a time before your babes were born. Surely it had been a hollow, meaningless existence. Now, you would be utterly content to pass the hours doing nothing but cosying your children amongst the blankets and pillows fluffed and gathered on your mattress, shrouding them in warmth and safety. You would listen to their every breath, track each flailing movement, cherish the scent of newness that clings to them like syrup. Your uncle would join you all after his daily responsibilities were done, sweeping in like a mighty conqueror returned from the horrors of battle and curling around his family. He would kiss you and croon soft words in your mother tongue to Rhaenar and settle Aelys to sleep, and everything would be completely, utterly perfect.

A wonderful dream. Alas, the peace of it is not to be.

“What?”

The contentment of the previous days has been replaced by shock and a steadily banking anger. Daemon levies Ser Lorent with a look of such sternness that you wonder how the man does not quail in his boots.

“The King, your Highness,” the knight repeats, eyes flicking to you. You grip the chair before you tightly. “He is here. The Silver Firedrake has just docked.”

Papa’s flagship. “He has brought the court to Dragonstone?” you ask, stomach sinking. You are not ready to see him. You do not wish to see Alicent. You cannot abide the thought of those vipers in such close quarters with your children.

“No.” Ser Lorent shakes his head. “He… he has arrived alone.”

You look to Daemon, confused. It is not likely that your father had received the news of Rhaenar and Aelys’s births so quickly, and undoubtedly impossible for him to have already made the journey. And to have travelled without the Hand or the Queen or his bevy of attendants…

You release the chair. “Thank you for informing us, Ser,” you say to the Kingsguard, folding your hands together before you. It is difficult to abstain from digging your nails into the skin of your palm. “You may return to your post.”

Ser Lorent bobs his head, eyes lowering in deference. “Princess.”

“Something’s going on.” Daemon stares pensively at the door following the knight’s exit. You make your way toward him. “For him to have come without his lackeys or the Hightower whore—”

“If he has not requested to see us”—you lay a hand on his arm—“then we should not entertain his presence here.”

A noncommittal sound rumbles through him, his countenance as harsh as the craggy silhouette of the Dragonmont. Athfiezar could carve a cavern to himself in those lines upon his face, you muse. He appears older than his thirty-six years, tired, a tension to his frame that you know you cannot ease, and not just from the incessant disruption to the evening hours your children have brought in so short a span and the burden of caring for more than just oneself.

It is the way he always becomes when the King is mentioned: silent, brooding, sullen. You despise the effect your father has on a man so fierce and formidable as your husband. It is most unfair.

“Kepus,” you say, an idea forming. “We should go visit Athfiezar and Caraxes. Introduce the babes.”

His brow raises. “Now?”

You would rather not. They are still far too small. But the notion seems far more attractive than waiting about, wondering if the King might summon him or you or both, driving yourselves mad with possibilities. In addition, it is sure to be a worthy distraction.

“Now.” With a teasing little smile, you lean into him, winding your arms around him and propping your chin on his chest. “They are both awake, and in pleasant moods. I even believe the sun is out.”

“Hm.” His mouth twists reluctantly, finally shifting his gaze down to you. “It is tempting to know I’d sleep tonight without being roused by your shrieking beast.”

You roll your eyes, pushing away from him to prepare.

Brief as you imagine the outing will be, it is nonetheless strange to be attired in daily wear designed for company. You had nearly forgotten how itchy the sleeves of some of your outfits are, how restrictive they are upon the bust. Between the padding against your womanhood and the padding over your nipples, any gown you wear is sure to make for an unpleasant experience. Thankfully, your ladies choose one that laces at the front. Though it is a little tight around the middle—your belly is still quite large, after all—you do cut a fair figure dressed in the traditional Targaryen red and black.

Daemon appears to think so, too.

It is an older gown, and so you find that your breasts spill over the top of the neckline in a fashion that is clearly noticeable, though you had been assured by Jeyne and Bethany that the result is not indecent. Your uncle’s eyes fall immediately to this change, alighting with crude intent and grinning as you venture near.

He frowns when you hand Aelys to him instead, casting a longing look at your revealed flesh. “Kōres maegītsos.” Wicked little temptress, he mutters, hoisting your daughter up so her head is braced against his shoulder. She most prefers this vantage, though you are unsure if her eyes yet possess the capability to see beyond what is directly before her.

Beaming, you flutter coy lashes as you lean on tiptoes to brush your lips across his cheek, dodging his free arm so that you might retrieve Rhaenar from the wetnurse.

A soft breeze blows from the shore as your small party—yourself and Daemon, Ser Lorent, Ser Alton (who had graciously accepted a post as your children’s guard) and a distinctly white-faced Freda—walks the path past Aegon’s Garden to the craggy cliffside. It is a long drop from the grassy plateau, a straight line down to the beaches below. On some days, the winds are so strong that anyone who dares to stand upon the precipice risks falling to their death. You move slowly, in part for your own sake and especially for Ser Alton. He may have skill with the blade, but his leg pains him still.

Caraxes tends to prefer sunning himself on the grassy knolls that spread across the bluff and had only recently begun to be joined by your own dragon, albeit reluctantly. They make for a strange pair, though you are glad to see your boy welcomed by one of his own kind.

Athfiezar must detect your arrival on the air. His massive form rumbles low from beside your uncle’s beast, tail whipping with agitation and sending stray rocks careening over the side of the bluff. Caraxes uncoils himself at the disturbance, his serpentine neck gliding like so many snakes as he stretches out to take in his visitors.

“We ought to greet them ourselves first, acquaint them with the babes’ scent,” Daemon says, coming to a stop beside you. He passes Aelys off to Freda, who keeps herself firmly behind the gold-plated Kingsguard. “Here’s hoping Athfiezar doesn’t decide to expand his diet to include Targaryens.”

“He knew of their existence before I did.” Rhaenar whinges when he is placed in the crook of the wetnurse’s arm. The warmth of her body must be too difficult to refuse, though, for he settles easily enough. You turn to levy Daemon with an unimpressed glare. “And what of Caraxes? Perhaps he will be the one to behave abominably.”

He scoffs. “Hardly.”

Though the Blood Wyrm is famed for his temper, you know Daemon speaks true. Of the pair, Athfiezar is the likelier to require caution in approaching. You are the only person that might consider themselves safe in his presence.

Your dragon hisses warningly as Daemon makes his way toward his own mount, unfurling his wings to display the full breadth of coal-dark, leathery membranes pockmarked by scarring. The threat position is surprising. You had assumed that Athfiezar tolerated him well enough. Perhaps not, you think, eyeing the beast as your uncle ignores him entirely to converse in low tones to Caraxes, too far away now for you to hear.

The rattling pitch abates when you venture forth, reaching up with tentative fingers to trace the outline of an old injury on his maw. He pauses; growls. His wings flatten down, folding in upon themselves. And, finally, he cranes his neck down, angling his head so that he may look at you with a single fixed, unblinking eye. I remember you, it seems to say.

“Yne issa, ñuhus taobus.” It is me, my boy. You keep your voice soft, calming, guilt roiling in your gut like hot lava. It has been far, far too long since last he saw you.

In an echo of another day—another time—he shifts about, the inner folds of his nostril expanding as he takes a deep sniff, relearning the aroma unique to you, The resulting gust of air when he exhales bursts against you in a concentrated stream. At once, his tail ceases to lash about; his spine no longer hunches; all traces of defensiveness vanish like dust on the wind. His giant muzzle presses into your touch like an eager pup, driving you back several paces. You giggle even as you stagger, thrilled.

For a moment, you had worried that your moons-long absence would undo his memory of you. You ought not to have fretted so, for a dragon’s recollection far outlasts any man.

“Avy ozmijetan.” I have missed you, you whisper, warming your palms on his scaled flesh, searing in its heat as it always is. He huffs. You imagine he is reproaching you for staying away. “Drējī usōven.” I am very sorry.

This time, he snorts, a current of smoke stinging your eyes to streaming. You and he do not share the same language, but you nonetheless know in your heart of hearts that all is forgiven. It is a sense just out of the realm of understanding—something you cannot fully describe, but a glow that spreads soothing through the very marrow of your bones. A true bond between rider and dragon, as your blood and his have called you for.

Athfiezar snarls, his lips sliding back to reveal jagged teeth that glint like ivory in the light, the crested spines extending along his skull and down his neck flexing with tension. He is no longer paying mind to you.

You turn to see Daemon sauntering over from Caraxes, hair ruffled by the breeze and shining brilliant white. It is a stark contrast with the cut of his charcoal coat, the hem fluttering aimlessly, and so the matching snow-capped heads of your babes in each of his arms is exceedingly difficult to miss.

“Oh, do be quiet, you great brute,” he says when he is within earshot, brow raised as though said brute was a particularly vexing gnat rather than a colossal, hulking firebreather. “Don’t frighten the hatchlings.”

“Don’t call them hatchlings.” Glaring at him, you slip your finger into Rhaenar’s loosely curled fist. It squeezes reflexively, trapping you to him. “He will think they are his next meal!”

Athfiezar rumbles his agreement. Daemon chuckles. “I doubt it. He’s obsessed with you, and these two”—he bounces Rhaenar and Aelys gently, casting a tender glance upon each—“are of your body. Your blood. He’ll recognise them.”

Already has your dragon extended the scant distance between himself and Daemon to inspect these strange companions of yours, advancing to invade your shared space in a surprisingly gregarious move. It seems the promise of novelty renders your husband a neutral participant for the time being, animosity forgotten for the sake of his interest in your quarry. Huddled close to Daemon, you watch with bated breath, waiting for your mount to make his judgement.

He remains immobile, though you can see the spasm in his eyes that indicates a subtle shift in focus, darting from you to the babes and back again. His head cocks like a bewildered hound’s.

So unwittingly hilarious is the comparison that you let out a laugh at the sight. “Ñuha rūhossa issi,” you say to him. “Zaldrītsossa, hen ñuhā iemnȳ sittis.” These are my babes. Little dragons, hatched from my belly.

There is recognition in his gaze. You know not how you know this, but it must be truth. What else can explain the echo throbbing in the recesses of your mind, the ancient sentience of thoughts that do not belong to you? It is a connection that has existed for what feels like an age, sputtered back to life after moons of dormancy.

His breath rustles as he scents you all, you and Daemon and the babes, inhaling the blend of spice and rose oil and the things that make you each unique, stripped down to their very foundations. You wonder if Rhaenar and Aelys can be traced back to you through aroma alone—if there is some sort of calling card embedded within their skin and blood that signals their belonging.

Aelys’s small, pudgy hand swings out, smacking Athfiezar against his nose. A puff of heat tousles her wispy strands, though he is not annoyed. Nor is she, astonishingly. She coos up at him, kicking her legs in what seems to you like excitement. Rhaenar gurgles at the sensation—for your dragon is much too large to have possibly avoided one babe with his deed—opting to draw the focus from his sister. He too is unafraid of the titanic beast before him. Athfiezar’s eyes snap to him, a sibilant rattle of curiosity slinking forth.

Daemon laughs. “See? They’re naturals. Born dragonriders. I told you, sweetling!”

The satisfaction in his tone is utterly endearing. He is the very image of a proud father, though your children have admittedly done little to warrant such sentiment. Still, the healthy flush of exhilaration and the happy grin that adorns his face make your heart flutter.

“Well, they will not be riding today,” you say, stifling your smile. Daemon pouts as you knew he would, and so you reassure him. “Give Athfiezar and Caraxes both time to accustom themselves to the idea of little Targaryens before we subject them to flight.”

“Hm. As long as we beat Viserys’s nine days.”

You capitulate to this, shaking your head wryly. If I refuse, you suppose, he will only seek to achieve his goal without my knowledge.

Suddenly, a reedy whistle sounds, swiftly followed by the mass of a dragon’s head knocking into you from the side. It is not violent, but the motion startles you, the periphery of your vision occupied by so much red in radiant lustre. Caraxes nudges you again, clearly displeased by having been left out of the proceedings.

“Oh! Rytsas!” You laugh, pushing him back playfully. “Īlōn imazumbagon jaelā?” Hello! Do you want to join us?

He coils his neck around you to re-examine the babes, gently touching his snout along Daemon’s arm to feel their warmth on his scales. Rhaenar wiggles against him.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!”

You turn. Ser Cargyll—you know not if it is Erryk or Arryk—comes to an abrupt halt by the waiting forms of Ser Lorent, Ser Alton and Freda. He is panting from his exertions, the brilliant gleam of his golden breastplate refracting light into your eyes with every rise and fall of his chest.

Daemon scowls. “What?”

“The King,” Ser Cargyll’s voice cracks as Athfiezar zeroes in on him, teeth bared. “His Grace has ordered your presence in the Chamber of the Painted Table.”

Your uncle sneers. “Can it not wait? We’re busy.”

Like a shadow follows his master, Caraxes rises behind his rider, extending his form high to display the full breadth of his power. The babes begin to fuss at the raised volume. There is naught you can do but soothe them with soft humming, reaching across to pet their cheeks. Daemon ignores this.

“I’m afraid not,” the knight says, glancing at your milling companions.

You cannot see his expression from here, but it appears as though he is deciding what ought to be disclosed before those gathered. He straightens; Athfiezar growls. And then, the damning revelation spills forth.

The Kingsguard’s voice is grave as he speaks. “Prince Daemon—King Viserys wishes to question you on your involvement in the death of Lord Larys of House Strong.”

Read it on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44058132/chapters/118008595

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